#i do want to write for all the skipped prompts

[earthlybeam]

Hi! I absolutely adore your work and I’ve devoured it every chance I’ve had. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to do the elves (Haldir, Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, and whoever else you want to add) having a elven partner who is a healer and is looking after them after an injury of some kind.

I’m a nursing student and this is like a dream imagine situation for me 🩷

Thank you so much for your kind words! 🫶 I’d be more than happy to write small prompts for you. Here’s a brief healing moment for each of the elves you mentioned, featuring you as their healer and partner: Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir, lindir versions below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The hunt had begun with the quiet grace that was characteristic of Thranduil’s people. The dense forest, usually so full of life, was eerily calm this morning, a stillness that seemed to press against the senses. The Elvenking rode ahead of his party, astride his great elk, a majestic creature with antlers like the branches of an ancient tree. His crown of silver leaves sparkled faintly in the early morning light, a regal symbol that made him appear as much a part of the woodland as the trees themselves. For all his calm and collected demeanor, Thranduil was acutely aware of the strange quiet that had fallen over the forest. Birds were absent, and the air was thick with an unsettling tension. He narrowed his eyes, his sharp senses pricking at the hairs on the back of his neck. A faint rustling somewhere in the underbrush caught his attention—just the wind, perhaps? Or was it something more?

He shook the feeling off, urging his elk forward, confident in the power of his animal companion, who had always been steady and obedient. But today was different. A sudden, high-pitched noise broke the stillness of the woods. It was sharp and unnatural, a sound that seemed to slice through the calm. Thranduil’s elk startled, its massive body jerking under the pressure of the unexpected noise. The great creature reared, its hooves striking the air with panicked force, its broad nostrils flaring as it bolted forward, completely unhinged. Thranduil gripped the reins, trying to steady the animal, but the suddenness of the reaction took him by surprise. His usual command of his elk, honed over centuries of companionship, faltered in the face of the unexpected terror. He cursed softly under his breath, pulling on the reins with all his strength, trying to bring the creature under control. But the elk was frantic, its large body surging forward in an uncontrollable panic.

The forest blurred in a frantic rush of color as Thranduil fought to regain control. Trees flashed by on either side, their trunks becoming mere shadows in the chaos. His elk’s hooves thudded loudly on the ground, thundering with each panicked stride. Thranduil’s focus was razor-sharp—his mind calculating, analyzing—but the panic in the creature beneath him was becoming harder to quell. He could feel the animal’s muscles twitch, its body straining against the sudden onslaught of fear. Thranduil’s grip tightened on the reins, urging the beast to slow, to regain its balance. And for a brief moment, it seemed as though the creature might listen. The frantic pace began to slow, the elk’s breathing heavy and wild. But the moment of calm was fleeting. With a final, frightened lurch, the great elk skidded to a halt, the jarring motion coming so suddenly that Thranduil’s body was violently thrown forward.

Before he could react, his own momentum pulled him from the saddle. His heart skipped a beat as he was yanked from his perch, flung headfirst toward the unforgiving forest floor. His mind barely registered the collision as his head slammed into the thick, gnarled root of a tree that had risen just out of sight beneath the foliage. The world spun in an instant—bright stars bursting across his vision, the sharp sting of impact exploding in his skull. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was nothing but the feeling of weightless void. He could hear the rapid thud of his own heartbeat in his ears, and his mind fought to keep focus as pain rippled through his body. His breath came in shallow gasps, but his limbs refused to move. Everything felt… distant. Then, as the fog of shock slowly began to clear, Thranduil tried to push himself up, but his head felt as though it were encased in stone. His vision swam, and a thin line of blood trickled down his temple, mingling with his platinum blonde hair. The cold, rough texture of the tree root under his skull sent a jolt of reality through him, and he realized with a sudden clarity that he had fallen hard—far harder than he had intended. The once unyielding strength in his limbs seemed to falter, and for the first time in ages, he felt vulnerable.

His breaths came in uneven gasps as he tried to gather himself, his hands reaching out to steady himself, but the world around him seemed to waver like a fading dream. The moment of stunned silence was broken by the frantic cries of his hunting party, the sound of hurried footsteps and panicked voices drawing closer. “My king!” one of his hunters called, his voice trembling with fear. But Thranduil could do nothing but lie there, his once-proud composure shattered in the wake of the fall. His crown, symbolic of his power and pride, lay broken beside him, shattered pieces of silver scattered across the forest floor like remnants of a forgotten kingdom. And for the first time in centuries, the Elvenking—proud, untouchable, and fierce—was brought low.

The Elvenking’s hunting party had returned in chaos. His majestic elk, usually so composed and steady, had burst through the gates without its rider, Thranduil. Panic rippled through the gathering of elves, their faces pale as whispers of uncertainty and fear spread like wildfire. The sharp tang of alarm filled the air, a feeling so foreign, it tightened around your chest with unrelenting force. Without a word, you pushed past the gathering elves, your legs moving before your mind could fully catch up. You followed their frantic gestures, their pointing fingers leading you into the depths of the forest, each step heavy with the growing dread that something had gone terribly wrong.

The further you went, the more the forest seemed to have shifted—branches shattered underfoot, the ground churned, as if something had violently disturbed the natural peace of the woods. A sickening stillness hung in the air. And then, through a veil of broken branches, you found him. Thranduil lay sprawled across the forest floor, his form crumpled in a way that was far too unnatural for someone as regal as him. His platinum blonde hair, once gleaming like moonlight, was matted with blood, his crown shattered beside him as if it had been violently torn from his head. His face was pale, eyes closed, a deep gash on his temple still weeping blood. The sight of him, the proud and mighty king who had stood unyielding for centuries, brought low in such a manner, made your heart stutter. You froze for a moment, an icy wave of fear flooding your senses.

But that fear quickly turned into action. Dropping to your knees at his side, your hands trembled as you reached for him. His head had struck the ground with brutal force, the impact clear in the way his body lay unnaturally still. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath as you gently brushed the strands of hair away from his face, your fingers lightly grazing his cool skin. His chest rose and fell, a small, comforting sign of life, but the stillness of his limbs sent a shiver down your spine. “Thranduil,” you called, your voice low and urgent, though your throat constricted around the words. You needed him to respond. You needed him to fight. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were not the sharp, calculating eyes you knew so well. They were dulled, unfocused, clouded with the disorientation of pain and the shock of his fall. The king, the great Thranduil, was not the figure of command you had always known in this moment. He was human, vulnerable, and it tore at something deep within you. He blinked a few times, his gaze struggling to focus on you as if the world around him was spinning out of control

Thranduil’s eyes fluttered open slowly, a haze of confusion clouding his usually sharp gaze. His brow furrowed, still trying to make sense of what had happened. The pain in his temple was blinding, the force of his fall nearly unbearable, but his pride—his unyielding pride—held him back from fully acknowledging it. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, trying to hold on to his usual commanding presence. The world around him was dizzy, but the sound of your voice cut through the fog. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling but firm as you gently cradled his head, lifting it slightly to inspect the injury. Your fingers brushed back his platinum blonde hair, your touch soft against his cool skin. It pained you to see him like this—vulnerable, fragile in a way he had never allowed himself to be. He was the mighty Elvenking, a figure of strength and command, yet now he was crumpled on the forest floor, his pride shattered almost as much as his crown. His lips parted weakly, his breath shallow as he whispered, “Do not fret, just little fall.” Even in this state, his voice held traces of that usual command, though it was laced with pain, his words faltering as he spoke. He wanted so desperately to push away your worry, to return to the stoic, indomitable figure that others looked to for strength. But beneath that facade, his body was trembling, and his pride was wounded as much as his head. “Do not fuss over me I’m no baby who needs coddling,” he continued, though there was no force in his tone, no strength left to push you away. His gaze, clouded with discomfort, met yours briefly, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and yet still trying to uphold his dignity. “It is nothing.” The words, meant to assure both you and himself, only highlighted the stark contrast between the proud king and the broken man before you.

You couldn’t stop the flare of frustration that stirred within you. You knew him—too well. You knew that his pride ran deeper than most things, and right now, his body was betraying him. His stubbornness was as sharp as his wit, but it could not change the fact that he had been brought low in the worst possible way. “It is not nothing,” you said, your voice soft yet firm, your hands still look at his temple, despite his protests. You moved with careful precision, the blood already matting his platinum blonde hair, the swelling at his temple alarming. You had seen warriors brought down before, but never someone so regal, so fiercely proud. “Even a king needs care.”

He winced sharply as the you touched the injury, his composure faltering for a fleeting moment as the pain surged through him. His breath hitched, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the pain took hold. His stoicism, once unwavering, broke for the briefest second, and you could see it in the way his lips pressed together tightly, his jaw clenched in an effort to maintain control. His pride had been wounded, not just from the injury, but from the fact that he needed help at all. For a moment, his regal composure seemed to crack, and he turned his head away from your gaze, as if to hide the weakness that had so unexpectedly overtaken him. Despite his discomfort, your presence brought him a strange sense of solace—though he would never admit it aloud. His pride fought against it, tried to dismiss the care you offered, but in that moment, even Thranduil had to acknowledge the gentle force of your touch. He allowed himself a brief, fleeting moment of vulnerability before the armor of his pride slowly began to close back around him.

Thranduil’s pride, still reeling from the injury, caused him to mutter bitterly, “This is… unseemly.” His words were laced with a mixture of frustration and deep embarrassment, emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The king, so accustomed to commanding and controlling his surroundings, was now reduced to a broken figure on the ground, his strength failing him. His gaze flickered away from you, as though to escape the softness in your eyes that only made the vulnerability of the moment more piercing. But as your fingers brushed against his cheek, gentle and steady, the tension in his body seemed to melt away, if only for a heartbeat. His eyes slowly lifted to meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, the great Elvenking was no longer a king at all—he was simply a man, raw and exposed, vulnerable in a way that was both foreign and strangely comforting. The fierce warrior, the monarch who demanded reverence, was now quietly surrendering, his gaze softening in your presence. “You are not unseemly,” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart ached to see him like this. His pride may have been bruised, but he was still the same being you loved—dignified, noble, and deserving of care. “You are my heart, Thranduil, and I will not let harm take you.” Your words rang clear, soothing the tangled storm of emotions that threatened to rise within you.

The faintest flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips, but it was brief—too brief. The usual strength in his smile was missing, replaced by something softer, something quieter, and it nearly broke you to see it. He may have been struggling to accept his fragility, but in that small, quiet moment, you saw him as he was: a king, yes, but also a man who needed someone to lean on, someone who would not abandon him. His fingers brushed against yours, a fleeting gesture that carried so much weight. It was a silent admission, a wordless plea for comfort and reassurance. Thranduil’s body relaxed ever so slightly, leaning into your touch as if it was the only anchor he could cling to in the vast sea of his discomfort. His pride still stood at the edge, watching from afar, but for now, he allowed himself to trust you—trust you in a way he had never allowed himself to trust another. Though his strength had yet to return fully, his trust in you was evident now—clear and unwavering. In this quiet moment, surrounded by the stillness of the forest, the great Elvenking, the fierce and unyielding leader of his people, allowed himself to lean on you. His pride did not allow for much, but here, in your care, he found solace. He found safety. And for once, Thranduil let himself be cared for, let himself simply be… yours. The journey back to the palace had been slow, the weight of Thranduil’s injury pressing down on both of you. Every movement seemed to send waves of discomfort through him, but the king made no sound of protest. His pride still held firm, though his body faltered beneath its weight. You walked beside him, offering support when necessary, keeping him steady with your touch.

Once you had him safely in the healer’s ward, you gently laid him on the cushioned table. The dimly lit room smelled of herbs and healing oils, the quiet hum of the palace a distant backdrop to the focus required to tend to the Elvenking’s wounds. His platinum blonde hair, though damp from sweat, had mostly dried, but the blood at his temple had matted in a dark patch, still visible under the soft glow of lantern light. You could tell that the impact of the fall had been severe, but it was the uncertainty of his condition that left you with a deep unease. Was it only the gash at his temple, or had something more sinister been inflicted upon him? You moved to his side, careful not to startle him. He was lying still now, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His golden eyes, though clouded with fatigue, flickered toward you as you took your place at his side. He didn’t speak immediately, and the silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. It felt, in some strange way, like an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the moment—of his vulnerability. The king was always a figure of strength, but now, there was only a man before you, needing care. Thranduil’s voice, though weak, was still firm. “You need not fuss over me meleth nin,” he murmured, his words almost automatic, a reflex born from a lifetime of pride. You leaned over him, your fingers gently tracing the edges of the wound on his temple, feeling the jagged line of it, the warmth of the blood beneath your touch. “I am not fussing, Thranduil,” you replied softly, your tone soft but steady. “You’re not just my king… you’re my heart. I will not let this pass without care.”

His breath hitched for a brief moment, and his eyes flickered with something unreadable. His pride battled against the helplessness of the situation. Thranduil had always been the one to protect, to guide, and now he was the one in need of protection. The thought brought a mix of sorrow and tenderness, and for a heartbeat, you almost felt his vulnerability more than the pain he bore. Your fingers brushed over his temple again, applying a damp cloth soaked in a healing mixture of crushed herbs and water. He winced, though only slightly, the movement barely perceptible. You frowned slightly, concern furrowing your brow. “I think you may have a concussion,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to him. “The fall was hard… it’s possible.” Thranduil didn’t respond immediately, but his gaze followed your every movement, the slight flicker of trust beginning to form. “A concussion… a king’s fall should not be so unceremonious,” he muttered with a weak laugh that was anything but mirthful.

You smiled softly, though your heart ached to hear his words, and leaned closer, your hand gently resting over his. “No, but even kings are not invincible.” He seemed to think on this, his lips pressing together in a thin line, as if weighing your words. Then, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against yours, though the movement was subtle. The smallest of gestures, but in it, you could feel the silent agreement—his walls had lowered just enough to let you in, even if only for a moment. With great care, you began to prepare a mixture of healing herbs—ones that would ease the swelling and accelerate his recovery. You applied it to the wound carefully, your movements slow, deliberate, as you worked with both precision and tenderness. His breath deepened as the soothing mixture took effect, calming the burn of the wound. The swelling at his temple was still troubling, but you could feel it beginning to lessen under your touch, the soft magic you infused him with helping to mend the damage.

He let out a quiet sigh, and his body seemed to relax under your touch. “You always know what to do,” he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and something more personal—perhaps a fleeting recognition of his dependence on you in this moment. You didn’t answer immediately, focusing instead on carefully binding the wound with a clean cloth, ensuring it was firm but not tight. When you were finished, you gently wiped the sweat from his brow and looked into his eyes, seeing a softness there that wasn’t often visible. “It’s not about knowing,” you replied, your voice low and reassuring. “It’s about caring. About being here when it matters most.”

