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frenchkisstheabyss · 2 months ago

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♡ ｔｏｌｏｖｅａｂｏｙ ♡

♡ Pairing: boyfriend!joshua hong x chubby!fem!reader, best friend!hoshi, best friend!dk

♡ Genre: fluff/angst/smut

♡ Summary: Over the past year of being with your boyfriend you've grown close with his dearest friends. Something that he's always seemed happy about. That is until one night when he wakes up to find you hanging with two of his best friends when you should be lying in bed next to him. Joshua can't really be jealous over something so small, so absolutely innocent...right?

♡ Word Count: 3.2k-ish

♡ Warnings: jealousy/relationship insecurities, penetrative sex, fingering, overstimulation, creampie, a lil nipple play, possessiveness, pet names (baby), light dom/sub/switch dynamics if you squint, some thigh/ass slapping, fluffy love, & that's it, babes.

♡ A/N: This one is a request I got a little bit ago and I'm so happy to have finally finished it. I don't tend to get SVT x chubby reader fic requests so it was really nice to get one. Thank you to the sweetie of an anon who sent this in and was so patient with me getting this out. I hope you enjoy this my beautiful carat babes 💜

“DK, would you sit still? You’re gonna mess me up” you giggle, doing your best to apply false lashes to DK without poking one of his eyes out.

Seated on the edge of his bed, DK continues to do the exact opposite of what you’re begging him not to. “I am sitting still” he insists, flinching any time the lash even comes close to his eyelid.

Over your shoulder a half awake Hoshi has a hand clasped over his mouth to quiet the laughter that has him turning red. Finally you get the lashes on, despite DK’s squirming, and you step back to admire your work.

DK bats his lashes, feeling prettier than any runway model, “Am I gorgeous or what?”

Hoshi collapses into laughter, his head falling on your shoulder as he wheezes, “This was the best idea ever. You look insane.”

“You shut up!” DK scolds, reaching for a pillow to no doubt knock the life out of Hoshi with.

You stop him just in time, grabbing the pillow and holding it tight to you like a prized plushie. “Ignore him” you say, delicate fingers tilting his cheek, “I happen to think you look beautiful.” And you aren’t lying to him. You hate to toot your own horn but you’re pretty good with a brush and the makeup you’ve done on him suits him well. Subtle lipstick, flawless wingtip liner, and the slightest bit of blush to brighten up his face.

Proud as you may be of the outcome, none of this was your idea to begin with. This all started when you found yourself tossing and turning at 2 in the morning. You’d tried every trick in the book to fall asleep but your restless mind wouldn’t let you. Not wanting to interrupt the boyfriend snoozing peacefully beside you, you wandered out into the kitchen in search of snacks.

You navigated the halls quietly, not wanting to wake the rest of the house, only to stumble upon DK and Hoshi already in the kitchen. It turns out you weren’t the only one struggling to get to sleep tonight. Figuring there was no use climbing back in bed to suffer alone, the three of you made your way back to DK’s room, snacks in hand, and decided to play a late night game of Truth or Dare. And for poor DK this is how things ended up. Well, maybe not so poor DK. He seems to be as amused with it as you and Hoshi are. When people talk about “core memories” that’ll stick with you forever this will definitely be one for you.

It was intimidating when you and Joshua first started dating. Naturally you want your boyfriend’s best friends to like you but “best friends” usually consists of 5 people at best. Not 12 unhinged men with a lifelong bond that makes them protect each other more like brothers than friends. You still remember the first time that you met them. Every week the boys gather at their favorite restaurant for dinner to catch up on things. It’s usually reserved strictly for them but Joshua decided to invite you this time around, insisting that the guys would love you. You spent every day leading up to that dinner worried out of your mind. Standing here now with DK and Hoshi you can’t imagine how you were ever nervous about meeting them. They’re so sweet. So harmless.

“What are you doing?” Joshua asks, drawing your attention to the doorway where he stands, arms folded across his chest. Joshua’s always so soft spoken, it’s one of the many things you find so charming about him. Not once in your relationship have you heard him raise his voice so the added bass in his question makes you short circuit.

“I…I couldn’t sleep” you stutter, smiling nervously, “So we were playing Truth or Dare and…”

DK smiles at Joshua, trying to maintain the upbeat mood, “I chose ‘dare’.”

Joshua responds with a frown, charging over and snatching you away from Hoshi. “You’re a little too close don’t you think?”

“We were just hanging out,” Hoshi says, his joy deflated by his best friend’s anger. It’s an anger he isn’t used to. An anger none of you are used to. The only person who seems to know where it’s coming from is Joshua and even he’s a bit thrown off by how strongly he feels.

“Right, well, she’s done hanging out now” Joshua says, turning to DK, “And I’d appreciate you not having my girlfriend in your bedroom in the middle of the night anymore.”

“Shua!” you gasp at the insinuation of his words but there’s no time for you to protest, he’s already locking his fingers with yours, dragging you out into the hallway.

The short trip back to his bedroom is plagued by a tense silence that only breaks when you’re behind closed doors. “Don’t do that again” Joshua forbids, his back resting against the door.

“Don’t do what? You heard Hoshi. We were just hanging out."

“Well I don’t want you hanging out with them. Every time I turn around you’re with Vernon or Seungcheol or Hoshi. I can’t even sleep without one of them stealing…” Joshua pauses, choking on that last word. Stealing. He doesn’t mean that. Actually, he does. He only wishes that he didn’t.

“Tell me you don’t seriously think I’d cheat on you, Shua” you laugh as if it’s the silliest thing in the world because it is. You await his answer, anything to tell you that he’s joking, but you’re left with a silence that cements for you that he isn’t. “You know what, if that’s how you feel then maybe I should go.”

Too angry to even look at him, you grab your backpack from a nearby chair and begin to gather your things. It’s the middle of the night and he’s the one who drove you here but you’d rather walk home than sit around and be accused of something like this. You’d think that after a year of being together, after all you’ve gone through, he’d know how much you loved him. But clearly you thought wrong and the truth of that hurts.

Joshua can see it painted all over you and hurting you is the last thing he ever wants to do. “Please, just stop for a minute” he begs, taking your phone from your hand the second you pick it up.

You snatch it back, ready to get out of here before someone else wakes up and he accuses you of trying to sleep with them too. “I don’t wanna hear anything else you have to say.”

You maneuver around him to grab your hoodie from the bed when he swoops in behind you, locking his arms around your waist. He flops down on the edge of the bed, his feet firmly planted on the ground, refusing to let you go. You fight to twist your body free, fueling yourself with every bit of anger you feel towards him right now, but it isn’t enough.

“Let me go” you demand but it only makes him hold you tighter.

“Only if you let me say something. One thing and then I’ll let you go” he promises, “I’ll even let you take my car.”

It’s your instinct to be petty. Why should you let him get a word in when he’s said enough already? But that walk home is pretty long and you don’t really feel like hopping in a stranger's Uber this late at night.

“Fine” you huff, “Say what you have to say and then give me the keys.”

“Look, I know you’d never cheat on me, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’m jealous!” he admits, feeling equal parts embarrassed and relieved at his confession. “Minghao’s all zen and chill, Woozi’s this super cool producer, DK’s funny as fuck, Mingyu’s buff, and Vernon’s got that whole mysterious thing going on. Everyone has this thing to impress you with and what do I have? I’m afraid that the more time you spend with them the less I’ll be able to keep up. I don’t want you to get bored with me.”

You want to stay mad at him, you deserve to be for the way he acted, but it breaks your heart to know he feels this way. You can’t help but soften at the sadness in those brown eyes usually alight with so much happiness. Letting your backpack fall to the floor, you’re able to turn just enough to face him. You place a hand on each of his cheeks, trying not to lose it at the cute pouty face he’s making.

“I adore you but you’re being insane right now. I could never get bored with you, Shua. I don’t give a shit about how buff or funny or mysterious some other guy is. None of them are you and you are the only man I want in this whole world. Can you trust that?”

Joshua’s almost ashamed at how easily his insecurities are soothed by your words. For weeks he’s been holding onto these feelings, wishing he knew how to make them go away, and all along what he needed was your validation—to simply hear you swear to him that he’s enough.

“I can if you can forgive me for being an asshole” he says, easing his grip on you, now at least somewhat confident that you won’t run away.

“Mmm, I don’t know” you sigh, chewing at your lower lip in contemplation, “I feel like I wasn’t mad at you long enough.”

Joshua laughs, kissing you under your chin so lightly that it tickles, “Fine, stay mad at me a little longer then. I’ll just be here trying to make it up to you. Tell me when you’re done, okay?”

Parting his lips, he drags them down the softness of your chin, trailing sweet, open mouthed kisses down your neck. He rests his palms at the center of your back, smoothing them down and around to rest at your plush hips. He massages them, rocking you in his lap just enough to grind up against you. The barrier of his sweatpants and your shorts do little to stop the friction from sending a tingling sensation to your core.

You swallow hard, feeling your body flush with heat. You try your hardest to resist him, to pretend that some part of you is still upset, but how can you possibly hold that look of annoyance when he’s pushing your t-shirt up, his fingertips gently tracing the contours of your curves. “For the record, I am sorry” he says, tugging your shirt up over your head.

By the time the fabric comes to rest on the floor his lips are already skimming your breasts, his tongue teasing your sensitive buds through the lace of your bra. A hand ventures behind your back and the clasp of your bra snaps free, the straps dropping from your shoulders. You let out a gasp bordering on a moan and his lips curve into a smile at the sound of it. He’s enjoying this just as much as you are. Maybe even a little more.

Tossing your bra aside, he captures one of your pillowy breasts in his mouth, suckling at the bud as his tongue makes perfect figure eights around it. The pleasure it sends rushing through you has you tangling your fingers in the soft strands of his dark brown hair, your body arching with every flick of his tongue.

Slipping an arm around your waist and tucking a hand behind the band of your shorts, he lifts you up, laying you back on the bed. The second your head hits the pillow you’re biting your lip to choke back moans at his fingers dragging through your slick folds to stimulate your clit. He dips between your legs, using his free hand to tear your panties and shorts off at once. His fingers skate down to your dripping entrance, hovering there a moment to let him admire how wet you are.

Joshua goes all starry eyed at the arousal that leaks from you when his fingers sink into your core. And those sounds you make, those sugary little whimpers, have his cock straining against his sweatpants. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he groans, his gaze dancing back up to take in those gorgeous faces you make, “And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

He curls his fingers against the spongy texture of your walls, rotating his wrist at in a motion so heavenly you’re on the verge of drooling. You’re too lost in ecstacy—too busy riding his fingers to speak a word. Joshua grips your belly, pinning you down to the bed, his fingers pounding mercilessly into your needy core.

“I want you to answer me, baby, so everyone can hear you. You’re mine, aren’t you? Hmm?”

“Yes, I’m…I’m yours” you stutter, grabbing for his wrist. The feeling’s too intense, you can hardly keep still. Your heart’s racing in your chest. You want more but you fear you’ll lose your mind if it goes on like this. He’s working your sweet spot like only he knows how and you can already feel yourself coming undone.

Joshua climbs on top of you, kissing his way up your belly, between your breasts, all the while fucking his fingers into you without missing a beat. His lips ghost yours, parting them to taste the moans that spill out. “Louder” he whispers and adds another finger, making you feel so much fuller than before.

“I’m yours, Shua! All yours! Nobody else’s! N…nobody’s” you cry out, your moans as melodic as his favorite song.

“That’s my girl. Always so good for me” he coos, stealing your breath with a kiss laced with enough passion that you’d swear you were floating.

If your lips were free, if your tongue weren’t fiercely tangled with his, you might spill a few broken moans out to let him know how close you are but Joshua doesn’t need your words, your body speaks for itself. The trembling of your jaw. The arching of your back. The way your walls are fluttering around his fingers, clenching tighter each time.

Reaching his thumb up, he presses it to your clit, rubbing it faster and faster until your screams fill his cheeks and your juices gush around his fingers. “Shua, mmm, oh god” you gasp, your fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt. “I need you.” Tearing his shirt off, you summon what minimal strength you have in your weakening limbs to force him onto his back. You crawl on top of him, straddling his lap, and the room begins to spin. Maybe you made that move a little sooner than you should’ve.

Joshua giggles at the slight sway in your movements before you collapse onto his chest, looking up at him with glossy eyes. He cups your cheek, brushing away the hair sticking to your flush cheeks. “How’d I get a girl who’s this cute all the time?”

You place your palms flat on his chest, pushing yourself back up just enough to hover over him. “Because you’re this cute all the time” you say, smiling down at the handsome man beneath you, “It’s like we were, I don’t know, made for each other or something.”

Joshua pulls his pants down, careful not to disturb your position. He likes you right where you are. His cock springs free, rubbing against your still sensitive pussy as it comes to rest between your legs, the tip of his cock wet with arousal. “Made for each other” he muses, lifting you up and slowly lowering you down onto his cock, teasing himself with the warmth of your core. “I like that.”

“Me, aah, too” you moan, your nails pressing into the bare skin of his chest enough to leave tiny indents behind.

The fullness from his fingers was one thing but it’s nothing compared to the fullness you experience when his cock’s deep inside of you, stretching you deliciously from all angles. You meant what you said when you called him insane. How could a man who looks this hot with a cock this nice ever think you’d look at someone else for a second?

Sitting back you rotate your hips in a circular motion, alternating side to side, and your walls are just clinging to his cock as it pulses against them. You run your fingers down Joshua’s stomach, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He tries to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch you—needs to see you riding his cock, your body jiggling with every movement—but his lids are growing heavy already. The pleasure hits him, wave after unforgiving wave, and all he can do is take it.

Leaning forward, you take him by the chin, tempting him with a kiss that you ultimately deprive him of. “Now you say it” you whisper, rolling your hips to make him whimper the way he did you. You pick up speed and his eyes nearly roll back in his head.

“Say what? Fuck, I’ll say anything you want me to say” he moans, his palms crashing into your thighs with a snap that makes them vibrate around him.

“Say that you’re mine, all mine, so that everyone can hear.”

The light in his eyes darkens at your request and he throws his arms around you, positioning himself at just the right angle to thrust into you. This was supposed to be your power position but he has you held tightly again, fucking into you so that you bounce up and down in his lap, the swollen head of his cock leaking deep inside of you.

“I’m yours,” he says loudly, fearlessly, “I’m yours, this cock is yours, so take me. Take it.”

Every thrust echoes through your body. You can feel it in the tips of your fingers and your toes, taste it on the back of your tongue. It’s like heaven. Your hips are still working, eager to swallow every inch of his length, desperate to match the intensity of every thrust. The friction between you bumps your clit and the overstimulation has your body humming. You’re struggling to keep it together, fighting back the high that so badly wants to overtake you.

Joshua steals the kiss that you denied him, grabbing the soft flesh of your ass. “No holding back. Cum with me, baby.”

As if on command, because that’s exactly what it is, you surrender, letting your high crash into you for a second time. It’s even more devastating this time around with his cock swelling inside of you, filling your walls to the brim with warm, thick ropes of cum. You’re both completely out of it, your limbs turning to jello, but you’re too greedy to stop until your bodies give out, absolutely forcing you to.

