#The Blooms were my little bit of warmth through all of the darkness <3

[plasma-janes]

Revamping an old legacy save home: The Blooms

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel’s Reaction to You Calling Him a DILF

Warnings: Implied Smut, Dominant Miguel, Profanity, Use of ‘Daddy’, Lyla Trying Her Best <3, Fem Reader.

Despite spending every day with Lyla, an absolutely chronically online AI, Miguel knows little in the way of internet jargon.

Thus, this term - DILF - is one he’s never come across before. Namely because Lyla has never seen it fit to implement it into a conversation.

But, when Miguel overheard you calling him your “Favourite DILF; just a gorgeous, scrumptious specimen,” he had to ask Lyla to translate for him.

Miguel swore he could see her eyes widen, her brow stiffen and crease.

“It’s…it’s — uh — well…”

Lyla scratched the back of her head, her stare sloping off to the side — away from Miguel’s cattish stare. Her teeth gritted, a gateway, a preventative measure to ensure your safety and wellbeing. The only barrier between your open secret and miguel’s discovery of it.

“Oh, come on, Lyla,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, as if to inhibit the anxiety starting to bloom there. He doubted that you’d ever bad-mouth him, especially given how close the two of you were, but Lyla’s apprehension was starting to spark some doubts. Regardless, he persevered, kept his stare hard and neutral. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It..it means…” Lyla sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. She didn’t look up at Miguel, instead finding you in her mind’s eye and cursing you. And wishing the best for your safety.

“Dad I’d like to fuck.”

She came out with it, the words almost poisonous and sour on her tongue as they passed through. And the fact that she’d had to say them to Miguel of all people didn’t help.

At first, Miguel didn’t think he’d heard Lyla correctly, his posture and face remaining unchanged in the fallout of his discovery.

It was only after three seconds passed, four, five, that he truly heard — understood — what Lyla had said.

“Oh.”

A warmth bled across Miguel’s face, a creeping blush hidden only by the console’s yellow hue. Without another word, Mifuel turned tail, unfurling his arms, unravelling to his broadest potential. He began his descent, his destination clear as day in his mind’s eye.

Lyla’s’s eyes widened further, almost bulging from her head. She called, stammering: “(Y-Y/N) probably didn’t mean it! Not like that! So-so don’t go too hard on ‘er, okay?”

Miguel searched the entire facility for you, his face a concoction of emotions nobody (save for yourself) had ever seen before, thus making his mood indecipherable to all that were not you.

He eventually found you, isolated, in a room. Practically begging for what was to come next. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him.

You turned and smiled, sensing Miguel’s presence; the impression of authority.

“Hey, Miggy!” you chimed, eyes crescents. You turned back to checking off your stock list, paying little heed to the shadow advancing on you.

“Playing innocent, I see,” Miguel’s voice swooped and glided as the greatest bird of prey does, coming to stand mere centimetres behind you, his warmth at your back; a dark sun.

“I thought you’d be at home, caring for our child.” His hands came to sit on your shoulders, heavy and large. For a second, you were befuddled, believing Miguel to be spinning you a riddle. Then, realisation. Your heart dropped; you knew Miguel could feel it. Oh my God, Lyla.

“We…don’t have a child, Miguel,” you laughed, humourless and breathy. You knew you had to play your cards right. Carefully. Miguel gave a heavy, brief chuckle.

“Not yet,” he squeezed your shoulders, hands slipping down the length of your arms, the feeling of spiders creeping along your skin. “But seeing as you’re so keen on calling me daddy, I see no harm in pretending.”

His lips came to your neck, pressing deceptively soft kisses there. 

You were frozen, though a fire stoked within you. One you couldn’t bring yourself to put out.

“After all, I am your DILF, aren’t I?”

You bit your lip, eyes squeezing shut as Miguel’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your back to his front where you felt something thick and large and bulging against your tailbone.

“A baseless accusation, don’t you think ?”

Your breath shuttered. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing—“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. What matters is it’s inaccurate,” Miguel spoke with a stoic logic you’d seen one too many times. He pulled you to him, tighter, closer, his heart pounding against your back.

“But, luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood. I’m not going to punish you for your little transgression. Instead, I’m going to give you an out.” He descended upon your skin again, nipping it between his blunted teeth, the threat of his fangs in your periphery.

“What…what’s that?” You almost didn’t want to ask, your heart creeping up your throat as if to muffle your words.

Miguel’s hand slipped from your waist, sliding sharp fingers down the expanse of your back, leaving trails of goosebumps. You felt his hand come between where the most prominent part of himself and you connected, his knuckles digging into the small of your back. He ran a hand over himself through his suit, palmed himself. His eye twitched. “You just have to be a good girl and lay down and take whatever I give you until I say we’re done.”

His grip on you tightened. You could feel how dark his gaze had become, weighing heavy on you like a robe.

You said nothing – could say nothing.

“Now, you wanna say that again,” his voice was muffled by your skin, his kisses becoming wetter, languid. He pushed himself against you, taking you by the hips and pulling you so he caught you just right. You spied his eye twitch in the reflection of the filing cabinet across from you as you cracked an eye open, a steady redness overtaking Miguel’s stare, his lips turning up at the corners, revealing his fangs.

“Or are you gonna keep that pretty little mouth shut and make me into a real daddy ?”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[hansolen]

sunlight blooms within the crevices of my soul. (it burns a little, but i still love you.)

꩜ pairing ⇾ aventurine x gn reader

꩜ word count ⇾ 2k

꩜ author’s note ⇾ i don’t know what happened here lol this guy has been rotting my brain for the past 4 months and suddenly i combusted and decided to write something for him <3

when you first met aventurine it felt like you were gazing at the sun itself. he was flamboyant, bright and unafraid to be the centre of a show. or at least that’s how he tried to present himself as.

his presence was magnetic, it drew you in relentlessly. you wondered if this was how pirates felt — when sirens lured them into the depths of the ocean with their melodious voices. aventurine was akin to a siren. he was alluring, unreal and dubious. almost otherworldly in the sense that there was always a distance between the two of you. one you couldn’t exactly point out, but the feeling always lingered. even with his arm around your waist, pulling you in — it felt like he was worlds away. despite how you both were just centimetres apart.

to you, aventurine is the sun. and if there is one thing you know about the sun, it’s that you should never stare at its light for too long. else it starts to blind you. however when it comes to aventurine, you can’t help but look. you gravitate towards him like a moth does to a flame.

afterall, you were someone who was locked into the shadows for too long. someone who had gazed at the sun for the first time in ages, admiring his light from a distance. what you hadn’t expected was for the sun to gaze right back at you. with those mesmerising eyes of his, aventurine looked through your soul with the same intensity as you looked through his.

that’s where it felt scary, you think. the realisation that his gaze alone brought out certain parts of you to light. parts you didn’t even remember existed — the kinder, sweeter bits of you. yet, just how there’s a duality between light and dark, and how one cannot exist without the other, the darker parts of you also emerged. the more murky and broken pieces of you — wherein you desired him carnally. yearning for his touch, his warmth.

that’s the thing about aventurine, his presence is warm — in an addictive way. the kind where once you’ve had a sip, you just can’t seem to get enough. nothing quenches your thirst quite like his affection. this ache for him, you kept it all in the dark for a reason, for self preservation. yet when it comes to him, you can’t help but succumb to these desires. you can’t help but lean onto him.

another fact about the sun is that it is all encompassing. get too near and you will burn. it is inevitable. you wonder if that too is a form of self preservation. his form of sustenance. rays of light that pierce so harshly, people can’t help but look away. perhaps there is a reason why he tries to shine so brightly, so that no one stares too long, lest they see what he actually is. what he is hiding. the ugly parts of the sun, his blemishes, his lack. him.

aventurine was resting with his head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. a small moment of intimacy shared between the two of you. unspoken words laced within the strings of silence that hung over the two of you.

he often left you confused with his conflicting actions. when it came to all matters related to you — he was greedy, yet distant. whenever you both got too close and you brought him to put down a mask of his (among his many), he always ended up leaving you for days at a time. it hurts, it always does.

to him it’s scary. scary how you make him crumble with such ease. he can’t let you. so he won’t meet you for days, weeks even. you are left on your own and it feels as though your light has been snatched. that’s what truly terrifies you. the possibility that one day he might truly leave, and you won’t be able to stop him. (little do you know he feels the same. he isn’t the idealised version you think of him. he is no Sun. he is just a dying star.)

aventurine is used to hurting himself, used to putting his life on the line, on bets and games of chance. but that never meant that he wanted to hurt you in the process. in all honesty, he is afraid. just as you think of him as the sun, he thinks of himself as a shell. he has many facets in this mask of his, filled with what others wish to see him as, want him to be. he often thinks of them as characters to play in a script. he is so used to living in this facade he has created that he no longer feels in touch with the ‘self’ under his myriad of masks.

he doesn’t like how he hurts you. yet he can’t help but be thankful that you still take him in despite it all. in some dreadful way he is glad. glad that you always forgive him. that you want him just as much. it is both scary yet comforting that someone craves him, too.

what he doesn’t know is that you want to be led to him. not just in the light touches or small moments of intimacy. no. you want him. you want him to eat you whole and form you anew. it doesn’t matter if you get burnt in the process, doesn’t matter if at the end of the day he is but a dying star.

you wish for him to know that it is alright for you to come too close and end up seeing him for what he actually is. that you know he really isn’t all that shiny, and he isn’t all that warm either. he is cold and he is dying. he is a dying star.

you too, are afraid. afraid of being left alone in pitch black darkness once more. afraid of the sun no longer letting you bask in the essence of his warm rays. the ones that you had made yourself all too familiar with — to a fault.

you know all stars die one day. and the sun too, is but a star. you wish for him to know that you wouldn’t blame him if he cracks. you wouldn’t leave him. you love him and you will stay. even if he consumes you in the process.

he doesn’t know that you are but a defenceless sailor. giving yourself — whole, to the siren. doesn’t matter if you are being hypnotised by him. by his voracious light. by his enigmatic eyes. by him.

he’s like a ray of sunlight. with the way how you feel his warmth reach the most intimate parts of your soul, but as soon as you reach out to touch him – he disappears. as if he was never there to begin with. yet his warmth lingers.

so you do what you can. you numb yourself. you try not to lean into his comforting touch. try to to revel in his presence. you try, you really do. to put up the curtains so that the sunlight can no longer enter. but one thing about the sun is, it is insatiable, and so is aventurine.

he finds a way. mere curtains are never enough to push the light aside. if he wishes to, he will have you whole. he will engulf you into his light. and you — you let him. you allow him make you one with the sun. let him swallow you whole. maybe it's true — if he was the sun, then you were Icarus.

the sun is calling you in and you can’t help but reach for it. you fly towards him despite how it sets your skin ablaze. even with your wings melting, the feeling of hot wax burning you as it dribbles down your skin. as the heat rips your insides out. you can’t help but let it. because you know that no one has flown higher. no one else has reached this close to the sun him.

you close your eyes as you fall. you let him in. and in return he lets you stay. as you fall, you brace yourself for the impact of the cold harsh earth. it never comes. you end up being pulled into the depths of the ocean instead.

© hansolen do not translate and re post anywhere else.

[k3m1y4]

“nothing in the world belongs to me.”

fyodor x gn!reader

summary: just a calm night with ease, nothing else belongs to you but for your love for yourself, and him, he was you. before you could die, let him be the heat that warms the cold. nothing in the world belongs to him, nothing. belongs to you.

author’s note: fluff and angst?, not proofread, no warnings. here’s a little fic before i go to sleep early because i need to fix my messed up sleep schedule <3 love u pookies, have a great morning/night/day.

. . . ecard: my love all mine . . . by mitski.

The breeze was indeed cold.

Your weakened body walked through the thickened snow. Your feet barely even moving by a single step, your tracks tainted the snow deep into the ground. Waiting for it to melt and disappear in a fragrance of a snowflake landing gracefully on the chill land. You hum quietly as you continued to forward yourself into finding your beloved, you hold him so dear. The dark shade of the leaves painted by the snow falling from the sky, what a keen eye could see from the mesmerizing scenery. The moon kept it’s guidance into leading you through the snowed forest. Light coloring your skin to a brighter tone as you pause in your pace. You flutter your eyes closed as you sigh, puffs of air blowing throughout the wind, carrying the last and first time of your breath.

You hum an unfamiliar tone; you were clueless must to know of what you sing. You’ll never hear the heavenly melody of the birds chant and echo during the spring. When the flowers will now bloom, welcoming it’s beauty it hides within the cold to keep a surprise of amusement. You knew you’d meet him here, back to where you met. The last will be the better of the first. Clasping on the trunk of the tall tree tightly as you lean against the wood. Breathing heavily as the warmth of your presence was no longer protecting you from the cold, it gave in to give up. You watch the snow continue to fly as the wind pushes it away from your gaze. You chuckle silently to yourself, wherein deaf ears could hear.

“Fedya…”

You impatiently fix your composure as you wait for the man awaiting you for your final remorse. “Fedya…” You say out again, you felt numb and weak. Though, there was no chains pulling you back to the darkness you merely seek at the chances life was already tearing you to shreds, unperfected and flawed. Just like any other fool lighting the world with its’ unmarked glow. You sigh in faux disappointment as you fold your arms, your vision started to blur in a trance as you blink twice to keep up with your fatigue. “Fyodor!” You weakly yell as you step on the chill as it sent a chill down to your spine. You hug yourself tightly as you shake your head, waving the pain away from you.

You knelt down, your clothed knees meeting the veins of the unsettling, cold atmosphere. The wind brushing your hair as it flew the flakes away from your flesh. You start to shape the piece of snow into a large rounded ball. Placing it forcefully on the ground, you make another, another. Repeatedly. The size decreasingly shrunken to your desired measurement. You stand up, inspecting the area surrounding you in barriers. You look down at your coat as you avert your eyes to a leaf slopingly resting on the coldness. You carefully put it on the rounded ball at the very top of the structure as you giggle in joy. Whether then it be your last snowman, you had the bit of joy from the heat of a candle so small and easily melted.

“Myshka.” Fyodor spoke deeply. You were back to him. You trace along the snowman’s head forming a curved smile on it’s face. Fyodor chuckles at your pointless yet adorable antics you’d always do during the winter season. Not like he was complaining. You gently decorated the snowman as you softly placed your headwear on your masterpiece as Fyodor watches you silently observing your actions as he sighs. “Моя любовь, ты можешь простудиться.” He reminds you at you just smile at him tilting your head as he rolls his eyes at you. “Stop being so stubborn for once, my love.” He walked towards you and poked your nose with his slender finger. “But Fedya! I’m going to die anytime soon. Let me have some fun…” You whine at him, but who was he to reject.

“Alright, alright, myshka. Just be careful, okay?” He runs his surprisingly warm hands against your silk hair. “Hmm? Fedya, your hands are unusually warm!” You exclaim at him as you test out how heated he was by hugging him tightly. Oh he was warm! He stumbled back slightly; his back gently hitting the wooden tree. You bury your face in his chest as he couldn’t help but just groan at your stupid acts. “Моя любовь...” He sighed, preventing his urge to just scold you he instead pulled you towards him. As you hug him, desperate and pleading for his affection.

He embraces you back in a form of acceptance as you “sleep” within his warmth. His eyes look down at you and gently caress your lifeless face, tilting your chin up, your eyes fluttered already closed. He smiles slightly as he lets your head lay on his shoulder as he leans his head back to relax in the slightest moments of these. You taught him how to love, when he couldn’t. You taught him to do the simplest forms of affection he could not show. You taught him how to love you. You gave him the lesson, nothing belongs to him, not you, not his treasure, nothing but only his, only love. Stroking your hair as his chest breathes, yours didn’t. Your heart slowed down quickly, he couldn’t feel your voice nor your life anymore carrying with him. And here he was. You were his teacher, and he was the student. Despite your intellect lower than his, you somehow managed to teach him things a normal human could simply display to those who they love. Love was weird to him, he hated the idea of affection, adoration, and admiration. He knew how to define its’ meaning, but never how.

He was grateful of you, when you unexpectedly barged into his life like the upcoming of his mistakes on the bumpy road all the way. He will die too, he will be with you. He is a bad person, you weren’t. You were the first to tie the string, you tied the strings. And you were the first one to cut it apart. You may disappear, but. You filled a hole in his heart; ripped many times. And you tainted him with your goodness.

“Sleep well, my love. I love you.”

He never received a letter written, I love you too.

—

GAAA. Not too angsty for me but idk idk. Tried to experiment here and it kinda failed. I’m sleep so i’m wayyyy tooooo lazy to read it. Kinda lazy for the plot. Thanks for reading tho 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 1: I Once Had a Different Path

Pairing: Jack "Whiskey" Daniels x F!Reader "Sugar"

Summary: It's only been a year.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: T, discussions of a bad relationship, drinking, little bit of angst, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Welcome back to Westworld Whiskey! Almost the moment I finished Cognitive Dissonance the idea for this fic leapt into my head, and I've been trying to figure it all out since! The outpouring of love for this story makes me unreasonably giddy, and I am so excited to share what Jack and Sugar have been up to.

This story takes place exactly a year after the events of Cognitive Dissonance. Honestly, the Westworld timeline is confusing as heck, and so much happens that the public wouldn't know or see, so in terms of the show it's taking place after the fall of the Delos theme parks early in season 3. I'm taking some liberties with how Westworld and the world around it works, but we should all have a good time because of it. For those not as familiar with later seasons, the "real world" takes place in 2053 in a modern futuristic setting.

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

The glow of sun on your back, baking into your skin and spreading golden through your limbs, makes today feel like a really freaking good day. You’re wearing your favorite outfit, your shoes are comfy on your feet, and the air is just warm enough that you don’t have to wear a heavy jacket. When the door to the coffee shop schicks open, the uplifting scent of dark roast and cinnamon sugar practically dances on your tongue.

Strike that. A fantastic day.

