#gif discovered from another account | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 10 months ago

Text

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #homelander #the boys fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing

671 notes · View notes

just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 7 months ago

Text

Rings of Power Masterlist

-> all fics are x fem!Elf!reader

-> please check the warnings for each fic before reading

-> ao3 account

-> general masterlist

🎀 = contains smut

-> Sauron

Ruin - in which you share a moment alone in the forge

Misled - in which he tries to convince you that your father, Lord Celebrimbor, is the darkness you saw in the Unseen World

Distraction - in which he blinds you to the invasion of Eregion by giving you a taste of what you desire

Choice - in which you try to persuade Halbrand to follow you to the Southlands, regardless of his past

Decision - in which you find out why Halbrand has been distant despite the intimacy you shared in Númenor, and now it’s your turn to decide whether or not to follow him on the path ahead

Perfect illusion - in which you have to sit at your father’s side while Sauron coerces him into finishing the Nine, realizing just how blind you have been all along

🎀 Inspiration - In which you struggle coming up with new designs for the Nine, and the Lord of Gifts helps you overcome your creative block

🎀 Further inspiration - in which you discover Annatar aiding Celebrimbor in his work with the same unconventional method he used with you, but that doesn’t mean he has discarded you

-> Evil!reader (chronological order)

* technically these share the same reader, but as the fics were not written in chronological order, each of them is either self-contained or has some info beforehand so it’s not too confusing wherever you start. So feel free to read them as a series or simply pick what sounds good to you.

* playlist for vibes

*some crazy memes about these two here and here

Remade - in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

🎀 Tides of fate -> in which your newly returned husband is unsure of the path ahead, and the sea itself tries to deter you from the one you choose together

Reunion - in which your husband finally returns from his time in Númenor, and you make the most of the first moment you get him alone

As one - in which you sense that your husband is being tormented at Adar’s camp, and you join him through your bond to share in his burden from afar

🎀 As we are now - in which you explore your husband’s new form, and it leads to you breaching a rather delicate subject

A true gift - in which you share a private moment with your husband, then add a special little detail to his new look

Jealousy - in which you know he is only getting close to Mirdania as part of your plans, but it still bothers you

Reveal - in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

🎀 Theatrics - in which Celebrimbor tries to expose you and your husband to the people of Eregion, but you play the role of the innocent maiden to perfection

Old Wounds - in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Kill and make up - in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Defied - in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

The Two - in which Galadriel fights to withhold Nenya and the Nine, but in the end she fails to stop your husband placing yet another ring upon your finger

-> Galadriel

Lost - in which she sees you in her 2x02 vision instead of Celebrimbor

Blindly - in which you find Galadriel in the waters of the Glanduin, acting strange in a terrifying way

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #galadriel x reader #the rings of power #masterlist

302 notes · View notes

ablobwhowrites · 2 months ago

Text

still rambling about yandere cookie run.

This is idea is inspired by @brittle-doughie (plus he make great content and you should totally check his account out. And also got be back into the crk a bit so yeah.) I made two ideas for this ramble.

I imagine just y/n cookie kinda being a sort of celebrity around earthbread and being well liked. (This idea does mix both over break and kingdom cause I like both the games.) Y/n being a regular cookie who ended up being mixed up with heros, villains, beasts and many other cookies. They have social media and end up being instantly followed by every cookie and it does worry them a bit but mostly brush it off as them being paranoid, y/n does notice how their stuff does disappear as Roguefort Cookie definitely isn't taking some of y/n's stuff when the window is open for half a second. They do like the songs that the singing cookies celebrities make them but do get worried about how many there are and they can't really deny how many cookies are acting weird around them as the evidence is overwhelming. Also they are kinda scared to ever go to Butter Pretzel Cookie studio again as they where trying to find the bathroom and ended up finding a whole huge room full of portraits of y/n. But some cookies they see as normal (all the cookies are obsessed over y/n and y/n is not safe bro. Except for the kid cookies as they are strictly platonic only) they trust some of the cookies as y/n does think they are paranoid about the cookies being obsessed and talking stuff or something but luckily the can trust hollyberry, gingerbrave, muscle cookie and a few others. As hollyberry said that it might be the stress y/n is putting on themselves day to day, maybe that what is making them so anxious but since it's such a long ride back home, hollyberry offered to let y/n stay at the castle for the night and jungle berry and royal berry insist as well as princess and knight cookie, what’s the harm of staying for one small night?

Also totally thinking that if y/n cookie posting about a really good lunch or something at a restaurant, just the restaurant swarming with customers as, if y/n says it's good, it must be.

For regular cookie run kingdom and a maybe a tiny hint of ovenbreak, is a traveling adventurer who loves to share stories about their adventures as they seek to find if myths or legends are true and sometimes they are but sometimes aren't and they love to talk about them and has a whole book of their doodles and writing in them. They do come by from time to time and get a strange feeling Everytime they come for a short while at the kingdom, cookies insisting that they should stay and that it'll be night and that would be unsafe so they would stay and find it weird that y/n just said they would sleep in a regular house but was put into the castle and over time it gets harder and harder to get out of the kingdom with cookies needing help or something in the kingdom goes wrong and y/n helps but that wastes more of their time until it's dark outside and they are forced to stay another night. Y/n never likes to be cooped up in one play so obviously they try to get out as they have all of earthbread to see and discover. Y/n then sneaks out when it's dark outside with a little help from their buddy cinnamon cookie as those big magic tricks payed off to help y/n escape. Plus now they owe cinnamon cookie a week of helping cinnamon perfect his magic tricks for his next show also having to find the Longan Dragon and lotus dragon to be able to add to their bucket list of seeing all the dragons (and totally not escaping the clutchs of the other dragon cookies by the slightest crumb on their body because of not they'd be stuck forever with the dragon cookies after just discovering them) but they need to press on forward to find all the secrets of earthbread...if they don't get dragged back to that cookie kingdom to be trapped there or if the dragons get y/n first. Who knows!

(that's it for my yapping session for today. Hope you guys like it and if you want more please feel free to request any ideas for stories or y/n ideas. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

#yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x you #cookie run ovenbreak #yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x gn reader #x gn reader #male reader #yandere x darling #cookie run x y/n #yandere cookie run ovenbreak #yandere x y/n #random talks

149 notes · View notes

nininikki · 1 year ago

Text

divorced-ish — n. kento

content warnings: ex-husband!nanami, delusional!nanami (he’s cute tho)

author’s note: sigh i need him

ex-husband!nanami who just couldn’t stay away from you if he tried

ex-husband!nanami who you’d originally separated from on account of his work seeming to hold more priority over you, and then your newborn daughter.

ex-husband!nanami who still keeps a photo of you and the baby on his desk at his job (which, ironically, was the thing that ultimately led to his marriage failing). when asked by his nosey secretary why he still kept the photo, he only responded, “it’s my family. why wouldn’t i?”

ex-husband!nanami who had yet to actually finalize the divorce. but really, it wasn’t his fault. he just hadn’t gotten around to sending the papers over (or having them printed up at all), what with all those crazy shifts at work. oh, well, it didn’t matter. he would do it at some point.

ex-husband!nanami who had left you virtually everything in the not-so-finalized-divorce. the four bedroom, four bathroom house, your diamond 6 carat engagement ring, your wedding china, the aston martin db9 he had gifted you for your birthday, the park avenue apartment, the country house in monaco—all of it.

ex-husband!nanami who you had never been able to turn down whenever he stayed over just a little later after dropping the baby back off with you. the two of you would sit on the couch and catch up over a glass of wine. then one glass turned to two, then two to three. and for a minute it would almost feel as if you were still married.

nanami never ended up leaving until the late hours of the night. by which point you began to wonder where he’d gotten all the free time he couldn’t seem to find when you were actually married.

ex-husband!nanami who internally scoffed whenever you mentioned going on a date with another man.

“do you think you could watch her on saturday? i’ve got a date i really don’t wanna miss.” you’d asked at the tail end of an already too long (thirty minute) phone call.

nanami breathed a recognizable, pensive sigh on the other end, chewing through what he’d earlier told you was tempura, but considering how long it was taking him to answer, it may as well have been your nerves.

“you know i will, but, uh,” you heard him swallow. “a date?”

although your ex-husband didn’t exactly sound like he was joking, you couldn’t help the giggle that vibrated through your body. glancing at the clock on your nightstand that read eight-thirty and the baby sleeping soundly in the crib next to your bed, you propped the house phone between your ear and shoulder. what was the harm in killing another thirty minutes?

“yes, kento, a date. his name is scott. he’s an art dealer. i think you’d like him.”

“does scott know you’re still married?”

“separated,” you corrected him. “and no, he doesn’t. do you tell every woman who asks you out that you’re married?”

nanami hesitated for a second before answering, “yes, i do.”

ex-husband!nanami who came to your house with flowers and a store bought pumpkin pie for thanksgiving. more than you’d like to admit, you liked having him around for the holidays. he was so good with the baby, and so attentive to everything else. cleaning up all the leftovers and stray baby toys as the night came to an end.

it was nearing ten o’clock when he had successfully put the baby to sleep, and then came down to help you tidy up the downstairs. “y’know you didn’t have to buy a pie, right?” you told him after you’d discovered it hidden amongst the array of leftover pots and aluminum pans. “i know it’s your favorite. i’d have made you some.”

nanami brought his task at hand (loading the dishwasher) to a stiff halt and joined you at the island countertop. “but hey,” you added, tearing the lid off the pie. “we could see if it’s as good as the real thing.”

your ex-husband, usually the most well-spoken man you knew, could only stiffly nod in your direction while you retrieved a pair of shiny silver forks, still in the drawer they’d always been in. “and i got some whipped cream if you want.” you added as you gave him a fork, now taken aback by his sudden lack of speech. seriously, he hadn’t spoken this little since the year leading up to your separation.

what you didn’t know was that nanami couldn’t speak if he wanted to. he needed this. the three of you hadn’t had a real holiday together since last halloween, and even that was admittedly very bleak. “i miss you,” nanami blurted.

and he did. he missed your desserts for every holiday—savory pumpkin pie for thanksgiving, sweet apple pie for christmas, strawberry eclairs for valentine’s day. he missed opening his eyes every morning to the sight of your face smushed into a pillow, or a bit of drool gathering at the corner of your mouth. he missed coming home from work to the sight of you and the baby sound asleep on the couch. he missed being your husband, and even more knowing you were his wife.

ex-husband!nanami who spent the night fucking his ex-wife into the couch as though they were still married. wrapping you in his strong arms, while murmuring promises of change and betterment. “i’ll never go to work again, swear,” he said, shuddering between deep thrusts. “please just take me back, baby.”

#nikki writes ✶#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen angst #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento fanfiction #nanami kento x black reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst

1K notes · View notes

master-muffinn · 3 months ago

Text

Shadow x reader, Rouge x reader. Relationship headcanons

No warnings, just some fluff <3

Shadow the hedgehog

🏍️ I feel like a relationship with Shadow would take time, with a lot of trust and knowledge between you two. Of course you will always learn something new about one another, but even if you're his soulmate that he recently met, he wouldn't be lovely dovely and date a stranger out of the blue. Unless you account it as dating when he is slowly trying to get to know you.

🏍️ Even if you've been together for a while and physical touch starting to become a thing, he sees himself as the big spoon .always. because that's what the strong one does to keep their lover safe. Until you take the opportunity to hug and hold him when Shadow is exhausted.

Kiss his forehead and caress his cheeks!

Of course Shadow would blush the whole time but also realize how nice it actually is and wanting more of it! Touch starved Shadow discovered!

🏍️ I can't see Shadow as a ‘buy you flowers and go and eat at a fancy restaurant’ kinda dude. More like shutting yourselves inside each other's house and doing whatever and minding your own business and not caring wtf others do. As long as he can be with you it doesn't matter to him. Like a Quality time type of hedgehog.

🏍️ A ‘fancy’ date to him would be going outside under the stars in the late evening, holding hands and having deep conversations and afterwards going to his/your home, warming yourselves up with tea or hot chocolate. Those dates are what Shadow would love the most.

Rouge the bat

💍 Rouge will prognose you with the dear and honey language. “Y/n dear~” “What do you think, Honey?”

💍 Fancy restaurants and nicely dressed up with a bouquet of roses, yes! Her favorite types of dates!

💍 Is a gift giver and a gift receiver. As we know, she loves gems and shiny things and receives these gifts from you, her lover? It would mean so much more for her and you will know it!

But of course, she also loves your homemade gifts made from your own hands. A drawing? Wood Carved necklace? Home made sweet's? Poems?

Rouge loves the fact that you think about her and would take so much of your free time and make her something special.❤️

(Honestly tho, who wouldn't love handmade gifts from your lover?)

💍 Rouge would also give you lots of gifts with gems, rings, necklace, earrings depending on what you seem to like the most and yes, you have to wear some of them too! Because that shows her that you appreciate what she does for you!

Unless you tell her you don't want to lose them because it's too precious for you. Then she might accept it as long as you wear something on your days off or when you are spending time with her, so that Rouge can cuddle with you. Playing with your rings and admiring them.

“It looks very lovely on you dear~!”

Thank you for reading! Have a good day! ❤ Reblogs are very appreciated 🥰

Post made by @master-muffinn

#shadow the hedgehog #shadow x reader #rouge the bat #rouge x reader #shadow headcanons #rouge headcanons #headcanons #fanfiction #relationship #sonic series #master-muffinn #rouge #shadow #reader g/n

152 notes · View notes

scariusaquarius · 3 months ago

Text

rehab. 6.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

A/n: Probably from now on, there is going to be some graphic and dark content ahead. Please read carefully and curate your online experience. BTW, you can read it here on my archive account as well!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

Author: ScariusAquarius

rehab masterlist. chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5

The soldier was aware that she could not move. Their sense of smell came back first, the smell of flowers and fresh air and food making it easier to grasp onto consciousness. Then, the soldier's hearing came back , the uncomfortable feeling of frost melting and draining from her ears and nose making her thawing muscles shiver.

The sensation of feeling came next: the cryostasis pod bed pads sticking to her skin uncomfortably. Then, heat began to crawl over her like a blanket, and the soldier's eyes slowly opened.

Her vision was blurry, struggling to focus, and she was aware of the woman that had sedated her before being put into cryostasis was speaking to the Fist of HYDRA.

"I was able to finally break through the firewalls in a way that wouldn't trip up HYDRA's algorithm to throw up another block. I don't know how long it will last before the system resets itself, but hopefully...our soldier is not just a soldier anymore."

Confusion swept through the soldier, a feeling of being exposed running through her, and the Fist of HYDRA's voice broke through the brain fog, asking the woman.

"Should we have Okoye present just in case?"

"I am confident that we do not need anybody else present. It runs the risk of causing the soldier emotion duress, which could ruin what we are doing."

The lights around the soldier dimmed as her vision focused suddenly, and she could feel nausea gripping at her stomach. Trying to move made it worse, and the soldier couldn't keep herself from retching and dry heaving as she bent over, falling to the floor.

Hands came to rest upon her shoulder gently, but the soldier flinched, tears pricking her eyes as her stomach constricted painfully once more.

She smacked her hand out, blindly attacking as she retched again, and the uncomfortable feeling of bile rising from her throat made her cough and spat it out onto the ground. The woman cursed in a language the soldier did not understand, and the Fist of HYDRA hummed.

"I'll clean it up. Vertigo and nausea is common, and I doubt she's eaten at all before she went under when we found her."

Her mouth was salivating at the scent of the food across the room, but she kept her mouth closed. She was not permitted to eat unless she was given permission.

Her head was in shambles; flashes of images and people and faces and unpleasant thoughts coming at her so quickly that she could not understand what was happening. The soldier felt afraid for a moment before her programming kicked in, and her physical body became emotionless.

It was almost like a switch; a defense mechanism of her programming that forced her to obey during these moments of resilience and cognitive independence, and though nobody was attacking her for being incompetent or shoving her face down into her own vomit like a dog, the soldier still felt the need to be punished.

Even though it felt wrong.

The thought confused her as she shakily kept herself propped up on her hands and knees, and when the Fist of HYDRA stepped before her, his boots within her vision and making her strength waver, the soldier bowed her head and smacked her face into the vomit below her.

The Fist of HYDRA did not make a sound, and the soldier did not dare to breathe as the vile stench invaded her nostrils and burned her eyes. The female scientist was perturbed, asking the Fist.

"What on earth is she doing?"

It took the Fist a moment to respond, and his tone of voice was angry, making the soldier press down into the disgusting mess on the floor further as she began to believe she had made him angry.

"Punishing herself. They didn't take it kindly when we would show weakness, even after thawing from cryostasis...they probably got harsher with their punishments after I left."