Breathless, Joshua pets your back, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. You look up at him with the brightest eyes, like he’s the very center of your universe, like there’s no one else in the world who can come close, and his heart skips a beat. You do soothe his insecurities. He does need your validation and that’s okay because he knows he’ll have it always and forever.

#svt x you #svt x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua smut #joshua fluff #joshua angst

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twistedlovelines · 4 months ago

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anon: No. 10 with Azul for the smut prompt list :3

thank you for sending in a request, nonnie <3

10) finding their partner’s sex toy/toys and making them play with it in front of them from this smut prompt list (requests still open so long as you read my rules beforehand!)

18+, Gn! Dom! Reader, sub! Azul, toys

“It squirts?”

Turning the periwinkle toy around, you pump the syringe connected to it, a pathetic puff of air wheezing out in response.

“I clean it every time I use it,” Azul snips, crossing his legs. The fierce blush on his face negates any hostility, though, and you can’t help but smirk at his reaction. “I would never doubt it,” you reply smoothly, sauntering over to the edge of the bed next to him. Two fingers dip under his chin, tilting his face upwards,“But that isn’t what I asked, was it, Darling?”

His breath hitches at that, fingers twisting into the silk of his pajama pants. Looking you directly in the eyes has a shiver running up his spine and he reflexively squeezes his eyes shut. They crack open the barest fraction a second later as you stroke an encouraging thumb over his cheek, ever so patient.

“No,” he whimpers, unable to help himself from leaning into your touch.

His eyes flutter open, shining blue eyes meeting yours for a moment before darting to the dildo held in your other hand, your fingers firmly wrapped around silicone. A smile tugs at your lips. Azul’s never been good at being subtle with his desires like this.

“Do you want me to use it on you, Azul? To cum in your ass? To claim you?” Your hand moves to skim over his skin, settling on the back of his neck as you kiss along his jaw.

Teeth meet flesh— such soft, pale flesh trembling underneath you— to bite.

He jolts with a sharp moan, hips jerking into the air. His cock is embarrassingly hard, straining against the surface of his underwear. It’s gonna stain his pajamas, he thinks through a foggy haze of pleasure, grinding upwards in a weak attempt to chase the faintest trace of friction. The soothing licks you lave over the bite mark only register in his mind once your tongue has left his skin.

You laugh, then, a puff of warm air against his neck as you set the dildo down on the bed. With a sympathetic hum, you gently lay Azul on his back, stroking the bulge of his cock with a single finger. His thighs press together, a silent plea for you to move.

You stop.

“Hm? Did you need something, Azul?”

Azul can’t help but whine as you tug his pants off to settle over his knees, only brushing up against his skin to snap the band of his boxers against his hip. It’s unfair what you’re doing to him, really. His legs kick out in an attempt to shimmy off the rest of his pants, only for you to catch both of his calves in your hands instead.

“Come on now, that’s hardly a proper answer,” you tease, your lips ghosting over the delicate skin of his ankle. He kicks out reflexively but your grip on him is firm. Azul huffs in frustration and turns his face away, but his cock betrays his arousal, precum steadily beading at the tip.

“...You know what I want,” he mumbles. “Do I?”

You rest his legs over your shoulders as you leisurely settle down; cum-like lube in one hand, dildo in the other. He feels your arms encircling his legs to hold him steady, but other than that, you’re wholly focused on filling the toy, and Azul can’t help but feel a swell of envy rise in his chest as he watches you work with precision. The dildo overfills ever so slightly and Azul moans when he sees the “cum” dribble out.

“I want you to let me taste,” Azul finally wrenches out, his face flushed.

He’s nearly incoherent at this point, his body covered in a pretty sheen of sweat. His legs flex around your neck, but you only coo at that, reaching down to cup his cheek in your hand.

“There you go,” the tip of your thumb presses against his bottom lip. Your other hand moves to raise the dildo to his parted mouth, a drop of the dildo’s cum falling onto his tongue.

“Now suck.”

a/n: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated <3 i hope you enjoy, nonnie!

#moth.flutters #musings.by.lamplight #nsfvv #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst smut #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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mouwrites · 5 months ago

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I'm so sorry for not posting for so long!! Thank you all for being so patient! Requests are still closed right now, but I'm dropping this because I felt bad about leaving you lovelies for so long :(

Ninjago - How The Ninjas (+ Pixal) Would Welcome You Back (after not seeing you for a while)

Kai

His face lights up the minute he sees you

He opens his arms and charges at you, scooping you off your feet and twirling around

He's smiling hugely the entire time, and as he slows the spinning he starts to laugh

Dropping you down so he can hug you normally, he buries his head in your shirt

His laughing slows, and for a moment you swear you can feel your shirt getting a little wet

Then he pulls away, still smiling, and of course:

SMOOCH TIME

He smushes your cheeks while he kisses you, holding your face firmly against his

The kiss lasts a long time O-O

And when that one stops, he peppers you with a thousand more on your cheeks, forehead, eyelids, hands, etc.....

Once the urge to kiss you has been satisfied, he finally says something

"I missed you so much."

And you can't help but giggle:

"I could tell. I missed you, too."

Cole

Calls your name LOUDLY when he spots you

He's waving frantically until your eyes meet, and then he bursts into a huge grin

He says your name again more warmly when you're closer, still smiling

Then he pulls you into a crushing bear hug, lifting you onto the tips of your toes

He sways back and forth a little, humming calmly

Bro does not realize he's crushing you

It's only when you cough or wheeze or smth that he finally drops you, apologizing with concern

You reassure him that you're fine ofc

Then he goes back to smiling at you, but this time his face lights up as if he's remembered something

His hand disappears into his pocket, and when it comes back out he's got a gift for you!!

It's always a cute little mini statue :]

"Cole!! It's so cute!"

"Just like someone I know. Someone I missed a lot."

(you gather a collection of these over time btw)

Jay

RUNS to you like a toddler running to its mother

Arms out, screaming your name, eyes huge, the whole shabang

The hug he gives you is tight, but it barely lasts a second

He pulls away to look at you, and you see tears brimming his eyes

Then he hugs you again, rinse and repeat several times before he finally says something

He's smiling now, and he swipes the tears out of his eyes

"Aw, you don't even know how happy I am to see you again."

He cups your face, just feeling your skin and looking at you as if for the first time

(he's still smiling ofc, but if you look closely his lips are trembling)

You see tears coming into his eyes again, but before they fall he pulls you into another hug

You rub his back, feeling a couple tears dribble onto your shoulder

"Jay... I missed you."

The hug tightens when you say that, and it doesn't end for a long time :)

Zane

He waves animatedly when he sees you

He doesn't say anything, but when you're within talking distance he calls your name lovingly

His arms open to give you a very soft (and unfortunately short) hug

Then he takes your hands, rubbing your knuckles slowly as he gazes at you

He just stares for a long time, hypnotized by your eyes

If you speak he just hums

Then he pulls you closer, gently wrapping his arms around you once more

His fingers curl around your shirt as if he's trying to keep you from separating again

You chuckle softly:

"Zane, I'm not going anywhere."

"I know... I know."

He def holds your hand for the rest of the day though <3

Lloyd

You hear him before you see him

He's calling your name loudly, and when you spot each other you run into each other's arms

You hug each other tight for a moment, both humming from squeezing and being squeezed

Then you pull away, giggling at each other

Lloyd opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it with a grin that's shy now

"I planned out what I wanted to say to you... but I forgot."

You both laugh again, settling on a hug to say what words couldn't

Pressed against your shoulder, he murmurs that he missed you a lot

His hands wander up to your head, and he runs his hands through your hair (or against your scalp if you have rlly short/no hair :3)

He will MELT if you do the same btw

You guys just hug for an eternity

You only stop to prevent yourselves from falling asleep standing up

Nya

Much like her brother, Nya is definitely going to pick you up when she sees you again

Strong arm woman <3

She holds you high in the air, her arms pressing your knees against her torso

She looks up at you with the most loving gaze, her lips curved into a soft smile

After a while he drops you down, but not all the way to the ground

Your feet are still dangling, but your faces are closer now

She sighs, finally putting you back on your feet

Planting a kiss on your cheek, and then the other one, she skips the mushy words

Instead she asks you how you've been :)

She's been dying to talk to you again; she wants to hear every little detail!!

And ofc she'll return the favor with her own stories

Late night talking w Nya... AAH <3

Pixal

She's the calmest of the bunch when it comes to reuniting

She'll smile when she sees you ofc, but she won't act all excited or anything when you approach

She will greet you very warmly though, dw

"Y/n! It's been so long! You look... well."

You can tell she means way more than "well," but she was obviously too awkward to say it

(This is also when she'll point out the smallest of differences in your appearance,, like "your hair is longer/shorter now")

She'll accept any warmth you return gladly, no matter how mushy you wanna get

Actually she appreciates if you can be more affectionate than she was

It shows her that you're happy to see her again :)

She'll want to spend at least the rest of the day with you, even if she's just standing silently in the background while you do your thing

More (much more) if circumstances permit ;3

AAAHHH TYSM FOR YOUR PATIENCE!! I'm glad to be back, and I hope I can post more!! Thank you so much for reading, I love you all! Take care my duckies <3

Also... probably gonna make this a series for my other fandoms I write for if you guys want!

(divider by saradika)

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kairiscorner · 1 year ago

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my sickness is brain rotting about him 🧋

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

let him take care of you. – miguel o'hara x sick!reader

"don't even think about it." his low, stern voice rumbled from the depths of his throat and was all that you could hear amidst your sniffling from your congested airways. your teary eyes from your cold was blurring your vision, and your weakly turned around to face his stoic expression–with his eyebrows furrowed up at you as he placed his hands on his hips in his usual commanding demeanor. you groaned as you tried to tell him you were fine, you could go on the mission you were originally assigned as usual–a little cold wouldn't bring you down; but your incessant coughing, sniffling, and dazed, fatigue expression caused him to think otherwise.

he sighed as he grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you to follow him into the infirmary, with you reluctantly joining him as you wobbled alongside his confident strides. he took you into the cold infirmary and sat you down by the patient's bed. you shivered and sneezed upon entering, causing miguel to murmur that he told you, you weren't as robust as you believed you were in this condition. he requested lyla to do a full-body scan on you, to check on your condition and what was wrong with your body right then and there. lyla had reported back to miguel that you had a common cold, and the only remedy being a nice warm meal and a lot of rests and liquids.

miguel nodded as he dismissed lyla and went over to the nearest cabinet and got you a fuzzy blanket. you insisted, with a nasally voice, to miguel that you were just alright–you just needed to shake this cold off by kicking some bad guys' asses... but miguel didn't buy it when he heard you sneezing and wheezing as you spoke. he unfolded the blanket wordlessly as you tried explaining to him that you were just setback a little–you could totally kick ass, just... maybe give yourself a few minutes. miguel shook his head as he lay the blanket on you, not bothering to lay you down before he placed the blanket on top of you.

"enough with your hardheadedness, c'mon, get your ass better soon or i'm kicking your ass for those anomalies." miguel scolded you as you huffed, pulling the blanket off your face and lying down grudgingly. miguel pulled out a cold smock and a mercury thermometer, inspecting it up close and asking himself in a mutter how this thing was supposed to work. you coughed out a guide for him, but he decided to make his job easier and just have lyla monitor you. you had expected him to leave you alone in the infirmary to rest so he could also get some of his own work done, but miguel merely sat on a chair by the end of your bed and worked on the monitors from his watch with a stoic face.

you raised an eyebrow at him as he merely kept working. "what... are you up to?" you asked him weakly as he peered at you from the corner of his eye. "monitoring you to ensure you don't do anything stupid." he said in a low mutter as he kept working. you smiled meekly and coughed a bit as your cold persisted. miguel had gotten up from the chair and went over to get you a paper cup and filled it with warm water and handed you a lozenge from the drawer. "lyla said you'd need them, so... here." he said awkwardly as he handed them to you. you thanked him, with miguel nodding his 'you're welcome' back at you as he sat himself down on the chair again and kept monitoring the multiverse as usual.

a few hours passed and you eventually fell asleep with miguel watching over the multiverse and you all the while. lyla popped in and asked miguel if he could take a small break to get you some food, with him telling lyla that if you weren't whining for food, you probably didn't need it. lyla sighed, "wow, you're a pretty bad caretaker, mig." she said as miguel side-eyed her and gave in. "fine, but keep an eye on them for me, sound an alarm if they do anything close to escaping this room." "you make them sound like a criminal." lyla joked as miguel rolled his eyes and exited the infirmary, on his way to cook you up some fresh food.

he came back with a bowl of some hot soup, which lyla recommended for a cold remedy, and as he was heading back into the room, miguel took note of how peaceful you appeared while sleeping. he set the food down on the table near your bed and heard your breathing get laborious, must've been your body's response to fighting off your illness. miguel would've usually asked lyla to give him a report on your current temperature, but right now, he wanted to know for himself how bad your fever was getting. call it out of character for him, but he did truly care for you deep down... he can only show this side of himself while you're not looking, though; so he leaned over and pressed the back of his palm to your forehead, feeling your warmth all over his hand.

"poor thing." he murmured as he gently placed a new cold smock back on to your forehead and noticing your eyelids gently fluttering open. he pulled away from you not long after and opened the lights. "about time you woke up, eat up now." he said with a softer voice than earlier, handing you the hot bowl of soup he cooked up for you. you wheezed out your thanks to him as he muttered a 'you're... welcome' this time instead of just nodding. watching you eat the soup he made, seeing you look more rejuvenated and healthy kind of made his heart feel... lighter somehow. miguel never told you he cooked that for you, instead, he took your compliments about his dish and told you he'd thank the chef for you; he'd be damned if anyone else in the spider society discovered he cooked for you while sick, that would be a secret he'd take to the grave.

"hey, miggy..." you whispered to him as you grinned as wide as you could, amidst your heated, sick expression. he leaned closer to you and raised an eyebrow. "what, do you need any water?" he asked you, but you shook your head. "thank you... for, everything, really." you said with a slightly embarrassed face that mimicked his own. miguel felt himself get feverish and heated, he had never received a compliment that sincere; well, actually, he had hardly received compliments nowadays. he didn't know what to say to really relay how he felt, he couldn't even tell what feelings he was experiencing right then and there, they were a flurry of feelings that he experienced hammering in his chest all at once. he nodded again and said in a much louder voice as he looked away from you, "right, right, um... you're welcome." he tried his hardest not to sound flustered nor taken aback by your sweet words of gratitude, but your slight giggling made his facade crumble bit by bit.