Lacey is already at her favorite sitting spot, a low table with two high-backed armchairs jammed in a corner far from the automated baristas and hiss of milk froth. She catches sight and waves, bright peony pink in her chiffon dress. Curled in the chair she’s akin to neapolitan ice cream, and just as cool when she gestures to your waiting cup. Not before jumping up to give you a hug, though.

“I’m so glad to see you! It’s been too long!” she exclaims, a sentiment you’ve often heard from long-lost acquaintances but Lacey puts every ounce of honesty behind it. You give her another squeeze before settling in your proffered chair, cradling the thick retro ceramic mug in your hands.

“Well you’ve been pretty busy, Mrs. Hughes,” you sing-song, back, knocking your shoes off so you can settle more comfortably. “How was the honeymoon? The photos were gorgeous.”

You descend into vacation chatter, looking at photos on Lacey’s phone and laughing over whatever little anecdote she shares. The coffee buzzes pleasantly in your veins, bittersweet on your tongue. The sun streams in the café window and drapes warmth across your shoulders again. 

It feels like the perfect day.

"How's married life treating you?"

Lacey smiles, bright enough to crinkle her whole face, and the radiance of it blooms in your chest.

"Not much different really, which is probably for the best," she says, taking another sip of her coffee. You're prepared to ask her something else, some follow-up question, when she reaches over and squeezes your hand.

"You look really good, too," she says, her eyes softening. "I know it was hard, with the wedding and everything going on with Eric at the same time, but...you look so much happier."

Your throat tightens, but it's a welcome feeling for once.

"I am. Much happier."

She’s right. It was hard. Once you were alone with your thoughts, your decision made, all of the terrifying reality had crashed down on you. You’d sobbed in your car, half curled in the driver's seat, trying to will yourself to go inside and face Eric. 

It didn’t get any better once you finally did. The shouting, the accusations, the tears, and shockingly a chair kicked against the wall so hard it left an ugly dent. He never laid a hand on you, but the anger raked across your pounding heart, the cruelty sinking into your flesh like teeth. You grabbed just enough of your things to escape, his bellowing voice following you as your hands shook.

What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving?

What the hell did Lacey say to you?

Are you fucking serious? 

After all I’ve done for us?

I can’t believe you’re being so selfish.

What has gotten into you?

The words echoed between your ears while you laid in your motel room bed, too raw and ashamed to call anyone for a place to stay. You woke stiff and silent and achingly alone, and regret welled in your throat.

Were you being stupid? Were you giving up the life you were supposed to have?

But then the day passed, hours spent driving aimlessly with the radio on low, long walks on bike paths lost in your thoughts. And while failure burned behind your eyes, the dreaded whispers of why didn’t you try harder creeping into your brain, the vice grip in your chest began to unwind. A lightness you hadn’t felt in years began lifting your shoulders, your head, even the corners of your mouth. 

The neverending ache was finally gone. 

You slept better that night, and in the morning you called Lacey. She drove out to pick you up, her tight embrace ushering in a new flood of tears. 

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry,” is all she says at first, rocking you back and forth like when you were both young and upset about a schoolyard fight. Then more pointed questions, her face hardening as you detail the slow descent into unhappiness you’d been hiding from her for years.

“He never did anything bad. I just…I couldn’t…” You struggled to voice all the fears that still lingered until she squeezed your hands.

“He didn’t have to treat you badly to not treat you the way you wanted. And if he can’t change, or doesn’t want to change, then this isn’t right for you.”

A fresh wave of tears followed the well-worn tracks down your face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

She rubbed at your face with a crumpled tissue.

“Everything is going to be okay.’

It took a few days before the tornado of Lacey’s true feelings pulled to the forefront. Later she’d tell you she barely kept her cool while you cried in her living room, Alan instructing her to punch it out at the gym rather than overwhelm you. But barely settled into your temporary housing, she rang you in the middle of the day. 

“We’re getting your stuff.”

“What…?”

“Eric is at work, Alan did a drive-by and checked. He’s waiting with the truck. I’m picking you up and we’re getting your things, then we’re going to leave your key on the table and never go back.”

She was chatting in low tones with Alan when you answered the door, face lined with concern. The stern expression melted into dismay when she took in your tired eyes and sloped shoulders.

“That motherfucker should be ashamed of himself for doing this to you,” she spits out, crushing you into a hug that almost suffocates you.

“Lace, I was the one…” you tried to say, but she cut you off with a sharp chop of her hand.

“I’ve got plenty to say about Eric and what I think about him when everything settles, but I’ll tell you this - I fucking hate him for making you feel like this. And we’re going to get your things and never see him again.”

So you did, emptying your drawers and shared closet - always less room allocated for you than him. Lacey shuffled through mail and tossed in anything that had your name on it in a bankers box. Later you’d have to disentangle your lives, but for now you could take solace in having your toiletries back, and placing your photos and family heirlooms safe in Alan’s truck. He helped move your grandmother’s hope chest into the truck bed, and silently drove as Lacey let you lean on her shoulder. Your childhood stuffed dog sat in your lap, and its gentle weight gave you a moment of relief.

Eric’s shouting through the phone later that night sliced across your chest, but only for a brief moment. You’d left the ring on the counter, and that thankfully shut him up.

The following months had been a blur of canceled engagements, severed services, broken agreements and bitter voicemails. Eric tried a few times to entice you back, forgiving you for having cold feet and wanting to get dinner, coffee, to talk. Your heart tugged at the softness in his voice.

We can still make this work.

But then the cold reality of the situation crept in. He wanted the picture-perfect life he thought he deserved. He wanted to have everything without working for it. And most of all, he wanted you to be grateful for him giving you everything he thought you deserved. Not what you wanted, but what he decided you should want.

That was never going to change.

Lacey and Alan helped where they could, but you didn’t want to taint the excitement of their upcoming nuptials. So you told them you were fine and signed a lease on a modest apartment while you picked out the barbs of Eric’s latest outburst. You picked out a dress for her wedding and were secretly grateful that she didn’t make you a bridesmaid. You didn’t think you’d be able to keep it together in front of all her family and friends. You drank too much champagne and considered a tumble with one of Alan’s single friends but instead threw up in your hotel room toilet and woke up fully clothed on top of the bed. The first thought that greeted you once you could see through your headache was, “Thank fuck I’m not getting married.”

The giggles were sharp against your sore stomach, but with that you finally felt something in you begin healing.

“...and I know I wasn’t around as much as I could have been, and it kills me that you were going through it alone, and on my bachelorette for crying out loud, how insensitive was that…”

Lacey’s diatribe brings you back to the café and your cooling coffee and Lacey’s earnest grip on your hand. You shush her with a few squeezes.

“You were a big part of why I finally got up the courage to leave. And I am so fucking glad I did,” you say, earning another smile that glitters with morning light. 

“I think someone else also had some influence,” Lacey says, looking pointedly over her cup as she takes an innocent sip. Your brow furrows briefly before the implication of her tone slams into your chest.

Jack.

“That was a year ago…holy shit, today,” Lacey exclaims, twisting her wrist to verify on her smart watch. 

“Wow, yeah,” you say weakly, swirling the dregs of coffee in your cup.

Yet again, Lacey isn’t wrong. Jack did open your eyes to a world that could offer the care and comfort you were yearning for. But you’d been forced to push memories of him to the back of your mind. 

Weeks after the breakup, with Lacey lying on your brand new bed in your half-empty apartment, you told her about your weekend with the suave yet gentle cowboy. She interjected with excited “I knew it!” and “Holy shit yes!” exclamations as you recounted the cattle run, the innocent lie, the dinner, and the lust-filled night (heavily redacted, met with disappointment). Once the story was told you laid beside each other, silence stretching until she finally said, “I’m so happy Jack helped you realize you deserve more.”

So were you.

“Did you ever think about booking another weekend?” Lacey asks, placing her cup down so she can more fully watch you, playful smirk making you roll your eyes. “I mean, before all the stuff in the news about them.”

Guests injured in the park. A veil of silence and NDAs falling over Delos. An uncertain return.

You chew on your answer for a moment. It’s easy to chalk up not going back to the current state of the park, but in recent weeks you had been thinking more and more about Jack. Maybe it was some old movie you caught late at night, horses riding across gloriously wide plains. A cowboy hat or two you swore you saw in a crowd, only to be tricked by perspective and light. Strong, broad silhouettes that reminded you of large hands, a clever mouth, a warm embrace.

Tell her the truth.

“No,” you finally sigh, putting your cup down a little firmly.

You couldn’t.

“Why not?”

“It’s all fantasy, I’m not into that more than once.”

You couldn’t bear to see him again.

“Not even a little more fantasy with a certain cowboy?” Her eyes drop to your left hand, and you realize you’ve been slowly rotating the turquoise band she gave you on your ring finger. When you returned the engagement ring it became a comforting weight replacing what you’d given up. You fold them instead under Lacey’s watchful eye.

“It’s not real,” is the excuse you give.

He’s not real, and you can’t have him.

Lacey shrugs, looking at the time again and gathering up her coat.

“Real enough that you changed your whole life over it,” she observes, not unkindly. You stand up as she gathers her purse.

“It was a perfect weekend. Going back would have ruined it.” 

Him not remembering you would have ruined it.

Lacey sighs but acquiesces, giving you a hug and confirming your next coffee date in a couple weeks. They’ve become a sweet schedule you look forward to more than you thought.

Once she breezes out the door, all summer blush and cosmopolitan chic, you join the line to get a coffee to go. The machine at work is dismal, and you’d much rather spend the four dollars. You enter your order on the cool blue holoscreen and step to the side to wait. The warmth of a good conversation bubbles in your veins, a beam of sunlight caressing your back. Even the brief memory of Jack you allow - his hands soft on your skin, the tender brush of his nose on your cheek, how safe you felt in his arms - fills your heart to bursting. A smile plumps your cheek. Today really is an exceptional day.

But oddly enough, your toes are wet. 

Looking down, you can’t help but let out an exasperated, “Oh c’mon you idiot,” as you realize you didn’t put your shoes back on, and have now stepped in someone’s spilled beverage. So maybe not the perfect day, but you’re close enough to home to swing by and grab a new pair of socks. Shaking your head, you spin on your heel to retrieve your abandoned shoes.

You could have done it a breath sooner, or later, and never been the wiser. Or you could have kept your damn shoes on - do we live in a barn, your mother’s voice echoes in your ears - and avoided the issue in the first place. But today, on an exceptionally perfect day, you turn and take a step just as someone passes behind you, propelling your frame into their broader form. You almost bounce, but the stranger catches you by your shoulders, large firm palms wrapping around your biceps.

“Whoa there,” a deep voice says, laced with a southern drawl. It tickles something in your brain, neurons firing at memories close to the surface. 

“Shit, sorry,” you mumble, stepping back to apologize properly to the man you almost bowled over. As your eyes begin their ascent the voice is clearer, sharp as a bullwhip crack.

“You okay Sugar?”

Your breath freezes in your throat, eyes snapping to the man’s face. He swims in your vision before the soft curl of his brown hair, the delicate trim of his mustache, the hawkish curve to his nose comes into focus. If that wasn’t enough for your short-circuiting brain to manage, his plush lips part in concern, deep chocolate eyes darting across your face.

Jack?

“I - oh,” he says, his grip tightening on your shoulders. You wrench back, stumbling a half step away, still locked on his face.

Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack

People are looking at you now, agape and struggling to pull in a full breath, your brain tumbling like Alice down the rabbit hole.

Can’t be.

Jack.

Not real.

Jack.

How?

Jack.

“I can explain…”

Then the whole world shifts, and you’re falling.

NEXT

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Fic Prompt #3

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Shar; also features Selûne, and Balthazar, that wretched walking content warning Length: ~4000 words Summary: Aylin prays in the Shadowfell, to a mother who can't hear her - and an aunt who can.

What can silence the Nightsong? @stachless prompted "nightmare" and also drew [this art]. Brainworms heavily inspired by @featherwurm's [art] and its followup [here]. Also inspired by a bunch of Aylin's Shadowfell dialogue, the extremity of what she went through, her mother, and the Jesus-Christ-Superstar-Gethsemane of it all. Then we have my own need to see her cherished and taken care of and protected, along with a bit of weird fascination with how the Calm Emotions spell is actually supposed to work.

Hurt/comfort. Warnings for canon-typical violence and references to torture.

---

Once, there would have been a steady hum, a warmth blooming eternal in her chest. An undeniable, reassuring presence, like a hand on her shoulder, and a loving murmur in her ear as if her Mother were there, but only just out of sight. Now there is nothing.

There is worse than nothing; there is a tug, a pull, a leeching so unnatural and wrong it makes bile rise in Aylin's throat. Makes her first steps into a stumble, as she pulls herself to her feet from where the latest Sharran had felled her, leading her so close to the bounds of her enclosure that the sickly glow of the grasping claws starts to manifest. 

So instead she kneels, as she has done countless times before: in magnificent temples and humble shrines, in muddy battlefields before and after skirmishes, in winter storms and in bright summer showers. Privately, or as one in a crowd of worshippers. Or, a traitorous little shard of her heart pipes up, with Isobel, whose devotion was always catching like the most pleasant of flames. 

"Moonmaiden, hear me," once she finally speaks, Aylin's voice is strong to her own ears, rising clear and resonant from the depths of her chest, unhampered by her predicament or by the bitter sting of grief. It is a bracing thing to note, and it makes it easier to straighten her shoulders and persist.

The odious essence that permeates the Shadowfell makes calm, comfortable meditation a distant dream, but Aylin does her utmost to shake off the worst of it. She chooses instead to focus on going through all the well-practised, familiar, reassuring motions. Hands open, relaxed, palms resting on her thighs, eyes closed but not clenched shut, chin upturned slightly, waiting for the light of an absent moon.

"Weaver of the silver loom, look upon me with mercy and pluck the threads of my fate to lead them away from this place, away from this dungeon of loss and dark and grief." 

It is easy, natural, to intone the words, even as the recitation feels slightly more formal than Aylin is used to. The conspicuous absence surrounding her and blanketing her heart does nothing to deter her.

"Guide me out of the grasp of shadow. Turn the tides, so that I may vanquish Your enemies once more and shield Your faithful from the darkness in turn, under Your watchful eye."

Ketheric will bleed, a Sharran plot that was allowed to fester and grow much too far will finally be thwarted, and Reithwin salvaged, recovered, a haven for those basking in the light of the moon once more.

Surely, whatever time Aylin has spent here… surely it is enough.

Her only answer is a coward's blow; a would-be justiciar who has snuck down to her prison oh-so-quietly, who has chosen to anoint herself with the blood of an unarmed, unaware opponent knelt in prayer.

In the rush of her own lifeblood Aylin could swear she hears laughter.

-

"Hear me. Moonmaiden," the words are ground out this time, slowly and painstakingly. "Our Lady of Silver. Shine Your gleaming light upon me, dispel the grip of shadow and pain, bolster my heart with Your radiance…"

There is an arrow lodged in her flank, and another one near her shoulder blade, still burning with the telltale traces of poison. This one wanted to make sure - a good Sharran: thorough, prepared. Lurking in the shadows and well out of reach, even for this. Truly meant for his mistress' embrace.

"I, whose hand has ever borne Your sword against wickedness gladly and with pride…"

The third in what can't have been more than, what, a day? But how to tell, when her own body falling and rising is the only thing she can rely on to try to gauge the passage of time? In any case, Ketheric is ramping up the production of his army, that much is clear.

So much of Reithwin has paraded before her eyes. People she had lived beside, even if for a little while, coming here to kill her. Some of them acknowledge the fact, even - let her know they never trusted her, sneer about their welcome and respect being but pretence, or forced by fear of divine retribution. Others avert their eyes and pretend they weren't the ones to help her pick out flowers for a bouquet to gift Isobel early in their courtship, just as they weren't the ones to help with the delicate petal-cups of the moonflower arrangements for her funeral.

If she thinks of what has happened, what must be happening to the ones who she hasn't faced here, the rage mixed with the bitter bite of failure threatens to overwhelm her utterly. They were hers to protect. Just as Isobel was.

She can't reach the accursed arrow in her back to pull it out. The sting mounts and mounts and meets the agony driven deep in her heart.

-

"Moonmaiden, hear me. As You guide the lost back onto their paths, as You set before our feet roads out of darkness, I pray. For my path is winding, never-ending, yet I have ever heeded--"

How much more? How much, how much, howmuch…

The spear to the heart she would have taken for one of the quick and merciful ones - but no. Because the Sharran misses, curse them, and then stops to deliver a tirade - before being swallowed by vicious, hungry shadows.

"The tides turn, inexorably," she mutters, half-dazed with blood loss, stumbling to her knees. "The tides, they… in Your strength, as all things, they…"

Aylin's head lolls forward, proud chin meeting chest, prayer cut short. "Enough. It is enough. I have borne--" What, she cannot say. Penance? Some crucial holy burden? Instead, she ekes out syllables around the agony in her chest, where the spear is still lodged. The spear left in her in disgust, once the acolyte realised it was a mere inert replica of the artefact they sought, incapable of delivering true death, of elevating them beyond a mere ordained assassin. Before their own fate was sealed so very efficiently.

One does not become the Chosen of a goddess by choosing themselves, after all.

"Please."

In the silence, she scrabbles with bloody hands and pulls the spear out herself, inch by painfully slow inch. Throws it into the abyss with a roar of fury and disgust, for she has no use for a weapon here. She cannot fight and tear and kill her way to freedom, a sword that cannot cut itself free. The best she could achieve by destroying her captors here and now would be oblivion, to be forgotten here. 

Lost.

"Mother," she whispers, and feels burning shame at prayer being reduced to pleading. "Mother, please."

Nothing.

-

The necromancer visits again, when she is barely recovered from the last freshly-made justiciar, still catching her breath and clutching at newly-unshattered ribs.