Left? The Fist of HYDRA left? How could he have left?

There is no escape. HYDRA is your home. You were born here, you will live here, and you will die here. Do you understand, soldat?

"Вставать."

Shakily, the soldier attempted to stand up, her legs uneasy as she did so, and she swallowed thickly; jaw clenching as she stared down at the ground before her, and she flinched when the Fist brought his hand up to her face.

He paused for a moment, and the soldier began to spiral mentally. She was a failure. She was weak. Vile; disgusting; an abomination.

Flaws detected. Reprogramming required.

"Я собираюсь очистить твое лицо. Не шевелись."

Her body immediately stiffened, and a warm damp cloth touched her cheek. The Fist of HYDRA was gentle with his movements, pressing down firmly to properly clean her face of the vomit. His blue eyes were on her, stern and cautious, but the soldier did not look into his eyes.

She was already in trouble for being weak. Why make it harder for herself? When the Fist was done, he gestured to her with a tilt of his head to follow him to a desk where a plate of food was waiting.

"Иди сюда и поешь."

She was hesitant. Was it a trap? A trick question? The Fist hadn't given her permission to do so. The man was quiet before he sighed and pointed to the chair, his voice becoming stern.

"садиться."

She walked to the chair and sat down, the food in front of her making her mouth salivate while her stomach churned again, and the Fist of HYDRA gestured to the food once more.

The soldier bit her tongue, staring down at the steaming meat and vegetables doused in a delicious-smelling brown sauce, and she felt her stomach constrict.

A good soldier does not require food to function. You will do what it takes to complete your mission, and that is all.

She was not allowed to eat this food, so why was the Fist of HYDRA trying to make her?

"Есть."

Was is laced with drugs like it had been last time? The soldier squinted in confusion at her peculiar thought, and glanced up at the Fist with an apprehensive look. The soldier watched as the Fist of HYDRA sighed and dipped his finger into the sauce and slipped it into his mouth.

"Есть безопасно, солдат."

She could not tear her eyes away from the Fist of HYDRA, however.

Not when the ghastly face of her Handler was peeking over his shoulder at her.

Her body froze, panic and fear running through her, and she shot up from the table as the lights around her went out. What was happening? What was going on? Was this another training sequence?

The smell of food was replaced with the smell of rotting flesh, lights shining throughout the dark void on piles of rotting bodies. There were torn torso's, amputated limbs, crushed skulls and heads, and there were cockroaches and bugs crawling throughout the piles; disappearing beneath entrails and ripped flesh and fat as the mountains of dead bodies became bigger.

Disembodied voices were shouting around her, screaming and sobbing and crying for help, and the soldier was shocked to find that it was her that was screaming.

She was malfunctioning. There was a flaw in her system. Something was wrong. Why was she seeing this? The soldier clutched her head as pain began to bloom within it; pressure building and building and becoming so unbearable that she could not even scream anymore.

There were bugs crawling all over her; centipedes and roaches and other vermin climbing over her body and up into her nose and mouth and ears, and she could see herself in a mirror as her body began to undulate and burst from the sheer volume of vermin going into her mouth.

The soldier gasped suddenly, breaking through her bindings that kept her strapped to the table and jumping up. There were countless spears pointing at her, and the soldier, just as she had done in her nightmare, fell to the floor and retched.

She was puking over-and-over, bile and blood mixing into a wretched mess on the floor, and she became afraid when the Fist of HYDRA slowly walked to her. She scrambled back, smacking her skull into the wall, and she was hyperventilating. Why couldn't she calm down?

Flaws detected. Reprogramming required.

Her chest was tight, oxygen hard to breathe in, and she was aware that her face was wet with vomit and water. There were voices all around her, reverbing within her head, and the soldier retched painfully again.

"What is happening?"

The soldier recognized the voice to be coming from the man that looked a lot like the female scientist, his eyes concerned as he slowly relaxed out of the fighting stance he had taken. The Fist of HYDRA explained gently as he knelt on the floor in front of the soldier.

"Shuri said she was beginning to hallucinate due to the stress she was experiencing...possibly a psychotic break. We tried to get her to eat, but she wouldn't do so. She just...kind of freaked out."

Shuri hummed, explaining further.

"I believe what she was experiencing was a very severe hallucination induced by her PTSD. Given the amount of stress that she presented when we offered her food, it is very possible that one of the methods of torture was with hunger."

The soldier was listening yet ignoring the woman all at the same time. Slowly, her breathing was starting to calm, but she wasn't sure if she should open her eyes. Would she see her Handler again? Would he be upset that she was displaying such vile weakness?

За каждую твою ошибку сломаются две кости.

Her stomach was constricting again, and the vile stench of her vomit was invading her nostrils. The soldier curled up into the wall more when the Fist of HYDRA came closer, and his voice was calm.

"Я не собираюсь причинять тебе боль. Меня зовут James."

The soldier trembled slightly before she flicked her gaze over to the Fist of HYDRA. There was a feeling of confusion and intrigue that had her brow furrowing, and she was tempted to speak despite not being given permission.

"Нет."

Her voice was hoarse, and the Fist was surprised slightly as she responded before his face hardened the more she spoke.

"Ты Кулак ГИДРЫ. Ты моя миссия."

She swiped her fist at him, but the Fist of HYDRA anticipated it, catching her fist and keeping a painful grip on it. The plates within his metal arm shifted and slid together in tight recession, and his brow was furrowed harshly.

The soldier did not anticipate how weak her body had become, her hand immediately giving, and she became light-headed as the Fist of HYDRA immediately commanded.

"Не борись со мной. Я не хочу причинять тебе боль."

But that was what they all said. The memories of her previous Handler, the Enforcers, the Scientists...they always said they wouldn't hurt her to make her trust them; to make her compliant. They were like lions, circling around her and waiting until her lame leg would hold her back, and then they would pounce.

Tearing their teeth into her skin, ripping her body apart, gulping her entrails and blood until she was hollow. The soldier squeezed her eyes shut, and for a moment, there was silence. Suddenly, the female scientist said as she stepped forward.

"You do not have to have permission to speak. You are no longer with HYDRA, but here with us in Wakanda. We are not your Handlers...we are your friends. We do not wish to engage in combat or to hurt you like those vile people have."

The Fist of HYDRA glanced back at the woman before looking back at the soldier, and the woman was unsure. She could feel the need to obey, the orders within her mind repeating over and over, and her body was feeling sluggish; attempting to comply.

The Fist of HYDRA was still holding her fist within his hand, and she stared at their connected hands. The Fist carefully placed his other hand over her wrist, his flesh feeling warm against her chilled skin, and the soldier widened her eyes.

"Что для вас значит Мельцер Вудс?"

Meltzer Woods. The soldier squinted slightly, the memories of the dream she had coming to her mind, and she tensed when the female scientist began to slowly approach her. The woman standing beside her hissed, attempting to stop her as the scientist approached.

"Shuri, what are you doing?!"

The woman, Shuri, knelt down beside the Fist, her eyes kind as she asked softly.

"Will you allow me to help you, Soldat?"

The soldier's eyes fluttered slightly, the need to follow orders enticing her compliance, and Shuri grabbed a cloth from a bowl of water and wrung it out before beginning to gently clean the vomit and bile that was coating her bottom jaw and dripping down her neck. The Fist still kept a firm hold of her, but the soldier noticed that he was not as aggressive as he had been before.

The soldier did not understand kindness.

As the woman gently cleaned her off, the soldier was becoming more uncomfortable. The only time that she was cleaned in such a way was when the scientists were doing tests; poking and prodding at her in ways that the soldier knew made her uncomfortable.

"See? That was not so hard. Please allow us to help you, Soldat."

The soldier couldn't help the irritation that stemmed from her anxiety, could not keep herself from lashing out as she hissed, baring her teeth.

"Миссия должна быть завершена. Неудача – это не вариант. Непослушание недопустимо."

You must only complete the mission. Failure will not be tolerated, and if you disobey, there will be dire consequences.

Shuri then hummed and asked, making the Fist shoot his gaze to her with wide eyes.

"Then allow me to help you complete your mission."

"Shuri, what the hell are you doing?"

The Fist's voice was uncertain, accusatory as he looked at her with a shocked look within his eyes, and Shuri glanced at him; giving him an exasperated look before looking back to the soldier. The soldier frowned deeply, hissing out.

"Вы лжете."

The woman chuckled, tilting her head slightly.

"Then I guess you just have to trust me."

Trust was not a normal feeling the soldier felt. In fact, the soldier couldn't recall a time where trust was ever present. There was no such thing as trust in the soldier's mind, and that's what HYDRA had instilled into her since the beginning.

Trust nobody but HYDRA. HYDRA is your family. We know what is best for you.

But if she could make these people trust her...perhaps, it would be easier to complete her mission. If following their orders allowed her to complete her own...she would use it to her advantage. She would listen. The soldier tugged her hand out of the Fist's grasp before she muttered, staring at nothing as she spoke.

“я готов отвечать."

STORY NOTES: The Soldier is awakened from cryostasis. While the soldier is trying to orient themselves, Shuri tells Bucky that she was able to breakthrough the firewalls and place a block in place to keep HYDRA's algorithm from activating the soldier. Due to the effects of thawing from cryostasis, the soldier becomes sick and begins to vomit on the floor.

The soldier then notices the scent of food and begins to salivate, hunger forcing her stomach to constrict again. The soldier reminds herself that she is not permitted to eat unless given strict permission. Because she has been conditioned to believe that showing weakness (including hunger) warrants punishment, the soldier shoves her face into the vomit despite not being prompted to do so.

Bucky elaborates on that fact when Shuri questions what the soldier is doing, and he carefully cleans the soldier's face off before gesturing for the soldier to eat. However, the soldier is unwilling to do so even when Bucky shows her that the food is completely safe to eat.

Because of the stress and sickness that has plagued the soldier, she begins to hallucinate. Gruesome images of mountains of dead bodies crawling with bugs make the soldier sick again, and she hallucinates further that the bugs are crawling into her mouth.

The next moment the soldier is awake, she is able to break through bindings that keep her onto a table and forces herself into a corner. Again, the soldier becomes sick, this time vomiting straight bile and blood from the stress her body is being put through. T'Challa is concerned and asks what is happening, and both Bucky and Shuri explain that they believe the soldier experienced a hallucination and possibly a psychotic break.

Bucky tries to make contact by introducing himself to the soldier, in which the soldier finally speaks and tells him that his introduction is wrong. She instead tells him that he is her mission, and the soldier attempts to fight him. However, due to the length of time she has gone without eating and from thawing, her body is too weak and Bucky counters easily.

Shuri then steps forward and asks the soldier to allow her to help, cleaning her face of the vomit as Bucky had done before while Bucky keeps the soldier's wrists in his grasp. However, the soldier is unable to comprehend the princess' kindness, and instead tells her that her mission is the only thing that matters and failure is not an option.

In order to make the soldier trust her, Shuri then bluffs by saying that she would help the soldier complete her mission. The soldier does not believe Shuri, and when she comments that Shuri is lying, Shuri jokes by saying the soldier would have to trust her. Taking this as an opportunity to continue her mission, the soldier makes a decision to manipulate the people into thinking that she would accept their help. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Вставать - Get up/stand

Я собираюсь очистить твое лицо. Не шевелись - I'm going to clean your face. Do not move.

Иди сюда и поешь. - Come here and eat.

садиться - sit down

Есть - Eat.

Есть безопасно, солдат - It's safe to eat, soldier.

За каждую твою ошибку сломаются две кости - For every mistake you make, two bones will break.

Я не собираюсь причинять тебе боль. Меня зовут James. - I am not going to hurt you. My name is James.

Нет - No.

Ты Кулак ГИДРЫ - You are the Fist of HYDRA.

Ты моя миссия. - You are my mission.

Не борись со мной. Я не хочу причинять тебе боль - Don't fight me. I don't wish to hurt you.

Что для вас значит Мельцер Вудс? - What does Meltzer Woods mean to you?

Миссия должна быть завершена. Неудача – это не вариант. Непослушание недопустимо. - The mission must be completed. Failure is not an option. Disobedience is unacceptable.

Вы лжете - You are lying.

я готов отвечать - Ready to comply/I'm ready to answer

TAGLIST: @mgchaser @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @aash3

#bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #the winter soldier #winter soldier #marvel #marvel x reader #captain america #captain america x reader

122 notes · View notes

ghoul-bonez · 2 years ago

Text

~To You He Feels Like Home~

(Neteyam x Fem! Na’vi! Reader)

Summary: You were always a wild child, literally and figuratively. You were raised by the forest and by the creatures that lived within it, and you would never want it any other way, but when you were discovered by another Na’vi you are overcome with curiosity although the animals that raised you always warned you about the outsiders.

Word Count: 5.1k

Author’s Note: This is my longest oneshot to date, at 5.1k words & 11 google docs pages, and I’ve been working on it for weeks now… Hopefully you guys will like it :D This fic was inspired by @imeanwhynotbruv ‘s Mowlie! Spider AU which I LOVE!!! Very excited for y’all to read :)

~Last - Next~

~Series Masterlist~

~Main Masterlist~

To You He Feels Like Home

You were always wild, even as a young child. Part of that could be attributed to who was raising you, how you were being raised, and part of it was because of your personality. It came down to nurture versus nature, or nurture and nature.

You were wild by nurture, raised by the Great Mother, by her forest, and by the animals that inhabited it. In particular there was a mother palulukan who had taken you into her den with her two cubs. She was your protector, your teacher, your mother. She loved you, and that was all you needed.

You were wild by nature, always bouncing around, never able to sit still. You were fierce and strong, stubborn at times, and intelligent as could be, which you used to your advantage. It was good for your survival, but exhausting to your mother palulukan, and the other animals who had taken you under their wings to teach you different survival skills.

They had all had a part in your upbringing, every animal teaching you something different. Their lessons had turned you into the woman you were today, they had taught you how to survive, and not just that, but how to thrive.

The palulukan had taught you to fight, how to attack and pounce, and win. She had taught you to protect yourself in any situation. She had taught you that no matter how small you were, how weak you may seem to your opponent, that there would always be a way to come out on top.

The syaksyuk had taught you how to swing from tree to tree, how to escape from harm's way quickly, may you choose not to fight. They taught you about community and how to work together to get to your goal.

The yerik had taught you how to scare off predators, and if that didn’t work how to run, how to pace yourself and run for longer than you thought you could. They taught you to stay calm, to not let fear overtake you as you ran.

The nantang made sure you knew how to hunt, how to stalk then attack and finish off your prey. They made sure you could feed yourself. They made you work in a team, to take everyone's different skills into account.

The ikrans that visited from the mountains taught you how to navigate the air, although you could only do so with their help. They would show you how different different parts of the land were. They showed you what you and your family of creatures looked from above.

Your upbringing was untraditional and many Na’vi would question how you had even survived, but you knew how. There was a sense of community in your animal family that could never be rivaled. You wouldn't have it any other way.

Of course there were still things you had to teach yourself, like weaving and making clothes. This had taken some trial and error as you had started as a very young child, needing to form this skill for more protection against the elements and the forest. You had figured it out later than you would have liked, but eventually you got there and had created your own outfits.

Then you had to teach yourself how to make weapons, and how to use them. You had mastered making spears out of branches when you were young, and quickly moved on to finding hard enough materials to make knives and other blades. When your mother palulukan had noticed your proficiency of making weapons she had started bringing back lost Na’vi weapons like bows and hunting knives.

After lots of trials and errors, from carving the body wrong to tying the sting wrong, you had mastered making a bow. You had found the perfect type of wood, strong enough to hold up, but soft enough to carve. You had found the perfect string made from woven plant fibers. When you carved your final masterpiece the curve of the wood was perfect and the string strung tightly enough to work perfectly.

Then came using it. You had never seen anyone use one, and your mother palulukan refused to let you anywhere near other Na’vi, so you struggled. You had tried over, and over, and over again, and eventually it paid off. Your stance was wrong to most, strange looking to others, but it worked perfectly for you.

With all of your combined skills, ones the animals of Pandora had taught you and ones you had taught yourself, you had become a lethal hunter. Once you proved yourself capable your mother palulukan let you off on your own.

At the age of eighteen years you had been sent free, allowed to explore as you wanted, and so you did. You ran through the forest with excitement coursing through your veins. You climbed and swung from tree to tree without a care for your safety. You swam in streams and shook the water from your loose hair as you resurfaced. You hunted for your own food, coming up successful every time.

You felt free.

You had been so used to your mother palulukan hunting for you that doing it on your own was enthralling. It gave you a rush unlike any other, but you never took more than you and your family could eat, dragging it back home to your palulukan family’s den.