Thranduil’s gaze softened further, and for a brief, rare moment, he allowed himself to simply exist in the quiet solace you offered. Even as the Elvenking, fierce and proud, he could not escape the fact that he needed you in this moment—needed the care and trust you gave him. The king, no matter how powerful, was still just a man in your eyes, and that truth seemed to settle over him like a quiet balm. His hand, which had rested beside him, moved slightly, brushing against yours again. The touch was light, but there was a weight to it—a sense of quiet gratitude that he did not express in words, but in the subtle tenderness of his gesture. As you finished tending to the last of the bandages, you stood back, looking down at him. Thranduil’s breathing had steadied, and the tension in his body had dissipated somewhat, though fatigue still clung to him. It would take time for him to recover, but for now, he was safe in your care. “You will heal,” you said quietly, more to reassure yourself than anything. “But for now, rest.” His icy blue eyes met yours again, and the faintest glimmer of something like trust, or perhaps even affection, flickered in his gaze.

“Rest… yes,” he murmured, his voice growing softer. “For once, I will listen.” With that, you settled into a comfortable silence, both of you aware that healing was not just about physical wounds, but emotional ones too. And for now, as his hand brushed lightly against yours, you knew that, in this moment, you had both found some small measure of peace. Thranduil’s lips twitched upward, and his voice, though still weak, took on a teasing edge. “With the luxury of my wine, of course.” You shot him a look, part amusement, part exasperation. “Always your wine, Thranduil,” you scolded gently, but there was a warmth in your voice. “You can’t be serious all the time, can you?” He smirked, a faint glimmer of the mischievous king you knew well. “It is a noble king’s prerogative to enjoy the finer things in life, my dear.” You shook your head, but a soft smile tugged at your lips as you brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I swear, you’ll never change. But don’t think I don’t love you for it.” He closed his eyes briefly, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “And I, you,” he murmured, his tone sincere, despite the playful words. And in that quiet, the two of you were content—one wounded but healing, the other tender and full of love. It was in these moments, as fleeting as they were, that you both found peace in each other’s presence.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

The wind was fierce in the canopy that morning, howling between the dense branches of the great trees of Mirkwood, sending leaves and twigs swirling through the air like a flurry of whispers. Legolas had always been at home in these heights, his movements a symphony of grace and precision, his every leap and bound almost instinctive. He was the prince of the woodland realm, after all—one with the forest, capable of navigating the thicket of trees as if he were born to it. Today, however, the winds had a different temperament. They tugged at the branches, pushing them in ways that were foreign to Legolas’ usual rhythm. Despite the occasional gust, he pressed on, undeterred by the wind’s unpredictable nature. His target was just ahead—a large, sturdy oak that beckoned with its wide, curved trunk, an ideal vantage point to survey the path ahead of him.

With a quiet intake of breath, Legolas pushed himself from the branch he stood on, aiming for the next tree. His feet hit the bark of a nearby trunk, but the moment his foot made contact, the wind howled, sending the branch above him shaking. A sharp, biting gust knocked him off balance, sending his weight tipping too far forward. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but there was no saving his fall. His foot slipped and caught on something—a hidden vine that had been entwined around the branch, its tendrils nearly invisible beneath the thick leaves. The vine yanked him downward with terrifying speed.

Legolas had no time to react, his body twisting awkwardly as he plunged into the air. The ground rushed toward him with an unforgiving speed, the leaves and branches below offering no soft landing. He collided with the earth, his body slamming into the forest floor with a sickening crack, his breath knocked from his chest. The sharp pain that followed surged through his body, the unmistakable sound of snapping bone echoing in his ears. His left arm crumpled beneath him at an unnatural angle, and he gasped for breath, the world around him blurring as the pain spread like fire. For a moment, he simply lay there, stunned, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The wind continued to roar above, but to Legolas, it felt muffled, as if the world had drawn a curtain around his consciousness. His arm was on fire, and when he tried to move, a sharp jolt of pain stabbed through his side. His ribs had taken the brunt of the impact, and he could feel the ache deep within his chest. Blood surged to his face as he struggled to lift his head, the taste of copper in his mouth.

He tried to focus, to push through the pain, but it was too much. His vision swam in and out, the edges of the world growing hazy. The forest seemed to grow distant, even as the familiar rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds lingered. But there, in the midst of it all, a familiar presence approached, cutting through the fog of his senses like a lifeline. “Legolas!” The voice called out, strained with worry. He tried to lift his head, to reassure you, but his muscles refused to obey. Instead, he clenched his jaw tightly and forced a weak, pained smile, as if to say that he was fine, that it wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But even to his own ears, it sounded hollow. The sharpness of his breath betrayed him, and the agony seeping through his side and arm was an undeniable truth. His body was broken, his pride wounded more than anything else. “I should have been more careful,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, his eyes darting toward you. He longed to stand, to be strong and invulnerable as he always had been—but today, the forest had proven him wrong.

You knelt beside him, your heart aching at the sight of the once-immovable elf now reduced to a figure of vulnerability, his chest heaving with every strained breath. The forest around you, usually a place of strength and safety, felt strangely hollow in the wake of Legolas’s fall. There was a heavy silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and Legolas’s pained breathing. His face, usually so full of resolve, was now marked by an expression you rarely saw—a mixture of frustration and helplessness. Legolas’s gaze met yours, and though he tried to muster a smile, it was weak, faltering. His pale lips trembled slightly, his eyes betraying the agony that racked his body. His pride, ever so strong, was struggling beneath the weight of his injury. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his uninjured arm, hoping to offer him some comfort, some reassurance that he wasn’t alone in this moment.

“You are careful,” you said softly, your voice unwavering. “This was simply misfortune. The winds… they are strong today, and the vines—” You shook your head, trailing off. “This is not your fault.” You could see the internal struggle in his eyes, the battle between accepting help and retaining his dignity. You didn’t want to add to his frustration, so you simply stayed by his side, offering your steady presence. The words felt inadequate against the weight of his pain, but you hoped the softness in your voice would reach him where words alone couldn’t. You stayed quiet for a moment, allowing the connection between you both to speak where words had failed. Legolas didn’t have to say anything; the look he gave you—so full of trust, of quiet acceptance—spoke louder than anything he could have voiced. Despite the agony clearly radiating from his body, he seemed to find solace in your proximity. His chest, which had been rising and falling in shallow, frantic gasps, began to steady a little. He let out a small breath, his eyes closing for just a second as if gathering strength from your touch. “I… I did not wish to fail,” he whispered, his voice ragged. “You didn’t fail, Legolas.” You kept your tone soft and steady, pressing your palm against his arm in an attempt to convey more than words ever could. “You’re here, and that’s what matters. We’ll take care of you. I won’t leave you.”

There was a pause, and in that quiet space, Legolas’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak. His chest continued to rise and fall, and for a moment, you could see the flicker of something in his eyes—a deep gratitude, even if he didn’t voice it. You exhaled slowly, drawing yourself up and positioning yourself to support him. The forest was still swirling with the sharp gusts of wind, but they felt distant now, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. You could sense his reluctance to move, to allow you to help him, but you could also see the helplessness there. “Legolas, I need you to let me help you,” you said, your voice firm yet gentle, the way one would coax a wounded animal back to safety. “We need to get you back to the palace, to the healer’s ward. You need rest, and the proper care.” He shifted slightly, his face contorted in discomfort, but he nodded ever so slightly, accepting your words despite the obvious strain. “I trust you,” he whispered, though the words sounded more like a promise than a statement.

With a steadying breath, you gently helped him sit up, supporting his weight as you moved slowly to your feet, your hands moving with practiced ease despite the worry gnawing at you. His arm—broken and hanging awkwardly—made it difficult for him to move, but he leaned into you, trusting you not to let him fall. You felt his body shudder slightly with each step, and you pressed him closer to your side, your arm wrapping around his back to support him. The walk back to the palace would not be easy, and Legolas would certainly protest at every slow, painful step, but right now, the greatest comfort you could offer him was this—your steady presence and your promise that you would not let him go, not now, when he needed you most. The forest seemed to fade into the background, and all that mattered was the bond you shared, the understanding between you.

Together, you would face the journey ahead, the hardship of the return to the palace, and the healing that would follow. You only hoped the healer’s ward—or perhaps your own chambers—would be enough to ease the pain of his body, as you had already begun to ease the burden on his heart. The journey back to the palace had been slow, each step a painful reminder of Legolas’s injury. His body leaned heavily against you, his breath shallow and labored, but through it all, he made no complaint. He trusted you, and that trust seemed to be a steadying force between the two of you.

When you finally reached your healer’s chambers, the weight of relief was almost tangible. The familiar scent of herbs, the soft glow of candles, and the calming silence of the room provided a sense of safety you both needed. You gently eased Legolas onto the cushioned cot, making sure he was as comfortable as possible despite his injuries. His pale face showed the strain of the journey, but there was a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he settled, his left arm resting awkwardly at his side. “Legolas,” you murmured softly, “I need to tend to your wounds now.” He gave a slight nod, though his gaze shifted to the fire in the corner of the room. His thoughts seemed distant for a moment, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was still feeling the sting of his own helplessness. But then his eyes met yours again, steady, though still strained with pain. “I trust you,” he said, the words laced with quiet reassurance. It was a simple statement, yet one that carried so much weight—perhaps more than he realized. In those three words, there was a sense of surrender, of willingness to allow you to care for him in the way that only you could.

You moved to his side, your hands gently cupping his injured head. There was a deep gash at his temple, a result of the harsh impact when he fell. The blood had dried around the wound, leaving dark streaks in his golden hair, but the cut itself, though deep, did not seem to threaten his life. You carefully wiped away the dried blood, murmuring quiet reassurances as you worked. “Hold still, Legolas,” you instructed softly, applying a healing poultice to the wound. The herb mixture would help reduce the swelling and stop the bleeding. His muscles tensed for a brief moment, the pain seeping through him, but he didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you as if seeking comfort in your touch. “You know,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice still strained but laced with that familiar elvish calm, “I’ve never been in this position before. To be so reliant on someone else.”

You paused in your movements, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability there was raw, a stark contrast to the proud, composed warrior you’d always known. “It’s alright, Legolas,” you said, your voice warm and steady. “Even the strongest among us need help sometimes.” He closed his eyes, a faint exhale escaping his lips. “I know. It’s just… hard to let go.” You allowed him a moment of peace, then continued tending to his wound, your fingers careful and gentle as you bound the head wound with soft cloth. Once that was done, your attention shifted to his left arm. The bone was sprained, and though the swelling had reduced since the fall, the joint was clearly stiff and bruised. You moved with practiced ease, easing the arm into a splint, your touch soft yet firm as you ensured the injured limb was held in place. Legolas’s breath hitched slightly when you adjusted the bandages, the movement clearly painful, but he remained still.

“It’ll heal, Legolas,” you assured him quietly as you worked, your fingers deftly wrapping the cloth around his arm. “I’m not going to let it stay like this.” He let out a breath, as if trying to center himself, and then slowly nodded. “I know,” he replied, his voice tight but thankful. The final injury you needed to tend to was his ribs. You gently pressed along his side, the motion slow and deliberate. The bruising there was significant, a dark purplish hue spreading across the delicate skin of his side. You could feel the crack in the ribs, the sharp edges still unsettled, and you knew it would take time for them to heal. His breath hitched when you applied pressure to the area, the pain evident on his face, but again, he didn’t cry out. You paused, your hand resting gently on his side as you spoke in a soft, soothing tone, “I’ll use a salve to help ease the pain and help with the healing. But you need to be still. This will take time.”

“I’ll be still,” Legolas murmured, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on the comfort you offered. “I trust you.” You worked quickly, applying the salve to the bruised skin and wrapping a bandage around his ribs to stabilize them. His body stiffened slightly at the tightness of the wrap, but there was no protest. Instead, he allowed you to continue, his focus solely on your hands as they moved with practiced care. When everything was done, you stepped back, giving him space to breathe and adjust to the healing that had just begun. He lay there, his chest rising and falling with each careful breath, his eyes now closed in rest. “You should rest,” you said quietly, your voice soft as you brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body needs time to heal.” Legolas’s lips parted in a faint smile, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough. “And you, healer, have done more than I could ever ask.” His words warmed you, though you kept your focus on him, watching over him as he drifted into a fitful sleep. In that moment, the world outside seemed distant, the forest’s winds now nothing more than a faint hum beyond the walls. All that mattered was the quiet, steady beat of his breath, and the knowledge that you would remain by his side, tending to him, helping him heal—body and heart alike.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

The night had settled over Lothlórien, its deep shadows cloaking the ancient trees as the sounds of the forest murmured in the distance. Haldir, tall and regal in his elven armor, moved through the woods with his patrol, his eyes sharp, ever watchful for signs of danger. The crisp evening air seemed to hold its breath as his team of Marchwardens made their way along the northern border of the woods, silent as ghosts. The patrol was routine, at first, a quiet stretch of the forest where nothing out of the ordinary stirred. But the tension in the air was palpable — something was off. Haldir’s senses were finely tuned to the rhythms of the woods, and he could feel the disturbance before he saw it. The faintest movement caught his eye, a flash of unnatural dark shapes cutting through the trees, growing nearer. “Orcs,” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible. He raised a hand, signaling his team to halt. The Marchwardens came to an immediate stop, crouching low behind the thick trunks of the trees, their eyes scanning the area. Haldir’s pulse quickened, but his mind remained as clear and focused as ever. There were at least six orcs—perhaps more—crawling like vermin through the underbrush. The smell of their foul presence was unmistakable, the rancid odor of their filthy bodies filling the air.

He turned to his team, issuing swift orders. “Wait for my signal. We strike in silence.” The elves melted into the shadows, their movements a blur of elegance and deadly precision. Haldir stayed at the front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the tip of his bow lightly brushing against his leg. The orcs were unaware of their presence, their crude voices rising in excited chatter as they drew closer to the border. Haldir’s keen eyes picked out a clearing ahead, and he knew the orcs were about to walk right into the trap. With a subtle nod, he gave the signal. The elves sprang into action. Haldir’s bowstring twanged as he loosed the first arrow, striking an orc in the chest, sending it tumbling backward. The rest of the patrol exploded into action, arrows flying with deadly precision, blades flashing as the elves descended on the orcs like a storm.

The orcs tried to fight back, but the Marchwardens were too swift, too skilled. Haldir darted forward, his sword a gleaming arc of silver in the moonlight as he engaged with the nearest orc. The beast growled in anger, raising a crude axe to swing at him. But Haldir was faster, parrying the blow with ease and cutting through the orc’s defenses with a clean, practiced strike. The orc dropped to the ground with a gurgled cry. In the chaos, Haldir’s mind remained sharp, his focus unbroken as he danced through the battle. But the orcs were numerous, and the battle raged on longer than he had anticipated. His body moved with a fluid grace, each strike and parry a seamless extension of his will. Yet, despite his skill and speed, the odds were growing against him. His team was in control, but it was a fight that would cost them. And that was when it happened.