"anyway... get better soon, or i'm replacing you." he threatened you with no commitment whatsoever in it, with you chuckling now at it. "really? then who're you gonna take care of while they're sick...?" "i don't ask to be anyone's caretaker when they're sick." "because you don't ask, you wanna take care of me, isn't that right, miggy?" you asked him with a flustered grin as miguel went back to monitoring the multiverse again, facing away from you. "just... go back to sleep, you'll need all the rest you can get, go on now." he said as you smiled wider and nodded, falling your head back on the pillow and relaxing yourself to head to sleep. miguel, meanwhile was restless; hearing you thank him and get through to his tough exterior with your gratitude and astuteness... it did a number on him, it affected him in more ways than you could ever imagine.

he looked away from his monitors for a second and peered over at your sleeping self, turned on your side again—and for the first time in a long while... felt the corners of his lips stretch into a small grin and his heart lightening up just a tad bit. who knew he could be a better caretaker than he thought? certainly not him, but even though he wasn't the most well-versed at this whole care-taking thing—but you give him a whole new confidence to work with; it might not be the brightest confidence, but it's certainly something that compels him to keep doing this, to keep putting out effort to care for and help someone get nursed back to health, and it's exclusively for you.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @melovetitties @arachnoia @ophanimgold @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @simsrandomstuff @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman across the spiderverse fluff

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inrockstarfashion · 8 months ago

Note

Reader is dating Max Verstappen, she let’s slip a Dutch swear word making him (maybe other drivers) break down laughing

I’m Australian with Dutch/Greek roots, so I know swear words in both and have let them slip out 😅🙃 verdomde hel (fucking hell)

I loved this prompt! I relate to this so much, I spent three years in Germany when I was extremely young and I definitely use sheise (shit) at least once a day.

I’m so sorry this is so late. University has been absolutely insane. It’s shorter than I wanted it but it’s been sitting in my drafts for far too long.

The weekend went amazing. Obviously in your biased opinion, being that your very own Max Verstappen got P1 (again). Tonight you were celebrating with Max along with several other drivers and the other wags at a club, getting drunk and letting loose after the intense race weekend.

You sat at a table in the back corner of the club with Max, Lando, and Daniel

“I’m going to grab another drink. Do you want anything?” You asked Max, pinching his sleeve towards you.

Max nodded, “Gin tonic, please.” You nodded your head once and let go of his sleeve, placing your hand on his shoulder for leverage and standing up from the table. You made your way through the crowd of people, finally making it to the bar.

“Gin and tonic and a Negroni, please.” You spoke to the bartender. He turned and began mixing the drinks. You waited patiently and soon the bartender placed both glasses in front of you. You thanked him before picking up the glasses and cautiously made your way back to your table.

Successfully making it back, you passed the gin and tonic over to Max. “Thank you, liefje.” Max said, taking the glass from you. You set your drink on the table and sat back down beside him. Max moved his arm to rest behind your head, you listened in on the conversation currently happening between the three men, trying to catch up on what you’d missed. You picked up your glass, pinching the small, black straw and taking a sip of the smooth red liquid. You decided to get more comfortable and cross your legs but not before smacking your knee on the underside of the table, rattling everything sitting on top, and nearly choking on the Negroni. Pain blossomed through your knee at the impact.

“Verdomde hel.” You muttered, setting your glass down as you were rubbing your knee with your palm. Max immediately went into hysterics. Doubled over, howling with laughter. It scared me at first, Max does often laugh this loud (or hard). You watched him in confusion as you rubbed the top of your knee, trying to wipe away the throbbing sensation.

“Breathe, love.” You reminded him as he continued to wheeze into his hands which were currently covering his face. Tears were streaming down in cheeks as the other drivers at the table squealed and chuckled alongside Max.

“That was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard you say!” Max said, his voice still very shrill. He gathered himself and ran his fingers under his glassy eyes, wiping away the tears. “When did you learn Dutch like that?” He asked, turning to look at you and clearing his throat.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. My parents spoke little phrases here and there. Guess I picked it up from them.” You shrugged, looking at Max and his rosy cheeks.

Max pursed his lips and nodded his head. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him, giving you a quick kiss to your temple. “You should start talking like that more often.” He said, completely serious with a smile on his face. You threw your head back and laughed.

Ciao!

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #formula one #formula 1 drivers #formula1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x female reader

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malk1ns · 6 months ago

Note

Most definitely talking about Sid's upcoming heat and Sid's yapping that he doesn't need any help but Geno knows he will get a call the first night of a whimpering and desperate Sid

👀

"Stop scenting me," Sid snaps the second Zhenya sits down.

Zhenya rolls his eyes. He hasn't even caught his breath from his last shift. Fuck this altitude, and honestly, fuck the Avs too, Sid's cozy little friendship with MacKinnon be damned.

"I'm serious," Sid continues, scooting down the bench to make room for Rusty, who practically dives over the boards to avoid a too many men. Zhenya obediently scoots along with him, grabbing Rusty around the waist to keep him steady.

"Thanks," Rusty wheezes, and Zhenya pats his shoulder before turning back to Sid.

Sid's glaring at him. He hates being ignored under normal circumstances, and it only gets worse when he's careening towards heat—a fact that Sid is strenuously denying.

"Sorry," Zhenya says, making his eyes big and ducking his head. "Smell good, Sid, can't help it."

Sid's eyes narrow. After so many years, he's wise to Zhenya's tricks, and he's apparently not far enough into pre-heat to fall for them anyway. Zhenya adjusts his mental calculations forward a day. "I don't know what you think you're smelling, but it's not me. I'm not due for another two weeks, and we talked about this. I don't need you this time."

"Okay," Zhenya says placidly, tapping Sid's knee. Sid's cute when he gets all worked up and indignant like this.

"Hey—" Sid sputters, probably picking up Zhenya's amusement, but then coach is tapping his line in, so Sid can't do anything but glare as he swings over the boards.

Zhenya watches as he swings a big arc towards the goal, changing direction so abruptly that the d-man shadowing him loses an edge and hits the ice. Sid turns to snap at the guy, and Zhenya readjusts his math again, this time back a few hours.

Pissing Sid off always makes things move faster.

They drop the game in OT, but that's okay. They played well, better than they have since the trade deadline, and the shock of losing Jake is finally starting to wear off. Sid doesn't look hollowed-out whenever he looks to his left any more, and Bunting is the exact type of yappy, determined presence on Zhenya's wing that he's always played best with. The postseason is still a reach, but suddenly the games they're playing seem like they mean something again, and that's all Zhenya wants, really.

Playoffs are nice, but Zhenya's old enough now that he doesn't live and die by each individual season anymore. If he can keep his production up for a few more years, avoid major injury and quiet the people who constantly call for him to be traded, he'll be happy.

Well. That, and getting Sid to finally admit that what they've been doing for nearly two decades now isn't just friends helping each other out. But Zhenya can be patient on that front.

Seeing Jake in Carolina colors is hard, and Zhenya discreetly wipes his eyes during the tribute video. Sid doesn't bother, staring up at the enormous new jumbotron with shiny eyes. The win makes it easier to stomach, though, and Jake stops by the locker room after the game, lingering well past when the Hurricanes' bus must have left for the hotel.

He and Sid talk for a long, long time, tucked away in a hallway while Rusty and Zhenya linger, ready to head off any media that comes this direction. They're left alone, though, and when Jake finally slips past them, he's knuckling at his eyes. Zhenya politely doesn't mention it when he pulls Jake into one last hug.

Sid's marching for the parking lot, and Zhenya has to hustle to catch up with him. When he draws even, he practically trips over his feet—Sid smells ripe, fertile and alluring, like he's minutes from dropping into heat. Surely he feels it by now.

Sid slides him a sharp glare. "Don't fucking start," he mutters, angling away when Zhenya leans towards him. "You were right, okay? But it doesn't mean anything."

Zhenya takes a deep inhale and consciously steps to the side, giving Sid his space. "Call if you need," is all he says, cutting towards his car and speeding up before he can give into the impulse to manhandle Sid back to his house and his bed and keep him there.

"I won't!" Sid calls across the garage. Zhenya shakes his head.

It doesn't always go this way. Sometimes Sid invites him back, sends him texts like i think it's starting soon and would you mind...? as if any alpha in their right mind would turn Sidney Crosby in heat down. He gets squirrelly when it happens too many times in a row, though, acts like Zhenya's going to hold him down and bite his claim into Sid's neck without permission, and tries to put distance between them.

It never lasts, though.

Zhenya's in his pajamas and glasses, settling in with his Kindle, when his phone rings.

"G," Sid whimpers over the line, and Zhenya sits upright, the sound of a distressed omega plucking at his instincts even at a distance. "G, where are you?"

Zhenya fists his hand in his duvet. "You say you don't want," he says carefully, listening to Sid's gasps, wondering if he'd managed to get something from his toybox or if he fell into it so fast that he's using his hand. Sid doesn't take care of himself like Zhenya would if they were mated, and he's come over more than once to Sid on his belly and whimpering because his own fingers don't get him right.

That's what Zhenya's always been for.

"I didn't mean it," Sid whines, voice muffled. "G, I need you."

Zhenya pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. Not even ten, and they have an off-day tomorrow. "Sid, you say I stay home this time," he says, but he's throwing his blanket back and getting up. "You change mind?"

"I was lying," Sid moans, frustration edging into his voice. "I was...G, please, you..."

He's falling deeper into it now. Zhenya hesitates; Sid had sounded so sure, more than usual, but...

"Geno," Sid says, practically a sob, and the decision is made. There's only so much his own instincts will allow him to ignore, and Sid calls him every time—if he didn't want Zhenya coming over, he shouldn't be calling.

It takes Zhenya a few tries to remember Sid's new door code, but when he steps inside, the smell of Sid's heat practically bowls him over. Zhenya has to stop and breathe, adjust to the overpowering sugar-and-marine salt permeating the air, before he can walk without stumbling to Sid's bedroom.

"Oh, Sid," he says, pausing at the doorway.

"Please," Sid begs. He hadn't gotten to his toys after all, and he's practically twisted in a pretzel, two fingers stuffed inside himself while his other hand strips his dick. He's come once already by the mess on his stomach, but his dick is so hard it's purple, and his face is twisted in agony, not pleasure.

"Shh," Zhenya croons, voice dropping to alpha-register all on its own. He's across the room and stripping his clothes off before he's even registered it, but when he gets hands on Sid's torso Sid takes in a deep, shuddering breath and relaxes.

"G," he mumbles, looking up at Zhenya through tear-damp eyelashes. "You left me."

"I'm sorry," Zhenya murmurs, gentling Sid onto his back, pushing at his shoulder until his hand slides free. His fingers are shiny with his own slick, and Zhenya pauses to suck them clean, eyelids fluttering at the taste. Sid watches him, chest heaving, and when Zhenya lets Sid's fingers drop from his mouth, Sid trails them down Zhenya's face and chest, resting his hand over Zhenya's heart. "I'm here now," Zhenya says, leaning down to kiss Sid. "I'll take care of you."

"Yes," Sid sighs as Zhenya slides into him, letting his legs butterfly out and his head loll to one side.

Zhenya stares at Sid's neck, exposed and there, and practically bites through his lip, fucking Sid harder. He wants to bite Sid so, so badly, has for years, but Sid always pulls back just when they're on the precipice of turning this into something more, always ices Zhenya out when it starts to feel too serious, and Zhenya's not going to push—it has to be Sid's decision.

Something of what he's feeling must be leaking through, because Sid opens his eyes and looks at him. His eyes are blurry; he's deep in it now, and every exhale is a half-purr as Zhenya's knot starts to grow and catch at him with every thrust. "Mmmm," he moans, the perfect picture of an omega submitting to his alpha, but the way he tilts his head to expose his neck is all purposeful, as is the way he coyly looks at Zhenya.

"Sid," Zhenya groans, grinding his teeth. He can't stop himself from dropping to his forearms and getting his nose into the crook of Sid's neck, licking frantically over Sid's scent glands. The smell of them blooms in the room, heady and intoxicating, and Zhenya's thrusts go ragged and desperate as his knot swells. "Sid, please." He feels drunk, he doesn't even know what he's asking for, opening his mouth around the meaty muscle where Sid's neck meets his shoulder.

Sid's hand is at the back of his head, but he's pushing, not pulling Zhenya back, and Zhenya's teeth dig into Sid's skin. His "bite me" is barely audible, but it's the loudest thing Zhenya's ever heard, echoing over the roaring of blood in his ears and their breath.

He bites. The world falls away.

When Zhenya swims back to consciousness, his knot still hasn't gone down. Somehow, Sid had managed to get them on their sides, and he's petting over Zhenya's sweaty back, nuzzled up against Zhenya's chest and humming.

"Sid?" Zhenya croaks, eyes flying open when he remembers. "Oh, fuck, Sid, I—"

"Shh, it's okay." It's Sid's turn to soothe Zhenya, purring until Zhenya's heart slows down. Zhenya's nostrils flare as he inhales, and all he can smell is happy, contented omega.

"We..." Zhenya's floundering, head spinning as he tries to put the pieces together.

"I asked you to do it, bud," Sid says. He sounds quiet, but sure. "I wanted it. I was..." He sighs, and Zhenya can feel him shrug. "We can talk about it later, but...I was talking to Jake, and he said, you know, we're lucky—it doesn't matter what happens, because in the end we always have each other. And then I got home, and I was thinking about how he's right. You've had plenty of chances to leave, and you never did. And you always come when I need you. So...it felt stupid, to be pushing you away still."

"Sid," Zhenya groans, half infuriated and half overcome with fondness. If they weren't still knotted together he'd pin Sid down and bite at his sensitive, ticklish stomach as punishment until Sid was laughing and kicking him away. "You say to me when you think these things, like, don't make me come run over so late, scare me like I do what you don't want."

Sid shrugs again, and now he smells smug. "You always come when I call," he says, and Zhenya can't even argue that point.

He wouldn't want to, anyway.

#sidgeno #my writing #a/b/o

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monarchthefirst · 1 year ago

Text

Whump: Needle Trauma/New Caretaker

Whumpee’s stoic gaze was unsettling, to say the least.

Doc gave them a reassuring smile as they lay on the table, but it was not enough to break the cold silence. Whumpee watched Doc’s every move with hawklike focus, their thin lips pressed together in firm calculation. Doc had never felt this judged since med school.

One of the nurses was pulling on blue latex gloves to begin the examination and Doc was sure he caught a shiver from Whumpee at the sight of them. He had had patients who were triggered by blue latex gloves. The mere smell had sent a few trauma victims into a wild spin. Was this going to be another one of those moments? Caretaker should have warned him.

To his relief, Whumpee just shut their eyes tightly as the hated gloves touched their skin. A glance at their vital signs told him their heart rate had quickened slightly. But the disturbed staring had stopped, thank goodness. Doc carefully kept his hands below Whumpee’s range of sight as he explored their rib cage, which was covered with violent bruises of all sizes. “Sorry, sorry!” He exclaimed as Whumpee caught their breath suddenly. “Think we have a fracture here. Might hurt just a little, Whumpee. I’ll try to be careful, okay?”

More cold staring. Doc sighed and got back to work.

Minutes into the examination, Doc knew they couldn’t go far without causing Whumpee even more suffering. Their whole body, painfully exposed in the bright light of the surgery, was torn and abused beyond belief. It was almost hard to connect the white, impassive face with the mutilated torso and limbs. Whumpee seemed too far gone to care about what had happened to them.

The nurse had caught on to Doc’s thought process and had reached for a syringe, her eyes questioning. Doc looked Whumpee over and nodded slightly. Probably more merciful to just put Whumpee out for a few hours while they tried to patch them up.

