#does my love come off as a suffocating shadow?

[hum-suffer]

Today in Moon Boy's shenanigans:

I was making a birthday gift for him and the topic of my way of showing affection came up and he said I should be careful and not show too much care for people, because these days, people who care too much get used.

Next mission: stop calling everyone, especially him, by a nickname. Everyone has a name and i shall use it.

New insecurity: does my love come off as too fast and too much and too intense? Even my platonic love, especially that, actually, I'm at peak intensity. I love like I want to be loved. But does my love come off as obsession? Or desparation? Does my love come off as creepy or weird or cringe or cliche?

But who cares, really? My emotional support bestie said that she loves me and that she wishes I were a boy so we could elope. Her acceptance and love for me are enough for me to shove aside anyone and everyone

I've still developed a new insecurity but it's alright, she's here and she loves the way I love her

[hiramaris]

I'm gonna request something for haley bc i love how you write her and not so obsessed. im not sure if you are writing for request? but im gonna give my shot

a prompt where haley as wife, and the farmer was late passed midnight because of mining shit. and almost died (lmao). she got home safely, but limping with her wounds and bruise. then there's haley, saw her wife barely walking and her reaction, just comfort, fluff, worried and taking care of the farmer.

that's all, thanks, no pressure <3

Kiss it Off Me

CHAPTER 7

Chapter Summary:

"I don't like your stupid gift!" She didn't intend for it to sound harsh, but as soon as her mouth opened, she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "I honestly thought you'd know better than to give me something like this."

Pairings: Haley x Fem!farmer

Disclaimer:  I do not own Stardew Valley or any of the related characters. Stardew Valley is created by and owned by ConcernedApe. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Stardew Valley story belong to ConcernedApe.

Warning: violence, blood

Notes:

thanks to anon for being the first-ever reader to request a prompt. I initially thought to make a separate fic for this one but I realized why not make it as a new chapter? There would be some adjustments to the prompt, instead of Haley being the farmer's wife, she'd be somewhere in between a friend and a woman struggling to put a name to what she's feeling with the farmer. I'm really sorry anon for not following the route you're hoping for but I do hope you'll like this one.

Summer 9

The sound of thunder clapping from above her made it difficult for sleep to come that night. Despite the late hour, the darkness outside was illuminated intermittently by flashes of lightning, casting eerie shadows across the walls of her room.

Rain drummed steadily against the glass, a constant reminder of Yoba's fury. The room felt oppressive, suffocating almost, as if the storm had seeped its way indoors, invading her sanctuary.

She had always hated rain. Well, the main reason is it's horrible weather for a dashing photographer like her. Not only does it ruin her hair that she spent all morning fixing, but it could also ruin her equipment. Oh, did she also mention it gives an awful lighting?

She also shares the same level of dislike for storms because they destroy the calmness of rain. It's aggressive, cold, and destructive.

That's why the moment the news announced there would be a storm for the next three days, she was quick to stock every little favorite snack she could think of because there was no way she was waltzing outside in that kind of weather.

Haley popped out a tired eye as she looked at the clock beside her.

1:56 AM.

Oh, joy it's almost two in the morning. How in Yoba's name could she go outside with bags under her eyes probably heavier than all of Emily's hippie gems combined?

'I mean– there's always a concealer,' she thought but quickly dismissed the idea.

She has been minimizing her makeup since... since whatever (when you told her she looked prettier even without them) PLUS with summer's sweltering heat, layering on cosmetics seemed suffocating.

With a groan, she pushed herself up from the bed, determination flashing in her tired eyes as she made her way to the kitchen to get a glass of milk, hoping that this little solution would finally give her the sleep she'd been craving for.

But as she reached for the milk, a cacophony outside shattered the stillness of the night. Haley froze, her heart pounding in her chest. It's kind of hard to tell with the harsh rain and thunder and everything.

As if to confirm that her mind wasn't playing tricks on her, a set of audible coughs echoed just behind the door. Haley's heart thumped so loud she was afraid it might come out of her chest.

That could only be an intruder.

In Haley's sleep-deprived mind, she didn't stop to even realize that Pelican Town had never experienced a robbery in the dead of night. Instead, she quickly bolted to her room, grabbing Alex's old baseball bat he had left here one time, not even having the presence of mind to wake up Emily to face this 'intruder' together.

****

Spoiler alert, it wasn't an intruder but an idiotic farmer covered in dirt and unbelievably wet from the rain.

You were holding your rucksack close to your chest for dear life with your sword held tightly by your other hand when Haley found you slumped against the door.

"What the hell are you doing outside at this hour and in this weather?" was the first words she uttered when her eyes spotted you. She was quick to help you up and bring you inside, not even minding the mud and water accumulating from where you stood.

When you didn't respond, Haley met your eyes.

Haley's heart nearly stopped at the sight beyond her. Without being hidden by the darkness, she could finally see your whole state.

There standing is the farmer herself. Your white hoodie was tattered and looked burned. Your hoodie's sleeves are ripped too up to your upper arms, and your left arm has a cut with fresh blood still gushing out of it.

You were missing the other pair of your shoes, and your hair was disheveled and covered with slime. You even had multiple scratches and scrapes all over your body. Your right cheek has some small scratches, and blood is rushing out of the wound on your forehead.

"Yoba..." Haley's voice was barely a whisper as she gently cupped your cheeks, careful not to aggravate your wounds. Her eyes flickered to the gash on your forehead, blood still seeping from the wound. "What happened, Y/n/n? We need to get you to Harvey!"

You shook your head weakly, struggling to stand upright. "No... H-harvey," you protested, your voice strained. "H-he'll kill me."

"Y/n!" Haley's arms enveloped you in a tight embrace as you nearly stumbled over her. She wanted to reprimand you, to demand answers, but the rush of blood in her ears and the pounding of her heart against her chest prevented her from doing so.

For now, she needed to make sure you were okay.

You only grunted in response as you gave in to her, allowing her to guide you onto the cushions.

"I'm just gonna get a towel and the first aid." Her lips trembled as she said those words.

In record time, she was able to get everything she thought you'd need, afraid if she missed any more seconds you wouldn't be breathing.

When she returned to the living room, she almost went ballistic when she spotted your form unmoving from your seat.

"Y/n! Wake up, for Yoba's sake! Don't you dare die on—" Haley's words caught in her throat as you rasped out a response.

"...oh, look an angel," you managed with a small grin, your tired eyes fluttering open.

Haley couldn't help but smile softly at your attempt to lighten the mood. "Very funny," she replied, relief flooding through her as she saw you conscious, if only barely.

Wordlessly, she draped a towel over you, tucking it gently to ensure you stayed warm. It was the same blanket she used during storms like this when she felt cold herself.

With a purposeful stride, she made her way to the fireplace, adding more wood to the fire in hopes of warming you further.

"Keep your eyes open, please? I'm just gonna get some rags to clean up your wound," she requested gently.

She placed the first aid kit on the coffee table in front of you before heading to the kitchen to gather clean rags and a sponge.

Returning to the living room, she filled a bowl with tap water and carried it carefully as she made her way back to you.

With great tenderness, Haley cautiously wiped the blood from your body with the sponge, dampening it in the tap water she had prepared. She winced as the color of the water turned red.

"You lost too much blood," Haley commented, masking the shakiness of her voice. She wasn't a great fan of blood but she was not naive with treating minor injuries either. She silently thanked Yoba for letting Emily force her to learn a thing or two about first aid.

You only grunted in response to her observation.

"What happened, Y/n?" She couldn't hide the worry in her voice even if she dared try. "I should call Harvey and get you to the clinic."

You groaned as she accidentally applied too much pressure to your wound. "No... it's okay. It's n-nothing, I'm fine."

"These serious injuries don't shout nothing, Y/n. What the hell happened?"

"'I went to the mine..." you explained, and Haley waited expectantly for you to continue.

"It's storming."

"I know..." You couldn't look at her in the eye. "It's just that there's not much going on in the farm so I thought I should continue my expeditions in the mine. I thought it would be safe but..."

"But it wasn't." Haley couldn't helped but deadpan.

You visibly winced, unsure if it was because of your wounds, Haley's biting remark, or just both. "I heard from Marlon I could find rare items once I reached the hundredth floor, which I did," you explained, tapping your rucksack beside you. "But I should have known better that those items are rare for a reason. Not because they're hard to find, but because they're hard to acquire. Once I got hold of this baby," you gestured to your bag, "the whole cave was swarmed by slimes and shadow people."

"What?" Haley's voice sputtered with disbelief, her brows furrowing in concern. "Shadow people? I thought they were just myths!"

You tried to nod in confirmation, but Haley kept a firm hand on your cheeks, preventing the movement. "Uhuh, they're very real," you affirmed, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "And I can say they aren't really fond of us humans and, uh, dwarves I think. They're more scared of me than intimidating. I tried not to, y'know, hurt them."

"That's a stupid idea."

"I know," you admitted, your gaze dropping to the floor. "But given our history with them, I didn't want to give them any more reason to hate us. Plus, I was the one invading their homes."

Haley let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping with weariness. "Still, you should have fought back. What if they had killed you in there? How would we have known you were down there and rotting? You're the only one crazy enough to go down there anyway."

You didn't speak after that, and Haley mistook that as compliance. She was too busy fuming at your lack of self-preservation to notice the frown creasing on your features.

After managing to cleanse the visible injuries of your body, she began to grab some clean rags to apply some pressure on your forehead and your forearm to keep your bleeding to an absolute minimum.

She cursed softly under her breath, trying to think of what to do next.

"…Y/n? Y/n, wake up, stop sleeping," Haley's voice was quiet, her tone laced with urgency as she gently tapped your cheek.

Your eyes pulled themselves open and looked tiredly at her. "Hn?"

"I need you to sit up straight and pull your hoodie off. What do you have underneath?" Haley's words were gentle but firm as she carefully supported your shoulder and hip.

"…just a tank top."

Slowly, you strained to sit upright, wincing with discomfort. Haley could tell from the way your grip tightened on her wrist that you were not comfortable sitting for very long.

With Haley's assistance, you managed to pull your hoodie off, careful not to aggravate any wounds. Once the clothes were removed, Haley's eyes lingered on the minor cuts just below your chest, blood still seeping from the wounds. She grabbed the sponge again, gently brushing away the blood from your cuts.

After cleansing the wounds, Haley applied alcohol and antibiotics, causing you to grunt in discomfort. No words were exchanged as she skillfully wrapped bandages around your forehead, forearm, and abdomen. She then helped you into warmer clothes she found in her wardrobe, her movements gentle and reassuring.

"How do you feel?" Haley bit her lip, anxious. Honestly speaking, she wasn't confident in her abilities to treat injuries, so she anxiously awaited your response, hoping she hadn't made things worse.

"…I'm alright now," you rasped, your voice hoarse with exhaustion. "…thank you, Hay."

