#a tired mind sometimes wanders to strange places

[dcxdpdabbles]

For the Danny=Ra's Al Ghul thing. Danny comes from a world that only looks like ours on the surface level until you get alternate names like Lake Eerie while we have Lake Erie or the alternate histories like Pandora or even Vortex

Now in our world, Sherlock is used sarcastically whenever someone points out something obvious. Danny might come from a world where Sherlock Holmes isn't as popular and the word "Detective" is used in place of Sherlock. Cue him using that word often and using the same context when dealing with Bruce or Tim to really sell that he's an alternate Ra's

"No shit, Detective"

The words slipped from the boy's lips in such a deadpan tone that for a second, Bruce half thought he imagined it. There was one thing to be told that an alternative version of Ra's al Ghul was caught battling it out with Green Arrow; it was another to be confronted with a teenager who spoke in the confusing lingo of his kids.

Bruce had seen Child-Ghul lose his mind over Go-Gurt alongside his friends- the assassins so dangerous they all earned the nickname of demons- when they happened to come by it in a regular grocery store. They had appeared like normal teenagers visiting the United States for the first time.

In fact, Bruce had yet to be aware that he was observing Ra's. He had been running around Gotham attempting to find the visitors and had accidentally overlooked them because of their genuine glee at finding tubed yogurt.

Even Dick and Damian had seen the same group but also dismissed them. It was strange to fit a version of Ra's Al Ghul, who was happily using hoverboards in the park while his friends recorded the great mass murder thousands of years old.

Tim was the only one who figured him out on sight. Bruce wonders if that was due to his son being incredibly intelligent or if Tim's hatred of Ra ran that deep. If it was the latter, Bruce would bet that even in his next life, Tim would clock Ra's in a crowd.

Red Robin had tracked Child-Ghul and his crew to an old cemetery, where they had been busy cleaning up gravestones. They had even fixed up broken stones and placed the proper offerings for each person.

How they knew which person followed which religion in life was a mystery.

Tim suspected they were attempting to rob another grave. Maybe they had known the people buried there- with Ra's being as young again- or they were trying to do some weird magic thing to save the planet again.

Bruce wasn't so sure.

He observed that the highly trained children cleaned up the cemetery and occasionally had random bursts of dance parties between the graves. He didn't think they were trying to steal anything- instead, they seemed to be suffering from mental illnesses.

Sometimes, one of them would speak to the air, asking it for an opinion on a new grave site. They might have been just regular people in their own world- Bruce had encountered civilian versions of himself and his kids before, so why no villains?- but the idea that Ra's Al Ghul had meta powers, any version, made him paranoid.

It didn't seem possible that Ra's didn't abuse his powers somehow. What could the strangers possibly be doing if it wasn't for world domination?

He got tired of watching and waiting for answers that weren't coming. Batman would force the children to tell him. He waited until the Child-Ghul wandered far away from his group, a bucket and brush in hand, and he arrived at a giant moss-covered stone.

Bruce watched as he greeted the air before sliding to his knees and scrubbing the moss away. His form was all wrong.

That was not a perfect crouch or position that would generate a fast reaction in case he needed it. In fact, the way the boy curved over the stone indicated he would suffer from backache if he sat like that for too long.

The Ra's Al Ghul would never have been caught dead in a similar weakened posture.

Did that mean this version of Ra's had no formal training?

"What do you think you're doing? " He growled, stepping out of the shadows. The boy jumped a good foot in the air, checking another box in his theory of not being trained.

He watched as Child-Ghul spun around, brush held in a sloppy throwing form, before freezing at the sight of him. At once, the tension eased out of his shoulders. He didn't seem afraid of Bruce, which was rather strange.

He built this entire persona to intimidate people at first glance. Yes, he had redesigned himself after learning kids were afraid of him, too, but the original design survived long enough for him to wield his fear tactic as a weapon.

"Ugh, what do you think you're doing walking around looking like that?" the boy sasses, gesturing at Bruce's whole being. "You look like a three-year-old drew you."

That was.....a rather creative insult.

"What are your plans here" He demands, ignoring the comment.

The boy raises a brow. His face twists into an expression he saw on Ra's Al Ghul before, and for a moment, Bruce wonders if Tim had made a mistake. How could Ra's look so humble. "What do you think I'm doing with a brush and a bucket of soap water?"

"You're cleaning the gravestone."

"No shit, Detective"

The phrase was like cold ice water pouring down his back. His pronunciation, facial expressions, and body language were exactly like Ra's.

Tim was right.

"Why?" He demands, stepping closer to tower over the boy.

"If you don't get out of my personal space, Imaginary Vampire Grandpa, we will have a problem." Child-Ghul hisses at him. For a moment Bruce is reminded of Damian.

"Try me."

Child-Ghul's grin is sharp and mad as he yells. "Escort this man to the door!"

Bruce raises his fist, ready for anything, only to literally feel invisible hands grab at him, dragging him out of the cemetery. He is flung out of the gate with the watching teenagers snickering.

Bruce bites back a curse. Of course, a child version of Ra's has ghosts working for him. He'll have to call the Justice League Dark for this. He hopes Zatanna is the one who answers and not her husband.

[droopycoquette]

Ridin' or Nothin' || Benny Cross x Reader

Summary: A little exchange of services

Warnings: hella fluff, angst, suggestive content

Word count: 5.1k

|*|

You had been watching him, that much you could admit. Your eyes always caught him on the road, riding around with the wind in his hair. Sometimes you’d even see him walking around with a cigarette tucked between his slightly chapped lips, he was rarely without one. He exuded a sense of danger that both intrigued and scared you. But there was something about the way he moved, rough yet graceful, that made your heart skip a beat whenever he passed by. However, you never dared to approach him, always hiding in the background observing.

You didn’t mind, it was comfortable.

The town was small so it was easy to watch him. Easy to find him even because he was always in the same places. Bar, road, gas station, and occasionally grocery store. That last one was rare though. When you saw him across the aisle looking at bread, you thought you were hallucinating.

It was a rather strange sight; he looked so out of place. A tall, blonde biker in a grocery store with mothers and children, casually looking at bread. You would have giggled if you weren’t so nervous. Your lips slightly parted as you lost motor control of your body, the bag of rolls you held falling out of your hands.

“Shoot,” you muttered as you quickly bent down to pick them, trying to prevent the weird looks from staying on you.

You chuckled nervously as you rose up, giving timid looks to the grandmas and moms looking at you.

“Hello dear,” a high-pitched voice greeted cheerfully, forcing you to shift focus.

Turning around, you came face to face with Mrs. Leonard, a regular at your family’s bakery. She was an older lady having several grandkids that she loved to gush about. But, despite being older, she still had strength that astounded you greatly. You weren’t surprised to see her here, just bummed that she was here now, the only time you had seen biker boy here.

“Hello, Mrs. Leonard,” you smiled. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Oh, likewise,” she smiled back sweetly. “What are you doing looking at rolls, sweety? I couldn’t imagine buying rolls here when I could have yours to eat for free.”

You smile at her compliment, your ears warming.

“I was simply looking. I’m actually looking for ingredients. I’m trying a new recipe for a raspberry curd cake. How’s your son? I heard he’s back in town.”

“That sounds mighty tasty. And oh, he is just wonderful. It’s so nice to see my grandkids. Ya know, ever since they moved to California-”

And she was off. You liked Mrs. Leonard, truly you did, but you could never get used to her never-ending monologues about who-knows-what. She was a cute old lady, though.

As she spoke, you moved to put the rolls back on the shelf, and when you turned to look back at the biker, he was gone. A small crease in between your eyebrows developed as your bottom lip found its way between your teeth. You nibbled on it as you felt disappointment wash over you. However, you quickly masked it with a well-practised smile.

As you wandered the store next to the old lady, your mind wandered back to the handsome biker who had been standing right across the aisle. You perked up slightly as you realised that that was the closest you had ever been to him. You could practically smell the gasoline and cologne that wafted off of him. You had even seen the small freckles on his face and took note of his faint sun-kissed cheeks, just the slightest bit of pink.

This was also the first time you’d seen him without a cigarette.

You felt a tug at the corner of your lips that only stopped when you rubbed it away.

“Dear? Hello? Bun!”

Your eyes snapped to Mrs. Leonard, hearing the nickname given to you by your family.

“Are you alright, bun,” she asked, placing a hand over yours. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Oh. Yes ma’am. I’m quite alright, just a bit tired is all. No need to worry. What was that you were saying?”

“Oh, yes! Monti, the dreadful boy has been tearing at-”

Her story continued on until you had finished checking out and had to part ways. And when your back hit the seat of your car you let out the biggest sigh of the week. What was supposed to have been a ten-minute grocery run for fresh raspberries and lemon juice had turned into a 45-minute gossiping session. The energy that was supposed to be used to bake that new raspberry curd cake had been exerted to try to keep up with Mrs. Leonard. Now, you’d have to pull from nothing.

Your head slammed into the steering wheel with a groan that was quickly replaced with a yelp when your car horn went off. People entering and exiting the store turned to look at your car in confusion and slight offence.

“Sorry,” you chuckled timidly.

|*|

The next day rolled around, and you were excited to put out your new Raspberry Delight, which is what you had decided to call your new cake. You had been experimenting with this cake for the past two weeks, figuring out what to layer, and how sweet the raspberry curd should be. Should they have a raspberry jam? Was that too much? Perhaps, a layer of crumble? But, last night, you had perfected everything and had gotten the green light from both your mother and your father to sell.

You had decided to sell it in these cute mason jars and had personally tied the little maroon bows on it. You were setting out the last of the baked goods into the little window by the register when the doorbell rang, letting you know that someone had entered the store.

“Good morning,” you greeted cheerfully, from below the register, setting the dirty trays there.

“Good morning,” a gruff voice spoke.

You stood abruptly.

He was here.

Tall, dark, and handsome was here…right in front of you.

You, who probably has flour all over her and who is sweating from the ovens.

“What can I get for you today,” you say softly, looking down and wiping your hands on your apron.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you yesterday, about the raspberry…something cake. It sounded mighty good and I thought I would come by and get it before it sold out.”

“You were listening,” you let out, surprised.

“I sure was missy. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of something so tasty,” he admits with a sly smile.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his statement.

“Okay, one Raspberry Delight, anything else?”

“Is there anything else you would recommend?”

As you let yourself think, the man let himself look at you. You didn’t notice, but the biker’s eyes never left you and one thing he noticed was that your eyes never met his. He didn’t like that. He wanted to look at him. He needed you to look at him.

He saw your eyes light up as you thought of something, making the man smile. And just as you were about to speak, a sharp voice interrupted

“Excuse me.”

The sharpness in your mother’s tone made you bite at the inside of your cheek.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the man smiled politely, despite her cold demeanour.

“We don’t serve customers like you,” your mother bit.

You knew your mother’s opinion on the growing biker gang in town. Your father and your mother both thought that the group of men were a bunch of bums who had no right to be causing such a fuss. They hated The Vandals, almost as much as satan. You recalled nights at the dinner table where your father's anger had boiled over, making him claim to do awful things to the biker gang. What’s worse, your mother had egged him on.

The man’s smile faltered at your mother’s words, but he recovered quickly.

“I just wanted to buy a cake,” he said calmly.

You could see the tension in his posture, the way his eyes flickered between your mother and you.

“Mom,” you said softly. “You always say business is business.”

“Well, this is MY business,” she snapped. “And I reserve the right to refuse service. Get out of my store.”

You felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you - frustration at your mother’s closed-mindedness, and sympathy for the man standing in front of you.

Your eyes met his, and you hoped that he could understand the apology. He nodded towards you, and you watched his jaw feather in annoyance. You felt your heart drop at the realisation that he might blame you.

“I’ll take my leave then,” he said, walking away as he took a cigarette out of the box.

“Yeah, you go on now,” your mother sneered, causing you to flinch.

He didn’t respond as the doorbell dinged.

You watched as the man walked away, his back straight and his steps purposeful. You couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders.

You swallowed in disappointment in yourself and your lack of ability to stand up to your mother and in your mother for her lack of empathy and kindness.

“Don’t you ever talk to them folks again? Ya hear?”

“But-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she cut you off. “You so much as go near them, and I’ll make sure you don’t leave the house again. You understand me, girl.”

You just looked down, and your mother took that as a yes. She went back to the kitchen, muttering obscenities under her breath, and you went back to setting up for the day, now with a heavy heart.

As the day went on, you found it difficult to concentrate on the daily operations of the bakery. Your hands moved mechanically as you went through the motions of baking, but your heart was heavy with a mix of curiosity and guilt. Each served customer was a reminder of the one you couldn’t serve, the very one you wanted to the most.

“Hey,” your dad said softly. “What’s going on in your head bun?”

“Oh, nothing,” you smiled sweetly, perfectly masking your growing frustration with your parents, the town, and life in general. “Just a little tired is all. I stayed up late trying to come up with a new thing to work on and now that the raspberry cake is done I need something new. I’m going to go make a new batch of the Raspberry Delights.”

You tightened the scarf around your head as you walked back to the kitchen to grab the fresh tray of cookies that needed icing.

“Okay,” your dad called. “But focus! We don’t need you burning yourself again because you were off in Neverland.”

You knew he was joking, but it did nothing but jab the knife a little deeper.

As you began making the base for the cake, you found yourself wondering why you bothered to stay. It was your baked goods in the window, and yet, it was their name on the sign, getting the money, and it was them making fun of you.

Every time you brought up the fact that you wanted a portion of the profits because they were selling your ideas, they had a fit and said, “Your baking isn’t even that good. Since you now have a couple of things in the window, you think you can call the shots, huh? Is that what it is? Well, maybe we’ll just take them out.”

It was empty threats, and you knew it was, your items were some of the best sellers, but it never stopped the fear that entered your system. However, the thought that you might never leave and be stuck here with parents who don’t respect you or your creations scared you more.

A newfound determination lit up in your gut as you baked.

That evening, after closing up, you told your parents you wanted to work on a new pastry that you’d been thinking about and that you’d meet them at home. They had been hesitant but let you stay in the end, telling you to be careful on your way back. You waited a good 20 minutes to make sure they weren’t coming back before gathering up your things and the two freshly made Raspberry Delight jars and locking up the store.

The cool night air brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, your heartbeat quickening. You hopped on your bike and threw your bag in the basket, careful not to break the glass before you took off down the road. Even a couple of blocks down, you could hear the rumble of engines and the faint sound of laughter from the home of the town’s biker gang.

As you approached the bar, you hesitated, hopping off your bike that suddenly felt childish next to the rows of motorcycles. You could hear the whooping and hollering of the men inside and jumped when you heard the sound of shattering glass followed by laughter.

Your breath left you in small huffs as the chilly night air nipped at your cheeks. The two jars in your bag hit each other softly, causing a ‘clink’ to echo through the empty space. It also caused a surge of resolve. You jogged up to the doors before the newfound confidence disappeared and opened them gently. You entered the bar without making a sound and closed the doors even softer than you had opened them.

The dimly lit bar was crowded with rowdy bikers, their denim jackets adorned with patches and studs that allowed the light to glint off of them. The air is thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. As you stood there, taking it all in, you could also smell the distinct scent of leather and engine oil.

As you make your way through the crowd, you try to avoid making eye contact, feeling small and out of place.

Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention. Don’t draw attention.

That mantra in your head continued as you hugged your bag close and made yourself small. Navigating the crowded bar proved to be rather difficult, especially when you were trying not to hit anyone. A plethora of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ left your lips before you reached an empty table in the back. You sit your bag down and allowed yourself to breathe as best you could anyway, the taste of smoke filled your mouth, making it dry and slightly bitter. You try to swallow, but the air feels too thick and heavy to allow it.

The dim, hazy lighting of the bar, combined with the smoke from cigarettes and the bodies, made it difficult to see clearly. People pressed close together, their limbs hitting one another.

You stuck out like a sore thumb. You had worn a corduroy skirt that day and, if that wasn’t bad enough, a pastel blue halter accompanied it. If ‘Look at Me’ had a mascot, it’d be you.

The tips of your ears burned as your eyes scanned the crowd of bikers. Normally, you could find tall and blonde easily but, in this crowd, it was like trying to find a needle in a needle stack.

However, after about 10 minutes of searching, you found him near the pool table. His eyes fixed on the green felt with an intensity that you could feel from all the way across the room.

You allowed yourself to just stare, taking in his rugged appearance that finally seemed to fit into his surroundings. His arms were on full display, and the light caught the ridges of his muscles in a sinfully perfect way. His hair was tousled and swooped up as if the wind had permanently swept it there. The thought made you giggle. You took in his tattoos, his rings, and the grease stains his shirt housed. The stains alone sent you to a whole daydream.

Visions of him fixing a motorcycle, his muscles moving seamlessly as he worked. His focus fixed on the machinery, understanding the beauty and power of the bike, and knowing exactly what it needed. A playful smile on his lips as he caressed the engine. The sunlight catching the sweat glistening on his skin, highlighting every curve and ridge of his body. His strong hands, covered in grease, as he worked with precision and finesse. The occasional grunt or sigh as he exerts force in just the right places. Every now and then, he let out a satisfied chuckle as he successfully fixes a part.

Before you knew it, you had replaced the motorcycle.

You let out a squeak at your own imagination. Causing heads to turn towards you. For once, you didn’t notice because you were too busy mentally beating yourself.