The nurse pulled the cover off of the syringe and filled it. She set the bottle down and approached the table with an alcohol swab, preparing to sedate Whumpee.

Whumpee had been watching Doc’s every move, mistrust growing in their empty eyes. Now, they happened to glance in the nurse’s direction in time to catch sight of the syringe in her hand.

Without warning, Whumpee’s left arm flashed out and slammed into the nurse, sending the syringe flying across the room. In a flash, they were up in a sitting position, gasping hoarsely in pain and terror, their limbs shaking. Doc rushed forward to push them back down but they were ready, warding him off while sliding one leg off the table.

“Call Caretaker!” Doc ordered the nurse, grabbing hold of Whumpee and desperately trying to keep them on the table. Whumpee fought silently, with no other sound but their sobbing gasps for breath.

*****************************

Caretaker wrung their hands in the waiting room, pacing back and forth under the TV. Was Whumpee alright? Why were they taking so long? Yeah, they had never gotten a proper please or thank-you from them. Pretty much zero conversation on about anything, Whumpee seeming to hold to a strong-silent-type mindset. More a don’t-make-me-talk-about-it mindset, Caretaker knew. There was a ton of recent violence that they did not speak of, and that was what had Caretaker so worried.

So when their phone buzzed in their pocket, Caretaker pulled it out and immediately started for the hall. “Yeah, I’m coming. Which room?” They said quickly. Oof, this was not going to be pretty.

And it wasn’t. The surgery was chaos. Whumpee was somewhere in the heart of a crowd of personnel, being pinned to the operating table. Caretaker couldn’t see them, but they could hear the asthmatic wheezing of their breath and it sent pangs of compassion through their soul. Whumpee was fighting hard, despite their injuries, and Doc was trying to calm them, without much success.

“Here, let me sneak in,” Caretaker pushed against the wall of people. “Yeah, I’m Caretaker. Got a call you needed me.”

“Oh thank God you’re here!” Doc breathed a gasp of relief. “I can’t get through to them. Not sure what exactly tripped their switch.”

Caretaker pushed the nurses aside and grabbed Whumpee’s flailing arms in an iron embrace. “Calm down, Whumpee!” They said loudly, firmly. “It’s me, Caretaker. You’re safe! Stop fighting.”

Whumpee sobbed once and continued to squirm, but not so strongly as before. Apparently Caretaker’s voice had worn them down. Caretaker held them close, bending low over the table, sending meaningful glances to the nurses to back away. As Whumpee choked and gasped, trying to catch their breath, Caretaker smoothed their hair and whispered to them comfortingly. “It’s gonna be ok. I won’t leave you. These guys are trying to help you. It’s alright.”

Whumpee shook their head violently. “No! I saw him, Caretaker. Whumper…he had his favorite needle—”

“Hush! Hush, Whumper’s not here, I swear.” Caretaker’s heart felt like it would tear in two. “If he was I would have taken him down with my bare hands. No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”

Whumpee was crying now, their pale face blotched and twisted with pitiful terror. But they held on tight to Caretaker when Doc approached carefully with the sedative once more. Instinctively, they turned their head to see what he was doing, but Caretaker stopped them and held them tighter. “No, don’t look at it, Whumpee. Just look at me. You're gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Whumpee sobbed with fear. “Please don’t let him touch me, Caretaker,” they begged, burying their head into Caretaker’s chest. Caretaker held them tight while Doc cleaned the injection site with an alcohol swab. Whumpee tensed and whimpered as the needle went in. Caretaker nuzzled their hair gently. “It’s gonna be alright. Great job. You’re doing so awesome,” they said.

As the sedative took effect, Caretaker continued to hold Whumpee close, listening as their breathing gradually calmed down and their trembling stopped. Whumpee’s hands were twisted desperately in their shirt to keep them from letting go. “What’re they going to do to me?” Whumpee murmured timidly, watching the nurses with furtive glances. Caretaker hushed them.

“They’re just going to make sure you’re all ready to come back home, buddy,” they assured them. “Just fall asleep and when you wake up it’ll all be okay.”

“Home…?” Whumpee muttered drowsily. “You mean I….”

“Yeah, you’re gonna live with me, bud.” Caretaker gave them a comforting smile. “I’m going to be your Caretaker from now on.”

#whump writing #whump fic #whump prompt

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weird-an · 7 months ago

Text

"You," House says, chewing on Wilson's sandwich and staring at Wilson like he's about to eat him next. "You are jealous of my patient."

"Jealous?" Wilson raises a brow. Where does this come from? It's an intriguing case, House has even met the patient. Sure, the guy is dying snd House can't figure out why, so House sat in his room - for an entire hour. "You're being ridiculous."

"Don't worry, I'm not Cameron, I won't marry a dying man," House continues. "Although he offered me a blowjob."

That bastard obviously waited until Wilson drank from his smoothie.

"What?" Wilson wheezes, choking on strawberries and bananas.

"See?" House nods like he's got all the proof he needed and takes Wilson's smoothie, emptying the bottle in one big gulp. "Of course he didn't say anything like that, he's intubated."

This is way more relieving than it should be. Wilson hates himself a little more. What kind of doctor is happy about that?

Luckily Wilson is still coughing and has to concentrate on breathing - so he chooses living, not answering.

"But I figured out what's wrong with him, so we might go on a date." Apparently House is on a mission to ruin Wilson's day.

"You aren't gay," he says weakly, ears burning a little. He would know that, wouldn’t he? But then again it's House. Who really knows?

House rolls his eyes. "You're so pedantic."

"You never liked guys," Wilson states the obvious.

House has the audacity to grin at him. "Wrong."

What? Wilson only manages a composition of indignant noises.

House is a bastard who doesn't take pity at his burbling. "I like guys the way you like guys, Jimmy."

Wilson glares at House - the people cafeteria must probably think he's having a hypertensive crisis.

"I've found the magazine," House announces proudly, actually waving a magazine which looks suspiciously like Butt at Wilson's face. It's probably one Wilson forgot to hide when House has been coming over (hiding things from House is as thrilling as it is annoying sometimes - and Wilson is awfully good at it).

"Not so loud," Wilson shushes him. He's a little scared. People may be listening.

"What?" House feigns mock surprise. "You aren't out at work?"

"Now I probably am, thanks to you," Wilson grumbles. He can already hear Cuddy calling him into her office, telling him all about acceptance.

House just shrugs - of course he doesn't care what other people think.

"So… you like guys?" Wilson whispers.

"I love dick," House almost yells. "And tits, too." Great, now people are staring. Wilson wants to hide under the table - or get a new job in another state. Only that House would find him there, too.

Wilson sighs. "You're not really wanting to do your patient, do you?"

"If you want to bang, you can just ask," House says so casually like he's talking about the weather -only that House never talks about the weather or mundane shit like that. "Pretty sure I am your type."

He is. In a way that nobody else can be. Not that Wilson ever intended for House to figure that out.

"Asshole with a cane?" Wilson grins.

"That's not a no," House tells him.

"It's not," Wilson agrees. House got a really pretty smile, he thinks.

#if you don't think house wouldn't out anybody publicly… have we watched the same show?#apologies to the patient for getting used as yet another plot device and now coming out device #house md #hilson #wilson x house #james wilson #gregory house #hatecrimes md

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sassycheesecake · 10 months ago

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A/N: I have been really into dark romance and shit, ever since I got that TikTok recommendation. I hereby present yakuza!Shinsuke Kita x Reader. Part 1/2

‘Shit. Shit. Shit! I am late!’, you curse yourself as you almost bolt out of the train, as soon as it stops and its doors open.

You accidentally ran into a lot of people, shouting quick apologies over your shoulder, still running to your workplace.

Thank the heavens for your stamina.

Finally arriving at the Tokyo Ambulance Rescue Station, you quickly run inside and each of your coworkers stops what they are doing to look at you.

Huffing and almost wheezing like you’re having an asthma attack, you step inside and head to the female locker room without looking at any of your coworkers.

Already feeling disgusted by your sweaty state, you change into your paramedic uniform nonetheless.

Now in fresh clothes, you trot your way to one of the ambulance vehicles, seeing your friend Makima checking the equipment in the backpacks and making sure everything is filled up.

Gulping in nervousness, you approach slowly.

“Glad you decided to show up. Almost done.” Makima tells you in a deadly calm voice. Makima is one of those people who despise being late, whether it's herself or someone she is waiting on. She is only a few years older than you but still your superior. Great, this is just your first month after graduating but you were so tired last night that you forgot to put on your damn alarm for the next morning.

Not that this is an excuse, but your showing up is all that matters right?

With shaking footsteps, you make your way into the vehicle and start apologizing in a rant.

“Makima I am so so sorry, I promise it will never happen again!”, you frantically explain yourself, still out of breath.

The long-haired redhead briefly looks at you before bursting out laughing and you don’t know if this makes you feel better or worse.

Giggling, she closes up the i.v. medication backpack and storages it back underneath the cabinet of the bandages.

“(Y/N) don’t worry about it really, shit happens to all of us. No one is perfect and everyone here at the station was late once. Even me.” Makima explains and you can feel yourself being able to breathe easier already.

Just when you were about to reply to her, your beeper went off with a loud annoying peeping voice.

You run to the rack, where your black jacket with your name and the words T.A.R.S. are stitched into, and hop into the passenger seat of the vehicle.

Reading the screen at the front, you groan at the message that the fire station has sent you.

‘PATIENT PROB OD, TROUBLE BREATHING, UNCONSCIOUS, UNRESPONSIVE ‘

It’s probably the troublesome homeless teenager Denji again. You have met Denji twice now. Once beaten up badly and lying knocked out cold in an alley where he was found by a couple of passengers. The other time you found him almost bleeding to death due to a deep stab wound in his thigh, which he explained he simply got mugged.

Nonetheless, you press the buttons for the siren and the blue lights, while Makima steps on the gas to rush to the scene.

The rush and adrenaline are running through your system, making your heart bounce in excitement. Saving lives in acute situations is your thing! It’s a working environment that always comes with new foreign things and patients. Each day is different, which is exactly what your brain needs. Even if you have to drive through the massive city of Tokyo, the different kinds of people and the stories you get to tell your parents sometimes, are worth their shocking and even disgusting expressions sometimes.

Once you were called to a restaurant, in which a patient had an allergic reaction and went into a nonlethal anaphylactic shock.

The patient told you that his date was so horrible, that he purposely ate onions, even though he is allergic to them.

All just to get away from her.

Shaking your head, the logic of men never ceases to amaze you.

Arriving at the scene, you see two people leaning over a young guy that is laying on the sidewalk. He is already turned to his side, making sure in case he needs to throw up, he doesn’t choke on his vomit. Mentally thanking these people for performing the stable lateral position on the unconscious boy.

You grab the mobile vital monitor and the backpack that includes material for giving an I.V. including meds and an infusion.

Before Makima grabs the breathing and the medical suction pump, she turns off the siren but leaves the blue lights on. Pressing the lock on the car keys, the ambulance is securely locked. Unfortunately, people tend to break into ambulance vehicles and proceed to steal the medications.

Both women are rushing to the patient, quickly going through the ABCDE approach, and they manage to load him onto the stretcher after making sure he didn’t overdose. His heart is beating abnormally fast, his blood pressure is at 75/40 and when you shine a small flashlight to take a look at his eyes, his pupils are dilated.

There’s no doubt about it, that Denji got his hands on cocaine.

After giving him Adrenaline and Naloxone, his condition stabilises and Denji begins to stir.

Blinking his eyes open, a bright light immediately greets him and Denji swears he died.

He feels incredibly nauseous and his head is spinning like he just went on countless rides on a spinning wheel.

You hover over Denji’s pale figure, a vomiting bag already in your right hand.

“Denji? Can you hear me?” You ask him in a concerned voice.

When Denji was about to answer, he rapidly sits up and snatches the bag out of your hand, and hurls right into it.

Rubbing his back in a comforting manner, you sit beside him on the stretcher.

Makima is giving a quick report to their station boss, before joining you in the vehicle.

The sight of Denji vomiting disgusts Makima, deciding to wait outside because she can’t stand the smell or sight of someone throwing up.

“Denji, I think we should really take you to the hospital, you’re only 16 years old, where did you even get this stuff?” You ask him in a worried voice.

“It’s none of your business, let me out! I need to go!” Denji snaps at you, beginning to stand up.

You know you shouldn’t fight someone who just woke up from a drug rush, so you let him stand up.

Standing on wobbly legs, he places his hand against the vehicle wall to stabilize his balance.

Breathing heavily out of his mouth, he was about to open the vehicle door when Makima already beat him to it.

Surprised that he is up, she moves to the side to let him step out of the vehicle.

Denji almost falls flat on his face and his pale face makes you even more worried about him.

“Denji, are you sure you’re okay? Do you want us to call anyone?”

“Stop acting like you fucking care about me. I am just a street rat. I don’t need your pity! Just leave me the fuck alone!” He angrily spits at you, like a moody teenager that got his phone taken away.

Makima and you are watching him walk away, still unbalanced but both of you leave him be.

“You’re welcome by the way for not letting you die today!” Makima yells after him. Denji shows his middle finger up in response and continues to stomp away.

Sighing in defeat, Makima and you get back into the vehicle and you are making your way back to the station.

Giving the report that the patient refused to cooperate and come with you, you drive back.

The clock strikes 22:00 and Makima and you are finally free to change after the night shift has arrived.

Farewelling Makima goodbye, you begin to walk to the train station.

Having your headphones in your ear, you scroll through your Spotify playlist and choose ‘Glitter and Gold’.

You had a really busy day and barely had a chance to go to the bathroom.

Entering the women’s restroom, you look up from your phone, and the sight before you freezes immediately.

Right in front of you stands a very tall guy with sandy-blonde hair, he has to be at least 6’1 and he is holding a lot of tissues against his arm, blood soaking each tissue.

The stranger holds a painful expression while putting pressure on his arm.

His muscled body is leaning against the sink, the blood on his upper arm dripping down right into it.

Brown eyes rapidly look in your direction, his face shining with curiosity.

Chuckling nervously, he starts talking with his deep voice.

“Don’t scream, don't call for anyone. Just got a little scratch on my arm.”

Blinking a few times at his wound, you slowly step towards him.

Your approach is making him tense, his non-injured arm moving to his side, where he holds a dagger in case you want to attack him.

“Your wound looks pretty bad. Don’t worry I am a paramedic, I can take care of that if you want to.”

The blonde-haired giant looks at you for a few seconds, making sure you’re not lying.

After a few moments of tense silence, he nods unsurely.

Breathing out slowly, you awkwardly glance at the door and at him a few times.

“Uhm. Just follow me then, I need to take a proper look at it. I have my materials at home so come home with me so I can patch you up properly.” You explain to him.

His eyes watch you carefully, hesitantly he nods and puts his maroon jacket back on.

“Do you have a belt or something on you?” You ask him as you both exit the public restroom.

The tall stranger nods and takes off his belt to hand it to you.

Grasping the belt you begin to tie it around his arm, so the wound hopefully stops the bleeding until you both arrive at your place.

Wincing at the tightness, he thanks you quietly.

As you both begin to enter the train, which is thankfully empty around this time on a weekday, you ask him what happened to his arm.