Your little family had never eaten like this before. They had never had a meal every day, sometimes going as many as five days without food, instead giving leftovers to you, the little Na’vi they had taken in who needed it more than they did. Now you made sure they were fed daily, you took care of them like they had you.

As much as you loved the takedown of your prey, your favorite part of hunting was the stalking. You loved tracking things, finding a scent trail and following it until you found prints in the ground. You loved watching the prey once you found it, staying hidden in the shadows and observing.

Sometimes you would even track when you weren’t hunting, practicing for later or simply wanting to observe the other animals of the forest. You especially loved watching the nantang packs as they were similar to your family but also so different.

Today had been no different, you had been out searching for the trail of a nantang pack wanting to watch and observe. However that plan changed when you caught a whiff of something you had never smelled before. It reminded you of something, yourself, but you didn’t know why.

You couldn’t help but do what you do best, stalk. You followed the scent, staying close to the ground, slinking around, and watching the dirt for prints from any type of animal. When the trail stopped and there were no prints in sight you were confused, where had it gone, you questioned.

Then it hit you, the trees, it had to be in the trees. You weren’t in the mood to climb right now, not wanting a chase in the trees, but you might not have a choice. You took a breath, steadying and readying yourself, slowly looking up to the trees to see what you would be chasing, and once you caught sight of what it was you gasped.

It was you, not quite, but something like you.

He had your blue skin, stripes laid across his skin and white freckles splattered across his body and face. He had your dark hair, but his was put up in braids, something you had no idea you could do. He had your large golden eyes which were widened just like yours right now.

You were perplexed. You knew you weren’t the same as your family, you knew you looked completely different, not the same species, but you hadn’t ever seen another person like you. You didn’t know there were other people like you.

The other person looked just as shocked as you, and he was. You looked Omaticaya, but he had never seen you before, and he had seen everyone in his clan as the next Olo’eyktan in training. He hoped you weren’t Omaticaya because of how rough of shape you were in. He never wanted anyone in his clan to be in this rough of shape.

You had scapes all over your body, little scars scattered where past cuts had been. Your hair was loose and messy, knotted and in need of a good brush and braid. As he studied the strange girl in front of him he was concerned for you, for the state you were in, but to you the unkempt hair and scars and nicks that cover your body are normal.

To you they feel like home.

To you the scrapes and scars, the cuts and nicks, feel like home. They feel like the forest as you run through the underbrush, barely dodging trees and roughly catching your arms against them accidentally. They feel like jumping into streams and rivers, scraping your knees on the rocks at the bottom as the current sweeps you off your feet. They feel like hunting as you accidentally catch your finger with your blade as you finish off your prey.

To him they were worrying, they showed pain and danger, but to you that was normal, pain and danger were regular parts of your life. To him it wasn’t, and he felt the need to make sure you were okay. You were standing strongly so clearly you weren’t too injured, but the idea of you being one of his people made him feel the need to check you over, to help you.

He jumped down from his hiding spot, gracefully landing in front of you, and suddenly you took off. You sprinted away, terrified of the stranger. You wanted to make your way back home, back to your mother palulukan and the den you called home. You wanted to be safe, you wanted to feel safe.

The man lagged for a second, thinking, before deciding to follow you, taking off after you. The chase went on for a while, his lungs burned as he kept up with you, close behind, but he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up, and you didn’t seem to be slowing down.

“Wait, I just want to help!” He shouted after you, but that seemed to spook you more and you sped up.

You had no idea what the strange man had said, but his loud voice scared you. The sounds he was making were foreign to you, and it frightened you. He was communicating in a way you never had before. The way you communicated with your family was hisses and growls.

You were a good runner, had good stamina, but he seemed to be keeping up, although you could tell he was getting tired. The unfortunate part was you were getting tired too, and you would have to stop soon. You figured it would be good to stop sooner than later so you had enough energy to fight in case the need arose.

You saw a clearing to the right and zagged that way before stopping on the far end of it, crouched down like a palulukan, ready to pounce. The man stopped on the other side, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. Like this he looked less scary, he looked weak as he was out of breath, like you could win this fight easily.

He looked at you through the braids that had fallen in his face, and his eyes held no malice. He wanted you to feel safe, or as safe as possible, around him, so he showed his weakness as he was out of breath. He wanted you to know he wasn’t going to hurt you as he showed you had easily outran him.

However you still felt threatened.

Your eyes were blown wide, adrenaline coursing through you as your mind ran a mile a minute. Your ears pinned against your head and you let out a wild hiss at the man, bearing your teeth and snapping them together a few times as a threat.

He didn’t challenge you back, instead dropping to the ground to sit with his legs crossed, arms in the air as a sign of surrender, or peace, that he meant no harm. He tried to make himself look harmless, tried to make himself look smaller.

Your face scrunched up in confusion, why wasn’t he challenging you, you asked yourself. You weren’t convinced he meant to harm You couldn’t let your guard down, and your hand flew to your knife at your hip as you snarled at him, trying to elicit a reaction.

He then realized he had his own weapons on him and he lifted his bow over his head from where it rested against him, and threw it to the side. He hesitated as he took his knife out of its holder, but he threw it next to his bow a few feet away.

“They're gone, okay.” He pointed to the weapons where they laid, “I want to help you. I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to explain.

Again you didn’t understand him, ears twitching at the unfamiliar sounds. Now you were more stressed than before. You stayed in place, ears pinned to your head again as you growled, but your hand moved away from your knife.

“There we go.” He spoke as your hand fell to your side, “What's your name?” He asked.

You felt the adrenaline wearing off, exhaustion starting to catch up to you and making you less hostile than before, blurring the lines of your fear. Your eyes were narrowed as your head tilted to the side, a questioning look on your face. You were scared because you couldn’t understand him, but you became more curious the more he spoke.

His voice was interesting, smooth and calming. You hadn’t heard anything like it before, and although you looked similar you weren’t sure if you could make the same sounds as him, accustomed to growls and hisses.

When you didn’t say anything back the man tried something different. He pointed to himself, “Neteyam.” Then he pointed to you, humming, “Hm?”

You growled back, trying to communicate the only way you knew how. He just cringed, taking it as aggressive while you were simply trying to voice your confusion.

He tried again, “Neteyam…” He pointed to himself, not saying anything else afterwards.

“Neteyam.” You whispered, only loud enough for you to hear. Then you cleared your throat, “Neteyam.” You parroted.

“Yes. Neteyam.” He nodded, happy you seemed to be getting somewhere, “You?” He asked, pointing to you.

“Hm?” You hummed, copying the noise he had made to you earlier. You thought it was a questioning sound, and you hoped your assumption was correct.

Something clicked to Neteyam, “You can’t understand me, can you?” He asked, not particularly expecting an answer.

“Hm?” You questioned again.

“Okay…” He took a second to think. Who were you? Where did you come from?

“Neteyam.” You spoke again, getting his attention. You then pointed to yourself and growled, you seemed to be trying to communicate something, and you were. You had growled your name, what your palulukan family called you.

He didn’t quite understand you, “Hm?” He asked.

You just growled again, pointing to yourself. Clearly this wasn’t getting anywhere.

“I’m going to give you a name, or a nickname I guess.” He told you, but you didn’t understand. If you had known what he had said you would have disagreed adamantly, you don’t need a different name, you have one already, but you didn’t understand, so when he pointed to you and said, “(Y/n).” The name sounded beautiful, and you loved the way it rolled off his tongue.

Your head tilted to the side, confusion written on your face, but you didn’t protest. Instead you nodded your head, seeming content, “Neteyam.” You pointed to him, “(Y/n), hm?” You pointed to yourself questioningly.

He smiled, “Yes.”

“Yes.” You copied him, but you weren’t smiling, still confused by the foreign words.

He patted the ground in front of him, inviting you to sit by him, but you don’t approach, instead sitting where you were a few feet away. He seems so calm, so relaxed, as he sits with his legs crossed and arms behind his as he leans on them. You however are stiff, skittish, as you sit on your knees, hands in your lap. You looked ready to take off at any second.

Neteyam tried to calm you down with reassuring words, even though he knew you couldn’t understand him, his calm tone seemed to take off the edge. You were scared of him, but slowly starting to believe he meant no harm. He wasn’t dangerous.

As you sat there with him he went on, and on, talking about whatever came to mind with that smooth tone. You could sit there and listen to him talk forever, but soon the sky is darkening and you realize it is time to head back home, to the comfort of your den, your mother would be waiting for you when you get there. She would be ready to allow you to cuddle up next to her and let go of the stress of today.

You’re not frantic when you stand up, instead more fixed on having a mission, to get home, but Neteyam doesn’t understand that, and so he stands up after you. You don’t pay him any mind until you start walking away and he follows you. Frustrated that he’s trying to follow you, you hold your hand out towards him, hissing.

“No!” You shout, a word you had picked up from Neteyam talking to you.

“Oh.” Neteyam simply comments. You were a quick learner apparently, picking up on the word and figuring out how to use it already.

You turn away and start walking off, and this time he doesn’t follow you, waving towards you and saying, “Goodbye, (Y/n).” He pauses before saying quieter, “I hope I see you again.” Not loud enough for you to hear.

Your mother palulukan was confused that night when you came home without a meal, but when you broke down in tears she moved to comfort you. You let out all of the stress from over the past few hours in tears and sobs, and eventually you stilled, fell asleep on her large warm body, and finally you rested.

You had intended to never see Neteyam again, but you kept running into him. It was frustrating and confusing. You had no idea why it kept happening, but of course you knew Eywa had a plan for everyone, and everything happens for a reason, but you weren’t sure why she was so insistent on putting you and Neteyam together.

The day after your first encounter you had your second meeting. You had been trying to hunt when you somehow ended up back at the clearing. You weren’t sure how you ended up there, but you gave in, sitting with him for a while before continuing your hunt.

The third time, the third day in a row now, you had been napping in a completely different area of the forest when you woke up to Neteyam looking at you curiously. It wasn’t necessarily in a creepy way, but it had spooked you at first before you calmed down. This time you did not stick around, walking off with a dismissive grunt to Neteyam.

The fourth time, a few days later, he had found you while you had been frolicking around in the Hallelujah Mountains. You had been hiding out there, trying to avoid him by not even being in the forest, but he had found you again somehow.

That went on, and on, until you admitted defeat, accepted your fate, Eywa was determined to have you and Neteyam together, and who were you to deny the Great Mother’s will. She knew all, and you trusted her, so you took her lead.

Every time you ran into Neteyam you would spend a little more time with him, and eventually that time built into hours, and then days, from sunrise to sunset you would spend your hours with him. You cherished your time with Neteyam and he certainly enjoyed your company, your attention.

Your palulukan mother was less than pleased with how much time you were spending with the Na’vi boy, but she understood you needed companionship with your own kind. She figured you would grow curious eventually and would venture out in search of people like you, and she was proud of you for making a friend, but she wished you would be home a little more.

When you finally gave into spending time with Neteyam you figured you should learn how to communicate, learn to speak his language. You would much rather teach him yours, but yours was more general emotions and less words, less actual conversation and more communicating how you're feeling through growls and hisses, hunched shoulders and bared teeth.

Today you were sitting by a river, somewhere Neteyam had shown you, as he tried to teach you the Na’vi language.

Neteyam pointed to different features on his face as you named them quietly, touching them on your own face as you went, “Ears. Eyes. Nose. Mouth.”

“Good job!” He praised you, a smile on both of your faces.

You were learning slowly, struggling to pick up a second language so much different from your first, but when you grasped a certain word you had it for good. You had started using the words you knew in basic sentences like “How you?” when you would first see him. You would listen intently as if you knew everything he was saying although you only picked up on certain words.

What really got Neteyam was when you would say goodbye when you parted ways at the end of the day. Instead of saying “Goodbye.” or something similar you would blurt out “Love you!” as you walked away.

It always got Neteyam’s heart beating in his chest, hard, and he couldn’t help but smile every time. He would say, “Goodbye (Y/n). Love you too.” because the one time he hadn’t reciprocated you had pouted and nearly cried.

He didn’t think you understood the significance of those words, of the word love, but you definitely did. You didn’t use it lightly, it being the only word you had learned to describe how you were feeling for Neteyam, and it described your feelings perfectly.

You truly did love him, as a friend, maybe more.

You appreciated what he did for you, but it went so much deeper than that. You loved how he was patient with you, giving you all the time you needed. You loved his voice, how he would talk to you even if you didn’t understand. You loved how he laughed, how he smiled, how his eyes seemed to glow when he was around you.

You love him.

You loved him like you loved the forest, it’s green foliage keeping you safe throughout your life. You loved him like you loved your mother palulukan, like a warm hug at the end of the day. You loved him like you loved the sounds that played all around you constantly, drowning out your negative thoughts.

You love him like home.

As you were mulling over your feelings, thinking whatever came to your mind, you had been zoning out, gone silent as you looked off into the distance. Neteyam took this chance to mess with you a little. He scooped up some water from the stream in his hands and threw it on you, bringing you out of your thoughts as the cool water hit your face.

You gasped, “Neteyam!”

He just laughed, pointing at you as your jaw was dropped, brow muscles raised, and eyes open wide. Your look of offense amused him and your look quickly switched to a scowl, and Neteyam felt himself still, that was never a good look on you.

You moved quickly, smiling mischievously splashing water onto him too. He looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected this from you, and you used that to your advantage, splashing him again, harder this time, with more water.

This time he was quick to move, trying to grab you and throw you into the deeper part of the river, but your reflexes were faster than him and you got up, running away like a mad woman. You smiled before jumping into the river, submerging your lower body before he could do it for you.

You thought hard, trying to form a coherent sentence, when you thought you had it you shouted, “Come get me!” Taunting him.

As you taunted him he just smiled, a sense of childish joy overcoming him. It reminded him of when he was younger. When he and his siblings would play in streams closer to home. When his father would play with them. It reminded him of family, you were quickly becoming family, but in a deeper way.

He loved you like family, he loved you like a calm afternoon at home with everyone sitting around, talking and playing games. He loved you like a partner, someone to share his own home with, where his family could come over for dinner and share stories. He loved you like someone new to the family, like someone his family could learn to love.

He loves you.

“Oh yeah?” Neteyam asked, smirking at you. He stayed where we was on the river bank, feet barely in the water.

“Yeah!” You shouted, challenging him by splashing the water around you.

He seemed to be contemplating it, over exaggerating his movements dramatically, “I don’t know… I might just stay here…” He joked.

You frowned, not understanding his joking tone of voice, “Fine…” You turned away from him, getting ready to leave the river.

However you didn’t get the chance when you heard splashing behind you, and it was too late. He ran up to you splashing you, getting your entire back wet, including your hair.

You whipped around, gasping both at the cold water and the shock of not expecting it. You shouted at him, arms crossed over your chest, “Rude!”

Neteyam laughs loudly, “Oh I’m rude? You’re the one who told me to come get you.” He defended himself, rolling his eyes.

“You…” You thought of what word to use, not sure what the word for this action was, you settled on, “hit me first!”

Neteyam was quick to correct you, “Splash, the word is splash.” He really did not want you telling people he was hitting you if you ever met his clan. He hoped it was less of an if, and more of a when.

You took in the information, “You splash me first.” You shrugged your shoulders, feeling you won the conversation.

“And I’ll do it again!” Neteyam laughed, running at you, ready to throw more water in your face, but you turned to run away from his attack.

As you were running you slipped, falling to your knees and feeling pain shoot through one of them, “Ow.” You hissed out.

Neteyam was quick to rush to your side, helping you up and walking you to the edge of the river where you sat down. You inspected the cut, it wasn’t much and you would be okay in a day or so, “I am okay.” You tried to assure Neteyam.

Neteyam frowned, “I’m sorry. Let me fix you up?” He asked.

You knew if you said no he would practically beg you to let him help you, so you gave in, “Okay.”

Neteyam sat down, pulling your leg over his lap so he had better access to your knee. He inspected the small wound, thinking about what Kiri had told him would be best for it.

He was quick to pull out the little pouch of healing equipment he had, herbs and plants, pastes and drinks, he was equipped for anything. He had decided to carry anything he would need to treat your small cuts and scrapes because every time you would see him you would have more and more. They never seemed to stop coming, so he promised he would do his best to help you.

He pulled out a paste you recognized, and before he could speak you mocked him, attempting to copy his voice, “This one will sting.” You fell into a fit of giggles afterwards.

He just chuckled at you, “You’re right.” You seemed to always be right, you picked up on other things, besides learning the Na’vi language, easily.

You smiled, sighing happily, “I know.”