You had to give him these cakes before you embarrassed yourself even more.

You took a deep breath to steady your nerves before making your way over to him, each step feeling heavier with the weight of uncertainty.

As you approached, he finally tore his gaze away from the pool table and locked eyes with you. There was a flicker of surprise in his expression, quickly masked by a guarded demeanour. You could sense the tension in his posture as you stood before him, unsure of how he would react to your presence.

He walked toward you, cue stick in hand. His piercing blue eyes bore into yours as he got closer.

“Can I help you with something, sweetheart,” he asked, his gruff voice filling your senses. He leaned against the cue stick, bringing him closer to you. Even hunched over he looked down at you, you had never felt so small.

"I... I brought you these," you stammered out, holding out the two jars of Raspberry Delights towards him. "What happened at the bakery earlier wasn't right and I’m ashamed that I just stood by and let it happen. Please accept them as an apology."

He studied you for a moment, his face contorting slightly as a myriad of emotions flickered. Finally, he reached out and took the jars from your shaky hands.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze softening.

You nodded with a smile, clasping your hands together and letting out a breath of relief. You rocked back and forth on your feet as you realised that you hadn’t planned out a conversation in your head. You had no clue what to say to the man standing in front of you.

As you struggled to find the right words, only two came out:

“Okay bye.”

You were moving before you could register, bolting out of the crowded bar and into the crisp air of the night. You allowed yourself to breathe in deeply, filling your lungs fully for the first time since you entered the bar. It was also easier to breathe without him being near.

You swallowed as you stood straight up and shuffled towards your bike. Your lip found its place between your teeth while you replayed the interaction in your head. You shrunk into yourself at how you acted. You had dreamed of an interaction with tall and blond for months, given him numerous names that never seemed to fit. You had thought about wowing him with a quick tongue and a perfected sense of humour. But, when it came down to it, you chickened out. You literally ran away.

You reached your bike, which now seemed extra childish coming out of the bar. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been so close to a motorcycle before, only looking from afar. The need to inspect the bike tugged at your heart. It didn’t take much for you to give in.

You reached out and let your fingertips graze the frame of the bike, collecting the dirt that had found a home on the metal. Your eyes trailed the winding metal of the interior, wondering what each thing did. You could smell the gasoline and faintly taste metal on the tip of your tongue, and you smiled at its slight sweetness.

“You like bikes?”

Your hands flinched back as if the bike itself had spoken and your eyes went to the voice.

“Um,” you stuttered as you were met with tall and blond. “I, uh, I don’t have an opinion on them. They’re pretty though.”

“Pretty?” he chuckled, flicking the butt of the cigarette to the ground.

“Mmhmm. I’ve never seen one up close before. I apologise for touching them, it won’t happen again.”

“Calm down,” he smiled. “You look like I’m about to cut your hand off.”

You swallowed thickly and dusted off the dirt your fingertips had collected.

“Come here.”

His tone was friendly and inviting yet commanding, so you followed him over to a particular motorcycle that he leaned against.

“This one’s yours?” you asked/stated.

He just smiled a crooked smile and nodded.

“You can inspect to your heart's content, little miss.”

You feel a familiar tug at your lips as you let yourself circle the bike. It was a lot nicer than the last one, in your opinion. The black colour of the fenders matched tall and blonde, and the framework looked well-loved. You allowed your fingers to touch the bike, letting them trail down the seat until they reached the end of the bike and fell off.

“Hey, listen,” his voice making you snap your eyes to him. “How ‘bout as payment for the cakes, I take you on a ride?”

Your heart jumped into your throat, “Oh, I could never. I’m happy to watch from a distance.”

“Oh,” he feigned a pout as you walked back to where he was leaning. “Well then miss, I hate to say this but I can’t accept these.”

He pulled out a jar from each of his pockets and presented them to you.

“What?” you looked at the cakes and then back at him, offence displaying itself on your features.

“You heard me,” he smirked. “It wouldn’t be right. You put an awful lotta work into these cakes, you can’t just be given ‘em away.”

You bit your lip at the predicament in frustration and furrowed your eyebrows. The tall man raised an eyebrow and fought a smile that told you he was enjoying this.

“So, you’re saying if I let you give me a ride…you’ll take the cakes?”

“Yes I am, miss,” he confirms. “It would be my pleasure.”

An internal battle raged in you, but all you had to do was glance at the look on his face. The thrill of the unknown mingled with the warmth of his smile was enough to make your heart race. His eyes housed a genuine want, a need, and far be it from you to deny him. The “battle” was over before it even started.

“Fine, yeah, okay,” you relented.

His grin widened as he got on and gestured for you to hop on behind him. You couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement as you settled onto the motorcycle. The engine roared to life beneath you, vibrating with power and promise, mirroring your heartbeat.

“Hold on to me,” he instructed.

You swallowed before wrapping your arms around him gingerly, really your arms formed a ring around him, not touching him at all.

“You’ll need to hold on a little tighter, miss,” he chuckled.

Slowly, your arms tightened around him, a little too slow for him apparently because he kicked off suddenly causing you to grip him harshly.

“You jerk,” you shouted, as the wind nipped against your skin.

You couldn’t hear it but could feel the laugh the man in front of you let out, his strong back convulsing in a familiar rhythm. Your cheek was pressed against the denim of his jacket, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Lights and corn fields passed by in a blurry mix, and soon the stars were the only thing you could see clearly.

His rythmatic breathing brought a smile to your lips, and you could picture the look of pure serenity on his face. His cologne mixed with cigarettes and gasoline became one you already missed as you breathed in deeply, savouring every moment.

You understood now, the feeling The Vandals sought out, it was peace. It was forgetting everything and giving it all to the road ahead of them. The thrill of speed coursed through your veins, exhilarating and freeing. You held on to the man in front of you, feeling the powerful rumble of the motorcycle beneath you as it devoured the distance.

Every now and again he would look back to check on you, and every time you’d give him the same reassuring nod that let him know you were doing okay.

As you rode deeper into the night, a sense of liberation washed over you. The worries and insecurities that had plagued your mind earlier faded into the background, replaced by a sense of adventure and possibility. The road stretched out before you like an endless ribbon, beckoning you to explore its twists and turns.

However, it was over too soon. Before long, you had found your way back to the biker gang’s bar.

He finally came to a stop in a small open space, the engine purring to a halt. You untangled yourself from him, stepping off the bike with shaky legs.

You turned to face him, his silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. His eyes bore into yours, a mix of mystery and need.

“Thank you,” you beamed. “That was wonderful.”

“My pleasure miss,” he grins back, a hint of sadness flashing across his face as he got off the bike.

“I’m jealous,” you admitted, watching as took off his gloves. “You get to do that every day.”

“You could too,” he says before he could catch himself, leaning against it. “If you wanted to.”

“That would be amazing,” you say, rocking back and forth on your toes in thought.

The man smiled at your frame, admiring the way you could disappear into your head at the drop of a hat.

“Oh,” you snapped out of your reverie, shocking the man before you. “Now you have to eat the cake.”

“What,” he deadpanned.

“You have to eat the cake,” you repeated. “I kept my end of the deal now you keep yours.”

“I don’t have a-”

“Here,” you say, pulling a spoon from your bag.

“I don’t know where that spoon had been,” he smirks.

“Can you just try it,” you mumbled. “I want to see if you like it.”

He couldn’t say no to you even if he wanted to.

Putting the spoon in his mouth, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of the jars of Raspberry Delights. As he twists it open he swears he sees your eyes widen, and he has to stop himself from blushing at your eagerness.

You're practically bouncing while you watch him dip the spoon into the cake and put it to his lips. You hold your breath as he takes it in.

His brows furrow before he breaks out into a smile.

“That’s fucking delicious,” he lets out. “It's not too sweet, which I like.”

He watches as you glow brighter at the compliments.

“I’m glad you like it,” you sigh, looking at the ground in shyness.

“I love it, little miss,” he corrects, as he takes another spoonful of the raspberry cake into his mouth. “Now, I’m jealous. You get to eat these all the time.”

“I can fix that,” you giggle, and before you can think you're cleaning the corner of his mouth with your thumb lovingly.

As you begin to retract your hand, he grabs hold of it, keeping your hand on his face. His eyes watched you intently. There was a raw intensity in them, a fire that burned bright against the darkness. His rough fingers smoothed out yours so that you were caressing his face, his hand still covering yours.

You were so shocked and entranced by the touch that you didn’t notice his tongue darting out to clean your thumb.

A yelp echoed through the night as he sucked on the leftover raspberry cream, your skin prickling with a sudden heat. His eyes remained trained on yours, a twinge of playfulness circling his irises. He observed your gaze fall to where his tongue connected with your finger. He watched as your lips parted in concentration and curiosity.

He loved that look, the eagerness in your eyes to see what would happen next. He also loved the power you gave him in the moment, the trust you gave him to guide you.

He wanted more. He craved more. He craved you.

Your eyes flickered to his as he released your hand and reached out to caress your face. The rough calluses of his hand actually felt nice against your soft cheeks and, unconsciously, you leaned into it. The gesture brought a loving smile to his face.

He set the jar of raspberry cake on the back of his bike and let his hand fall to the small of your waist, pulling you closer. The gasp you let out only fueled his growing need for you. Your chest rose and fell against him and you felt the tips of your ears beginning to burn. The focus in his gaze made you feel like the only girl in the world, and that terrified you. At that moment, the only thing you wanted to do at that moment was look down or away from him, but the hand on your cheek didn’t allow it.

“Can I kiss you miss?” he breathed out, already bringing you closer.

“Please,” you let out, surprising yourself.

He didn't waste another second and closed the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a fervent, intoxicating kiss. The world around you seemed to fade away as you melted into each other, a whirlwind of passion and desire consuming every inch of your being.

His kiss was like nothing you had ever experienced before, a mixture of roughness and tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. You found yourself lost in the moment, your hands instinctively clinging onto his jacket as he deepened the kiss, his demeanour shifting from playful to intense.

As the kiss lingered, time seemed to stand still. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms beneath the moonlit sky. The night air crackled with electricity, and you could feel the heat radiating between you as if it were its own entity.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless and flushed, your chests rising and falling in sync. His eyes bore into yours, lips falling into a smile.

“I’m, uh, I’m Benny,” he stuttered, his cheeks becoming a slight pink.

“Hello Benny,” you giggle at his sudden show of shyness. “Everyone calls me Bun.”

|*|

A/n: first time writing for Austin!! Feedback is welcomed. Hope you enjoyed!!

[candypot]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗦𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗡𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗧 : ex with attachment issues headcanons

notes: came back with more cunty content about this cunty queen

|theres NSFW mentions on this post - don’t scroll if you’re a minor|

•Probably will resent you very much for wasting his precious time, but the scale of his harshness towards you depends on the breakup reason.

• At the worst case he'll throw some light shade at you whenever you happened to be in the same room as him. It would be too impolite to just directly address his displeasure with your presence, so expect just some indirect complaints about your "exaggerated perfume" or your "disrespect towards the school etiquette”. He'll make sure to bother just enough to satisfy his hurt ego, even though he knew deep down it was ridiculous for his image as a dorm leader.

• if the breakup reason was lighter, he'll just make sure to address you with indifference and politeness like he does with any other student of Night Raven College. You might feel some sharp glares towards you sometimes or a additional rigid breath, but he'll never bother you with such a nonsense because of his unattached persona.

• Surely won't bat an eye when you pass through him on the crowded corridors of the college, Vil was an excellent actor after all and he would do everything he could to hide how much you affected him with your absence.

• But this doesn't mean you should go around underestimating his peripheral vision, in the end the day his eyes were scanning every little corner with the hope of finding you somewhere.

• Also, don't get too careless thinking you can move on quickly after the break up. If you're even thinking about seeing someone else with less than two months, be aware that he's going to come back in your life just to torment you. Vil loves to remind you how good it was to have him as a partner in times like this and also how horrible it could be to lost him forever. He'll make sure to come back to you just to make sure you drop your other options before he pushes you away again.

• Make sure you're prepared to be dragged on a vicious cycle of affection and indifference depending on his mood of the day. He missed you so much... but he had to move on from that phase as quick as possible for the sake of his career... but you had to understand that you were made to be his... but he also should stop pampering you so much after such mediocre relationship…. but you also should be more considerate with his feelings, you guys had story together... but seriously! you had to stop being so overly sensitive and leave him alone when he needed. It would be a endless and torturing cycle for the both of you, he wanted to feel worth your attention and at the same time make sure you knew what you had lost.

• Would try to push the thoughts of you to the back of his mind with the practice of physical exercise. It was honestly so stressing to not being able to focus on anything after that awful break up with such a common person! He had to clear his mind up with something or at least be tired enough to not think about it (he would probably dream about you anyway).

• Maybe he could even start seeing a therapist to read more deeply into this strange addiction he had of you. The other alternatives weren't helping to clean his mind anymore and he could notice how physically and emotionally draining it was getting to not understand his feeling towards you.

• Shamefully, hate sex would probably be a thing. It was so so so humiliating to have his thoughts wandering around you and the heated moments you guys shared together... his bed seemed so empty without your warm body trembling bellow him (or on top of him). He was so dumb to even bring you to his room in first place! How could he even sleep in such a place after all you had done in those sheets? Now it was almost as necessary as oxygen to have your lowly presence by his side again, he needed to feel your grotesque hands on him and your petulant mouth on his.

• The whole experience would be very humiliating for the both of you, nor him nor you would have the gut to admit you were constantly seeking each other behind that hatful facade. At some point, people wouldn't even bother to understand your current status of relationship anymore. Even Rook, which was the biggest stalker supporter of the both of you was tired of listening those well know noises from his roi du poison's room.

[calmcoldevening]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a Micheal Myers X Dr. Loomis’s daughter reader one shot? I thought it’d be an interesting read lol. If you’re not Interested or too busy that’s completely fine! I just haven’t seen any one else do this request. Honestly, I would request more, but I’m always too nervous to talk to people online and in person. Sorry for the unnecessary rambling! Thank you and have a lovely day or night ( depending on what time you see this lol )!

Michael Myers x reader, who is Dr. Loomis's daughter

The boy with the eyes of the devil. Monster.

You didn’t fully understand what your father was talking about, after all, at that time you were only six years old, but you could say with confidence that this “something” made your father terribly nervous and even frightened him, although he would never admit it.

It was an ordinary early November morning. The weather was cloudy, all the streets were filled with milky fog. The damp air settled unpleasantly in my lungs with each new breath. You sat in the back seat of the car while your father put the key in the ignition. Your small hands nervously fiddled with the edge of your seat belt. Not to say that this was your first trip to your father’s place of work, no. On the contrary, you often went there with him, because sometimes there was no one to leave you with at home, almost all of your dad’s colleagues knew you. And yet today the atmosphere in the car was unpleasantly oppressive and dense, you could literally cut it with a knife. It seemed that your father was weighed down by some thoughts, but you did not dare to ask him about it.

The journey to the psychiatric hospital took quite a long time because your father decided to take a longer but safer route. He didn't want any accident to happen due to such thick fog.

When you arrived at the hospital, it was already around seven in the morning. You approached a tall building, which, despite its appearance and neat paths for walking with patients, inspired subconscious fear in you. Your father gently but firmly took your hand.It was quite dark outside, so when you walked inside, an unpleasant greenish light hit your eyes, creating a strangely tense atmosphere among the white walls of the hospital. Your father immediately went to some office. It was a small office, filled with various folders and documents. In the middle of the room, at a dark table, sat the man with whom your father was now talking. You didn’t pay much attention to their conversation, completely captivated by the small colorful fish in the aquarium. Your children's palms carefully pressed against the slightly cloudy glass, joyfully following with your eyes the colorful fish hiding among the tall corals.

Finally, your father called your name, causing you to reflexively turn your head in his direction. His voice was gentle and calm, but it still contained his characteristic sternness.

 “I need you to stay here for a while, okay? I have work in another office. Will you be a good girl for me?” Loomis asked with a small smile, patting your head. In response, you only nodded briefly.

You were always a smart and understanding child, so Loomis was not afraid to leave you alone. Although he knew that you liked to play by your own rules from time to time, the man really trusted you and your smart mind for a child. After all, you are your father's daughter.

 About fifteen minutes passed before you realized that you were tired of watching the office fish. What's the point of staring at them for a long time if all they do is swim back and forth and back? You definitely should have taken some toys from home. Finally, when boredom took over, you carefully left the office, hoping to find your father and proudly declare that you had nothing to do. Wandering along the corridor, you caught some nurse and asked where your dad was now. This kind soul, of course, didn’t know that she shouldn’t tell you about this, but everyone in this place knew you as a smart and calm child, so she told you the right office without any problems.

It was a particularly remote room at the end of the corridor. The dim green light barely reached here, and there were no windows in this part of the hospital. You quietly opened the right door, wincing slightly at the disgusting creak, and went inside. Inside there was another door with a small window to the right of it. You walked closer to the window, because of your short stature you could barely see what was happening on the other side of the glass. But you perfectly saw your father sitting with his back to you. A strange boy sat next to him. His blond hair was disheveled and looked somewhat dirty, and his empty dark eyes looked simultaneously into nothingness, but at the same time into your very soul. He looked no older than your age, although he was obviously larger than you in size. Your father was telling him something, but the boy did not react to his words at all, he just looked blankly out the window opposite. Did he look at you? Unknown.But it seemed to you that the moment you came into his field of vision, the boy’s head shifted slightly to the side.