Haldir moved to block a downward swing from an orc’s jagged sword, but the force of the blow sent a shockwave of pain through his shoulder. At that precise moment, another orc, hidden in the brush, loosed an arrow with deadly accuracy. The shaft of the arrow whistled through the air, striking Haldir squarely in the shoulder blade. The force of the impact was brutal — the arrowhead slicing deep into his flesh, the shaft snapping as it buried itself deep. The pain was immediate, searing through his body like wildfire. Haldir’s breath hitched in his chest as the wound flared up, but he refused to show any sign of weakness. His eyes narrowed as the battle continued to rage around him. He could feel the blood beginning to soak through his tunic, the warmth of it spreading quickly across his back. The arrow was lodged deep in his shoulder blade, and he knew it would take a miracle to remove it without further injury.But he did not falter.

With a sharp growl, Haldir twisted his body to face the orc who had shot him, his movements quick and purposeful despite the pain. His sword was already raised, and in one fluid motion, he severed the orc’s head from its body. The creature fell in a heap, and Haldir’s gaze swept across the remaining orcs. His hand was pressed tightly against his shoulder, but the battle was far from over. His thoughts were sharp, focused on protecting his team and ensuring the safety of the border. He fought with renewed fury, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the blood dripping down his back. The rest of the orcs were soon dispatched, their bodies falling to the ground in defeat. Haldir’s movements slowed as the adrenaline began to wear off, and the reality of his injury hit him all at once. His vision swam slightly, his body beginning to tremble with the effort of holding himself upright.

But even then, Haldir refused to show weakness. He turned to his comrades, nodding in approval. “The border is clear,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “Return to Caras Galadhon.” His warriors began the trek back, but Haldir lingered behind for a moment. His hand remained pressed against his wound, but he did not let his pace slow. The forest whispered around him, the pain in his shoulder growing worse with each step. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Haldir made the decision to return. His determination to complete his duty overrode everything else. He would return to the healing hall soon enough. But for now, the pain of the arrow in his shoulder was just another burden to bear. The border was safe. That was all that mattered. The evening air had grown still as the last rays of the sun melted beneath the horizon, leaving the forest draped in an eerie quiet. You walked with purpose toward the healing hall, your footsteps light and measured as you thought about the day’s duties. It had been an exhausting shift, but nothing you couldn’t handle. The soft rustle of leaves was the only sound, save for the occasional chirp of a bird as it settled for the night.

Then, just as you neared the hall, you heard them—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, with a familiar rhythm. Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively recognized the tread. Haldir. The thought crossed your mind like a whisper in the wind, but the unease that followed it made you freeze. You didn’t need to see his face to know something was wrong. His presence, usually so confident, was off. When he came into view, your breath caught in your throat. Haldir, the proud and skilled Marchwarden, was walking slowly, one hand pressed tightly against his shoulder. There was an unnatural pallor to his usually composed face, his posture noticeably slumped. His steps faltered slightly with each movement, his free hand clenched at his side, almost like he was trying to hold himself together. You moved without thinking, rushing to him as the faint glint of blood caught your eyes. His usually pristine armor was marred by the dark stain seeping through the fabric. The sight of it made your heart sink, and you forced yourself to remain calm despite the flood of panic that threatened to overwhelm you.

“Haldir!” Your voice cracked as you neared him, your hand reaching out, unable to stop it. You could see the arrow now, embedded deep into his shoulder, its shaft jutting awkwardly from the flesh, the blood trailing down his arm. The injury was serious—too serious for him to be walking at all. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a brief moment, a sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tried to appear unaffected, but the faint tremor in his eyes betrayed him. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone too calm, too controlled, attempting to downplay the severity of the wound. You didn’t let him finish. Your hands were already at his side, your fingers gently brushing against the cold metal of his armor before resting over the blood-soaked area where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. A mixture of relief and frustration washed over you, but it was mostly the latter. “You think I’m blind?” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “Haldir, look at you. This is far from nothing.” His jaw tightened immediately, that familiar stubborn set to his features. You had seen it countless times, but never in such an intimate moment. He winced slightly as you shifted his shoulder, his face betraying the sharp pain despite his attempt to hide it. His eyes locked with yours again, and for a second, there was a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps. Or maybe it was just pride.

“The orcs were dealt with,” he continued, his voice quieter now, but firm. “The patrol is safe, and I…” You cut him off, unable to keep your frustration at bay. “Stop it,” you said, your hands working quickly but with great care to steady his shoulder. “You should have returned to the healing hall immediately. You’ve put yourself in danger for no reason.” You tried to keep your voice even, but it wavered. The fear, the concern you had felt when you first saw him like this threatened to break through. “This arrow could’ve hit a vital organ, Haldir. How long did you walk like this?” His eyes lowered for a moment, and there was a pause—an uncomfortable silence between the two of you. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to worry you.” A lump rose in your throat. You could hear the weight of the words, the unspoken burden he had carried for so long. You shook your head, your hands still gently bracing his injury. “You don’t have to protect me from your injuries. I care for you, Haldir. Let me help you.” His gaze softened, but there was still a flicker of pride in the way he stood, as if this was a burden he was meant to bear alone. But his body betrayed him, the blood soaking through his tunic, his stance weakening. For a brief moment, you wondered if he would finally allow himself to lean on you, if the burden of his responsibility could be shared, if the trust between you both could be enough.

But instead, Haldir stood there, his chin lifted, eyes meeting yours with a quiet resolve. He might never admit it, but you could see it in his gaze. He wanted you to help, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for it outright. You didn’t need him to ask. With You felt Haldir’s breath quicken slightly as you gently guided him into a sitting position, his face betraying the strain of the injury. His body had tensed when you first touched his shoulder, the sharp sting of the wound still fresh. The warmth of his skin and the blood that seeped through the fabric beneath your fingers reminded you of the urgency. “Just breathe, Haldir,” you murmured again, your voice steady despite the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently massaging to keep him as relaxed as possible. The last thing you needed was for him to tense up too much.

His gaze met yours, sharp and intense, even with the obvious discomfort. He didn’t say anything at first, but you saw the way his lips pressed together, the only sign of the pain he was in. His chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, but he did not flinch as you worked to ease the weight of his injury. Taking a deep breath yourself, you focused your attention on the arrow that was lodged deep in his shoulder, its shaft protruding from the skin. You could see the darkening stain around the wound, a stark contrast against his pale skin. The arrow had pierced through the flesh and muscle, leaving behind an ugly, jagged tear in its wake. It wasn’t just an arrow wound—it was a threat.

Carefully, you examined the entry point, noting how deep the arrow had gone. It had lodged near the shoulder blade, the shaft lodged at an awkward angle, which had likely caused the pain in his arm and neck. But from the way his breath caught as you probed the edges of the wound, it was clear it had caused more than just superficial damage. His body was already reacting—he was weakening, albeit slightly, as if the adrenaline was starting to wear off. “Haldir,” you said, keeping your tone as soft as you could, “I need you to stay still. This will hurt, but I need to remove the arrow now. It’s too deep for any healing to begin until it’s out.” His eyes flickered to yours again, that glint of pride still there. “I can manage,” he muttered, his jaw clenched in an attempt to stay composed, despite his obvious discomfort.

You nodded, not giving him the chance to protest further. You could feel the heat of his skin through his tunic, the erratic pulse beneath it—the fire of the wound was raging beneath the surface. Taking a deep breath, you reached for the arrow. Your fingers brushed against the shaft with delicate precision, trying to assess how best to grip it without making the injury worse. You would need to pull it straight out, carefully, with no jerks or sudden moves, or risk further damage to the surrounding tissue. The arrowhead had cut through muscle, and any force now could cause irreparable damage.

His breath hitched as you placed your fingers just beneath the base of the arrow, your other hand bracing his shoulder. You didn’t let your gaze leave his face, watching the muscles in his jaw tighten, a flicker of pain flashing across his expression. “I’m going to do it now,” you warned softly, your hands steady as you carefully began to pull the arrow out. It was a slow, agonizing process. As the arrow began to inch free, Haldir let out a strained breath, his body rigid beneath your hands. The tension in him was palpable, but he remained silent, determined not to show weakness. You couldn’t help but admire his resolve, even though it made your heart ache to see him in such pain.

The shaft finally broke free from the wound with a soft, wet sound. Blood welled up from the deep gash where the arrow had been, and you quickly moved to staunch the bleeding with a cloth you had brought. The arrowhead had embedded into his muscle, and though you had been as careful as possible, you could feel the depth of the damage. You knew it would require more than just cleaning; this wound would need stitches and time to heal properly. Haldir’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts, his body tense but still under control. The faintest sheen of sweat dotted his forehead, but his eyes never left yours. He was fighting through the pain, but you could see the edges of his composure fraying. “I told you it was nothing,” he muttered with a crooked smile, despite the obvious discomfort.

You let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with the relief of knowing you had gotten the worst of it over with. “You always say that,” you said gently, your fingers now pressing against the wound to slow the bleeding. “I’m not so sure you understand the meaning of ‘nothing,’ Haldir.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, but you could see his body waver with each move. It wasn’t easy for him to sit still, especially when the wound was so fresh. But you needed him still, so you pressed a little harder against the injury, keeping him grounded. “I’ll clean it up now,” you said, your hands moving methodically to wipe away the blood and debris that clung to the injury. “Stay still, this will sting.” Haldir gave a slight nod but didn’t complain. His resolve never seemed to break. Even though you knew the pain he was in, he never once asked for relief. You admired that about him—his strength, even when he could barely hold himself up.

You reached for another cloth, dipping it in a solution of water and herbs meant to disinfect the wound. Gently, you cleaned around the edges, careful not to touch too harshly. His face remained neutral, though the occasional tightness in his jaw gave away his discomfort. “Almost done,” you reassured him softly as you finished cleaning the area, before moving to apply a salve to help with the healing. For a brief moment, the air between you was still. The world around you seemed to fade into the background. There was only the soft rustling of the forest, the quiet hiss of Haldir’s breath as he relaxed, and the steady rhythm of your hands at work.

When you finally finished, you looked up at him, your hands gently wrapping the wound with a bandage. His face was still pale, but the tension had eased a little, and the pain, though still present, seemed to be under control. You met his gaze, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever. “You’re going to be alright,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet certainty. Haldir’s lips twitched, a faint smile tugging at them despite his exhaustion. “I trust you,” he replied, the words soft but genuine. And as you finished tending to his injury, you felt a wave of relief wash over you. Not just for his recovery, but for the promise in his eyes—one you intended to keep.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had always moved with an innate grace, his every step deliberate and fluid, as if the very earth beneath him conspired to support his movements. He was known for his poise and precision, the quiet elegance with which he carried out his duties. Today was no different. In his arms, he carefully balanced a stack of scrolls—ancient texts, maps, and records critical to Lord Elrond’s ongoing studies. These documents were important, and Lindir, ever dutiful, had taken it upon himself to personally deliver them. He moved briskly through the stone halls of Rivendell, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration, intent on his task. His thoughts, however, were not solely on the scrolls. You had joined him as you both walked down the hallway toward Elrond’s study, offering light conversation as you spoke of evening plans. The air was cool, rich with the scent of old parchment and the quiet hum of Rivendell’s daily rhythm. The sunlight streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows that danced on the stone floor. You spoke softly, the sound of your voice mingling with the distant sounds of elves working and laughing within the sanctuary of Rivendell. As you walked beside him, the quiet symphony of the day enveloped both of you in a calm moment. Lindir’s usual calm demeanor seemed impenetrable, his attention divided between the scrolls and your conversation, both important in their own right. He was a master at balancing the two, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

As you neared the stone steps leading up to Lord Elrond’s study, Lindir’s attention momentarily drifted. His focus shifted to something in the air, perhaps a fleeting thought or a concern, and in that fraction of a second, his foot found an unforgiving edge of one of the ancient stones. His perfectly poised step faltered. Time seemed to slow in that moment. The scrolls in his arms shifted dangerously, as though mocking the very precision he prided himself on. With a sharp, startled gasp, Lindir tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late. The stack of scrolls flew from his grasp, the flutter of parchment sounding like the softest wind as it scattered through the air. He could feel his body tipping forward, his arms instinctively reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop the fall. But gravity, unforgiving and indifferent, took over. His body plunged toward the ground with a sickening thud, the impact reverberating through the stone corridor. His chest slammed into the ground first, followed by his arm—his left arm.

The stone steps beneath him, cold and unyielding, seemed to mock his usually smooth and graceful movements as he twisted in mid-air, trying to shield himself. But the fall was brutal. One of his arms hit the ground at an unnatural angle, a harsh, jarring crunch echoing in his ears as the force of his body weight drove it further out of position. His cry of pain, sharp and strained, was swallowed quickly by the cold air. The world around him spun, his senses overwhelmed by the sharpness of his injury. The scrolls—those documents he had carried with such care—now lay in a disordered mess around him. The faint sounds of paper rustling were drowned by the pounding of his own heartbeat. Pain surged through him, and the world tilted. His left arm throbbed, a radiating pain that consumed him, while the sharp sting of a cut on his forehead sent a wave of dizziness over him. The blood from the cut trickled down his temple, staining his usually pristine features, a cruel reminder of how easily things could fall apart. His face, normally serene, was contorted in an expression of agony, his once composed features now a mask of pain.

For a moment, Lindir could do nothing but lie there, dazed, trying to catch his breath. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the sudden, chaotic turn of events. He could feel the cold stone beneath him, pressing against his chest, the sharpness of the injury in his arm pulling him back to the present. His breathing came in ragged gasps, but it was the pain, more than anything, that rattled him. His arm—a trusted instrument for countless tasks—felt like it no longer belonged to him, as though it had been twisted into an impossible position. He glanced down at his left arm, now pressed awkwardly beneath him, the unnatural angle sending another wave of nausea through him. His head swam, and his breath became even more erratic as he tried—too stubborn to admit defeat—to move, to push himself up. But the pain was unbearable. He winced, a low groan escaping his lips as he attempted to shift his arm, but all that came was a sharp, agonizing spike of discomfort. His entire body trembled as the pain overwhelmed him, yet still, he tried to maintain some semblance of control, his pride fighting against the onslaught of sensation.

“I… I’m fine,” Lindir managed to say, the words barely escaping through clenched teeth. His voice was tight, each syllable forced out, and the tremor in his tone betrayed him. He wanted to reassure you, to make it seem like the fall had not shaken him, that it was simply a minor inconvenience. But even he knew his attempt was futile. His arm, the position it held, the way he cradled it against his chest—all of it told a different story. The pain was too great for him to hide, but the embarrassment of having fallen in front of you, so clumsy and ungraceful, gnawed at him. Lindir, always composed, always perfect in his movements, now felt utterly helpless. The embarrassment of the moment was almost as painful as the injury itself. He could see the concern in your eyes, but even as you knelt beside him, you could feel the tension in his body. It was not the fear of injury that haunted him—it was the sense of failure. Of how he, ever the dutiful and careful elf, had fallen so easily.