Neteyam hums, smiling at you , “Tell me, how have you been? What have you done today?” He tried to distract you while he put the paste on.

It worked as you quickly responded, “It has been great. I have gotten to see you…” You trailed off, smiling shyly, before continuing, “This morning I went on a hunt, took food home to my mom. My siblings are moving out finally, so it is just us now. Less mouths to feed.”

“Good… Neteyam answered simply, focusing on what he was doing as he wrapped a bandage around your knee.

“Thank you.” You pulled his face up to look at you, a small smile was on your face, lips gently curved, eyes softened to liquid gold, “For everything.”

He sighed, content, as his face melted into your hand, pressing your skin to his, “It’s really no big deal. I would do anything for you. I would get you anything you need, anything you want.” He admitted softly, quietly.

You smiled, leaning in and pressing your forehead to his, “I know, and Eywa do I love it. I love you.”

He smiles back, the happiness reaching his eyes, and if you listen close enough you can hear his heart thumping in his chest, ready to pop out, “I love you too, (Y/n). I see you, and I will show you that every day.

Every time he tends to your wounds he is so careful, he is so careful with you. He is careful in a way the forest has never been, in a way it never will be in the future. The forest gives you safety in the form of protection through the hard and marred skin you have covering your body. The forest shows you its love through injuries you’ve sustained from your years of survival, it gives you love by allowing you to survive.

Now you don’t need the love of the forest, you need the love of him. He feels like scars, and bruises, and cuts, and pain. He feels like safety. Like how you once had found safety and solace in the cuts and bruises you bared, how your unkempt hair and scars felt like your home, to you he feels like home.

Word Bank:

Great Mother (Eywa)

Palulukan (Thanator)

Syaksyuk (Prolemuris)

Yerik (Hexaped)

Nantang (Viperwolf)

Ikran (Mountain Banshee)

Omaticaya (Forest Na’vi)

Olo’eyktan (Clan leader)

Eywa (Na’vi goddess)

#fanfic #fanfiction #avatar fanfiction #avatar the way of water #atwow #atwow fanfiction #avatar movie #atwow fics #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x female reader #neteyam x fem!reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam suli x reader

2K notes · View notes

return-of-a-space-cowboy · 8 months ago

Note

Platonic Yandere DIO and daughter reader (who was abandoned at his house as a baby)

Hi thank you for the request, this is my first platonic request so I hope it's alright.

Familial Yandere Dio

At first Dio simply wanted to leave the child where they were but something compelled him to take the child. Maybe a small part of him thinks back on his childhood and takes pity. However he has no need for the weak so he uses a fragment of the stand arrow on the baby to prove their worthiness. The child doesn't die so he decides to keep them. They'd serve him well as a stand user in due time.

He has his servants raise her, luckily she had her name embroidered on the blanket she was wrapped in, (Y/n). However she still finds a way to get his attention. At first he simply passes her back off to the servants, agitated that this child will disrupt him. However over time he softened to her, she became less of a tool to him.

Soon he would allow (Y/n) into his bedroom and read to her whatever he was absorbed in at the time. He begrudgingly accepts the child calling him "dada". As soon as she develops proper talking skills he insists on being called father instead.

Around the age of 4 to 5 (Y/n) already quite independent. Already learning stuff more advanced then what her age range would. A model child by all accounts, however despite showing an ability to see stands hers hasn't quite manifested yet. She has been put through strenuous training yet still no results. She's also spoilt, she eats extravagantly, dresses in the nicest clothes a child could wear and is given almost anything she asks for.

As she grew up, she became aware of her lack of a stand. Trying to make up for her failure but Dio assures her it will come in due time and that she does not need to make up for such a thing.

But she also becomes aware of life outside the mansion. Asking at first to accompany servants during errands which he allows but when she asks to play with other children he tells her that she shouldn't bother with such a thing, those children are beneath her. Those children would bow before them when the time came.

Eventually her stand manifests. The moment it's know, a victim is choosen for her to test her stand on. When the victim isn't harmed Dio is let down, but his initial plans of using her as another servant are far gone.

That's when she goes to the piano, something she was still a novice in but now could play it like a professional.

She is able to figure out she has the power to absorb information and skills from others. Not a powerful stand but a useful one nevertheless. A stand dubbed Gates of Babylon, a physical manifestation of her desire of knowledge.

So it becomes a regular occurrence that Dio will let her use her stand on his victims before he drinks them dry. An odd form of father daughter bonding (of course away from (Y/n)).

Still (Y/n) never quite lost interest in the outside world. One day she manages to sneak out by herself. Of course when he discovers this he's mortified, but hides it the best he can from his servants as he tells them to find her.

Of course she's found and brought back. If she has injury, even just a scrape he'll use it as justification. She's only mortal compared to him. All manner of things could happen to her. The moment that it is just the two of them he scolds her. Even goes on about how vulnerable she is and what compelled her to leave with everything she has.

Everything is a lot more tightly run. Constantly monitored, constantly given more and more things to entertain her. He's also taking more time to spend with her directly.

Telling them always that he's the only one that she should trust 100%, that people will try to harm or take advantage of her. God forbid he brings up his childhood as an example, that he actually acknowledge his prior humanity to another soul.

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere dio #platonic yandere #familial yandere

173 notes · View notes

caelivir · 2 years ago

Text

rayne ames relationship hcs (part ii)

— WARNING: creepy behavior from a guy but that’s it

— author’s note. i feel like the author’s note from when i posted this doesn’t apply anymore, but anyway, this is part two but isn’t actually because i lost the first part when i accidentally deleted my account… again im so sorry. ALSO!! the writing is a little different bc i’m cringing rereading my old stuff. (how did u guys let that slide)

— HUGE HUGE HUGE THANK YOU TO @mikadzukis FOR SAVING MY OLD HCS I AM INDEBTED TO U!!!!

rayne ames loves dates with you. he loves them.

but he especially loves picnic dates

you introduced him to the idea on one of his days off

you promised it wasn’t going to be draining because you knew being a visionary is a taxing job

so he agreed

and he loved it

spread across the red and white checkered picnic blanket are plates of grapes, cheese, and sandwiches. two goblets of iced tea rest on top of a wooden board so they can remain balanced.

rayne’s large hands support his weight as he leans back onto the blanket. the half-blonde cranes his neck to stare up at the leaves. rays of sunlight peek through slivers of space between them. a butterfly flutters its wings above him.

“rayne!” you call for his attention.

your lover hums as a reply before directing his eyes toward you, offering his full attention.

“i made something for you.” you speak, grabbing for another basket on the blanket. you lift up the cover, reaching carefully inside it. you pull out a cake platter and set aside the lid that protected the dessert residing on it.

“it’s a cake!” you continue with a smile. “this is the first time you’ve been off in a while so i thought i could make a cake to celebrate! i even decorated it with some bunnies!”

a small grin grows on the visionary’s face. he pushes himself up. rayne takes the platter out of your hand and gently places it on a free board on the blanket. you’re caught in surprise as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. his head finds warmth in the crook of your neck.

“thank you.” he whispers.

rayne’s protective of you

he knows you’re capable of fighting your own battles, but there are certain situations where he just had to take care of it

if someone’s saying things about you or harassing you, he isn’t going to tolerate that

the entirety of easton knows not to mess with you, because messing with you means messing with rayne, and no one wants to put themselves through that

he’s already scary enough as is so all it takes is a couple of threats for the person to leave cowering in fear

you wait outside of the café as rayne uses the restroom. people of all ages each other as they navigate their ways theough marchétte street. one of them approaches you, but it’s not rayne.

“so what’s a fine thing like you doing alone here in the street.” a guy smirks, trailing his eyes up and down your body. you shift uncomfortably. he’s definitely a few years older than you and inches taller than rayne. a single line cuts through his right cheek, indicating his level of magic.

you swallow down an anxious gulp before speaking. “i’m with my boyfriend.”

“tell me gorgeous,” the man’s hand travels down the path of your jaw. you’re disgusted by his touch. “does your boyfriend like to share?”

“i really think you should go.” you respond firmly, shoving the grimy hand away from your face.

the guy chuckles, raising his hands in defense. “no need to get aggressive, sweetheart! i just want to know!”

“and who the hell are you?” a familiar deep voice says from behind you. you turn around to discover rayne, and your eyes light up at his appearance. you’re well acquainted with the detachment and chilling coldness of rayne’s gaze, but now, there’s a fire behind them.

rage.

he’s pissed.

recognition becomes evident in the man’s face, and it dawns on him that he just messed with a divine visionary’s lover, but before he can retreat, rayne steps in front of you. he yanks your harasser down to your level. you don’t know what the half-blonde says, but it’s clear that it sparks fear into the features of the other man. once rayne’s finishes with him, he apologizes profusely before running away in the opposite direction.

the anger behind rayne’s eyes fade; they soften when he finds your gaze. “are you okay.”

you grin. “yeah, now that you’re here.”

rayne lets you wear his robes

whenever you hang out in his dorm, your first instinct is to go through his closet and take them

when you first did it, he was going to protest

but you looked so cute i. them that he decided to let it slide

you especially like wearing them when you nap

though you wearing his robes does pose some problems for him from time to time

“you’re late,” orter points out from his seat at the table. his fingers slide the frame of his glasses up his nose. “and where’s your visionary robe?”

rayne strolls past the desert came, not bothering to answer for his actions. he didn’t want to admit—especially to orter of all people—the reason behind his missing robe.

this morning, just as he was almost ready to leave for the divine visionary meeting, rayne realized that he was missing his robe. the half-blonde searched ever crevice of his dorm but to no avail. rayne sighed, reaching the conclusion that you accidentally took it.

yesterday, he had to run a quick errand while you were napping. upon his return, rayne discovered that you had left. you scribbled a message on a notepad, explaining that you didn’t want to keep intruding. you were probably too tired to realize that you had his war robe in your possession.

rayne could waste any more time making a trip to your dorm. it was a bit of a distance from his. the best decision at the moment was to let you have it and attend the meeting without it.

that is how he ended up in this situation, late and stuck sitting next to ryoh.

“y/n has your robe, don’t they?” ryoh teases in a whisper. for some reason, ryoh had discovered rayne’s relationship with you. whenever the two visionaries crossed paths, his senior never fails to mention you.

the sword cane doesn’t respond. “that’s a yes, isn’t it?” ryoh continues with a shit-eating grin. he pokes the arm of the boy next to him

rayne inhales. gods, he was not going to hear the end of this.

whenever you and rayne are apart due to his job as divine visionary, you communicate through letters sent by owls

he talks about the places he’s at and shit talks the people he doesn’t like

you tell him about you classes and how things are back at the academy, especially things going on within the adler dorm

and you occasionally give him updates on finn because you know deep down rayne cares about him

an owl lands on the sill of the open window of rayne’s temporary room. the animal clamps down on an browned envelope placed in its beak. rayne approaches the bird, and it drops the letter into his hands before flying off.

the mattress of the bend sinks under rayne’s weight when he sits on it. he unfolds the piece of parchment in his hands unsealing the envelope. his eyes scan down the letter that reads:

dear rayne,

how’s your trip? i hope nothing’s gone bad. things back at easton have been the same as usual, but it’s not that fun without you here.

classes are boring, but that’s nothing new. i might rip my brain out. i’ve been baking to try and cope. by the way, when you get back, you have to try this cheese tart i made. i had your brother and a friend of his try them. they seemed to like it a lot. i don’t know the name of the kid yet, but he wants me to make cream puffs next time. he says they’re a lot better than cheese tarts so you’ll have to try those too.

speaking of finn, he’s doing extremely well. he’s making lots of friends which is really nice to see. he always seems nervous to talk to me though. am i intimidating or something. i don’t think i am. unless you’ve been saying some things about me then i think we’re gonna have a problem…

gods, i miss you so much. come back soon. i’ll be waiting for you always. take care of yourself and don’t stress too much. i love you.

- y/n

p.s. please get me a souvenir. thank you! i love you, again.

rayne stands up, finding a sheet of paper and a quill. he pulls out a chair by a table. a slight smile flashes on the visionary’s face as he writes back to you—his home.

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne ames x reader #rayne x reader #⭑ — fics ⭑.ᐟ♡#♡ — mashle #♡ — rayne

1K notes · View notes

moirindeclermont · 9 months ago

Text

5+ things I love about Colin Bridgerton

(feel free to add your own if you want).

This will also be very horny, sorry but my mind is costantly in the gutter these days.

1) He is a man of unhinged action. This man, once he realized that he loved Pen, wasted exactly 0 moment before sending propriety so far away it wasn't even mentioned and then proceed to anhilate any obstacle on his road. He wanted Pen, no one (beside Pen) could make him come back from it.

2) He loves watching Pen experiencing pleasure. Everytime they are intimate he can't stop watching her. He gets off so much from it, he just can't help himself. He make sure she gets the best experience possible because it means so much for him.

3) King of consent. One of the sexiest thing to ever grace this earth, the way he is costantly comunicate, asking before doing something, giving Pen choice and agency, listen to her feedback both verbal and non verbal. Colin Bridgerton the man you are.

4) Demisexual king. This man wants connection and intimacy. Yes, he has sex with the sex workers, but his heart is not in the moment and as soon as he discover what is that's missing, even his body is not in it anymore. He just needs that pull you can only have when you're fully involved with another person.

5) He takes accountability for his mistakes. He says things he doesn't mean and he makes mistakes, but he also take action and actually improve and grows because of it. He learns that to be a good partner he just have to support and stand by Pen's side, no need to chance because Pen just loves him as he is.

6) He feels so much. As someone who also feels so much (as it is Pen) it is endearing and nice to watch someone going from the depth of despair to the highest of high. Sometimes it's just like that, and when you feel so much it's bound to have some drama moments.

7) He is a gentle!Dom in disguise. He just loves to guide Pen through the experience of intimacy, but he can't resist a nice places "lie down" that still makes my knees weak. You know there will be many first in which he will guide Pen in a similar way.

This man has capture my heart and soul. It's been weeks but I can't stop thinking about him and all of the things that makes him the softest boy with a strong backbone, my personal favorite combination. This man just wants to be loved and, luckily, he found his match in Pen. They could never make me hate you, Colin Bridgerton.

I'll do a 5+ things about characters, scenes, ships... Ask your own (about Bridgerton, IWTV, SPN or Buffy)

#polin #bridgerton #bridgerton season 3 #polin positivity #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton spoilers #luke newton #nicola coughlan #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #penelope bridgerton #colin my wife bridgerton #colin bridgerton the man that you are

336 notes · View notes

yankpop · 9 months ago

Text

Yandere BTS: Punishment - Maknae Line

DISCLAIMER: This is a FICTION work only made for entertainment purposes that includes yandere/dark. I do not support or encourage any type of abusive behaviour.

Check more: Masterlist.

Female reader

WARNINGS: Toxic/Unhealthy Relations; Implied Kidnapping (Jimin/Jk) ; Violence.

AN: Hope you guys like it 💖 Let me know!

Jimin

“No, no, no, please… Jimin, please!” you desperately plead, fear striking deep as his hand slowly stalks towards your ankle, his fingers teasing the soft skin with a cruel smirk on his lips at watching your reaction.

“Oh, baby, where’s the tough girl attitude now? Gone?”

You keep your lips tightly closed, eyes wide open, anxious over what is coming.

“So sad, I was enjoying seeing you pretend to be someone that you clearly aren’t.” Jimin pouts his lips, mimicking a baby voice as he makes fun of you.

But immediately his amusement soon dies, the smile scarily slipping from his face as irritation replaces it.

You hate how bipolar Jimin seems at times.

“You should've never - never - had gone against my word. Had you been a good girl to me, there would be no need to be putten back into your place."

"But you’re a stupid, dumb girl.” he spits to your face as his fingers dangerously narrow around your ankle, making you wince in distress.

You shake your head, eyes watering with silent pleas that go by ignored.

“Bad girls don’t deserve rewards. They deserve pain. That’s what you deserve, you little bitch.”

An ear-curdling scream escapes from your lips as Jimin snaps your ankle, the bone cracking with a sickening sound.

“I wanna see how far you will run away from me with a broken foot.”

Access denied.

You almost choke when the notification shows up. It can’t be real. It’s a glitch or a mistake.

It has to be.

But no matter how many times you log into your bank account, the app warning is the same.

You simply don’t have access to the money in the bank account. Your own money.

You’re so distraught by this that you don’t even notice Taehyung leaning against the door, eyes carefully seeing you.

“I suppose you’ve discovered it.”

You look up, a frown on your face.

“The bank… my account... it’s not-”

“I cut your access to it.” the words leave his mouth as if it’s no big deal.