This was the first time you saw this boy, a most strange but intriguing meeting. Michael Myers. That’s what your father called him, looking through the child’s personal file in your kitchen at home with a cup of coffee in his hands.

The next time you saw this boy was only about two weeks later. Your father purposefully brought you to Michael's room, hoping that perhaps you, as a child, could establish some kind of contact with this strange boy. Loomis gently squeezed your hand, looking down at you with a smile.

“This is a special boy. You should try playing with him, okay?” You nodded curtly in response. "That’s my girl."

Loomis led you into the same small room, not even suspecting that you had already been here once. Your own cunning caused a small, naive smile to bloom on your face. Loomis led you to Michael sitting on the bed and sat you on the chair next to him.

“I’ll be behind this door if anything happens to you, okay honey?” With these words, Loomis left the room.

You carefully sat down on the chair, folding your hands in your lap. The boy in front of you looked almost like a lifeless doll, so empty was the look in his dark eyes. He looked somewhere ahead and didn't even blink. You smiled slightly, deciding to use all your charm and friendliness.

“My name is Y/N. And what is your name?"

The boy didn't react. But you could have sworn you saw the focus of his eyes shift from the emptiness in front of him to you, seemingly appraising you. A pleasant burning sensation lit up in your heart when you realized that this boy was truly “special”, as your dad told you, and not some emotionless vegetable. It seems like that’s what doctors called such people, no? You weren't sure. But you really wanted to appear grown up and work like your dad in the future, so you wanted to start getting some knowledge about it right now.

“Your name is Michael, right?” you smiled your childish, somewhat toothless smile, “You don’t really like to talk, do you? I think yes. Then do you mind if I do the talking?” There was only silence in response. You giggled, “Silence is a sign of consent! So, I'm six. Probably you too? I haven’t been told much about you, to be honest.”

Now you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms over your chest and pouting your lips in a mock pout.

“This is so awkward. I want to grow up quickly so I won't be treated like a child anymore! Oh, you know, I really like to draw! I don't think you'll tell me what you like, after all, it's just me talking now, but next time let me bring sketchbooks and pencils? I think you'll enjoy drawing too! It's really interesting."

One moment there is darkness, and the next there is this gentle voice and a warm feeling of presence. Other... people radiated only coldness and anger towards him, but this pure soul was strangely kind and welcoming. He had already felt it once, when that unpleasant and stern man was in front of him, but then she was far away. Now she was right in front of him. A girl. She told him her name, and even tried to start some kind of cute, even somewhat stupid, childish conversation with him. There was absolutely no point in talking to this girl, but for some reason her presence was strangely comforting and almost pleasant. It was as if he was little again, at home. But now he knew that he did not have that warm, old home. Not after the voice in his head told him to kill his dirty sister, no. And yet now he wanted the presence of this girl, although he himself did not know why.

You have become a frequent visitor to this psychiatric hospital. You usually visited Michael once or twice a week, and Loomis very soon noticed the results. The boy really opened up to you. Even if it really couldn’t be seen with a simple glance, Samuel, as a psychiatrist, had long noticed the difference: the way Michael’s head tilted when he listened with interest to your stories, or the way he gave you certain unambiguous answers in his own way. It seemed that the two of you had your own language, understandable only to you two. Michael even smiled next to you (although it could hardly be called a smile, but the corners of his lips curled up slightly nervously when he saw you, although it only happened for a split second). For Loomis, this was indeed a definite discovery. The man noticed how the boy sat on his bed for a long time, waiting for you, and seemed to be calculating the time and day. The hospital did not tell him today’s date, because there was no particular need for this, but Michael independently realized that you usually come on Tuesday or Wednesday and always Friday. Surprisingly, his cold heart opened up to you.

At first, this really encouraged Loomis, because perhaps his patient was beginning to recover. But after two or three months he realized that he was mistaken. Michael's personality development only happened in exceptional moments when you were around. The rest of the time, he did not react in any way to the requests or words of the staff and doctors. Michael has become attached to you. No, rather, to some extent he became obsessed with you. Loomis saw that deadly metallic glint in Michael's dark eyes as the man walked back into the room, saying your time is up. Michael’s childish fists almost twitched, as if an obsessive desire to hurt the doctor arose in his mind, if only you would remain nearby.

As the years passed, the doctor realized that getting you into Myers' "treatment" was a bad idea. Now you are ten years old, and Loomis has reduced your meetings to twice a month. He noticed how this affected the boy.

Now Michael absolutely refused to make contact with any of the doctors, spending all his free time in his room, staring blankly at the ceiling. His wall near the bed was covered with your drawings, and on a small table in the corner of the room lay a half-empty pack of pencils and a new album. You brought it during your last visit, saying that you would draw it next time. Five weeks have passed since that time, and Michael still hasn’t dared to touch the ill-fated album. The cover with the cats was already fairly covered with dust, and the pencils were covered in red and black. Michael obediently waited for the next time, knowing that you would not deceive. It is so? You always came back, no matter how badly he behaved with doctors, right? He will wait as long as necessary, like a little faithful puppy.

The guy stopped counting the days, and the world around him turned into endless darkness. All these brainless doctors and orderlies, whose souls are each blacker than the other. Vile, dirty people with no compassion. He missed his little flower. A pure, cheerful creature who brings colors into his life, and with them light. Her soul was the only source of light in this endless dark pit. Why was it taken from him? They took away his source of warmth and light, his little sun. She will be back. She'll definitely be back. She's different. He knows.

---

It was an ordinary cloudy day at the Illinois State Mental Hospital. The sky was covered with a dense layer of gray clouds, threatening to burst into torrential rain, and fog covered everything around. The evening swayed the trees with thin tables with unprecedented force, carrying already fairly yellowed leaves for miles around in a simple dance.

You sighed nervously, looking at the fading nature outside the window. Finally, you turned your head in the direction of your father, who was enthusiastically giving you another lecture of instructions, completely not noticing that you were absolutely not interested in it.

"..dad. I’ve read his personal file three times already, I understand everything, okay?”

The man frowned, but exhaled in defeat, folding his hands behind his back. Even when he relaxed his face, a few wrinkles on his face remained, clearly indicating the man's age and the stress of his job.

“I know, I’m just worried about you.Are you sure you want to practice medicine with this particular patient? You know, there are several dozen more patients in your specialty, and less dangerous ones..."

“Dad,” you interrupt him with a frown, “You and I have already discussed this several times, haven’t we? Don't worry. After all, he is your patient, I know you will intervene if something goes wrong.”

Finally the man gave in. He nodded in agreement and briefly hugged you, patting you on the head like when you were a child. A short “ok” left his lips, and together you headed towards the ill-fated office.

The sound of a door opening. Michael didn't bother to turn his head towards the entering doctor. The guy knew that now again the meaningless dialogues on the part of the doctor and even more meaningless taking of pills would begin. He was healthy, the guy was sure of it. He had long ago become accustomed to the emptiness in his chest that had become painfully familiar to him and the noise of endless thoughts in his mind. And he didn't want to change that. It was as if, over such a long period of time, this state had become like a protective cocoon for him.

The room was filled with an unobtrusive sweetish aroma of some fruity perfume, from which Michael could barely restrain himself from wrinkled his nose. The heavy silence in the room was interrupted only by the steady tapping of women's heels. It had been a long time since he had been visited by a female doctor, something new.

"Hello, Michael."

These few words made the guy's heart clench unpleasantly. He stared in front of him, now fully feeling that long-forgotten feeling of warmth and light presence. That bright figure of white light appeared before my eyes again, like the purest angel on earth. A short sigh escaped from his chest, and his lips almost reflexively bent into a pitiful semblance of a smile. Still, he was really glad to see her. He knew she would return. He knew, even if that pathetic old man and his employees told Michael otherwise. He knew you were different.

"It's been a long time... I'm really sorry."

He remained silent, instead absorbing her every new word like a sponge thrown into the sea. Now he didn't care that she left, because she came back. The guy tried to remember everything: the aroma of her perfume, which now seemed so painfully sweet and pleasant, driving his entire pulsating mind crazy; the sound of her angelic voice is like a gentle cradle, lulling him in her tender embrace. He tried to remember everything. Now her fragile image filled his entire mind. He wanted to touch, touch, feel, show that she was his. Over the many years of being here, he realized that she was his, and he had to prove it to everyone. His light, his delicate flower, his sun.The guy was ready to fulfill all her instructions and requests, if only she would stay with him as long as possible. Stayed forever.

Now the girl came to him every day, and Michael could not imagine anything better. It was as if all his dreams had come true.

She was his personal nurse.

In the mornings she sometimes combed his hair. Usually it stuck out and was very messy and dirty, but now his curly hair looked clean and soft.

She brought him food, and sometimes Michael deliberately chose to pretend to be a brainless vegetable, if only she would feed him herself, gently bringing the spoon to his bitten lips.

Michael could have sworn that there was actually excitement and tenderness in her actions, as if she was worried and genuinely cared about him. And just thinking about it made his soul warm. Now he heard her voice every day, felt her gentle touches, felt her trepidation and care. But this was not enough. He wanted more. Michael felt a strange burning sensation when she talked to other people in the hospital, especially men. He began to feel an unpleasant itch, and images were scrolling through his head of how he could kill this vile guard and then pull her into his protective arms. Michael wanted her hands on his neck or in his hair, and his hands on her soft hips. He wanted her for himself and no one else.

---

That morning you came again to give Michael pills. You were the only one Michael allowed to give him his medicine. He would even drink poison from your hands. The main condition was that there should be no security either inside or outside.

You moved closer, gently lifting Michael's chin with your gentle fingers. He wrapped his arms around your hips, looking up at you, and obediently opened his mouth. You placed the colored tablet on his tongue, to which he quickly swallowed it, without water. The man’s hands gently roamed over your soft flesh, pressing you as close to him as possible. You gently massaged his tangled hair, lightly scratching his itchy skin from constant thoughts.

“Michael..” his name sounds like the sweetest honey on your tongue, the man is ready to listen to this for an eternity, “I’m sorry, but today is the last day of my practice.”

Michael raised his eyebrows slightly, snuggling into your gentle hand.He wanted you to explain what it was about and why you had such a sad expression on your face. The guy wanted answers, but you perfectly remembered your father’s request not to tell him about it. This could cause Michael to become aggressive. Still, you didn’t want to hurt him. So you just briefly hugged him by his strong shoulders and briefly kissed his forehead.

The next day you didn't come.

And every other day too.

Did he do something wrong? The evil doctors did not allow you to come to him again? Michael had many questions, and yet, the answer for him was the arrogant smiling face of Dr. Loomis.

---

It was Halloween evening. You have already distributed all your candy to the children in colorful costumes, who for a good few hours interrupted your peaceful existence with their constant knocking on the door. Now you were sitting relaxed on the sofa in the living room and watching your favorite horror movie, sipping sweet soda with pleasure. And so, at the next moment, when something terrible was about to happen in the film, you heard that ill-fated doorbell again. With an annoyed sigh, you stood up from the couch, setting the soda on the table, and headed towards the door. To your surprise, there was no one on the street. But as soon as you closed the door, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. You tried to escape, hitting the stranger in the stomach with your elbows, to which you only received a muffled grunt. A strange metallic smell filled my nose. You turned around, feeling your heart beating wildly in fear in your chest. Your eyes met the emotionless eye-shaped cutouts on the latex mask. Is this some kind of joke? You wanted to scream, but were interrupted by the sharp sensation of someone else's lips on your neck. How did he manage to roll up the edge of his mask so quickly? You bit your lower lip in fear, pulling off the unfortunate mask with one sharp movement. Now a pair of sad dark eyes are staring at you.

“Michael?.. How you.. why are you here?”

The man just muttered something unintelligible, rubbing his nose against the skin of your neck.

Loomis worriedly dialed your phone number, putting the phone to his ear. His most dangerous and unstable patient has escaped. Possible options for his direction were his younger sister Laurie and... you.

“Y/N, baby, are you okay? I'm in the hospital now and Myers has escaped! If he headed towards you and something happened to you, I don’t know what I’ll do...” The doctor muttered nervously, wiping his own forehead, sweaty from stress, with his palm.

“No, it's okay, dad. I didn’t see him,” came the answer from the other side of the line. A steady, quiet snoring could be heard in the background.

[vienssunshine]

The Girl Next Door

pairing: Makima x fem!reader nsfw/cw: dom!Makima, mind control, mind break, noncon, gore, dark wc: 3.3k author's note: this was inspired by a tiktok cosplay i saw description: a lady covered in blood shows up to your door, just wanting to be let in

With money so tight, moving into one of the small houses in the outskirts of the city was your only option. Though a little rundown, your new home seemed nice enough, cozy and rustic, with your favorite part being how it sits right on the coast. The papers were signed and you could finally breathe a sigh of relief; living in a place of your own, without loud roommates or money-hungry landlords, was just what you needed to get your life back on track.

But then you tried to invite your coworkers over for a small housewarming party. Their smiles fell when you shared your address, and they asked only one question: did you know what went on at the house at the end of the street? 

You had noticed it, of course, the house was hard to miss, so large that it seemed like it was always about to teeter and fall off its perch on the cliffside. But it ultimately wasn’t a factor when buying your property, the price point of your small home the primary consideration. The only thing you had noted was the pleasant view it provided during sunset, the mansion-house sitting over the water reflecting the sky’s blend of colors was a picturesque sight. It was only when night fell and the wind began carrying screams through your windows you finally believed your coworkers' once ridiculous claims—that the house was owned and used by members of the Yakuza.

The first few weeks settling in to your new home were difficult. The noises at night haunted you—the rumbles of tires on gravel as cars traveled past your house up the cliff, the raucous laughter during game nights, and the occasional round of muffled gunshots. You’d close the windows and press your pillow to your ear.

Sometimes men would come up to your doorstep, banging on the door to ask for help finding the only house they could be looking for. You’d quickly give them directions, but once they got a good look at you, they’d change the conversation, saying how they could help you out with your living situation, take you to a much nicer place to which you’d have to awkwardly laugh and excuse yourself. You got an additional lock and stopped answering the door. 

It took you the better half of one month to learn all you need to know about this place, which is that it’s best to ignore anything that happens outside of your home.

Yet, tonight is eerily quiet. You hadn’t even had to shut the window. Besides the chatter from the show playing on your TV box, there’s only the gentle crash of waves on the shore and the low hum of the wind.

Your gaze wanders from the flickering screen to the open window behind you on the couch. The gap in the trees swaddling your house allows a straight line of sight from your living room window to the front of the infamous property, a sight you once admired. You felt like the biggest idiot in the world when you found out you had just moved into one of the worst areas near the city, but it's not like the place screams “this is a Yakuza house, don’t move here!” In fact, aside from the few cars pulled up in the driveway, the place looks abandoned tonight—all the lights are off, leaving the full moon alone to illuminate the house. It’s a strange sight for a Friday night. The place is usually spilling over with drunk guests on weekends, a chaos you usually can avoid by working the night shift. 

Then the front door opens and a figure strolls out onto the porch. It’s not any of the men you’ve seen lurking around before—it’s someone new, a woman. 

She doesn’t look like she’s from the area, dressed plainly yet sharp in a patterned button-up, a black tie, and slacks. Most of her hair is pulled back aside from her bangs that frame her face neatly. What could she be doing out there so late at night? Does she not know what goes on at that house?

The woman descends the stairs, stepping out into the moonlight. With a better look at her, the pattern on her shirt sticks out as strange. Dark, red splatters soak her white blouse. Your breath catches in your throat. It looks like blood. 

Her eyes flick over to yours. They’re orange and bright with a glow that cuts through the dark veil of the night right into your window. 

You duck down onto the couch, curled up into yourself. 

She saw you.

You don’t know how it’s even possible, your house is almost a mile away and in the company of the other homes scattered along the treeline that look just like yours. How did she know to look at your house, right at your open window?

Whatever the explanation, you just poked your nose into business you shouldn’t have. Your one fucking rule and you broke it. 

You get up and lock your door. Both locks. You test the knob with a twist, and then a yank. When it doesn’t move, you back up and sit down onto the couch, pulling your knees up to your chest. The TV has switched to running infomercials, but the chatter of the hosts is distant and unintelligible, blocked out by each drum of your rapid heartbeat echoing through your head.

Maybe you’re overreacting, letting your coworkers' stories get to you. No, there's something different about this kind of panic—it's instinctual. There's something wrong that you can't place but your body can, even if it can't communicate it back to you.

There’s a knock at your door. You startle to your feet. No, it can’t be her. That’s not physically possible. 

“Hello?” A calm voice travels through the door. 

It is. 

You hurry to the side of the couch furthest from the door, crouching down behind it with a hand pressed to your mouth, eyes locked onto the door you’re absolutely not answering. Maybe she’ll think no one’s home?

“I know you’re in there.”

Shit. Of course she knows, the TV is still playing. You don’t know what to do. You look around, frantically. Is there anything you can use as a weapon? A magazine…an empty cup…a shoe…?

The door you’re certain was just locked—you locked it, both locks—slowly opens, revealing the lady from the porch miraculously standing in the doorway. She couldn’t have run here, her hair still falls perfectly around her face, not disheveled at all.

Her eyes find your crouched form barely protected by the couch. She tilts to the side, greeting you with a polite smile, “Hello there. May I come in?”