Lindir’s calm, composed demeanor had cracked in that instant. Despite the unbearable pain, despite the injury, he fought to maintain his dignity, not wanting to show weakness in front of you. But his usual unshakable poise seemed so far away, lost amidst the swirling chaos of pain, embarrassment, and the sheer vulnerability of the moment. With a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, he closed his eyes briefly, his head dropping forward as the shame of the fall weighed on him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, almost to himself, as he lay there, fighting not to break down. The pain was more than he had expected, but it was the humiliation of his fall, his inability to stay composed in the face of an accident, that truly rattled him.

You knelt beside him, your touch gentle as you cupped his face, guiding his head back up so that your eyes met. His words cut through you, the depth of his shame reaching places you hadn’t expected. But you weren’t angry or disappointed—in fact, your heart swelled with affection for him, for the strength he showed even in this moment of weakness. “You have nothing to apologize for, Lindir,” you whispered, your voice warm and steady. “You didn’t choose this. Accidents happen, and they don’t make you any less than the elf I know. You’re allowed to be human, to be vulnerable, especially with me.”

You paused, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek as you continued, “You’ve always been there for me, no matter what. Don’t you think it’s okay for me to do the same for you now?” Lindir’s gaze softened, though the shadows of his embarrassment still lingered, tucked away in the corners of his eyes. But slowly, as he absorbed your words, he seemed to relax just a little more, the tightness in his shoulders easing. “You are so much stronger than you think,” you added, your voice gentle but insistent, “and you don’t have to carry the weight of everything alone. Not when you’ve got me.” You could see it then—the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, His face was drawn, pale from both the pain and the embarrassment of his fall. His body trembled slightly, not just from the injury, but from the pride he fought so desperately to maintain. You could see the struggle in his eyes—he wasn’t ready to show weakness, not even to you. Still, you gently guided him back down, your hands firm yet tender, urging him to sit and take a breath.

“I’m going to help you,” you said, your voice soft but firm, offering him a reassuring smile even though your heart was racing in worry. Lindir didn’t argue, though the effort to keep his composure was clear in the way his jaw clenched. His eyes flickered toward the scattered scrolls, and his chest heaved slightly as he tried to push past the pain. He opened his mouth to protest, to insist on retrieving the documents for Lord Elrond, but you were already giving orders. “Someone, please take the scrolls to Lord Elrond for me,” you instructed to a nearby elf, who had paused upon hearing the crash. “I’ll take care of Lindir.” Lindir, ever diligent and intent on doing his duties, made a small, frustrated noise, but his eyes betrayed his true feelings—he was thankful for your intervention. He simply wasn’t willing to admit it, not yet. As the elf hurried off to take the scrolls, you turned back to Lindir. He winced as you pressed a hand to his shoulder, guiding him toward the healer’s ward, your voice gentle yet insistent.

“Come on, you need rest. It’s not just your arm,” you urged, trying to get him to focus. The injury to his head had begun to bleed more than you’d originally noticed, the cut on his forehead still weeping crimson, his usual pristine appearance marred by the blood. Lindir hesitated, then slowly nodded, his usual determination fading slightly in the face of his injury. As the two of you made your way to the healer’s ward, you couldn’t help but notice the exhaustion on his face, the way his steps faltered despite his best efforts to appear composed. His left arm hung at a strange angle, and each movement seemed to send another wave of pain through him.

Inside your healing chambers, you guided him to a chair by the low fire, the warmth of it offering a faint sense of comfort in the midst of the tension that hung between you both. You could feel the weight of his gaze, though he kept his eyes averted. He was embarrassed, not only by the fall but by the vulnerability of needing help. “Lindir, sit,” you said firmly, your tone brokering no argument. You could see the struggle in his eyes—the desire to appear strong—but his body had already betrayed him. He obeyed with a slight, reluctant nod, and you moved to fetch the supplies you needed. His breathing had slowed, but it was still labored, and his face was flushed with pain. You carefully began to clean the cut on his forehead, the small wound on his temple trickling blood. The moment your fingers brushed against the tender skin, Lindir flinched, his body tensing as though the slightest touch might send him over the edge. His eyes met yours, a flash of something unspoken passing between you—the quiet, unyielding trust he placed in you to tend to him, even when he would never ask for it.

“I’m sorry,” Lindir murmured, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “I should have been more careful. I… didn’t mean to fall. I didn’t want to worry you.” You glanced up at him, surprised by his admission, but you said nothing at first. Instead, you gently pressed a cloth to his forehead to stop the bleeding, your fingers soft but certain. “Lindir, Accidents happen all the time. Don’t be so hard on yourself darling.” You softened the words, trying to reassure him even though the pain in his voice was cutting deep. You could see his eyes flicker with the weight of his pride, still trying to maintain that stoic façade. It was hard for him to show anything less than perfection, but you could also see his vulnerability there, hidden beneath the layers.

You moved next to his arm, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady but filled with the knowledge of the task at hand. His arm was broken, and it had to be set before anything else could be done. You could feel his body tense as you gently, but firmly, moved his arm into place, adjusting it to a more natural position. The pain must have been unbearable. Lindir’s breath caught sharply, his face twisting in agony, but he said nothing. His jaw was set tight, his hands clenched into fists, but not a word of protest came from him. He wouldn’t let you see the full extent of his discomfort, not even now. You glanced up at him, his eyes now closed, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. “I need to set the bone, Lindir,” you murmured softly, trying to prepare him. You didn’t wait for a response before you began. Slowly, with gentle precision, you aligned the bone, pulling it back into place. Lindir’s body stiffened beneath your hands, his breath hitching sharply as he fought to keep the noise of pain buried within him. But you could hear it—the way his breath stuttered, the way his body quivered with the sheer effort of holding it together.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you secured the arm in a splint, wrapping it with careful attention. The moment you finished, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Lindir’s arm was now stable, though you could see the exhaustion settling into his face. You rose to your feet, your hands gently brushing away the strands of hair from his forehead, and your heart ached for him. You could tell how much he wanted to be strong for you, how much he hated the feeling of being vulnerable. But in this moment, he had allowed you to tend to him, to be the one who kept him safe. And though he would never admit it aloud, you knew he appreciated it more than words could say. “Thank you my love,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse from both the pain and the emotion that he had fought to suppress. “I… didn’t want to need this. Didn’t want to need help.” You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his uninjured hand, the warmth of it a quiet comfort. “You don’t have to be perfect, Lindir,” you said softly. “Not with me.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes, allowing the silence to settle between you both. It was a small surrender, but it was all he could give in that moment. And for you, it was enough.

[tkdb-hell]

i want to req Haru 20

#20 - Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

The stairwell was quiet, save for the soft hum of the flickering lights overhead. You leaned against the railing, waiting for Haru, who had messaged you earlier asking to meet up. His usual energetic tone had been missing from the message, which left you feeling uneasy.

“Hey!” Haru’s voice echoed up the stairwell as he bounded up the steps two at a time, his usual cheerful grin already tugging at the corners of his mouth. You exhaled in relief—whatever had been weighing on him earlier seemed to have lifted, at least for now.

“Finally,” you teased, crossing your arms. “I was starting to think you forgot how to climb stairs.”

He stopped on the step below you, just one level lower, tilting his head back to look up at you. “Nah, I just wanted to give you the advantage. Didn’t want you feeling short for once.”

You rolled your eyes at his playful jab. “Funny, considering you’re still shorter than me right now.”

Haru grinned wider, stepping closer until only a few inches separated the two of you. With the height difference created by the stairs, he had to tilt his head back slightly to meet your eyes. The usually confident, boisterous Haru suddenly seemed a little unsure, his expression softening as he studied your face.

“You look kinda intimidating from this angle,” he said quietly, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “Like you could just… lean down and kiss me.”

The air between you grew thick with tension, his words hanging in the space like a silent invitation. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned down just enough to close the gap between you.

Haru met you halfway, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and lingering. The slight tilt of his head and the step between you made the moment feel strangely intimate, like you were two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together despite the difference in height.

When you finally pulled back, Haru blinked up at you, his usual grin making a slow return. “Well, that was unexpected. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Unexpected?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You literally just said you were thinking about me kissing you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he admitted with a laugh, scratching the back of his head. “Guess I underestimated your boldness.”

You smirked, crossing your arms again. “Better get used to it, Sagara. I don’t back down from a challenge.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that.” Haru took another step closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief now. “Though next time, I might just have to be the one with the height advantage.”

“You? On higher ground? Please,” you teased, placing a hand on his shoulder to stop him from climbing up another step.

He laughed, a genuine sound that echoed warmly through the stairwell. “Fine, fine. But next time we’re kissing on flat ground, got it?”

You chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead before stepping back. “Sure, Haru. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

He stood there for a moment, stunned by the unexpected affection, before bursting into another wide grin. “You’re really something else, y’know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, turning to walk down the stairs. “Now come on. You promised me snacks, and I’m holding you to it.”

Haru jogged after you, his mood lighter than when he had arrived. The warmth of your kiss still lingered on his lips, and he couldn’t stop smiling as he followed you out of the stairwell.

For all the chaos in his life, moments like this made everything a little easier to handle—and he was starting to think that you might just be his favorite kind of chaos.

[sam-loves-seb]

see in my head i fully believe that over time i'm gonna go back and write all the days i've skipped in my whumptober series, it might take months but in my head, eventually, they will all get written. will this actually happen? who knows! but i am never short on ideas, only fuel and motivation, so we'll see what the next few months bring

of course i actually have to make it to the end of october first, but that's entirely besides the point

[disposal-blueeee]

VARGASTOBER - day 2 : comfort

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!!! <333

[applesap-fics]

so many wips release me from this hell

[akirakirxaa]

I just want everyone to know

I really hate the word noisome.

[sinnettini]

do you think i can skip this thing i have scheduled tomorrow to write the 2nd chapter of this sinnettini fic i'm working on

[lookingupatthesamemoon]

selfshiptober day 15: games + hunt

pairing: Harper + Cooper Adams/Abbott

summary: Cooper takes Harper out on his hunt for his next victim.

word count: 1.4k

cw: f/o is a serial killer 😭 and s/i does not care !

divider from @/thecutestgrotto :)

Cooper rolled his eyes, watching the girl walk entirely too fast in front of him. This was a mistake… He was going to end up cuffed, muzzled, and behind bars, and it was going to be all her fault. For six years of his life he’d been excruciatingly careful, taking not so much as one wrong step, but Harper seemed to be a lot less vigilant. He should’ve killed her when he had the chance…

“Would you slow your ass down?” he hissed as he caught up to her. “You’re not exactly being inconspicuous.”

“We’re in the center of Philly, Cooper,” she said sassily. “It’s the end of a long work day, and plenty of people are rushing to catch their bus home. I blend right in. Now, you on the other hand-”

Cooper grabbed at the back of her shirt, feeling the wooly fabric bunching up between his fingers. She gasped, slowing almost to a halt as he held her close to his side. “You’re lucky to still be alive,” he growled, leaning down to whisper into her ear. “I suggest you behave yourself.”

Harper pouted, playfully booping the man’s nose. She had always loved to test her limits. He gave her a look of disdain before pulling away, placing both hands back in his jacket pockets.

Cooper couldn’t deny that Harper was adorable, as frustrating as she was. It was one of the few reasons he had kept her alive. Her puppy dog eyes were as persuasive as his own daughter’s, and combined with her tenacity, she made quite the compelling argument for surviving another day. He grumbled under his breath, watching her steps speed up again. Maybe he was getting soft.

Harper intrigued him, though. She wasn’t afraid of him — or, if she was, she was doing an Oscar-worthy job of hiding it. Rather, she was obsessed with him. She had made him her muse. Instead of cowering away from the most vile, sinister parts of him, she leaned into them with curiosity and some kind of admiration. Cooper found that he often got the “urge,” as he called it, when faced with people who felt whole. With the way Harper had latched onto him, years before she even met him, he could tell she wasn’t whole. She was looking for something to fill some kind of void inside of her, and she thought that Cooper was that something. Whatever it was, she was missing something, something Cooper’s victims always had. Despite his constant aggravation with her, he had no doubt that she would be a fun little plaything. In fact, he was almost certain that that aggravation she stirred up in him was what made her fun.

She was a lot less fun, though, when she was actively threatening his safety. It was one thing for Harper to sit pretty in the abandoned homes he did his work in, pestering him as he tried to plan his attacks, but it was entirely another for her to follow him on the prowl, sticking out like a sore thumb. She was fucking with his craft, the only thing in his life that gave him any sort of release, and he was almost certain she understood that, using it to piss him off further. It was almost like she wanted him to chop her up, despite arguing almost every single day that she was a valuable asset, that he needed to keep her alive. After all, who else in the world knew him better than she did. He sighed. He supposed she was right. Even his family didn’t know the “real” Cooper. But Harper? She had put in the work, she had done the research. She really did know him best, even after just a couple of weeks.

“Hey, Cooper?” he heard her call from up ahead. “What about that one?”

He grit his teeth, seeing her blatantly pointing across the street at a young man with a torn white t-shirt. The man’s head shot up, looking over at Harper with a raised eyebrow before continuing to walk in the other direction. Cooper put his head down, casting his eyes onto the sidewalk beneath his feet as he caught up to her yet again. Wordlessly, he grabbed her by the arm, effortlessly dragging her into a nearby alleyway.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“What? I’m helping.”

“By pointing at people in broad daylight like they’re big game animals for us to shoot at? You’re gonna call too much attention to us, and you’re gonna get me killed.”

“Oh my God, Cooper, if I wanted you dead I would’ve done it myself! I just wanna help! Didn’t that guy look pathetic?”

“That’s not how I choose them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know… But, what are we supposed to do? Just wait until you get, what, the ‘urge’ or whatever?”

“Yes,” Cooper sighed exasperatedly. “Didn’t you promise me you weren’t going to mess with my process?”

“Maybe,” Harper responded, dragging out the first syllable. “But that was before I realized how boring this whole thing is. I want to see how The Butcher kills.”

“And this is part of that,” Cooper replied. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that patience is a virtue?”

“I haven’t exactly been known to listen.”

His grip on her arm tightened, causing her to grunt. He leaned in closer to her, his breath heating up her left ear. “I don’t know if I’ve been clear enough. You are nothing to me, okay? I can do this without you, like I’ve done for the last six years. And unless you want to be victim number ten, scattered about the turnpike, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and follow orders.”

“Okay, Jesus,” Harper muttered. “The internet makes this stuff seem way more interesting…”

Cooper shoved her against the bricks behind her, stepping back out onto the sidewalk. The sun was setting now… A much better time of day to hunt his prey. Cooper sighed, cracking his neck before continuing to walk down the street. Harper was wasting his time, slowing him down… And, now that he was thinking about it, she was surely only going to make the whole kidnapping part a lot more difficult. 

“Hey, Cooper?” he heard her voice call from behind him. “I’m sorry… I know you have a process… But, I was thinking, maybe we could turn it into a game?”

“A game?” Cooper parroted back, stopping in his tracks and turning to face her. “You want to turn it into a game? These are human lives we’re talking about.”

“Since when does that matter to you?” Harper snickered. “Come on! We could do, like, I Spy or something.”

“How old did you say you were?” he asked, deadpan.