Haley felt a wave of relief wash over her at your words. Your face had regained some color compared to earlier when you looked as pale as a ghost.

"Do you want anything to eat?" she questioned tentatively. "I'll whip you up some tea and soup."

You swallowed gently and nodded your head.

"I'll be back soon then. Rest. I'll wake you when your soup is done."

****

About twenty minutes later, Haley went back into the living room, a tray in her hands. She found you sprawled on the couch (thankfully not moving too much), embracing your rucksack in your arms once again. She wanted to question what was inside and why you couldn't part with it so much but decided to make sure you were okay first.

The things she does for you.

She placed the tray of food on the coffee table and sat beside you, taking in your sleeping form.

"Y/n/n? Food's ready," Haley said softly, tapping your thigh to rouse you from your slumber.

Startled and kind of a forced of habit, you tried to sit up straight. Thankfully, Haley was fast enough to stop you.

"Don't get up. | don't want to wrap your wounds again," Haley admonished, her tone firm.

She grabbed a pillow and propped it behind your back to elevate your head slightly. As she picked up the bowl of chicken soup, she could feel your eyes on her.

"I can feed myself, Haley. Thank you," you finally spoke. Haley's eyes met yours briefly before she averted her gaze, a flicker of emotion passing over her features.

"Clearly, you aren't capable of feeding yourself. Stop being a baby and let me do this."

Your eyes settled on her for probably a full minute before you sighed in resignation. Despite the hardened gaze she probably wore on her face, Haley gently placed a spoonful of soup in your mouth.

"I know you can, Y/n," Haley spoke after a few moments. "But you lost too much blood already, I don't want you to bleed again."

"I'm sorry for causing you all this trouble," you uttered softly.

Haley paused and finally looked at you, like, really looked at you properly this time. Since you had arrived covered in mud and blood, she had been operating on autopilot, with only one mission: ensuring you were okay. It's the only thing running through her mind, leaving no room for anything else. Mainly, she hadn't thought about the impact of her words.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's no trouble. I'm just..." Haley paused, thinking about what words to use without giving away that she cared too much. "I'm just glad that you're okay."

Once you had finished eating, Haley placed the empty bowl down and reached for a damp cloth. Brushing away a stray lock of your hair, she gently wiped away a few drops of blood and dirt, her touch surprisingly gentle. She was so focused on her task that she didn't notice you watching her quietly, your expression softening as she attended to the blemish on your face.

"Haley..." you called softly, breaking the silence. Haley looked down at you, her eyes startled. A small, appreciative smile graced your lips as you continued, "Thank you."

Haley couldn't help but smile in return. Sometimes it's hard to stay mad at you. "You can thank me by resting and making sure this won't happen again."

You chuckled softly as you closed your eyes, resting your head against the pillow once more. "No promises."

Seeing that you were getting sleepy, Haley quickly gathered the empty bowl and cup and placed them in the sink. When she returned, she extended a hand to help you up, much to your confusion.

"Come, let's get you to my room."

"Haley," you protested weakly. "I couldn't possibly impose more than I already have."

"Shut up. I won't let an injured woman sleep on the couch, Y/n."

Despite your protests, Haley managed to convince you to agree with her proposed setup. While Haley wasn't entirely keen on sleeping on the couch herself, it's not like she has a choice on the matter. The cushion is uncomfortable as hell, it's like sitting on a pile of bricks. That's more than enough reason to let you sleep on her bed. Plus, with the mess and worry weighing on her mind, she doubted she'd be able to sleep anyway.

She was about to leave to clean the mess in the living room when she finally sat you down on her bed, but a hand stopped her.

"…have you seen my bag, Hay?"

"Oh, that? Do you want me to get it for you?"

"No, no. Thanks but I can get it myself." You made a move to stand but Haley kept a firm grip on your shoulder.

Haley frowned. "You can't barely even stand. Do you think I'm gonna let you walk by yourself? What's in the bag anyway? I'll get it for you."

"I'm wounded, not disabled–" you tried to say but Haley only raised an eyebrow at you, daring you to finish your sentence. You sighed when you realized that you wouldn't win against her again. "It's... it's a gift."

"For whom?" Haley couldn't help but ask. Who could you possibly want to give a gift that you almost died just to get it?

Was it for Penny? Haley heard she liked gems as well. Or was it Maru? If she could remember correctly, tomorrow's her birthday and she seemed to like everything you can find in caves. This totally makes sense.

But why did her heart clench at the thought? More importantly, how did she even remember all this information when she didn't care about them at all?

Before you could respond, Haley left the room to retrieve your rucksack. She felt like she didn't need to hear the answer to her question.

When she returned, she wordlessly handed the bag to you, prepared to leave the room once more. However, your voice stopped her in her tracks.

"It's for you."

She turned, mouth agape. "What?"

"It's for you." You smiled warmly as you held out a familiar-looking crystalline gem, about the size of a palm, emitting a dazzling array of colors.

Haley's initial surprise quickly turned to dismay as she recognized the mineral. Her frown deepened, and a flicker of discomfort passed through her eyes at the sight of it. She knew what it was, and just the thought of touching it made her feel physically ill.

"What's wrong?" you asked, concerned at her sudden change in demeanor.

"I don't like your stupid gift!" She didn't intend for it to sound harsh, but as soon as her mouth opened, she couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "I honestly thought you'd know better than to give me something like this."

"I..."

"Keep it," she said with finality. "Good night, Y/n."

With a curt nod, she turned on her heel and stormed off, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in the room as she left.

****

She shouldn't have said that. She knows she shouldn't have but she was just so worried she couldn't control anything else spouting from her foul mouth.

She hated how she caused the light in your eyes to die down. Hated the way you weren't able to say anything else. Hated the way she just couldn't probably express her worries properly.

Now you probably thought she hated your guts.

Which is far from the truth. Kind of the opposite actually but she's far too tired and confused to delve into her feelings further at the moment.

It's true she doesn't share the same passion for gems and rocks as her sister Emily, and people will generally thank someone who will give them a prismatic shard because for one, they are pretty, she's not gonna lie about that. Secondly, they're super rare and by extension, expensive.

Haley just couldn't bring herself to appreciate it in the same way.

She hated them with passion. And she hated people assuming she liked shiny things because of her personality.

While it's true she's kind of materialistic, it was a trait ingrained in her from years of her parents trying to compensate for their absence by showering her with gifts.

She didn't like being materialistic, but she's so used to it that it's hard to stop.

And she hated how you seemed to think the same way about her when you thought about giving her a prismatic shard as a gift. That all she ever was were just pretty and expensive gifts.

And she hated how you let yourself get hurt just to give her this.

She hated everything about this.

****

Haley spent the majority of the night cleaning the living room, hoping to tire herself out enough to dull the heaviness and emptiness in her heart. She didn't know it was possible to feel both at the same time, but there she was, experiencing it firsthand, and she despised every moment of it.

And she hated herself more now because she found herself padding her way towards her room. Her steps faltered when she saw you peacefully sleeping on her bed. A gentle smile touched her lips at the sight of your chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Unable to resist, Haley approached you quietly. She carefully tucked you in, a tenderness in her actions that betrayed the turmoil in her heart. Leaning down, she pressed a soft kiss to your bandaged forehead, a gesture she had learned from her late grandmother.

"To kiss the pain away," her grandmother used to say, and Haley found solace in that belief.

With one last caress of your cheek, Haley settled onto the foot of her bed, a magazine in hand, silently hoping for the sun's rays to finally peek behind the horizon by her room's window.

****

Haley woke up surprisingly lacking any back pains. She didn't feel sleep-deprived either.

Wait—

How'd she get in her bed? You're supposed to be– Oh.

She sat up straight when she realized she was holding a letter in her hand. Straightening up the almost crumpled paper, she could recognize your handwriting immediately.

Good morning, Haley. Sorry for the disturbance last night, and thank you for taking care of me. It means a lot. I didn't want to impose more than I already have so I excused myself while you were asleep. Thank you again. — Y/n

Haley studied the letter, noting the hastily scribbled handwriting that differed from your usual neat script. She could imagine you rushing to write it just to avoid dealing with her.

It hurt more than she cared to admit. But after what she said to you, who was she to complain?

At this point, it would be a miracle if you still talked to her.

"Good morning, sis!" Emily chirped, her voice echoing through the room as Haley emerged from her room. She sat on the couch, casually knitting what appeared to be another sweatshirt.

Haley's expression was one of mild annoyance as she replied, "It's noon."

She glanced around the living room, noting the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, indicating that the day was well underway and the storm had thankfully subsided.

"Storm has passed but Caroline canceled, just to be safe," Emily responded, her fingers deftly working the knitting needles as she spoke. "And I know it's noon. Just wanted to emphasize you slept late, little lady."

Haley let out a resigned groan, her movements sluggish as she made her way toward the kitchen to avoid further conversation with her sister.

"Just so you know, I saw Y/n/n come out of your room!" Emily called out from the living room, her tone playful yet teasing.

Haley froze mid-step, her grip tightening on the handle of her mug. "Wha—" Her voice wavered slightly, betraying her surprise. "Nothing happened!"

"Of course, nothing's going to happen in that state she's in," Emily retorted.

Haley couldn't ignore the sense of urgency that suddenly gripped her at the mention of your state. You're in no condition to go home all by yourself.

"Just tell me you took her home," she pleaded, her tone softening slightly as she returned to the living room.

Thankfully, Emily's too caught up with her work to notice that brief slip-up of vulnerability Haley rarely shows.

"I volunteered actually, but Penny saw us on our way and insisted she could do the job," Emily explained, her tone matter-of-fact.

"And you agreed?!" she sputtered incredulously.

"Of course, I would!" Emily readily defended. "She volunteered!"

Haley's sigh was heavy as she sank down onto the couch next to Emily. "You should have woken me up."

She could feel Emily's eyes settling on her as if trying to decipher what's got her so distressed.

"I tried, but Y/n/n won't let me. Said you needed the sleep," Emily finally answered after a few moments of silence.

"You're unbelievable." Haley couldn't help but massage the bridge of her nose at Emily's casualness about the situation as if seeing a heavily injured farmer waltz out of Haley's room was just a normal occurrence. "I suppose she told you what happened then?"

"Uh-huh. Accident in the mines, right? And she went here instead to the clinic because Harvey would kill her once he saw her state." Emily chuckled, her tone light as if discussing the weather. "He just literally told her last time to take it easy."

Haley blinked in disbelief. "And how do you know this?"

"Everyone knows this, Haley." Emily looked at her as if wondering why she didn't know this piece of information. "It's practically a common thing to see Y/n/n passed out outside in the morning."

Haley's brows furrowed in frustration, her mind racing with thoughts. Of course, she doesn't know this. If she would have known, she would have told you to take it easy. Hell, she'll help with farming if it will make things easier for you. This thing where you pass out and overwork yourself shouldn't be normalized. Actually, if anything—

She stopped herself from this line of thinking because why the hell was she even considering helping out with your farm when she, in fact, hated dirt?