You stand up, fingers digging into the arm of the couch. “I didn’t see anything,” you hurry out, “Nothing at all. Please, I–I don’t want any trouble.”

She rights herself before letting her gaze make a round over your body, sizing you up. “You seem nervous,” she observes, “I’m sure a simple conversation can sort this all out.”

“You just want to...talk?” It can’t be that easy. These people, they’re—your mind flashes to the hand, only a hand, that washed up on the shore during your morning walk last week. They’re the type of people to do things like that. 

“Yes,” she responds. Her expression remains placid, polite, and completely unreadable. You’re not certain her look would change if she decided to strangle you to death right now. 

No, you’re not going to let it end like this, your own stupidity killing you. You will not be a hand on the beach, and you’ll do anything to avoid such a fate. And if it’s a conversation she wants, you’ll just have to make sure you don’t say the wrong thing. 

“All right,” you say. “We can talk.”

She steps into the room and closes the door behind her. Then, she leans down to pick up the remote from your coffee table, pressing a button and clicking off the TV. Now it’s just you, her, and the roar of the waves below.

“Sit down,” she says, gesturing to your couch, like it’s hers to offer. Circling around the arm of the couch, you glance over to the window. It’s still open. The cliffside is steep, but if you jumped up on the couch and through the window–

She repeats herself, “Sit down,” and you do. Right, that’s the goal, to talk this out. Coming up with an escape plan would only worsen your stress, it’s easier to just do as she says and hopefully get this whole fuck-up of yours fixed.

The woman sits in the armchair perpendicular to the couch, staining it with the blood on her clothes...it's a lot more than what you could see from a distance and completely removes the possibility of cleaning the chair, you'll have to thrift another one.

She tilts her head, giving you a thin-lipped smile. “I’m Makima, head of the Public Safety Devil Hunter organization. I understand you’re a witness to my involvement in what’s happened up the street.” 

You shake your head. “No, I didn’t see anything.” 

Makima’s smile falters. “Don’t lie to me again.” 

Your mouth goes dry. “Uh–okay. Sorry.”

The smile returns.

“You weren’t supposed to be home this evening,” she asserts. 

You furrow your brows. How would she–? “Yeah, I–uh–switched my shift with a coworker. They had something come up last minute.” 

“Ah, I see,” Makima says, steepling her fingers. “I hate last minute changes.”

You press your lips together and give an awkward nod. “Yeah.” You’re not sure whether this interaction is going well or not, and that’s not how you want to feel when your life's on the line. 

“Well, I find myself in a difficult position.” Makima leans back in the chair. “What I should do is kill you. No one was supposed to see me tonight.”

You knew getting involved in anything related to that house would only bring trouble. Now it’s right here, sitting across from you. You almost break your promise, about to try to convince her that you saw nothing, when she continues:

“But, the standard solution isn’t always the most practical solution.” 

“Right,” you add, like your opinion means anything.

She leans her weight onto the left side of the armchair, studying you. “I do love my job, making a difference in Japan and such, but it can be very taxing. Especially when dealing with the animals that were your neighbors.” 

Your neighbors. It’s their blood on her clothes. You wonder why you don’t feel so bad about that. Or why you can’t take your eyes off of her, even if she’s soaked in blood. It must have something to do with this eerie pull she has—the more she talks, the more you want to listen.

“I do not get many opportunities to release this stress. Many of the men I work with," she sighs, "are insufficient."

"So," she continues, "instead of killing a pretty girl like you, I think there’s a way to resolve our situation favorably for both of us.” She uncrosses her legs. Your eyes flick down to her spread lap before jumping back up to hers. 

“Um, I don’t know what you mean,” you respond, even if the unexpected pulse through your veins contradicts your words. Your body must be becoming confused, all the adrenaline and nerves—your quick breaths, pounding heart, dizziness—it’s beginning to be understood as arousal. 

Makima hums. Then, her hands pull the black tie loose from her collar and go to the topmost button on her blouse. 

“Wait, what are you–” The button is undone, and your protest fades away at the slightest glimpse of her collarbone. Suddenly, you don’t feel like interrupting anymore. Instead, you sit quietly and watch, transfixed, as each little button pops open in succession, revealing the milky skin and black lacy bra underneath. It’s fucked up that how attractive she looks while undressing from blood-splattered clothing. She shrugs off the shirt and it falls onto the back of the chair, the sight of her exposed torso making your stomach flip.

“Do you understand better now?” Makima asks, a coy lilt in her voice.

You let out a shaky breath, eyes roaming over the curves of her breasts and waist. Her body is heavenly, a miracle it ever landed on Earth. The Yakuza…the blood…it’s all slipping away as she emerges to the forefront of your mind. 

“Take my pants off,” she commands, not even looking at you, rather, examining the black tie dripping between her fingers. Though moments ago you were frightened for your life, it’s without hesitation that you fall to your knees in front of her, your nervous hands working to undo the button on her black slacks. You’ve never felt like this before, a sudden desire so strong it’s overcoming your system, but, with a beautiful woman and her flushed face and lowered lids looking down at you, feeling this way is only what makes sense. 

“There you go,” she says, helping you slide off the pants. A lacy thong that matches her bra skates high up over her hip bones, making a V that draws your eyes down to the warmth between her thighs. Now unhindered, her scent leaks into the air, and your eyes flutter as you inhale. It's intoxicating, seeping into your system and clouding your mind, making it harder to think, even to move, until Makima’s words cut through the haze. “It’s okay to touch.”

She reaches down and picks up your wrists, placing your hands on the curve of her waist. You shudder, she’s so soft. Your fingertips roam her torso, exploring the curves and dips of her body, sinking into the flesh that gives as you squeeze into it. Then your fingers travel down and hook underneath the straps of her underwear, lifting the fabric from her skin. The reveal of that small patch hidden by the black strings only feeds your desire more, it’s growing much larger than you can handle.

Makima smirks down at you. “Is there something you want to do?” She spreads her legs wider, gifting you more of her to look at. 

No, you shouldn’t do anything, shouldn't even want to. Getting involved with her is a terrible idea. She's a murderer, she—Makima brings your fingers to the gusset of her underwear—she—she's so wet for you. Makima guides your christened fingertips to your lips and you swipe your tongue over them, drinking in the saccharine flavor. Those heavy thoughts are soon pushed from your head, leaving you only with your deep want to please.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you answer, looking up to her for permission, eyelids lowered in a desire-drunken state.

“So sweet,” she says, resting the side of her face on her hand, “You may.”

Relief overcomes your chest, so grateful that Makima would allow you to touch her in the way you so desperately want to. She’s so kind, so giving. It’s hard to remember why you were even scared in the first place, now your only fear is to be away from her touch, to live without the warmth her blazing gaze casts upon you.

Makima cants her hips up off the cushion of the chair so you can pull off her underwear by its strings, drinking in the way her wetness sticks to the fabric for a moment after separation. Your hands are on her thighs the moment you rid them of the underwear, fingertips squeezing into the plush flesh. You ease her knees open to get a full view of the dripping cunt before you, the sight of it as glorious as the scent. 

You press a kiss to her inner thigh, and then another, but find yourself moving things along faster than usual. There’s a magnetic draw to her center, one that pulls you in between her thighs so before you know it your panting mouth is inches from her pulsing cunt. 

“Go ahead,” Makima encourages, “You’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

You hum your affirmation, unable to fully process the question, too distracted by the desire spewing through your veins; it’s only intensifying, it needs to be acted on. 

It’s the moment your tongue touches the sweet nectar dripping from her cunt that any remaining doubt, hesitation, or concern floating around your mind evaporates. The sensation is overpowering, the best thing you’ve ever had to grace your tastebuds, and you instinctively lap at her cunt again, hungry for more.

“So eager, aren’t we?” Makima teases as your hands land on her hips, locking your body in place as you drink in her fluids. 

“Yes,” you slur, barely able to get the word out as you lick and suck. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s making your body buzz, your brain drunk.

“That’s good,” she says, “I–ah–I needed this.” 

Her praise sends dopamine flooding through your system—she likes that you’re doing this, it’s making her feel good. You like it so much that you’re making her feel good. It makes you feel so good. It’s all you could ever want. What else is there?

You moan into her thighs, wanting to touch between your own, but not daring to release yourself from the pleasure of touching her. It’s like her skin is seeping a toxin into yours, inspiring a reaction that you know you should push down but can’t, only able to sink your fingers deeper into the flesh of her hips, strengthening your body’s connection to hers as you swipe your tongue along her cunt. It’s so warm on your mouth, her folds soft and pliant as they welcome the tongue pushing through them that’s insistent on exploring every inch of her now that you’ve been granted access.

Makima’s hand lands on your head, running her fingers along your hair in slow, even strokes—petting you. Your hips twitch at her stimulation, oh how you love when she touches you.

“You’d make such a good pet,” she says.

Pet. You’d love to be her pet. Worry free, protected, loved. You could leave this whole situation behind you. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, and she could give it to you. 

“Please,” you whimper into her warmth, “Make me yours.”

“You want to be my pet?” she repeats, her free hand closing in around the black tie still sitting in her palm.

“Yes,” you murmur, eyes glazed over. In this moment, it’s all you could ever dream about. 

Makima grins and leans forward, wrapping her black tie around your neck, tying it, and pulling it tight. Then she sits back, and with a yank, returns you to the space between her legs with her makeshift leash. 

“Then keep going, pet.” 

You moan and eagerly return to your position between her thighs, eating her out messily, sloppily, like a goddamn animal. 

Her fingers tighten in your hair and her head falls back against the back of the chair. “Fuck,” she moans, “That’s a good pet. Good–ah–pet, such a good pet.”

You want to keep being her good pet. Making her feel so good so her chest rises and falls rapidly with her short, uneven breathes and so she pulls at your hair like she is now. You don’t care about the pain—how unnaturally strong her grip is, how tightly her thighs are locked around your head, how the tie is chafing the skin of your neck. None of that matters. The pleasure of serving her outweighs all of it. You’ll give her what she wants, no matter the consequences.

And she only wants one thing right now. So you bury your face even deeper, bringing all your attention to her throbbing clit. Her hips jolt, lifting her aching hole up and you meet it with a finger that you push into her warmth. She clamps around you, pulling your finger into her. You just add another and she takes it too. Your lungs are burning—not having taken a breath yet—but you don’t care. You’d die here if it meant she’d cum. You’d die here if she merely asked you to.

With a low, long moan she seizes on your eager tongue, fingers tight around your leash as she pulls you by it into her deeper. You lick and suck as she cums all over your face, drenching you in her scent, her flavor. Claiming you. 

You sit back on your heels, watching her, waiting for whatever she says next. A command follows, “Redress me.”

Like a good little pet, you do, pulling her underwear back up her legs, then her pants. Finally, her bloodied blouse.

“Your clothes are still dirty,” you say, “Do you want to wear mine?” Instinctively you go to pull your shirt up but Makima waves her hand.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay,” you say, “And your tie?” Your hands come up to your neck to untie it at her request.

Her eyes flick down to the fabric around your throat. “Keep it as a reminder of who you belong to.”

“I will,” you agree, hands coming back down from your neck. As you lower them, you notice some of the blood from her clothes has transferred over, staining your skin in uneven splotches. 

When you look back up she’s halfway out the door. “No one needs to hear about our little encounter. Or anything at all regarding tonight, correct?”

“Of course not,” you respond. Not even torture would get you to betray Makima. You’re hers now.

“Good pet,” she rewards you. The door closes behind her and you walk into the kitchen to wash your hands.

There’s no reason to worry about the house at the end of the street anymore.

[dustymeadows-if]

Dust particles flow in the air, shimmering with golden light of the sun. They rise to the sky, equally golden and hazy. Your mind is empty. There is no single memory in your head. Only one thought is ringing in your brain.

You must walk forward. Walk until your feet begin to bleed. Walk until your shoes fall apart.

And for some reason you can't oppose this thought.

This is your road to Damascus.

Dusty Meadows is a short interactive story set in post-WW1 world. It's a small psychological adventure that will take you through the scarred European fields. Wander the abandoned trenches, scorched forests, poisonous valleys and silent, deadly no man's land.

You don't remember anything. The feelings, however, still linger. Feelings like pain, grief and bitter longing. Your body is mutilated, but you feel no physical pain. It's your soul that aches. It's as if an important piece of it was heartlessly ripped off. This pain urges you to go forward. The answers might lie just behind the next hill or river. Your life depends on returning. Returning your soul. Returning your memories. Returning your life. Returning home.

That is, if there's anything left for you to return to at all.

Customizable MC: choose your gender, appearance, personality and name (if you can remember it, of course).

Meet the cast of various charachters: you're not the only one wandering and seeking these desolate lands. Talk to other wayfaring souls, listen to their stories. Maybe even share the same road and experience strangely deep bond with some of them...

Return your memories: remove the shroud from your past. Remember how you got here. Remember what hides behind the scars on your body. But be wary: some memories are forgotten for a reason.

Explore different locations: travel through the remains of war, learn what happened there and remember what binds you to these places.

Maintain your sanity: nobody said that battlefields are safe even after the war. Your mind is as scarred as your body, and sometimes memories crash like tidal waves. Whether you'll hold the line or succumb to the dark depths - is up to you and you only.

Tired Infantryman - Basile (M)

This man could be a definition of word "apathy". Everything about him is grey: both literally and figuratively. Dressed in grey-bluish trenchcoat, covered in grey dust, he looks at you with dull grey eyes. Even in his dark brown hair you can see grey strands, although he's still pretty young. He doesn't seem to be interested in anything around him, except for his cigarettes. His left arm is missing, and you can't help but wonder what's the story behind this.

Frozen Operator - Johann (M)

He is... a weird man. Tall and muscular like someone working in the fields all day long. But at the same time his skin is the palest and the coldest you've ever seen, and his eyes are sunken as if he was spending many sleepless nights doing paperwork. He's also the only one without any visible wounds, which is very unusual to see in this place. Johann seems like a kind and outgoing man, but he hides something deep in his heart.

Blind Journalist - Gelsomina (F)

Upper half of her face is covered with bandages, but even so you can tell she's a very beautiful woman. Dark blood stains over the place where her eyes were never seem to fully dry. She is much alike that blood: restless almost to despair. This woman will either find peace or die, and the least seems to be most likely. Losing her eyes was a hard hit: she can't see, she can't write, she can't do her job which had always meant life for her. She lost every reason to live, but the fire of her stubbornness is blazing hard, keeping her alive and eating her from inside at the same time.

Wayward Nun - Jolan (F)

She is a strange sight. Dressed in nun robes which covers her whole body, she also wears a gas mask which she refuses to ever take off. This woman is like a walking fortress of her own, cutting off every direct contact with the outer world. She barely speaks, preferring simple gestures, or rather, not communicating at all. You don't know what she looks like, what she sounds like, but here's one thing you know for sure: guilt is seeping through every crack of her thick defense.

Demo - TBA

[tragedybunny]

To Make You Feel My Love - Chapter 1 of 3

༺Summary༻

Astarion and Serafina continue to pursue their relationship as the confrontation with Cazador looms, and then during the fallout afterward. A couple of chapters that explore their deepening bond and their struggle to build "something real".

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Serafina (Female Tav/OC)

༺Warnings༻ Angst, Hurt / Comfort, Attempted Sex

༺Word Count༻ 2776

༺A/N༻ Another fic featuring my Tav as a name character! Very excited to share more of Serafina. Thanks to my lovely friend @icybluepenguin for the beta and support!

Read on AO3

Astarion was a wretch, and he knew it. He was finicky, selfish, obnoxious, and difficult. But he also knew so much of that was because of life under Cazador. It was who he was outside of that life that he didn't know. He wasn't sure how to find out, either, or how much he wanted to. 

He’d expected it to be asked of him though, that eventually he should find a way to make himself more palatable. Serafina never did though. Sometimes it stuck in his throat like bile how kind she was to him. She never asked anything of him, only gave and gave, while he took and took, with gentle words and warm smiles until sometimes he worried there would be nothing left of her. 

It drove him mad, for several reasons. First, he was convinced that one day that fount of affection and understanding would run dry. She couldn’t love him as he was forever. Then there was the sensation that he somehow needed to repay it, even if it was never asked of him. Maybe it would balance the scales, maybe it would keep her from tiring of him. No matter what she claimed, she must expect something of him. Finally, and most strangely for him, he wanted to repay it. Didn’t she deserve it, after everything? And she most assuredly needed it. 

Despite her protests that everything was always fine and that she didn’t need anything extra, he knew different. It was ridiculous. He’d seen her going through days with tired eyes, giving smiles that only lasted as long as they needed to, and the way her shoulders would slump when things would upset her, but she wouldn’t say anything. 

Like earlier today, when he’d opened his mouth and ruined everything again.

Flowers. That’s how it had all started. They’d passed through a garden in full bloom, and words had tumbled out of him before he could think. 

“Bright and gaudy.”Inane prattle, complaining about something that had no effect on him simply because he could. He just had to lash out at something.

Cazador was looming over him, the plan already in place to take the fight to him sooner rather than later. His siblings' surprise visit the night before had spurred that decision. Fear gnawed its way into his mind, biting and clawing, ripping away the fragile sense of safety and comfort he'd built.