“Twenty one,” she shrugged. “What? Does that mean I’m not allowed to have fun anymore?”

“You know what? Fine. Sure. I spy, with my little eye, a spoiled brat who’s incapable of listening to what she’s told.”

“... I think you’re supposed to use a visual description. Like, for me, you could say ‘wearing a brown skirt.’”

“Wearing a slutty brown skirt.”

Harper crossed her arms. “Fine. Be that way.”

He turned back around and kept walking. He wanted to leave her there, pouting on the side of the road in the middle of the city… But he knew that wasn’t how the night was going to end. She would beat him to the car, quietly awaiting him in the passenger seat… If he was lucky, maybe she’d even put the ties on as some kind of wordless apology. The worst part of all was that he would let her live to see another day, another day that she could spend tormenting him with her attitude. 

He would never tell her this, but he liked it. He got a rise out of the way she pushed his buttons, the way she made him feel. He didn’t realize he still had it in him until he met her. He had spent decades of his life feeling hollow, every single emotion a performance… Until he met her. That irritation… That was real, and he was thriving off of it. 

He smirked to himself as he heard footsteps behind him. “Cooper?” he heard her voice call out.

“Yes?”

“Can you show me how you do it? How you hunt them?”

“I don’t know… Are you gonna listen and do things my way?”

“Yes…”

“Okay. Follow me, and stay quiet. You know what happens if you don’t.”

[bweirdart]

nearly oc-tober time again - time for some prompts for 2024

F.A.Q

do i have to draw?

not at all! you are free to participate with any medium that suits you... writing, artwork, free bases and templates, simple text posts, in-character-as-your-oc roleplay, whatever! (just no stealing or AI)

do i have to make new content?

nope! re-uploading old stuff that fits the prompts is allowed (and encouraged) ... old art that didn't get the appreciation it needed always deserves a chance to be shared again, it's a fun throwback!

do i have to post every day?

nope! only 10 days are mandatory (the ones in red with a star symbol) and everything else (yellow) is 100% optional! if you're busy or tired, please skip as many as you want

can i start early?

you can prep your posts in advance if you need to ... but please wait until the right day in october to share them!

can i re-upload your prompt list to another site?

i would prefer if you dont - i have accounts on most sites, so just reblog/retweet/share from me!

event tag?

#bweirdOCtober

have fun!

image desc/text version ↓under the cut↓ or on bweird.art/october

prompts:

WEEK 1: OC INTRODUCTIONS

⭐ 1: FAV OC

what makes them your fav?

2: NEW OC

how recently did you make them?

3: OLD OC

how long ago did you make them?

⭐ 4: UNDER-APPRECIATED OC

an oc you feel like you don't talk about enough, or you haven't fleshed out as much as you would like

5: RE-DESIGNED OC

an oc who has changed a lot (what changed about them?) or, if you haven't redesigned an oc: is there anything you might want to change about an existing oc?

WEEK 2: BUILDING BACKSTORY

⭐ 6: PAST

where is your oc from? what did they look like as a child?

7: LIKES

what do they like (and why?)

8: DISLIKES

what don't they like (and why?)

⭐ 9: RELATIONSHIPS

doesn't have to be romantic! can any kind of relationship (frienship, family, rivalry etc)

10: PERSONALITY

what are your oc's main personality traits

11: SYMBOLISM/THEMES

what represents your oc? is there a specific colour you associate them with, or a specific animal?

12: FUTURE

what will your oc look like in the future? do they have any plans or goals?

WEEK 3: FUN + GAMES

⭐13: MEMES

do any memes remind you of your oc? are there memes your oc would find funny? maybe you want to redraw your oc as one?

14: WHO/WHAT INSPIRED YOUR OC

are there existing characters that your oc looks like? was your oc based on yourself? is your oc originally from a specific fandom?

15: MUSIC

share a character playlist, write a songfic, post lyrics that remind you of them, etc

⭐16: EYES CLOSED or NON DOMINANT HAND

draw a picture of your oc with your eyes closed or with your non domminant hand, write or type a paragraph about them without your eyes closed, etc ... have fun, and don't worry about it looking "bad" -it's meant to!!

17: DnD ALIGNMENT CHART

put all your ocs into a DnD alignment chart, or any other similar chart if you prefer

i've compiled a few templates on my site, but you can find more easily if you google "oc alignment chart"

⭐18: SWAP

swap something between your ocs - their role in the story, hairstyles, personalities, fashion taste, species ... whatever you want! how would this difference change them?

19: PALETTE CHALLENGES

draw your ocs with as many of these colour palettes as you want (or just skip if you don't draw/don't like doing these!)

hex codes for the colours:

palette 1 - #3C1E81 #6D1EA2 #B059E8 #FE0876 #FE5284 #FE7C96 #E0CFE3 #FFD5C3

palette 2 - #352823 #673F28 #AB541C #BA8233 #897128 #A68B2F #F7BF6A #DAC3A4

palette 3 - #A42E25 #D7412B #E47C29 #F7A233 #FCC02D #FCE4A6 #486548 #FEFDE8

palette 4 - #2F4769 #39597E #53779C #94D1E7 #AADDE7 #D48DB7 #D498B5 #D2BABA

WEEK 4: COMMUNITY

20-26: A WHOLE WEEK OF SOCIAL STUFF

if you don't have the time/energy to do every day this week, ⭐ day 23 is the only one marked as mandatory! you can skip the rest!

some ideas for what you could do: talk about a friend's oc you like, make gift art/writing of them, collabs, trades, reblog/appreciate ocs in the event tag, make interactions between your ocs and other people's

WEEK 5: HALLOWEEN

⭐27: FEARS

is your oc scared of anything? do they have any phobias? are they startled easily? would any of your ocs try to scare ppl on purpose?

28: MONSTER

what would your oc be if they were a monster (eg: werewolf, vampire, eldritch beast.. whatever) or, do you have an oc who is already a monster?

29: PUMPKIN CARVING

your ocs carving pumpkins, a drawing of a pumpkin carved to look like your oc ... or even carve it in real life!

30: GHOST

this can be literally a ghost, or a concept that haunts your oc! up to you!

⭐ 31: COSTUMES

what are your ocs wearing for halloween?

[ailesswhumptober]

Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

[vixensbrainrotts]

TR men reacting to little kids wooing you

Content: reactions

Tropes: established relationship

Warnings: none (lmk if im wrong)

Summary: A little boy, perhaps four or five of age comes waddling over to you two whilst you're out on a date together and offers you a flower, confessing his spontaneous love for you. How does your man react to that?

Vixen’s two cents: hi! This has been sitting in my drafts forever so i need to get it out cause it’s collecting cobwebs. It’s sort of a random idea but whatever, i found it entertaining. Also im editing this in the car and its giving me a stroke why is the road so fucking uneven? If you have any ideas for me to write please please please my requests ans messages are open! Yeah, let me know if there are any other characters that fit those types and enjoy!

(Takemichi, Chifuyu, Souya, Hakkai, Shinichiro, Sanzu (I don’t care what anyone says. Shy Sanzu is forever on my agenda), Inui)

Nearly deceased type, it took him so long to get you. How HOW is this little ass kid wooing you better than he could ever dream of? What the actual fuck was happening? He couldn’t believe his eyes when that actual toddler came up to you with a flower, the stem freshly plucked, and a glimmer in the kid‘s hopeful eyes. The boy had almost serenaded you the way he sang praises to you: „excuse me miss, you’re really pretty! Would you accept my flower please?“. And what was even more unbelievable, was when you giggled and accepted the flower giddily. Then the little boy crossed the line: „can I have a kiss in return Miss?“. And you did. You pecked the cheek of the boy meek two minutes after meeting him! Unbelievable! It took him 3 dates to even hold your hand. Outrizzed by a five year old.

(Nahoya, Mikey, Baji)

Ready to fight the kid. He's deadass about it too, rolling up his sleeves and cracking his knuckels and snapping the kinks in his neck, looking menacingly at that poor little boy. He doesn't care that this may be the kid's first crush, he'll crush him in return. You were his damnit and he was gonna prove it to anyone who tried him. Kids included. When you pull at his arm though, prompting him to calm down, he stops a little. What do you mean you dont want him to establish his dominance? He's genuinely stumped and just kinda stares at you for a second, watching you intensely as you lean down to the boy, whispering something in his little ear and taking the flower from him. The boy giggles at you, his former horror dissipated, instead replaced with a furious blush that spread all the way down his neck and up his ears. He blew you a kiss before skipping away, giddily going back to whatever he was doing beforehand. Your boyfriend turns you around by the shoulders immediately and gives you a harmless glare. “What the fuck was that about?” But he doesn’t get a response, as you just wrap your arms around him and laugh. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” Well… that wasnt the answer he was looking for but he’ll take it.

(Ran, Shion, Draken, Benkei, Wakasa)

Sitting back and watching the show. He finds the little kids advances hilarious and will gladly watch the little shrimp try to win you over whilst you’re trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. “So sweets, how old are you anyway?” The boy asks you with a smirk on his face. “Too old for you.” You answer incredulously, just about ready to cry from laughter. “No no no baby, no one has to know! It can just be between the two of us and that’s fineeee!” He draws out the syllables and leans one elbow on table you and your boyfriend are sitting at. Your boyfriend all the while has probably pulled out a phone, discreetly filming the whole thing whilst leaning back and hiding his tears. You shoot both boys an amused look and then answer the awaiting kid. “Come back to me in a few years and maybe we can arrange something, yeah?” The little kids eyes widen as he looks at you with a determined smile. “Yes! You won’t regret it! And I’ll beat up your wannabe boyfie over here once I’m strong enough too!” He exclaims and runs off leaving you howling in laughter and your boyfriend, who is suddenly enraged by a child, fumes silently, sending daggers across the room. “Relax baby.” You reach a hand over the table to hold his, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t touch me.” He hisses and puts the phone down, crossing his arms in fake offense.

(Hanma, Kokonoi, Izana, Rindou)

The false hope typa guy. In this case, the boy made the mistake of coming up to HIM and innocently asking for your name. “Why, you like what you see?” Your boyfriend uses language much too mature for the little kid, but he gets a timid response of “yeah, she’s real pretty..” nevertheless. Your boyfriend chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I say go for it, I’m sure you’ve got a chance with her!” The little boy has wide eyes and an open mouth “Really? You sure she doesn’t have some super big ‘n scary boyfriend?” He has to suppress laughter when he answers. “I’m sure she doesn’t, go talk to her, ask her for her name and tell her that I said hi too.” And with that, he’s sent the kid on his way. Your boyfriend watches him shyly go up to you and pat your leg slightly to get your attention. He watches you smile down at the little boy and talk to him, your eyes widening and laughing when you exchange a few words with the kid. When he sees fit, he comes stalking over to the two of you and wraps his arm around your waist and smirks at the kid. “Hey there.” You greet your boyfriend and turn to look at him. “Have you met—“ he guesses that you’re about to introduce him to the little boy but he doesn’t care to listen, and leans down to shush your lips with a long, over-the-top kiss, even going as far as to cracking one eye open to look at the little boys horrified face before finally pulling away. You’re a little dazed and very confused when you look down and find your little admirer gone. You throw your boyfriend an accusing look but he only raises his hands in surrender, claiming innocent with a smug smile on his face.

[abbyslovergirlxo]

Same Damn Time

Caitlyn Kiramman x Reader x Ambessa Medarda

tw; Dom!Ambessa, Dom!Caitlyn, sub!reader, rough sex but they’re not so mean towards the end, wlw, sadism (cait/bessa), choking, slapping (everywhere lol), knife usage, blood kink??,masochism (you🫵) , crying, reader has a mouth on her and then folds (typical😒), idk why i made cait psychotic but oh well, oral, degradation, crumbs of praise lmao, ALL SEXUAL INTERACTION IS CONSENSUAL, I am not someone who writes noncon

Word count: 7.8k

… = time skip

a/n; whewww! like what can I even say, this fic is crazy asl. Like I actually think they’re gonna bring back stoning people just for this. Lowkey deserved. But I know there��s someone out there who’s gonna match my freak 😭 i had tooo much fun writing this while listening to the song, made me think of them 😩lots of tw!! so plz read that before scrolling!!! I feel like this is something you’re either really going to love or really going to hate sooo idk. Also I was literally fixated on Sevika/Ambessa and one edit drove me to madness so here we are, getting double teamed by Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda 😩 They’re both evil twins in this but Caitlyn is the more evil twin but no seriously read the tw…. anyways enough of my my rumbling, this fic is long enough lol.

Your ear shot up, body reacting involuntarily to the large grey door opening. Heavy echoing footsteps, hushed whispers, and then a closed door.

“ This is the one?”

The judgemental tone would’ve sent you spiralling, had you been anywhere else. But menacing glares and sharp words would do little for you here. The lights were dim, unfavorably so, only illuminating distinctly right above your chair that you sat in.

Their voices held unyielding authority. Everyone from topside did to be fair but something about these two gave away their status. Their faces were shielded slightly, your eyes squinting in an attempt to see who they were. That attempt was shot down, the small space of darkness they stood in protecting them.

You cursed yourself for not having been smarter that day, faster. For if you had been, you’d never know what the inside of Stillwater’s interrogation room looked like.

“ Yes, General. My enforcers found her near one of Jinx’s old hideouts. From the items that were taken from her we can safely say this one knows something. She knows Jinx. My men attempted to speak to her a couple of days ago but nothing came of it.”

You thought back to the ‘men’ who questioned you, hammered you with prompts that you refused to answer. The bruises on your back proved how badly they wanted to know but you never relented.

“ I don’t know anything.” A lie. A clear one. Both of the women ignored you, tossing back and forth bits of information. You tugged at the shiny metal cuffs, now wishing you’d taken Vi up on those lock picking lessons. I’m so fucked, you thought to yourself. The room was a bit cold and you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion when they snatched you. So, somberly you shook a little, giving up on listening to whatever they were saying.

You weren’t going to rat. You knew that much.

Your head was hung when you heard them get closer to you. Not bothering to look up, you heard two chairs groan from being pulled, until they sat down from what you assumed.

“ Name?”

Finally you peered up. Your expression faltered for a second, not expecting the sight in front of you. Their outfits clashed and blended seamlessly all at once. One sat in an all black attire, her long blue hair hanging down. The other was engrossed in clads of gold and red.

Sitting right across from you, they both had menacing glares. Well, the glares you expected. Not quite the faces. Shamefully you imagined seeing them somewhere else, maybe in The Last Drop? The younger, sharp features and pinched eyes, looked at you with a particularly hateful look. That didn’t bother you though, she was as intimidating as the drunk men you’d fought with in the undercity. Pretty though, you thought. The other one was a different story entirely.

She was tall, you could tell from how she towered even sitting down. Something about her was elegant. But she looked dangerous. Growing up it was quite necessary to assess who you could and couldn’t take on, and the moment your eyes locked with hers, you knew. The scars on her face also gave way to what she was capable of. She was a problem, even if her stare wasn’t as heinous as the woman beside her.