Aylin has goaded him before. Barked out whatever insult came to mind, every threat and vow of vengeance most bloody on both him and his coward of a general, who so adamantly refuses to come face her. But this time - she will find she cannot remember, after, what it was she said that led to this - if she even said anything.

But whatever she does or mutters or simply is right then crosses some threshold, unfathomable to her. Something that permits such aimless, gratuitous cruelty, justifies it in the mind of the truly monstrous. 

Balthazar is uncharacteristically silent, the usual sick gloating absent, when he gestures for the hands to pull her to her knees, to hold her in place; when they grip her neck and claw her head back and rip her jaw open against all her mighty strain, as if she is not even trying to resist. When she tastes the rust of the blade and then the rust of her own blood.

Her mouth burns, jaw and chin and palate aflame, agony spreading from the carelessly cut lip down to her throat. She spits blood, and blood, and blood, but it will not stop, and it chokes her. Dizzying, mortifying. Hunched over after she is released, one hand clenched in the dirt of her rocky prison, barely holding her up, the other scrabbling at her neck.

She cannot speak aloud the words that old and young, great and small throughout Faerûn know will bring the Moonmaiden's keen-eyed, loving gaze to them. But then, she has never really needed to. Selûne has ever kept watch over Her daughter, Her sword.

Mother. Aylin tries to think, upwards, upwards, imagining flying up to pierce the shadowy dome. Mother, hear me, when they would silence me.

Nothing. 

Balthazar shuffles into her blurred view, doing something with a jar, and silver-flecked muscle and--

And what will he do with it? What does he do with all else he steals from her? It is a horror she does not want to contemplate.

Her tongue, made for poetry, made for battle cries and striking fear into the unworthy and the wicked, into the scheming and the twisted. Made for jubilation and proclamation, made for testifying the glory of her Mother and the good, righteous cause she championed so gladly. Made to argue and philosophise. Made for joy and pleasure taken in the mortal and worldly and wondrously, preciously, divinely mundane: tasting fine wine and succulent food and the sweetest of lips and the softest of skin and most cherished of flesh, all hers, once, all of it -- all of it taken, gone.

Lost.

Instead, violation and violence. A cut throat, and spilt guts. And here comes one with a cruel mace - atypical, for Sharran clergy. She would laugh at herself, a half-mad thing, at the spark of absurd, sick excitement at being murdered slightly unusually - but what else is there? What is there, here, in the void?

Nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. Pain, or nothing.

Her.

Aylin does not attempt to pray when she next rises. She screams curses and barely-coherent tirades against her hated, hateful aunt, if only for there to be something, anything else.

"Silence," comes that rarely-heard voice. Despised, yet known. "My sister spawned a rabid dog, it seems."

A gleam of feeble triumph warms Aylin's heart. A response provoked. A goddess' hand forced, even if in a matter so very small. She stands, as tall and proud as she can in bloodied rags. "I was chosen to bear her light, to be her sword, to champion her cause--"

"She did not choose you," the voice cuts her off, growing louder and closer, echoing in the endless chasm of its domain, surrounding. "She made you. And what a pitiful job she did of it, too." The disdain is palpable, radiating out of every wisp of shadow swirling around the lonesome platform. "She whelped you to hunt down my faithful."

"She charged me with protecting her own." Aylin glares into the darkness, turning this way and that, trying to fathom where to best aim her fury from her perch in the eye of a growing storm. 

"She who seeks always to steal from me, to supplant me, she who knows no measure, whose ambitions know no end."

The raging shadows swirl ever closer, angrier and angrier still. But Aylin refuses to be cowed, refuses to yield, faced with the one who gives her purpose. For the Sword of the Silverlight is a necessity, yes, but it is not Selûne who makes it so. It is her spiteful sister and her misguided followers, ever prowling and looking to harm.

"You lie, as always, Lady of Loss. She wishes only for peace, for her faithful to be left to make their own way, to flourish. Without your schemes, there would be no need for my service at all."

A clap of thunder behind her; Aylin turns, but not in time to see the grasping shadows that rush towards her, wind around her legs and arms, around her neck and chest. Restraints nothing like the eerie, necrotic claws, but just as cold and cruel and unmoveable.

"Ah, so my sister needs to bind her paladins with chains of bloodline to ensure they serve her?" The voice is mocking, and so very, very near. As if Shar herself is standing there, speaking in Aylin's ear as her shadows mercilessly pull her down. "Perhaps, for once, she is right. For I have claimed a prize from her already, and he has brought me you."

"I am not bound," Aylin spits out, pulling against her fetters, grinding her knuckles to dust and bone on the cold stone of her prison. "I am not bound. I choose, I serve, I am faithful--"

"You are a failure."

"I am-- I am Dame Aylin Silverblood, Sword of the Moonmaiden, Moon Daughter, Bearer of the Silverlight. When I am free, there will be a mighty reckoning. I will bring it on wings of silver, on the edge of my blessèd sword, in the name of my Mother, and in my own name."

"You are a failure," the darkness repeats, unphased, calm, certain, factual, "and so you have been discarded."

"I am," Aylin starts, barely forces out, then stops, gritting her teeth against the burning pressure, the rancid atmosphere cloaking her prison. "I am--"

"I am the Nightsinger and you are my Nightsong, and so it is mine to silence you."

The darkness becomes tangible, cloying, suffocating. Aylin tries to draw breath but finds that she cannot. Cannot see through the thickening murk even to the sickly blazing runes of her prison-circle.

"The moon does not shine its foul light here, and it never will. Here, in my perfect dark, we are gloriously free of it. Howl your foolish prayer-ditties, Nightsong - they will fall upon no ears. Your ever-whimsical, capricious mother has abandoned you to my care."

The shadows tighten and Aylin chokes on darkness like she choked on blood. Her back burns with phantom pains, spiking up and down her shoulder blades, and every wound and indignity feels visited upon her again. A scream feels like it should tear itself from her throat, but there is only silence.

"In the creation of my army, I have given you purpose. Much more than my pathetic sister ever has. And once that purpose is fulfilled, I will silence you forever."

She finds herself sprawled on the ground, suddenly free of the restraints, as the final, threatening proclamation rattles through her muscle, deep into her bones.

"The loss of a daughter," Shar sounds amused, almost, a cruel smile tainting her words, "is devastating, I hear. It will make a fine gift for my deserving kin. Now rise. One approaches who must prove their worth."

Aylin's mind is flooded with Isobel, Isobel, Isobel, and her chest feels like it will cave in on itself.

-

The air rushes in, finally, and Aylin tastes blood in her mouth from a bitten cheek, feels a pounding in her head - and very little else. A cool balm, a much-needed distance has been put between her and the red-hot thornvine of the past century, and it allows her to breathe.

She blinks, and knelt before her is Isobel, alive and whole, in a simple nightgown, hands aglow with the remnants of a freshly cast spell.

"Aylin?" She asks, cautiously, with the telltale downturn of the corner of her mouth that means she is concentrating. Her eyes are wide and filled to the brim with such tender concern, the restrained but clearly pained tremble in her voice more agonising than any Sharran knife. She keeps her distance, though the tension and the need to leap forward, to be close, to hold, is palpable.

"You were… I tried to wake you, but you weren't responding. It was like you were lost to me."

Lost.

"I am…"

Aylin stops, because she does not know what words could follow and not be lies.

"This will only last a minute. Please, stay with me, Aylin. Alright?"

Aylin nods.

"Breathe with me." 

Aylin does.

"May I touch you?"

Aylin hesitates, where she should have roared her enthusiastic consent. But her entire body still feels raw.

"...yes," she says only when she truly feels it to be true, and Isobel seems… proud?

The lightest, gentlest hand comes to rest on her cheek and jaw. Familiar, loved, ever so slightly colder than… than before. Isobel.

She would have nuzzled into it happily, usually, pressed a kiss or two to the soft palm. It is a bit much at the moment, though, just that little bit too close, and so Aylin slowly pries it off her cheek and holds the hand between both her own instead.

Then the minute is up and the spell wears off, and the veil that was between her and what seems like the rest of the world abruptly falls away. Aylin draws air in with mounting effort, then lets it out in a hiss at the flood of sensation.

But the hand between hers serves to ground; Isobel's eyes, luminous in the moonlight that seeps into the room, hold her own and seem to encompass her entire.

"Should I cast it again?" Isobel asks softly, free hand already rising towards Aylin's temple.

She moves to decline, muster up some sort of casual air, but stops herself at the last moment. Digs down to the soldierly disposition that has been a help to her, an ingrained way to make sense of so much. It does no good to overestimate one's own capability. Her mind rattles off, almost of its own accord. A correct measure of one's strength is key to all engagements.

"Once-- once more, please, my love," Aylin asks, and is mildly surprised at the complete lack of shame and nauseating sense of inadequacy that had, for a time, become her stalwart companions.

"As many times as you need," Isobel says reassuringly, already leaning forward and reaching out with both hands. "There is no shame in accepting help."

It is a song and dance they both know well by now. The words Isobel has spoken what must be hundreds of times, in an effort to make them real and true to Aylin.

Her touch on what feels like the sides of Aylin's troubled mind accompanied by a murmured incantation take all of a second, but the coolness and numbness and the slight drowsiness ripple outward and encompass her again. The separation from herself, the distance from everything, is always mildly discomfiting and ever-so-slightly reminiscent of the Shadowfell - a reassuring fact, as Aylin takes it to mean she is in no danger of craving it, or growing to depend on it.

It is but a moment of reprieve each time. But it is just enough to buy her a chance to shore up her own defences, when they have been so cruelly torn down by the workings of her own unconscious mind. She places her hands over Isobel's own once again, breathes in time with her, and thinks, very deliberately, of little else.

This time, when the minute runs out, the shock of being plunged back into the world is barely noticeable. 

There is no brand-wound placed on her by Shar, like brave Shadowheart still bears. And yet it still feels so often like her aunt's cruel grasp is lying in wait behind every shadow, waiting to snatch her up and pull her down, down, down, until her knees meet the cold rune-inscribed rock in the heart of the Shadowfell.

It makes Aylin still want to laugh at herself, sometimes. Her knees are, in fact, resting on the finest mattress of the grandest bed Waterdeep's House of the Moon could provide. Her legs are entangled with duvets filled with the softest down, with sheets of finest silk. And yet, and yet.

But she does not let out any bark of bitter, self-deprecating laugh, for even after everything, there is Isobel. The anchor. The crux of everything. The eye of a swirling storm. A beacon of light so blessedly blinding it washes out all else, all pain and sorrow and acrid, biting memory.

Isobel, whose mere presence drowns out the roaring winds of the Shadowfell, fills up the Lady of Loss' cursed silence that steals and numbs everything it touches.

Isobel, something to focus on when all else is too much, or too little. Who scuttles closer to Aylin on the bed once she sees her calmed enough, and leans in until they are pressed shoulder to shoulder.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Her thumb rubs small, delicate circles into the back of Aylin's hand.

Aylin sighs. "I cannot possibly begin to explain… to put into words…"

"Could you try? For me, my love, and for yourself?"

The only thing silencing Aylin now is she herself. 

Truth and honesty, ideals to strive for - and the light that chases away any Sharran shadow. Aylin draws in a deep breath, as much as her chest that still feels cramped will allow. Squares her shoulders as if preparing for combat.

And still her words come out hesitant, almost meek. "I would not have wanted you to bear witness, then. To… to their crimes, their sins against me. To my shame. And so I do not want to make you a witness to them now, even if it is only through my telling."

She feels reluctant to expose Isobel to any of it. Even when, yes, she is an accomplished cleric and a healer and has seen and dealt with her own share of horrors, but…

"Aylin," the palpable pain in Isobel's wide eyes is already too much as she reaches out a gentle hand again, turning Aylin's face towards her. "You are the woman I love, and the chosen of my heart. Nothing will ever change that."

"It has been nigh a year." Aylin knows she sounds petulant. Knows she would have thoughtlessly blinked away the meagre span of a single year, before.

"Compared to a hundred?" Isobel shakes her head, looks at her almost pleadingly. That way she does, the way she seems to have reserved for whenever Aylin insists she should think nothing of the way she hastily exited a too-tight or too-dark space.

"Fine. Fine, my love, for you," Aylin breathes out. "But… outside. Let us first recover somewhat, in my Mother's light."

Let Her hear as well.

Isobel rises, takes her by the hand, and pulls her along, gently, out onto the balcony. Theirs is a spacious, luxurious suite situated in the prime spot of the temple complex housing wing, overlooking the luscious inner gardens in the House of the Moon. Usually, neither of them care for the pomp and circumstance their visits tend to invite in Selûnite spaces. But this time Aylin feels grateful for both the privacy and the position under the moonlight dome, as she does little but breathe in the scent of the moonflowers, freshly opened for the night, each cupping a little mote of moonlight and embracing it in blue.

For a good while, until Aylin feels ready, Isobel chatters, hums, softly fills any second of silence. She has come to understand so much, and Aylin is so grateful as she lets the sweet voice buoy her heart, carry her. 

It felt near-blasphemous, at first, these calls to a goddess over things she would have once called trivial. But the joint efforts of her Mother and her beloved have convinced her they are anything but. 

Mother? Aylin sends out the simplest of thoughts as she gazes upward and feels the moonlight bathe her face, fill her heart to bursting, settle around her shoulders like a blanket.

I hear you, daughter. I see you. I hold you under my gaze, safe.

This, too, is her birthright. Simple reassurance.

Under her Mother's silver eye, guarded in the circle of Isobel's arms, Aylin speaks. Once her words run dry and she is left feeling drained, scoured out, head dizzyingly feather-light, Isobel finally moves from her side. She returns within moments, wraps herself around Aylin and wraps them both in a star-embroidered coverlet. 

"Never again," Isobel whispers, all moon-bathed steel, as she presses a dozen soft kisses to Aylin's face, then holds her to her chest. "I will not let anyone harm you again."

It is a heartwarming, if impossible thought. Aylin doesn't have it in herself to do anything but believe it.

The moon continues on her path across the sky, her Tears shining bright, as the night descends into a silence that is both warm and comfortable.

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Officially, Drabble #27

This is more like it. Currently editing chapter 3 on ao3, but I'm keeping to my promise of continuing to pose all of the little bits and pieces on here first.

The new bed takes up more than half of her bedroom. It’s monstrous. It’s soft and firm. It’s perfect.

The thought is a grumble in her mind because he disappeared and now she’s mad at him. But mostly, she’s worried.

She falls asleep to the sound of her own breaths, sprawled across the oversized bed, waiting for him to arrive. And when he does, she feels it. The little wiggle inside of her chest wakes her up, warmth blooming in her chest at his nearness.

She opens her eyes to find him crawling over her but he’s sweaty and dirty and she thinks he might be hurt. The room is dark, she can barely make out the way his damp hair clings to his forehead. The dark line splitting his lower lip in two.

He nuzzles her chin as he works his way up her body, his breath tickles her neck. His arms haul her body against his, his knees settling between her legs.

“Malfoy.” she croaks into the dark space between them. There’s minimal light coming through the small, single window of her bedroom.

“Love,” He croons into her neck, his lips brushing against her. He smells like salt and sweat and something else. “You look like an angel when you sleep, you know that?”

“Where have you been?” She whispers, pulling at his shoulders, trying to lift him up so that she can look at his face properly. “You had me worried sick!”

“I needed to blow off some steam.” He looks up at her through the frayed blonde hair that glimmers with the moonlight seeping in. It’s like his hair is the only thing that attracts its light, sucking it in, illuminating him just enough for her to see that his lip is freshly scabbed over again, like it had reopened and bled and coagulated once more.

“You’re all sweaty.”

He smirked. “I’d like to get more sweaty.” He lowered his mouth to her chest and nipped at the plump flesh of her breast. She’s dressed in a tank top and a pair of sweatpants. She bites back a moan of pleasure and shoves at his shoulders.

“Draco. Where did you go?” Hermione flicked her wrist toward the light switch. Light filled the room, and she winced against the glare.

He sighed and pulled back, lifting himself to his knees, squinting down at her. There was blood on the collar of his shirt and on the shoulder.

Hermione sat up and got to her knees to examine him close up. “What happened to you?” She touched the tips of her fingers, gingerly, to his lip. The blood had clotted but not completely dried. “Are you hurt?” Her eyes began to scan his face, his body, her hands running over his chest.

He stared down at her and shook his head. His hands captured hers and pressed them against his heart. “No, love. I’m fine.” He tilted his head, and his eyes were full of something deep and dark and sad. “The other wizard will need some stitches, but I’m fine.”

“What do you mean, the other wizard!?” She pulled against his hold. He let her go so that she could slam her hands into his shoulders, shoving him back. He chuckled. “Where were you!”

“I told you, I went to blow off some steam.” He said it in a tone that was meant to be soothing, but all she saw was his bloody lip and his sweaty skin.

“You got in a fight.” He nodded and reached for her hand again. She leaned away from him. “On purpose.”

“Of course.” He scoffed. “Don’t worry, I won.” He shook his head. “I always win, even when I don’t.”

He caught her hand and she blinked at him, trying to figure out what he meant by that. But she couldn’t think. He was lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it with his broken mouth and she spent all night worrying about him, angry and disgruntled because he wasn’t here when she got home and he should have been her. She needed him nearby and he went and risked his life instead.

Her other hand clawed at his, pulling it off of her. “How dare you!” She was seething and she felt like hitting him. Instead, she scrambled off of the massive bed to glare at him from afar. “You could have been hurt! I thought you were hurt!”

He’s staring at her still with that dark and sad look of his.

“You disappeared and someone wants you dead and I didn’t know how to find you!” Her chin was trembling, her eyes were burning. She was irrationally mad. She was rightfully mad.

Draco sighed and looked over at the window. It was so tiny, so dark outside, his reflection looked back at them. “I want to get you out of here.” He doesn’t acknowledge her complaints, her worries. “I want to get you out of this shithole place and I never want to be inside of another room where you have fucked him.”

She growls and goes to the little bathroom connected to her bedroom. He doesn't hesitate to follow her.