That didn't change the fact that when Karlach's elbow had collided with his ribs, he'd looked over to see Sera's shoulders drooping and her mood soured. How could he forget about one of the few things she’d let slip about her home. She couldn't reveal much about her past thanks to that pesky warlock pact, but there had been a garden of some sort. And he'd managed to shit on what she had. He was already terrified and he felt himself spiraling back into the thought that he didn’t know why she bothered with him. 

“What should I do?” he whispered desperately to Karlach.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, buy her flowers or something?” 

Which is how he’d ended up here. Everyone had made their way back to the Elfsong  but Astarion had excused himself with a hasty lie about needing to think. Sera’s brow had crinkled in concern for him and he felt a twinge of guilt when he pulled her close and gave her a quick kiss. He’d make it up later, or he planned to anyway. 

But now he was stuck, wandering around this shop that was an overwhelming riot of color and scents. Something about cut flowers didn't seem to fit, and he'd been paralyzed in front of the rows and rows  of them for minutes. They looked nice enough, but they wouldn't last. His gaze wandered to the other side of the shop through the crowd. Maybe a potted plant…?

“Can I help you?” A bubbly elf with blonde hair and tan skin appeared beside him. 

Her gold eyes looked up at him with such sincerity, he almost sneered. As if this shop contained some life changing secrets and not flowers.

“I…” He cleared his throat- he was not lost, just thinking. “I’m looking for something for my partner. Something that will last longer than flowers in a vase.” There, that wasn’t so bad, he could do this. 

“Of course, let me show you our selection of potted plants,” she said, gesturing enthusiastically. “Can you tell me a bit about them?”

“She, well, she… ” Why was this so hard? He felt so much for her, but speaking of her made him feel awkward and inadequate. She was the first warm light of morning washing over him and a comforting touch in the night. She was a hasty kiss after a hard won fight, and lighthearted laughter around the campfire. “She’s…”

“Newer relationship?” the elf said with a light giggle that made him want to reach for a dagger. The insinuation that he knew nothing about Sera was clear. 

“What does it matter anyway,” he hissed, drawing looks from the other patrons. 

The girl was thrown off balance by his sudden aggression and her gleaming smile faltered. “It might help to pick out something she’d like, but you’re free to browse for a while.” Turning away, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him to fend for himself.

He almost went after her, but stubborn pride rooted him to the spot. With resolve, he eyed the shelves in front of him. Rows of bright-colored, glazed pots gleamed in the sunlight streaming in from the large shop window. Inside each one, a scrap of greenery he knew nothing about. Many had small blooms, some sported colorful leaves, and none of them were the right thing.

He began to sink into despair. This whole thing had been a stupid, impetuous idea. “Buy her flowers.” Apparently he couldn't even figure out the most basic of gifts for her. He'd just head back to the Elfsong, empty-handed, another day the scales between them were left uneven. If he just left now, it would be less time wasted. 

Just as he turned to go, it caught his eye. A delicate plant in a pot glazed in the colors of twilight, with a few small, blue blossoms. He stepped closer, drawn to it. The rich blue was the same color as Sera's eyes, he was sure of it. But it was tiny, like it would hardly survive the trip across town if the wind picked up. 

“Find something?” The irritating clerk was back, somehow having snuck up on him.

“That one,” he pointed. 

“Oh, the little forget-me-not!” 

Astarion cringed at the name as she reached for it. 

“Do you know the origin of it?” 

Of course not. It was a flower and before now, he wasn't exactly able to frolic in the sun and enjoy them. And it wasn’t like they were part of Cazador’s decor scheme. 

“No,” he said through gritted teeth, sure he was about to hear it. He should have just stolen it. 

“Humans didn’t come into being until long after elves. During those times, elves only coupled with one another, only knew lovers that would live as long as they did. But, eventually, an elven man met a human woman, and they fell deeply in love. The elf stayed by her side, even as she grew old and died, having only lived a fraction of his life. He buried her in winter and when he returned to her grave in the spring, he found these beautiful blue flowers had grown up over it. They were nothing like anything that anyone had ever seen before. They spread from her grave throughout the land, so that wherever he went, he was reminded of her. In that way, they earned the name forget-me-not. What a beautiful tragedy- a love so true, but one will live without the other for so long.” She sighed dreamily after she finished. 

Astarion swallowed the lump in his throat. “Right, well, that's lovely and all, but I have somewhere to be.” 

The elf huffed and silently led him back to the counter. He'd pay double if it meant she'd let him go without more chatter. 

“Oh, one more thing,” she said, taking his money, “this can be planted outdoors. Perhaps if you and your lady love have a place of your own someday.” 

Those words swirled around and around in Astarion’s mind as he gingerly carried the little plant back through the streets to the Elfsong. “A place of their own.” As if that was something he could even begin to aspire to. But why not? Why couldn’t he and Sera have a home of their own, and a  happy, beautiful life? Because that wasn’t him. Who would want a vampire for a neighbor? And why would she want a lifetime with one?

He took a deep breath and tried to silence those thoughts. Sera loved him. He knew that was true, even when it was hard to remember. He just had to keep it that way. His eyes glanced down to the plant nestled in his hands. It seemed a silly gesture in that light, a plant in exchange for her love. The whole thing was a bad idea. 

He should have done better. 

When he finally made it back, the rest of the group was eating dinner in the raucous common room of the inn. He’d never admit it, but sometimes he missed the quiet nights under the stars. For two hundred years, he’d known this type of hustle and bustle; its opposite had grown on him. Not to mention, it had given the two of them so many calm nights to get to know each other. A thought that caused his chest to tighten; he’d thrown so many of those nights away with his “perfect plan”, time he’d never get back. 

Cutting through the fringes of the room, he avoided the group, not wanting a public display of what was likely the most ridiculous gift he could have thought of. Natural stealth let him blend into the crowd and slink his way to the stairs. Bad luck put Jahiera right in front of him. 

“Bat pup, what are you up to, creeping around like this?” From her tone, Jahiera was only really half suspicious. 

“I…”  He glanced down at the plant his hands were protectively wrapped around. 

Jahiera’s gaze followed his. “I never took you as one for greenery, Astarion.” 

“It’s not for me, ” he blurted, cringing inwardly. What if she told someone? All of them? Would they get a laugh out of the vampire trying to play the lover?  

She lifted an eyebrow and smiled a small, knowing smile. “I see. Should I let her know you’re waiting upstairs?” 

For some reason lately, Jaheira had started to behave with the infuriating air of someone older, and wiser around him, despite the fact that  he had years on her. It was almost maternal in a way, and usually grated on him to no end. But today, he was quietly relieved to have her step in.

 “If you must interject yourself.” He shrugged, struggling to put the mask of calm indifference back on. 

“I think I will let the attitude slide for tonight, Astarion. Mayhaps tomorrow I will box your ears for it.” 

He opened his mouth  to snap back at her but she cut him off. 

“And I’ll expect a thank-you when it’s all said and done.” 

“Yes, Mother,” he sighed dramatically and began to walk away. 

As soon as he was sure he was out of sight, he hurried his pace, not wanting to be caught out in the hallway when Sera came upstairs. With the door to the common room shut behind him, he took up position in their shared corner. Two beds and a folding screen, the most privacy they could manage right now. Another reason to miss the outdoors. Even if sleeping on the ground had been hellishly uncomfortable, the tent had walls at least. 

It always struck him to see Sera’s things mixed in with his. A physical reminder that she had chosen this, him, even after his confession. And it gave him hope that she would keep choosing that way. 

“Astarion, you wanted to see me?” Her voice interrupted his thoughts from across the room. 

“Yes, darling, sorry to disturb your evening.” Perfect, just keep going, don’t screw this up. 

The distance between them evaporated and she was standing right in front of him, waiting for him to continue. He kept his arms behind his back, keeping the plant hidden, still doubting it. 

“I just wanted to apologize, for earlier today.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to. You didn’t realize-” 

“No,” he spat out more harshly than he intended and watched her eyes widen for a moment. Gods, why did he always lose his silver tongue where she was concerned. “Please don’t do that,” he softened his voice. “You’re always worried about my words when it comes to our companions, random strangers, and even my siblings. Don’t dismiss your own feelings so easily, hold me accountable for them, like anyone else’s.” Don’t make yourself tired of me, he added silently. 

“With everything going on, I just didn’t want to make things harder for you. But, thank you.” 

“See, that’s better, isn’t it?” He smiled, recovery made, things were going well. 

“So, what’s behind your back?” She craned her neck, trying to peek around him playfully. 

No avoiding it now. “I wanted to get you something to make up for it. It seems a bit foolish really.” Hesitantly, he presented the little plant to her. 

She took it from his hands with reverence. “Forget-me-nots,” she beamed at the small flowers that matched the color of her eyes. “They’re beautiful. Thank you, Astarion, I love it.” 

A small, awkward laugh escaped him. “Well, that’s quite a relief.”

And then she was moving, placing the plant on the table near their bed, before practically lunging at Astarion. The sudden force of her embrace knocked him from his feet and they collapsed back onto the mattress in a heap. 

“Sorry,” Sera said through a soft laugh before kissing him. “You're wonderful, you know that?”

“I mean, I do, but I could stand to hear it more.” 

“How about I show you instead?” She leaned in, kissing him again, lips parting tantalizingly. 

He wanted to devour her, to pull her in tight and taste every bit of her. His tongue darted inside her mouth, eliciting a soft moan. 

Ice ran up his spine, and he felt himself go rigid.

She pulled back and looked at him with concern. “Is it too much?” 

The hells take his traitorous body. “No, I-I want to try. Please.” He bit back a growl of frustration. It killed him to want her this bad and to have the only thing stopping him be himself.

“Alright.” 

She'd barely answered before he was pushing her back to the mattress by her shoulders and crawling between her legs.

He covered the exposed flesh of her neck with soft nips, fangs barely raking the skin. One hand found its way under her shirt, groping at her pebbled nipple. 

Whimpering, her hips bucked against his, the sweetest pressure on his hardening cock. He groaned against her skin, both hands now pushing her shirt up, exploring her soft curves. 

Head tilted to the side, she offered without words that delicious nectar he could never resist. Fangs burrowed into their favored spot and bliss filled his mouth.  

Fingers tangled into his curls as he rutted against her. Her tongue lapped at the shell of his ear before she moaned his name.  She was lost in him. Like a thousand others before her…

He froze, the world around him going hazy. 

“Astarion,” she called to him softly.

“I can't,” he gasped, hot shame washing over him. Sera wasn't just another one of them, it shouldn't be like this. “I'm sorry.”

Gentle hands guided him to the mattress, arms enfolding him, so his head was buried in her neck. “Hush,” she kissed his forehead. 

Neither said anything further about it, there wasn't need. He knew she didn't expect it of him, and she knew he had needed to try.  

“Drink if you want,” she whispered, stroking his hair. 

Gods, he loved her, even if he wasn't sure he'd ever told her properly how much. He bit back into the open wounds and drank lazily, eyes drifting to the bedside table and the little plant. Maybe there would be a someday with a place it could bloom outside, a place they both called home. 

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@bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly

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[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 3 : Lost home

Mac goes to FFM with feral Wukong. Some old feelings surges forward and Wukong is acting like a cub.

I think I'll be updating this two chapters everyday on Tumblr.

The grass was greener than what he remembered, soft strands dancing at the wind's whims, drenched by kind rays of light. He was standing in the sand, frozen still by overflowing emotions. Everything came back to him the second he landed in this place. Waves of memories crashing into him, drowning his tired mind. Standing on the shore was already painful, he didn't know if he could step on the grass. The line separating white and green was more daunting than anything he saw, battling the heaven felt like nothing in the face of this feeling.

There was an ocean of tears hiding in his chest, all devoted to his lost home. Tears never cried, for fear of being weak, for fear of longing something that would never be his again. Those tears suffocated him, rumbling inside his bones, a storm of sorrow drowning him, until his heart felt nothing but sadness and longing.

Memories of a kinder time flashed behind his eyes. A time when he could run on soft soil until his lungs burnt, climb every tree simply because he wanted to, feel the wind dancing through his fur, pushing him to further heights. A youth away from any pain, where the only thing he had to plan for was dinner.

A simple existence, a life in peace.

A time when he was nothing more but a monkey with a best friend.

Macaque sighed, chasing away his thoughts. This wasn't the time for nostalgia, this would never be his home again, not when it was the land of his murderer. The warrior sat on the white sand, heart beating furiously against his skin, almost like it wanted to tear him apart and ran towards the grass. The kid left him hours ago, something about letting Sun Wukong wander in peace. He promised to come back tomorrow, fleeting words Macaque brushed aside, not wanting to believe anything for now.

The sage was at his side, gazing at the sand curiously, pawing the grains with childish wonder. Letting it glide around his claws and mess his already wrecked fur. The King looked at him with round eyes, tail thumping excitedly against the soft soil. Macaque rolled his eyes, appalled by such a childish gaze, and threw a handful of sand at the sage. Sun Wukong sneezed and furiously pawed his nose, perhaps trying to get the sand out of his face.

“Ha, that's funny.” Barked the ebony monkey, the sage huffed and turned around, more interested in common white sand than petty plays. Macaque liked it this way, he felt better when the King wasn't looking at him, when his burning gaze was turning elsewhere.

Sun Wukong dived in the sand, rolling around like an unruly cub, soiling his russet fur with white grains. He looked like he enjoyed his sand bath, and Macaque did nothing to stop it, even if he knew that by doing this the sage would get sand in his wounds, a painful situation to live through. But sometimes people had to learn what to do, and what not to do the hard way, didn't they ?

The sage ran in the sand, diving in dunes, and digging useless holes simply because he could. It was strange to see him be so free, and so childish, unbothered by titles and responsibilities. Macaque felt a sprout of anger flourish in his chest, how could the King be so carefree after what he did ? How could he forget it all and live in peace, as if he didn't doom him to a painful end ?

Macaque shook his head, chasing the anger away. He knew this ugly, overbearing rage was nothing but instinct, a way to protect himself when sorrow seized him. He blamed it all on Wukong because it was easier to live this way, to see himself in the mirror when light came. Rage was easier to process than sorrow, and Macaque never let himself be engulfed by sorrow, too proud but also too scared to crumble.

He wasn't here to fight, he wasn't here for blood, he was here to survive, and he shouldn't forget it.

Sun Wukong trotted towards the grass, he pawed at it a little, cautious, before rolling around in soft, jade-like strands. Macaque gulped, trying to smother the bitterness rising before it could overflow. It looked so easy to step on the other side, but it wasn't, not for him. Sun Wukong ran, giggling as he explored the other side, his silhouette fading away in the wildness.

“He doesn't really need me, seems better already.” Snorted Macaque.

Sun Wukong came back seconds after, cooing like a madmonkey. Frail, scared chirps, chants of “where”, “where”, “alone”, “lost”. He stumbled on the sand and ran towards the warrior at full speed, curling at his side once he reached him, golden tail firmly tied in black-furred hips.

“You know I'm not your mom, right ?” Grumbled the warrior, the sage softly cooed at him, a quiet rumble made to be reassuring, like the warrior was the lost cub in this particular scenario. Disgusting.

Macaque huffed and laid down, facing the sky as hours passed. He felt better, his body wasn't aching anymore, but there was still an underlying weakness preventing him from being as fast, as strong, as keen as before. The warrior looked at his nemesis, the golden fluff ball was still playing with sand, and wondered if he should try to steal his magic. Maybe not now, not until he was sure the other wouldn't attack him.

They spent the rest of the day there, peacefully resting. The sage rose at dusk. and dived in the water, perhaps he got curious about the waves. He immediately shrieked and scrambled back, backing away from the ice-cold water with a pitiful whine on his lips. Macaque couldn't help but snicker, he tried to keep himself from laughing, not wanting to expose so much of himself, but he couldn't restrain the tickles rising within his throat. He erupted in laughter. He calmed down when he caught a glimpse of the sage’s thumping tail. Why was this fool happy when he just dived in the sea like a brainless monkey?

“What are you looking at ?” Snorted Mavzzie, and the sage immediately turned away, cheeks a little flushed. Sun Wukong then tried to dive in the water again, and looked at him with a wild wagging tail, as if he expected something. Macaque raised an eyebrow, not understanding what the King was doing. Sun Wukong's tail dropped, he splashed himself, clearly shivering in disgust at the feeling, and turned towards the warrior with hopeful eyes. But then again, he didn't get what he was hoping for and grumbled a little. The sage crawled on the shore with a defeated face and curled up beside the warrior, visibly annoyed. “You're weird.” Mumbled the ebony monkey.

They slept on the beach, under shimmering stars, the macaque curled on himself, and the sage pressed as close to the other as he could. They were woken up, the next morning, by the kid, which arrived quite loudly.

“Why are you both still on the beach ?” MK got off of his cloud and looked at them with a raised eyebrow. Sun Wukong immediately growled, tail lashing.

“Shut up, too early for growls.” Mumbled the macaque, he turned over and pawed at the sage to shut him up, when it didn't work, Macaque took his nemesis and smothered him in his chest to cease his annoying growls.

Sun Wukong squeaked, face slightly red, and dived happily in his chest, tail lashing excitedly. When he woke up, for the second time this morning, Macaque roughly pushed the sage away, face frowning in disgust.

“Not a word about this.” Warned the warrior as he looked over the cackling kid, ignoring the whining sage at his side. “Why are you here ?”

“I told you I would come by today. But why are you both still on the beach ?”