“What? Why? It’s my money!” your voice wavers when he raises his brows, slightly annoyed at your burst.

“And you’re my girlfriend, so your money is mine too.” Taehyung solemnly declares, tongue poking in his cheek.

Your mouth drops open at his words. A flame of anger ignites inside you, only to be quickly smothered underneath his hard gaze.

“You need to-”

“No, you need to start behaving like you actually have a brain in that head of yours.” he interrupts you, raising his voice above yours, shutting you down. “You’re nothing without me. You can’t even control your own life, let alone your bank account.”

Taehyung’s tone gets meaner with every step he takes, slowly moving forwards towards you.

“Anyways, why do you even need money if I’m here to provide for you, babe? You need me and nothing else.”

Jungkook

A pained cry escapes your lips as the belt roughly connects with your sore ass. Your hand grip the sheets tighter, pain spreading through your back, making it harder to ignore.

The deep breaths you attempt to take are a failed exercise that doesn't help you at all, if anything it only makes your pain worse.

“This one is for lying to me.” Jungkook declares, voice filled with contained anger. You can only cry as the skin of your arse burns, sobbing when he twists your wrist to keep you from writhing around.

Another sharp hit has you burying your face into the bed sheets, muffling down your sobs. But you’re still able to hear him speak.

“This one is for betraying my trust.”

“This one is for being disrespectful to me.”

“This one is for spitting on my face.”

By the time Jungkook is finally over with the punishment, you’re dissolved into a complete mess of tears and snot, shaking and flinching at every movement you take.

Your ass is literally on fire, the skin too sensitive to handle the punishment you just received.

He pushes your limp body against his, forcing you into an unwanted hug. Jungkook presses a loving kiss to your sweaty forehead, humming as you cry.

“You know that I didn’t want to do this, right? But you gave me no other option, love. If you had behaved, this wouldn’t have happened. It’s your own fault.”

His tattooed hand gently pushes some hairs out of your wet cheek.

“Hopefully you’ve learnt your lesson, babe. Cause I don’t mind repeating this punishment.”

#@yankpop #yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere bts #bts yandere #bts yandere reactions #yandere bts x reader #yandere bts maknae line #yandere jimin #yandere jimin x reader #yandere v #yandere taehyung #yandere taehyung x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #tw: toxic relationships

322 notes · View notes

voxisdaddy · 1 year ago

Text

Ice Cream

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Velvette x Reader

Type: Headcanons + Drabble

C/TW: Swearing, mentions of sex, Velvette might be a bit OOC, little to no mention of reader but it’s implied, angst

In which we see how Velvette deals with her break up with reader.

Saw a comment saying something about how Velvette is the type of girl who eats ice cream when she’s sad and it got me thinking of Velvette after a break up with her s/o. So now here’s that lol headcanons + Drabble

Pt.2 Pt.3

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Velvette I can imagine just being angry over a break up rather than sad. Doesn’t matter how it ends, I just know she’s be mad.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She’s usually pretty easy to read; judgemental, quick witted, snarky, mean, and demanding. So when she’s unusually quiet in the Vee’s lounge, eating a tub of ice cream while watching some Hella Novella, the other two Vee’s are, on some level, freaked out.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ They’ve dealt with Velvette post breakup before. She’s angry. She’s mean. She destroys things in a fit of rage. No one can calm her down. Sure Vox can calm down Valentino-but that’s Valentino. The moth pimp can’t even use his smoke to try and calm her down when she’s like this. She might be “new” among the overlords and not have decades upon decades of experience being in hell, but she’s observant. She stays far away from Valentino’s smoke and charming ways as much as possible. She wants to stay mad.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This time though it’s different. Vox and Valentino had discovered the break up. Not personally from Velvette or you-whether or not they know you personally is up to you-but Valentino, who stalked your sinstagram profile the night before, noted to Vox that all the pictures of Velvette on your profile just disappeared. Vox is a busy man, so he didn’t exactly have time to quickly check and have a gossip session with Valentino. But by the time he was able to, your account didn’t even exist anymore. You deleted it. Oh ho. Now this is interesting.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ The two greeted her as usual, trying not to act too different. Valentino had a knowing smirk on his face though. I mean, how could he not? Seeing someone down in the dumps was just oh so fun~

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ In turn, Velvette just hummed in acknowledgement-muttering about grabbing another tub of ice cream from the freezer. Vox raised a brow behind her back but did retrieved the tub of ice cream anyways. It was a little thing, not like those big tubs of ice cream. But still, Velvette seemingly intending to eat it all was mildly impressive and concerning.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino joined Velvette on the couch, getting high and eating some ice cream as well. Well, from a tub of his own. Velvette doesn’t particularly like to share-but then again, none of the Vee’s do. Vox ordered some dinner to be delivered, taking off his coat and bow tie before joining his fellow Vee’s in front of the television. Velvette rolled her eyes at the two joining her on the couch. Can’t they see she wants to be left alone?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ The night comes to an end with Velvette storming out of the lounge with her dinner and a half tub of ice cream.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This routine would continue for the next 3 weeks; Come home, find Velvette eating ice cream by herself in front of the tv, try to have a decent dinner, Velvette storms off.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It wasn’t until one night where she cracked.

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ They had ordered dinner for delivery again. Tonight Velvette had not asked for anything super specific. The Vee’s knew her enough to know her taste anyways, they could figure it out. And if they don’t, that’s too bad for them now is it?

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ The food came and Velvette felt her dead heart crack. This was your favourite…

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She scowled, angrily taking her food and marching straight to her personal quarters in the Vee Tower.

“Fucking-OF COURSE they get me this!” Velvette threw her phone at the sofa. She paced around the living room, angrily stomping about and muttering obscenities under her breath.

She huffed before throwing herself on the couch. She clutched her phone as she scrolled through her sinstagram account. She had yet to delete any photos of you on her account. People in the comments were quick to point out how your entire account just seemed to have disappeared, meanwhile Velvette still held onto your pictures on hers.

Their was much speculation about the current status of your relationship. One account was wiped and one remained as though everything was fine. She opened her saved stories and looked through the anniversary pics.

She stopped on a video of the two of you giggling together. Both of you kind of sweaty but feeling quite relieved. You had just finished a session together and were now just laying in bed giggling while holding each other. You were both glowing from the anniversary sex.

The pinkette scowled.

“How dare you dump me?! I’m Velvette! I’m that bitch! I’m the backbone of the Vee’s! You can’t just leave!” She screamed, staring at a picture of you and her together.

Harsh stomping could be heard from Velvette’s floor. Vox rolled his eyes. Satan—even Valentino’s tantrums aren’t usually this obnoxious. Violent yes but stomping? What are they? Suddenly 6 years old or something?

Okay Vox’s weird preferences for tantrums aside, Velvette, uncharacteristically, found herself crying on her sofa.

Every so often she’d be looking at a picture of you, sniffling and glaring harshly.

“I coulda given you—everything!” She swiped to the next photo, “I have money,” next picture, “fame,” next picture, “respect,” she stops on a video of you saying ‘I love you’ to her.

“…”

She slams her phone down on the couch before turning to glare at the now cold dinner sitting on her kitchen island. The meal is flung to the floor in a fit of rage.

“To hell with you!”

Oh ho—you will pay.

Yes. You most certainly will.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #Hazbin hotel velvet #x reader #velvette x reader #angst #break up #velvet x reader

238 notes · View notes

queerfanfiction · 2 months ago

Note

Request: ghost!Larissa appears to reader as a disembodied head in a crystal ball and gives them comfort?

Ghosting

Prompt is shown above. :) Thank you for being so very patient, @chromium-siren!

word count: 9.6k includes: angst, fluff; cw for death, emotional abuse, and ghosts

AO3 link

Reader POV

The weight of Nevermore’s legacy has pressed heavily on your shoulders from the moment you had accepted the role of principal. Its gothic spires and shadowy halls seem alive with the whispers of generations of outcasts who had walked those corridors before. You sought the position not out of ambition but necessity—to be close to your ailing mother, to spend what little time remains with her. What you hadn’t expected was to find a crystal ball tucked away in the floorboards of the principal’s office…

“Bathe the crystal sphere in sunlight or moonlight.” Hm, but wh- oh. Crystals feed on light, okay. Can do. You read the instructions from the large and dusty textbook that you had found stuck underneath another book in the Nightshades library. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades.

You peered out the window of your office, unable to see anything but darkness. Instead, you checked your phone only to find out there was a new moon that night. Just my luck, you thought to yourself. This would have to wait. You knew your current fixation on the crystal ball was excessive. Hells, you didn’t even know much divination magic; it had never been your forté in school. Something had to go your way, though. The past two weeks had been rough, and that was putting it lightly.

It was the end of your first week at Nevermore as the new principal. The students and faculty had been guarded and resistant to your efforts for camaraderie, and you couldn’t say you blamed them. Your stomach had plummeted when you first walked by the handmade memorial for their newly deceased former principal. Larissa, you had mouthed without making any sound. Her name had tasted unfamiliar yet weighty on your lips. You remembered passing her propped-up, framed photo in the hall outside what had once been her office—how her eyes had haunted you, how they had pierced through the glass with a look that had seemed both watchful and expectant. You had felt an inexplicable, magnetic pull toward her picture, as though a thread of fate had tethered you to her the moment you had stepped into her metaphorical shoes.

When you had arrived, the principal’s office had been untouched. Larissa Weems’ belongings had still been scattered throughout the office and living quarters, their placement a silent testament to her presence. Even the air had been filled with her lingering essence—opulent tuberose and jasmine, a scent so vivid it had almost made you falter. You hadn’t been able to decide if it was a comfort or a burden, the way the room had seemed to belong more to her memory than to you. Stepping into her role had felt less like an achievement and more like an act of trespass. Had she felt this way when she had first taken the position, or had her confidence always been unshakable, as it had seemed in every account you read of her? The weight of her legacy pressed heavily on you, and the room had borne it silently, waiting to see what you did next.

Feeling like a strange intruder, you had tiptoed around the rooms during the first day, nervous to upset the preserved and well-loved space. When you had finally tired of living out of your suitcase, you had perused the inherited items curiously. That had been when you had discovered the crystal ball, hidden beneath a wood plank in the floor to the right of the giant Medusa fireplace mantle. Once your hands had touched the heavy, cool quartz, a feeling of comfort had overwhelmed you. Your shoulders had relaxed, and you had felt as if you had slipped underwater. Everything had slowed and gone fuzzy; the hair on your arms had raised, sending echoes of energy along them. With your interest piqued, you had decided to display the crystal ball on a shelf in your office, not wanting to hide it away again.

Somehow, you’ve ended up here, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your office amidst an array of occult and divination books. The faint scent of dust mingles with the aroma of lukewarm IPA—the spoils of your most recent confiscation from a pair of unruly student werewolves. The surreal combination of academic pursuits and personal grief has felt as disjointed as your new reality, but you clung to it, if only to fill the void. You reached for your phone lying on your desk, checking it for any messages from your mother’s hospice nurse or from Alison. Alison—ugh.

You grimaced as you felt pain move through your chest. Heartbreak seems too cliché to deal with at this moment. You thought these kinds of things really only happened in fiction—to Callie and Arizona on Grey’s Anatomy. Ironically, you even remembered watching their breakup over moving to Africa with Alison. At the time, it had seemed too abstract and unbelievable that two people who loved each other couldn’t work it out. How naïve, you considered with a frown. You tried not to think about how Alison hadn’t wanted to stay with you, support you, or comfort you as you take care of your ailing mother.

It has been hard relocating to Vermont. Yes, you were thankful to have an amazing job in such a picturesque area, but it was still hard to get used to. It was hard sleeping alone again. It was hard changing your entire wardrobe due to a different geographic climate. It was hard not having friends to spend time with or a support system to lean on. It was hard transitioning to a smaller town. It was hard seeing someone you care for so deeply—your kind mother—become a shell of herself.

Unwilling to spiral into too much of a pity party, you decided to set up the mysterious crystal ball on the private balcony outside to let it absorb some light. I’ll check on you tomorrow night, you cooed, blowing the inanimate object a kiss. You then shook your head slightly, baffled at your silly behavior. Wow, and this is why I don’t drink beer… you lamented.

Exhausted from the day, you came back the following evening to find no changes in the crystal ball. You heaved a heavy sigh, not really sure what you expected. Carefully, you brought it in and set it back on display in your office. You plopped down on the leather chair by the fireplace with a soft creak, taking a moment to rub at your temples. Your eyes started to sting, indicating the welling up of tears; wetness threatened to spill onto your cheeks. You bite your lip in an effort to halt getting more emotional. Don’t break down, you pleaded with yourself earnestly. It had been a particularly difficult night at your mother’s house; seeing the reality of her health decline made you feel fragile and vulnerable.

The fire crackled in the hearth, and its warm glow danced across the crystal ball that was now perched on your desk instead of the bookshelf. Despite the object’s stillness, you felt as though it was watching you—or perhaps waiting. You shook the thought away, chalking it up to your weariness. You leaned back in the chair and closed your eyes, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the armrest. The soft leather felt comforting under your fingertips, but it hadn’t stopped the ache in your chest.

After those last few weeks, the ache in your chest feels like a companion now—a heavy, unwelcome shadow refusing to leave. Shifting uncomfortably, you pulled at the throw blanket draped over the chair and tucked it around yourself, seeking warmth. The silence of the room pressed down on you. It was a strange thing, the quietness of Nevermore after dark. It wasn’t peaceful so much as it was heavy, filled with the whispers of secrets too old and too dangerous to be forgotten.

You glanced at the crystal ball again, your eyes catching a faint shimmer within its depths. Probably just the reflection of the fire, you told yourself, though the thought did little to ease the odd flutter in your stomach. You tried to take a few deep breaths, but your gaze compulsorily wandered back to your desk.

The crystal ball seemed to gleam brighter then, its surface catching and refracting the light in a way that felt almost alive. A faint, pulsating glow began to emanate from within, soft and rhythmic, like a tiny heartbeat. You squinted to look closer, your breath hitching as the glow intensified, each pulse drawing you further into its strange, mesmerizing allure. You blinked, leaning forward, almost toppling from the chair. This time, you knew the shimmer wasn’t from the fire. You froze, and the hairs on your arms stood on end.

No, it must be a trick of the light, you considered. But the logical part of your brain faltered when the glow sharpened, coalescing into a distinct shape. A face. Pale, elegant, with high cheekbones and red lips pressed into a concerned expression. The eyes, illuminated by the glow, were an arresting blue that you now knew all too well—eyes framed in the tribute photo outside your office. That photo, capturing a poised yet enigmatic Larissa Weems, had always felt like it was watching you. Now, the familiar gaze sent a shiver down your spine, as if the picture itself was coming to life.

Larissa.

Larissa POV

The crystal ball was both a prison and a perch, a paradox that Larissa Weems was still coming to terms with. The inside was surprisingly spacious. Not physically, of course, but in that odd, liminal way one might feel in a dream—weightless yet aware, detached yet painfully tethered. Suspended within its shimmering, otherworldly sphere, she felt every movement of the world around her as faint ripples, like distant echoes of a tide. Larissa had spent an indeterminate amount of time there, waiting to reunite with the world beyond the glass and dark floorboards.

This failsafe is proving to be troublesome, indeed, Larissa thought one day. As if on cue, weight above her seemed to shift as Larissa heard wood creak loudly and scuffle against itself.

Finally! the silver-blonde-haired woman exclaimed to herself. Finally, she was being unearthed from beneath the floorboards. The discovery was almost anticlimactic—a dusty sphere wrapped in an old cloth, its surface dull until warm fingers brushed against it. Larissa felt a jolt then, a spark of recognition and connection. Hope. The warm, agile fingers continued to uncover the crystal ball.

“Oh, at last! Wonderfu—” Larissa paused abruptly, changing her tone from relief and excitement to one of confusion and impatience. She didn’t recognize the woman in front of her. She had been waiting for Wednesday, Enid, Bianca—anyone to decipher the clues showing that Larissa had found a way to temporarily cheat death. “And just who are you?”

Larissa’s question wasn’t met with a response. Rude. Her savior-turned-intruder ignored her. “Excuse me,” the former principal shouted. “Put me down at once!”

However, no matter how much Larissa willed herself to be seen or heard, the strange woman holding her remained blissfully unaware of Larissa’s presence. Instead, the woman tilted her head, examining the crystal globe, but her gaze seemed to pass through Larissa like sunlight through mist.