“Here.” She says, splaying her arms as wide as she can in the tiny space. A toilet, a shower and a sink. She barely fits. He doesn’t fit, but he steps in anyway, his shoulders hunched over as he tilts his head to eye her.

There’s dirt smeared all over his shirt. She can see it in the reflection of the mirror over the sink.

“He never fucked me in here. Happy?”

He scowls at her. “Delighted!”

“You can’t erase my past, Draco. I’m sorry that it makes you uncomfortable, but I cant change it and I wont.”

“You never belonged with him.” He says it quietly, his eyes hard as they meet hers.

She sighs and closes her eyes. “I’m not with him anymore.” She opens her eyes. “I’d like to be with you. I need to be with you.” She grips onto his shirt and pleads with her eyes. “I want you around. All the time.”

“Now you do.” His eyes sweep over her, his tongue mindlessly jabs at the cut on his lip. “But for years, you chose him.”

He's looking for a way out.

She lets go of his shirt. “Are you backing out?” She closes her eyes.

Eventually, she thinks, everyone breaks your heart. Keep someone around long enough, and they’ll destroy you. If not with their words, or their actions, then with death.

She had the thought once before, when she was a just a girl. When she was being called awful words and the boy she liked was making out with another girl in front of her. In front of everyone.

Draco’s hand splay over her cheeks and his back curves out as he lowers his face to hers. “No,” he sounds desperate. “No, no no.”

She opens her eyes to find his frantic and pleading. “No, gods, no. Don’t you get it? I would have died for you. There is no backing out for me. There is no changing my mind. I’m yours!” He was guiding her backwards. Her back hit the cool tiles of the shower wall. “You have me.”

And you have me, she thinks. But her eyes are blinking at him, disbelieving. Why was he so upset with her?

“There is no turning back for me.” His breath smells like bitter ale. The kind that looks like liquid chocolate. “I’m just,” He sighs and closes his eyes. He leans forward and presses his forehead to hers. She can feel his mind reeling. There’s thoughts fluttering in and out between them.

But they move too fast for her to navigate. Like an angry bee you swat. Each through buzzes back and forth, he’s all over the place.

“Draco,” She sighs his name into his mouth.

“Hermione,” He says her name. It’s so rare when he does that she knows he’s about to say something serious. “I want you to marry me.”

She almost laughs. She starts to laugh but it gets stuck in her throat and lodged there as her eyes open wide.

He pulls back enough to show her how serious he is.

“You’re not serious.” She says but he is. He’s dead serious. She can feel it in the air, the sharp edged energy. He’s so erratic. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” He licks his lips. “I was bred to be crazy but,” He shoves her messy curls behind her ears. “I’m only crazy for you, love.” He kisses her quick, she tastes his drying blood. It tases like iron.

It reminds her of when she was little. Before her parents had any success with their practice, they struggled and she was often hungry. When she would go outside and play, shed dig in the dirt until she found the cool damp bit. And she would eat it. She enjoyed the way it tasted. Like metal and earth and later, she found out that it was because she was lacking some sort of mineral. Her body was acting on instinct, survival.

Draco’s blood reminds her of that taste. That survival instinct. She chases his mouth, unable to stop her self.

He lets her kiss him but then hes whispering the words against her mouth. “Marry me. Let me take care of you.”

“You’re crazy.” She murmured, shaking her head. But she wasn’t saying no. She wasn’t saying yes, but more importantly, she wasn’t saying No. Draco seemed to realize that too, because he was starting to smile at her with triumph. He was starting to remove her clothing, and she was kissing him.

She was hungry, so hungry for the taste of him. Even with all the sweat and blood and grime. He tasted good. He tasted like hers.

“Move in with me, marry me.” He was saying, hungrily balling up her shirt and tossing it to the floor outside of the shower. His hands moved to her sweats. “I’ll make you happy.”

“You already make me happy.” She protested as he dropped to his knees, her sweats falling to her ankles. She let him lift one foot at a time, freeing her from the material.

“I’ll buy you everything you ever wanted.”

“I just want you.” She stared down at him as he kissed her belly. His eyes swept up her body. They paused on the puckered little patch of skin in the middle of her chest. It was where the curse hit her. When Dolohov had attacked her in 1996.

Nobody understood what the curse as. But it slowed her heart rate, It bruised her ribs and her sternum.

Now she was a horcrux for the man she had been slowly falling in love with for the past two years.

Draco kissed her bare belly again and she was pulled out of the memory of it all. Pulled out of her thoughts and her busy little mind. And his fingers were trailing up her thighs, headed for the heated space between them.

“Tell me yes, love.”

She didn’t. But still, she didn’t say no. She said nothing as his fingers dipped into her, running gently through the folds.

“How can something be this soft and warm? It’s like silk.” He murmured, his lips moving down her stomach, over the mound of her pelvic bone. “So soft.” He hissd her there, just on the hump that gave way to her clit and his fingers running through her.

He kisses her clit, next and her hips instinctively buck forward, eager and needy. His finger dips into her fully and he hisses through his teeth. “Liquid silk,” He says more to himself. “I want to live here forever.” He says to her cunt. He kisses it, softly. “Let me live here forever, in here.” His hand and his shoulder push her legs open. “I’ll quit my job and spend every day nestled here between your legs. If you let me.” He runs his tongue over her center and she sighs.

Her head hits the wall of the shower and her hands start to comb back his dirty hair. “You need a shower.” She whispers and moans as his mouth begins to suck and lick and pleasure her like only he can. He was right the first time. He eats cunt like a dream. He kisses like a dream. Everything he does, is a dream. Even all of his crazy antics have never left her feeling like she wasn’t drifting somewhat through a dream.

He grunts against her, his mouth dug into her and his tongue lapping and stabbing into her. He’s doing it again. He’s turning her brain into mush. He’s going to convince her to marry him with his tongue. His hands, his cock.

When she comes on his tongue, he’s all smiles and confidence before he’s scooping her up and carrying her lip, lifeless body into her room. He climbs over her when he sets her down on the bed. She wants to remind him that Ron fucked her in this room but she doesn't want him to stop. She wants to feel the weight of his body over hers, She wants to feel the way he fucks her like he has never needed anything more than her.

She loves him. She doesn’t tell him, but she loves him and one day, she thinks she will marry him.

But not now, not yet. There were things they needed to take care of first. Like find out who is trying to kill him.

She was going to find out who was trying to kill Draco and she was going to find a way to make them suffer.

When he finally came inside of her, they lay tangled together, limbs feet. Her hair was sprawled over his chest, his chest rising and falling with her ear against his heart.

He was quiet, no longer begging her to marry him. Though, she knew he wasn’t going to drop the subject completely. She was exhausted and her eyes began to flutter shut, accepting that she would face that challenge in the morning.

Her mind began to shut down, her body liquid and languid and heavy. She fell asleep to the sound of his kisses and his whispers.

“Yet if hope has flown away,” He whispered into her hair. “In a night, or in a day, in a vision, or in none,” He kissed her head. “Is it therefore the less gone?”

Hermione dreamed of nothing at all.

[l0v3-struck-sys]

Hey sillies!!! First ever actual post on our collective account and it's nothing other then our favorite poem we've ever written!! <3

It's got some quite dark themes so a little bit of a forewarn there, I'm not entirely sure what tws would be proper for this, so proceed at your own risk,

Poem by : collective

Name : "Wishing on stars and choking on ashes"

Written : Some time during late 2022/early 2023 ( somewhere between August 2022-Febuary 2023)

Posted by : collective

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11:11 make a wish.

I wish for it to be better. I wish for the trembling weakness crushing my body under its embrace to disapper, for fading scars filled with memories erase themselves from paled skin, the memories of their cause gone with them.

I wish to be happy, I wish for someone to love me and tell me I'm worth more then what I can give out, that the person I am is more important then the pleasure I provide.

I scream. In my head I scream my wishes into an empty fog, hearing them echo back at me, taunting me and reminding me that they can't possibly come true.

I whisper them into the soft of a worn stuffed animal wet with tears, they've seen this before, they've felt my tears and stayed inanimate as I broke and pleaded for someone to care.

I'd be doomed of they gained sentience. Secrets locked away in worn fabric that could never be shared with another human. Words too fragile to say to a friend because you never know their intentions.

It's childish really, wishes.

Except like all things from being a child this too has been tainted with age.

Wishes that once were reserved for new toys and good grades now turned pleads for someone to love, pleads that you won't die alone.

Then again, what do I know about childish wishes? As they say, born into a burning house, right?

Yet my house was never burning, I never experienced the warm flicker of flames and found comfort in the burn of a fire.

No, I was born to a house long burnt down.

Cold air nipped at new flesh and burned into a child's skin in a way so similar yet so far from a flame.

Cold seeped into my bones and left a chill in every last part of me.

Yet just like a child born into the flames I found comfort and solace in the cold.

I choose to subject myself to the burn of the cold against my skin despite the part of me that begs for warmth, begs to curl under a blanket and find a place to call home.

Yet I deny it. I rush into the cold and relish the burn, let it seep through my skin and kill me slowly, the pain a deadly yet familiar lullaby.

I want to give into the part of me that begs for warmth. But I can't.

I've given in before, sat by the fire and let the chill begin to melt away, only to be shoved into the flames and burned in such a familiar yet foreign way.

So I subject to the cold, stick to the burn I know and the chill in my bones.

Maybe one day my body will find peace, sink to the ground in a home with no flames and no ash. A strong foundation and a warmth that doesn't burn like pinpricks of vengeance across raw flesh.

But until then, I will continue to curl in the snow, and I will smile as my skin blooms the brightest reds, relish in the familiar burn of the freeze. Even if it ends with my body laid cold inside a closed casket.

[andsheloved]

hi lovely! i'm so happy to see you back for drabble tuesday! i hope that your brain is being kind to you <3 so much love to you, i will be sending the moon over to say hi and send love tonight !! anyway anyway, if you're inspired, may i please request prompt 5 with loki or bucky? you are so lovely i hope everything will be amazing for you from this week onwards !! - 🌻 <333

🌻 my dear my beloved oh my gosh this made me so so happy :)))) i hope your brain is being kind to you because you deserve all the love always, thank you for always being so kind mwauh you are wonderful and i love you so very much you truly brighten my days always. and y e s of course you can!! i have some more bucky drabbles lined up so i hope loki is okay!! this prompt had me so happy so please enjoy this little angsty-ish fluff bomb mwauh ily and i hope your week has been so nice and good and amazing!!

pairing ~ loki x gn!reader

word count ~ 1.2k

warnings ~ vague discussion of injury (nothing specific! just some cuts and bruises), loki is worried and protective, bit of self worth stinkyness, minor angst, mention of death, pre-established relationship, mostly just some comforting fluff

prompt ~ #5: 'i could’ve lost you and that made me realize how i couldn’t live without you’

You really didn't see what the big deal was, it wasn't like you were unconscious or anything, just a little beat up with a few bruises at most.

It wasn't that you weren't grateful for all their help, you'd be lying if you said that you truly minded a God of Thunder and Captain America fussing over you like this. Though even through all the commotion, you couldn't help how your eyes wandered to the pacing footsteps casting shadows in the sliver of light that crept under your door.

"You sure you're alright?" Steve asked once again, finally standing from his kneeling position beside you.

You sighed as you nodded. "I'll be fine."

The two of them let out a soft hum. You could see how Steve's skeptical eyes flickered over your form, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I promise." You added.

They both looked to each other at first, seemingly adequately satisfied with your insistence, before finally turning towards the door.

As the two large men opened your door, you could already see the spot of dark hair and the pale complexion that instantly turned to face in your direction.

You could hear the hushed, panicked mumbling coming from beyond the doorway. Frustrated, concerned whispers mixing with attempts at reassuring responses, Loki's worried gaze occasionally reaching your own as he strained to see you past the obstructions.

You could how his brows furrowed, his lips drawn into a thin line of distress as he attempted to get through to the men.

You hated seeing him like this, you could almost whimper at the sight, all he wanted was to see you.

"Loki." You finally chimed, causing all three of them to snap their eyes to you. "Come in." You smiled softly.

You watched as Loki cocked his eyebrow at them before quickly shouldering past the two, hurriedly shutting the door behind him before all but sprinting to your bedside.

His features softened instantly as he knelt beside you, holding your hand with a gentle, yet somehow still forceful grip. He scanned you, his other hand delicately brushing over your covered frame, searching for any other minor cuts or bruises that may have been overlooked by anyone else.

"You shouldn't have gone." He finally muttered, huffing as he finally dropped his wandering hand to his side.

You grumbled, you should have known this was coming. You appreciated his concern, it wouldn't be entirely truthful for you to say that you were bothered by how protective he could be of you on occasion.

As much as that notion made a strange sort of warmth bloom in your chest, it still pained you to watch him as he was now, shaking his head slightly as he looked over you.

"I was fine, everything's-"

"No it's not." He suddenly spat, almost ripping his hand from yours as he stood. "This..." He gestured to you, a blanket covering most of your body, with small bandages littering sections of your upper half. "Is not okay. I can't have you hurting yourself like this."

"Loki, I promise, I'm okay." You whispered, forcing a sympathetic smile as you looked up at him. "I promise."

"You say that every time." He mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't want you going out there again."

"What?" In a way, you could understand where he was coming from, going out in the field wasn't something you usually did. You took notes, you made sure everyone had their uniforms ready, you helped plan movie nights, you certainly didn't fight monsters.

You supposed that sometime in between sleep deprived chats with the rest of the team and mentioning how you always wanted your own superhero outfit, you agreed to go out with them and 'see how it was'.

You were only meant to be on the jet for the entirety of the mission, making sure that everyone was where they were supposed to be until they safely returned.

That was what was supposed to happen.

But just like so many other aspects of living with a team of heroes, no one could have predicted what was to happen next.

You couldn't remember much, just a flurry of fists and black and grey uniforms before a flash of red and silver came crashing into your vision, but regardless, here you were, tired and sore and presumably bound to your bed until Loki could finally be convinced you were truly fine.

"You're not to go out on another mission." His back was turned to you now.

You sighed, "I know you're mad, but I'm fine."

"What if you weren't?" His voice was weak, strained as he asked you.

You groaned internally at his stubbornness, you wanted to jump from the bed and shake his shoulders and yell that you were perfectly safe.

"What if Thor hadn't come? What then?"

"Loki, I don't-"

"You aren't trained like the others. You wouldn't know what to do. You could've died." He hissed, finally whipping his head to face you. "We could have lost you..." His chest rose and fell rapidly, you noticed how his fingers began to anxiously rub the palm of his other hand as he stared back at you. "I could have lost you."

The air was already thick with tension from the moment he barged into your room, but there was a sudden, new air that began to surround the both of you.

"You would have been gone, and I wasn't there to stop it."

"I just-" You rubbed your hand down your face, your throat tight with frustration, "I wanted to do more than..." You grumbled to yourself, "I wanted to finally be more." You felt yourself deflate, hating how pathetic you must have sounded, trying to fit in with a bunch of assassins and super soldiers.

You couldn't even bring yourself to look up at him now, your eyes now focused straight ahead as you felt his presence inch closer to you, bending down beside you once again.

"You are more than enough. Just as you are."

A soft whimper escaped you at his words, though you still continued to stare off into the room.

"You mean so much. So much more than you know, to all of us. To me." He continued, gently grabbing your hand, tracing your knuckles with his fingertips as he spoke. "If something did happen today, if you had.." He trailed off, swallowing, as if he couldn't even bring himself to continue the thought. "I don't know how I could- If I could-" He groaned as he stammered before he finally arrived at his conclusion, "I couldn't live without you. I can't."

It was then when you finally turned to face him, his eyes glimmered in the dim light of your room as tears lined his bottom lids.

"I can't." He repeated, whispering, he fell into you, his head resting softly on your shoulder. "Please," He begged, "Don't leave me."

"I couldn't." You whispered, your breath catching in your throat as the beginnings of tears began to flood the corners of your eyes. "I love you too much." You chuckled softly.

You felt the rumble of a soft hum echo through his chest, a soft smile on his lips as he responded slowly, "I love you more."

i feel like a lot of these drabbles are just going to be very much hurt/comfort-y because that's what my brain needs at the moment, but this prompt literally sent me into outer space so thank you my dear🌻!! you are wonderful and i love you so very much mwauh, i hope you enjoyed!! mwauh!!

i just realized that mr. and mrs. smith is vaguely similar to this so if you'd like so more of this check that one out as well hehe mwauh

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

want more loki? check out my masterlist!!

[early20sfailingplenty]

Hello! You're one of my favorite authors on this app and I saw that your asks were open for blurbs. I have a bad habit of picking my thumbs. Like, tearing skin off until I bleed, so my thumbs are pretty scarred. I was wondering if you could write a little blurb of Bo slapping Band-Aids on his S/O thumbs (because that's a sure-fire way to get me to quit, at least until they come off) and being all passive-aggressively worried?

Tibbyyyyy ~ 🥰🥰🥰🥰 YOU are one of my favourite authors & I love seeing you around!!!💖 I PROMISE I'm gonna reblog everything of yours I have yet to get to, as well as answering your other asks!!!💖 I'm so sorry it's taken so long; I need to be more timely.😭🌸

TW; blood, self-inflicted wounds (picking at thumbs), Bo's the asshole we know and love mwah <3 , passive-aggressive worry, several cannibalism comments all made in a jokey way (I have a dark sense of humour; I was giggling while writing this🤣).

Word count: 815.

---

"What, y'cannibalistic now?"

Several things about this made you inhale so sharply that you had to cough just to clear your throat. First, the biting tone with which Bo addressed you, second, the way you had forgotten he was sat beside you at the table, where you were sat engaged in one of your hobbies, and third, the casual manner with which he asked such a strange question.

"Uh..." Your brain short-circuited and Bo scoffed as he grabbed one of your hands, caring not for what you were right in the middle of doing, and held it up for you to look at the way there was fresh skin stretched over old scars hanging off around the cuticles of both of your thumbs, blood dried and flaked in some places or fresh and blooming crimson in others.