“We're… taking it slow. Don't wanna overwhelm him, you know.”

“Hm, yeah, it makes sense. Why is he covered in sand though ?”

“He rolled around.”

“And you didn't stop him ? You know he shouldn't move around with his wounds.”

“I didn't want to stop him, he looked like he enjoyed it.”

“But still…”

“Look, I know you're worried, kiddo.” Sighed the macaque. “But the guy is seven times immortal, he's not gonna die.” To prove his point, Macaque threw another handful of sand at the sage. “You see ? He's fine.” Sun Wukong sneezed and glared at the macaque, throwing his own handful of sand at him. “How dare you.” Hissed the warrior, the sage giggled at that.

“You two seem to get along”. Laughed MK.

“Did you not see the part where he threw sand at me ?”

“He's playing. He likes you.” Macaque ignored how those words pierced his heart, and turned away, grumbling about how the kid was blind, and how he didn't get along with his nemesis.

The kid sat a few meters away, not daring to get closer, and peeked at them from time to time, fiddling with his shirt a little, perhaps to ease his nerves. Being so close to your mentor but not being recognized sounded painful, and Macaque cursed himself for feeling so empathic. But what could he even do ? It's not like he had power over the sage fear.

“You like Sun Wukong, right ?” This was very awkward, and he belittled himself for that. Why did he even try ? It's not like he was particularly close to the kid.

“Huh, yeah… I mean it's Monkey King.” Awkwardly chuckled the kid. The way he said it, like it was obvious to like the Monkey King, was irritating, but Macaque, as petty as he was, didn't want to burn the kid with his own bitterness.

“Hm, looks kid, I'm not good at that, but if I know something about Wukong, it is that he doesn't mingle with people he doesn't like. What I'm trying to say is, hm, I'm sure he likes you too. He'll come back for you, or something, surely.” He didn't fully believe that, after all, the King didn't come back for him. But he knew, the second he saw the kid's face lightened up, that what he said was enough.

“Thanks, Macaque. I, hm, needed to hear that.”

“No problem.”

“And… also, hm, thanks for helping us with the LBD fight.”

“I just did whatever I could to survive, kid. She needed to be stopped.”

“But you could have fled, and you didn't.” Protested the kid with an unwavering gaze, how could he trust his own words so much was beyond Macaque.

“For selfish reasons.” Adeed the warrior, but the kid brushed aside his words with an easy laugh, as if he didn't quite believe Macaque's selfishness, which, as rude as it was, did bring the shadow of a smile upon the warrior's face.

Macaque didn't hate MK, quite the contrary, which was the core of his problem. He wasn't supposed to like his nemesis's mentee, he wasn't supposed to see him beyond his purpose : a tool to hurt Wukong. But no matter how much he tried to harden his heart, to pose as the cruel shadow lusting for blood, and no matter how much of a great pretender he was, Macaque couldn't kill what he truly was, and he wasn't cruel, sadly. It would have been easier if he was, it would have lessened the guilt of hurting a soul as innocent as MK, perhaps, he could have even enjoyed it, seeing beauty in shattering trust. But he wasn't cruel, and he had to live with guilt, and the burn of his own actions.

Sometimes, when the boy looked at him with unwavering eyes, Macaque could taste an apology on the tip of his lips. He thought of it, of forgiveness, but every time he indulged those thoughts, he felt acid flowing through his veins. Forgiveness was for the ones that regretted, the ones that felt the need to change who they were and to walk upon a better path. Macaque, as much as gilt filled him, didn't regret what he did. Because he did it to survive, and he would do it again if he had to. Because he did it to quell the anger (the sorrow) eating his soul. Even if the boy didn't deserve to be hurt because of the blood on his mentor's hands, even if doing it was petty and cruel, Macaque did it. He did it and he wouldn't excuse it. His life was full of sad backstories that could explain every twisted step he took, you could see pain in the way he shattered the trust of a bruised kid, you could see despair in his grip upon a girl throat as she was burned by a world-ending flame, you could see, dare he says, love in his need to marks his lost King, for him to be as bruised as he felt. But no matter what you saw, no matter what you thought, what remained was what he did. And he wasn't going to shy away from it, to hide behind tears and cries of “being broken”.

Macaque wasn't cruel, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of cruelty.

There were no excuses. No reasons. He hurts him, fully aware of what he was doing, never once regretting it, and for that he wasn't going to fool him with a “sorry” only truly meant to lessen his guilt. Because Macaque knew, when he gazed upon the kid's face, that if he dared to utter any semblance of apology, the kid would forgive him in a heartbeat.

And Macaque didn't want to be forgiven, as much as he didn't want MK to forgive so easily the one responsible for some of the wounds covering his heart. Mayhaps, he should talk with the kid about boundaries and self-respect, but how can he even explain things he didn't even fully understand ?

MK was a star passing through the sky, and he was only one of the shadows that tried to latch on it, he wasn't in any place to lecture the kid.

“Hey, do you think you could… warn the troops about Wukong situation…” Asked the warrior, he didn't know how the sage would react to the monkeys, and if there was one thing he wanted to avoid at all costs, that was the terror in their faces if the King ever decided to draw their blood. “Warn them to stay far away”

“Oh…yes, I… I can do that.” Replied the kid, he rose and threw a doubtful eye at him, and admittedly the sage curled at his side. Macaque shook him off with an easy smile, and MK's face lightened up slightly.”

You have a good kid.” Mumbled the warrior once he saw the boy disappear behind the forest towering trees. He turned towards the sage, and Sun Wukong straightened up, perhaps sensing his seriousness. “Don't mess it up.” He didn't know if the King understood him, but he felt satisfied by the lingering gaze the sage threw towards the forest.

Macaque rose after a bit, stretching slightly, popping his sleeping bones. Hunger gnacked at him but he didn't want to step on the grass, not now at least. The sage perked up when he heard the rumbling of his stomach, ears erect, looking at him with round eyes. Sun Wukong looked towards the grass, then towards him, going back and forth between the two places.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Huffed the warrior, and that was enough to push the King. Macaque wondered if Sun Wukong could at least partially understand his words, the sage looked like he had some semblance of comprehension, at least enough to understand his intent. Sun Wukong rose and trotted towards the grass, he disappeared behind the trees, cooing now and then, to check on the warrior. As humiliating as it was, and as much as he didn't want to, Macaque replied with his own set of coos. He didn't know how the King would react if he wasn't sure of his presence, and he didn't want to find out. He just hoped the kid couldn't hear him, because this was quite embarrassing.

Sun Wukong returned after a few minutes, hands full of peaches, and Macaque wasn't even surprised, of course this fool brought peaches. He handed some to the warrior, cooing reassuringly, as if Macaque was a small, scared animal that needed help. The ebony monkey scoffed and begrudgingly took the food, firmly ignoring the sage thumping tail. He didn't need help, he could have found his own food, he wasn't that useless. And, least of all, he didn't need Sun Wukong's help.

Even if Macaque didn't show it much, he had a pride of his own. Of course, he wasn't the kind to prioritize his pride over his hide, like some idiots he wouldn't name because the mere thoughts of their faces was irritating. Macaque had common sense, and enough shame to not embarrass himself with petty fights. However, he did have pride, a warrior's pride.

He didn't need anyone, and he wasn't a coward. Macaque was the kind to wait, to retreat when things went dire, and come back keener, stronger, crueler. Tactical retreat wasn't the same as flee, even if some cheap chicken wing with legs didn't share the same thought.

The sage ate without any grace, juice running on his chin and tainting his sun-like fur, sometimes groaning in joy, fangs tearing the soft skin with glee. He ate like a monkey, and while that shouldn't be surprising considering Wukong was a monkey and never truly cared for manners (at least if he was still like what Macaque remembered) it was still uncanny to see him act so beastly. Sun Wukong was unruly and chaotic, idiotic even, free from everything, but he still walked like a man, talked like a man, thought like a man. This… monkeyish Sun Wukong was unfamiliar. Perhaps the sage had been like that at his birth, Macaque wasn't there at the time so he couldn't testify. But even then, it was weird to see sides of a man he thought he knew everything about.

Because it raised the question, did he truly know everything about Sun Wukong ? He knew a lot, certainly, but there were bound to be things hidden from him, sides he never got the chance to discover. Sun Wukong wasn't a good lier, at least that's what Macaque always thought. But what was even the point to ponder that now. It is not like he wanted to discover more sides of the great sage, he was here for survival, nothing else.

Sun Wukong suddenly whined, pulling the warrior out of his thoughts, and scratched his back with narrowed eyes (perhaps narrowed “eye”was better, considering the sage's left eye was still messed up). Macaque snorted at his misery, and he received a handful of sand for that, what a brat.

“You got what you deserve. You shouldn't have rolled around, dry sand and fur doesn't mix.” Snickered the macaque with crossed arms, the sage flopped at his feet, on his back, and looked at him intently.”What ?” The King chirped a small coo, something meaning “help”. “And what do you want me to do ? I can't magically make the sand stuck in your fur disappear.” Sun Wukong whined and pawed at his leg, perhaps trying to sweet-talk him. “I am not grooming you, Sun Wukong.” Retorted the warrior, but the golden fluff ball didn't stop, only whining louder. #Stop acting like that, you're not a kid, that's embarrassing. Get up.” The sage pawed harder, eyes imploring. “Oh my god, don't you have any shame !? Stop looking at me like that, you look ridiculous” The great sage, whined even louder, ear pinned back, paws pulling on his pants. “You know what, fine. You want to be clean, I got an idea.”

Macaque invoked a shadow portal with a flick of wrist and drenched the King, snickering when he caught a glimpse of the sage's flabbergasted face ; he looked like a wet rat.

“Don't worry, it's not salt water.” Sun Wukong looked at the macaque with a pout, pure betrayal etched on his face. He crouched down, tail swaying mischievously in the air, and Macaque quickly recognized this stance. “Wait, no, don't.” The warrior fled before the sage could pounce on him, running away from the wet beast wanting to smother him. “I helped you ! Don't approach me, you wet rat !” Screeched the warrior as he evaded the sage's attack.

Sun Wukong finally pinned the warrior down, smothering him in wet fur, and pawing at his face a little while giggling like a five year old. Macaque tensed when he felt the sage towering over him, but did his damn best to not attack him, even if his heart was beating fast, and his claws were picking at his palms. He knew Sun Wukong wasn't looking for blood, but it was still unselting to have him so close. He pushed the sage away after a bit, glaring at the snickering golden menace.

“Pff..” Macaque immediately looked towards the forest, and groaned when he caught sight of a giggling MK, phone in hand.

“Did you record this ?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Answered the boy with a very annoying smirk.

“This is not what you think it is.” Grumbled the ebony monkey.

“Really ? Because it really looked like you two were playing.”

“We were not !”

Sun Wukong shook himself like the pitiful dog he was, throwing water everywhere, Macaque glared at him for daring to get him more wet.

“You could have done that away from me, don't you think ?” Grumbled the warrior, but Sun Wukong only tilted his head to the side, looking clueless. “Oh yeah, now you pull the “I understand nothing”card, I see what game you're playing, you jerk.”

MK bursted out laughing and the sage snickered, like the little devil he was.

Macaque was surrounded by jerks.

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[writeriguess]

The Umbrella Academy mansion was quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that settled deep into your bones and made the air feel heavy. The others had gone out, leaving you alone in the house. You didn’t mind the solitude; in fact, you welcomed it. But as the hours ticked by, the stillness became almost oppressive.

You wandered through the halls, your footsteps echoing off the walls, each creak of the floorboards making you feel more and more like a ghost drifting through the old mansion. It was strange, being in a place so filled with memories, both good and bad. The mansion had a way of holding onto the past, like it was stitched into the very fabric of the building.

It was in this wandering that you found yourself in the library, the large double doors creaking as you pushed them open. The room was dark, only the soft glow of the setting sun filtering through the heavy curtains. You walked over to the large windows and pulled the curtains open slightly, letting more light in.

As you turned to leave, something made you pause. A familiar sensation—a presence—something you couldn’t quite explain but had come to recognize over time. You knew before you even turned around that he was there.

“Ben?” you called out softly, your voice echoing in the empty room.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just the silence, pressing in on you. But then, slowly, a figure began to materialize in front of you, like a shadow taking form. Ben Hargreeves stood there, his expression gentle, a small, almost sad smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, his voice as quiet as ever.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of him, even though it was tinged with the sadness that always accompanied his presence. Ben had been gone for so long, but he wasn’t really gone, was he? He was still here, tied to this place, to his family, and to you.

“Hey,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d show up today.”

Ben shrugged, his hands in his pockets as he drifted a little closer to you. “I felt you here. Thought I’d come say hi.”

You nodded, taking a seat on one of the old, worn-out couches, and Ben followed, sitting down next to you. His presence was comforting, even if it was tinged with the melancholy of everything that had happened.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the quiet between you comfortable, almost peaceful. It was strange, how easy it was to be with him like this. Even though he wasn’t really here—at least not in the way he used to be—his presence felt as real as ever.

“Do you ever get tired of this place?” you asked suddenly, your voice breaking the silence.

Ben looked over at you, his gaze thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it’s all I’ve got. It’s hard to leave when… when this is where my family is.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. The mansion was more than just a building; it was a part of all of you, for better or worse. It held your past, your memories, your pain. But it also held your family, the people you loved, even if they were flawed and broken.

“I miss you, you know,” you said quietly, your eyes fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. “I miss you being… real.”

Ben’s expression softened, and he reached out, his hand hovering just above yours. You couldn’t feel his touch, not really, but you could feel the warmth of his presence, the connection that still existed between you.

“I miss it too,” he said softly. “But I’m still here, in a way. I’m still with you.”

You turned to look at him, your heart aching with the weight of all the things left unsaid, all the moments you’d never get to share. But even in that sadness, there was a sense of peace, a knowledge that Ben was still a part of your life, even if it was in a different way.

“I wish things were different,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“So do I,” Ben replied, his gaze filled with a sadness that mirrored your own. “But this… this is what we have.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. It wasn’t fair, losing Ben the way you had. But life had never been fair, not for any of you. All you could do was hold onto the moments you had, the memories you shared, and the bond that still connected you.

“Can you stay for a while?” you asked, your voice tinged with hope.

Ben smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart ache with both happiness and sorrow. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

You leaned back against the couch, letting yourself relax in the warmth of the fire and the comfort of Ben’s presence. The mansion was still quiet, still filled with the ghosts of the past, but for now, it didn’t feel so lonely.

Ben was here, and that was enough.

As you sat together, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a soft, golden glow. The shadows grew longer, but they weren’t frightening—not with Ben by your side. You knew he couldn’t stay forever, but for now, in this moment, you were content.

And in the stillness of the mansion, with only the flickering fire to keep you company, you found a sense of peace, knowing that Ben would always be with you, even when the world felt dark and uncertain.