"She also told me how you stepped up and helped her," Emily continued, her voice pulling Haley back to the present moment. She felt Emily's hand pat her shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "I saw she's well-cleaned up. I'm proud of you, sis."

Haley forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. I'm not proud of what I did, Em.

*****

Summer 10

The sky was painted with hues of pink and orange as Haley sat alone on the shore, the gentle sound of waves lapping against the sand providing a soothing rhythm to her troubled thoughts. She had come here seeking solace, the ocean always offering her a sense of peace in times of distress.

The events yesterday had bothered her more than she had let on. She convinced herself you'd understand why she reacted the way she did but a part of herself thinks she should apologize.

But as stubborn as she is, she instead spent the whole day sulking, which is what she did.

She embraced her knees closer to her chest, fingers brushing the bracelet adorning her wrist. It was her great-grandma's, a delicate piece of jewelry passed down through generations adorned in gold and pearl on the middle part. Her grandmother has given it to her instead of her mom because she'd rather wear luxurious things than some hand-me-down jewelry. But Haley loved them, and it's probably the only piece of jewelry she'd ever wear aside from the shell necklace she was wearing now.

It was a ritual of sorts for her, wearing the bracelet whenever she felt sad and alone. It's as if wearing it made her feel like her grandma was with her at this very moment, comforting her.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realize her bracelet had slipped from her wrist. It wasn't until she reached to adjust it that she felt its absence.

"Oh, no..."

With trembling hands, she combed through the sand, her movements growing more frantic with each passing moment. Her eyes scanned the water's edge, fearing the worst as she desperately sought any glimmer of gold amidst the grains of sand.

No, no... impossible. She made sure she was far enough from the water for that specific reason.

An hour passed with no sign of the precious heirloom, and Haley felt tears welling up in her eyes as desperation threatened to consume her. She practically combed the whole beach for it and still no signs of the bracelet.

She couldn't help but slump back to the sand. She's feeling everything too much.

She's such a useless piece of shit. She couldn't even kept an important heirloom. How the hell can she even keep someone like you in her life?

Everyone's right. She's way up high in the clouds that everything she touches crumbles within her fingertips.

The tears are threatening to fall from her eyes and a sob is rising on her throat.

And just before a tear fell from her eyes, a hand shot up and grabbed her by the shoulder.

She looked up and met a pair of gray eyes staring into her own. The grayish color of your eyes is stark and deep and seemed a little bluish from the illumination of the sun. It almost looked like the sky during spring or the ocean seen from a cruising ship as a cold tundra threatened to ruin the quiet solitude of the season. Your eyes telltale thousands of untold stories with every blink, stories too ambiguous, too dark for any of them to understand. Though not dark enough to feed her thoughts of the midnight sea, of storms and drowning.

Calloused fingertips thumbed mascara stains from her cheeks with such gentleness Haley doesn't think she deserves.

"I'm here," you murmured. "What happened, Haley?"

"I l-lost it," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she struggled to hold back tears. "My bracelet... it's gone! I know I had it on when I got here... But now it's gone, Y/n and I can't find it anywhere..."

She couldn't help the sob that escaped her as she burrows closer into you. She had probably stained your shirt with expensive make-up and salty tears but she didn't care as she dug her face deeper into your collar bone further and sucks a shaky breath.

"Shh," you soothed, sturdy arms wrapped around her tightened instinctively. "I'll go find it, don't worry."

"I'll never find another one like it..."

"I'm really sorry..." she felt you murmur against her hair. "I'm sure it's just around here somewhere."

"...maybe it'll wash up on another shore," she hiccuped between sobs. "I can't bear to think of it at the bottom of the ocean."

"We'll find it, okay?" you assured her, and Haley swore her heart stopped beating when you planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Stay here. We're not leaving until we find your bracelet."

****

And truth be told you did find it.

After what seemed like an eternity of combing through the sand, Haley's eyes lit up as she spotted the familiar-looking bracelet in your hands.

With a smile so bright it rivaled the sun, you approached her.

"You found it!" she cheered as she run towards you, hopping from the sand and straight to your arms.

You weren't deterred by this and proceeded to secure your arms around her to prevent her from falling.

"Careful there, we don't want to drop it again, do we?" You barked out a laugh but Haley was quick to recognize the grunt of pain in them.

"Yoba, I'm sorry! I forgot you're still wounded!" Haley made a move to let you go but you weren't having any of it. If anything, you hold her tighter. Haley couldn't help but let out a laugh as well as she wrapped her arms around your neck just as firmly. "Thank you so much, Y/n. You're a lifesaver."

"You're welcome," you murmured against her chest. "Here, I'll help you wear it."

You gently set her down, much to her disappointment, and began to fasten the bracelet around her wrist, your actions filled with care and tenderness.

"Thank you, Y/n. Really," she murmured softly. "You're always there whenever I needed you and all you get as a thank you is me being... a bitch to you. I'm sorry."

You frowned. "You're not a... 'b' word. Far from it."

"'B' word,"she scoffed, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips "What are you, twelve?"

"Hey!" you protested in mock indignation. "I can cuss. I just don't want to use it around you. I don't want to get used to it."

Haley's gaze softened drastically. If you keep this kind of consistency around her then Haley's bound to fall hard on her back. And since it's with you, you'd probably made your way to ensure she'll be falling in a pile of pillows and flowers. You're thoughtful like that.

"I'm sorry for giving you that gift yesterday..." you started after a moment of silence. "Let me finish first," you interrupted gently when you saw her mouth open to speak. "I just... prismatic shards are rare to find and I wanted to give it to you because I thought it's something you'd like to photograph."

You took her hand in yours, a tender gesture that made Haley's heart skip a beat, her cheeks flushing slightly at the warmth of your touch. The soft morning light bathed the shoreline in a golden hue, casting long shadows across the sand as gentle waves lapped against the shore.

"But then I realized how it may have looked like to you, and I'm sorry I made you feel that way."

"Y/n..."

"So I like to try again." Without further explanation, you strode towards the boat beside Elliot's cabin, your steps confident and purposeful, and produced a bouquet of—wait, are those sunflowers?

"No way!" she sputtered as she tried to fight the grin threatening to spill on her face. You're not supposed to look this dashing walking towards her with a bouquet in hand. It's unfair!

"Yes way." you grinned at her as you handed her the flowers, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I hope I'm forgiven."

"I'm supposed to be the one saying sorry, you dunce!" Haley playfully slapped your shoulders before accepting them. "They're beautiful, Y/n! These are my absolute favorite! Thank you."

"No worries. And if you're free you can take a look at them at my farm."

"You planted them?" Now that she had mentioned it, it sounded like a stupid question. Of course, you planted them yourself, where else can you get these flowers?

But as usual, being the kind and patient person that you are, you only beamed at her and nodded. "Yep! I planted a whole yard."

"For real?"

"For real," you affirmed, your smile widening at her incredulous expression.

"But why? I mean compared to other crops I'm sure sunflowers aren't that profitable."

You shrugged again, your expression softening. "Eh, I wasn't aiming for the profit. I was aiming for your smile."

****

Previous

Next

A/n: my toes are curling while I wrote this, I hope you felt the same. Anyway, the bouquet of sunflowers isn't the same bouquet that makes Haley your girlfriend. It's just a regular ol' bouquet our farmer has personally crafted because she's a simp for our queen but just too oblivious to see it. Sorry for the delay, I had just finished my clinical recently so I was busy the whole month of April. Hope y'all like this one!

P.S. comments are much appreciated!

THANK YOU FOR 2500 LIKES! YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST, SERIOUSLY.

taglist:

@joordynn

@taliiiaasteria

@iluvwomen01

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: yo, work is driving me nuts.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Lady Jazlene, a queen by marriage, cries herself to sleep. You stay until she snores and snuff the candle as you leave her on her stomach atop the stuffed mattress. You emerge between the guards and wonder if they keep people out or keep her in. 

They don’t react to you. No one really does. A shadow approaches. The thickset man grunts at you as the moonlight shines off his dark mail. Bryce waits patiently as you near him. He turns and walks beside you in silence. 

Much of the camp is asleep. The only fires that remain are those of the soldiers on watch for marauders and bandits. Your soles kick loose pebbles and trample flattened grass further. You yawn as you reach the luggage carts and find the one you rode in. The grey horse is tie to the axle, dozing on its feet with puffing nostrils. 

“The road will not get any less turbulent,” Bryce warns as he grabs his bedroll from across his mount’s rump. “You will need sleep, maid.” 

“Thank you, sir,” you lift the canvas draped over the back of the wagon. 

He grumbles and unfurls his roll across the dirt. You climb up and nestle down beneath the cover, pressed against a chest as you curl up. You hear the soldier lay down with a groan, “...too sweet...” 

You close your eyes and rest your head on a bent arm. The darkness quickly swallows you up into slumber and the day fades into obscurity. You’re not conscious long enough to dread the one ahead. 

As the sun rises, heat gathers in the cart. You wake in a damp sweat, nearly suffocating as you gulp up cool air. You slip down onto your feet and grab onto the cart to keep from stumbling. Bryce grunts as your soles crunch on the ground. 

“Eh, where’re you off to?” He sneers. 

You look down at him. His eyes are still closed as his grey steed sniffs at the dirt close to him. 

“Sir, I... I haven’t... relieved myself since... erm, well...” 

“Go on, but not too far,” he opens his eyes and sits up. “Holler if you meet trouble.” 

The horse huffs into his steely hair and he pets its nose. He grabs onto its reins and hauls himself up. You quickly spin and flit away. You go off into the brush where its thick and squat down, your skirts gathered above your knees. You miss the springs behind the castle where you would bathe with the other maids, you could use a wash now. 

You finish up and peer over the stretch of bodies, horses, and carts. You set off back toward the cart and as you come in sight of Bryce, he unties a dented kettle from his saddles. You feel much better without the pressure beneath your guts.  

“I could fetch water,” you offer. 

He looks over his shoulder. You think you surprised him. 

“Quiet mouse,” he mutters and faces you, gripping the bent handle, “I can manage a potful of water.” 

“Yes, sir, I only was being helpful.” 

“You stay, take Daisy to find some fresh grass,” he points to the horse. 

“Daisy?” You look at the beast, “is that her name?” 

He shrugs and stalks off. You go to the reins and loose them. You glance around and lead her over to an unyellowed swath of grass. She dips her long neck and grazes, tearing the strands noisily as her teeth clack. You pet her ear as she comes rather close to the hem of your skirt. 

Heavy steps tramp up behind you. You don’t bother looking as you assume it’s Bryce. Those who are stirring are barely able to lift themselves out of their rolls. The lazy rise of dawn does not inspire fastidiousness as the clouds haze amber and rose. 

“Fine horse,” the king’s timbre rumbles over you. 

You turn and bow your head, “your highness.” 