“ Name?” She pressed. Her voice was calm but she didn’t look like someone who didn’t know how to raise it.

“ I don’t know anything. I don’t even know who Jinx is.”

The blue haired girl scoffed, clearly unimpressed. Her companion remained analytical of you.

“ You’re a terrible liar.” Her voice came off unforgiving and brutal. You’d be lying (again) if you said you weren’t slightly offended. But you kept a neutral face, ignoring her.

“Listen, this doesn’t have to be rough. How this goes depends entirely on you, you choose. We know you know Jinx. We know that you know something. The information you have is quite important to me,”

The older woman paused for a split second, her stare unwavering and promising. She looked over to the younger one before looking back at you.

“ to us. So we’re leaving this room with something, I can assure you that. But I can also assure you that if you help us, we will help you.”

Her voice was smooth, like wine. Well according to what people say about wine, you’d never had it. She was firm in her words, almost as if she herself knew the power behind her promise. That would’ve reassured you had it not been for the fact that she was after your fucking friends.

You looked between the two of them again, assessing the scene in front of you over and over. You were unimpressed, if you were being honest, something you hadn’t been since these cuffs first touched your wrist. Sure, you could tell they meant business but this was futile as an interrogation tactic.

Good cop, bad cop?

While the older wasn’t exactly nice, you expected a missing eye, pulled nails and burnt skin. What you weren’t expecting was two, unfortunately attractive, topside pigs to do a century old method. If anything they should’ve switched, you thought to yourself.

Maybe then they’d get somewhere.

“ Still don’t know who Jinx is or why I’m here.”

“ You’re lying, again. And protecting a known fanatic and criminal. Tell us where we can find Jinx.”

You furrowed your brows, annoyed with her insults and claims. Who is she to tell you that were lying? Well, you were of course. But regardless, the tone in the blue eyed woman before you made you unsettled.

“ I’m not lying.” You gritted out. “ I’ve been detained wrongfully. You’re wasting your time. I don’t know anything.”

“ Yes, you do.” Her voice was firm, final. You scowled at her, but it was nothing in comparison to how she looked at you. Constantly her jaw flexed, on edge and angry. But she had no right to be angry in your mind, after all you were the one chained to a table being talked at rather than talked to. Secretly you wished for the older woman to speak again, at least she wasn’t such a bitch.

“ Are they your friends? Is that it? Because I promise you that we will find Jinx, it will just be a whole lot messier without your help. I don’t mind that. But I’m sure you will.”

You fought the urge to wipe that domineering tone and look off her face. You’re never going to find Jinx! You’re nothing but a power hungry topsider who doesn’t know the first thing about friends! I’m not telling you shit. Was what you wanted to say. But instead,

“ I don’t know Jinx or whatever else you people plan on asking me. Like I said, you. are. wasting. your. time.”

You put emphasis on each word, tired of repeating yourself. But to your un-satisfaction she rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“ Look… I shouldn’t be here. I can’t give you anything because I don’t kno—“

“ Right.” She cut you off, so obviously tired of your insistent lying, even in the short minutes. “And you’re not an undercity animal.”

“ And you’re not a topside pig.”

In all fairness it came out before you could stop it. You weren’t used to being talked to like this and keeping quiet, it almost came out of pure instinct. But if you were surprised by your words you didn’t show it one bit, a small smile almost playing on your lips.

Her nostrils flared slightly, her breathing elevating. For a moment you thought she’d explode before the other woman spoke.

“ Kiramman.”

You memorized the name, not sure if it’d be useful later once you escaped but just in case. She simply collected herself, nodding at the woman who she called ‘General’. Maybe this is where you went wrong, your natural element slipping out, your ego on its way to arriving.

“ You should learn to control yourself, ya know… during interrogations and such.”

“ Shut your mouth.” It was harsh and whispered. This is when you should’ve stopped but you didn’t.

“ You must be new, since you need a supervisor to help you.”

“ Shut it.”

“ You guys have nothing on me. You’re fucking desperate. I’m n—“

Mistakenly you were so focused on Kiramman that you hadn’t been prepared for the harsh grab of your chin. It was quick, unbelievably fast and that scared you more than anything. The strength of which she used to crush your face also attributed to the pit in your stomach.

“ You’ve chosen miserably.”

Her voice was meaner now, she talked as if you were nothing. Like you were stupid. Instantly you regretted wishing for her presence.

Embarrassingly you struggled against her trying to pry away but it was useless. She effortlessly held you there, your cheeks red with humiliation and anger. You tried to ignore the victorious face planted on Kiramman.

“ She said shut your mouth so you shouldn’t be doing anything but that.”

“ Thought you w-wanted me to talk, which one is it?”

You half expected her to break your jaw or lash out like the woman beside her. Instead she remained calm, eerily calm. Anyone with such strength and patience was someone who got what they wanted. But, you weren’t going to talk, you reminded yourself.

She pulled you closer, not without the rebellious tug from you. Silently she analyzed you, staring into your eyes painstakingly long. You squirmed and averted your gaze. She let you go with a ‘hmph’.

“ She won’t talk, not like this.”

The blue haired girl whipped her head towards her, then back to you, a blue fire blazing in her eyes. From the short time they’d been in the room it was clear the older woman held a higher position, authority oozing from her undoubtedly. But now you noticed something dark about the Kiramman that you should have picked up on before.

She was angry, unreasonably so. There was something constantly threatening to set off inside of her.

“ Everyone talks. There has to be something that’ll make her.”

The General hummed. “ I agree, but not like this. She’s loyal to them and she’s prepared for a cell if not this. She’s attempting to use our anger to distract us. She needs something else.”

The goosebumps from the cold air became accompanied by ones born from anxiety. Your mind went into a dark place, worried you’d never leave Stillwater. What if they starved you? Kept you locked in some cell as your body slowly decayed while you still lived? True fear found its way to you for the first time, the unknown overwhelming.

Kiramman seemed to hold back a sigh, instead taking a moment to actually listen to her superior's words. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking but from the firm nod she let off to the General, you knew it wasn’t in your favor. The grey haired woman stood now, making your heart race. Desperately you tugged at the chain once more, attempting to repeat your overdone line.

“ Look, I really don’t know anything.” Ignored.

The blue haired girl remained seated, leaned back slightly, watching silently as the older woman walked around the table. She walked to you with a certain prowess about her. She was taller than you’d expected, to your dismay. You refused to look at her when she was finally standing beside you, face aimed at the grey table.

You pinched your eyes waiting to be hit, choked maybe, or stabbed if they didn’t mind the mess. Your breathing raised as you tried to silently comfort yourself through whatever pain soon awaited. You held back a flinch when you felt large hands pulling at your chains.

It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. Fuck.

*clink*

You snapped your eyes open, seeing your handcuffs now undone.

“ Stand up.”

You took in a breath, silently grateful that you hadn’t been harmed. You stood now, relieved. At least whatever they were going to do wasn’t happening in the now you thought. You looked towards the giant closed metal door, expecting your arm to be snatched as she led you to your dark cell. But to your surprise she simply spoke again.

“ On the table.”

You looked between the two of them.

You shook your head, not even at them, it just shook. No way in hell were you going to lay down on some metal table while these two psychopaths did whatever they wanted to you. You weren’t exactly happy about the bruises that already resided there, definitely not hoping for extras.

“ …No.”

You hadn’t wished to say it but you couldn’t bring yourself to willingly place your body on that table before they hurt you.

“ You misunderstand the situation. You’ve chosen already. So get on the table.”

You didn’t choose shit. That’s what you wanted to shout, to scream at them until your bones betrayed you. A million emotions rushed through your head, clenching and unclenching your hands. Instead you remained silent and unmoving, your refusal to acknowledge was saying ‘no’ in its own way.

“ Fucking impossible…”

You didn’t even have a moment to react to the words before you were pulled. A grunt left your mouth as your hair was gripped painfully. Anger coursed through you upon seeing the black uniform in your peripheral. You used your now free hands to try and pry her hands from you but she only gripped impossibly tighter, your scalp beginning to burn. She was swifter than you’d imagined she’d be, strong too, grabbing both of your hands with one, pinning them. This somehow was worse than cuffs.

“ Fucki— let me go!”

Ignored. Why did they ignore everything?

“ Where do you want her?”

Her General's eyebrows raised, but you didn’t see surprise. Not even disappointment. Content, maybe? You didn’t put it past her.

“ Let's put her on her back to start.”

She moved without question or affirmation. Irritation was clear across your face now, upset at the stinging that wasn’t letting up on your scalp. But clearly the woman behind you didn’t care, roughly forcing you onto the table. She wasn’t as tall as her companion but she was taller than you and it wasn’t an advantage on your part. The force behind her movements were unsettling, you hadn’t thought she was powerless at first glance, but her grip on you was unnerving compared to what you thought she was capable of.

The cold metal wasn’t welcoming. It felt like a million needles were puncturing your skin causing you to shudder. Your tank top strap had fallen off your shoulder amidst the struggle, close enough to slipping down making you wish your hands were free.

“ Give me her wrist.”

They swiftly transferred your hands, the Generals grip matching hers but you could tell there was more strength to be given behind it. You didn’t want to imagine her really trying to squeeze you. The cuffs you were free from moments ago encased you again, and you didn't miss the two extra notches she clicked causing your bone to shift uncomfortably with the metal. You scowled.

“ It’s too fucking tight.”

Not even a pitied glance, nothing. Ignored. Again. You shifted your wrist again, overwhelmed and upset. And this bitch is still gripping my hair, using her other hand to keep your shoulder on the table casually. So easily, and that made you feel vulnerable, helpless. And your now restrained hands weren’t helping, the slight burn making something in your throat want to creep up but you wouldn’t dare allow it, deciding to instead take it out on them.

“ Let go of my hair, you bi–”

You hissed, the stinging sensation pulsating across your cheek. It wouldn’t leave a bruise but you damn sure felt it.

“ Mind your tongue.”

The General ignored the glare you sent her straight from hell, instead taking off her jacket revealing a dark sleeveless sort of top. You couldn’t begin to imagine or decipher the detailing of it, topsiders always dressed too flashy in your opinion, too stuck up. Her arms were as big as you'd thought. Both being ridiculed with scars.

Then, another sharp crack resounded through the dark room, a quick punishing tug to your scalp. This one would unfortunately leave a bruise. You could tell. You didn’t hiss this time, too stunned, on the verge of groaning from the way she used your hair as a plaything.

“ What she said.”

Kiramman finally let go of your hair, the residue of her strength still pounding through your head. You tried to sit up but she instead used both of her hands to hold you down. With only your legs to move, you kicked but the General shut that down as soon as it started. Effortlessly she used only one hand to keep them pinned down, now looking over you and at Kiramman.

What now? You thought. Cut my skin until I fess up? Break my bones until I don’t have any? Beat me bloody while I lie on this cold table? Are they going to kill me when this is all over, when I don’t say anything? I’m going to die here, aren’t I? I’m going to die and nobody’s gonna know.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it.

Eyes suddenly squeezed shut, recited echoes of wishful thinking, a scratchy throat. You braced yourself.

“ Last chance. Tell us where we can find Jinx and I’ll send you back to your cell. Untouched.”

Your voice came out a little exasperated, anxiety and anger laced into it. You kept your eyes shut.

“ I don’t know who Jinx is so I can’t tell you that. I don’t know anything.”

Your shoulder crushed more into the table, pale hands squeezing.

“ You continue to choose stupidity, insolence. No more of that.”

Suddenly the grip on your legs were let go and you opened your eyes. She was still at the head of the table staring down at you. For a moment you considered kicking again but as if she read your mind…

“ Kick me and I will break every bone in your knee.”

Her tone wasn’t intimidating, demeaning absolutely, but not intimidating. The certainty in her voice made you throw away any ideas of using your legs. You liked your knees to say the least. You peered straight up to see an upside version of Kiramman, her long blue hair creating a shadow around her neck, her jawline distinct. Even without seeing her face, only the outline of lips and nose, the anger radiated off her body.

“ What now?”

The General looked over you, straight at her.

“ We’ll need to take her pants off for the next part.”

You and Kiramman spoke at the same time.

“ Wait, what? My pants?” “ Her pants?”

The older woman simply gave a one word reply, meant to supply both of you with a firm answer, ‘yes’.

“ Wait, wait.”

She looked down at you, eyebrows raised.

“ Do you remember something about Jinx? Something you’d like to tell us?”

You listened to the flickering sound coming from the light above you. One by one you let them pop into your head. Jinx, long blue hair and wild face as she hugged you. Vi, stuffing her favorite foodsin your face. Isha, making paper airplanes with you. For a moment you thought a tear might slip but it didn’t. You drew in a shaky breath, ignoring the sting on your wrist.

“ No. I don’t know anything. I just…”

You averted your gaze.

“ Is it going to hurt?”

A stupid question in your mind. No doubt torture hurts. But something in you needed to ask, needing some sort of certainty in what was to come.

“ That depends on you entirely. I’ll give you pain when you give me insolence. But when you give me answers, I’ll give you… ”

She suddenly ghosted a hand over your calf.

“ Relief.”

You shuddered a little, her graze unexpected. But you didn’t dare move your leg, not wanting to test what qualified as a kick to her. You didn’t want to imagine what she meant by relief, because it couldn’t mean that. It couldn’t mean that.

“ How does that sound?”

“ It sounds like I have nothing else to say to you.”

She hummed. Without another word she slipped her large hands in your waistband, pulling them down to your ankles. You wanted them back the second your bare thigh touched the cold metal. A click echoed and you looked to see a blade in her hand, small in size but formidable in design. Gold snakes seemed to embroider its handle. You sucked in a harsh breath at the sight, your eyes locked on it.

Your eyes flicked up at the blue haired woman, her position now changed so that you could see her face again. Her eyes almost beamed? For the first time an expression other than anger displayed itself on her features. Now she looked almost… pleased. Excited.

It’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. I can take it. I can take it. I can take it. Hopefully.

You ignored the last words, watching as the General kept her eyes trained on your plump thighs. Opening them, she traced it right on the inside of it. Immediately you could tell it was sharp. Too sharp. It was cold against your skin, not as harsh as the table but unforgiving nonetheless. Anticipation rushed through you. Hands clenched within its restraints, the light flickering and flickering, her soft hands on your shoulder, icy metal on your skin, her hand slipping onto your thigh and then….

“ Ngnh!”

Your head pressed into the metal slightly. You’d have been embarrassed by your whimper if it wasn’t for the sudden warm drip down your thigh. Blood, you assumed. You’d been through worse but you still squirmed at the cut now adorned on your skin. She pushed down on your thigh, not fond of your squirming. Then she continued, tracing the blade across your thigh, waiting until your body finally relaxed, stopping itself from that state of bracing. And right when you did, she’d swipe a quick line across your shaky, burning legs. Always between your thighs, always.

It felt like electricity was rushing through you, it was all so overwhelming. You felt like you were being swallowed alive and they had barely done anything. The cuts burned and sent a rush of pain through your nerves and skin. Everytime you looked at Kiramman her face was becoming alive with intoxication. It’s like she couldn’t pull her eyes away, trained on the way your leg wobbled under her General’s hand, how you whimpered lowly, the light trace of blood on the expensive blade. You jolted again, particularly harder this time.