[ghostlynachopanda]

The Weathervane

a/n: school is starting soon, double thumbs down. apologizing in advance cause some paragraphs are horribly long. I also don’t know how to name things and I still don't know how to do this. anyway thank you pals and here is the next part

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader

words: 1.8k

~~~

Wednesday is stubborn. She is well aware of the fact that you did not want to speak to her, but Wednesday wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. Wednesday had something to prove, to herself and you. Now not only are you always in her line of sight but you're accompanied by her whenever possible. Enid doesn't leave you alone either, she's stubborn too. When Wednesday isn't with you, Enid is. You don't talk to them unless it's about the project, so the only time a conversation is held is when you're all working together. You will sit with them in silence in some random place on school grounds though. Wednesday is pleased to be able to just be with you, even if she can't hear you speak. There's no one around to interrupt you two. Wednesday finds it infuriating you don't speak, your voice is harmonious in a way that she hasn’t heard before, and it deserves to be listened to.

The project is almost done, even with another week left till the due date. Wednesday knows she's running out of time. She told herself she would change your mind, but to her indignation, you have been unreceptive to her attempts. She isn't sure what's worse, the animosity or the rejection and disregard. You have Wednesday wrapped around your finger, stuck in a chokehold and you don’t even realize it. So when you invited them to the Weathervane to finish the project they jumped at the opportunity.

You were at the Weathervane waiting for Enid and Wednesday. They weren't late, you just wanted to get there early to give yourself time to let your thoughts wander. You know Enid wants to be your friend. She is willing to just sit in silence with you even when you know she would rather talk. Enid shares a headphone with you when it's just you two, maybe so you'll know more about her without talking. Wednesday has been acting differently too. There are fewer threats of bodily harm, though they have gotten more unrestrained and gruesome. She seems willing to do whatever you wish, even if it's just sitting somewhere around the school in silence. She is always standing close to you, close enough that accidental touches should be expected. But you're smart enough to stuff your hands in your pockets if you see her hands get too close. Sometimes Wednesday just talks about her day, random things that particularly annoyed her, things she finds frustrating, random facts about murder cases, or torture/murder techniques. She even took you to learn archery but instead learned that you already knew and were quite good. You always considered Wednesday a wild card and that she is unapologetically herself, but this is just a little too strange. You'll never tell them, but you like who they are and appreciate the effort.

Enid makes warmth spread wherever she touches, makes you want to smile, and makes you want to unconsciously lean into her touch. Wednesday's is completely different. It's a kind of warmth that’s unconfined, it spreads like a wildfire. It's something that gives you goosebumps, it makes your skin tingle in a way you've never felt before. It's something you feel even after she leaves, it consumes your thoughts when you're alone. It's so strong it leaves you breathless. Wednesday could be sitting next to you doing nothing and you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, spreading to your ears and the palm of your hands. You want to step closer and set yourself ablaze, throw caution to the wind. You never knew you could crave something so intensely. You want to be selfish, and every time you're with them, with her, you contemplate it.

You're worried about how your lack of warmth will affect them. Will they get tired of waiting? Should you start to open up? Will they run away when they realize you're draining them? What will they do when they realize you have nothing to offer them? Have they already realized it? Do they care? What will happen when they finally get what they want? What exactly do they want?  There are a lot of questions that can only be answered with time. But, one question sticks out the most. What if it's worth it? A person standing next to your booth pulls you from your thoughts. Looking up you see Wednesday and Enid are here.

"Oh, hey guys. I didn’t notice you guys come in, are you ready to finish the project?", the way Wednesday is looking at you makes you feel a multitude of things. Before you're able to analyze these feelings Enid speaks up.

"Yup! I'm going to go order some coffee before we get started though." with that she walks away, leaving you alone with Wednesday. She breaks the silence before you have a chance,

"You've been on that page for the last couple of minutes," you blink owlishly at her, forgetting you even pulled out a book. Of course, she would notice that she's constantly scrutinizing you. She speaks up again when she realizes you're not going to, this time it's not accusatory and a little softer as she takes the open seat next to you,

"Do you enjoy reading?", you don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. You can easily answer this question though.

"Of course, it’s a small escape from this rather hellish reality." you didn’t expect that answer to come out, and you can tell she didn’t either. But before she could respond Enid comes back with her coffee, "Hey guys, sorry about that. You ready to get started?"

With that, you start pulling out your textbook and notebooks, missing the knowing look Enid sent Wednesday. You can feel someone looking at you, but you didn’t know it was Wednesday keeping an eye on you in her peripheral. Shortly after getting started, Thing crawled his way into your lap. While he was getting comfortable you took off your jacket to lay it on top of him so he wasn't easily noticeable. Completely missing the murderous glare Wednesday sent him and the knowing smile Enid wore.

You three worked like a well-oiled machine. You would like to include Thing, but all he did was tap your leg when one of you said something funny. It was enough to pull small laughs and smiles from you. Even with Thing's distractions, you were done in less than an hour. With the project out of the way, you could finally breathe that sigh of relief. You’ve been waiting for this project to end so you could finally leave them alone. Once you turn it in everything involving Wednesday and Enid will be done. You're ready to start packing your things but you notice neither of them move. Thing scrambled back into Wednesday's bag as Wednesday starts to speak.

"Are you finally going to tell us why you've been avoiding us?" you lower your head with a sigh. You knew an interrogation was coming, at least from Wednesday, but why did it have to be here?

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, one of you is always with me. We're together right now, are we not?" you know there's no escape if you don't answer the questions. You figured that's why Wednesday decided to take the seat next to you. You're trapped, and you feel small. Enid speaks next,

"I think what Wednesday meant to ask is why you don’t talk to us. You're right, one of us is always hanging out with you, but you never say anything." Enid has a slight pout on her lips, her eyebrows furrowed too.  Wednesday's eyes never stray from you, taking in your body language to your micro-expressions, anything that will help her. You can see Thing peeking out from Wednesday's bag, probably interested in what's happening around the table. Wednesday decides you're taking too long to answer.

"It has something to do with what you told me that night," it's not a question. Wednesday already had a couple of ideas but this is the only one that doesn't lead to a dead end. She's tired of waiting. Wednesday is so focused on you that she missed Thing's frantic taps and the surprised look Enid wore. As of right now, they are not her priority. Her fists closed and tightened when she realized you were going to stay quiet. Wednesday was moments away from strangling you.

"Alrighty then, I'm gonna head out and take Thing with me," you snapped your head up to meet Enid's gaze, but she wasn't focused on you. Enid was looking everywhere but at the two of you, the tense atmosphere made it hard to breathe. You tried to get her attention and hope she would get the hint to stay. Hell, you'd even take Thing. Just someone, Wednesday looked positively murderous, you were worried your head would get torn off. Wednesday hasn’t hurt you before, but what's stopping her from hurting you now? With Enid gone you're, once again, left alone with Wednesday.

It's quiet, neither of you saying anything. The noise from the other guests in the Weathervane is drowned out. Wednesday is looking at you with fury in her eyes, still scrutinizing you. You're scared to meet her eyes, what would happen then? You can feel her eyes, they're burning paths onto the skin of your face, and you can feel it over your clothes. Her gaze brings goosebumps wherever she looks. You feel hot, you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, to the tips of your fingers. You realized you weren't careful, Wednesday is sure to burn you now. Whether it's physical or metaphorical is completely up to her. Maybe you can ease the punishment, "Walk with me?"

Finally gaining to courage to look at her. Wednesday is slightly shaking, most likely from anger. Her hands are still in fists, knuckles white, looking close to drawing blood. Her eyes still haven't left you, and her gaze still makes you feel small. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, eyes narrowing with barely contained fury. You feel bad, you're the cause of all of this. Before you can take back what you said she asks,

"Are you going to run away this time?" you ponder it. Running away would be the smart decision, but you feel as if you owe this to her. Maybe it's okay to feel her warmth just a little longer.

"No," it sounds pitiful, barely audible with the noise of the Weathervane. Wednesday heard it as clear as day though. She's been waiting for an opportunity like this, even if it's not on the terms she would have preferred. You are not getting away this time.

"Good, I would have kidnapped and tortured you," she starts to stand, grabbing her bag and turning to face you, "let's go."

There's no room for dispute.

[gardensnakie]

How does Polly feel about having two Basils now?

It was surprising at first, that's a given. Polly would stay the nights to make sure Basil was alright with this literal stranger in the house. She'd get jumpscared tons of times finding Stranger wander around the house at night (he eventually got tired of laying down for hours at a time and is used to being awake in the dark). Polly would still be nice to Stranger though. Despite the strange way he talks and his mysterious behavior, Polly eventually thinks of Stranger as another kid (teen, technically but you know)

Stranger is curious and clueless about certain things. While Basil usually kept to himself around Polly, Stranger is the opposite when first meeting her. Stranger is still reserved, but he observes instead. He is unfamilar with cooking so he likes to watch Polly do it. If Polly is watching TV, Stranger will come watch as well. Polly's cleaning? Stranger is right there and usually asks if he could help. He'll keep subtely following Polly around whenever he stays inside and there's nothing to do in the house throughout the day.

Eventually Stranger might ask questions and talk to Polly a little more. During those times, Stranger would learn more about Basil that he didnt quite remember, like Basil's grandma and parents. Even more about who Polly is, like "What is a caretaker?" "Where are Basil's parents?" "Why do you keep cleaning the same places?"

Things like that. Also, I thought I could have a scenorio where Polly teaches him basic table manners. Headcannon: Despite him being all polite and proper, Stranger eats like a wild animal (When has he ever had to eat? Let alone use utensils) . Oh and he could learn how to play some boardgames. Idk about you but Basil's house seems like a place that has random old boardgames in a cabinet somewhere. Puzzles too or maybe Sudoku.

Polly might notice how quiet Stranger can get sometimes. It worries her slightly, considering the time where Basil was the same way.

She gets used to seeing Stranger and Basil everyday, she notices the extra loudness it comes with it since the two eventually get comfortable enough to annoy each other. Its slightly amusing to watch it play out. Seeing Basil taunt Stranger for losing a card game multiple times in a row and Stranger later running around with one of Basil's belongings out of spite (he gets caught pretty quickly though).

Its a little different, but Polly doesnt mind caring for the two

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

when i saw ur ff dabi x zoldyck!reader i literally died like- i thought im the only one who mixed this two universes (hxh x bnha) so i want request dabi x zoldyck!reader 🛐 idc the plot just need zoldyck reader😭 also i love ur fics Have a nice day 💗 -🌹

Once Upon A Dream {Dabi}

A/n: I'm glad at least one other person likes this crossover because this is the only au I am willing to write. I hope you enjoy it and thank you for requesting.

Pairing: Dabi x fem!zoldyck!reader

Trigger warnings: mentions of scars, mental abuse, me hating Illumi 🥰, mentions of killing and all that,

Obviously there will be spoilers about Dabi's identity so if any of you aren't caught up with the anime or manga, come back later

There are times, late at night when Dabi comes to the shithole he calls home, extremely tired. He will just lay in bed, not even bothering to take off his clothes, not caring about any potential injuries or whether his staples are out of place. To him, those kind of nights are a living hell.

It is almost inevitable, how he will close his eyes, take a deep breath and then let his mind wander. And his mind never wanders around happy places.

But on the rare occassion it does, your face will pop up. It's a strange thing actually because he hasn't seen you in years and only knows how you currently look like because sometimes Shigaraki will bring up your family during future plans.

He was still living in the Todoroki household when he first met you. Back then his name was Touya.

His father had considered it necessary for the entire family to come with him to this... meeting -it couldn't have been further from the 'ge together' he had mentioned it would be. It only seemed natural back then, he had heard stories about your family and none of them was pleasant but somehow his father had managed to arrange a meeting with your father so they could discuss a possible treaty of some sorts.

He didn't want to admit it but he was scared. Whatever picture he had managed to see during searching through Endeavour's files contained nothing but sorrow.

Not that his family photos were any different.

You, Illumi and Milluki were lined up like soldiers and Killua was still a newborn, much like Shoto.

No one was smiling. Just like in his family photos.

When he stepped foot in the Zoldyck estate, he wanted to do nothing but run away but the only thing that kept him back was the thought that heroes didn't run away. Next to him Natsuo was mumbling about making new friends but Natsuo had refused to listen to him when he kept telling him that you were trained assassins. There was no room for friendships. A few minutes later Illumi made it very clear when your parents sent you to a different room so they could discuss alone.

Touya's hopes of someone understanding him were crushed.

Until he saw you sitting alone in the corner of the room. It was of no surprise that Fuyumi hadn't made a single movement to approach you. The aura around you was almost like bloodlust.

It took him minutes to make the first step but when he did, he couldn't stop himself until he finally sat next to you.

In the following months, Endeavour and Silva met with each other a lot and while the former refused to bring any of his kids to the meetings, Silva didn't mind taking you. Touya hadn't understood why but Dabi...

Dabi knows because you and him are the same: both treated as nothing more than an experiment but both being the strongest of your families.

At nights like this, Dabi wishes Touya had done things differently. He had the chance when he saw his father wasn't planning on coming the day the fire broke. For a split second the thought of running away had occupied his mind and there was no way he wasn't taking you with him.

He surely had huge plans for fourteen year old.

Maybe back then he didn't do it but if he ever were to see you again... maybe he would let Dabi go for a second and let Touya come forth and hug you tightly with those tainted hands that only you shared.

The only comfort he has left is the fact that you would agree to his plan because back when he had talked to you for the last time you had mentioned you wanted to do something similar.

And if Shigaraki's words were true, if you indeed were to attend the final battle then Touya would put up his best performance to take revenge for the both of you.

[lupinmoonlight]

Him

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You reluctantly board the Hogwarts Express to start the new school year. You fall asleep for a moment and wake up to a man sitting in front of you. You kinda fall in love with him against your will.

Note - Nothing special. I just wanted to write about the comfort character feels I have for (professor) Remus Lupin. I feel like he would bring much needed comfort, kindness, and calm in my sometimes chaotic mind.

Warnings - kinda (of age) younger person falling for an older man/professor.

Your sleeping schedule had been a mess in the past few weeks, the anxiety of going back to school creeping up on you as the big day was getting closer and closer. It’s not that you hated it, but social situations had never been your thing. People were always too loud, too obnoxious, too much. You feel yourself constantly just going through the motions, trying to exist in a world that is not made for you. You try to escape it by living in your own little universe, but sometimes the distance between reality and and chaos is simply too short. 

You board the train and miraculously find an empty compartment. Thanking whatever greater power is watching over you, you settle in your seat, letting the gentle swaying of the train take you to that peaceful place in your head. You close your eyes and let the soft hum of the wheels lulling you into a deep sleep. 

You lost track of time. In fact, you didn’t even know you had fallen asleep. The screams and laughters of some obnoxious students from another compartment brutally bring you back to reality. You rub your eyes, trying to get your brain to function again, and you notice someone sitting across from you. It was not a student. It was a man. A man who looked kind and gentle, with tired eyes and a smile that made you feel at ease. He had a book in his lap, which he set aside as he noticed you wake up. 

"Good morning," he said in a soft voice, his eyes crinkling in a smile. 

You felt your heart skip a beat at the sound of his voice. You had never seen anyone like him before. His face was lined with age and faded scars, but his eyes sparkled with a warmth that drew you in. 

"Good morning," you replied, feeling a little shy. It was not morning anymore yet you felt disoriented like you had just rolled out of bed. 

"Eat this, you'll feel better," he continued, offering you small piece of a chocolate bar. 

You looked a him slightly confused, but nodded and accepted the chocolate. It was rich and delicious, and made you feel warm inside, the same as you felt when looking at him. 

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a while, watching the scenery go by. The train was now passing through a dense forest, and the leaves were turning orange and red. You couldn't help but steal glances at the man when he wasn't looking. He looked like he had the softest touch, the kindest eyes, the most beautiful hands. You let your mind wander for a bit, escaping to that secret place of yours. His presence filled you with peace and comfort, a feeling you were never able to get with other people. As good as it felt, you started to question your sanity for having such thoughts about a strange man who appeared to be much older than you. You couldn't explain why you felt the way you did, but it was intoxicating. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he handed you a second piece of the chocolate bar. You looked at him, grateful for the distraction, a bit worried about where your mind can take you sometimes, and accepted the second piece of chocolate. It melted in your mouth.

"Thank you," you managed to let out. 

"A lot of life's ailments can be cured with a piece of chocolate," he replied with a soft smile. 

You found yourself drawn to his gentle demeanour and wise words. He made you feel like you wanted to get closer to him, to feel his warmth, to suffocate yourself in his scent, to overwhelm your brain with his voice. You loved the way he spoke so softly, as if every word was carefully chosen to be gentle and kind. You loved the way the sun made his scars look like golden rivers. You loved how small the book in his lap looked when he placed his hands on it. 

As the train pulled into the station at your destination, you felt a pang of sadness. You didn't want this moment to end. It was the most at peace you had felt in a long time. Just sitting there, in this compartment, with a complete stranger, eating chocolate. Your heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. 

He got up from his seat to retrieve his bag. You felt your stomach flutter at the sight- he was tall. You watched him intently as he lifted his bag from the rack.

Professor R.J Lupin- your heart skipped a beat.

He caught your gaze and gave you a small smile "I'll see you in class." 

[synthetictorii]

Don't Worry ✧ Aizawa Shōta

Pairing: Eraserhead/Aizawa Shōta x reader Genre: angst/comfort Summary: Anxiety is keeping you awake and Shōta can’t sleep alone. Word count: 2.5k A/N: ...obligatory old and cringey fic ahead warning...

Gentle breeze was blowing through the night, ruffling your hair. Your sleepwear didn’t stand a chance against the freezing chill of the night but it kept you grounded. You mind never managed to stray far from reality, always harshly chased from the impossibilities by another cold blow. The wind’s hostile embrace was soothing in a way. Besides, how could you be disturbed by something so trivial as cold when there was perfectly clear starry sky above you? Each star was shining bright just like a diamond.

It was a magical night, silent and peaceful. No traffic, no voices on the streets. As if everyone except you was asleep. Standing on the balcony, you felt like a queen of this serene world. And as with every monarch, while everything was enveloped with calmness, your mind certainly was not. It was replaying memories in an endless loop, occasionally throwing in some of your deepest fears. This mix of unpleasantness made you anxious enough to make you restless, unable to fall asleep. You’d toss and turn pointlessly. There was nothing you could do but hope the feeling will soon fade away or that your body will get so exhausted it will ignore your inner turmoil. The chill of the night at least helped to keep you somewhat sane. Before your situation could come to an end, however, you heard quiet footsteps. Another lone wanderer in the silent night.

So he found you, you smiled to yourself. A pair of arms wrapped around your waist; a little warning before his full weight dropped on you gently. You didn’t understand how he did it but he always noticed without a fail when you were absent from his side. He always came looking for you and then he’d lean against you. It was his way to assure himself you were really there. Even if he was heavy you were grateful for the silly gesture. It made you feel loved. Today it was yet another things to soothe you.

“Come to bed,” he grumbled into your hair. You removed one of your hands from the railing to put it on top of his.

“I’ll come soon darling, I promise,” you were stroking his forearm slowly. You knew how worried he got when you were not near when he woke up. A quiet hum was his only response. He was enjoying your touch. You knew even without his affirmation. He was a strange man – quiet and sometimes distant; all in the name of saving energy. But he was soft inside – that much was clear to you, and he needed reassurance as much as you did.

For a while everything was quiet again, his breathing barely noticeable. You weren’t sure if he was asleep or not, neither of the possibilities would surprise you. You wouldn’t mind. He needed his sleep after all his hard work. Teaching at UA during the day, patrolling the streets at night… no wonder he needed to utilize every free minute to sleep. Suddenly he let out a yawn.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked, still groggy.

“I’m just thinking about stuff, don’t worry,” you answered more calmly than you actually felt, squeezing his hand lightly. You knew he would continue asking until he figured out what the problem was but still hoped that tonight he’d just let it go.  

“Is it about the morning?” he turned his face so his voice wouldn’t be muffled by your hair anymore. To your surprise there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in it like you suspected would be the case. You let the silence answer in your place. He exhaled deeply and turned both of you around. Now he was leaning on the railing with his back and you lying against his chest, looking into his black, very tired eyes. It never ceased to fascinate you how agile he was even only half awake.

Truth to be told, this morning was probably the final trigger that caused all this. You’ve felt your anxiety getting worse for about a while now and you knew Shōta noticed. You assured him it was alright, he let it be then since it wasn’t as bad as to interfere with your everyday life and you promised him you’ll take care of yourself. He trusted you to deal with your issues on your own, if you could. Should you need help, you knew you could reach out to him. It was another reason you loved him – the way you could trust him to be your safety net.

Then he didn’t come home last night. He didn’t even send you a text and you were not able to reach his phone. You broke down, anxiety taking the better of you. Instead of trying to call his colleagues, you spent the whole night crying, walking in circles aimlessly and watching the hands on the clock moving minute at a time, feeling your sanity slipping away.

Around six in the morning he finally showed up to get ready for work. You had a huge fight – although he apologized and explained the situation to you: he had been so exhausted he doubted he would make it home without passing out so he stayed over at Hizashi’s place. Simple enough. Not the first time it happened. But today it didn’t calm your anger.

Nonetheless, he had to leave for work. So your distress was fuelled with uncertainty about his feelings and what would happen next. You had a chance to cool your head at least and realize you overreacted. Still, you needed closure – more throughout than a quick apology on both sides before bed as was the case today. He always comes home so late, so exhausted. You swallowed your emotions and dropped it – after all, it was all good. His health and rest was more important to you. Due to that, your guilt had time to rest and grow deeper which only made you feel worse. This is exactly why you always tried to talk things through under any circumstances.

“I’m so sorry, Shōta,” you cupped his cheek, stirring in his hold, “I shouldn’t have taken my stress out on you.” you stroked his cheekbone gently. He shook his head and pulled you closer, one hand firmly around your waist and the other on the back of your head.

“It’s alright, I was an ass for not letting you know,” he kissed the top of your head. You hummed and breathed in his scent. Some people have blankets to calm them, you had Shōta. The warmth of his body helped you focus and think clearly. With him, you were safe. Your hero.

“What got you so worried lately?” he asked, rubbing the small of your back in comforting circles. He let you pull away just enough to be able to look at him. There was concern in his gaze. Only with you was he so open with his emotions. You raised your hand again, this time to play with his messy hair, watching how the little curls hugged your fingers. You needed a while to think through what you were going to say. He gave you time, as patient as ever.

“I’m just worried,” you sighed. There was no way you could manage to organize everything that was on your mind into neat little sentences. “Ever since the criminality began to rise and you are on patrols more often I just can’t stay calm until you come home. I’m sorry, I know it’s not rational,” you looked away. “And with the USJ attack, the camp and…,” you trailed off. You didn’t want to think about any of the events. It was too painful. The scar under his eyes made you flinch every time you saw it. You brought your hand up to his face and dragged your fingers over the rough skin. His orbital floor got shattered that day. He could’ve lost his sight, ability… he could’ve died.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” you whispered with tears burning threatening to spill from your eyes. You buried your face into his chest and he used this opportunity to stroke your hair. Your breathing was fast as panic began to take over. You wouldn’t let it. Instead you focused on the cold air of the night, the burning sensation in your lungs with every breath you took. The soft material of his shirt and the firmness of his chest underneath it. His hands in your hair and support of his body.

He gave you time to calm down, still gently caressing your back and hair. Soon after you started dating he realized that if you were to be reasoned with, you needed to be calm. He waited for your breathing to slow down before talking.

“There’s no reason for you to apologize,” he assured you, his voice kind. It was like honey, soothing the aches. “I understand why you’re worried. Hell if that Nomu thing hurt you like he did to me, you wouldn’t be allowed to leave the house,” he was serious and you knew it but it still made you chuckle. You turned your head to side, his heart right under your ear. It was beating faster than usual. Finally you were beginning to feel better.

“I know you’re hero and all, but wouldn’t it be fair for you to also stay home more then?” you piped in quietly, playing with the hem of his shirt. His hold got little stronger, pulling you close enough for him to kiss your temple. A quiet apology.

“I can’t and you know it, [y/n],” he said. “I want to make sure you’re safe, that the streets are safe for you and everyone else. Every hero is needed if we want to stabilize the situation.”

You of course knew it was true. The news talked every day about the rising crime wave. All Might was done. Sure they needed every hero possible to patrol the streets. Shōta was strong, his quirk as well, he was truly a hero both in ability and heart but he was your boyfriend as well and you couldn’t imagine what would you do should something happen to him again. Let alone something worse than the USJ.

Still, the situation in your relationship needed a solution too; one that would both keep you calm and would bother him. It wasn’t easy to live with hero but for Shōta, you’d try your best to think of something.

“Couldn’t you at least work during the day? I might feel better,” you snuggled closer. You momentarily forgot the obvious, didn’t realize the only possible answer.

“My job at U.A., [y/n],” he reminded you, “It’s not like the principal can shift all of my lessons to the afternoon. And unfortunately, they all have potential so I can’t kick them out,” there was a hint of pride in his voice. You chuckled, it was so very unlike him. Then again, he was a softie. You hoped the students realized that their teacher was the best of them all.

“Then maybe a sidekick?” you suggested but his annoyed groan was enough for an answer. “Or maybe another hero to be your partner?”

The hope in your voice was killing him inside. He knew you were trying to come up with a solution but he wasn’t sure if there was one. He sighed and cupped your cheek so you’d look up at him.

“How many friends I have? Ones that I could tolerate every other day.”

You laughed a bit and hung your head in defeat. He smiled slightly as well, again pulling you close. He had to admit that he didn’t consider the option of a partner before but it was no good. Even if there was a person he’d be willing to partner up with, it didn’t suit his way of work at all.

“Mic!” you suddenly jumped, almost hitting his chin with your head. “You have Hizashi! I’m sure he wouldn’t mind teaming up with you,” you smiled at him, ignoring the annoyed twitching of his eyebrow.

“No.” He said simply. “I can’t work with him, he’s too obnoxious.”

“Yet you’re still friends,” you pouted, “besides your quirks could work wel-” you didn’t have a chance to finish since your boyfriend suddenly connected your lips with his. A crystal clear message: just shut up. You tried pushing him away lightly, giggling. Finally he grabbed your hands and pecked your lips. He didn’t move away, your foreheads resting against each other.

“But really, try it please? It doesn’t have to be forever, just till the situations calm somewhat?” you gave him your best kitty-eyed look. He sighed deeply and stayed quiet, his eyes closed. You let him think about it without saying a word. He’d told you that they worked together before so maybe he’d agree for old time’s sake? He wouldn’t, you knew. Because as much as it would calm your nerves it would interfere with his work. It wasn’t how he worked – he was fine the way he was, changing anything wouldn’t be rational.

“At least promise you’ll always call for help if you see serious trouble – and wait till it comes. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you whispered, not happy, but at least at peace. Nothing more could be done. To this proposal he could, and did, agree. You smiled and squeezed him too, gently nuzzling into his chest.

“Thank you,” you murmured. He hugged you with a little smile. He’d never want to make you upset. If possible, he would do anything to not worry you. Yet it wasn’t realistic, as much as it pained him. You’ll worry for him time and time again, till one of you inevitably dies. Maybe you’ll get fed up and leave him. That was a possibility – rationally speaking, it was almost bound to happen. Only in this case, he’d ignore the odds.

“Let’s get back to sleep now, alright?” he asked with a kiss to your hair.

You gave him a small nod. You felt relieved and happy now, peaceful enough to fall asleep. Of course it didn’t mean that Shōta would be safe but it made you feel a bit better. With the problem solved, you felt your eyelids getting heavy and mind quiet. When you reached the bedroom, he tucked you in and soon joined you under the covers. He lay on his side, facing you to admire your now relaxed features.

“Will you hold me please?” you asked sheepishly, snuggling to his body. He was always so warm, you wondered if the energy from his naps was all transformed into the warmth. That would explain his constant exhaustion. You were really falling asleep quick, thinking about silly things. Instead of answering, he simply put his arms around you. Your legs became a tangled mess almost instantly.

“Good night, love,” he whispered, kissing you deeply, gently, but the kiss carried also a message of “everything will be alright”.

“Sleep well, I love you,” you whispered and a smile stretched on your face when you felt his lips lazily mouth the answer against your skin as he too fell asleep.

[sooniessoulmate]

𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 - 𝔠𝔥.4 - 𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦-𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 4 : 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔲𝔫?

𝔠𝔥.3 🌕 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱 🌕 𝔠𝔥.5

The sun went down bringing darkness into the world. The moon was almost at its highest peak, it was almost at a full moon but still considered waning. Taehyun frantically wandered around the empty forest, searching for something unknown. No one was with him and no one was in sight. He wasn’t sure how he got into the forest or why he was there but he knew he was on a mission. He continued walking, coming upon a lone tent. The tent felt inviting, he could feel a force inside that he previously knew. He took a deep breath and ventured inside. A man wearing a black cloak was

seated at a table in front of a crystal ball inside the tent. It was at that moment Taehyun knew that he had been summoned by his ancestors and he knew the reason had something to do with the source of power he felt earlier in the day. He took a seat across from the man and waited for his message. The man moved his hand, making a circle on top of the crystal ball, chanting latin until his head flew back as though he was in a trance. Taehyun gazed into the ball seeing the images of the school exploding leaving bodies of his fellow students behind. He saw everyone he knew laying on the ground bleeding out from different spots. He even thought he saw the body of himself impaled on the gate of the academy. Taehyun continued watching and the doors of one of the buildings that remained flew open and someone was walking out. He couldn’t make out who the person was or if it was even male or female but it was definitely the person who caused all this misery and chaos. Just then the images stopped and the man’s head went upright once more. Taehyun stared at the man for a moment before speaking.

“Thank you for showing me this,” he said, “who and what is the cause?”

The man’s hand slowly raised, pointing his index finger at the boy sitting before him as his head set on fire. Taehyun gasped, grabbing his chest, sitting up in bed.  He took a few deep breaths, looking around trying to gain his bearings. 

“Would you go back to sleep?” Yeonjun whined, throwing a pillow at Taehyun. “You’re really noisy tonight.”

“I was summoned,” Taehyun explained.

“Can’t it wait till the morning,” Yeonjun asked. “I’m really tired.”

“I don’t know what to do with you sometimes,” Taehyun sighed, laying back down.

Y/N didn’t sleep all that well that night. She had so many things running through her mind. Why would her parents send her to a place like this is the biggest thought that she couldn’t quite get over.  She felt like she was a good daughter. She got good grades in school, never got in any trouble, and got along wonderfully with her parents. Things just didn’t make sense, but unfortunately dwelling on the topic wasn’t going to change anything. 

“Wake up, little bitch,” Soyeon said, standing over Y/N while she slept.

Y/N rolled over, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw the strange woman standing next to her bed.

“Who the hell are you?” Y/N snapped.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Soyeon responded as she popped a lollipop into her mouth.

“That’s not telling me anything,” Y/N argued.

“Don’t let her scare you,” Ryujin interrupted. “She looks scarier than she actually is.”

Y/N turned to look at Ryujin when she heard her voice, instantly bringing back the feelings of fear and uncertainty she felt the day before. 

“You’re alive?” Y/N gasped. “How is that possible? I saw that Jay break your neck and you died.”

“I know,” Ryujin smiled, “he’s just so fucking sweet.”

“What do you mean he is sweet?” Y/N asked. “He tried to kill you.”

“Oh no my baby JayJay would never actually do anything to hurt me for real,” Ryujin smiled. “It’s just our own little way of foreplay.”

Soyeon laughed, “wasn’t Jay the one that turned you?”

“Yea…and what’s your point?” Ryujin asked, annoyed.

“If he turned you then that means he did kill you, like for real,” Soyeon stated.

“Only so we could spend eternity together,” Ryujin argued.

Soyeon rolled her eyes in disbelief, “you’re pathetic.”

Y/N silently listened as the girls continued to argue about Ryujin and Jay’s love until she couldn’t keep her questions to herself any longer.

“Are you in here for me?” Y/N asked.

“Yea get dressed,” Soyeon ordered, crossing her arms while staring coldly at Y/N still sitting in bed.

“Get dressed for what?” Y/N wondered.

“What the fuck does it matter?” Soyeon snapped. “I said get dressed now fucking get dressed.”

“Ok ok,” Y/N agreed, getting up out of bed. After standing up she bent over and made her bed and strategically placed her two stuffed bears that she had with her on top of her bed.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Soyeon growled.

Y/N grabbed some clothing from the closet and went into the bathroom to get dressed, returning once her hair and makeup looked pristine.

“Didn’t I say hurry the fuck up?” Soyeon snapped.

“I did hurry,” Y/N pouted. “I got ready as fast as I could.”

Soyeon rolled her eyes as she walked out of the room. She started down the hallway, realizing y/n wasn’t following her. 

“Come on,” Soyeon yelled.

Y/N ran out of the room to catch up to Soyeon. “You didn’t say I was supposed to come with you,” she announced.

“Yes I fucking did,” Soyeon argued.

“Let's just agree to disagree on that one,” Y/N smiled. “So anyways what’s your name?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Soyeon grunted.

“I need to know what I should call you,” Y/N argued.

“Just refer to me as the Queen,” Soyeon ordered.

Y/N’s face lit up, “I just love nicknames. If I call you Queen, what are you gonna call me?”

“Little bitch,” Soyeon growled.

“I don’t think that is an appropriate name,” Y/N sighed.

“Yea but it’s fitting for you, little bitch,” Soyeon laughed.

Y/N realized she wasn’t going to win this argument so she followed Soyeon in silence. She led Y/N into a new room. A room that she hadn’t been in before. There were a bunch of guys already sitting in the room. Once the two girls were fully inside the door closed from behind them.

Y/N turned around to see a man standing behind the door, holding a bat.

“Hi Hannie,” Soyeon smiled.

“Are you ready to have some fun?” Han smirked, hitting his hand with the bat.

𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔳 🌕 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 🌕 𝔫𝔢𝔵𝔱

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫

[nocturnalghoul]

On Each Side

I had three short little ideas about the ghouls on the way to work and outlined them on my way in so I wouldn't forget. Here is the first one of those, a little more sweet Dewther separation angst. Here are the Rulti and the Raindrop parts.

Words: 631

Summary: Dew and Aether are reminded of the tiny details that the other exists as they lay in bed wondering if they feel the same way.

It was the same every time the two ghouls shared a bed. Aether would take the left side and Dew would curl up on the right. Even when alone neither of the two could manage to break the habit of automatically claiming their assigned side. Sure, plenty of times that space will often end up occupied by another ghoul , but now that they were separated by so much space it felt weird. 