"S'why're y'doin' this? Ain't feeding ya' enough, that it?" His icy blues looked almost clinically over your self-inflicted wounds, though he knew that habits were just that, and you weren't doing it deliberately.

You shrugged and Bo sighed as he put your hand down and moved to grab the first aid kit off the top of the fridge. "Such a fuckin' mess," He muttered something else but you didn't catch it, which was just as well. "What would'ya do wit'out me, huh?"

You grinned. "I'd be able to auto-cannibalise in peace."

The way Bo's face reflexively wrinkled up in total disgust at your joking comment made you burst into laughter and he cracked his own grin, unable to resist the sound of your joy. It was his favourite song. "All righ', enough," It wasn't a command, but that biting tone was back and you bit down on your inner cheek to keep yourself from making anymore comments. "Gimme your thumbs, darlin'." Again, it wasn't a command, but something close.

You put your hands palm down on the smooth wood of the table surface and Bo opened the first aid box, grabbing the peroxide and some plasters. Bo picks up one of your hands and turns it this way and that, before he puts it on his forearm - just above his wrists - and your fingers reflexively curl around the warmth found there, which made Bo smile to himself as he worked on soaking a cotton pad in the peroxide so he could clean your wounds. When it came to his own injuries, a dirty kitchen towel would do as a makeshift bandage. But when it came to you or to his brothers, nothing but clinical treatments would do.

The horrific and obvious truth within that habit never failed to shatter the hearts of those three people in the world who loved Bo the very most.

You inhaled sharply through your teeth as Bo cleaned off the old dried blood, wiped away the new, and even used a small pair of scissors to cut off the strips of skin hanging off your cuticles, for better healing and so the skin wouldn't catch on the plaster and hurt you.

"I ain't apologisin', darlin', y'did it t'yourself," Bo shook his head in some kind of mock emotion, though you caught the hint of a sadistic smirk on his face.

You closed your eyes against the passive-aggressive tone and focused on the way Bo's hands were rough and warm against your own as he patched you up. As he unwrapped plasters and wrapped them slowly, carefully, around your thumbs, you opened your eyes just in time to catch him gazing down at his work with a soft smile playing around the corner of his lips.

"Now," Bo huffed and stood up with a decisive slam of the first aid box, "Quit fuckin' rippin' y'reself to shreds, yeah? Ain't always gonna' be around to patch ya' up."

The passive aggressive comment was at total odds with how soft his eyes were as he looked at you, and as he put the first aid box back, you stood and wrapped your arms around him in a hug, pressing your face into his back, your fingers clutching at his black shirt. It stung your thumbs but you only held on tighter. Any ounce of pain was bearable - more than - if Bo was with you.

"Thank you, Bo."

He grunted in acknowledgement - both of you knew he'd always do anything you needed or wanted him to, all you had to do was ask - and lightly patted one of your hands; a signal to let up. You did so and he turned in your hold, dipping his head to press a long tender kiss to your forehead. His breath tickled your skin as he huffed a laugh, his lips twitching with a smile he was trying and failing to fight, and said, "so, uh, y'like the way y'taste, darlin'? I'on know why y'do it so often if y'don't."

You were laughing too hard to think of a response.

[rhysepoof]

His Sunshine

Bruno x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,302

I dunno whoever will read this or if anyone even will, but I felt like writing something to get me to relax. So I wrote a little thingy. It's got some angst, but not too too much.

But if you guys do like it, I could write some more. <3 Muchas gracias and enjoy!

“You know Bruno, you should smile a bit more, it really suits you.”

She was his sunshine in the darkness. She lights up the room with her smile and laughter, making him think that there was an exception to the magic that created this paradise. That it gifted another person with the power to bring joy to anyone she encounters. But the magic didn’t, she was just a normal person with a heart of gold, according to him.

“Come dance in the rain with me? Por Favor?”

When she smiles like that around him, it feels like no matter what the weather it truly is, he only feels the warmth and sunshine from her. She was not like Pepa, who can control the weather, from rains and hurricanes to sunshine and rainbows. But, as he takes hold of her hand that she extended towards him, as she leads them into a sweet dance, he knows that if he stands by her side, all he feels is warmth and sunshine inside himself, even though his clothes and skin say otherwise.

“Ay pobrecita, Mamá is just preparing your food niña, its okay, your favourite tía is here mi amor.”

“Hush now mija, it’s just a little scratch! Pain, pain, go away! Poof!”

With her soft, gentle words and her cooing, her little niece stops crying almost immediately in her arms. A child who scraped their knee would slowly stop crying after she tends to their wound, making small jokes that make the child giggle. Although she cannot heal anyone like his sister, Julieta, can with her food, she heals them with the kindness in her heart. He smiles gently at her, knowing she would make an amazing mother in the future.

“Papá let me help you lift that; you’re not getting younger you know! I don’t want you getting hurt!”

Always ready to lend a helping hand, especially to her loved ones, or to anyone who needs it. She is the only child in her family, so as she grew up, she would do more heavy lifting to help her parents. From the yard work to the housework, she would always use her beautiful hands to help. She may not be as strong as Luisa, but she would always try her best to help as much as she can, even if it did end up getting callouses over her once delicate hands. Those hands that he loved to hold and have run through his hair.

“It’s time for the flowers in our backyard to bloom, want to help me trim some to decorate your room?”

“Hehe, girls aren’t the only ones who can have flowers in their hair, you look muy guapo.”

Like he said before, she helps in the yard work at her house, she tends to her family’s enormous garden, having many vegetables and flowers growing there. Each item handled and tended to with the utmost care. She may not be Isabela, who can make plants grow with the flick of her hand. Her garden takes time to grow, but that’s what’s beautiful about it. You can see how much care is placed in it. Whenever she walks to her flowers, they seem to come to life at the sound of her voice. He blushes as she takes a carnation from the bouquet she was holding, placing it in her hair. Then, doing the same to his.

“You know… If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here, alright? I’ll always listen to your problems Bruno. You don’t have to talk right now; I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

It was after she found him crying by the creek, he had another bad vision, another complaint, another person to hate him. But she never hated him. She was always there to listen to his problems. Soothing him with some tea and cookies, giving him a comforting hug. She isn’t Dolores, she can’t hear a pin drop from a mile away, but she listens. She listens. That’s all he could ask for. A listener and a shoulder to lean on.

“Rosa, Maria, Pablo, Chico, meet Bruno. Bruno, meet my children.”

There were four animals in beside her. Two female cats and two male dogs. They were strays, but she takes care of them basically adopting them as her children. But since her parents won’t allow pets in the house, she asks for his help in taking care of them. She understood them well, despite not being like Antonio, who can speak to animals, almost like she can read them without having any verbal chatter. Eventually though, her mother’s allergies worsened due to the cat and dog dander on her, so she must send them away. Luckily, a little birdie helped them find a new home in La Casa Madrigal with the youngest of them all, more than happy to have more animal friends to play with. She still visits occasionally when she can.

She was so wonderful, so perfect. He loves being in her presence. He loves how she smells like sweetness and happiness. How she always knows what he needs, the right words to make him feel better about himself.

“But! Emilia was too far into the woods! She could no longer tell which way was which, and the darkness was going to consume her! Oh, whoever would help her!”

“I will! Julio the brave! I shall save you, my princess!”

The village’s children especially love to listen to her tales. Carefully spun to capture the young minds, making them want for more of the story. She waves her hands making grand gestures, making voices and faces to each different character or animal in the story. She may not be like his sobrino Camilo, who can easily shapeshift himself into any person he wants to, but she weaves her stories, and her presence could rival him. Heck, maybe he should write a telenovela with her sometime.

“Feliz cumpleaños Bruno! I hope you like it”

A memory from his birthday long ago. She had given him a notebook, handmade from cover to cover, the pages made from recycled paper, with tiny flecks of dried flowers in them. The spine, gently bound together by stitches, from green thread. The cover was leather, with his name embedded into it, and had an hourglass in the middle of it. The perimeter of the cover had vines. Beautifully framing in the centerpiece. He loved it more than anything. She was amazing with her crafts, each stitch and step carefully done. Like Mirabel, she was able to bring the perfect gift to the receiver.

They were always close as children, through their tweens, their teenage years and into adulthood, they were close friends, but it was just that. Just friends. Bruno could never muster up the courage to ask her out. It didn’t help that as his gift became a bad omen to the village, so did his reputation gain a bad rap.

Who would want to date you, Bruno? You’re a bad omen, the black sheep of the family. Your gift is useless, and it would be better for her if you stay away.

So, he tried. And yet, she still went against the flow. She constantly visited him and tried to talk to him.

“Bruno, we’ve known each other since we were children. You’re my best friend and I would never change that.”

Oh, how we wanted to change that. He wanted to be more than that. But he is not willing to subject her to the embarrassment of dating the cursed Madrigal. But this is fine. He may not have her to love and to hold. But she is still in his life, nonetheless. He may not be able to call her his. But that was fine. If he can keep his sunshine safe from peril, harm, and shame. Her friendship was the best he could ask for.

When he disappeared into the walls for 10 years, it broke his heart to only see her from a distance occasionally, during parties in the house and when she would deliver something to the home.

What broke his heart even more is the fact that, three years into his disappearance, there was news she was engaged. It was heart wrenching. They weren’t even dating. But hearing his crush of many years, who was so close to him before, just within reach of his hands…Slipping away from his grasp.

That night, when he heard the new from his hidden room behind the walls, he cried. Not too loudly so as to wake everyone else in the casita. Weeping for his love. The love that he could never have. He cried in anger, for his cowardice and not asking her to be his. He wept for a life of joy that he could never have with her. He will no longer be in the narrative of her story; he will just be on the outside of it. Watching as his sunshine strays further away, leaving him in the darkness and the cold.

Weeks later, it was their wedding. The Madrigals were invited of course, and he was half glad and half sad that he couldn’t be there. He was sad that he couldn’t be there to see her, radiant and beautiful in that dress of hers. He was sad that it wasn’t him at the end of that altar, waiting for her to walk down the aisle. He was sad that it wasn’t him she would look at lovingly, that it wasn’t him who would vow to love her, in sickness and in health, ‘til death do us part. He was destroyed that the person that she would say ‘I do’ to was not him, it was some other guy. But he was glad. Glad that she could live a happy life, without the burden of his existence, glad that she found a man to make her happy and provide for her. Glad that he wasn’t there to see you taken away from him.

He was a catholic. He believed in a god. The night before the wedding, he prayed with all his heart and soul. It was selfish. But he hoped that said God would hear him out. He prayed, hoping for a second chance. Hoping that the wedding wouldn’t go through, hoping that he could see her and tell her how he feels. Por favor he pleads between sobs. He can’t have it be this way. It was selfish, yes, he knows. But he knows in a world without his sunshine, he would rather die.

She was his sunshine in the darkness. The light of his life. The warmth and joy that he needs, more than breathing. She was his only sunshine who brought him happiness despite the grey clouds in the sky. She may not know how much he loves her, but if there is a god, may he be given a second chance.

Please don’t take my sunshine away.

And it would seem that said selfish notion was granted. The wedding was a disaster. He had heard of runaway brides, but he never expected that his beloved sun was the one to be left on the altar. The groom never showed.

He celebrated on the inside, but he heard her sobbing and crying. The Madrigals brought you into their home, their kitchen and he could see her, though her makeup was running, he could see her in her dress. It was beautiful. How could that man break her heart like this? Oh, how he wanted to hold and comfort her, but he can’t.

Then, the years passed. The casita crumbled. Mirabel went missing and came back. The casita was rebuilt but he never saw her.

After months of things returning to normal, he started watching you from afar, still scared of being near you and hurting you.

“Mijo, you know…If you wait any longer, she might get swept away from you. She almost did, don’t let her slip through your fingers again.”

It was his mother. Snapping him out of his daydream as he watches you from afar, entertaining the children with your stories.

“But mamá I don’t know what to say to her! What if I just creep her out or scare her away?”

He retorted, only to be met with a sigh and a hand on his shoulder.

“Brunito, she would never hate you. She’s too kind to even think of hating you, why don’t you go and freshen up?” she suggests.

“I would also say put your hair up, like in a ponytail. She likes her men with long hair in ponytails, I heard her tell her friends a week ago. Thinks it’s really cute.” chimes Dolores, who was listening from behind them. Holding a cup of tea in her hands.

He leapt up in surprise at his sobrina, he didn’t even notice she was there.

“And is there anything else your tío needs to know Dolores?”

“She’s going for a walk by the creek around sundown, it’s going to be a clear night. No rain. Perfect for a confession.” She takes a sip of her tea.

With a glance at his mother and sobrina, he lets out a deep sigh and starts heading upstairs to freshen up.

After a nice shower, he dried his hair, putting it in a nice ponytail. Putting on the best clothes he had, he debated wearing his ruana, but it was so old and was lightly tattered at the ends.

Knock, knock, knock

“Tío Bruno, I made you something” it was Mirabel.

He turned to see her holding a green piece of fabric in her hands and took it. It was a new ruana. With more intricate details. Lines, dots, hourglasses, and small rats were on it now. It was beautiful. He hugged his niece, muttering many ‘thank you’ s.

“Alright tío, go and get her!” she gives him a firm pat on the back.

He then starts to head downstairs and out the door.

“Oh, Tío Bruno! You might want to give her this!”

A female voice pipes up before he leaves. It was his sobrinaIsabela, holding a bouquet of her favourite flowers. Wrapped by their stems in a bow, that was her favourite colour. She walked over to her tío, giving him the bouquet.

Grasping it gently in his hand, he says a thank you and turns around to walk to the creek as the sun was slowly setting down.

Minutes pass before he arrives there, and he realizes that he didn’t know what to say at all. He stops dead in his tracks. Starting to panic and haphazardly planning out what to say to her. Is he going to be suave? No, that’s not his style. Maybe he can have Hernando, do it? He isn’t scared of anything after all. But then it won’t feel the same. Agh! Why is it so confusing!

“Bruno? Is that you?”

Her voice derails his train of thought. He turns around and sees her in a beautiful dress, that compliments her features, with her hair in a style she never usually wears unless it’s a special occasion. She was breathtaking. He was speechless.

“I uh, uhm I- “he manages to stutter out.

“Wow, I didn’t even notice you! Is that a new ruana?” she comments.

“Aha, yeah…Mirabel made it for me” he says, scratching his neck.

“Are you out here for a walk? Who’s the bouquet for?”

Nervous, he sticks his hand out with the flowers towards her. It stays there for a few moments.

“T-They’re for you actually, I know they’re your favourite” he mumbles.

A blush spreads across her cheeks as she takes the flowers, he finds it so adorable.

“G-gracias Bruno” she replies.

They stood there for a little bit. In complete silence, standing in front of each other, not knowing what to do next. But as always, it was her who came up with a solution.

“Uhm…Want to join me on a walk? It’s a nice night out.” She offers. Receiving a nod from the man.

They walked together in silence for a minute. But silence turned into small talk, which turned into a little bit of chatter, then into full blown conversations about their days, and how weird it is that toucans have such see through skin under their feathers. They caught up on the 10 years without each other and the many things that happened.

Bruno then stops walking, which she notices and copies, standing a little bit in front of him.

“Actually…I was wondering…Uhm…Can I ask you something?” He starts. Fidgeting with his hands.

She smiles. Oh, how he misses that smile so much.

“Sure! You can always ask me anything Bruno” she says gently.

He takes a deep breath and exhales. Clearing up his throat and looks at her, taking her beautiful form in once more.

“Mijo, you know…If you wait any longer, she might get swept away from you. She almost did, don’t let her slip through your fingers again.”

His mother’s words rang in his head. Here he goes.

“I-I’ve been wanting to say this since before I disappeared, but I never had the guts to say it. I…I like you- no…Te amo, mi sol.” He speaks.

Her eyes go wide, but he continues speaking.

“Since as long as I remember, all I know is that you were my sunshine. You know how to brighten other’s lives, but even more so mine. Just being able to be in your life as your friend was amazing. I was scared that my reputation would tarnish yours and that the village would hate you if you were with me, so I never told you about my feelings.”

He takes a step forward, grasping her hand gently in his.

“Mi sol. You were there when I needed you. Even when I didn’t say anything, you know what to do to make me happy. You bring light into my life; I was in darkness in those years without you. I thought I could never hold you, as mine. Not as a friend but as a lover. And that…That tore me apart.”

He was tearing up.

“I’m so sorry…Lo siento, lo siento mi corazón, mi sol…Call me selfish and disgusting, but I prayed that god would stop your wedding and let you come back to me. I’m so sorry for taking so long to say this. I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough of a man to ask you out.”

She was also tearing up at this, oh poor Brunito…

“But…I-I promise. I will try my best to be better…To be a man worthy of your love…All I ask is that you give us a chance. Will you be mine mi sol?”

He looked at her eyes, to see tears. She was crying.

He let go of her hand, but it was immediately grabbed once more, the next moment, he felt himself get pulled towards her. He felt something soft on his lips, noticing it was hers.

A kiss.

With his sunshine.

It was more than he could have imagined. Those feelings he kept inside came bursting forth, the butterflies in his stomach were happy and fluttering. The emotions, the pure love. It made their tears stream down their faces.

The fireworks that people describe wasn’t how he would describe this. It was like being taken into the warm embrace of an angel. It felt light and loving. Free and like he was floating. He snakes a hand around her waist to pull her close, like it was a dream and that she would disappear any moment. He wishes he could keep this moment still for a while longer.

But when they finally pull away, there was his sunshine. Smiling at him beautifully.

“Yo también te amo” she whispers.

That made him melt.