“Not that's yer business anyway, so I’d rather not say.” He avoids your curious look.

“But that wound is pretty deep! You need to go to the hospital and get that stitched up probably.” You try to reason with him.

“I am serious. Drop it.” He snaps at you with an angry frown.

Accepting his request, you decide to drop it.

With nervous hands, you glance down at the metro floor and wait in silence to arrive at your destination.

Ten uncomfortable minutes later, you both arrive at the subway station that is close to your apartment.

Unlocking the door with your key, you enter inside and wait for him.

The blonde hesitates for a few seconds, glancing down the hallway nervously before deciding that you’re not a threat, and enters as well.

Gently closing the door, you urge him to follow you into your bathroom where your medical kit lies underneath the sink.

You direct him to sit on the edge of the bathtub and he complies without question.

“I need to see your wound properly in order to clean it up.” You tell him while putting on medical gloves and setting the necessary materials like the stitching materials, disinfectant wipes, and fluid, and scissors.

He winces while rolling up his sleeve to present you with his injury.

You start by taking a wet washcloth and gently dabbing it around the area, quietly apologizing whenever he hisses and flinches away from the touch.

As you are now able to see the injury better, you see that it’s actually a bullet wound, hence the bleeding was so heavy.

Shocked that he has this kind of injury, you remember that he doesn’t want to talk about how he got it.

“Lift your arm please, I need to know if the bullet is still in the muscle tissue.“

He gives you an incredulous look since lifting his arm would only worsen his pain. Nonetheless, he complies.

Quickly looking around his arm you don’t see an exit wound, closing your eyes in pity for the stranger, you know what you are going to say next, definitely won’t be easy.

“Let me guess. That thing is still in there.” He looks to the ceiling of your bathroom with a tight smile.

“U-Uhm yes. I told you to go to a hospital. It needs to be surgically removed. I really recommend it Mr….”, you drift off as you don’t recall knowing his name.

He looks at you and realizes he’s never introduced himself to you properly.

“Name’s Atsumu Miya, ya can call me Atsumu.”

Later on, Atsumu enters the familiar door of the headquarters of the ‘Fox Den’ and lets out a heavy sigh.

The pent-up frustration from the fight with Karasuno, the pain, and the treatment that he had to bite through with you is making his body insanely tired from exhaustion.

Nonetheless, he needs to give a report to his boss, the leader of the Inarizaki gang of Hyogo.

Atsumu walks down the hallway that has multiple doors connected to it and since it’s awfully quiet, Atsumu guesses that most members are either asleep or away on missions.

Entering the lift at the end of the hallway, he presses the ‘5’ button for the conference rooms and where also the office of his boss.

Swinging back and forth on his heels, Atsumu waits until the elevator stops and continues his path to the room of the leader of Inarizaki.

Once he arrives at his destination, he knocks first, before entering.

“Hey Kita, 'm back from the mission." The blonde says when he steps into the office.

A man who has silver hair with black tips in it, is sitting at the desk and he briefly looks up from his laptop with a stoic face, before looking down again, continuing to type something down.

Ignoring the warm greeting of his boss, Atsumu plops down on one of the chairs in front of the desk and puts his arms behind his head to stretch.

Unfortunately, he completely forgot about the injury on his arm, immediately putting the injured arm down again with a winced hiss.

The head of the gang looks at his trusted friend before a slight frown of concern decorates his face.

“What happened?“ he asks in a calm voice.

“Oh, you know the usual. Just some fuckers from Karasuno in our territory and one of them fucking shot me.“ Atsumu explains while gently rubbing over his arm, feeling the wrapped bandage from you underneath his jacket.

His frown deepens at the mention of their rival gang, the Karasuno crows, but listens quietly.

“Do you need medical attention? Do you want me to send Ginjima or Riseki up?“ He continues to question him.

“Nah, I am good Kita. Got stitched up by this cute girl that I met while I was bleedin‘ out like a pig in a women’s restroom by the train station.“ Atsumu pulls his sleeve to reveal the bandage.

Kita glances at the bandage on his friend‘s arm, a mix between concern and anger but also suspicion haunts his face.

He slowly gets up from his chair and rounds his table with slow steps, making his way toward the older twin.

The injured man looks at him with curious eyes while raising his eyebrow in confusion.

The silver-haired man stares at one of his most trusted right-hand man with a neutral expression and puts his arms behind his back.

“Tell me more about this mysterious medic girl.“ He demands.

Atsumu grins mischievously at his boss and begins to tell him about his fight to the encounter of meeting you.

Yawning, you stretched out your exhausted limbs and climbed into your comforting blue soft blankets. The feeling of your head hitting the cushy pillow makes you sigh in bliss. It was a long day, first the rowdy patients, then getting vomited on by a drunk homeless person that almost overdosed, and then there was the injured blonde-haired stranger you met tonight. You’re not going to lie, it was a whole mountain of stupid to just invite a stranger over to your apartment. Anxiously, you remember, that he mentioned he didn’t want to go to the hospital to get patched up because he needs to stay anonymous.

The only question is…

Why does he need to do that?

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone vibrates with a message. You curiously pick it up to see what the notification is.

Eyes widening in shock and also a concern, you glance at your screen.

Unknown number

‘Thank you for taking care of my friend. I would like to repay you some time for your kind service’

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyū!!#hq x reader #hq fluff #inarizaki #shinsuke kita #kita shinsuke x reader #kita shinsuke #yakuza!au #yakuza #haikyuu mafia

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nocturnal-phantoms-fandoms · 11 months ago

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best Christmas gift

first @wolfstarmicrofic prompt 5. Whisper, prompt 27. Gift. 556 words.

A soft whisper in the dark: “Merry Christmas, love.”

“Mhm,” replies Remus groggily. “Merry Christmas.”

“Wanted to be the first one today,” Sirius says and kisses his forehead.

“Congratulations, then.” Remus tries to hide his smile and pretend to be annoyed, but Sirius sees right through him – he chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Sirius knows him so well; that Remus doesn't believe in one-day-Christmas – that he thinks he should be allowed to wish everyone Merry Christmas for the whole week. Or two.

And he is willing to indulge Remus and pretend like he has to beat anyone up to be the first one that day. As if there was a competition going on.

God, Remus loves him so much.

“Alright, get up, sleepyhead.” Sirius kisses him again. “Presents are waiting.”

They are spending the holidays with the Potters, again; for the past two years Remus and his parents have been invited as well, despite not being part of the family – but only technically, according to Mrs Potter.

Remus pulls on a jumper his mum gifted him last year; Sirius is already wearing a matching one when he comes back from the bathroom.

They’re about to leave the room when Sirius gently grabs his arm.

“I also wanted to be the first one to give you your gift. Before anyone else,” he says softly, his expression open and hopeful. Vulnerable and almost nervous.

Remus bites his lip trying to contain his smile. “That's not fair.”

“Who says I'm playing fair?” The mirth in his sparkling eyes is back.

He hands him a small red box with a bow.

“Thanks,” he says, still smiling, as he starts unwrapping the gift. “You know you could have just put it under the tree and waited patiently?”

“Yes, I’m well known for my unwavering patience.”

Remus lifts the lid only to find a smaller box inside. He looks up at a grinning Sirius.

“Very funny. Clever, even,” he comments, not unkindly.

Remus unwraps another layer of ribbons and paper – and another – and finally fishes out an even smaller box, black this time.

There is a ring nested inside.

Remus looks up; Sirius is down on one knee in front of him.

“Oh my God,” he gasps.

“Yeah,” Sirius takes in a shaky breath, smiling nervously. “Remus. Moony, I-”

Remus feels choked up. He is sure there are tears streaming down his face.

Next thing he knows he’s wrapped around Sirius, like a koala, who is still kneeling on the floor.

“Oh my God,” Remus whispers into his shoulder. “I love you so much.”

“Remus-”, Sirius wheezes faintly.

“I love you, I love you, I love you!”

“You didn't even let me ask the question,” Sirius laughs incredulously. “I had a whole speech prepared. I rehearsed it!”

He pulls back, wiping at his eyes. They had talked about it. More than once, actually. Remus knew it was coming, and Sirius still managed to surprise him; catch him completely off guard.

“I love you so much.”

Sirius smiles at him, open and honest. His bright grey eyes are filled with fondness, tenderness and affection. One of his hands comes up to gently caress his cheek. Remus doesn’t remember how to breathe.

“Remus?” he whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Marry–”

Remus bites his lip. He can’t help himself. “Merry Christmas?”

Sirius laughs. And then whispers: “Marry me?”

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar microfic #nyx writes #fic: best christmas gift

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stephsageek · 2 months ago

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New One-shot Alert

My Five X Lila Strip poker one-shot is finally done!

A Preview:

Five expelled his drink, coughing into his fist afterward.

Lila’s eyes widened as she leaned over, patting him on the back a few times as he gasped and sputtered. “I-I’m sorry—” he wheezed. “I-I thought you said ‘strip’—”

“Oh, no. You heard right,” she reassured calmly.

“What the fu-How can-Are you—?!” Five rapidly protested, suddenly squeezing his eyes shut, his expression annoyed and aggrieved in equal turns. “What am I saying? Of course, you’re insane—”

“Oi! You said I get to pick—!”

“Yes, Lila. I did,” Five admitted, his voice strained as he tried to be patient. “But why would you—?!”

“What? Afraid of losing your precious Puritanical sense of propriety because you’re shite at cards—”

“Two things, senior psychopath. One, I am most certainly not ‘shite’ at cards. You must not have read my file too closely while you were at the Commission, because if you had you would know the identity of the only known person to have bested James Hickok in a game of cards—”

“Wild Bill?!” Lila gasped as Five kept talking.

“—Two, you are my brother’s wife—not to mention my best friend!” Five hissed as if worried someone might hear him.

“Aw, old man, I’m touched—!” Lila fawned, only to be cut off.

“Don’t change the subject! Playing strip poker is practically cheating!” he snapped.

Lila rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease! One, there is no way you are telling me you beat Wild Bill and even think for a second, that we’re not going to play! Two, playing strip poker is most certainly not cheating—”

“How the hell do you figure—?!”

“It’s not like we’d even be touching—”

“We’d be naked—!”

“You might be, loser—”

“Regardless of who might be naked in this scenario, Lila, the point still stands that it is obviously —”

“Have you forgotten that you’ve already seen me starkers as it is?” Lila smirked, folding her arms. “Or am I the only one that remembers?”

Lila watched as a vein began to throb at Five’s temple as he gritted out, “You were trying to kill me; forgive me for being a little preoccupied.”

“Not at all! You honestly ought to thank me for even giving you another chance at eyeing the goods!”

Lila watched in amusement as Five gnashed his teeth in frustration, his face growing red. She was unsure if it was from anger or embarrassment.

“We’re both adults, old man; playing a friendly game! Nothing untoward. You Americans are always so touchy about nudity. There are plenty of cultures where family members see each other naked all the time—!”

“Lila, it’s not because we’re—"

“Besides, the human form is natural; not necessarily only sexual,” Lila reasoned, knowing Five well enough to know that an appeal to his sense of logic would be difficult for him to argue against. Although she could think of one other appeal he’d struggle to overcome: an appeal to his sense of pride.

“You’re just afraid I’ll show you up,” Lila grinned.

She liked the way his eyes blazed when he was truly beginning to lose his patience. The way he clenched his jaw, making a muscle jump in his cheek.

“Or worse, that you might like what you see~” Lila whispered, teasing.

Five’s face went scarlet.

Lila felt her heartbeat quicken.

Lila loved ruffling his feathers, flirting and teasing; taunting and baiting; and disturbing his carefully constructed world.

She loved it from the moment they met, and it had only grown over the years.

She remembered when they'd first been enemies, the way his anger and pain had felt like a balm to her soul.

When his bitterness had tasted so very sweet.

Even now, with his brother—her husband—no one else had ever given her this feeling. That spike of adrenaline and dopamine that rushed through her veins like a drug. That thrill that made her heart race.

Her life felt drab, stifling, and joyless sometimes; like she was dragging her feet through a gray, lackluster existence.

And then Five would come along, brightening her life and splashing her universe in technicolor. If she was Dorthy, he was her Oz and she never wanted to go back to Kansas.

#tua #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #lila pitts #five x lila #number five #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy fanfiction #five x lila fanfic #my fanfiction #everyone is very much a grown up here

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rabbitblackx · 2 years ago

Note

No worries, bestie, I gotchu

TL;DR of what I remember: Any slashers you'd like (Including Michael Myers just to satiate my own needs lol, if you write for the RZ version, that'd be incredible but if not that's also fine) with an S/O who deals with their fear through extreme humor and laughing so hard they can't breathe (akin to the "Look at this dude" guy. I'll get you the video if you need it)

Thanks sm for being patient with me🫠💖 I hope u don’t mind I only did rz mikey cuz my dumbass didn’t know how to incorporate this into a plot😭😽

RZ!Michael with a Reader that copes with fear through humour

Michael broke into your home at night. You were still up watching tv when you heard him shuffling through the kitchen. You were terrified to know what was lurking in the dark room

As you slowly crept off the couch to investigate, a nervous chuckle left your lips. You had a bad habit of laughing and cracking jokes in scary situations like this

“Yo, dude. Wrong crib.” You blurted out

You stuck your hand through the doorway, flicking on the light of the kitchen. You stood there dumbfounded at the sight of Michael Myers in your home, blood dripping from his knife. As much as you wanted to scream, you sputtered out a hesitant laugh instead

“This is some dumb prank, right?” You giggled, backing away out of the kitchen. Michael menacingly trailed after you. “You’re breaking a lotta boundaries here. I’m gonna call the cops.” You warned

You were still trying to convince yourself that this was some big joke. This was Haddonfield, after all. The ‘trick’ in trick or treating was year around here. But when this tall, masked man began to breathe scarily heavy right in your face, you knew better. You finally went to scream, but then furrowed your brow as you got a better look at his worn mask in the dark. It looked awfully familiar

“Dude—is that William Shatner?” You asked

You bursted into laughter, wheezing as tears tried to escape your eyes. Michael tilted his head to the side, angrily gripping his knife until his knuckles turned white. You wanted to stop laughing but you couldn’t. You clutched your stomach through your pjs as you continued to hysterically do so

“Ohhh, my god.” You gasped for air

Every time you looked at him, your laughter only grew harder. Just the way his mask looked so unimpressed with you nearly made you piss yourself

All of a sudden, you hilariously lifted up your hand, and gave Michael the Vulcan salute from Star Trek

“The needs of the many!”

That made you cry with laughter. You thought you were so funny

“HAHAHAHA!”

Your knees buckled and you soon found yourself lying on the floor, wheezing while holding your aching belly

Michael was so pissed off with you in that moment. But for once in his horrible life, he refrained from killing. You couldn’t get too excited though, as he would be back for you

You didn’t even notice Michael turn away and head out the same way he broke in. You were too busy laughing at your own jokes on the floor like an idiot

As absolutely woeful you were to him, the man was somehow intrigued by you. You were a total nut, but he had seen worse. Michael’s idea was to come back tomorrow night, so he could finish you off for real

He would be more quiet with sneaking in then, this time not moving around so much. He would creep up behind you when you least expected it, and then slice his knife into your stupid back

Who’s laughing now?