He inhales through his nose before he speaks again, “are you a fast rider?” 

“I’ve never... I don’t ride, your highness,” you reply, staring at his black mail, just at the center of his chest. “It isn’t my horse.” 

“I know it, I thought perhaps...” he begins and shifts his weight in his boots, “you might’ve secreted away the mare. That you would be sick for your home.” 

“Your highness? No, I wouldn’t--” You put your hand to your apron, “I am not a thief.” 

He pauses and his thick fingers toy with his belt, fiddling with a leather purse, “that isn’t what I...” he blows out in exasperation, “I do not think you dishonest. In fact, you are the most honest creature I’ve met around here.” 

You keep your eyes down, “I only mean to feed the horse.” 

“Yes, I believe you,” he assures, his tone glum, “forgive my inference. Truly, it wasn’t intended as such.” 

“I understand, your highness,” you say. 

“It was a jape, a poor one, I suppose,” he hooks his thumb in his belt and turns to pace. “I wanted to thank you. I have yet to figure out how to handle Lady Jazlene but you keeping her company, I do appreciate it.” He stops and crosses his arms as he faces you again, “last night, what you heard and saw... we are strangers still, her and I.” 

“I am a maid, your highness, I serve the lady and you now,” you reply, “that’s all I do.” 

His arms bulge before he drops them, “yes, I suppose for you, the matters of nobility are dull.” 

“It is not of my concern, your highness,” you say, “I am to see that all the wine and food and little things are taken care of.”  

You peer up at the sky as the dimness slowly recedes. His figure looms below and he slowly treads closer. You squeeze the reins. 

“You serve the queen, the king, and... a horse,” he reaches to touch its snout, dragging his knuckles along its grey fur. “Make certain we are fed and content.” 

“Whatever is needed, your highness,” you answer and watch his hand stroke the horse. 

“And what do you need?” He asks. 

You quork your head and stick out your lip. It's an odd question. You have what you need. You have a place in the cart, you have some nuts left over from Bryce’s generosity, and you have some hours sleep behind you. 

“Nothing, I think,” you say. 

He scratches behind the horse’s ear, “and what do you want?” 

You purse your lips. You think. Another strange inquiry. What should you want? That’s not something anyone ever worried for. You only troubled after what others wanted. 

“I... I want to see the snow,” you say at last, “I think I dreamt of it but I can’t remember. I don’t really know what it would look like but I remember once Merinda spoke of it. She knew a stable hand who once lived in the north.” 

He’s quiet. Your answer isn’t very interesting. To him, the snows must be so tedious. Nothing more than ordinary. He makes a clicking noise. 

“I want to see the snow too,” he pulls his hand away from the horse and for a moment, he seems to reach for you, recoiling short of touching your grasp on the reins. He withdraws and presses his thumb to his teeth. He hums. “We have far to go before the snow...” he rasps, “should you require anything for the road ahead, you may ask.” 

“That is kind, your highness, but I don’t expect I require much,” you assure, “thank you.” 

“Mmm,” he drones as he faces the sunrise and sets his posture, “onward.” 

He marches away as you stay and watch Daisy munch on the grass. You comb your fingers through her main, loosening the tangles. When another approaches, you glance over. Bryce tidies his own hair with his hands. 

“Water is boiling, maid,” he declares, “I have some spare mint leaf for tea.” 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” you smile down at Daisy and move out of reach of her teeth. “I will stay with the horse until she is done.” 

“Hm, aye, I understand,” his forehead lines, “she is much more pleasant than I.” 

He nods and turns back the way he came. You watch after him as he goes to sit before the hanging kettle, a low flame burning beneath it. He rolls his shoulders and hunches forward as he plants his elbows on his knees. These people of the Hinterlands are not so cold as they pretend. 

⚔️

The long train continues through the lands. Some days slower than others. There are some where progress stops at midday in favour of passing through a village or approaching a nearby farm. The king departs from the larger party, riding with his soldiers to greet the commonfolk. Lady Jazlene refuses to accompany her husband in favour of her silk tent and wine. 

The pauses in your trek makes you curious; you only ever heard of King Waleran showing his face to the citizens during the harvest festivals and self-aggrandizing ceremonies. You never saw the king yourself, only heard Lord Dustan and his wife resentfully complain of how the king never made the journey to Debray. Did he not recall that once a duchess was married to his great-uncle? 

You spend the hours in Jazlene’s company. She wants her wine and mutton. You notice that her appetite for the former has grown since the first day’s travel. She even requested that some casks be sought during one of the king’s visits. He acted as if he did not hear her entreaty. Their few encounters since that first night have been terse and short, neither offering much more than a word or two. 

The queen swirls her cup, watching the motion of the wine within. She giggles and puts it down, picking up the looking glass and admiring herself. She sits on a wooden stool, her skirts dusted with the dirt of the road. Despite the filth, she insists on sporting a new gown each day, no matter how extravagant. 

“What a fool? To think he is wasting his time on commoners,” she trills, “you know, he should be here, worried about his wife and queen. Not married a week and all we’ve done is ride anon. I’ve had no wedding, no feast. How I am neglected for these dirty farmers.” 

You say nothing. You’re not certain she recalls you’re there. She speaks to herself often as if her mother is there. A few times, she has even called for the duchess. Often when she’s nearly finished the bottle. 

She pouts and sniffs. She drains the cup completely and puts it down heavily on the crate next to her. She grips the mirror with both hands and looks at her reflection. She contorts her face, sucking in her cheeks, pushing out her lips, turning her head this way and that. 

“Aren’t I beautiful?” She nearly whispers. You don’t flinch. You stare at your hem. She sighs and stomps her foot, “I’m asking you!” 

You peek up at her, surprised.  

“Yes, your highness, you are very beautiful.” 

She frowns, “you lie to me.” 

“I wouldn’t lie, your highness.” 

“Don’t argue with me,” she snarls and slams the mirror down, cracking the glass on the crate. She stands and blusters around, her skirts catching between her legs, “if I am beautiful, what makes me so, hm? Tell me!” 

You stare at her. She is beautiful. You always thought so.  

“Your hair, your curls, your highness, they are beautiful.” 

She rolls her eyes, “just my hair?” 

She wobbles slightly as she struts towards you. 

“Your eyes. They are pretty too. And you have a nicely set nose. And your lips are finely curved, your highness,” you explain as she looms closer and closer. 

“Hmph,” she stops, slouching drunkenly as she leans in to consider you, “of course you would say so. Look at you. So plain. An ugly handmaid.” 

You stare back at her, a strike in your chest, then drop your gaze. It is the wine. She huffs, her alcohol-laden breath tinging your nose. 

“The king,” she babbles as she turns on her heels, swaying dangerously, “we’ve only lain together our first night. It was... quick. He didn’t want me to sleep with him,” she raises a hand and flutters her fingers, “he shooed me away like some whore.” She spins and falls onto the stool, “if I am so beautiful, why does he not want me?” 

You watch her. She isn’t looking for your answer. She’s talking to talk. Lady Rezlyn isn’t there so she has only herself and stagnant air trapped in the tent. 

“It is my duty to have his babies. To give him heirs. I cannot do that if he will not touch me. But perhaps when are in one place, he might try again,” she smiles and lifts the broken mirror. She tilts it and lets her hand drift down to your bodice. She pushes her chest up, “when he lets me take this off, he will see. He will want me.” 

She convinces herself as she preens at her reflection, “perhaps it won’t hurt.” She looks around and sees the bottle of wine. She grabs it by the neck. She grips it and wiggles it at you in the air. “He’s even thicker than this,” she puts the mirror down and balances the bottle on her palm as she circles her fingers around the bottom of the bottles neck, just before it rounds out, “and longer.” 

You stare at the silk wall, mortified by her words. She giggles and the movement of her hand draws your eyes up. You watch from under your lashes as she brings her hands up and down the bottle neck. 

“Mother says, just like this,” she pumps it, “that he should like it very much.” She stops and focuses on the bottle, “mmm, he is a man underneath it all.” She tosses the bottle away, “and I am a beautiful woman. He will want me.” 

You lower your eyes again and twine your fingers together. You can’t help but feel bad for her. You only wish you had some words of wisdom or comfort to offer her. Or that she would hear them. You can’t help but touch the fading bruise along your stomach as you languish in the tepid silence. It’s better to let her forget you. 

[vampiretendencies]

jj being on hair duty for all the kids while you’re cooking breakfast, and he has his spray and brush in hand while he does the boys hair, then he’s just like “pigtails today for my miss maybank?” and she just squeals because she can’t even talk

so sweet n domestic luv it :,) dad!jj, children are a boy and girl.

he’d come beaming down the stairs with his usual dimpled grin, what’s not to adore about the family that he’d hoped for. dressed for work, acquiring a job that has him working with his hands, perhaps a mechanic. the thick material, hugging his bulky body so tightly.

you are the first to receive his good morning greeting, from behind of course. breakfast on the stove, yet all he could do was breathe in the scent of the otherworldly being in front of him. feeling it flood his airways, with a sensation of relief and calamity.

“morning baby,” he’d mumble into the deepest nook of your neck, fingers gliding evenly over the surface that was your hips. "so pretty," he complimented, despite the nest of tousled tresses on your head and the sleep still ridden in your features. peppering repeated kisses to your temple. really, though is was his way of buttering you up before evenly snatching a piece of bacon of off the plate, knowing full well the rule was everyone eats together.

"jj, put it back!"

the piece of meat hangs from his mouth, with hands lifted in innocence before he slaps a serene smack to your ass causing a fit of laughter from the two children behind him. oldest, aka jj's shadow— the three year old boy, who idolized his father as though he could do no wrong. youngest, the girl reigning in at one. sat close to the island on their bar stools, waiting partially impatient by their plates for food.

"you two better stop laughing before you end up in time out with him, now get on hair duty, maybank."

"yes ma'am!"

every occurrence that its jj's turn to tame the children's hair he always looks at it in a foreign matter. because he doesn't manage his, priding on the fact that "water works wonders for his hair." the baby's thin bright blonde locks were growing so much so that recently her hair can go up, he misses the days when he could just brush it and be done. but you insist it has be styled. he maps out the the hairstyle excessively, his large hand almost suffocating the little pink brush.

"hm what'll be today sweet girl? pigtails today for miss maybank?"

peering over your shoulder from the stove an ear to ear smile is plastered on her alike dimpled features. and she simply can't contain it, so overbearing with affection for her father that this little gesture is erupting a fit of squeals from her lungs. somehow growing more and more honored with everytime jj touched her head, it was as if she thought she was in the presence of royalty.

"she loves it, j," you grin back at her, whilst a delighted smirk is on jj's face.

"course, she does baby look who's doing it," he curves the brush the form one half of the hairstyle. "momma's not a pro at this like daddy huh princess?"

you shake your his in disbelief as he just always has something pest like to say.

"me next dad!" the boy clapped his hands, cheering for jj.