Over the next few days, Larissa grappled with a mixture of determination and desperation. She tried everything she could think of—whispering, shouting, even attempting to roll the glass ball off the desk in a moment of frantic frustration. Nothing had worked. Her voice was absorbed into the void, leaving her with a deep, aching loneliness she hadn't felt in years. The isolation gnawed at her, a relentless reminder of her severance from the world she had once commanded. Each futile attempt to physically interact with those outside the sphere—resulting in only faint, unnoticed vibrations—tightened the knot of frustration and yearning in her chest. She longed for the tactile sensations of life: the crisp rustle of papers, the smooth glide of a pen, the comforting weight of her tailored blazers. Gods forbid, even Enid’s excited muttering or Wednesday’s deadpan quips. Instead, she floated in silence, a spectator in a world that was moving on without her. She supposed it was poetic justice to be a phantom steward of the very institution she had once ruled with iron grace.

Still, she refused to give in to despair. If there was one thing Larissa Weems excelled at, it was adapting to the impossible.

—

Larissa saw the room, the polished wood of the desk, and the clean but casual order in which the new principal kept her belongings. She saw the woman, pacing with a furrowed brow, her lips moving as she muttered something about an upcoming staff meeting.

In her silent observation, Larissa has come to admire the other woman’s resolve. Taking over as principal of Nevermore Academy was no small feat, particularly in the wake of Larissa’s own tenure. The school has its quirks, its mysteries, its dangers. Yet, this woman seemed to navigate it all with an earnest determination that Larissa found both endearing and exasperating.

“No, no, no,” the woman had muttered once, crossing out a line in her notebook with sharp, deliberate strokes. “That’ll never work. Maybe if I rearrange the seating assignments…” She had flipped back several pages, her pen darting over the paper in quick, decisive motions.

Larissa had tilted her head, amused. “Darling, it’s a staff meeting, not a battlefield,” she had murmured, though she had known the words would not reach the other woman’s ears.

Still, her inability to directly communicate didn’t stop Larissa from meddling. It became a bittersweet outlet for her pent-up emotions. At times, her subtle interference felt like a lifeline, a way to reaffirm her presence in the world she could no longer touch. Other times, it seemed like an exercise in frustration, a poignant reminder of her limitations. Regardless, it gave Larissa a flicker of purpose, and for now, that was enough to keep her going. Her influence was subtle—books falling open to the correct pages, the faintest brush of wind guiding the other woman’s hand away from disastrous decisions. When the new principal stayed late answering emails, Larissa would nudge the clock forward to remind her to go to bed. When she hesitated to discipline unruly students, Larissa would whisper encouragement, even if the words dissipated like vapor.

Once, before becoming fond of the woman, when Larissa had found the new principal poring over the schedule for the upcoming Poe Cup, she hadn’t been able to stand it. “Not that team first, you fool,” Larissa had groaned, watching as the woman placed the Fangs in the first heat. “The Sirens will tear them apart. Have you no sense of strategy?” She had passed her ethereal hand over her face, only to remember—again—that her fingers weren’t solid enough to touch anything.

The air had gone chilly, and the younger woman sitting only feet from Larissa had suddenly frowned, looking up from her work. “Is someone there?” she had uttered, scanning the room. Larissa had frozen and felt oddly sheepish, not daring to breathe—not that she had needed to anymore. When the woman had risen from her seat to close the balcony doors, Larissa had focused all of her energy into pushing forward the Black Cats token instead of the Fangs. When sitting back down to work at the desk again, the woman’s eyebrows had knitted together in confusion. Thankfully, it had only taken a moment for her to place the Black Cats in the first heat instead. During another time, Larissa had even managed to make the crystal ball glow faintly, a soft white radiance that had been dismissed as a reflection coming in from the windows.

These small victories kept Larissa going, even as the days stretched into weeks. She watched as the younger woman slowly made the role of principal her own, balancing the expectations of the staff, the students, and the peculiarities of Nevermore itself. Larissa was particularly proud of the moment the new principal reorganized the curriculum for the history of the supernatural world. She had unknowingly scrapped the rote memorization that Larissa had always despised in favor of practical, interactive learning. “Well done,” Larissa had vocalized, feeling a swell of pride.

There were moments of vulnerability, too. Late at night, when the office was quiet and the weight of the day pressed heavily on the new principal’s shoulders, Larissa felt an almost unbearable urge to reach out to her. To offer comfort, guidance, reassurance… to tell her that she was not alone.

Larissa started to verbalize all her thoughts, taking comfort in knowing others would not hear her. She reflected on her past relationships and leadership, grappling with the contradictions between her rigorous expectations and the rare, fleeting connections she managed to forge. The memories surfaced unbidden—moments of camaraderie tarnished by misunderstandings, and alliances fractured under the weight of her perfectionism. Yet, in this peculiar companionship with the oblivious principal, she found herself revisiting those failures with a bittersweet clarity. Could this enforced proximity be a second chance, not just to guide but to grow? She never thought she could get along with someone long-term, especially living together. If this could even be considered living together, she pondered.

Past attempts at close companionship had always ended in disappointment, usually due to her own exacting standards. Larissa had always preferred the solitude of her own company to the vulnerability that came with sharing her life. And yet, now, as she observed the younger principal with increasing fondness, she wondered if she had been too quick to dismiss the possibility of connection. There was something different here—an inexplicable pull that made her almost relish the forced proximity, even if it was one-sided. Yes, Larissa liked her space, often putting up a wall with others. However, she found herself waiting for the new principal to return from meetings, wishing she could usher her through tough decisions and emotional turmoil.

Larissa’s favorite days were when the other woman placed her crystal ball on the office desk. This gives me time to read important administrative missives, Larissa tried to convince herself. While that may be true, she also found herself closely watching the other woman process information. Larissa began to memorize her facial expressions, like how she pressed her lips together in a line when she was concentrating. Or how her right eyebrow rose when she was suspicious of whether or not she was getting the entire truth from a student.

“You’re doing better than you think,” Larissa had said softly one evening, as the other woman had sat with her head in her hands, the faint glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. “You’re stronger than you realize.”

The words had dissolved into the ether, unheard and unacknowledged. Larissa had spoken them anyway. She had to believe that somehow, in some small way, they make a difference.

And so she waited, tethered to the crystal ball, watching and hoping. One day, Larissa told herself. One day, the woman in front of her would see her. One day, they would speak. Until then, Larissa would be the silent sentinel, the unseen guardian of Nevermore Academy and its newest principal.

Mostly Reader POV

Before you could examine the slight glow from within the crystal ball, the soft chime of your cellphone broke the stillness of the late evening. You cleared your throat briefly and answered, “Hello?” The word hung heavily in the air.

The pause on the other end was just long enough to spark unease in your chest. Then a gentle, wavering voice came through—a familiar voice. It was your mother’s hospice nurse, letting you know that your mother passed away peacefully after you left that evening.

The world tilted. A numbness settled over you, followed by a wave of disbelief so strong it threatened to swallow you whole. You barely manage to whisper, “I appreciate you letting me know” and “Thank you for your dedication to her comfort at the end of her life” before you end the call with trembling hands. Your phone slipped slightly within your grasp as the weight of the news sank in.

You fell to your knees where you were in front of the fireplace, and your breath caught. Tears spilled from your tired eyes before you even realized they were falling. Mom, you repeat over and over in your head. You remember her smile, warm and reassuring, as she had taught you how to braid your hair for the first time. Heard her voice, steady and patient, explaining how to face fear without flinching. You remembered the way her eyes had lit up when she had seen you in your cap and gown, pride radiating from her like sunlight. Each memory sharpened the ache in your chest, but you clung to them desperately, unwilling to let her go completely. The sharp-witted woman who taught you resilience was now silenced forever. The dark mahogany walls of the office seemed to close in. Grief poured out in quiet sobs as you rose and then slumped into the leather chair, your face buried in your hands. You didn’t even notice the faint glimmer in the corner of your vision—an almost imperceptible flicker of light from the crystal ball on the desk behind you.

“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry,” a voice called, soft and uncertain, carrying an ethereal echo as if it had been traveling across time and space. The words seemed to float in the air, wrapping around you like a fragile whisper, tinged with a strange warmth that sent flutters through your body.

You froze, your head snapping up. The voice wasn’t your mother’s, but it didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar either. Your eyes darted around the room before landing on the ornate crystal sphere. The smooth surface shimmered, a faint image forming within. A face. Her face.

“Larissa?” you whispered, your voice trembling. Inside the crystal ball, Larissa’s expression was one of concern, with an intensity that made your heart pound. The usually composed demeanor you often saw her depicted in was softened by something you couldn’t quite place.

You stood slowly, disbelief warring with the raw ache in your chest. “This can’t be real. I must be losing my mind.”

“It’s real,” Larissa replied gently. “I wish it weren’t under these circumstances, but it seems your pain has... unlocked something. You were unable to hear me before tonight.” She spoke her initial words of apology not expecting any sort of reaction or response from the other woman. She just couldn’t stand to watch you hunched over in despair. You were not able to hear her over the last few weeks, so she didn’t consider that this time would be any different.

You pressed your fingers to your temples, trying to steady yourself. The surrealism of the moment clashed with the grief still roaring through your veins. “I couldn’t hear y—… You’ve been here this whole time? You—” Your voice faltered, cracking under the weight of disbelief. Your stomach twisted as everything you thought you knew was flipped on its head.

A flood of questions battled for dominance in your mind—Why hadn’t I sensed her before? How much has she seen? What does this connection mean? But the words refused to form, tangling in your throat as a mixture of awe and fear gripped you. Finally, a hoarse whisper escaped: “How… How are you here? You’re—” You stopped short, unwilling to say the word aloud.

“Dead?” Larissa offered, her tone calm and almost matter-of-fact. However, her voice was edged with a faint hesitation, as though acknowledging the weight of the word might shatter the delicate connection forming between you. “Yes. Quite inconvenient, I must admit. But one learns to adapt.” You felt a flicker of unease at her candor but also an odd comfort in her willingness to confront the truth with you.

After a few moments of raw, pregnant silence, Larissa admitted, “I’ve seen you pacing this office, running this school, handling it all with grace—even when you were clearly breaking inside. I wanted to speak to you so badly, but I couldn’t. Not until now.”

The weight of the past weeks—learning the academy, grieving in silence for your mother’s impending death—weighed on you further, and you involuntarily let out a bitter laugh. “And now you can talk to me, just when I have nothing left to give.”

Larissa’s tone grew insistent, more reassuring. “You have so much left. More than you know. I may be trapped in this... cursed glass prison, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. You’re not alone.”

You stared at the crystal ball, your heart a storm of emotions. Tears began to fall again. Despite the surreal nature of the moment, a sense of unexpected comfort washed over you. It was as if Larissa’s presence, even confined to the crystal, pierced through the isolating fog of your intense grief. Her calm reassurance felt like a lifeline, grounding you when everything else seemed to be spiraling out of control. You sank into your desk chair and let yourself feel it all—grief, disbelief, and that odd, unexpected reassurance in Larissa’s presence. For the first time since stepping into the role of principal, since moving to Vermont, you didn’t feel entirely alone.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your voice breaking again. “I—I don’t know how to do this without her.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Larissa commented softly, her pale blue eyes holding a spark of warmth. “And I’ll be here to help you every step of the way.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the smooth surface of the crystal ball. The connection between you two felt fragile but real, like a thread binding you to something steady in a world suddenly adrift. The sensation was both comforting and strange, a bittersweet tether in an unmoored reality.

As the sun settled below the horizon, the two women sat together—one confined to a sphere of glass, the other drowning in grief—and for the first time, they began to truly see each other. You found yourself marveling at the unexpected solace Larissa offered, even in her spectral form. Perhaps this connection, however strange, was what you needed to navigate both the weight of your losses and the responsibilities ahead. A flicker of hope ignited within you, fragile yet persistent, as you resolved to face tomorrow with Larissa’s steady voice as your guide.

—

Days passed in a blur of meetings, morose reflecting, and an eagerness to learn more about Larissa. Though she remained confined within the crystal ball, Larissa’s voice became a constant in your life, offering advice, sharp wit, and occasional pep talks. You found yourself relying on her in ways you never expected. And when the question finally formed on your lips, it felt like a whisper of hope. “Is there a way to... free you? To get you out of the crystal?”

Larissa’s image flickered slightly, her gaze thoughtful. “Perhaps. Magic has its intricacies, but there are always loopholes. I learned of the possibility only briefly before my death. I suspect any true release will require both research and courage—two things you have in abundance.”

Her words sent a subtle thrill through you, a renewed sense of purpose. Late nights that once felt endless and hollow now found you reading over ancient divination texts and arcane tomes, searching for clues. Larissa watched, her ethereal presence a steadying force, offering insights from her time as an educator and leader. Together, you composed fragments of spells, legends, and theories, each discovery bringing you closer to an answer.

But life didn’t pause for mysteries or magic. The academy demanded your attention, and you refused to leave Larissa behind. The crystal ball found a new home in your bag, nestled among your notebooks and pens. You carried her with you almost everywhere—staff meetings, Jericho town halls, disciplinary hearings, even casual strolls through the campus gardens. It felt strangely soothing to have her voice at your side, her sharp observations cutting through the noise of administrative chaos and duties. Though, you often wondered if Larissa could even be stopped from giving her opinion—not that others could hear her.

“You can’t let the vampires out after curfew,” Larissa had tutted one evening, her elegant features shimmering faintly in the glass sphere. “They’ll claim it’s moonlight yoga, but trust me, it’s never just yoga.”

“Really, darling,” she had quipped a different afternoon as you had sat in a budget meeting, the crystal ball resting discreetly on the table beside your laptop. “Doesn’t he realize the importance of investing in the arts? Short-sighted, if you ask me.”

You had stifled a laugh, earning a curious glance from the finance director. “I’ll bring it up,” you had whispered under your breath, your hand brushing the sphere in silent acknowledgment.

Larissa’s presence transformed even the mundane into something meaningful, something you looked forward to. Her advice was invaluable, her perspective a steadying force as you navigated the complexities of Nevermore. And though the weight of grief lingered, the ache felt lighter with her by your side. You found yourself growing around your grief—finding moments of curiosity, camaraderie, and pure laughter with Larissa.

One evening, as you sat in your office with the crystal ball glowing softly on your desk, Larissa’s voice broke the silence. “You know, I never expected to become someone’s... travel companion. But I must admit, it’s been rather enlightening.”

You smiled, the warmth of her words seeping into your chest. “You know you’re more than that, Larissa. I’m not keeping you around for your advice, though it has aided me tremendously. You’ve become... indispensable.”

Her image in the crystal ball seemed to soften, a flicker of emotion crossing her features. “As have you. Now, let’s figure out how to solve this little predicament of mine, shall we?”

The determination and fondness in her voice mirrored your own. Together, you resolved to uncover the secret to her freedom, the bond between you growing stronger with each passing day.

—

The buzzing of your phone jolted you awake later that week. It wasn't the first time that night. The screen lit up again, the harsh glow cutting through the dim warmth of your bedroom. Alison. Her name flashed incessantly, each call and text a relentless assault on the fragile calm you managed to cobble together. Hells, she even emailed your Nevermore work email trying to get ahold of you. Of course, she’d try to get in touch now, after Mom… You didn’t want to finish the thought.

Her messages blurred together in your mind—half-apologies, fragments of accusations, and nostalgic jabs meant to, no doubt, undermine the distance you put between you two. “I just don’t understand why you won’t talk to me.” “I still love you.” “You don’t even care anymore, do you?” The collection of words seeped under your skin, reigniting old wounds you thought had at least scabbed over.

You hurled your phone onto the mattress, its glow fading against the rumpled sheets as you collapsed onto the bed. The walls seemed to close in around you, the muffled sound of students outside offering no comfort. Curling in on yourself, you clutched at the hem of your sweater, the fabric collapsing under your slightly trembling fingers. Your chest heaved, feeling renewed grief, exhaustion, and the sting of Alison’s unrelenting words—until it felt like the air itself was too thick to breathe.

The crystal ball rested on the pillow next to you, movement from within catching your eye. Larissa’s image appeared within the glass, her expression soft yet pensive. “Darling,” she said, her voice low and deliberate, “you’re carrying far too much alone. I’m here for you. Though, I wish I could do more to comfort you.”

You sniffed, swiping irritably at your tears that kept falling. “What else am I supposed to do? I can’t just stop. I can’t—I—” The words choked in your throat as another sob threatened to escape.

Larissa watched you quietly, her ethereal form radiating calm even as you felt like you were experiencing the aftershocks following a disaster. “Come here,” she purred gently. Without thinking, you clutched the crystal ball and pulled it closer, cradling it like a lifeline. The smooth surface felt cool against your hands, settling you and letting you feel in your body.

“You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed,” Larissa stated, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos in your head. “You’re not a machine, and no one expects you to be.”