#michael myers #michael myers x reader #rob zombie #rz michael myers #rz halloween #halloween #rab.reads #slasher x reader

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fatasticfeedernurse · 3 months ago

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Patients-1

These are the gals that are going to be taken care of by the lovely dragon nurses~

Pile of blubber Catra from "She-Ra". A temperamental meat head who is was a great lider fgor her faction. Currently resides on intensive care as she is too stubborn to follow her dietary plan. "I-Im ...*hfffbUAARRP*... ...*sploosh*... ...*hnnghh*... ...*sputter*... goin' ...*wheeze*... ...*glug*... ...*nff*... ...*slosh*... toh ...*uhhnngh*... ...*slurp*... ...*smush*... d-deehshtroohy ...*urrRPPphh*... ...*chomp*... ...*urrrPPhhh*... yoouu~pruurRPP ~h ...*grrrrRRPPp*... ...*gulp*... ...*ouurRRPp*.. ...*snarf*... fohr ...*urrrRRPPP*... ...*smush*... ...*nff*... t-thiish!"

Uraraka From MHA. This fatty can some times waddle around the facility if she manages to not throw up by using her quirk in herself (Spoilers, she will not manage it). Usually wandering around just to "prove" that she isnt such a lost cause.

Himiko Toga from MHA Different from Ochako, this girl doesnt give a crap about being any kind of normal. More than not this sadistic individual likes to punish her boy on your behalf. Quirky!

Tsuyu Asui and Mina Ashido from MHA

Im not entirely sure how this two are still alive. Must be thanks to all the care our beautiful nurses perform each day!

Priyanka Maheswaran from steven universe Stubborn doctor who thinks she knows whats best. And given what she has been doing to herself...We just let her be.

Elma from Dragon Maid.

Unable to control herself, she takes the rol of another patient as she got to obese to continue on her rol as a nurse.

Kobayashi from Dragon Maid The prized posesion of the two dragon nurses. The most morbidly obese woman under her care. Her days are counted, and so are the calories she eats~

"P-Pl~hrrpPPPHH ~eeaahsheeh ...*HRRPPphh*... ...*squidge*... ...*frrt*... ...*ouurRRPp*.. ...*frPPp*... ii ...*blurRRPPhh*... ...*schlop*... ...*SplrrpffTTbt*... ... ...*plblblb*... caant'sh ...*hahhh*... ...*slurp*... ...*PFFFPTTT*... ...*puff*... ...*smush*... ...*FlrtpffblTT*... a-anymore"

#Permanent patients

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oxpogues4lifexo · 4 months ago

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Keeping up with the Camerons

Bella_Bee

Liked by johmbee, sarbear, rafe and others

Living with you has been a different kind of weird and I’m all here for it @johmbee

Thank you for welcoming me to your castle 🩷

P4L 🤘

#pogues4life #thecut #poguelife #bff

johmbee loves ya girl thanks for keeping me company

-> bella_bee love you more weirdo, my pleasure ☺️

-> papaj Jesus get a room

-> johmbee jealous?

-> sarbear excuse me John B I exist remember

-> bella_bee SARAHHHH come over please I miss you 🥺

-> sarbear ON MY WAY GIRL

wardcameron young lady we aren’t supposed to be posting until all the episodes are out

-> bella_bee your not my dad remember

rafe your alive then

-> johmbee fuck off rafe

-> rafe your name Bella? She ain’t answering my messages

-> bella_bee for good reason

-> bella_bee where’s my brother rafe?

-> rafe I’m coming over

-> johmbee we ain’t home dickface

wheezieee I miss you bells where have you been??

-> bella_bee I’m sorry wheeze it’s a long story, come see me tomorrow 🩷

Sorry the next eps taking so long I’m really struggling to think of what to write I promise it wont be too long left!

Here’s a spoiler ish so enjoy!! Hope it keeps you interested, thank you so much for being patient with me 🫶🏻

Catch up on the episodes here

Taglist: @viawritesstuff @mymelodylvr @rafeinterlude @cerya @aariahnaa @42angelgirl @b1mb0slvt

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ofduskanddreams · 1 year ago

Text

Pierce The Clouds

for @elucienweekofficial day 2: magic

A/N: I say this is "from the vault" because it's based on part of an old (no longer public) fic that I plan to rewrite if I ever have the time. I wasn't planning on posting anything today, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head so here we are :)

READ ON AO3 | RATED: E | CANON-TYPICAL VIOLENCE | 8.3k WORDS

When Lucien encounters trouble in the mortal lands, the bond draws Elain's shuttered power to the surface. Everyone knows that getting between a Fae and their injured mate is a death wish, but no one, not even Elain, knows just how far her magic is willing to go.

Lucien

He winnowed directly from the entrance of the Hewn City into his apartment in Velaris. He kicked off his shoes and fell back onto his bed, ignoring the slight cloud of dust that puffed up from the duvet on impact.

Two minutes, he told himself. Two minutes to close his eyes and soak in the blissful silence.

Lucien didn’t want to think about that meeting, it all made him too uneasy. Eris had mentioned nothing about a plan to kill Beron, he’d simply thanked Rhys again for hosting him for Winter Solstice again and made a snide comment about how unfortunate it was that Cassian—“that Illyrian brute” as Eris called him—didn’t let him within twenty feet of Nesta this year.

Rhys, looking as bored as ever, had signed his approval on a trade agreement between the Nightmares and Eris’s territory in Autumn: ore for agricultural products. Lucien and Rhys spoke mind-to-mind about how it was suspiciously mutually beneficial, but on paper, he could make no objections.

Dealing with Eris always left him unsettled, and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Growing up with his brothers, it was second nature to expect every good deed to have an equally bad counterpart. But with Eris, the shoe hadn’t dropped. Yet. That was the most unnerving thing, what would be the cost of centuries of Eris’s so-called generosity towards him?

With a groan, Lucien forced himself to get up and change. He grabbed the second bag in the line of pre-packed leather duffels lining the wall near the door. It was a system he had developed while working as Tamlin’s emissary. A bag of necessities and appropriate clothing for each of Prythian’s courts, spelled with simple enchantments to keep everything fresh and wrinkle-free. The bag in his hand, for the human lands, was newer than the others yet still worn and marked by a small white leather tag.

Rhys had suggested that Lucien take Eris’s news that all was quiet with Beron and Koschei to Vassa sooner rather than later. The knowing look in Rhys’s eyes made it clear he was offering Lucien an out from family dinner should he want it.

With a wave of his hand, Lucien put out the fire in his fireplace and winnowed to the woods outside the wards he’d placed on Vassa’s manor. The near evening light lacked any sparkle as it filtered through the dull green canopy above him. He was grateful to Rhys; he didn’t want to think about trying to face Elain right now, unsettled as he was. It was hard enough to play that politely distanced courtier for her on a good day.

Lucien was a patient male, he prided himself on his self-control but even he had his limits. Elain wasn’t happy. He felt it through their dulled bond, and his instincts screamed at him to do something about it but he couldn’t. Being around her made it even more obvious and equally more difficult to ignore. Elain acted like she was happy, and was probably unaware that he knew her true feelings. It wasn’t his place to say anything so he’d been distancing himself. It seemed to be what she wanted.

Lucien walked through the manor’s gates and immediately came face-to-face with a flustered Jurian.

Jurian braced a hand on his shoulder as he caught his breath. “Impeccable…timing,” Jurian wheezed.

Lucien’s metal eye whirred in its socket, examining. The wards were fine. Nothing was on fire. There were no screams or clashing blades ringing through the air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Jurian.

“I was just about to send for you,” Jurian began, leading him towards the manor doors. “A few minutes ago, I had a runner come saying that there was a fight on the border. Apparently some of Nolan’s men got into it with a unit of your Prythian Guard.”

“Fuck,” Lucien exhaled, dread simmering in his veins. “Any injuries? Casualties?”

Jurian shook his head as they entered the manor hall. “The poor kid only said one injury before passing out on my office floor.”

“We don’t know if they were human or Fae?” Lucien inquired, dropping his bag and taking out the spare dagger he kept there. He sheathed it next to the short sword he always carried on his right hip.

“No,” Jurian sighed. “Since it could be either, I think it’s best if we both go.”

Lucien nodded in grim agreement.

It took them half an hour’s hard riding to reach the second garrison of the Prythian Guard. The Guard had been one of Lucien’s better ideas, endorsed by Rhys to address Tamlin’s non-existent border security. It was a peacekeeping force made up of Fae representing every court to monitor the border where the wall once stood.

It would have been easy for Lucien to winnow himself and Jurian, but riding in alongside the former human general sent a better message in this situation that and outcomes, could easily escalate into a greater conflict. Riding was also a thrill Lucien had enjoyed for as long as he could remember. He didn’t understand why most High Fae avoided it.

The sun was setting when Lucien dismounted at the wooden gate and nodded to Jurian. He would continue on to Nolan’s outpost and figure out what he could. With both sides of the story, maybe the two of them could piece together what actually happened.

The guard standing watch—Winter Court if his fair hair, skin, and frosty eyes were a sign—opened the gate for Lucien with a deferential nod.

“They’re all in the main hall,” he said, taking the reins from Lucien.

As he crossed the dirt courtyard, Lucien tried his best not to jump to morbid conclusions. The likelihood of this sparking another human-fae war was slim. If he was being honest, he’d poured so much of himself into maintaining peace since the war with Hybern ended that any breach of it felt like a personal attack. He was glad that his magic was still drained from all the winnowing he’d done in the last day and a half. If it hadn’t been, sparks would fly from his fingertips.

The sight that met Lucien in the chamber was far from encouraging. The assembled grave-faced guards stepped aside in a wave of pewter gray to reveal a male laying on a table. For a sickening heartbeat the male’s golden hair looked like Tamlin’s, but as Lucien stepped closer, he saw gray hairs mingled with gold and speckled with blood.

Lucien had to grip the table to keep from falling to his knees, because the male taking wet, ragged breaths was Valin.

“Lucien,” a voice addressed him.

Lucien looked up from the table to find Bron, one of Tamlin’s former sentries standing beside him, the crest of a commander on his gray uniform.

“What happened?” Lucien seethed behind gritted teeth.

“Valin had his unit on their regular patrol when they came across a bunch of Nolan’s men, drunk. They were aggressive, trying to cross the border and hoping for revenge from the sound of it. The unit followed protocol and was working to disarm the group with minimal injury when Valin took a scatter-ash arrow to the chest. Under Valin’s orders, they didn’t retaliate and half of them escorted Nolan’s men back to their outpost while the rest brough Valin here.”

“I should have known the prospect of ordering people around would have drawn Valin out of retirement.” Lucien and Bron exchanged sad smiles. Valin was Andras’s older brother, had been the captain of Tamlin’s sentries since his father had ruled Spring. He retired a few decades after Lucien arrived in the court, to start a family when he found his mate. But they’d stayed friends, Lucien had visited often and written when he couldn’t.

“Talia should be here soon, I sent a winnower to her as soon as I saw him,” Bron spoke quietly.

“He won’t make it?”

Bron closed his eyes and shook his head. “Scatter-ash, it’s Nolan’s latest invention. The arrow heads and lower shafts are made of ash chips somehow melded together so they break into pieces if the arrow hits bone or is removed.”

Lucien’s elbows hit the table as he rested his head in his hands. The sound of running footsteps made him snap upright, just in time to see Talia burst through the doors. She froze, nostrils flaring as she scented her mate’s blood.

“Everybody back to your posts,” Lucien ordered softly, and the room cleared save for himself, Talia and Bron.

In the blink of an eye, Talia was standing beside her mate clutching his hand to her chest. Her translucent wings shivered as tears fell silently down her face.

The room was quiet, save for Valin’s jagged breaths that were slowing by the minute. Lucien and Bron stood together in mute vigil for their fallen friend and mentor as the sun sank beneath the horizon, coloring the room a somber shadow-blue. Lucien would never forget the moment Valin’s heart stopped and his soul crossed the Veil. Talia froze before she began shaking. Then she fell to her knees, hands clasped over her heart and screamed.

That scream of unearthly sorrow and rage and grief hit Lucien like a serrated blade to the gut. He saw Bron stagger as well under the weight of Talia’s pain as half of her soul was ripped out and cast to the void. Lucien had only read about what could happen following the death of one’s mate. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing Elain on that table, dead. The thought of that golden light in his chest winking out threatened the stability of Lucien’s knees.

The wail turned to a choked-off sob. He wished he could go to her, but there was no comfort he could give that would ease the force of her grief. Eventually the sobbing stopped and Talia slowly turned to them.

“Who?” she growled, rage blazing in her eyes.

“Talia, an off-duty human guard shot him,” Lucien spoke carefully with his hands outstretched, palms up in a gesture of peace. “I will meet with Lord Nolan in the morning and demand he turn over the man responsible. His judgment will be yours to give.”

Lucien looked to the side at Bron who gave an imperceptible nod before he stepped forward slowly.

Bron approached her as one might a spooked horse. All Fae knew there were few things as dangerous as a mate seeking retribution—instinct could spark a bloodlust in the most peaceful of souls. Once Lucien felt relatively sure that Talia would allow Bron to help her prepare her mate’s body for the pyre without killing him, he slipped out of the room and down a narrow hall to the guest officer’s quarters.

He wasn’t able to shake the smothering, bone-rending sadness he felt. He couldn’t bear the thought of what Talia must be going through; couldn’t stop his mind from reliving the night Jesminda’s life was stolen by his folly.

Lucien collapsed onto the small bed in the dark, cold room. He couldn’t staunch that gut-wrenching grief he’d buried so deep. He closed his eyes but immediately saw the light leaving Jes’s walnut eyes. When he heard the wet slice of a blade meeting bone, of her head hitting the stone, Lucien’s eyes flew open. He was drowning in grief too long ignored.

He jolted when there was a sharp tug behind his ribs, hard enough that his breath hitched.

Then there was a bright warmth blooming.

Lucien sat up, but no—he hadn’t accidentally started a fire. It happened rarely, when the nightmares were at their worst and he would wake to the acrid scent of burning fabrics.

An image of small hands buried in a white mane flying flashed in front of his mind's eye.

And then he was a youngling hiding in the kitchens while his mother baked apple crumble and he stole as many bites as he could.

Lucien lay back and let his head hit the pillow as he was surrounded by the colors of autumn, shrouded in a blanket of sunset and he felt peace.

It was Elain; he realized with no small amount of wonder. Elain must have sensed him.

All the hollow sadness was suddenly filled with a nervous amount of hope dashed with embarrassment. He was careful to keep his emotions to himself, had never slipped up like this before. Cauldron, she must have felt everything. The hope was a soft glow, Elain had never touched their bond before.

Jurian met him at the Garrison at dawn. From what he heard at Nolan’s outpost, it was exactly as Bron described. Nolan’s men claimed the fault lay with the Fae, but Jurian believed the guard had done everything by the parameters of the treaty.

Jurian agreed with Lucien’s plan to deliver Valin’s assailant to Talia. Then again, Jurian was one of the few humans with firsthand experience of what mates were capable of when truly motivated.