[ectologia]

love your stuff!! would you be ok with making something about bakugo just being a bully?

HARD TIMES

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X F!READER

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, BULLYING, ABUSE, SWEATY ARMPITS, PISS, HUMILIATION, MISOGYNY, SIZE KINK, SIZE DIFFERENCE, CRUEL NICKNAMES, DEGRADATION, OBJECTIFICATION, PROFANITY

“Hey.”

You shuffle down the corridor quicker at the deep, rumbling snarl. Twisting the straps of your bag tighter in your clammy fists as you take long, purposeful strides, almost skipping in your steps.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” A heavy palm lands on your shoulder, squeezing like a python once your back collides with the wall.

Your eyes follow the stocky blonde’s form all the way up his hard chest, chasing to confirm the two crimson rubies placed atop his tanned features like the gems of a crown.

Bakugou juts his chin upwards in an abrasive fashion the moment you whimper under the pressure of his fingertips.

“I didn’t see you in math today.”

You sweep his hand off, shuffling backwards beneath his stoic gaze. “I.. Uhm.. I switched classes..” You mumble, barely coherent under your meek breath.

“Why’s that.”

It’s not a question, nor does he care for an answer.

One thudding foot after another and he’s in your shadow, looming over you like the sun swallowing the moon.

Two thick biceps come to rest by your spinning head, propped against the wall at the perfect angle for the heady stench of his sweaty armpits to suffocate you in the tight space.

“I’m disappointed, I was looking forward to seeing my little cock-sock today.”

You turn, raising a defensive fore-arm. “Please, Bakugou. Not today, I—”

He curls a set of scarred fingers around the flimsy joint, stretching it upwards until he has you pinned like a butterfly, helpless and vulnerable against the wall.

“What’s my name?” He scoffs.

You squeal once the calloused digits tense, popping and rolling your delicate bones in a painful hug.

“Katsuki! Katsuki!”

His fist goes limp once again. “There we go.. stupid bitch.”

The heavy appendage drops back down to his side, as does yours. You rub at the red stripes left across your skin, encouraging the blood to pool back into your veins.

“I ain’t got much time, training’s in 20 minutes.”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up, brows knitted in pardon.

His eyes roll in their sockets. “Get your pussy out, need to fuck something.”

Panic strikes and you’re flinching away.

“Hey, stop acting like such a little victim — just spread ‘em.”

It takes him less than 3 seconds to do it himself. You’re hoisted up onto the window-sill with one large palm splayed across your ass, while the other comes down to paw at the fabric stretched across your chubby mound.

“Thought I told you to stop wearing these shitty shorts under your skirt.”

“I can’t, they’re part of the uniform policy!”

“Blah, blah, bitch.” He tugs at the black spandex. “All I’m hearing is you want your pussy lips burnt off.”

The fibres twang and snap under the crackling heat of his quirk, disconnecting until a grand burning hole is left in the garment.

“Katsuki!”

“That’s me.” He snickers with a toothy grin, pulling away to inspect the tiny slit between your legs.

“Did you get looser?” He cleaves the swollen folds apart, hooking two thumbs around the gooey rim of your pussyhole.

You tuck your chin into your chest, frowning down at his ministrations.

“Only joking babe.” He spanks your clit, chuckling at the way your legs jump. “She’s still good for another fuck or two.”

He wastes no time, pulling the stiff length of his fat dick out to slap against your puffed up pussy.

“Let’s do this quick, yeah? Don’t really wanna be seen piping a loser, no offence.”

You’re swung back and forth by the hinges of your knees with your feet left dangling in the air, clumsily knocking his back with every hop.

His hips clap against the crease of your thighs, pumping in and out of your sloppy cunny as the bulbous head of his cock pokes at your cervix.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Bounce that fat-ass back on me, just like that.” He howls through the thin space of his pursed lips, huffing and puffing as he lifts you up and down on his prick.

“B— Katsuki!”

“Shh, shut up.”

He squeezes your face in between his fingers, smothering your mouth in an attempt to keep your cries to a minimum.

A dewy sheen bubbles along his hairline, darkening the beach blond spikes until the ends droop from the humidity. The way his large frame tips forward to knock his sweaty forehead against yours has you mewling, clawing at his shoulders for stability and some form of comfort as he uses you like his own girlie little flesh-light.

“Mmh.. Fuck on it, fuck on that cock, fuck on that big fat monster cock.”

His rapid thumping slows to a mellow pace as a ponderous expression befalls him. “All this humping’s making me need a piss.”

At this, you yelp. Thrashing around in his arms like a fish out of water.

He takes one step, two steps, towards the window until you’re squashed and squished against the glass.

“Well done piggie. You’ve just been promoted to Katsuki Bakugou’s new toilet.”

The torrid stream has you feeling almost bloated, on the brink of bursting as you’re pumped full off cock and piss, dribbling and squirting out of the tiny seam left in the space that Katsuki has yet to fill. Your toes curl and cripple from the positively sickening warmth of his urine spraying out of your cunt, sloshing around in what you can only assume is your womb.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff…” His ears twitch at the sensation of releasing inside your body.

Your head lounges against your shoulder, floating in and out of consciousness until a stinging smack to your cheek has you shaking yourself awake.

“You passin’ out on me already?” He adjusts his position, bringing your pliable, fucked-out body closer towards his chest.

“I ain’t even cum yet, baby.”

[elly99]

Cool With You

Contains swearing and revolves around anxiety.

Kim Minji for Vogue Korea. She glowed through your screen, as she did in real life, in stark contrast to the shadows rippling on your walls as you scrolled through the article. Her new song was on repeat. Quiet, but enough to fill the emptiness of the room. She was beautiful, you thought.

"My grandma always asks if I'm having a hard time and if I'm having fun. I didn't think much of it before. It just seemed like a normal way to ask how I was doing. But now, whenever I hear it, I reflect on myself a little more and my heart warms up, too. So I also try to ask the important people in my life the same thing. 'Have you been having a hard time? Are you happy?'"

You hear the words in her voice. She was so sweet, you thought.

Then the end of the song. A brief moment of complete silence before it repeats. A brief window for another voice to cut through.

Have you been having a hard time? Are you happy?

Your own. In your head.

Yes, you are having a hard time. You haven't been happy in months.

"Not again! I was just reading a fucking interview! What the fuck is wrong?"

If you're so important to her, why hasn't she asked you the same thing?

"Just stop. Just stop."

You're losing it. I know you are. I know you.

The song starts back up. It goes, "You know me like no other," but you didn't know who was talking anymore.

"No, I'm fine! I'm fine. I swear I'm..."

Suddenly the darkness of your room felt suffocating. You stand up quickly to turn on the light. But when you do the clarity is equally uncomfortable. All your insecurities, your fears, your worries in plain sight. You just want to hide. Turn off the light again. Sit back down.

"Ok, this is fine! I know how to deal with this. Just breathe slowly. Deep breaths through the nose. And count. One. Two."

Three. Four. Five. All this counting but when will you get your life together?

"Three. F-f-our..."

You try to get the words out but your lips won't cooperate. You can't feel them anymore. Just a tingling over your face. So instead you scream. In anger. Where is this coming from? Why couldn't you stop it? This didn't make sense. Stop feeling this way. This is stupid. Just be normal, you thought.

Of course it doesn't make sense. You're fucked up. You know that. Everybody does. Don't try to rationalize it because you won't be able to. You're not good enough for that.

You can't feel your legs. You can't feel your hands struggle to pick up your phone.

Wow. Are you really going to ask her to come over now? She's busy. Probably exhausted. The album is coming out tomorrow. Why the fuck would you bother her?

"Hey, babe! What's up?" The sound of her voice tethers you to the ground for a moment. Holds you close in the dark room.

"Minji, I... Hi!" You feign composure. But your chest was aching. "I-I'm good! I just wanted to hear your voice. H-How are you? Are you busy?"

"Well, I just got back from work..." she trails off. "Are you ok, baby?"

You're suddenly aware of your breath hitching. And you know she hears it, too. There was no point pretending. You needed her right now.

"Min... could you come over, please? I... can't..."

"Ok, I'm on my way." You hear her voice jump. Then her footsteps. She's running. "Baby, listen to me, ok? I'm on my way. Count down from 100 very slowly. And breathe deeply. If I'm not there yet, just count down again but I promise I'm coming. I love you."

She was so sweet, you thought, as your hands lost their grip on the phone. You smiled with tears running down your face.

"100. 99. 98. 97."

You know that's pointless right? The more techniques you use to try and stop it, the more you'll just remind yourself that you're a mess.

"96. 95. 94. 93."

Look at you go.

You clench your fists. Then your teeth. You still couldn't feel either of them.

"92. 91. 90. 89. 88."

You focus on breathing. Slowly. Lie down on the sofa and stare at the ceiling.

"59. 58. 57. I like 57."

You heard no reply. You felt calm. But you could never be too sure.

"17. 16. 15. 14."

Almost there. Where is she?

Shit. Focus. You shut your eyes and start whispering forcefully.

"She'll be here. 13. 12. 11. 10. 9. 8."

You hear your door unlock. Open your eyes and quickly stand up. A little too quickly. Your legs are still numb and you stumble. But she's there to catch you.

"I'm here, baby. I'm here. I brought our bear, too. Look!"

You look up and there she was. Your girlfriend and your bear. And the stuffed toy you both loved. She was smiling but her eyes were drowning in concern. She was so beautiful, you thought. She came all this way, carrying a huge toy, in the rain, after a very busy and tiring day, just for you. She was so sweet. She was so good to you.

She's too good to you. She's too good for you. You don't deserve this. You're not beautiful like her. You're not kind like her. You'll wear her out.

You couldn't take it anymore. You burst into tears in her arms. Breathing short and shallow.

She wraps one arm around you to pat your back and uses her other hand to pull your head towards her, stroking your hair softly.

"Baby, it's ok! I'm here now. I'm here. You're going to be ok."

You feel the warmth of her words penetrate the chaos of your mind. But there was still so much to get through. So much you were still feeling. Still so far from the ground. You cling to her tightly in desperation.

"Just hold on to me, ok? I'll take you to the couch. Let's go. Take your time."

She lifts you slightly. Not enough to carry you but enough to aid your trembling legs. She lies down first and beckons you to stay next to her.

"Come here. Let me spoon you, baby."

You do as you're told. Anything to keep you grounded. You knew her arms were the safest place in the world.

"Let's look at the ceiling together, ok? We've done this before. Tell me five things you can see in the room."

"Well... there's the ceiling... and the walls..."

"Mmhmm..."

"The door..."

"Yeah... that's three."

"I see your hands."

"Ok. One last thing."

"But you have two hands."

You can't see her face but you could tell she was smiling. She kisses your cheek.

"One more thing, babe."

"I see... your music video still playing on my laptop."

"Great. Ok. How about four things you can feel?"

"I can feel your hands. Your breathing. Your voice when you speak. And your warmth."