“I’m just so… tired,” you admitted, the words tumbling out unprompted. “Of all of it. The expectations, the grief, the constant demands. And Alison—she won’t leave me alone.”

Larissa’s image sharpened, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “Alison has no right to your peace, especially now. You don’t owe her anything.” Her tone was firm, a protective edge creeping into her voice.

You closed your eyes, letting her words wash over you for a few moments. “I know. She says she still loves me, but it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like… control. I mean, who calls someone they love selfish for moving to be closer to a sick family member?”

Larissa hummed thoughtfully, her gaze one of concern and care. “Real love doesn’t bind you or weigh you down. It lifts you, supports you—even when you feel you’ve reached your limit.” Her voice momentarily wavered, a glimmer of vulnerability crossing her features. “And you, my dear, deserve nothing less.”

The words seep into the cracks of your heart, filling spaces you didn’t realize were close to empty. Tears flowed freely from you now, unrestrained and cleansing. You pressed the crystal ball to your chest, as if hoping to absorb Larissa’s warmth through the glass.

“I wish you were here,” you disclosed, your voice barely audible. “Really here.”

Larissa’s smile was faint but achingly tender. “I’m here in every way that matters. And I’m not going anywhere.”

That night you allowed yourself to simply exist—no demands, no expectations, just the quiet relief of Larissa’s presence. As your breathing slowed and the restriction in your chest eased, you found yourself clutching the crystal ball a little tighter, Larissa’s soft glow illuminating the shadows of the room.

—

Over the next few days, you read up on crystals and their ability to hold spirits. In one text you had found in the restricted section of Nevermore’s library, you learned that crystal balls were used for scrying since ancient times. The theory was that crystals had a consciousness, and it was this energy that people connected with when they used them. Apparently, the energy could be used for spirit communication, seeing images from elsewhere, and even healing. Crystal balls were both transmitters and receivers of energy and could store information or be programmed for certain specific purposes.

Hm, does this mean a person could temporarily be stored in one? You pondered to yourself.

Later that night, the buzzing of your phone dragged you from a restless sleep again. Alison. The harsh light of her name on the screen cut through the dim warmth of your bedroom.

With a groan, you reached for the phone and silenced it, sitting it back on the bedside table. You rolled over, trying to ignore the churning in your gut—an uneasy mix of frustration, guilt, and anger. Beside you, the faint shimmer of Larissa’s presence filled the room. Though she didn’t need to sleep, she often offered to keep you company as you drifted off in the quiet hours of the night.

“She’s persistent,” Larissa uttered softly, her tone carefully neutral.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “She always was. Alison doesn’t like loose ends, and apparently, I’m one of them.”

Larissa’s expression shifted subtly, the faintest crease forming between her brows. “Do you want to talk to her?”

“No,” you maintained firmly. “Whatever she wants, it’s not about me. It’s about her. She’s… she’s looking for closure or maybe control. Either way, I’m not giving it to her.”

Larissa nodded, though the tension in her features remained. She did not press the issue, but the unease lingered between you, a silent weight neither of you could entirely shake. However, that tension came to a head the following day.

You were in the middle of a staff meeting when the door to the conference room swung open with a sharp bang. Alison stood in the doorway, her sleek, city-chic outfit and polished demeanor a jarring contrast to the gothic gloom of Nevermore. Her eyes found yours instantly, blazing with determination and expectation.

“We need to talk,” she insisted, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the meeting like a blade.

The room fell silent, every pair of eyes darting between you and the unexpected intruder. Larissa, who had been observing the meeting from her usual spot by your bag, somehow straightened. Her translucent form seemed to tighten with tension, her gaze fixed on Alison with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

You stood slowly, your chair scraping against the floor. “Alison, this is neither the time nor the place.”

“It’s never the time with you,” she shot back, stepping further into the room. “Your mother is gone. There’s nothing keeping you here anymore.”

Larissa’s sharp intake of breath was almost imperceptible, but you felt it like a ripple in the air. Her ghostly form intensified, as if she wanted to step between you and Alison but couldn’t cross the barrier of her incorporeal existence.

“Alison,” you warned, your voice low and firm, “this is inappropriate. We can talk later, outside of—”

“No,” Alison interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t get to brush me off anymore. I’ve been patient. I’ve waited. But this…” Her gaze swept the room, taking in the outcast faculty, the gothic decor, the very essence of Nevermore. “This isn’t you. It’s a phase, a distraction. You belong with me in the life we built together.”

Larissa’s image turned sharp, her usually composed demeanor cracking ever so slightly. She didn’t speak, but the intensity of her gaze conveyed everything. You felt her worry, her jealousy, and beneath it all, her fear. Fear that Alison would be right, that she might succeed in pulling you away.

But Alison was wrong. She has to be.

You squared your shoulders and pulled Alison out of the room. You met her gaze with unwavering resolve. “No,” you announced, your voice steady. “This is my life. I built it after you abandoned me. And I’m not leaving it.”

—

The days after the encounter stretched out like a taut string, each one vibrating with tension and uncertainty, like the lingering hum of a plucked chord. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the faint scent of lavender from the flowers Alison left behind afterward.

The following evening, Alison’s shadow fell over your doorstep. You didn’t answer the knock. From behind the curtains, you watched her stand there, shifting her weight from foot to foot, her hands clutching another bouquet of flowers.

The evening light filtered through her hair, casting an almost halo-like glow that made you want to laugh bitterly. After a few minutes, she left, the flowers placed carefully on your front mat. You didn’t pick them up. When Larissa asked about it later, her voice calm but probing, you shrugged. “I’m not ready.”

Larissa didn’t press further, but her gaze lingered on you, a mixture of concern and quiet encouragement. The flowers stayed on the doormat until morning, their colors dulling from the night’s chill. By then, the sight of them felt too overwhelming, and you tossed them into the trash without another glance.

The next morning, Alison’s texts grew more insistent. “Can we talk?” “I’m sorry.” “Please.” You read them but didn’t respond, the words blurring together as guilt and anger wrestled within you. You began avoiding your phone entirely, turning it face-down on the counter and letting its notifications pile up unchecked. Larissa’s voice hummed softly from the crystal ball as you paced in your office. “You don’t have to face her yet,” she cooed. “Or ever. It’s your choice, darling.” Her words were reassuring, but they also felt like a challenge—one that urged you to confront the raw wound Alison’s persistence kept reopening.

By the third day, Alison’s persistence began to wear at you. Each knock, each message, chipped away at the fragile wall you built to protect yourself. Guilt and frustration churned within you, an exhausting cycle that left you pacing your living quarters, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. The pressure of Alison’s determination felt constant, as if she had found a way to exist in the very air around you. She visited again in the early evening, knocking lightly at first, then louder. This time, she did not leave flowers. Instead, her voice drifted through the door, muffled but earnest. “I’m not giving up on us,” she informed the unanswered door. You sat on the floor, your back pressed against the door, listening but saying nothing. You couldn’t decide if her earnestness was true. Her words hung in the silence, and they seemed to echo in your mind long after her footsteps retreated. When Alison had finally left, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the pressure in your chest easing only slightly.

Larissa’s presence was a balm in the quiet that followed. She didn’t speak this time, simply watching you from the crystal ball, her expression unreadable but steady. You met her gaze and felt a wave of strength return. It didn’t last long, though. Messages and memories crept back into your thoughts the moment the room fell silent again. You wondered if it was possible to truly move forward when the past insisted on clawing its way back.

The fourth day dawned with a kind of weary inevitability. Alison’s texts came again, but this time, they were less frantic, more measured. “I’m not giving up… I just hope you’ll hear me out when you’re ready.” The change in tone unsettled you more than her earlier desperation. That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, Alison showed up once more. Her knock was sharp, more demanding than before. This time, you opened the door, just a crack, enough to see her face. Her pleading exterior from the earlier days seemed to have worn away, revealing a bubbling frustration that she struggled to contain. She fidgeted as she talked, her voice louder than before, her gestures sharper.

“I’m not here to beg,” she expressed firmly. “But I need you to know I’m not the same person who walked away. Let me explain.”

You glanced back at the crystal ball, where Larissa’s image materialized. Her brow arched slightly, her silence urging you to trust yourself. With a deep breath, you opened the door wider. Alison stepped inside, her movements careful.

She set a small, weathered box on your desk. The box, adorned with faint scratches and a delicate floral engraving, seemed as if it held not just objects but fragments of something far more fragile—hope, regret, and longing all pressed into its corners. Inside, you found a collection of mementos—a pressed flower from a long-forgotten date, a concert ticket stub, a handwritten note you had once slipped into her bag. “I’ve kept these,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “They’re pieces of us. Of what I threw away when I let my fear take over.”

You were silent, processing her words and their intentions. “Alison,” you began, but she cut you off gently.

“I know I hurt you,” she admitted, her expression showing a battle between frustration and hurt. “And I’m not asking for forgiveness, not yet. I just want you to know that I’ve been working to be better. To be someone who deserves you.”

Larissa’s voice rang through the tense atmosphere, her tone measured as she asked you, “And what of the burden she placed on you? The hurt she left behind?”

Alison was not able to hear her, but the question lingered in the air, a reminder of the pain you carried. You met Alison’s gaze, searching for sincerity, for proof that her words weren’t just a temporary salve.

“I appreciate what you’re saying,” you said finally, your voice steady but guarded. “But this isn’t something that can be fixed with apologies or memories. It would take time. And I don’t know if I have that time to give.”

Alison’s shoulders slumped momentarily before a renewed irritability dominated her movements. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, and her breath became sharp and uneven. “That’s bullshit,” Alison blurted, her voice clipped and tense.

You glanced briefly at Larissa, the shimmering presence within the crystal ball radiating an unspoken concern. Confusion crossed Alison’s face as she followed your gaze, her expression morphing from irritation to something more unsettled. “What are you staring at?” she snapped, eyes darting to the crystal ball with a mix of disdain and confusion.

You stiffened at her tone, your fingers gripping the edge of your office chair. “It’s none of your business, Alison,” you responded evenly, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed your unease.

Alison let out a short, bitter laugh. “Not my business? I’m here trying to fix this,” she gestured between the two of you, her movements growing more erratic. Her frustration was palpable as she continued, a storm of emotions building in the small room. “And you’re just zoning out, staring at a damn crystal ball?”

“It’s not a competition,” you replied defensively. Your gaze shifted involuntarily back to where Larissa’s calm, watchful presence resided. Alison caught the movement and followed your eyes, her frustration igniting into raw anger.

“Look at me,” she demanded, stepping toward the desk. “Look at me!” she huffed again when you didn’t respond immediately or the way she wanted. Without warning, Alison reached out and grabbed the crystal ball, lifting it with force. She brought it to her face, as though to inspect the source of your distraction. Her grip was tight, her knuckles white against the smooth glass.

“Alison, stop!” you said sharply, rising from your seat. Panic coiled in your chest as you took a hurried step forward, reaching out toward the sphere. “You don’t understand what you’re doing.”

She hesitated, her anger flickering with momentary uncertainty, but the tension in her grip didn’t ease. “What I’m doing?” she echoed menacingly. “I’m trying to get through to you, but all you care about is this… this orb!” Her voice cracked, and for a fleeting second, vulnerability seeped through her fury.

“It’s not just an orb,” you pleaded, your voice softer now but no less urgent. “Just put it down.”

Alison’s eyes darkened, her head shaking in disbelief as she considered your words. “Fine.” Her voice dripped with venom. Just then, with deliberate carelessness, Alison loosened her grip and let the crystal ball slip from her fingers.

Time slowed. You lunged forward, heart hammering in your chest, but it was too late. The sphere tumbled through the air, distorting the dim light of your office in fractured and distorted reflections. And then—

A dull, heavy thud as it struck the wooden floor, rolling a few inches before settling. The sound wasn’t sharp or catastrophic, but as you stepped closer, a dreadful chill crawled up your spine. A thin, jagged crack marred the smooth surface, a single imperfection that felt far worse than if it shattered completely.

You sank to your knees, hands trembling as you reached for it, cradling the cool sphere with cautious reverence. Larissa’s presence within seemed unclear, her expression unreadable. The air around you thickened, weighted with something unseen yet deeply felt. Your breath came in shallow bursts, shock gripping you in place.

Alison scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh, come on, it didn’t even break.”

Your head snapped up, and for the first time since she walked back into your life, true anger burned behind your eyes. “You don’t get it,” you let out, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried, sharp and unrelenting. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

Alison shifted on her feet, her bravado faltering. “I was trying to get you to listen to me,” she insisted, but her voice lacked its previous certainty.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your palm against the damaged crystal as if you could will it whole again. “I was listening,” you voiced simply. Your gaze was piercing, and your eyes flashed a warning to Alison. “But you didn’t like what you heard.”

Before she could attempt to twist the situation further, you rose to your feet, carefully placing the crystal ball back onto its secured stand. Turning to Alison, you straightened your posture. “You need to leave Nevermore’s grounds at once. If necessary, I will have security escort you. And Alison—I don’t think you want to be dragged out by a golem.”

Alison’s eyes widened, startled by your decisiveness. She was not used to this version of you, the one who held firm instead of bending. “Why are you making this such a big deal?”

“Because I’m done,” you said with finality. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you, but I’m grateful I can see clearly now. Goodbye, Alison.” Your footsteps were firm, resolute, as you strode to your desk and pressed the button to summon security. You didn’t watch her leave. You didn’t need to.

Once Alison left, hopefully forever, you turned back to Larissa’s damaged vessel, heart pounding with unspoken dread. What does this mean?

“Larissa, how do you feel? Are you well?” your voice was tender yet tinged with panic.

For a moment, there was silence, and then Larissa’s voice rang out, exasperated yet reassuring. “I could use some red wine right about now,” she murmured. “I’m a little shaken up, but yes, darling. I’m okay.”

Relief flooded through you, but as your fingers traced the crack in the crystal, one thought lingered—what would happen if the fracture grew?

—

The day of the ritual dawned bright and cold, the winter sun glinting off the frosted panes of Nevermore’s windows. You barely slept the night before, poring over the ancient tome you unearthed from the academy’s restricted section. You found an obscure incantation tucked within a dusty tome in the library. The spell was a delicate one—more art than science—and it demanded precision. One misplaced word or faltering syllable, and you might doom Larissa to an eternity in the glass. You knew it was risky, but you needed an answer, something tangible to address Larissa’s crystal ball predicament. You decided you wouldn’t go another day with her sphere cracked, threatening the connection and manifestation holding Larissa to the glass orb.

“Are you certain about this?” Larissa’s voice remained calm, though her expression betrayed a flicker of unease. She sat—or rather hovered—within the crystal sphere, her hands folded in her unseen lap as though she were merely preparing for another faculty meeting.

Your heart clenched at the sight. You reached out, your fingers brushing the cool surface of the sphere. “I’m sure, Larissa,” you said softly. “I’m not letting you stay trapped in there any longer. Especially after Alison almost broke your crystal ball.”

Larissa’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Very well. Just promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

“Too late for that,” you muttered, earning a soft chuckle from Larissa.

The ritual was set to take place in the privacy of the principal’s office, with wards cast to keep any curious students or staff from interrupting. You meticulously arranged the necessary components: a ring of salt around the sphere, candles placed at cardinal points, and a single drop of your own blood—a symbol of the bond you formed with Larissa over the months.

As the spell began, the room seemed to hold its breath. Your voice was steady, each word of the incantation resonating with an ancient power that thrummed through the air. The candles flickered wildly, their flames leaping about as if caught in a storm. The crystal sphere began to glow, a brilliant light emanating from within, illuminating Larissa’s serene yet expectant face. As you chanted the words, magic crackled in the air, filling the room with an almost unbearable brightness.

And then, the shattering. It wasn’t the loud, explosive sound you anticipated. Instead, it was a soft, almost melodic breaking, like the chime of distant bells. The light intensified, forcing you to shield your eyes, and when it finally dimmed, you blinked rapidly to clear your vision.

Larissa Weems stood before you. The crystal sphere laid shattered on the floor, and standing in its place was Larissa. Her full height—stately, commanding—took up the room in a way you didn’t expect.

She was breathtaking. Her silvery-blonde hair caught the candlelight, and her storm-blue eyes met yours with a mixture of wonder and gratitude. She was tall—so much taller than you imagined—and every inch of her radiated the elegance and authority you came to associate with her voice. Her long, statuesque frame was clad in a white suit that hugged her in all the right places, her presence almost magnetic. Your gaze lingered, your breath hitching as Larissa’s lips parted, a small smile curling at the edges.