[taegularities]

Hey! Idk how to ask u this, but you're like my fav fic writer... Actually my fav writer in all and your fics really give me comfort... Idk if you're taking any requests at the moment, if not then ignore this but i have just been feeling very iffy for a while and i just wanted to ask if you could like write a short drabble where the reader and jk are in a long distance relationship and the reader just feels very disconnected recently like she feels that jk does not really miss her as much or like he has stopped flirting or stopped being all fluffy with her and she feels insecure and talks to him and he kind of comforts her... It would mean a lot if you could like write something like this and even if you can't it's ok, I just need a little comfort😅and i didn't know where to go.

hey love 🥺 first of all, i am so so happy my stories and blog are able to give u comfort. ur favourite writer, that means SO SO much to me !! 🥺 so i don't take requests, but i'll make an exception for u, cos u don't deserve to be sad <3

hope it helps u <3 !!

pairing: jk x reader

genre: fluff, light angst; established relationship

warnings: insecurity, worries about studies, but that’s it <3

wc: 1.1k

Back when Jungkook's hand slipped out of yours to leave for two full years, your friends had told you things might not work out the way you desired.

The tears you'd cried and the painful yearning you'd fallen into hadn't fazed you enough to let him and everything between you turn to ashes. After all, the years you'd spent loving him and staying by his side weren't a memory you were ready to let fall, so you didn't care about the constant warnings your group of friends threw at you.

But now that the winter he left you in has passed and cherry blossoms have started blooming, you're not quite sure how smart it was to hold on and shut down everyone and everything. A long distance relationship was going to weigh you down, you knew, but what you didn't anticipate was the silence in your room that seems to stretch endlessly now.

It must have been days since you last heard of him.

Maybe he's moved on; maybe his studies are too intense to focus on anything else. Or maybe, he's grown bored of you, too busy to even flirt with you or indulge in the usual teasing conversations you two used to have.

But as you lay on your soft mattress tonight, you decide to stop dwelling on the maybes and grab your phone with determination instead. Your knuckles pale around the device, and you take a shuddering breath before you scroll to his name and press the call button.

The ring that chimes through your speakers is agonising; a real torture in a moment like this, proceeding endlessly until–

"Hey, you," sings his melodious voice in your ears, and for a moment, he sounds happy enough to hear from you to let your worries fade. "Why are you awake this late?"

"Mmmh. I just wanted to talk to you a bit,” you admit as you flip to your side, one hand tugging at the thin blanket, “I missed hearing you say good night to me.”

A soft chuckle sounds from your phone; it’s a song that has lulled you to sleep millions of times. Back when he was still here and in your arms, holding you like you were his anchor and kept him in place. You miss it. You miss his warmth, his words, his stories. His kisses. Him.

“But you don’t call me anymore,” you continue, blinking into the darkness slowly, “so what’s going on?”

Jungkook hesitates. You hear the sigh clearly, along with a shuffling that sounds like his fingers are fiddling with something in front of him nervously. You nibble at your lower lip, fully ready to repeat your question before he says, “Nothing’s going on.”

“Is that true?”

Another pause; another heartbeat passing in silence.

“Jungk–”

“I don’t know,” he then interjects, inhaling a deep breath; and his voice shrinks when he speaks on, “school has been planting a lot of doubts in my head lately.”

“Why’s that?”

Whatever you expected, this wasn’t it. You’re always proud and fearless about his achievements, always certain that Jungkook knows his way around college and is smart enough to climb the ladder of success rapidly. To hear that you’re not the reason of the silence between you but his studies, might be worse.

“My last few projects failed a little. I mean, I passed and all, but,” he pauses, hums, clicks his tongue, “I wasn’t happy with them. And then I was thinking... what if I stop enjoying what I do in, I don’t know, ten, twenty years?”

You let out a quiet, surprised laugh; as a college student, you understand his struggles all too well. You’ve had your fair share of disappointments and hardships, but Jungkook has always thoroughly enjoyed every single class, every single topic he had to study for his exams.

But your former issues with your school are also the exact reason why your reassurances shoot out of you without a hint of hesitation, “You know, there’ll always be something you won’t like. And days you’ll hate. A job can’t be rainbows and flowers all the time.”

“Yeah...”

“And even if you do get bored one day, that’s fine. Luckily, we can educate ourselves all our lives, so if you ever wanna try something new and...”

“Hey,” he interrupts, your eyes blowing wide as you stop your uplifting speech. Have you said something wrong? “Hey...”

“Hi?”

“I love you, you know?” After all these years, your heart doesn’t get used to his little, random confessions; they remind you of the blessing he is, remind you of how the world has granted you with this very blessing. “I really didn’t wanna stress you, so I didn’t call, but... you really put my mind at ease.”

Your chest swells with pride and affection, and you shake your head at his usual stupidity with a grin as wide as your room. He always hides his sadness deep inside his heart, so you should have expected this situation instead of concluding something as ridiculous as you did.

“And I thought you don’t like me anymore...”

The statement earns you an immediate, sudden laugh, incomprehensible words uttered in between that make you join his joy. If he was here, you’d slap his shoulder in playfulness, and then proceed to kiss his stupid smirk away. It’s a terrible thing, this distance...

“When are you coming back?”

He clears his throat once his laughter dies down, humming again in thought before he declares, “Sooner than you might expect.”

“So you’re not telling me when?”

“Nope.” He pops the p at the end of the word, and you imagine the teasing shimmer in his eyes that you’ve burned in your mind. “Sit tight, angel.” For a moment, he basks in the sound of your scoff, brushing his hair back and out of his forehead before he adds, “And hey.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever my future might consist of... I won’t have it, if you’re not in it. Okay?”

The giddy feeling in your guts spreads like a wildfire, burning your insides with a profound intensity as you clutch the phone and your blanket tighter. You want to squeal as you did the first time he asked you out; the first time he confessed his love to you.

But instead, you smile, tongue darting out to wet your lips; and then, you say, “Then I’ll make sure to stick around for some more.”

You’re the most celestial being he’s ever had the privilege to love; to think that you might be doubting his undying affection towards you is almost ridiculous. What’s his world without your smart, clumsy, slightly insane existence in it?

Plane tickets for the upcoming weekend rest peacefully on the table in front of him. And as his glittering doe eyes move to the object in his hand, the jewellery smiles back just as brightly from its dark blue, small box.

––––––––

hope this could cheer u up a bit, anon <3

[zodiakuroo]

Cupid’s Bullet

Dabi comes home with a very special Valentine’s Day surprise for you.

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Contains: dubcon/noncon, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship, gun play, fear play, forced orgasms, squirting, mindbreak, angst (if you squint?), quirk usage, one slap but it’s a hard one :3, overstimulation, creampie

Word count: 5.3k

Notes: pls this title is so cringe but it's like bullet instead of arrow cause... ya know but anyways happy valentine’s day from scumbag boyfie!dabi

Dating a villain meant that your relationship was unconventional to say the least. For one, public dates were out of the question, unless you wanted it to end in destruction of public property and some scorched heroes. You also always had to have some kind of flimsy excuse for your family and friends when they asked to meet your elusive boyfriend. In addition, you had to accept the fact that he would have to disappear sometimes for weeks on end to do his boss’ bidding.

There was also the small matter of arson, murder and theft and a multitude of other crimes that you’d prefer not to know about. And while you weren’t necessarily okay with a lot of what Dabi did, you loved him. You loved him so much that turning a blind eye was so easy it made you question your own morality. He didn’t scare you either. Not in the slightest, because you knew in his own special way, he loved you too.

In fact it ran much deeper than that. On his worst days, Dabi could set the world ablaze until nothing was left because in the end he didn’t care about anyone or anything, not even himself. Until he met you, he says. He tells you that in you, he’s found something to tether him to this existence.

Ok so maybe he didn’t use those words exactly, but he doesn’t have to. You know that’s what he means when he spoils you with expensive, stolen clothes and jewellery, when he offers to burn alive any person who makes you even the tiniest bit upset and when he comes home to you bloodied and beaten, trusting you to take care of him.

In summary, your relationship forced you to give up on having any “normal couple” experiences.  That included, celebrating anniversaries and silly holidays like Valentine’s Day so you never bothered to keep track of them. It could hardly be considered a sacrifice when you compared those things to what you actually got from your relationship.

Dabi had been gone for close to a month now and you didn’t expect him back anytime soon, not knowing where he was or what he was doing. In fact the very last thing you expected was for him to creep into your bedroom in the middle of night and rouse you from your peaceful sleep with a soft kiss on your temple.

You don’t jump out of bed in a panic, like any sane person would. Instead you let out a satisfied hum, surrounded by the scent of burnt flesh, ash and menthol, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. It should be unpleasant but its Dabi’s scent and you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him. You pick your phone up from your night stand, squinting your eyes at the bright light that makes them sting.

Sunday 14 February, 2:43am

“Welcome home.” You mumble groggily, trying your best to fight off your tired body urging you to go back to sleep.

Instead of replying, he greets you by pressing his mouth to yours. You let out a quiet gasp, startled by the sudden display of affection. His lips are chapped but that doesn’t matter, your tongue darts out to moisten them before your lips lock into a gentle kiss.

You reach up, weaving your hands through his dark hair in an attempt to draw him closer but he retreats, opting instead to turn on the bedside lamp but keeping his other hand behind his back. “Sit up doll. Got a surprise for ya.”

Any thoughts of sleep were long forgotten as soon as his lips met yours but now he’s really piqued your interest. You push yourself up against the headboard and sit cross-legged. You look up at Dabi expectantly. Your boyfriend is smiling wide, skin pulled so taut you think one of his staples might give out. He reveals to you what he has hidden behind his back. A square black box, wrapped in a cobalt satin ribbon.

It’s so cliché you can’t help but let out a small snort. “What is it?”

“It’s a gift. You know… for Valentine’s Day?” He says as though it should be obvious to you.

Your heart swells at the gesture. It really was a surprise. Not in a bad way, you just knew he wasn’t your average boyfriend and that was okay. You didn’t want him to be.

“Well now I feel awful. I didn’t get you anything.” You pout as he props the box onto your lap.

“’S like a toy… so it’s technically for you but kinda for both of us.” It’s unusual to see Dabi this excited. The way he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, eyes filled with mirth makes you all the more curious.

“Like a sex toy?” A giggle escapes you as you undo the bow.

“Are we playing fuckin’ 20 questions? Just open it.” He presses you.

You huff at his impatience but you don’t comment, not wanting to wait any longer either. You remove the lid of the box only to find something wildly unexpected.

A revolver?

You look up at your boyfriend with confusion etched on your face but his gleeful grin doesn’t falter. You’ve never seen a sex toy like this so you pick up the article to test its weight. It’s definitely the real deal.

“Dabi, this isn’t a toy.” You state matter-of-factly.

He merely rolls his eyes and says “Doll, when you can incinerate someone with a flick of your wrist, that little thing is definitely considered a toy?”

“O-okay? What do you want to do with it?” You ask, placing offending object onto your nightstand, not really wanting to hold on to it anymore, the metallic smell making you feel queasy.

“Ever heard of Russian Roulette?” Dabi, picks up the abandoned item, looking down at it with pride.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows as nervousness starts to creep into your system and you instinctively move to back away from him but Dabi is quick to pull you back.

“It’s real easy doll. No need to look so scared.” He crawls on top of you, caging you in with his limbs. “6 chambers. 1 bullet. All you have to do is be a good girl for me. If not, I pull the trigger and we see what happens.”

The look on his face is positively demented. Azure eyes wide and bright, patchwork face contorted into a a sinister smile, white teeth and silver staples gleaming in the dim light.

“Baby,” you hope the pet name will placate him. It usually does. “I don’t know about thi-“

CLICK

You let out a shriek as your body jolts in fear but you’re unable to move with his weight pressing on top of you.

“You see now doll?” He clicks his tongue behind his teeth. “You’ve gone and wasted a shot.”

Dabi climbs off of you and you’re left lying there with your heart hammering violently in your chest, body trembling, still reeling from the shock of what just happened. Reeling from the shock of what is happening

“You gonna listen now? Gonna be good?” Dabi prompts, rolling the gun around in his hand.

All you can do is nod as your eyes being to water. The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grows worse as your mind races with the possible things Dabi has in store for you.

“Good. Now strip.” He command and like a good girl, you obey.

Your arms feel like they’re made of lead, moving rigidly to take off your shirt (one of Dabi’s old ones). You can’t stop the tears from falling as you pull down your panties, fat droplets roll down your cheeks, desperately trying to swallow the sounds of your sobbing.

This can’t be happening. It’s Dabi. He wouldn’t hurt you. He promised you that.

“Oh cut the fuckin’ waterworks.” He snaps. “As long as you listen, you’ll be fine.”

You try to calm yourself with deep breaths, not wanting to irritate him any further.

When you turn to face him, he’s leaning back on his haunches, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily gripping the revolver. “Fair warning, I’m more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kinda guy. But you know that already.” He thumbs the cylinder, making it spin. “Now, touch yourself for me.”

Breathing is difficult. No matter how much you try, it’s like you can’t get enough air into your lungs. Thinking only of gun in your boyfriend’s hand, you still you bring your own hand between your legs, but you can’t concentrate, what with the dread taking over your body making it tough to have any control of your body. Your movements are stiff and apparently not up to Dabi’s standards.

He only scoffs before-

CLICK

You scream again, body nearly flying off the bed before you curl yourself up into a ball. The fright is enough to stop your heart. For a second you believe it has.

“Doll,” Dabi’s gruff voice brings you back to earth, reminding you that you’re very much alive and whether or not you stay that way is entirely up to him. “You’re ruining my surprise. Got it ‘specially for you and now you’re being a brat.” He quirks an eyebrow at you, almost like a challenge.

“So-sorry.-“ your voice breaks. “I’ll be good.”

You’re still struggling to comprehend how any of this is real. You thought you knew him. You thought he loved you. And here he is, treating your life like it’s a game. You can’t help but think that this is your own fault. You thought you were above everyone else, the exception to your boyfriend’s villain behaviour.

“Yeah?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Then show me.” He challenges you. Dabi slips off his t-shirt and moves between your legs to get a better view, pressing on your knees to split them apart.

Self-preservation kicks in. There is one way out of this alive and that’s doing what he says. You spread yourself even wider, showing him all of you. Your hands, glide over your smooth thighs, kneading the pudgy flesh as you get closer and closer your sex, teasing yourself the way he would.  Your fingers find your clit and just a little pressure makes your eyes melt shut. Probably for best anyway. It makes it easier to imagine anything but this. You drag those fingers through your delicate folds, letting out breathy sighs as heat begins to bloom between your thighs.

You pretend, its Dabi’s touch. In your mind’s eye you see the two of you, limbs tangled with Dabi on top, resting his forehead against yours. It’s one of those nights where he wants to go slow. So slow that the sensation of his cock dragging in and out of is you bordering on torturous. It’s one of those nights where he wants to lay his head on your chest, mouthing at your breasts, laving your nipples with his wet tongue while you tell him, in that sensual voice  that you love him, that he’s perfect, that he’s yours.  Because it’s one of those nights, where everything feels like too much for him and the only person that he really has on his side is you.

It’s not long before you’re leaking. Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, there’s a voice chastising you for being so easy for him… even now. There’s almost no resistance as two of your fingers, press into your entrance. Your fingers are no match for Dabi’s, they never hit all those deep, hidden spots  that make you see stars but still, you start to move them slowly, brushing your thumb over your clit every so often.

“Look at me.” You feel his breath waft over your pussy.

Eyelids fluttering open and you meet his gaze. It stuns you a little and your hands come to a standstill. He is handsome, breathtakingly so, even though he thinks you’re lying whenever you when you tell him that. The way he stares at you, with love and adoration in his eyes, it’s almost like the fantasy you were just imagining. Almost like the fantasy you’ve been living in this whole time. It’s enough to make you forget the situation you’re in. Then the muzzle of the gun is pressed to your clit, snapping you back to reality fast enough to give you whiplash.

“Fucking slut.” He growls and smacks your hand away from your pussy.

You jerk as he starts to move it the gun circles over your sensitive nub and then dipping down to your tight slit to gather up your juices.

“All those fuckin’ tears but look how wet you are.” He says more to himself than you as he admires the way your slick leaves a sheen on the barrel. With his eyes trained directly on yours, his perfectly pink tongue pokes out to lick it clean, groaning at the taste.

The next thing you know his arms are wrapped around your legs, guiding them over his broad shoulders. He kisses you on your mons before his tongue begins greedily lapping at your hole. “Tastes so good doll.” He mutters with his nose pressed against your clit. He slips the wet muscle inside of you making you whine.  You reflexively grab onto his black hair, tugging on the stands and he lets out a groan of approval. He moves up to your clit, circling it with his tongue before suckling on it. While he brushes just the tip of a finger over your cunt, making it clench around nothing while you desperately buck your hips, in an attempt to have it inside you.

The way he’s eating you out is almost romantic?

Or it would be, if it weren’t for the metal digging into your flesh.

“Doll,” He places a sloppy kiss on your clit, lighting dragging his teeth over the hood. “Want you to squirt for me.”

A lump forms in your throat. You can count on one hand the amount of times that has happened. You’re not sure of the odds that you’d be able to right now and it’s not a gamble you’re willing to take. “Dabi, I don’t think I can….”

CLICK

You thrash, screaming so loud it makes your throat burn.

Dabi still holds you open, keeping you in place. “I wasn’t asking.” He makes sure to maintain eye contact as he drops a fat glob of spit right on to your clit before diving face first into your cunt once again.

He pushes 2 of his long, lithe fingers into your tight entrance. It’s unexpected and you wince. He drags his right hand (the one holding the gun) up your torso, resting the muzzle underneath your breast, right over your racing heart. A reminder of what’s at stake. He envelopes your sensitive clit with his lips, moving his fingers in tandem with the suction. You’re consumed by desire as Dabi brings you so close to the edge.

“Dee-Deeper please.” Your pant out.

He smiles against your mound before complying with your request. “Right here?” His fingers press against that squishy patch deep inside you and your eyes roll back.