"I'll always keep you warm, babe." She kisses your cheek again. "Ok, now tell me three things you can hear."

"I can hear you. I can still hear Cool With You. And the rain outside."

"Now two things you can smell."

"Umm... I can smell your perfume." You pull a bunch of her hair close to your nose. "And your shampoo."

"Do you like the scent?"

"I do. I thought you didn't usually wear perfume, though."

"I felt like it today." Another kiss on the cheek. "Ok, for the last step, I came prepared. I brought chocolate. It's my superpower after all." She takes a small bar of chocolate out of her pocket and puts it in your hand. "What's one thing you can taste?"

"I taste this magic chocolate bar made by my Powerpuff Girl. This is really good actually."

"You must be hungry, baby. Want me to order food?"

"Yes, please."

After all that you're gonna make her order food?

You flinch. She knew what that meant. She holds you tighter.

"Hey, you're ok. Nothing to worry about. Just your girlfriend buying her favorite bunny some dinner."

She holds her phone in front of both of you. "What do you wanna eat, bunny?"

Even making simple decisions was hard. You flinch again. She holds you steady.

"Ok, ok. I'll choose for you." A kiss on the other cheek. "Done."

You feel yourself melting into her. Her warm embrace calming the storm in your mind just a little.

"Minji... thank you so much for this. For everything. For just being you. I don't know what I'd do without you..."

"Anything for you, baby. You know I love you, right?"

"I do. It's just I... Sometimes I don't believe it. Like, I'm just..."

She sits up and turns you towards her.

"Shhh. I know what you're going to say. Don't let that part of you even have a voice, babe. It doesn't deserve any space in your beautiful brain. We need to shut it out. Whenever it gets in the way, just listen to my voice. And even when I'm not around, I'm right here in your heart. Remember my words. You just have to listen."

"Minji..."

"And remember, when you feel that anxiety building, find where it is, grab it and throw it away. Just the act of physically trying to pull that anxiety out of your body can help. Even if it's not something you can really feel with your hands, the effect is real. You learned this, remember? You can do it. I love you so much. Ok?"

"Ok..."

She hugs you tight again.

"Let's talk about something else! Did you like Cool With You?"

The shift in her tone briefly lifts your mood.

"I loved it! It was soooo good. So cool. You're so cool, babe!"

"Aw, thanks, honey! We worked really hard on it. Glad you enjoyed!"

"You always work so hard..."

The way you trail off lets her know what you're really thinking. What you were about to say. Again she knows just what to do and cuts you off with another question.

"Are you excited for the rest?"

"Of course! I'm excited for anything you do."

"And I'm excited to share it with you! I like sharing my life with you."

Slowly she was pulling you back down. You were almost there. You begin to remember what normal conversation was like. For a while you lie in silence. Nothing but the sound of the rain and the song still on repeat on your laptop. But you can still hear faint thunder in the distance. Both outside your apartment and in your head.

"Do you mind me asking what the trigger was tonight? You know I just wanna help."

"I was just reading your Vogue interview while listening to the new song and somehow it all just came crashing down. It never really makes sense when it starts. But I was just reading how you said you wanted to ask the important people in your life if they were having a hard time and if they were happy. It just triggered a spiral of thoughts. Immediately I was reminding myself I wasn't happy."

"So... it was me?" The sadness in her voice hits hard.

"No, no! Of course not, baby. It's all me. My biggest insecurity is that I'm just this ugly, unhappy person just dragging you down. Like, why can't I be happy like you? Why don't I have my life together the way you do? I can't help but compare cuz you're just so amazing and out of this world to me. And that's not on you. That's just something I have to work out myself."

"Hey, no..." She tries to stop you but it all comes rushing out.

"And you're so pretty. You're so sweet. You're so talented and successful. Like, there's literally nothing to fault about you. You just feel so perfect and I just feel so inadequate next to you. That's why sometimes my brain gets in the way and doesn't believe that you could love me."

You notice tears start to form in her eyes.

"I really hate when you talk like that about yourself. It hurts. Cuz you'd never talk like that about me. Or anyone else for that matter. Why be so hurtful to yourself..."

"I know, baby. I just can't help it..."

"No. You can help it." Her voice was firm now. "We'll work on it together. Do it for yourself. And for me, too. Because it hurts when you refuse to see why I love you and why there's so much to love about you."

"I know you love me. It's just that I get so scared all the time that you'll get sick of me or I'll just drag you down because I've been a mess lately. I want to be good enough for you but faking confidence or pretending I'm ok doesn't really work."

"But you are good enough! I know you haven't been well lately but you've always gone above and beyond for me. The word inadequate shouldn't even be in the same universe as you. And it's ok to be a mess! It's ok to not know where you're going yet. I just found my career very young but that has nothing to do with how good you are and how successful you can be. We may have different paths but that's ok! We're in this together. I'm with you to the end, ok?"

You knew she was right. But it was just so hard. As you nod weakly in agreement, she pulls you in for another hug. She speaks more slowly now. Gentle and caring. You feel her voice reverberate in your chest.

"I'm so excited for your future. You may not see it yourself but I know you're gonna be amazing. Because you are amazing. You just need to trust yourself, baby. The real you. The one who knows all the reasons you're wonderful and why I love you. Do you want me to remind you?"

She pulls away with a smile on her face. Her smile that could outshine a thousand galaxies. Her smile that could comfort you a million times over.

"Actually, you have no choice. I'm going to remind you. Let me spoon you again."

You eagerly oblige, falling quickly into the safety of her embrace.

"Close your eyes and just listen to my voice, ok? So, do you remember when you first came to Korea? When we first became friends and you learned Korean in a year just for me?"

"Yeah."

"What does that say about you?"

"I don't know..."

"You do know. It means you're smart, hardworking and dedicated. And a sweetheart. Now you say it to yourself."

"I... um... what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Say it to yourself like you're complimenting a friend."

"I'm smart, hardworking and dedicated."

"Don't forget the last part."

"And I'm a sweetheart," you say, blushing.

"Yes, you are! Now remember when you started having a hard time and you reached out for help? You went to therapy and shared with me everything you learned there and what you talked about? You were at your most vulnerable and you still shared everything with me. That takes strength and courage."

"I have strength and courage." You pause. "This sounds cheesy."

"No, you're doing a great job, babe. Just keep going. Ok, now, remember when I was a trainee, whenever I'd have super long days, you'd come over to my place just to drop off some coffee or my favorite ice cream? What does that say about you?"

"I'm thoughtful and caring," you say, smiling this time.

"Good! You did it without me telling you. That's your confidence building! And do you remember all the gifts you got for me, my members and my family? There's too many to count."

"Does that mean I'm kind and generous? This feels weird. This just feels like I'm showing off."

"But who are you talking to?"

"You."

"No, you're talking to yourself. I've heard you give all these compliments to me before. And many more. Now you're just complimenting yourself. And it's not like you're lying to yourself. You know everything is true. You just need to be confident and admit it to yourself out loud. Take care of yourself like you take care of me all the time, ok? Be kind to yourself like you're kind to everyone around you. You need to be your friend, too."

"I'll try. But doesn't it sound like showing off? Like I'm too proud of myself?"

"You're just reassuring a friend! Telling them all the ways they're worth loving. It's not like you're going around telling everyone how good you are."

"Is this how you're always so confident, babe?"

"I guess!"

"You're incredible."

"So are you! Incredibly cute I might add."

You're blushing again. In the dark she couldn't see it clearly, but she knew you well enough to know that you were. Somewhere in the room the song repeats again.

"Do you feel cool with me, baby?"

"I really do, Min. You really do know me like no other. The way you helped me tonight - it's like you could read my mind. It's just like you said. 'What's the best?'"

"너의 옆에 내가 있을 때."

"Exactly. When you're here with me I feel safe."

You open your eyes. Saying those words out loud was the last thing you needed. You landed. She brought you all the way back. You were home. And she could tell by the way you were smiling.

"I'll always be here for you." She smiled in return. "Cuz I know you're always there for me, bro."

The first chuckle out of you that night.

"How are you feeling, baby?"

"I think I'm good, Min. Thanks again. You're the best. The best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you so fucking much."

"Then don't swear at me, bro!"

The first real laugh out of you that night. And she echoes it.

"Do you hear me, baby? Do you hear me laughing with you?"

"I do."

"You hear just me?"

"Yes. Just you."

"Do you see me? Focus on my eyes."

You turn around to look at her and see the way her eyes sparkle with encouragement. Her endearing smile pulling you out of the dark. Into the light with her.

"I see you." You smile. "But it's a bit blurry cuz I've been crying."

"That's ok! Can you feel my hands?" she asks as she gently takes both your hands in hers and caresses them slowly. "I've missed holding your hands."

"I can feel you. But my fingers are still a little tingly. And shaky."

She pulls your hands towards her and kisses both. "That's ok, too." She smiles again. "And you know, we listed reasons to love someone, but at the end of the day, love isn't a rational thing, either. The strongest love has no reason. Who knows why we fall in love? All I know is that I fell in love with you because you're you. And that'll always be reason enough for me."

[carmillascrusade]

Something about fun part 2 | Vanessa(SB) x F!reader

Images do not belong to me.

Summary: Vanessa finds you and apologises for the way she treat you earlier.

Word count: 1,269

A/N: very sorry that this is late. Completely forgot that I had a history exam this week so I wrote this whilst eating my tea lmao. It isn’t proofread either so I apologise for any mistakes.

Vanessa hurried down to the kitchen after checking the cameras to make sure Chica was securely locked in her room, not wanting to be responsible for Chica malfunctioning. She was determined to make you the best pepperoni pizza you had ever had the pleasure of tasting. After all, it’s only what you deserved after enduring her awful treatment.

You were making your rounds around the pizzaplex, doing anything and everything to get your mind off Vanessa and her cruel words. Unbeknownst to you, Vanessa was currently in the kitchens preparing you a pepperoni pizza to share as an apology for her actions.

Vanessa milled around the kitchen as she waited for the pizza to cook. Breaking into her stash of Coca-Cola secretly hidden in a vent, she pulled two cans out of their container. One for you and one for her. Buzzing with a bittersweet nervousness she ran over the speech she had prepared for you one more time. If only she hadn’t snapped at you.

The beeping of the oven pulled Vanessa out of her thoughts as she walked over to grab the pizza before it burned. Guilt and shame motivated her movements, engulfing her heart and squeezing it in such a vice-like grip she thought it would explode.

In the quiet solitude of the dimly lit kitchen, Vanessa found herself engulfed in the suffocating embrace of regret. The weight of her actions loomed over her conscience like an oppressive shadow, sorrow cast upon her every thought. What would she do if you refused to forgive her? You were the light at the end of the road. She couldn’t bear to live without you and your sweet smiles.

Regret gnawed at the very core of her being, churning into an emotional storm within. She mourned the loss of your once cherished relationship, destroyed by her insecurity. No, she wouldn’t let herself think that way- she couldn’t. She was not going to lose you.