Lucien didn’t waste time setting out for the Nolan’s manor, assured that Jurian would inform Vassa of everything that had occurred. His magic was still somewhat drained so Lucien opted to ride again.

Recalling the memory from the previous night, Lucien smiled to himself. If Elain enjoyed riding, maybe he could ask her to accompany him some time.

Lucien dismounted when the manor’s gates were in sight, leaving the horse to graze on dew-dampened grass. He’d only come to Nolan’s manor on foot before, better to lessen the chances of aggravating anyone. The guards posted on the gate were two Lucien didn’t recognize. He stopped some twenty paces back, their loaded crossbows trained on him.

“Stay right where you are, Fae filth,” the shorter of the two guards called out. “Your kind isn’t welcome here.”

Lucien held both of his hands up, showing that he would make no move for his weapon.

“My name is Lucien Vanserra. I am an emissary, I mean no harm.” He choked on his family name but that was how the humans did it and he was here for the sake of peace. “I’ve been here several times before,” Lucien took a careful step forward. His gaze flicked between the short one and the one whose eyes were wide with fear. “Your commander knows me, he can verify my identity.”

“How do we know this isn’t just some magic trick?” the short one sneered.

Lucien took a calming breath, “I am here under the terms of the treaty between our peoples, that includes not using glamours to deceive you.” He took another careful step forward.

Only to be knocked back by a blinding pain near his heart. His ears rang, but he could hear the cadence of conversation.

“You idiot. Set the lord’s hounds on him, leave no evidence.”

Then there was a riot of barking. For half a second Lucien found himself back in Eris’s kennels, the hounds greeting him. But these were not those hounds.

Lucien felt several sets of teeth sink into his limbs. He couldn’t just stay here and die. That wasn’t right. It would hurt her. Elain.

Elain, the name clanged through him.

He needed a chance with Elain, with his mate.

Lucien reached deeply for whatever threads of dwindling magic he could grab and threw himself into the darkness, thinking of the first place that sprang into his mind.

He didn’t remember how he crawled up the steps and through the off-kilter door, but his eyes opened to stare down at the familiar black-and-white checkered marble floors. His eyes closed at the sound of talons clicking against the cracked stone that shifted to familiar footsteps as every thought eddied out of his head and the world bled black.

Tamlin

He scented Lucien long before he saw the male. Tamlin cursed the spark of hope that warmed him at the thought that Lucien might give him another chance. But then he neared the manor and scented Lucien's blood and red stained his vision. He ran.

There was too much blood—the wounds weren’t closing. Cauldron, were those bite marks? Tamlin’s heart was beating too quickly, his hands crimson-slicked as he gently turned Lucien onto his back to reveal the splintered shaft of an ash arrow embedded not a finger’s width from his heart. Tamlin quickly dragged a talon across his ankle; it stung and bled a drop before closing—not a nightmare then.

Fuck.

Tamlin forced himself to breathe. To think. He would lose no one else. There were no healers here anymore. No one was here. So he had to go where healers were. Where there were people who were better for Lucien than he was.

Never again, he told himself. I won’t lose him again.

Tamlin summoned the strength he often tried to forget and, with enough force that the ground rumbled, he spoke from his mind, projecting it far north.

Rhysand. I’m bringing Lucien to you. I mean no harm. He’s dying, he needs a Healer.

Tamlin gathered Lucien into his arms and winnowed. Lucien was the only thing he had left to lose.

Time seemed to slow as the darkness pressed upon him. The first rule of winnowing is to have a clear picture of your destination. Lucien had told him about Velaris before Tamlin had banned him from his court in anger. Centuries before that, lifetimes ago really, the heir of Night and the son of Spring had gotten drunk together. The memory of Rhys’s description was faded but better than nothing, so Tamlin held that image close.

Another image flashed before him, star-tinged—from Rhysand. A wrought-iron fence before the small yard of a home on a quiet street.

Then he was there, shoving aside that gate and bounding up the steps. The door opened for him and Tamlin barely noted the towering Illyrian wings he brushed past as he moved to lay Lucien down on the table. A gray-haired female stepped towards Lucien’s prone form and Tamlin bit back a snarl, at the same time the High Lord of Night’s hand came down on his shoulder.

Madja’s our best healer, she’ll do all she can, Rhysand spoke into his mind.

“It's a new kind of ash arrow. It breaks into shards when disturbed,” Tamlin explained, his long unused voice rasping. “He winnowed from the mortal lands to my manor with that much ash in him. I would have said it’s not possible, but he did it.”

Madja nodded to him and turned back to Lucien. “Sons of fire don’t burn out easily, this one still has a chance.”

Tamlin sagged with relief, then quickly straightened his spine. He’d already let these males see too much of him.

“Here,” Cassian grunted and shoved a glass of whiskey into Tamlin’s faintly trembling hands.

The reality of his situation came into sharp focus as the instinctive drive to protect his closest friend faded. He was in the Night Court. He didn’t exactly ask to come. They had every valid reason to hate him, especially Rhys and Feyre. Cauldron, they were the same reasons he hated himself. He could see Rhysand and Cassian exchanging a look that meant they were mind-speaking. Cassian… Rhysand’s General.

The gears turned. He was a High Lord who winnowed uninvited into another court’s territory. An action any laws of Prythian could construe as an act of war that. Tamlin swallowed the rest of his drink painfully.

There was only one way to guarantee this didn’t turn that direction.

So, Tamlin set down his glass and crossed the room to where Rhys stood. Pride be damned, he had already lost everything at this point. Tamlin took a deep breath and placed his right fist over his heart, speaking the ancient words: “I, Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, thank you for offering me aid in my time of need. As payment for this debt I will grant you, Rhysand, High Lord of Night, a boon. Please accept my gratitude.”

Faint clinks made by ash splinters landing in a metal basin punctuated the silence. Tamlin kept his eyes downcast at the red patterned rug until Rhysand held out a tattooed hand.

Tamlin clasped it with his own.

“I accept,” Rhysand responded, his expression guarded.

A shockwave of magic radiated through Velaris as the bargain inked itself across the High Lords’ wrists, setting the glasses rattling.

Then, the door to the townhouse swung open with such force that the little window in it shattered.

Elain Archeron burst into the room. Her half-feral eyes stopped on Lucien, then flitted to Tamlin as he stood and turned towards her. Her brown eyes turned to silver as she took in the blood staining Tamlin’s clothes.

Her rage was an aura shimmering at the edges of her. She winnowed across the room in a blink, appearing in front of Tamlin and slamming him back into the wall. Her forearm pushed into his throat. She growled, each word dripping with the promise of blood: “What. Happened. To. My. Mate.”

Elain

This wasn’t right. Elain looked around at the bare-boned trees shivering dark against a faded sky.

She was in Velaris. She was staring at a rosebush. There were clippers in her hand.

But when Elain looked down, there were no clippers, and the air was colder and dulled. It took a moment for recognition to set in—she recognized these woods, that far-off stone wall with its grotesque iron gate.

She shouldn’t be here.

Couldn’t be.

That was Lord Nolan’s manor, but she was in Velaris. Feyre and Nyx and Cerridwen were playing on the other side of the gardens. She was listening to them moments ago.

But this world was silent.

She realized it was a vision when her feet began moving against her will.

Suddenly, she stood before the gates staring at two guards in Graysen’s father’s colors. But the vision shattered, cracking and falling like the shards of a mirror.

And then Elain was curled up on the grass of her garden with a searing white pain in her chest. Feyre was screaming.

The world was shaking—no, that was her, shaking. Being shook.

“...lain. Elain, please open your eyes,” Feyre’s voice pleaded.

Elain slowly obeyed, squinting and blinking and trying to adjust to the brightness of the sun above her. It was hard to do anything with the memory of that pain echoing across her skin.

“I…” Elain’s voice cracked, her mind still reeling. “I had a vision, I’m fine,” she said weakly as she let Feyre help her sit up.

Elain realized her mistake when she saw how wide Feyre’s eyes had grown.

“You had… a vision?” Feyre parsed out the words on her tongue, piecing together her elder sister’s lies of the past year and a half. “Elain,” Feyre said with an equal amount of shame and reproach. She took a deep breath, then said more gently, “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

Was this the moment when the world crashed down around her feet? This lie, her secret, no doubt already reaching the minds of the inner circle via Rhys. Because this changed everything. That was part of the reason Elain had hidden it.

Elain nodded and let Feyre tug her to her feet.

She wasn’t dumb, though it made life easier when people thought she was. While the others thought she only read books on flowers or the romances Nesta pawned off on her, Elain had done her research. She knew Clotho had a personal weakness for lemon tarts and that the female was happy to offer her the sanctuary of the Library beneath the House of the Wind regardless of the unseemly times of day she showed up.

Elain knew how rare Seers were. She knew how they were coveted by High Lords and Kings, wooed and worshiped until they were locked up or literally chained to a wall in one case. It was a terrible power, she’d never understood….

Why, in those frozen depths of the Cauldron, when the Mother had examined her soul and somehow found her ‘worthy,’ had she cursed Elain with this ‘gift’ that often drove its bearers to madness?

Yes, the Mother’s gift included many other things Elain didn’t understand, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to be a Seer, didn’t want to live with the constant threat of her mind being violated by the past or future. She didn’t want to deal with the burden of trying to unravel all those damned riddles her sight enjoyed laying at her feet.

Swallowing her anxiety down, Elain let Feyre lead her into the house and press a cup of tea into her hands. But that pain was still throbbing—enough to make her feel lightheaded. Elain couldn’t shake off the small voice screaming “something is wrong.”

And then it clicked into place. Lucien. She’d been sensing him through the bond more recently. That must have been his pain. Which meant something had gone terribly wrong… Nolan’s manor. That vision had been of Lucien, or at least what had happened to him.

“Elain, what can I do?” Feyre’s question broke the clamor of her thoughts.

Mate. Protect him. Save him. That inner voice commanded with so much dominance Elain almost leapt off of the settee despite herself.

She couldn’t deny what she saw, what she was feeling. But something stopped her from voicing all of it to her sister.

“I… I think I would like to lie down for a while, if that’s alright,” she answered Feyre in that soft small voice everyone thought was her only one.

Elain lost herself in thought while she allowed Feyre to lead her up to her room. She didn’t understand this thing writhing within her, this bond. Lucien was a stranger. Yet, even as a stranger Elain didn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone—she wanted to help, to soothe, to heal. Those had always been her core intentions. Even before she nearly drowned in the Cauldron and somehow emerged with the gifts of the Mother that made those instincts stronger.

She hadn’t realized it until that fateful day, nearly a year ago when Nesta had sacrificed her magic to save Nyx, Feyre and Rhys. That was when that shimmering well of power sparked. While Nesta had laid herself across Feyre’s ashen form, Elain had dived into that inner abyss—had begged the Mother to let Nesta stay, to see that Nesta’s heart wasn’t owned by the Cauldron’s icy void, that Nesta was just trying to protect everyone, that Nesta deserved to live.

Thankfully, the Mother had listened. Elain had mentioned nothing about that day. She scarcely dared think about it. Nesta would have died if the Mother hadn’t intervened. It was only the second time Elain had ever let that power fill her veins, to sever the Cauldron’s grip of Nesta’s soul—to keep it from killing her. The first had been during the war when she’d somehow winnowed and found her hand clenched tight around Truth-Teller, buried in the King of Hybern’s neck.

Feyre drew the curtains shut while Elain sat on the edge of her bed.

Please leave, Elain hoped as Feyre turned towards her in the dim faelight.

“Do you want to be alone?” her sister asked.

“I think I’ll sleep for a while.” Elain pasted on an encouraging smile.

Save him. Save him. Don’t let it fade. The voice chanted.

As soon as the door shut behind Feyre, Elain moved: out to the balcony, down the trellis of ivy. She knew the way with her eyes closed. She’d spent many sleepless nights watching the Sidra drift by or scanning dusty tomes for answers that didn’t exist.

Elain’s slippered feet hit the frostbitten earth, the voice growing louder. She was tired of fighting it so, for the third time, Elain gave up. She let that shimmering light rise to the surface, allowed that voice to guide her steps. When she reached inside for that golden ribbon she knew would lead her to Lucien, she fell to her knees in the dead grass.

No.

There wasn’t a ribbon. There were only ragged threads. Elain focused her hearing, no matter where he went she could hear it. His heartbeat was there, but it was too slow.

No.

Save him. Save him. Protect. Defend.

Elain let that unknown power force her shaking legs to stand. She could question all of this when she knew Lucien was safe. She’d already broken character, let Feyre see the truth. Pretense was irrelevant now. It was the least she could do after all, for the male whom had saved her countless times without knowing it.

She took a step forward, letting that power fill her vision as darkness pressed in on all sides and then she was standing outside of the townhouse. She’d winnowed again, somehow. Elain would worry about that another time.

The air smelled strange. She could scent Lucien, closely mingled with another of stale flowers and rain and… blood. Icy dread sluiced through her veins at the realization it was Lucien’s blood. All Elain saw was red and light. She felt a pulse of magic, heard a faint shatter of glass.

Mate. Save him. Protect him.

There was Madja, staring blankly at her, bent over Lucien’s body—he was unconscious and covered in drying blood.

“Mate. Protect,” was the last thing Elain remembered hearing before her power consumed her completely.

Elain woke to the sound of hushed voices. She was lying on a hard surface.

“Was knocking her out really necessary?” Nesta quietly snarled.

“I didn’t ‘knock her out,’ I put her to sleep,” Rhys’s voice was calm yet equally hushed. “She wasn’t herself, Nesta. I didn’t want her to hurt anyone or hurt herself.”

“I thought she didn’t have magic anymore,” Cassian said.

“Well, I knew something was still there,” Amren sounded smug.

Elain cracked an eye open, just enough to get a blurry image of the scene. Feyre was slowly shaking her head, looking at the floor. They were still in the townhouse. Her head felt like someone had split her skull with a hammer and chisel.

“I found her unconscious in the garden this afternoon. I couldn’t get into her mind but when she woke up, she said she’d had a vision. I don’t know if it’s happened before, or if she’s aware of this power,” Feyre murmured.

“How long will she be asleep?” Nesta asked, concerned.

“She’s already awake,” a deep voice like honey rumbled from directly behind her, though it sounded strained.

Elain bolted upright, scrambled off the table and nearly head-butted the wall as the room swayed beneath her feet. Her fingertips dug into the molded oak paneling but then Nesta’s hands gripped her shoulders and steadied her. One of those hands moved to her cheek as Nesta turned her face to examine it. Elain shook off Nesta’s hand and turned back to look at the wide dining table where Lucien lay, his hair a sanguine red against a blue pillow.

She took a shaky step toward him before she stopped herself, ignoring that voice demanding she run to him and make sure he’s okay.

“Lucien,” she breathed. Her throat felt raw, like she had been screaming. She swallowed, painfully. “Are… are you going to be alright?”

“Right as rain, Lady,” he said with a smirk that twisted into a grimace as he coughed

Liar.

“He’ll be perfectly healed in a few days,” Madja explained from a chair by the fire. “He’s lucky he got here when he did, a few more minutes and some of those splinters would have reached his heart.”