“Nnnggg yeah.” You’re barely able to mewl out. You dig your heels into his back and grind against his face, chasing your high. Dabi keeps hitting that spot with astonishing precision but you hold off for as long as you can, letting the pleasurable sensation build until the pressure in your core becomes unbearable. When it finally snaps because you can’t hold it anymore, your eyes squeeze shut, hands flying to his biceps and you dig your nails into the sinewy muscle. You gush around his fingers and all over his face. Dabi doesn’t move though, flicking your clit with his tongue repeatedly until you’re trembling and whimpering, pushing him away from your pussy. He finally relents, a pop echoing around the room as he lets go of you.

He gives you a predatory look, scared face and chest wet with the remnants of your orgasm. “You made such a mess baby but I’m glad you’re finally having fun.” He’s just as out of breath as you are but far more composed.

Your head is still fuzzy and limbs are still twitching but your boyfriend doesn’t let you recover. “C’mon, doll. My turn.” He begins to undo his belt, silver buckle clinking as he rushes to drag it through the loops of his jeans

You pull yourself on to all fours, now eye level with his crotch. He pulls down his pants and boxers in one go, his erection almost hitting you in the face.

“You’ve been lucky so far.” He taps the bulbous head of his cock on your lips, smearing your lips with the pre that dribbles out of it. “But I wouldn’t test it if I were you. Open.”

Your mouth is already watering at the sight of him. So long, thick and veiny. It’s disgusting actually, this Pavlovian response. He fucks you deeper, stretches you wider and makes you feel better than anyone ever had. You wonder briefly, if anyone ever could fuck you as good as Dabi.

You stick out your tongue and he slides himself between your lips, groaning as he pushes into your mouth, slowly, inch by inch. He fills your mouth completely and you shut your eyes, savouring the salty taste of him but you feel the muzzle press against your temple and making them shoot open. “Atta girl. Lemme see those pretty eyes.” He grunts as he plunges into your throat. You bob your head up and down his shaft, the hand at the back of your head setting a brutal pace. The room is filled with the sounds of you gagging and his hefty sac smacking against your chin.

“So good to me baby.” He tilts his head back, losing himself in the pleasure. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him while your saliva leaks out, dripping down his balls. Dabi is big and heavy, stretching you so wide and making you jaw ache from the weight of him. You’re already lightheaded from the lack of air, no matter how much you try breathing through your nose. You don’t dare to complain though.

He pulls out of your mouth slowly, stretching a string of saliva from the head of his dick to your tongue that’s hanging out of your mouth. You pant like a bitch attempting to catch your breath. He doesn’t give you much time before he’s in your throat again, back to fucking your face.

“I love you so much. You love me?” He sounds so sweet, totally blissed out.

He stops thrusting and tilts your head up to look at him, blinking tear-clumped lashes. You try utter a ‘Yes, I love you.’ but with his shaft gagging you, it comes out all garbled. The muscles in your throat convulse around the deep intrusion. “You’d do anything for me right?” He asks, jabbing the muzzle even harder into your temple, finger resting lightly on the trigger. You nod, watching Dabi lose his composure bit by bit. “Yeah. That’s why you’re my girl.” He pushes himself even deeper inside you, making you finally take all of him, until your nose meets his pubic hair and holding you there. “Fuck.”

CLICK

“Hmmhhhhngggh” You squeal around him but you can’t pull off because of the grip he has on your scalp. When he lets you go you’re choking and coughing up a lewd mixture of spit and pre-cum.

“Wh- Why” You blubber, voice hoarse. You don’t understand. You were doing exactly what he asked. You were being good.

“Sorry baby. Felt so good, my finger slipped.” He doesn’t even try to hide his mischievous smirk. The fucker is definitely not sorry.

You want to beg him to stop this ridiculous game because you see now there’s no way you can win because Dabi doesn’t play fair.

He doesn’t give you the chance though, already shuffling off his bottoms all the way and propping himself up against the headboard. “C’mon pretty baby.” He tugs on your ankle.  Wanna see you bounce on my dick.”

You clumsily position yourself atop his lap quickly, before you can even think about it. You know he doesn’t need a reason to pull that trigger but still, you don’t want to give him one.

He grinds his tip along your heat, piercings dragging across your clit over and over again. It’s something he does whenever you have sex, to rile you up. And just like all those other times, it’s working. Circumstances be damned. “Needa feel this hot little pussy. Give it to me doll.” He murmurs against the shell of your ear.

You nod as you lift yourself off of him to hover your dripping wet hole over his hard dick. You slowly squat down on onto him, the fat head stretching you out, burning with every inch you take. You mewl, making futile attempts to blink away tears. You get halfway before you have to stop, resting your hands on his shoulders trying to gain leverage. You’re outright crying now, wet droplets landing on Dabi’s chest.

“’S matter doll.”

I’m terrified. You yell in your head but stay silent, choosing to focus on relaxing your ever-tightening hole in order to take more of him.

“Oh, I know.” He coos, voice dripping with condescension. “’S too big for your tiny cunny.” He leans forward to kiss away the salty tears. “But you can take it. I know you can.” He cups your jaw, stroking your cheek with a calloused thumb. “You can do it for me”

You start to move slowly up and down, using gravity to force more of his monstrous cock inside you with shallow movements. You really are trying your best but that’s apparently not good enough for Dabi and he lets you know that by pressing the barrel of the gun into your stomach. You freeze, horrified, more tears start falling from your eyes. You open your mouth to beg him to just give you a little time. You’re trying.

“Quit being a baby and just take it.” He says before you even get the chance.

“I’m trying Dabi, please just-“

CLICK

He cuts off your plea.  He’s not interested in your excuses.

The rotation of the cylinder sends vibrations through your abdomen. Amidst the shock, you release your grip on his shoulders and impale yourself on his shaft by mistake. The combination of the searing stretch and the blunt head of his cock kissing your cervix is so overwhelming that you collapse forward, head falling on to your boyfriend’s chest. You feel the rumbles of his chuckles while he’s quite literally splitting you open.

“See? Knew you could. Just needed a little scare. Isn’t that right.” He rubs your back as if to comfort you. He lets out a low whistle. “But looks like you’re all out of chances doll. Now bounce.” He gives you a spank with an inhumanly warm hand, making you squeal and leaving your cheek tender.  

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders again. Dabi’s sapphire eyes are practically glowing, daring you to be stupid enough to defy him one more time.

You pull off almost entirely, keeping just his tip inside of you, before spearing his shaft into you again.

“Good girl.” When he praises you with that raspy voice makes you keen and desperate for more of it.

His hand snakes its way up your torso to cup one of your breasts. Your back arches, pushing into his scorching hot touch, forgetting momentarily about his other hand and what he’s holding in it.  He gropes your chest, tweaks and twists at your nipples, leaving red, inflamed hand prints in his wake. You’re practically delirious with pleasure, babbling out incoherent streams of his name along with “yes” and “more”.  All the while, he murmurs praises about how good you are and how much he loves you. It’s confusing and you can’t process any of it.

“Who owns this perfect pussy?”

“Dabi. Fuck. Dabi.” Your tongue lolls out of your mouth in the most obscene way, drooling down your chin. Your plush walls pulse around him as he hits that sensitive spot every time you sink down on him.

“That’s right it’s all fuckin mine. My pretty baby.” Dabi’s eyes are focus on where your two bodies are connected watching the translucent ring of your cream appear and disappear as you ride him.

“Preeeettyyy.” You slur and he laughs at how fucked out you are, brain completely jumbled between the fear, the pain and the bliss all combined into ecstasy.

“Doll.” He groans. “I feel ya squeezin’ me. You gonna cum?”

He’s right. You nod as you feel that coil tightening again, threatening to snap at any second. The man finally starts putting in work, pounding into you every time you pull off of him. Dabi abandons the gun in favour of playing with your clit, rubbing quick sloppy circles. “Yeah? Gonna cream and gush around me? Want you to baby.” He buries his head in the crook of your neck, sucking, biting and licking while he assaults your sopping wet pussy. “C’mon doll, please.”

With that you orgasm. He grabs your hips pulling you flush against his thighs, fucking you through your orgasm, rolling his hips up into you until your high finally subsides.

He doesn’t let you catch your breath before he’s got the revolver pressed hard underneath your chin. “Now make me cum.” You almost collapse but the harsh grip he has on your hair suspends you upright.

Your mind is so foggy and Dabi gives you a small smile, appreciating the perplexed look in your droopy eyes. But he’s not done with you yet.

“Hey.” You’re ripped from your daze, when he slaps you across the face, sending your head swinging to the side. “Don’t pass out on me now.”  

“So-sorry! ‘M sorry!” You grovel as you slam your tired body down on his dick once again, trying to ignore the throbbing on your cheek, the ringing in your ears, and the ache in your battered cunt.  You’re so sensitive from your last orgasm but you don’t have a choice and you don’t dare deny him anything. Your thighs are quaking and burning with every movement but your boyfriend is unimpressed.

“You can do better than that doll.” He lets out a bitter laugh, enjoying every second of tormenting you. “It’s like you want your brains splattered on the ceiling.”

You start crying again, shaking your head frantically. In the time that you’ve been with Dabi, you’ve learned certain tricks, you know he likes it, but in this panic/lust induced frenzy, you can’t remember any of them. Instead, you bounce, mindlessly on him while your gummy walls clench tighter around him every time he nudges at your a-spot. Your legs are going numb from all the effort and you plop down, limp onto his lap, taking him to the hilt.

Dabi tsks at you, reminding you that you can’t rest just yet. You swivel your hips, grinding your pelvis against his while he’s buried deep in your wet heat. You pray to whatever deity is listening that he’s getting close, you’re not sure how much more you can take.

“If I don’t bust in the next 5 seconds.” His hand finds your clit again, you grind across his fingers has you rock against him. “Bang!” He emphasises the word by bringing a heated palm down on your ass.

A choked sob bubbles at the back of your throat, making him snicker

Hands pressed to his chest, you ride him like a woman possessed, the last bits of adrenaline kicking in. Your sloppy cunt squelches every time you drive yourself down on his cock just motivating you to fuck him harder.

“Five.” He grits out.

“Dabi, please!” But you’re met with icy, apathetic eyes staring back at you, feeling the terror that the rest of the city does when they so much as hear his name.

“Four.” He rubs your already raw clit, faster and you can feel another orgasm building, much quicker than your last two.

Your body feels so heavy but you can’t stop moving, not unless you want him to- “Please cum!” You beg. “Need your cum.”

“Three.”

He starts to fuck up into you again with unforgiving force.

“Wh-Why?!” is all you can manage as your mind starts to fog up again, the need to come becoming all the more urgent.

“Two.” He ignores your question, transfixed on your tits bounce in his face. You’re getting close to your third orgasm of the night and it seems Dabi is determined to get you there.

You still can’t believe this is real. You never thought that Dabi would treat you like this. You were supposed to be special.

Or at least that’s what he told you.

Moreover, you can’t believe how your own body is betraying you. You can’t believe you’re actually going to cum. Again.

“One.”

You cry out his name one last time, unsure if it’s out of fear or pleasure. You dig your nails into his arms again, in a feeble attempt to ground yourself as you cum around him. The orgasm that rips through you makes it difficult for you to be sure of anything.

What you are sure of is the fact that there was no bang or bullet.

Just one last CLICK (practically drowned out by your screaming) and the sensation of Dabi’s hot cum flooding your womb. He has a bruising grip on your hips, gun now discarded, and he ruts up into to making sure to stuff your cunt absolutely full of him. He begins to laugh as he softens inside you.

Your head is still spinning but once you’re able to push yourself off of him, you can finally make sense of what just happened.

He was fucking with you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You yell, using weak and quivering arms to throw pillows at him while you cry so hard it makes you dry heave.

Your asshole of a boyfriend starts cackling, clutching his abdomen as if he just pulled the world’s funniest prank while your heart is beating so hard and fast you think it might break through your ribcage.

“You should have seen your face. You were so fuckin’ scared.”

You become nauseous, feeling bile rising in your throat as you come to a sickening realisation.

This is not your Dabi. This is the Dabi that the rest of the world gets to see.

Evil, sadistic, merciless. This is the real Dabi.

You attempt to scramble off of the bed to get away from him, feeling overwhelmed by the humiliation. But Dabi grabs your wrist and yanks you into his chest, wrapping you up in his arms. A gesture you used to treasure but now it just made your skin crawl. “C’mon Doll you didn’t think I was being serious did you?”

You writhe in his hold, hitting against his hard, toned chest with pathetic fists. “Don’t be such a crybaby. It was just a joke.” He strokes your hair oh so tenderly. But you won’t fall for that again. Dabi is a villain through and through. You know that now.  

It’s no use fighting him off though, all the fight in you is used up. You don’t know what else to do. So you do the easy thing: nuzzle your head into his chest, tremors rocking your body as you hiccup, while he holds you. That way you can pretend that you feel safe with him, just like you used to.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, doll. I love you.”

[lily-drake]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE, THE BEST BAT BOY OF THEM ALL!!! YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Tim

Tim never really cared for his birthday, afterall nobody ever remembered it, and he doubted that Bruce would care.  He had never shown much of an interest in him, which was fine since he wasn’t supposed to get close to him.  His entire job as Robin was to make sure Batman didn’t go crazy, he wasn’t supposed to get attached.  So he didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself.  It was around 10:45 PM when Tim went upstairs at Alfred’s request.  Timidly the 14 year old walked into the kitchen only to be met with a small white cake.  Upon closer inspection the cake had red and green letting that spelled out in neat scroll, “Happy Birthday Timothy” with perfectly cut strawberries decorating the sides.  Tim stared at the cake in awe, he’d never been given a birthday cake before, except at galas; but that didn’t count as he wasn’t really aloud to eat any.

“Good to see you up here Master Timothy.  Happy birthday young sir.  I apologize for the others absence, but I’m afraid that they are ‘busy’.”

Tim swiftlet lifted up his arms in a placating manner,

“Oh no, it’s fine.  Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.”

Alfred gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Well, I believe that it is time for a bit of cake.”

Alfred walked around the counter and pulled out a plate, for, and knife before he cut a large piece and plated it.  Tim held back tears as he took his first bite of the cake.  This was the best cake he had ever had, and this was definitely his favorite birthday.

*******

Tim stared at the computer screen in front of him trying to figure out what he was missing.  He was tired, he hadn’t slept in a few days, and he was on his 8th cup of coffee from that hour alone.

“Tim, come with me!”

Dick said, suddenly on his right side.  Out of habit he turned and threw a punch at him.  Dick quickly ducked and laughed.

“Your getting faster baby bird.”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes turning back to the computer.

“What do you need, Dick?”

He asked typing something onto the screen and scrunching his brow in frustration at the facts in front of him.  Dick rolled his eyes and sighed before he grabbed Tim and pulled him from the computer chair and onto his feet.  Tim groaned and tried to pull away in protest, but Dick overpowered him and he was dragged up the stairs.  Tim looked around to see where he was so he could make a quick escape if necessary.  When he looked forward again he saw he was being dragged to one of the main room doors.  He was thinking and going through all of the things he could have missed or forgotten, but nothing came to mind.  When the door opened the lights were off until they suddenly turned on and loud voices screamed,

“Happy birthday!”

From all around the room.  Tim blinked a few times everything catching up to him as he looked around and saw his family; Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Dick all around him.  The room was covered in decorations and on the table sat a decent sized 3 tier cake, just like the one he had had when turned fourteen, but bigger.  Tim ran through his memory and tried to recall what the date was and froze.  Oh, it was his 16th birthday, he had forgotten all about it.  He was pulled out of his stooped by Steph grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the table were 16 candles lined the rim of the cake and in the center it said, “Happy 16th Birthday Tim!” in the neatest cursive with a robin made of frosting right below it.  There was also neatly plated and perfectly made sushi on another table near them.  Tim smiled as everyone began to sing happy birthday to him and when he was done he blew out the candles happy and content with his day.  There was so much warmth that spread through his chest as he talked and ate cake with his family.  So much joy that surrounded the manor, he even saw Bruce smile.  Tim didn’t need to wish for anything, he was happy, and that’s all he could ever wish for.

*******

Tim looked at his watch and frowned.  He was now officially 19, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered much now.  He was alone in Paris training with Lady Shiva, and his family didn’t care.  They were the ones who kicked him out afterall, he wasn’t wanted.  He sat under a shady tree bench in the park and watched as people talked and interacted with eachother.  It was peaceful, but that didn’t fill the hollowness he felt in his chest.  As he stood and began to walk away he felt someone crash into him and fell foreword, someone landing on his back.  Quickly the person got up and began to call out apologies obviously embarrassed.  Tim got up and turned around and came face to face with a girl about his age with dark black hair that tinted blue in the light and show startlingly bright bluebell eyes.  The girl was still talking and he wasn’t sure if she had even breathed yet.

“Hey, it’s ok.  Don’t worry about it.”

The girl immediately bit her lip and bowed her head as she tried to hide her face.  Tim smiled at the girl who was slightly shorter than him.

“I’m Tim.”

He said casually as he held out his hand.  The girl gave an awkward smile before excepting his hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Marinette.  Sorry again.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette.  Do you know where any good coffee shops are, I haven’t slept in a while and I really need a pick me up to finish my things.”

Marinette lit up and nodded.

“I totally understand.  I design and commissions keep me up all night half the time.  I live in a bakery and have concocted the best wake up coffee.  My friends say it’s very dangerous and I’m going to kill myself with it one day, but all well.  Why sleep when you can get things done?!”

Tim smiled at the girl as she began to walk and talk.  She was cute and was very dramatic in the way she spoke and expressed herself.  They walked across the street to a small bakery, the one Marinette must live in, and walked to the front where a short Asian woman stood near the register.  When the woman saw Marinette her smile grew as she welcomed them.

“I’m gonna make one of my specials for him!”

Marinette called out as she went to the back and started making some kind of coffee concoction.  The woman rolled her eyes, but she still held an amused smile.

“Hello, I’m Sabine.  Please choose a sweet, you’ll need it if you’re going to drink her “Miracle Cure”, as the college students like to call it.”