You glanced towards the clock that stood on the desk, the monitors showing a static screen and nothing else. Heartache echoed in the silence you found yourself in, unknowing if you and Vanessa could come back from this. Every beat of your heart resonated with the melody of lost love. Does Vanessa hate you now?

As you wallowed in self-pity, Vanessa was rushing spring the pizzaplex, desperately trying to find you before the pizza got cold. She exhaled short, panicked breaths as she failed to find you. Closing her eyes, she steadied herself for a moment, racking her brain for places where you may be.

You had to be somewhere she didn’t visit too often. Just as the thought crossed her mind, she now knew where she could find you. If only she wasn’t too late. Praying to the gods above and below, she dashed off into the direction of lost and found.

Huffing outside the door, she knocked hesitantly as the light above her flicked and hummed in anticipation. Startled from your thoughts by the soft knocking, you rose to your feet and ventured over to the door. What was Vanessa doing here?

Sighing softly, you opened the door to be feasted with a teary-eyed Vanessa holding a box of pizza in her hands, body subtly shaking as she stood there. Furrowing your brows in concern, you quickly reached for her and pulled her into the office. “Vanessa? What are you doing? Are you okay?”

Vanessa laughed at your fussing, your kind heart shining through your despair. She didn’t deserve your kindness. Words seemed to fail her as she stood before you, unable to muster the courage needed to apologise to you. Did you want her here?

She opened the pizza box to reveal the pizza she had created for you. The edges of the oddly shaped pizza were slightly burned and there was just a tad too much pepperoni covering it. Your lips quirked up slightly, you didn’t need to be a pizza expert to know that Vanessa had made it herself.

“For you.” She whispered, eyes anxiously searching for face for a reaction. “I- I came to apologise. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that, it was unfair and there’s no excuse for it.”

You took the pizza from her hands and placed it down on the table, appreciative of the gesture. “Vanessa, it’s okay.”

“No!” She shouted, startling you in the process. Lowering her voice in an ashamed whisper she spoke once more. “It isn’t okay. I shouldn’t have taken out my insecurities on you. You- you don't have to reciprocate my feelings and I know that. I do! It was just so awful seeing you with Roxanne and instead of communicating with you, I lashed out. I’m truly sorry and I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to forgive me.”

Vanessa was near tears and you, you were confused. Feelings? You and Roxy? Whatever was she talking about?

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, ness. What feelings? And why would you be unhappy to see Roxy and I together? We were just having fun.”

Vanessa wrung her hands together, eyes flitting around the room nervously as she wracked up the courage to tell you about her feelings. Feelings for you. “I- I don’t want to be friends with you,”

“What?” You interrupted her, utterly devastated at her statement.

“No! No! That isn’t what I meant!” She grabbed you, wanting you to hear her out. “I don’t want to be your friend because I’m in love with you!”

The confession hung in the air as you absorbed her words, jaw slack and mouth open. You were not expecting this. Not expecting to have your feelings returned. Especially after what had happened earlier.

Vanessa grew more anxious as the two of you stood in silence. It wasn’t until she began to pull away that you realised she had just made a very large confession. One that needed addressing immediately.

Tugging her closer to you, your left hand wrapped around her waist, the other reaching up to toy with her ponytail. “I’m very glad that you share my feelings, Vanessa. Although, you’ll have to make it up to me for the way you treated me. You’re not entirely forgiven yet.” You smirked as she leaned towards you.

“Yes, anything.”

“How about you take me out on a date after our shift?” You asked with a slight smile, happy that despite everything, you were here with Vanessa.

“I’d love to.” She grinned back at you. Her eyes full of excitement as she grasped your chin and pulled your face towards hers. You closed the distance between the two of you and connected your lips. Time seemed to stand still as you embraced each other for the first time, both of you trying to express your feelings for one another. You let out a small laugh as you pulled away from the kiss, breathless and yearning for more.

“How about we share the lovely pizza you decided to make me?” You asked, after all, it would be a shame to make it.

“I would love to.” She repeated again.

As the two of you shared the pizza, you were hopeful for the future that would come. For you and Vanessa completed each other.

Not even fate would tear you apart now that you were together.

[llondonfog]

twst (horror) tober — day 4 (needle)

➤ Day 4: Needle | “It’s just a tiny sting. You won’t notice it at all.”

"I do not blame you," Malleus whispers in his ear, sonorous voice saccharine sweet with sympathy. Silver trembles as if held in place, a flickering, dying flame against the madness that looms supreme over his shoulder. "Is that not what you wished for? Absolution from your prince?"

There's the ghost of a smirk lurking beneath Malleus' merciful words, they both know it. The derisive irony of it all— a prince of a stolen kingdom, lost to the cruel passage of time, and groomed so perfectly to the very model of a sacrificial soldier, bending the knee to those who could have been equals instead of superiors.

"You long for it, do you not?" Malleus continues in the way of a flood— relentless and inevitable. "For the simpler times, before you were burdened with the weight of such poisonous knowledge." Dark-tipped talons caress through his hair fondly, almost infantilizing. Silver can feel the ink sloughing off those sharp nails, spilling over his scalp and staining the moonlight gleam of his hair. He does not pull away.

The dark, at least, is familiar; it is the dawn now that he fears.

"I cannot righten the wrongs of your father, the secrets that were not his to keep from you. But I can ease the ache within your heart." Malleus sighs, a full-body release that seems to carry within it all the pent-up sorrows of the world as he rests a heavy hand against Silver's shoulder. An anchor, lined with lead. "My dear knight, what kind of prince would I be if I could not do that for you— you, who has suffered most of all?"

As if in response, the emerald glow around the needle of the spinning wheel before them beckons with a lovely, pulsing blur; a heartbeat of sorts, and he can feel his own breath slowing to match the soothing, rhythmic call.

To not think anymore...to sink into the deepest of shadows, where he could be alone forever, unable to haunt the pleasant dreams of his father with his repulsive visage so like that knight—

He thinks he lifted his arm first, but he can no longer tell as Malleus takes his hand in a farce of fealty, sliding that accursed ring on his finger in a twisted pledge of loyalty, a sick reversal of roles. "Allow me to protect you in your dreams, princeling," the murmur suffocates his senses, laying upon them in a syrupy haze. "You need not keep up this silly pretense of chivalry around me."

Silver ought to protest, but his tongue is too thick for his mouth, his limbs feel as if they've been lined with cotton, and his thoughts simply slide like oil and water if he attempts to consider anything but the enchanting gleam of the needle, shimmering before him with a kindness he does not deserve. He ought to protest, but it is far easier to feel the dull sting of metal pierce the willing flesh of his finger, to watch through fluttering lashes as crimson dark as berries wells up to drip along his skin, staining the ring affixed there, to consign himself to a sleep deeper than death— the only gift he has the right to give to his dearly beloved family.

"Sleep, dear prince," Malleus' voice comes from so very far away, and he listens, obeys, faithful to the very end.

"And may the blessing of my eternal night be upon you."

[mikeysbabygirl]

𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 <3

Warning : Minors DNI, 18+. Smut, friends with benefits who fall in love, Rindou being 100% a dom ( but he got a lil soft spot for you <3 ), his friends are pissed off 😬, unprotected sex.

Happy birthday to the man who makes my p- heart beat faster <3

AND OMG HAVE YOU SEEN HIS BIRTHDAY ART ??

Sun was long gone now, roads emptied for the beasts to walk out of their dens, but it was a rather peaceful night in that old dusty frame. The moon was at its highest peak, above the wolves walking in the parking lot of their hideout.

-" Just leave it there, i'll drive " Ran gestured toward Rindou's Mustang, and immediately, that one froze, what didn't went unnoticed by his brother. " Or you... ?"

-" Haitani ?" That was Haruchiyo this time, who initially chose the backseat of Ran's car for their guy's night, who frowned seeing Rindou's confused expression.

-" yeah uh, I'm actually kinda tired ".

Haruchiyo was the first to answer, Ran started curling a knowing sly smirk that made his brother want to wipe it off his face.

-" Ya kidding right ? It's past midnight bro, it's your fucking birthday! Hoes are waiting at your brother's club !"

Just from Sanzu's facial expressions, he could see he was pissed off. Work has been suffocating them lately and he saw in Rindou's birthday nothing but a chance to let it all out, yet that one's confused face gradually shifted into a more convinced one, and Haruchiyo already knew it was a lost cause.

-" No way, thanks bro, but I've been carburating on caffeine and four hours of sleep. "

Opening the door to his car was his last word for them, as Sanzu kept expressing his frustration by muffled words, Ran winked at his brother in a playful manner that got him rolling his eyes.

-" Have a good time " he emphasized, Rindou only ignored his obvious remarks and Haruchiyo mumbled a " you suck " before they finally left that parking lot.

The trees on the side of the road were painting the first sketches of his evergreen new favorite frame, then the outlines of your little rose colored glasses-world appeared, chasing away his blues.

Isn't pretty now, no matter how many speeches were engraved in his mind before those three usual knocks at your door, you open it, and they just fly away butterfly-in-the-tummy-like.

-" Hey you "

-" Hey you "

And isn't it pretty? You may not share the same worlds, but those mouths stole each other's words. Some stray seconds were stolen from him while you laughed slightly, and honestly he couldn't tell how it happened, but soon he found himself inside your house. The big, strong Rindou Haitani following you through your kitchen like a lost puppy.

-" You said you wouldn't come " you teased, hands on the counter and pressing your back against it. The man who faced you made a step toward you, hands in his pockets with an impassive face.

-" You said you didn't care ".

Another step toward you.

-" You told me not to ".

And through that sugar coated throwing of blames, your little smile and cute face drew him even closer, arms behind you on the counter, caging you in between his biceps.

- " Did I ?" His deep voice dropped few octaves lower, just like his purple hues gliding up and down your so close face.

-" You did. Cause you said you wouldn't come back. "

-" I won't. "

And then, you just raise your head confronting that Yakuza like nearly no one did in his whole life.

-" Then you're at my door again, insisting that friends do this, all the time. "

Rindou's finger flies to your lips, eyes wondering either does he want to kill you or to kiss you. It's been a month or two, running away from the shadows of stolen heartbeats and thoughts full of you, and now almost out of breath, his eyes look back at yours, and you steal the words away from him again.

-" Don't they ?"

You thought you didn't heard it well so much his question was whispered, and as you went for asking him to repeat, Rindou parted your legs with his knee, making room for himself between them.

-" I might be fucked up, then ?"

Your smile widens slightly, as you tease him with a " took you this long to realize ".

-" Why'd you always forget who the hell you're talking to ?" His hands previously caging you gripped your thighs, you thus found yourself sitting on the counter, trapped by his body between your legs.

-" So you always have to remind me " you shrug, and he thinks that thin line he was walking on might break anytime, under the weight of your hands now behind his neck.