“How do you feel, Elain?” Nesta asked softly, holding Elain’s elbow.

“I’m fine Nesta.” Elain’s words were clipped. She hated this feeling, that dark gap in her memory.

Lucien coughed again, “She’s about thirty seconds from passing out if her heartbeat—cough—doesn’t slow and she has one of the worst burnout headaches I’ve ever felt.” His voice grew progressively quieter as he spoke.

Elain rapidly snapped up her mental shields, but the exertion made her stumble.

Nesta gently shoved her down into an overstuffed armchair and forced a cup of water into her hand, gray eyes gleaming like daggers as she demanded Elain to drink.

Madja shuffled over and placed a wrinkled hand on Elain’s shoulder, the pounding in her head subsided but didn’t disappear.

Feyre sat down on the ottoman in front of her chair. “Elain, can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?”

Elain looked around the room. Lucien was now half sitting, propped up on a bunch of pillows. Nesta stood behind her chair, Cassian close to her side. Amren perched on an arm of the sofa where Rhys and Madja sat, behind Feyre. Azriel stood near the arched opening to the dining room, his shadows blending into the darkness behind him. What did she remember? What did she want to remember?

Elain knew she should handle this carefully, that she could play it right and keep things mostly the way they were before. But her head was so foggy, everything about her felt sluggish. What she remembered after she left her room were flashes, nothing coherent. Elain remembered the pain on Feyre’s face in the garden, when she’d suspected Elain had been lying.

Pain. She was in pain. Lucien was in pain. There was too much of it. Elain was tired. So very, very tired of pain. Elain took a deep breath and spoke.

“Earlier, I had a… vision.” She tucked her hand beneath her thighs to stop herself from wringing her fingers. “I saw the gates of Lord Nolan’s manor.” She forced her gaze to meet Lucien’s, “I felt those guards shoot you.”

Her eyes closed as her voice cracked. She couldn’t look at him without that voice chanting all the things she should do to those guards. Elain took a deep breath, “I felt your pain, that’s how I knew it was you. I feel nothing in my visions.” Unless they are about you, she finished in her head.

“I remember Feyre taking me up to my room. I remember leaving as soon as she left. I… I just couldn’t let anyone be in that kind of pain when I knew there was something I could do to help. When I tried to find you the bond—it was fading. I panicked, I could sense you were close to death.” Elain swiped an errant tear from her cheek. She shouldn’t be crying over a stranger.

“That thing, that voice panicked and I could feel a sort of light, a power inside me and it wanted to get out. I could barely think straight so I let it—it felt like my best chance to find him. After that, it's just fragments. I remember standing outside of the townhouse. I remember it smelled wrong, like rain and dying flowers and Lucien’s blood.”

Elain noticed Feyre’s nostrils flare, then her whole body went rigid and her face paled. She stiffly nodded for Elain to continue but her eyes glazed over slightly.

“That’s really all I can remember.” Elain looked to the dancing flames behind the grate.

The silence in the room was broken when Rhys spoke a name, “Mor?”

Morrigan winced as she stepped out of Azriel’s shadows. “That's all she remembers,” she said Rhys.

Fuck. They used Mor? Was their distrust in her truly so immense? It hurt, more than Elain expected it would. Not that she could really blame them. Lucien looked shocked, but it seemed the others were aware. Mor, at least, had the decency to look apologetic.

Feyre moved off of the ottoman to sit on Rhys’s lap. Her color was better, whatever they’d spoken about mind-to-mind had worked. Rhys cleared his throat, “Well, let me show you all what I remember.”

Elain was grateful she was sitting down or she might have fainted as Rhys’s experience of events played through everyone’s minds, stopping on an image of her pinning Tamlin against the wall by his throat.

“Fascinating,” Amren mused. She cocked her head, those unholy steel eyes flitting between Elain and Nesta, analyzing them as if they were one of her many puzzles.

Elain’s mind was still trying to catch up with everything Rhys had revealed when she felt a sharp spike of self-loathing. She looked over to Lucien who wore a haunted expression.

“Stop that!” Elain hissed at him.

Lucien’s russet and gold gaze turned sharply on her and Elain clapped a hand over her mouth, felt her eyes widen.

“Sorry I just… none of this was your fault Lucien,” she stammered, warmth rising to her cheeks.

“No, that’s not… never mind. You’re right,” his words were stilted.

Elain noticed the others glancing between them, their faces betraying an odd mix of confusion and amusement.

Before she had time to respond, Nesta snickered “You—you really…. Honestly, I’m jealous.”

Elain was confused.

Nesta sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Just—the next time you nail Tamlin’s balls to the wall—wait for me.”

Feyre snorted softly.

Slowly, Elain turned to Rhys. “I…. Oh Gods… I attacked a High Lord… did I start a war?”

She held no sympathy for Tamlin, but Prythian was still recovering from the last war.

Rhys shook his head with a gentle smile. He asked Lucien, “Are you feeling well enough to head to the River House?”

Lucien nodded once.

“Right then, we will continue this discussion after we’ve all had something to eat,” Rhys concluded.

Cassian mumbled “about damn time,” as he and Nesta made their way outside.

Amren held her hand out expectantly to Azriel who rolled his eyes before winnowing away with the tiny ancient one in tow.

Rhys slung and arm around Lucien’s broad shoulders as he helped him stand. Elain was momentarily stunned because Lucien was taller than Rhys when she saw them side by side. No, that was a dumb thing to realize and why now…. Elain blinked a few times to clear her head.

Feyre and Mor were looking at her, waiting. Elain looked back at Lucien and Rhys, the latter now looking at her in silent question.

She slowly rose to her feet, pleasantly surprised to find her legs steady. Elain took a step towards Feyre but the disquiet in her gut increased and she hesitated.

“I’ll go with Lucien and Rhys,” she found herself saying. The nervous energy settled a bit more with each step towards them.

She didn’t even attempt to decipher the meaning in Rhys’s knowing gaze. Elain took his arm, and they winnowed to the lawn of the River House. Cassian was waiting for them by the door, taking over as Lucien’s support and disappearing into the house. Elain made to follow them but Rhys gently stopped her.

“What?” Elain cocked her head at the High Lord of Night. For that definitely was not the expression of her smartass brother-in-law.

“I will allow you into this house if you swear to do no harm to my mate, my son, or any other members of my inner circle or guests of my household.” Rhys’s voice was the deep cold of a midwinter’s night.

Elain took a step back, eyes stinging. Did Rhys really think she would hurt her sisters, hurt Nyx?

His expression softened slightly, “The vow is a formality, Elain. I don’t think you would intentionally harm anyone but you… you weren’t yourself this morning. It will give you peace of mind as well, a guarantee that no one you care about would get hurt if you lost control again.”

That would be true, she supposed.

A part of her bristled at the ultimatum, that Rhys—the champion of choices—didn’t give her one. Another part of her was grateful, she didn’t trust herself. Hadn’t since she’d come out of the Cauldron. She’d buried her powers so deep because they scared her—that potential loss of control was absolutely terrifying.

“I swear to do no harm to my sisters, my nephew, or any members of the inner circle or guests of your household,” Elain repeated as she held out her hand.

Elain didn’t realize she was freezing until Rhys’s hand wrapped around hers, the warmth and the zing of magic pulsing through the air gave her goosebumps. She looked at their clasped hands and saw a tiny star tattooed on the inside of her right wrist. It was… cute.

Elain paid little attention to anything during dinner. Thankfully, everyone seemed happy to carry on their conversations without her. She wasn’t surprised, they normally were. She downed her first glass of wine and spent an hour picking at her food. Elain was grateful to be sitting next to Mor. In quiet solidarity, Mor kept pace with Elain. When the meal ended the two of them had finished a bottle.

She followed the others through to the sitting room, every sense softer—and she was delightfully warm. The events of the day felt less world-shattering. Elain’s mind was still drifting when Rhys called for everyone’s attention. Only then did the room come into focus. Amren, Feyre, and Nesta were giving her odd looks. She glanced down to see if she’d accidentally spilled wine on her dress only to meet Lucien’s russet-gold stare, not a foot below her.

Elain wished the floors would open up and swallow her. Apparently while her mind had wandered, her feet had carried her to stand halfway behind the chair where Lucien sat near the fire.

Good. He is still healing, watch over him, the voice said.

Elain almost jumped at the sound, it hadn't spoken in hours.

To move away now, after everyone else had settled would be even more awkward, so Elain stayed.

It’s just the bond. Just my instincts — it means nothing. They all know that, she talked herself down before she could feel too flustered.

“Alright Amren,” Rhys said coolly, holding his palm out in an invitation to speak.

Elain’s heart jumped into her throat. She felt like a child again, waiting for her mother’s tongue-lashing.

Would they ship her away like Nesta, or worse? At least Nesta hadn’t tricked everyone. She’d lied, but the lies were obvious. Elain had manipulated her family’s goodwill against them, for her own selfish comfort. She knew her powers could make a profound difference in the world… if she could bear to face them.

She wasn’t like her sisters. She wasn’t a warrior; she didn’t want to lead people; she didn’t even want to be here half of the time. Elain missed being human, she missed the life Hybern and the Cauldron had stolen from her. She didn’t want this power in her veins so she’d done her best to ignore its existence.

Amren looked at Elain, her bobbed hair swaying as her head again tilted to the side, assessing. “This isn’t the first time. Is it, girl?”

“No,” Elain hated how meek her voice sounded.

“Well?” Amren motioned for her to elaborate.

Elain took a deep breath that did nothing to steady her so she gripped the back of the chair, low enough that no one could see how weak she was. Feyre had no trouble commanding a room of faeries who hated her, but Elain was not her sister.

“I… um.” Elain stuttered.

Lucien shifted in front of her, crossing his arms and her breath hitched when she felt warm fingers brush against hers. The contact grounded her.

She swallowed and spoke. “The first time was during the war. I was pacing in camp when I saw Nesta’s blast. Felt it. I could sense something beneath my skin, like I was burning from the inside.”

“I knew something bad was happening, could feel it in my bones. And then I heard a voice, your voice.” Elain looked at her little sister. “You begged me to save them.”

“I begged the Cauldron to save them,” Feyre explained. “How did you hear that?”

“The Cauldron and its power answer to ultimately to her, at least in this world. She knew you needed help,” Elain replied.

“Her?” Feyre asked.

“This world?” Rhys spoke at the same moment as his mate.

Elain blushed, she definitely said too much.

“Don’t get distracted, girl,” Amren chided.

Elain nodded and continued, “Well, I don’t know what I did. I just… let go. Let the light burn. And the next thing I can remember is my hand covered in blood holding Truth-Teller’s hilt in that King’s neck. I don’t know how I got there. I panicked when I realized what was happening—what I did. And well, Nesta took over then.”

Lucien’s fingers twitched against hers, the slight touch doing more to comfort her than was logical.

“The second time was different, internal. It was when Nyx was born,” Elain explained. Everyone in the room sat up a little straighter at that.

“What I saw,” Cassian blurted out, “that was you? You stopped the Cauldron from taking all of Nesta’s power.”

“Not exactly me, but yes. I… well, it’s hard to explain since I don’t really understand it.” Elain paused, she really didn’t know if this would make any sense.

“Just tell us as best as you can,” Lucien spoke for the first time since they’d gathered.

“Well Nesta, remember the terms of your bargain? I’d seen what would happen, only I didn’t realize what the vision meant until you first said ‘I give it all back.’ The vision was a phrase: one life for three, moonlit death, what a bargain.”

Elain saw Cassian stiffen as the meaning of the words hit him, he drew his wing closer around Nesta.

“Nesta, when you told the Cauldron you would ‘give it all back,’ you bargained away your life. I couldn’t let that happen so I reached out—reached down maybe, into the power. It’s kind of like a well right, so I dove to the bottom—to the heart, the source.”

“The source?” Amren prompted skeptically.

“The Mother,” Elain replied.

Amren’s gray eyes went wide.

“The Mother,” Elain continued, her voice more confident now, “is the only thing who can truly influence the Cauldron. She gave the Cauldron purpose when she created this world, the Cauldron loves her because of it.”

“What does the Mother have to do with Nesta’s bargain? How do you have a connection to her?” Feyre asked.

“Well,” Elain swallowed, trying to ignore terror brought on by the memories of that day in Hybern. She hadn’t realized her eyes had squeezed shut until another faint brush of Lucien’s fingers made her open them.

“When I went into the Cauldron,” Elain stared into the fire, “I was drifting for a long time until the Mother’s hand took hold of me. She said something about being pure of heart and told me the Cauldron would bless me with great gifts. And that she would always walk beside me.

“When I met her again, trying to save Nesta’s life from that bargain, I offered her anything she wanted as long as she made the Cauldron alter your bargain to let you live, to let you all live. She made me vow I would never seek to rid myself of my powers. I don’t know how much you all know about Seers, but it’s usually a cursed gift. They lose their sanity or become slaves and prisoners, often both. The Mother knew I didn’t want that. She knew it would be harder to keep the gifts than trade them for you. And well, here we are.”

The typically loud group of Fae were silent.

“If you don’t believe me, that bargain is inked in gold on my spine,” Elain shrugged, trying to lighten the mood, her gaze still fixed on the fire. She could have sworn she saw a forest in the flames, a fox running between the trees. Then again, she’d had a lot of wine.

This world was bizarre, magic didn’t follow logic or reason. Compared to some stories she’d heard from this group—this might not even be the strangest. She felt light. Freer than she had felt for many years.

“Elain—” Nesta’s cracking voice drew Elain’s gaze. “You saved me. Twice. You saved Cassian’s life, too.”

“Considering how many times you’ve saved me over the years, Nesta, it was the least I could do to pay you back.”

Elain took a deep breath and addressed the room, breaking contact with Lucien and stepping away from the chair. “I’m sorry for keeping this all to myself. What I’ve told you all tonight is just a fraction. I was terrified—am terrified by all of this. It was too overwhelming, so I shut it all out. I know it was selfish. I’m sorry that I lied to you all, that I abused your kindness to shield myself from having to deal with any of it.”

Elain kept her eyes on the floor, waiting. For what, she wasn’t sure.

Nesta’s arms wrapped around her, squeezing. Feyre’s arms wound around both of them a second later. Warm tears tracked down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I made you feel you couldn’t talk to me about any of this,” Feyre mumbled into Elain’s shoulder. “I hate that you’ve been dealing with this by yourself.”

“If anyone was selfish, it was me,” Nesta sniffed. “You were right that time at the River House. I was too consumed by my shit to realize you were going through it too, that you needed someone just as much as I did.”

Elain pulled away when it got hard to breathe, wiping the tears from her eyes and grinning at her sisters. Rhys cleared his throat. Elain saw Cassian wipe away a few tears of his own. She didn’t know why but she turned back toward Lucien.

He was smiling at her, his russet eye held a mix of wonder and pride. It was like Elain had spent the last three years under the clouds. Finally explaining part of what had been haunting her had revealed scraps of blue sky, but that one look from Lucien banished the rest. Like that smile was the sweetest ray of sunlight to ever shine. And maybe it would be okay.

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