“ Relax. It's just a little cut, you're a big girl.”

It continued like this. You tried your best to stifle the whimpers coming from your mouth. The last thing you wanted was for them to hear what they were doing to you. Over and over she painted your thighs with your own crimson, and it hurt. It hurt, it did. And that's all it should be.

But your stomach kept getting that feeling. It burned, like the surface level cuts she gave you. It burned every time her calloused finger swiped across your sliced skin, collecting blood. It burned when she smiled suddenly, as if proud of her work. And it was scalding when you looked up and saw those blue eyes entranced. But it wasn’t pain. It wasn’t…anger. It was something else. Something that made you want to release that feeling in your throat, made you wish she meant something ungodly when she offered relief.

“ What's this?”

Your skin was hot to the touch now, sweaty. Trembling slightly, you looked up at her. For a moment you couldn’t begin to imagine what she was referring to until you traced her eyes. You silently prayed that it wasn’t what you thought. But from the way she asked, you knew.

“ What is it?”

Kiramman asked, curiosity clear in her voice. The older woman smirked, staring down at the wet spot in your panties.

“ It seems her body is more honest than she is. I think our little prisoner likes this. Her panties say so at least.”

Your face burned so hot that it rivaled the sun itself. You considered saying something, protesting and denying it. But what was the point? It did feel good, the burn felt good. And she had the evidence right in front of her. You couldn’t meet either of their gazes, looking to the side in shame. Kiramman laughed, the vibrations reaching you through her touch.

“ I knew it, she was whimpering like a dog. Isn’t that right?”

You shook your head, still refusing to look. But she wasn’t having it, using one of her hands to pull your chin. Even upside down, she looked menacing. She forced eye contact. Her face was rampant with mocking undertones, sadistic glares.

“ Is that why you’ve been so rude? You wanted us to give you a little pain, show you a good time? You really are pathetic.”

“ That’s not tr– n-ngh!”

A stinging pain after a quick slap to your clothed cunt made you whimper louder than anytime the blade touched you. It felt like a live wire tapping your skin, your legs snapping shut. The wet spot in your panties grew, your breathing uneven.

“ Insolence. Tell the truth.”

I can’t. You thought. Telling them that you’d enjoyed it, even a tiny bit, seemed more daunting suddenly than ratting.

“ I’m not ly– f-fuck…”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever be allowed to finish a sentence, her hand opening your legs followed by another slap coming down. Your eyes fluttered for a moment, your face squeezing with pain and pleasure. Kiramman used the hand she never removed to guide you. A smile was now on her lips, wide with genuine amusement.

“ Oh god, did you just… moan? You really are something aren’t you? Is that what it’s going to take? A few more slaps to your cunt and you’ll be blabbering? Or maybe…”

She lowered herself, close enough that her hair brushed against your face. You whined again, another unsuspecting smack from the older woman. You hadn’t even done anything, she just liked the way your panties got damper with each hit. Kiramman almost thanked her for it, relishing in hearing the noise even closer. She whispered to you.

“ If I make you cum enough times you’ll remember something. I bet you’d like that, letting a… what was it that you called me…a topside pig make your cunt cry?”

Finally, you gave way to the ache in your throat. A tear fell down your face suddenly. Another burning sensation forming in your stomach at the feeling of the General toying with the rim of your panties.

“ Please…”

It was quiet, almost matching the decibels of the wind. But you knew she’d heard it. It was obvious from how her grin widened, her eyes looking like ones of a deranged woman.

“ Please what? Please…make me cum? Please…let me go? Please fucking what?”

In this small moment of time, you almost felt like you were watching your dignity physically leave your body. You imagined telling her to let you go, that you didn’t know anything and a few cuts to your legs wasn’t going to change that. And you considered it, over and over. Then something played in your mind, a sick fantasy woven in desperation. In it, you asked her what you really wanted to. And in it they kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, made you finish until you didn’t know how to walk. You considered both. But only one of them made your core ache with desire. Your eyes were even glossier now. Suddenly you were working yourself up for a new kind of courage.

I can take it. I can take it. I can take it.

“ Make me cum please.”

“ Please who?”

I can take it.

“ Please, Kiramman.”

“ That’s it. Finally something coming out of your mouth other than horseshit. But you still need some manners…”

The grip that had left your ears ringing suddenly came back, her pale fingers peeking through your hair. She pulled your head up, forcing you to look at the General. You groaned, arms thrashing slightly, the sting of the metal never relenting.

“ I’m not the only one here. Go ahead, ask General Merdarda too.”

You gritted your teeth. This was already humiliating, and she was just reveling in it. Your legs were already spread, panties damp, dried crimson on your skin, hands bound above your stomach. You’d already asked, multiple times. And now you had to say it again, with a death-like grip on your hair and those hazel eyes peering at you, awaiting.

“ …but I already asked y—“

The slap was even stronger this time , the force of it driving your body insane. Merdarda grinned at you, even laughing a little at the noise you made. Another tear fell down your cheek but Kiramman was quick to wipe it. Right before she licked her finger.

“ But you didn’t ask me.”

If she slapped your cunt again you’d probably start grinding against the table, somehow making you look more pathetic than you do right now. So you gave in.

“ P-Please General Merdarda, will…”

I’m never speaking about this if I get out of here.

“…Will you please make me cum?”

“ Well would you look at that, that’s all you had to say little one. But what do we get in return? Surely you can’t expect us to make you cum with nothing given back.”

“ …But…I already said I don’t know anything.”

Kiramman scoffed.

“ Even after you soak your panties from a little cut, you still have the ability to lie. I’m almost impressed.”

She let your head drop back onto the table.

“ Almost.”

….

For a second you thought she’d kiss them.

At first glance it seemed so, her soft lips trailed over the red raised wounds, her nose spilling cold air on them. You reveled in it, an ember threatening to go a blaze within you. That was until she nipped at it, a hiss leaving your mouth. You couldn’t see her smile but you felt it sweeping across the throbbing skin. You cursed under your breath, the force behind her bite growing more rabid. She slapped the thigh she wasn’t ravaging, quick and harsh.

“ You like that, don’t you?”

There that voice was again, smooth and sultry. You weren’t sure if she was referencing the strike on your leg or her roaming fingers but murmured yes anyway. Yes to all of it. She had your shirt hitched up, breast exposed. Every once and awhile she’d toy with them, trace an outline around your nipple, wait and then pinch. So often though she found herself distracted, your features giving away how desperate you were.

Merdarda found enjoyment in watching your contort every time Kiramman did something to you, anything to you really. You were like a tight coiled spring, threatening to snap at any given moment. It's like every touch has you ready to risk everything. And you learned quickly they were into this a little more than you, mania clear across their faces. You were trembling, Kiramman taking advantage of how sensitive your legs were.

“ C’mere.”

You felt a little dizzy, seeing her lift her head up from between your legs. She grabbed your cuffed hands, pulling you up to meet her face. It all happened so fast and you winced from the strain in your shoulders. She was closer now and it was just now that you noticed the traces of blood on her lips. You hadn’t expected a kiss this time around, but it happened. It wasn’t gentle, if anything it felt like she was trying to cannibalize you with her tongue. Shamefully you pushed against her, sick to your stomach at how good she tasted. Hints of copper on your tastebuds, her wandering hands. She pulled back, being sure to bite your lip before doing so.

“ You taste that? It’s you.”

She dropped her eyes to your thighs, licking over her lips once more. A trance almost seemed to describe the hunger behind her stare, but you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t care either way, you just wanted her to do whatever was on her mind to you and soon.

“ fucking delicious.”

The whispered lust in her voice rivaled the reaction brought out from Medardas heavy hands.

“ You should taste her General. She’s sweeter than that filthy mouth of hers.”

Wordlessly, she captured your lips next. Her movements were more experienced, methodical and you felt as though you melted into her due to it. Ruby lipstick smeared onto you, a groan slipping from her as she made sure to taste everything you had to offer. The metallic tinge on her tongue made her pull in deeper. You whimpered, dizzy from lack of breath and insatiable roaming hands.By the time she pulled away your eyes were low, an unfocused look about you.

“ I wonder if her cunt tastes even better.”

Kiramman smiled sickly to herself, her gapped teeth giving you a warm tinge to your cheek.

“ We’ll know soon enough.”

….

Your wrist were nearly rubbed raw with all the thrashing you were doing. Time and time again you made attempts to close those abused legs of yours, in hopes of protecting your cunt. Unfortunately, Kiramman wasn’t pleased and she slapped it raw until you cried enough apologies. She mumbled something along the lines of ‘can’t be stupid and greedy’. But you somehow continued to be prove to be both, whining endlessly about the torture of her tongue. She never let up though, only unlatching from you to say obscene things or mark up your poor legs.

It seemed the pair held similar views, sick desires. Medarda would litter your neck and breast with purple marks shamelessly. She smelled of some expensive plant you’d never heard of, all you knew was that it made you whimper everytime her skin was pressed onto yours. She’d whisper siren-like words to you, etched in sin, rough kisses between them all. And yet you drank them into your ears like milk and honey.

“ You just came, didn’t you? Nasty girl.”

“ Do you remember anything now, hm?”

“ Don’t be so dramatic, keep your legs open for her.”

“ You must spread yourself open often. You’re a natural.”

“ Your cunts almost as noisy as you, dear.”

And when her tongue wasn’t making you drip onto the table, Kirammans words were just as wicked, if not more. Her posh accent was a coverup for all the nefarious things laced into it. A very, very poor coverup.

“ I said— keep. them. open. Unless you need a second pair of cuffs? … No? Then fucking listen.”

“ Go on, you can cry. I know it feels good. Yes filthy girl…just like that. ”

“ You’ve made a mess. Say you're sorry.”

“ Quit it, you can get a break when you remember something.”

“ Don’t act so sweet now— had quite a lot to say earlier. Isn’t that right?”

This was wrong, every bit of it. There was nothing exactly right about two high ranking officers of Piltover and Noxus eating you alive in the depths of Stillwater. The thought alone should send you running. It should have you drinking hot flashes of anger, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. But it didn’t. It only made you spread your legs wider and beg shamefully for more kisses.

It all felt so good. They felt so good and a redeemable, rational part of you hated that. But every time rationality tried to sink itself into you, Commander Kiramman and General Merdarda were right there to sink into you faster. And by god, they made you feel more full than any morale.

You were so sure you were going to die before. And that thought that hadn’t been removed just yet, except now you thought you’d pass away from all the onslaught orgasms caused by the ravenous women beside and inside you.

“ a—angh! oh god…pl–please”

Kiramman held back a sly smile, seeing the way you twitched, body so sensitive. Her fingers were drenched with you, now gloveless. Initially her signature black gloves dug inside of you but the minute she tasted you she knew she didn’t want it anywhere but on her skin. Quite roughly, she had pulled three orgasms, somehow each one more intense than the last. But that wasn’t enough, not to them. Nothing was enough until those pretty lips whimpered something they could actually report back. And even then she wasn’t sure she’d want to stop.

“ Are you going to make a mess again for us?”

Pathetically, you fought back the white of your eyes before looking down at her. She couldn’t help but grip your thighs tighter at your teary face, nodding exhaustingly down at her. Medarda kept you slightly upright, your back arching into her bicep while she sucked on your breast. Honestly she hadn’t a clue how long she’d been at it but by the rate she was going you’d look a fucked out mosaic by the time they were done. She laughed to herself but you knew it was at you. And that fact only made you rut against the table more.

“ This is going to be your fourth one dear. We’re never going to leave this room if you keep being so stubborn.”

She trailed her kisses up your chest. A peck here and a peck there. The slow ascend of her affections compared to the rapid thrust of the others fingers made you bite your lip, the skin pulling between your teeth. By the time she was up to your ear you were practically panting.

“ Or is that what you want? For us to keep making you cry until you can’t anymore?”

They’d never know it and thank god for that but you almost whispered a yes.

Kiramman couldn’t hear what was spoken but she definitely felt it. You clenched around her even harder, a long mewl spilling from you. She creased her blue brows slightly as she sped up her fingers, making sure to never be gentle with that special spot, secretly itching to hear just how loud you could get whenever you came. Her counterpart was just as wanting for it out of you, a more balanced desire about her. Even in spite of the way she pulled you in for another kiss when she heard you sob, “ ‘m s-so close..”

This time Kiramman both felt and heard it, her fingers happily accepting the tight squeeze of you. She latched back onto your clit which was practically begging to be consumed again, if you asked her. Immediately you tensed, using every ounce of self restraint to not slam her cheeks with your legs. It also got devastatingly hard to keep up with Medarda’s mouth, she pressed into you like she forgot you needed air, like you only needed them. And as the coil in your belly grew and the sloppy sounds of her eating away filled the room, you did need them.

A muffled moan ricocheted into Merdarda and she invited it wholeheartedly. When she finally pulled away, you used your bound hands to grab at her hand groping you. You squeezed it the second you felt Kiramman offer a grunt inside of your cunt. She licked you like she was rabid, lost in whatever drugs your pussy clearly had laced in it. Merdarda found it all so nasty, so amusing. Seeing the renowned Caitlyn Kiramman so cruel but so feral, and you with your slick mouth gone and lips swollen, made her clench around nothing.

Even if nobody in the room spoke it, you were all enjoying this ‘interrogation’ a little too much. That manic laughter that constantly filled Kirammans head, those stupid pigtails and flashy gadgets, had even subsided for a moment. She still wanted nothing more than to rip that smile off her face, but the way the tears journeyed down your face so easily made her want something more.

Right now all she wanted was for you to cum on her face, and she nearly keeled over when she finally heard you sing that song for her. A moan that could only be replicated in the best whorehouses of Zaun left you. The pair both smiled the moment they heard you whimper what they already knew.

“ i th—‘m gonn—“

You could barely manage a single word, back practically ingraining itself in her arm the way you arched over it.

“ Let it out, make a mess.”

Your body truly was more honest than you and clearly obedient because the second she said it you did. Your self restraint abandoned you, left you on that table shaking and crying. Your bruised legs kissed her cheeks (not so gently) as she ate and thrusted at the same pace she did before, never letting up. Even with your legs shaking and around her she just drove in deeper. The pleasure slipped into overdrive making you shake your head, trying your best to pull away, use your hands, anything to make her stop. But Merdarda snatched your cuffed hands.

“ kira—kirammannn!”

Wow, that’s the only time she’s heard her last name and wanted to hear it more. But she ignored you, knowing you were begging for her to stop. By now your legs had dropped, too weak to hold up. Your whole body practically vibrated as you lost your breath. Maybe it was the burning sensation ripping through you or the cotton in your head but you stupidly turned your head to look up at Medarda.

“ help…me…gonna fu— die!”

First she looked at you, toyed with your nipple as your hands fought against hers. So pretty and so pathetic, she thought. Then looked down at Kiramman, whose eyes now opened and met hers. An amused glint was in her blue tinted stare and suddenly Medarda couldn’t think of a single reason she’d help you.