“Oh,” you said faintly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa’s lips curved into a warm smile. “Oh?” she echoed, arching a graceful brow while brushing glass dust from her pristine white suit.

“You’re… you’re really tall,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself. You had so many thoughts, and yet, that was the one that escaped.

Larissa laughed, a rich, melodic sound that had filled the room. “And you’re as charming in person as you were through glass.” She took a step forward, and your breath caught in your throat. “Thank you,” Larissa breathed softly, her voice carrying a depth of emotion that made your chest tighten. “For everything.” Her hand reached out, her fingers brushing your cheek with a featherlight touch that threatened to have goosebumps rise over your skin.

You could only nod, your throat too tight to form words. Larissa’s elegance, height, beauty… all of it left you breathless. The warmth of Larissa’s hand lingered, and the faint scent of jasmine and tuberose filled the air once again.

—

Life with Larissa no longer confined to a crystal ball was… an adjustment. For months, you were accustomed to her presence as a voice from your desk or a comforting shimmer of light on an eye-level shelf. Now, she was here—fully, gloriously here—and the height difference was only the first of many things you needed to get used to.

It started with small things—like Larissa reaching up to hand you a book you needed, only for you to realize you couldn’t quite meet her gaze without tilting your head back. This was a fact that Larissa seemed to find endlessly amusing, her eyes always sparkling endearingly. There was the way Larissa filled a room, her presence as impressive in the flesh as it was in the sphere. Or when Larissa leaned over you while you worked, her shadow cast across the desk like a protective canopy.

There were other moments, too—moments that made you realize just how much your dynamic has shifted. Larissa’s proximity was intoxicating, her scent enveloping you and making it hard to focus. All you wanted was to be near her now that you two could finally touch. There was an electricity between you two that neither of you were able to ignore, a magnetic pull that made every brush of fingers or shared glance feel charged.

And then there were the kisses. Oh Gods, the kisses. The first time you gathered the courage to kiss her one evening—emboldened by the soft glow of candlelight—you forgot just how tall Larissa was. You leaned up onto your tiptoes, wobbling slightly as Larissa caught you by the waist and cupped your cheek to steady you, her smile indulgent.

“You’re adorable,” Larissa insisted, tilting her head down to meet you halfway.

“You’re... tall,” you replied mousily and breathless once again.

“You’re just noticing?” Larissa teased. Her lips were soft as silk, and the kiss was slow and lingered. It left you wanting more. So much more. Larissa’s hands slid to your hips, her grip firm but tender, and you found yourself melting into her, your hands fisting in the fabric of her suit to keep steady.

“This would be easier if you were a little shorter,” you remarked against her lips, earning another laugh from Larissa. Mmm, I could get used to this.

“Or if you were a little taller,” she countered, her eyes sparkling with amusement. Larissa’s fingers trailed lightly along your jaw and then neck, her touch sending delicious shivers down your spine.

Over time, you found your own ways to adapt. You learned to stand a little straighter, to reach a little higher, and to embrace the moments when Larissa effortlessly scooped you into her arms with surprising strength. Larissa, for her part, seemed to delight in your determination, often teasing you with a raised brow or a playful smirk.

Beneath the teasing was a deep and abiding affection, a bond forged over months of shared secrets and quiet nights spent working together. Larissa’s freedom from the crystal ball may bring challenges, but it has already brought substantial joy—the kind of joy that made your heart swell every time Larissa’s laughter echoed through the halls of Nevermore.

And if you needed to stretch onto your tiptoes for the occasional kiss? Well, you decided, it’s a small price to pay for the privilege of standing beside Larissa Weems.

#request #requests #ghosting #cw mention of death #cw mentions of emotional abuse #cw ghosts #I don't think there is anything else to tag for content warnings?#fanfiction #fanfic #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal larissa weems #crystal ball

57 notes · View notes

mydearviserra · 2 months ago

Text

Stones

Warning: Death, grief, affair

A whole year it took to finish his outfit

It was his favorite of all his clothing, he loved how much details and effort you took. One whole year of trying to finish this damn thing, he would often distract me from the beading pulling you away to crush his lips against yours then ultimately bed ending up on the bed. One found moment was when you were just almost done, he pulled you away again just for you to reluctantly pull away begging him your almost finished yet that night we broke the bed. Days we laughed at that day how embarrassing it was to call for a bed replacement.

You stood rigidly beside Tywin's bier, your face a mask of grief-stricken composure even as tears carved silent paths through the fine lines around your eyes and down your cheeks. The red gown you wore seemed to shimmer with each suppressed shudder, the Lannister lion crest emblazoned upon your bodice appearing almost mocking in its joviality. Your hands, clad in delicate silk gloves, gripped the side of the dress tightly as you gazed down at her deceased husband's still form, his eyes closed eternally beneath the stone likeness of his own stern visage.

Though the septa chanted solemn hymns and the nobles murmured their condolences, you barely heard them. Your mind was a tempest of anguish and rage, the betrayal you had discovered mere days ago still raw and festering. After fourteen years of marriage, three sons born from your womb, and Tywin had been rutting with some common whore? The shame of it burned hotter than your sorrow

there was a fragility to your poise, a barely restrained vulnerability that belied the strength and resilience she had long since cultivated. As your gaze flicked to Cersei, standing haughtily across the aisle, you felt a surge of loathing so intense it nearly choked you.

Turning back to Tywin, you whispered a final, fervent prayer, your voice trembling almost imperceptibly. "I loved you," you said softly, the words a benediction and an accusation all at once. "I loved you," you repeated, as if trying to convince yourself he’ll hear you

leaning closer, your gloved hand trembling as you reached out to caress Tywin's cold, lifeless cheek. Your eyes shimmering with unshed tears and barely contained rage, bored into his shuttered ones as if trying to wake him, to force him to account for his heinous betrayal.

"How could you do this to me, Tywin?" You whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. "After all these years, after the children we made together, how could you sully our marriage with some- some harlot?" Your breathing hitched on a sob, your fingers curling into a fist against his cheek.

"I wanted to hate you," you hissed, tears spilling down your face to splatter onto the stone covering Tywin's chest. “I tried to hate you, but I cannot. I cannot, because despite everything, I still... I still loved you, you wretched man." You choked on another sob, your body shaking with the force of your anguish and fury.

"I loved you," you repeated, your voice rising in pitch and volume, echoing through the cavernous sept. "And this is how you repaid my love? By taking some common whore to your bed? By defiling our marriage vows, our family name?" You shook your head "I wanted to scream at you, to rage against your betrayal until my throat was raw. I wanted to shake you, to make you see the pain you've caused me, caused our boys..."

Your voice dissolved into incoherent whispers and anguished cries, your body wracked with silent sobs as you leaned over Tywin's bier. The few mourners present cast furtive glances your way, murmuring their sympathy and unease. Yet you were lost in your own world of grief and fury, trapped in the prison of your own shattered heart.

“How could you forget, Tywin? How could you forget all the joyous moments we shared, all the laughter and love that filled our chambers? Do you remember the nights you worshipped my body, your calloused hands exploring every curve and contour as if mapping out the very essence of my being? I remember the way you would kiss me until I was breathless, until the world fell away and there was nothing but your touch, your passion, your love..."

You trailed off, a choked sob escaping your lips as you recalled happier times. "And the hours I spent, stitching and sewing, my fingers aching from the labor of love I poured into every stitch, every embroidered lion and golden rose. The outfit I made for you, the one you wear now in this final repose - it took me a year, Tywin. A year of my life, of my love, poured into a garment I hoped you would cherish, would honor, as much as I cherished and honored you."

You let out a bitter, mirthless laugh, shaking your head. "But you were too busy defiling our marriage, too busy rutting with some harlot to appreciate the time and love I put into your clothes, your life. You distracted me from my sewing with your kisses, your caresses, your lovemaking. And now, now you lie here in the fine garments I made for you, wearing them only to be buried in. It's a mockery, Tywin. A cruel, twisting mockery of all the love and happiness we once shared."

You leaned closer, your gloved hand fisting in the fine silk of Tywin's funeral shroud. "I wanted to give you everything, Tywin. I wanted to make you happy, to stand by your side as your wife and partner in all things. But now... now I don't know if I can even look at you, let alone mourn you as I once would have. You've taken a piece of my heart and shattered it, and I fear it will never be whole again."

Your voice hardened with bitter accusation as you confronted Tywin's corpse, your eyes flashing with jealous rage. "I want to know about her, Tywin. That harlot, that... that whore. What made her so different, so irresistible that you would betray our marriage vows, our family, for her?" You spat the words

"Was she more beautiful than I? More skilled in the art of lovemaking? Did she whisper sweet lies and empty flatteries in your ear, stroking your ego and your pride until you forgot the woman who had stood faithfully by your side for over a decade?" Your voice rose, echoing through the vaulted chamber as you gave vent to her pain and anger.

"She could not have loved you, Tywin. She could not have appreciated the man you were, the power and influence you wielded. She was a opportunist, a harlot who saw in you a means to elevate her station, to line her pockets and fill her belly." Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the silk of your gloves creaking under the force of your grip.

"And yet, you looked her way. You touched her flesh, joined your body with hers, when you had a wife who loved you, who cherished you, who gave you sons and built a life with you." You shook your head. "I will never understand it, Tywin. I will never comprehend how you could cast aside the love and loyalty of your wife for a moment's fleeting pleasure with a woman who cared for nothing but herself."

Fresh tears spilled down your face as you loomed over Tywin's bier, her voice breaking on an anguished sob as she lifted her hands again caressing his cheeks "You broke my heart, Tywin. You broke our marriage, our family, with your betrayal. And now, now you lie here, beyond reach of my anger, my sorrow, my desperate need to understand why. Why, Tywin? Why her? Why not me, your wife, your y/n ?

"If only you had loved Tyrion, truly loved him as a father should love his son, none of this would have come to pass. He was your son, your own blood, and yet you cast him aside, treated him with contempt and scorn." Your hands cupped his cheeks, your warm skin mixing with his cold flesh sent a shiver of resentment

"If you had given Tyrion the love, the approval, the support he so desperately craved from you, he would have never felt the need to seek revenge. He would have been content, proud to be your son, your heir. But you denied him that, and in doing so, you sowed the seeds of your own destruction." Your eyes blazed with a mixture of sorrow and accusation as you gazed down at your husband's dead face.

"Tyrion loved you, Tywin, as only a son can love his father. And you repaid that love with cruelty and neglect. You rode him, mocked him, belittled his every achievement. You even went so far as to have him imprisoned, to threaten his life, all for the sake of your precious honor." The tears of bitter disappointment dripping down to his face

"If you had simply shown Tyrion the love and acceptance he needed, he would have never resorted to such desperate measures. He would have been grateful, loyal, true to you and our family. But instead, your intransigence, your stubborn refusal to see the good in him, to love him as he deserved to be loved, drove him to the brink of madness."

Your rose to a anguished scream as you confronted Tywin's lifeless form. "This is your doing, Tywin! Your cruelty, your blindness, your utter failure as a father and a husband. If you had only loved Tyrion, truly loved him, then he would not have had to kill you for you to finally acknowledge him, to finally see him as your son. And now, now you lie here, beyond redemption, beyond forgiveness, and all because you could not, would not love your own son!”

You slumped against the edge of Tywin's bier, your body shaking with the force of your sobs as the weight of your anguish and fury crashed down upon her. You gripped the cold stone with white-knuckled fingers, your head bowed as tears fell onto Tywin's shrouded chest. Your voice was a broken whisper, raw with emotion.

"How could I not have seen it before, Tywin? The seeds of your downfall, the rot that festered in your heart and mind, driving you to cast aside all that you held dear? I thought our love was stronger, our family unbreakable, but I was a fool." You laughed bitterly, the sound muffled against his chest . "I was a fool to believe that a man who could not love his own son, his own flesh and blood, could ever truly love me."

. "I will have to be strong now, Tywin. I will have to be strong for our sons, for they have lost their father and must now navigate a world that will seek to take from them what they have inherited. And I will have to find a way to forgive you, to lay this bitterness and anger down, so that I may be the mother they need." The further you buried your face against his chest it made your stomach turn, the stiffness, the way his clothes didn’t even get to smell like him yet. For a moment, a split moment I was waiting for him to caress my head and call me his sweet dove.

. "I loved you, Tywin. I loved you so deeply, so profoundly, that I gave you everything I had to offer. My youth, my beauty, my fertility, my loyalty, my devotion... I surrendered it all to you, to us, to the future we were meant to build together." You rose him his chest, your hand cupping onto his. His cold empty hands once held a ring he cherished. His wedding ring now sat on my middle finger

You leaned in closer, her forehead nearly touching his. "But you, you threw it all away. You cast aside the love and devotion of your wife, your partner, your soulmate, for the fleeting pleasures of a harlot's flesh. And in doing so, you destroyed everything we had, everything we were."

"I wanted to grow old with you, Tywin. I wanted to sit by the hearth of our castle, our hands entwined, reminiscing about the life we had built together, the love we had shared. I wanted to watch our grandchildren play at our feet, to know that all we had sacrificed, all we had endured, had been for a purpose. But now, now there will be no golden years, no twilight days filled with the warmth of our love."

You pulled back slightly, your eyes searching Tywin's shuttered ones as if trying to find some semblance of the man you had once loved. "I will never forgive you for this, Tywin. I will never forgive you for taking everything I had to give and leaving me with nothing but the hollow shell of a life, a family, a love that once meant everything to me. And now, now I must find a way to fill the void you've left behind, to rebuild the wreckage of a life shattered by your betrayal."

You took a final, shuddering breath, your voice a broken whisper as you leaned in to press a kiss upon Tywin's cold, still lips. "Goodbye, my love. Goodbye, my heart. I will always love you, even as I learn to hate you for the cruelty and pain you've inflicted upon me, upon our sons, upon all those who dared to love you. Farewell, Tywin. May the gods grant you the peace and redemption you denied yourself in life."

Cersei approached the bier where Tywin lay, her emerald gown sweeping behind her as she walked. Her face was a mask of cold, aloof beauty, but her eyes glittered with a cruelty She paused beside you, looking down at Tywin's corpse with a thinly veiled smirk playing at the corners of your ruby lips

Jamie followed close behind, his hand resting gently on the small of Cersei's back. He cut a striking figure in his black armor, the golden lion of Lannister etched into the breastplate. His face was etched with sorrow and grief, but there was a hardness to his eyes, a steely determination that suggested he would not let Tywin's death go unavenged.

As they approached, you looked up, your tear-stained face a picture of anguish and despair. You knew the animosity between you and Cersei, the jealousy and hatred that had festered in the woman's heart for years. She braced herself for the cutting remarks, the barbed words of condolence that you knew Cersei would not be able to resist voicing.

Cersei leaned in close to you , her voice a low, venomous hiss. "My dear y/n," she purred, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Please accept my deepest condolences on the loss of your beloved husband. I know how much you cherished him, how devoted you were to his every whim and desire." She paused, letting the implication of her words sink in, the unspoken accusation that you had failed to keep Tywin's affections and loyalties.

Jamie stepped forward, his hand tightening on Cersei's arm. "Cersei,” he warned, his voice low and filled with a quiet menace. "This is not the time or the place for your cruelty and spite. y/n has lost her husband, the father of her children. Have some pity, some compassion."

Cersei merely smirked, pulling away from Jamie's grasp. "Oh, but I do have pity, dear brother. I pity Y/n , for she has lost so much more than a husband. She has lost the love and respect of her family, of her people. And all for the sin of not being able to keep her man happy”

"You think you have the right to judge me, Cersei? To cast aspersions on my love, my devotion, my loyalty to Tywin?" Your voice rose, echoing through the vaulted chamber. "You, who have never known the depth of love and commitment that I shared with your father?"

You took a step towards Cersei, your head held high, your chin jutting out in a gesture of defiance. "I gave Tywin everything I had to give, Cersei. Every ounce of my love, my passion, my very soul. I stood by his side through every trial, every tribulation, every triumph. I bore his children, I built his legacy, I loved him with a fierce and unyielding devotion that you could never begin to comprehend."

Your voice cracked with emotion, but you pressed on, undeterred. "And you dare to stand there, to look down at me. Your jealousy- of me isn’t anything compared to the hatred I have for you how you made me miserable yet you know Tywin love me more then he ever did Joanna. Don’t start reflecting your miserable life to make yourself feel better. Seven hells you couldn’t keep Robert happy! You walk around with bastards of your own brother don’t you dare start with me!”

#x reader #x female reader #asoif/got #game of thrones #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #got tywin #tywin lannister smut #house lannister #cersei lannister #jamie lannister #got fanfiction #got x reader #oneshot #got x y/n #charles dance

54 notes · View notes