“Thank miss.  Please, call me Tim.”

He said giving her a small smile back as he browsed the selection.  In the display he noticed lots of animal themed treats and smiled.  There were many ladybug and cat themed ones as well as an orange fox, a turtle, a bee, a blue snake, a monkey, and a red dragon.  It was an interesting choice of animals and he wondered if they were important in some way here.  He found a small tarte aux fruits with an assortment of fruits that formed the red dragon.  When he looked up he saw the woman waiting for him still wearing her friendly smile.

“Could I please have the Tarte aux fruits du dragon please?”

“Of course dear.”

Carefully she opened the door to the refrigerated case and grabbed one of the fruit tarts and carefully put it in a small box.  Tim went to the register right as Marinette had finished and placed the large drink in front of him.  He pulled out his wallet but was stopped by Marinette’s hand.

“Nope, on the house.  An apology for earlier.”

She said with a bright smile.  Tim was shocked and felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in years begin to bloom once again.  He gently took the coffee from her hands and carefully picked up the small box with a plastic fork atop it.

“Thank you, Marinette.  That’s very kind of you.”

Her smile brightened and before Tim could stop or even think of what he was saying the words had already left his mouth,

“If you’re free, do you want to walk around Paris with me?”

Marinette blinked for a moment shocked, but then smiled again and nodded.

“Sure, that sounds nice!”

She took off the apron she had been wearing while making the coffee and hung it up on a wrack before walking out from behind the counter snd grabbing his arm and almost dragging him out the door.  When she realized what she was doing she quickly dropped it slightly blushing and scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment.

“S-sorry.  I should have asked first.”

Tim snickered a little, she was adorable.

“No it’s fine, so where to first?”

Tim asked as he gently placed the tart in his satchel and sipped the coffee.  When he did he felt his mind begin to clear and he felt more awake than he had in a long time.  He understood why it was called Miracle Cure now, this stuff was amazing!

“Well, where were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of going to the Arc de Triomphe then head towards the Effiel Tower.”

Marinette beamed and nodded and began to walk towards the Arc de Triomphe.  She knew the path by heart as she often went there for inspiration.  The two talked the whole way there and bonded over their love of coffee and insomniac tendencies.  As they arrived at their first destination the sat on the steps and watched people pass them.  Tim pulled out the small tart and began to slowly eat it and smiled.  It tasted like Alfred’s cooking, though he didn’t want to admit that this might just be a bit better.  He glanced over at Marinette and noticed that she now had a sketchbook out and was drawing something.  He didn’t want to disturb her as he didn’t like being interrupted when he was really into something and let her draw as he watched the people.  Suddenly there was a loud crash.  He looked up and was shocked to see a giant child walking around smashing and destroying buildings.  He looked over and saw that Marinette had disappeared and he began to panic.

He stood up and began to move so he could get a better place to watch and analyze what was happening so that he could see if he needed to interfere.  He watched silently from a roof and saw a bunch of people begin to surround the child all with the same theme.  His mind flashed to the animals in the bakery and connected the dots as he glanced at all of the different people in animal costumes.  He watched as the Ladybug ordered everyone on the plan and on what to do which lead him to believe that she was the leader of this group.  It only took a few minutes and he watched the cat hero completely destroy a toy car from the giant child’s hand and a purple feather and butterfly flew out.  The ladybug hero quickly caught them and released them into the air.  She threw the object she had summoned into the air and he watched in amazement as thousands, maybe millions, of small ladybugs flew around the damage done and repaired all of it, including the bodies that had not been moving moments ago.

Tim ran back to the Arc de Triomphe and waited there to see if Marinette would come back.  It took a few minutes and then he saw her figure running towards him with panic and worry.

“Tim, I’m so sorry!  Are you ok?  I shouldn’t have left like that, I’m so sorry.”

Tim gave her an awkward smile and nodded.

“It’s fine, you came back afterall.”

She smiled at him and he lifted his arm out for her to take,

“Shall we continue our walk Mademoiselle?”

Tim asked with a slight bow.  Marinette giggled and gave a small curtsy before she placed her hand atop of his.

“Why of course Monsieur.”

They both laughed as they walked.  They enjoyed the silence for a bit before Tim asked what had happened.

Marinette gave him a sad sigh and explained the situation that had been happening in Paris for about 4 years now.  Tim was shocked that this hadn’t made it to the Justuce League, especially if it had been happening for four entire years.  Tim asked a few more questions that Marinette happily answered and they felt happy and content in the warm companionable silence.  Tim thought of all of his past birthdays, and he knew that this one was on the top 5 best list of his favorite birthdays.

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 9

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: post-rescue, referenced starvation, scars, referenced attempted murder, noncon body mod, referenced nonsexual noncon nudity, PTSD, referenced noncon (that didn’t happen), self-blame, flashbacks, hallucinations, unsure of reality

For those of you who pointed out I forgot about Zelda in the last chapter with Vera... thank you!!

~

There was a sense of warmth to the light in the bathroom. Gavin could almost feel it on his skin like the brush of a breath, like the sun on his face. It was nothing like the cold light in the basement. Nothing. Even as his head felt both too heavy and too light at the same time, even as his stomach adjusted to the feeling of being full, he felt the light pressing into his eyes and felt real. 

He felt safe. 

He could still taste what he’d eaten for dinner, savory and sweet and sour, peanut sauce and chicken and noodles swirling together in what may have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d only been able to finish half before he’d sat back, feeling almost too full to move. But Gray said that might happen. Gray said it might take some time for his stomach to get used to eating enough. 

He met his own eyes in the mirror. There were dark circles marking the skin beneath them, and the shadow of a bruise on his left cheek where Schiester had struck him as he dragged him to the gallows. His lip was split at the corner of his mouth. He pressed his tongue to the spot and winced at the burst of pain and the coppery taste. The scars on his face were carved deep, now, puckering the skin around them on the bridge of his nose, across his left cheek, and from the corner of his left eye to the hairline at his temple. The lines were reddish, almost purple, like they had been when they were fresh. It had taken three surgeries with the best surgeons in his parents’ region to make the skin lay flat, before. His face would look like this forever now. He was marked like this forever. 

His gaze dropped to his neck, to the ring of worn, weeping skin where the collar had rested. There were spots where the skin had been rubbed raw from the constant pressure, from Schiester dragging him into place and holding him down while he hurt him. Gavin bit down hard on his lip as he tried to look away from the marks there. As he did, his fingers brushed the scars on his right forearm.

Stormbeck.

He shivered. 

“You ready?” Vera croaked behind him. He jumped. 

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, turning to look at her. She was staring off to the side, her eyes unfocused – as if she couldn’t make herself look right at him. His throat tightened, and he raised one hand to run through his hair. It still smelled like the family’s shampoo. He let the scent wash over him, calming the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yeah, Vera.”

“Good,” she rasped. She stepped forward and plugged the sink, then grabbed the electric trimmer from the counter. “Um. Are you good to, um…” She blinked, and her throat bobbed. “You good if…”

“I can bend over the sink,” Gavin said softly. “That’s… th-that’s fine.”

Vera raised her eyes to his for the first time since… 

She’s not a monster. She’s not going to hurt me.

“O-okay,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. “Good.”

“Vera,” Gavin murmured, and reached out to take her wrist. Her gaze flicked down to the scars on his forearm. She shivered and looked away. “I’m not… Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I… I didn’t have to… He never…” Gavin blew out a shaking breath. 

Schiester never bent me over anything. Even though I—

Gavin winced at the thought that followed: even though I deserved it.

But he did. Every moment of what happened was recompense, come too late to save any of the twenty-three lives he’d ended before he ever met Isaac.

Vera chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded again. “M’kay,” she murmured, her gaze faraway. “Good.”

She reached for a spacer and slid it onto the blade. Her hands were shaking. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned over the sink, bracing his elbows on the counter. He shivered at the cold ceramic against his forearms. Bent over like this, the collar of his shirt brushed against his face, and he caught Isaac’s scent with his next breath. The trimmer switched on. 

“You still sure you’re okay with this?” Vera said, her voice oddly distant. “I mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured against the counter. “I don’t… I don’t want to look like… him.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the bathroom was the sound of the trimmer, and the sound of Gavin’s breaths against the counter. Then, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and the spacer touched down a moment later. 

Gavin jerked. There was an electric razor against the back of his head, his hands were tied behind him, he was naked and on his knees on the linoleum washroom in Schiester’s basement. One of Schiester’s men was holding the razor to his head – “he used to cut hair, in his previous life,” Schiester would say, “back before your family destroyed everything good about the world” – and every now and then Alvarado would look at the picture Schiester was holding up for reference, a picture that Schiester would force Gavin to look at while whispering in his ear, “that’s your father, that’s the man who destroyed my life, that’s the man you are, and you’re going to die when I’m finished with you, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, Stormbeck—”

“Gavin?”

Vera’s voice. 

Gavin sobbed weakly, trembling, his knees pressing against the tiles of the bathroom. His wrists burned like they were tied. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking tears out of his eyes. Vera’s gentle hands settled on either side of his face and eased his head up so she could look at him. 

“Gavin,” she said again. “Gavin Uriah. You’re okay.”

Gavin’s heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs burned with every inhale. He reached out and grabbed at her wrists. She released him but his grip tightened, and she hesitantly cupped his face again. Gavin’s gaze darted around the small bathroom as he gasped. 

“V-Vera…”

“Do you need me to get Isaac?” she said evenly. 

Yes.

No.

Gavin wet his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “N-no,” he wheezed. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard. His neck felt so strange without the collar. “I d-don’t want him… seeing this. Please, Vera, don’t… I c-can’t hurt him, he… he hurts when, um, wh-when I hurt.”

Vera sat back on her heels and brushed Gavin’s tears away with her thumbs. “Yeah,” she croaked. “He does.”

“I…” Gavin dragged in another slow breath. The room wobbled around him and his eyes darted around the bathroom. No hose in the corner. No cold white light above him. No rope on his wrists, no knife at his throat, no men holding him down, no collar on his neck, no icy blue gaze on him. 

Safe, like Isaac said. Safe.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Um…” He gripped the counter and dragged himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. Vera staggered to her feet beside him. “M-makes me think of, um… of… him… cutting my hair, and…”

“Shit,” Vera breathed. “I mean, I can… I can try and do it with scissors, I’m shit at it, I mean… you’ve seen Sam’s hair when we’re on the run…” She huffed out a laugh. It sounded forced. 

Gavin shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “I… I mean, that’s going to… feel similar, too. And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t just… n-not have a haircut ever again, I…” He raised his gaze and met Vera’s eyes. “Please,” he whispered. She blurred with his tears. “Please. I don’t want to l-look like him.”

Vera’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “I don’t particularly want you to look like him, either.” 

It felt so unreal, the half-hearted laugh that bubbled in Gavin’s chest. Everything felt real, and unreal, a dream and a memory and a thing that was actually happening, all at once. Shaking, he pushed out a breath and bent over the sink once again. 

“Just talk to me,” he murmured. “Just… just t-talk to me. I want to hear you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said gently. “Can do, Uriah.” 

Heat bloomed in Gavin’s chest at the name. The trimmer switched on again. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. 

“I’m gonna talk about my puppy, because I’m fucking obsessed with her,” Vera said. Gavin could hear the smile in her voice. This time, when the spacer touched the back of his head, he latched onto her voice, let it pull him out of the memories that threatened to suck him in. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sink. The white porcelain reflected the warm light above him. His fingers gripped the counter like he would go tumbling off a cliff if he let go. 

“So her name is Zelda,” Vera said, her voice sounding a little stronger. She drew the trimmer up the back of Gavin’s head. He shivered with the sound, the sensation. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold still. 

“Y-yeah?” he croaked. His fingers ached from clutching the counter.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a German shepherd. I got her from someone east of the farmhouse in this place called Eden. This lady breeds shepherds as like… her job.” Another pass of the trimmer across the back of his head. “She breeds them specifically to avoid their hip problems, and for temperament. I told her I wanted a chill dog, but I’ll probably still train her to guard the place.”

“That sounds nice,” Gavin said. His throat still felt raw from screaming, even after—

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d been dragged from the basement. 

If I’m not still there—

NO.

“Yeah,” Vera said with a chuckle. “She’s at home right now. I figured dinner might be a little much for you, and I didn’t want to add to that with a crazy puppy.”

“Dinner was good,” Gavin said weakly. “It was… it was good to see everyone.”

“Everyone was glad to see you, too,” Vera murmured. “I mean…”

“Edrissa doesn’t have to be happy to see me,” Gavin said. The trimmer paused in its path across the top of his head. Locks of his dark brown hair lay in the sink. “She doesn’t.”

Vera drew in a deep breath and let it out. The trimmer moved slowly across his hairline. He lifted his head to give Vera easier access. As he did, he felt the cold press of her teeth against his neck, the white-hot agony as she tore through his throat, the pulse of blood on his skin as he fed on his flesh. He shuddered and whined softly. 

“I’m… I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight,” Vera said. “She—”

“It’s… not that,” Gavin gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ahh…” Sharp teeth flashed at him in the dark and his eyes flew open. 

“Hey,” Vera said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him up. “We can—”

“I just want to finish this,” Gavin rasped. He stayed bent over the sink. His breath riffled the short, single bits of hair on the porcelain. “Please, Vera.”

Please.

Everything he was feeling, felt like memories. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. There were no cold blue eyes watching him. 

This was real. It had to be real, or else…

There was a long pause. Then, the gentle touch of the trimmer against his temple again. “Alright,” Vera murmured. “I’m almost done anyway.” She drew the trimmer across his forehead, down the other temple, around his ear. Back and forth across his head, sending showers of tiny bits of hair into the sink. Gavin scratched at an itch behind his ear. Vera did one more pass with the trimmer and then shut it off. Gavin looked into the sink, breathing slowly.

“Gavin?” Vera murmured. “You… you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. “I’m… I’m here.” He half-stood, until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder again. 

“Hang on,” she murmured. She gathered the clumps of Gavin’s hair from the sink and pitched them in the trash can. “Just a second. You don’t want bits of hair all over you, believe me.”

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. He remembered all too well the incessant itching after the first haircut, how Schiester had laughed – and how Schiester had decided that from now on he’d have Gavin’s hair cut in the room where he was washed, naked and freezing and ready for the hose when he was done. Gavin shivered as Vera turned on the tap and guided him closer to the sink until his head was level with the stream of water. 

“Just real quick,” Vera murmured. “Just to get all the hair off.” She poured a handful of water over the back of Gavin’s head and gently scrubbed. “Yeah, there was still quite a bit left.”

Gavin forced himself to stop gripping the counter. He reached up, too, and scrubbed his head under the tap. He flinched when a stream of water rolled from his forehead and down his nose. 

“I think that’s probably good,” Vera said, and shut the tap off. She gently eased him up. “Here…” As he stood upright, she wrapped his head in a towel and scrubbed at his short, wet hair. She pulled the towel away and dropped it to the floor. 

Gavin felt a wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so… young. He looked years younger than when he’d been taken, even with the bags under his eyes, with the sallow tone of his skin. He reached up and ran his fingers through the short, soft hair. His gaze wandered over himself and he took a deep breath.

“I… d-don’t look like him anymore,” he murmured. His eyes smarted. 

“Nope,” Vera said, popping, the p. She shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “No. You don’t.” Her lips quirked a bitter smile. “Now I can look at you. Thank god for that.”

Gavin nodded absentmindedly as he ran his hand through his hair, short enough to almost be fuzz. The scar on his forearm caught his eye and he dropped his arm. He shifted his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“Ready to go join the others?” Vera said gently. “I know they’ll want to see the new haircut, too.” This time, when she smiled, it was easier, brighter. Her shoulders weren’t so tense and pulled up to her ears. Her hands weren’t shaking as much. 

Gavin chewed his lip and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Not, um…” He cleared his throat. His skin ached for Isaac’s touch, and the thought of seeing Gray and Sam made his eyes brim with tears, but… he just needed a moment. 

He needed to look at himself and see someone who wasn’t his father. He raised his gaze to the mirror again. He could only see his face; the rest of his body was cut off by the bottom of the mirror. His throat tightened. 

“Okay,” Vera murmured. “Well… okay.” She turned towards the doorway, then paused, turning back. “You… you want the door open, or closed?”

“Open is fine,” Gavin murmured, his hand drifting up to feel the divots of the scars on his face. The scars Schiester had torn open again – after Isaac put them there, more than a year ago now.

Vera nodded once. “Okay. Come join us when you’re ready. We’re all…” Her eyes swam with tears. She pressed her hand to her chest as she swallowed hard once, twice. “We’re all really happy to see you.” Her voice was ragged.

Gavin wrapped his arms around his chest and nodded. “Th-thanks, Vera.” 

Vera chewed her lip, then turned to go. She went around the corner to the living room at the front of the house, where Gavin could hear quiet conversation, the occasional burst of tight, tense laughter. 

Gavin slumped forward and pressed his face into his hands. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. He scratched at the needle marks on the inside of his elbow, his other hand pressing into his eyes, smearing his tears across his face. It felt real. 

It all felt real. 

Gavin drew in a deep breath and raised his head. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was a figure – something that looked just like Edrissa. 

Slowly, he sat up straight, understanding crashing bright and powerful through his blood. Her clear, ice-blue eyes bored into him, her mouth twisted in hate. Her pale blond hair was pulled back away from her ghostly-white face. His gaze flicked to the knife held tight in her hand. 

He couldn’t catch the sob before it made its way out of his chest. The tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks like blood. 

I knew it. I knew it.

Gavin reached up to pull at his hair, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. The short strands slipped through his fingers. Dread slid into his heart, dull and slippery. Right on its heels was despair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off the specter in the doorway that peered at him with cold blue eyes.

“H-hey, Schiester,” he croaked. “You… you really had me going on this one.” This time, he couldn’t muffle his sob as the specter stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind it.

Continued here

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