~~~

Dew wonders as he lays in the uncomfortable hotel room how Aether is dealing with the adjustment. Surely Sunny was there to fill that hole sometimes, but she couldn’t always be there. Even when she was, it would never be the same, just like how the ghouls he had been partnered with weren't the same. 

He can’t stop himself from wondering, when the quintessence ghoul wakes up in the morning does he see little traces of him laid out on the right hand bedside table? Do they make him feel lonely? Does he feel regret about leaving over his past? As he stares at the empty table to the left of him, yet to be claimed by Swiss for the night, he can’t help but wish that Aether feels as lonely as he does right now. 

He takes a deep breath in, closing his eyes and picturing the kind lavender eyes that could be greeting him. He thinks of the various books and left behind mugs that should be on that leftside table. Each item that should be proof that the quintessence ghoul will make his way to the same bed as Dew. 

The memories haunt him until he can’t stand it anymore. He tries to only remember the sweetest memories but that barren table taunts him. Dew wants nothing more than to let it all go and accept that until the tour is over he won’t wake up to Aether’s tired mumbles in his sleep or any of his other endearing quirks. However, each time he blinks there is still hope that the traces of Aether will simply appear and he won't feel like this anymore. 

Finally he concedes that it would hurt so much worse to know that Aether feels the same way, and shoots him a quick “Love you. Miss you.” text as an attempt to send all the love he can’t put to words. Right as he hits send Swiss walks out from the shower and begins to unpack.

~~~~

As Aether stares at that damn right bedside table, the one that is mostly there for Dew, he feels his heart wither. Each item from the spare hairbrush to the giant empty water bottle feels like traces of love left out to collect dust. 

Not having Dew there in the morning to scamper in with breakfast or even tell him about whatever strange dream he had the night before leaves Aether feeling empty. The space has always been a place for Dew’s walls to fall down and it's a sight that Aether can never get enough of. As he looks at the cluttered table he lets his mind wander through pathways of fond memories for each item, times that his fire ghoul was here with him and happy. 

Just as the memories threaten to drown him he is snapped out of it by his phone going off. Hearing the custom text tone he has set for Dew he immediately turns over to grab it off of his bedside table. He knows the four little words speak so much more than they say on the surface but knowing that he isn’t alone in his thoughts soothes the burning ache inside his heart a little. 

Soon they will reunite again, laying in one another’s arms for hours on end. Until then the little reminders will have to do.