“ She’s eating child, don’t be so rude. Have some manners.”

She was looking at you when she said it, but from the mockery in her tone you knew it was meant for more than just you. And it was confirmed when a smile traced itself onto your throbbing cunt. But it quickly went away. She was eating after all.

“ i canttt! pleasee!”

Kiramman didn’t stop until you went silent, unable to speak, inconsistent babbles of nonsense here and there. You weren’t even shaking now, just twitching and breathing like the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. When she finally got up from between your legs she couldn’t help herself and gave two quick bites. A strangle mix of a hiss and moan could be heard as you watched her stand. She lifted her fingers to your mouth, shoving them inside.

You expected her to be rough and jam them down your throat but to your surprise she simply swirled them around your mouth. Despite that voice in your head you sucked at them tiredly hoping to please them. And pleased they were. They both watched as you weakly licked her fingers clean. By the time she pulled away they both knew that previous orgasm just couldn’t be the last.

“ Do you remember anything now?”

You were fucked out, but not that fucked out.

“…no”

Thank god, they both thought in unison.

“ I guess it’s my turn then.”

…

BONUS

Kiramman walked with pure candor on her face. She heard the whispers as she walked past but she ignored them. What was the point in entertaining fools? Besides, the moment her eyes met theirs they always went silent. Always. Today hadn’t been the best day for her. Most days weren’t, hunting for that psycho and her friends wasn’t an easy job or a fun one. But she wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Well…maybe someone else…

“ Don’t let anyone in.”

The guard nodded dutifully.

By the time she reached the room, she was already imagining her sweet song. She didn’t have to wait long to hear it in person because it was practically blasting throughout the room the moment the door opened. She closed the door behind her, smiling deviously as she placed her heavy cape onto the chair.

“ She’s even wetter today, if you can believe it.”

She laughed softly, “ Oh I can believe it. How many has she got so far?”

“ Just two. Don’t worry, you didn’t take too long.”

“ God, I know. I got caught up with that fool Salo.”

Medarda laughed now, knowing all too well how annoying he could be.

“ medardaaa”

Your toes curled, struggling to handle the two large fingers inside of you. Both were devastatingly skilled with their fingers but hers were undoubtedly bigger. Way bigger. And if the size wasn’t agonizing enough, she was hitting that spot over and over. This time your hands were free, and you used them to grip her bicep.

Suddenly your throat had a new necklace. Not a very nice one. She squeezed her free hand around your throat, speeding her fingers. Clearly she wasn’t a fan of your interruption, despite the way her cunt ached when she heard her name in such a filthy way.

“ Can’t you see us talking? And you didn’t even greet your Commander. She came all this way to see you.”

You thought you were going to pass out, the squelching sounds and sultry insults becoming distant. Your mind and body gave into her once the resisting clearly wasn’t doing anything. And you loved it. Each filthy posh coated word, lingering touch, rushed collided lips left you undone. The strength behind their hands made you want to never be without it. And for the past two weeks it continued to, leaving you right here in this room on this desk, unable to breath, only able to cry and spread your legs wider.

Medarda let go, allowing Kiramman to finally slip beside you. As much as she loved the song you offered, she wanted your lips. You gasped into her, them giving you no time to actually catch a breath between the transfer. Lightheaded, you still pushed against her, wetness dripping from your face to hers. She pulled away, licked the rogue tear from the corner of your mouth.

By the time she was looking at you, you were heaving, clasping onto her bicep instead of Medardas now. She watched with such marvel as your face contorted into those beautiful expressions, such a drastic difference from the stupid girl she interrogated. Logically she knew she couldn’t call what all of you were doing an interrogation. So she opted to saying ‘some investigating work’ the few times someone inquired about her abrupt departures. It wasn’t a complete lie, her and Medarda were investigating something every couple of days. your cunt

Her gaze traced to the brown fingers moving in and out of you, then to glisten on her General's hand and finally to your thighs. They were healing nicely. Unfortunately for her they wouldn’t leave a scar according to the doctor she took you to. She almost frowned at the thought.

But then she heard you whisper a quick, “ h-hi Kiramman…”

She smiled at you, a warm thought coming to her.

“ Hi, filthy girl.”

We’ll make sure they scar next time.

P.s. They had the officers who beat you killed 😜

[justgiulia]

HIII I HAD A THOIGHT THAT HAS BEEN KILLING MY MIND AND I NEED TO TELL IT TO SOMEONE OTHERWISE IM GNA EXPLODE

get this . everyone chilling at ramshackle dorm doing their own thing, yuu (and grimm by extension), ace and deuce sitting by the table talking about whatever crosses their mind

Eventually the conversation escalates to birthdays and holidays and ace asks how old Yuu is. Azul interjects with saying Yuu's age from the contract they signed a few months ago, but then Yuu pipes up and tells them that they're one year older than that.

Theres a small moment of confusion until it dawns onto Deuce that Yuy's birthday was a month or two ago and they never spoke a peep about it. Not even to grimm!! And when asked, Yuy makes an excuse like "that was when __ was kind of close to overblotting and I didn't want to make it about me because that'd be so nitpicky—"

It was based off an audio i heard and idk if i want to write it into a short drabble for myself i probably cant since im only on book 2 ueue). But like. its a fun prompt methinks. what would all of them do when they find out Yuu deliberately didn't say a thing about their birthday

🎊

You didn't tell them about your birthday?!

characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Azul Ashengrotto, Grimm.

author's note: let's just pretend I didn't just post a request from almost 2 years ago 😭 I'm deeply sorry. also, I apologize for not uploading anything this month but I'm working on something big 🙏

warnings: none

Ace Trappola

For his Immediate Reaction, he is offended in the most dramatic way possible. He gasps like you’ve committed the ultimate betrayal.

Once he processes that you skipped celebrating because of an overblot situation, Ace feels a bit guilty. He won’t outright admit it, but his teasing becomes a little softer as a result.

He insists on throwing you an over-the-top, borderline ridiculous party.

“I’m talking about party hats for everyone and cake so big Grimm can’t finish it—well, maybe.”

His idea of a celebration is half a joke, but you know he’s secretly serious about making it memorable and deep down, he’s touched by how considerate you were and wants to make sure you never feel overlooked again.

Deuce Spade

Deuce is visibly upset, almost like he’s the one who forgot your birthday, feeling terrible for not realizing sooner.

“But Prefect, birthdays are important! You deserve to be celebrated!”

He gets way too worked up about making it up to you, like it’s a mission, he might also wonder if he’s a bad friend for not noticing your birthday had passed. He’ll pay more attention to your subtle hints in the future (even if you weren’t giving any).

"I won’t let this happen again. Next time, we’ll do something amazing. I swear.”

You swear his sincerity makes you feel just as guilty for not telling him.

Azul Ashengrotto

Acts unbothered on the surface but lowkey blames himself for not catching on sooner, especially since he prides himself on knowing useful details about everyone (and blackmailing them).

Azul will subtly try to make it up to you in his own way. Maybe he gives you a small but meaningful gift with a nonchalant...

“Consider this a late birthday present.”

He might tease you about this later saying something like...

“Oh, Prefect, you wouldn’t hide something as important as a birthday from us again, would you? It’s not wise to keep secrets from your allies.”

But the teasing is his way of showing he cares.

Grimm

“You didn’t even tell me, your best pal?! Unbelievable!”

He paces around the room dramatically, occasionally glaring at you with exaggerated betrayal.

As much as he tries to play it off as annoyance, it’s clear he’s genuinely hurt that you didn’t trust him with such important information.

“I live here! I’m supposed to know these things!”

His solution to everything is cake.

“Alright, let’s bake a cake right now. Wait, no—you bake the cake, and I’ll taste-test it!”

Grimm will insist on celebrating your birthday retroactively, even if it’s something small. He’ll demand a party and act like it’s all for you, but deep down, he just wants to feel like he’s making things right.

Overall, they argue over how to properly celebrate your next birthday. Ace wants chaos, Deuce wants heartfelt, Grimm just wants food, and Azul suggests something elegant but practical.

Despite their differences, they all agree on one thing: they’re not letting you keep secrets like this again. You can expect everyone to be hyperaware of your birthday next year—and they’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.

[fantasynovel]

I just checked @samah-h 's gofundme and was was horrified to see that she is only 2% of the way to her total goal !! She has three children, the youngest of whom is an infant. Samah is one of many, many women who has given birth during this genocide, under execrable conditions: no anesthesia, no medical supplies. Right now, her short term goal is $2,500-$5,000, and she's only at $1,618. This is an emergency. I know it might seem like you have nothing to give, but all you have to do is skip one coffee, one meal. It's nothing compared to what Samah and her family is suffering in Gaza.

If you donate anything at all, and want to: send me a screenshot of the donation and I will match 1 dollar with 100 words, writing prompt of your choice.

And if you're following me, please, please reblog this post. Samah needs to make her fundraising goal!!! She is vetted by @bilal-salah0, who is in turn vetted by @/el-shab-hussein.

[crheativity]

Hello! Mind if I send in a request? How about some headcanons for the reader making cute little plushies for the overblot squad?

SUMMARY: You decide to make plushies for the overblot squad. How do they react?

WARNINGS: None that I am aware of!

COMMENTS: ANON I want you to know that this prompt randomly smacked me over the head at like 10 pm a couple nights ago and I have not been able to get it out since even though I haven’t been able to write until now. I hope you enjoy it!!

Part two - Prefect making the plushies clothes and accessories - can be found here. Part three - their reactions when the plushies are stolen - can be found here.

Riddle absolutely loves it, please don’t mistake his silence for displeasure. He thinks it is skilfully made and quite adorable, really! He’s just… a little concerned. Does making a plush toy of the Queen herself count as sacrilege…? He’s racking his brains for any rule or law that would prohibit this adorable little toy’s existence, yet none come to mind. Does that mean he gets to keep it…? He really hopes so.

After a few days of diligent research into the matter, he determines that keeping such a cute thing is not against the law, and is overjoyed to find that he gets to keep it. After some deliberation, he decides to leave it on his desk - out of view from Cater, who would almost certainly want to take some “cammable pics” for Magicam. This way, the toy can sit on his desk and remind him of his studies… and also of you. Almost every time he sits down, he finds his eyes wandering to it and can’t help but smile.

Heh, this is kinda cute. He doesn’t mind the plushy at first - it’s cute, but he finds the expression on your face as you give it to him much cuter. Of course he’ll keep it - it’s soft and squishy enough to be a pillow, so he’s eager to try it. Especially if it means skipping class.

As he attempts to fall asleep next to said plushy, however, he realises something - the plushy smells like you. He’s a beastman, with a heightened sense of smell. Even if the plushy doesn’t smell at all, it still smells of you. As a result of this realisation, the plushy now lives on his bed. He begins to find it frustrating to sleep without it, although he’d never be caught dead sleeping in the grounds with it. You’ll just have to replace it then instead.

(Ruggie has so many blackmail photos of Leona sleeping with the toy prepared just in case)

Prefect, this is magnificent! Imagine the money you could make off of these! Hm? What do you mean they aren’t for sale-? It’s just for him…? Oh. Give him a moment, his brain just crashed. He doesn’t quite know how to respond. He loves it, and he loves you even more, but that doesn’t mean his brain is capable of forming a response, especially when you give him a big smile. Give the poor guy a minute.

He leaves it on his bed. This man definitely cuddles it while he sleeps. He gets easily distressed when it isn’t there. After a rough day at work or school, he’ll talk quietly to the plush until he feels better. If worse comes to worst, he’ll hug the toy and cry as he needs to. He loves it so much. It’s almost a new friend to him - something he finds great comfort in.

(The Tweels are no longer allowed in his room. When they inevitably come in anyway, he swears them to secrecy.)

Is that the Sorcerer of the Sands… as a plushy? For him? Thank you, Prefect. Jamil doesn’t have a whole lot of plushies - he never particularly saw the point. But he’s absolutely charmed by this one — and by you. And the fact that it’s the Sorcerer of the Sands? You definitely knew him well. He’s smiling and shaking his head as he takes the plushy. You’re so cute, it’s so endearing.

At first, Jamil isn’t quite sure what to do with it. He can’t quite sleep if it’s on his bed - it reminds him of you too strongly - so he settles with leaving it on his desk. Occasionally, in his rare free time, he’ll sit at his desk and play with it, like a grown adult finding a lost but treasured toy again. It always reminds him of you. When life calls him back, he’ll set the plushy aside for now and get to work. It will be waiting for him.

Just like you, he hopes.

Prefect! He didn’t know you could sew. It looks amazing! It’s for him? You’re very sweet, he’s very in love. He loves the plush toy so much, no matter if it has any imperfections. It was made by you, of someone he looks up to, for him. He hates to sound like Rook, but to him, that makes it the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He’s so proud of you. Vil is taking that plush EVERYWHERE. It’s always in his bag no matter where he’s going. Anytime someone questions it, he shuts them down immediately. No one will dare slander something that his beloved made for him. In fact, he uses every opportunity to sneak the plush into photos for Magicam. Whether he’s holding it, it’s nearby or in the background, it’s always there. People start looking for it in all of his pictures.

If you’re okay with the plush being online, that is.

If you’d rather it stay private, he’d kiss your forehead or hand and tell you he understands. The plush toy then stays in his room, on his vanity table. Looking at it makes him feel like a teenage schoolgirl. He supposes it’s alright to indulge in such silliness occasionally, hm?

Wow, you made him a marketable plushy? Of one of the Great Seven? He wasn’t expecting you to have such a normie hobby. Oh, but that’s not a bad thing. He’s extremely grateful, but extremely awkward - does this mean he has to get you something now? What kinda thing would you like? Ah, wait, was that not the appropriate thing to say? Ortho’s giving him the “shut up and be polite” look.

Please don’t be offended if it seems like he doesn’t like it when he receives it. He actually really, really does. He decides to make it his new “gaming buddy”, making him a little custom headset and fake controller and sitting it next to him while he games. He’s stunned to silence when the lil guy’s presence improves his gacha rolls by, like, a LOT. He was already taking pretty good care of it, but now he’s being WAY more careful with it.

Occasionally, Ortho will catch him talking to it. Idia genuinely loves the plushy - and you - a lot. Even if Idia doesn’t quite know how to show it, Ortho does - by recording Idia’s conversations with the toy and showing them to you. Idia is mortified.

Oh? My child of man made me this… adorable plushy? My, how generous of you. He’s absolutely in love. If you thought he was attached to his tamagotchi, just wait and see. Malleus is NEVER letting the plushy leave his presence. Lilia had to take it away to clean it once and it stormed for a week. He loves it so much - and you so much more.

He absolutely treats the plushy as a human, and asks the others to do the same. Occasionally, he (or rather, Lilia using his phone to assist him) will send you a photo of him and the plushy doing something together, such as having a tea party or a picnic. Almost always with the caption, “Dear Prefect, would you care to join us? Kind regards, Malleus.”

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