-" Then remember. " And that smirk on the corner of his lips would eclipse as fast as it shone, back to that old face, cold-stone.

Rindou would brush his lips against yours, purple in his eyes burning indigo, drawing circles on your bare thighs and whisper.

-" You wanted it."

Back to watching it unfold again, like a familiar movie, or a dance learned by heart, the moves will repeat. Except, it never disappears, the magic you insufflate into his mouth, right into his beating heart, and he hates it because he feels like a teenager, but here you are again, laying on your mattress with your discarded pajamas long gone, and every fiber of his weary soul is singing now.

In all his greatness, Rindou towers above you. That Louis Vuitton shirt slowly undresses his tattooed torso, pants end no different either, and soon you're laying under that tall tattooed man whose eyes express only one thing.

You should run, you should really run.

-" somethin's wrong, love ? "

Ah yes, master in keeping his victims well tied to him, he leans over you, asserting that dominance by pinning your two struggling hands above your head.

-" Got my baby scared ?"

And you know he couldn't care less about that, lips already exploring every inch of your neck, his slightly messy hair tickling you.

-" Friends don't do this, Rin' " you're almost out of breath as you whisper, and he knocks the air even more out of your lungs when he rolls his hard on above your naked thigh.

-" won't you shut up ? Jus' lemme love you".

It only takes his steely glare, and you're cotton between his bruised hands. It's always about how your skins melt together, how chests have to keep the hearts beating against each other, how your hands never leave your fleshes even once.

And he actually figures it out when he opens the condom, and those eyes raise to look at yours, hesitation as obvious as bare in them.

-" I... Wanna feel ya 'round me. I need you. "

-" then don't. " You take the condom out of his hands and throw it away, somehow you seem not to realize you're doing so with all his fears and insecurities.

But now he's inside, inch by inch, and you think you've never seen something prettier than Rindou Haitani, throwing his head back, eyes half-lidded from bliss.

-" You're too much " you gasp at his length stretching you, and you could practically feel his grin on the kisses he lays on your neck.

-" You say that every fucking time. " And he kisses you even more when you chuckle, in fact he knows nothing of what he's doing, you seem to enslave his senses and he seems to take it perfectly. And that's why, when you ask-

-" Rin', oh fu-... Slow down ! "

He wishes he could, but you just-

-" Babe, fuckin' can't. Look how tight your pussy's taking my cock "

Not like you ever wished he would, his hips mold into you ever so perfectly, hitting a spot that soon sends you to overdrive.

-" looks... Just so fucking good when you cum 'round me, shit- quit clenching baby. "

It really is a bliss, he thinks. Watching you slowly coming down, and him, gradually flying until his hips are stuttering, until his head's nuzzled in your chest, and he's panting with your hand in his messy hair.

-" That's it, that's my man "

This must have made a mess of him, considering how he immediately wraps his arms around your hips. In fact he thinks it doesn't hurt that much when roles are switched and he's the one being taken care of.

And oh that moment again, the afterglow and the daybreak. Rindou knows when it's time to go.

The morning peeks, the light seeps and you would be asleep.

Yet... now the gap between fucking, and making love collapses in the space between your arms where he never feels too much, or not enough.

Now he's the last to fall asleep and the last to wake up, and he lasts to leave because he's got no more goodbyes up his sleeve.

And man, he thinks he doesn't know when it's time to go anymore...

In that idyllic, idiotic love story that neither of you dares to call a relationship, Rindou's the man in charge, but he's also the one running scared like a little boy, whenever you're too close to break those walls down.

He swears he tried, his bed full of someone else, dreams full of you, your scent.

Yet today, the holy morning comes and he won't go anymore, the little boy grew, tired of running away.

But the man wakes up to an empty cold bed.

If he wasn't that pissed, he would actually find it ironic...

-" where the fuck-"

-" I see the sleeping beauty never actually needed a kiss. "

It's an arcadian, picturesque sight indeed. A little cliché, it might be, but not the less breath-stealing.

You approach him, his Vuitton's shirt hanging lose on your bare shoulder with a platter of what seems like a tasty birthday breakfast, and you seem to find it funny, the idiotic fool you made of him.

-" you seem to forget that friends don't stay for the morning " you mimicked, putting the tray on the nightstand. And you barely hear his grunt before you're being pulled back on his toned bare thighs. Rindou presses you against his morning erection, and smirks hearing your small gasp.

-" you're not getting bold on me, aren't you ? Cause I'd love to tame you into the perfect lil slut for me"

He thinks he really might do, when you roll your eyes as if he sounds futile. But you just nuzzle into his arms ever so naturally, like those strong bullies are none but your comfy home and Rindou thinks he might be tamed.

-" just do. So I'd be enough, and you won't need no other slut " you playfully smile, straddling his hips.

You seem not to realize, where he could be, the thrill of giant parties and giant hangovers. But now he thrives for this stillness, the lazy morning, your soft thighs on each side of his hips, and a birthday breakfast because you remembered.

-" ain't ya cute ?" He rolls his eyes slightly. " Acting like you don't know no other bitch got me on my fucking knees. "

Another scoff of him follows. -" As if you don't know I've been dying to get ya outta my skin, but I'm so down bad for this damn smile. "

See ? That smile you're making, exactly what he was talking about. And though he's not the type to open up, finally , he lets go of the wheel, because he's done driving now.

Safe, peaceful, he found home now.

And against his lips, hands behind his neck, another heartbeat of him strays aw you whisper.

-" Happy birthday, baby. "

Help, I didn't realized how rushed and stupid this sounds until I did the proof head, but now I can't take it all back.

ANYWAYS, how you doing ? Hope you're all fine, drinking enough water and staying healthy <3

[leopardom]

This story has five chapters

Note: this is based on only some thoughts of mine about Damon Baker's photos of Bojan. They are entirely subjective and this is just a try by my side to analyze the photos in a story-like way. You can also tell this was written very late at night so I only hope it makes even a tiny bit of sense 🥲

Chapter 2: Bojan

Go create. No boundaries. Let it all out.

But how?

This is Bojan. The Bojan. Evebody knows The Bojan. Singer and frontman of one of the hottest bands in his country, part time actor, the multitasking artist who knows everyone and who gets involved in everything that may cross his path. His talent, his energy, his charisma, they seem unlimited. His looks being a great bonus and completing the whole package.

He's the talk of the town, the hottest sensation at the moment. The Bojan is admirable, maybe even a role model to some. So young and he's been someone to look to and someone to look up to for years already. And worthily enough, he has worked and is still working for that.

He knows what he is. And that's hot.

The feeling is elating, a fire is burning inside him. He's passionate and dedicated to art. And that makes him shine, sparkle, everybody can see it. He has power in his hands and he's using it. He gets to expose or hide himself however and whenever he wants to.

His power comes with a warning, just like it happens in cases of fire. You don't know how dangerous or not the sparks are, so don't get too close, you may get burned.

You can only observe, he's the one who gets to decide what he will show to the world.

And then he makes the call.

And he's opening up. Not at once; slowly. Undoing one button at a time.

He wants to bare himself to his surroundings, pour more of his heart into his art and into his persona. Everybody knows The Bojan, everybody loves The Bojan. But The Bojan would be nothing without Bojan. Maybe it's time for him to get out of the shadows. Maybe...

And people are drawn closer to him more and more, like Icarus was drawn towards the sun. Bojan is the sun. And the warning sign is still there, a bit worn off and broken now. Don't get too close, you may get burned.

That's still enticing. There's still place for a few tiny steps closer to him, closer to the sun. Maybe he won't notice.

But he does notice.

The warning sign is still there, but it's small, you can't see it clearly.

Don't get too close, he may get burned.

The warning is gone.

Fire.

He gets burned. Burned out.

He's crumbling down. Everything has caught up on him and the power has slipped out of his hands. He's suffocating. He needs to escape. This hurts.

He screams.

And then the fire is out, clowds of smoke embracing him and poisoning his insides. He tries to hide behind them, maybe it will be easier to hide. Again. But his eyes, what once used to be his warning sign and his shield, are now showing the damage.

He's exhausted, beaten up, frustrated, lost. His insides have turned into ashes and he's desperate for someone to pick them up. He can't do it himself. He's so weak that each of his moves causes more ashes to fall to the ground.

He's vulnerable and fragile. He's fully aware of it now.

What he doesn't know, though, is that right now he is free. He's free from the dazling persona, the swarms of people, the preying looks and the expectations everyone had from him. He gets to be free from everything and everyone and take a breath.

He breaths, even if he's still exhausted, even if his heart and his mind are still broken. Even if everything still hurts.

And the ashes inside him slowly start to make room for something warm. Something that isn't fire, it's even stronger.

Trust.

What a strange feeling. Shocking even.

Because The Bojan had his guard up, so high that it covered even the true Bojan hiding behind the persona. He couldn't trust anyone, he shouldn't trust anyone, not even himself. His persona would get hurt, it couldn't get hurt. He couldn't get hurt.

But as soon as Bojan started ripping parts of the facade off of him, needing to free himself, he would have to show some trust, at least to himself. That would help him in the process.

He didn't trust himself, thus he got hurt.

But The Bojan is gone. And it doesn't matter, because now Bojan is freed and he is trying to trust. He's got nothing to loose after all.

Someone is helping him pick up his pieces. He tusts them. Someone is willing to take care of him. He lets them. Someone is offering him comfort. He accepts it. And hope starts blooming inside him. And that brings him some inner peace.

He's open to it. He needs it.

Open to whatever is going to help him heal. He owes this to himself. And despite all the shit, he wants to go on with his life. Relax, reboot and keep walking.

The clouds dissappear. The storm gives its place to tranquility. The sun will come out. It’s not made to be restrained, it will shine even through the clouds.

It will create highlights and shadows, wild patterns that may mean something or mean nothing at all. There are no boundaries.

The sun will create.

And Bojan is the sun.

[hyperfixat]

refined this draft from febuwhump (forced to hurt a loved one) i posted it on ao3 a little bit ago but yeah here u go tumblr

lmk ur thoughts or go to my inbox w fic suggestions or wtvr

cw suicidal attempt (?)

satan, lucifer, mammon x reader (mc)

It's another one of Diavolo’s extravagant balls. It is the day you die.

You’re not scared. Well, not of death. You know the brothers care about you, deep down you know this. You're scared of how your death will affect them. You don’t know who you will have to take you, whoever is easiest to drag from the festivities, likely.

The music is lovely and Asmo’s beautifully manicured hand is clutching your arm and his eyes look so picturesque in the reflection of the thousands of yellow fairy lights magically strung throughout the castle’s ballroom.

Lucifer dismisses himself from your party to greet Diavolo, wings wide and blocking your view of the prince. It is probably for the best if you do not see him. Diavolo’s charm might sway your decision, and in the end you’ll regret not going through with this.

You know you will.

The air is stuffy and nerves lick at your spine when you detach from Asmo and innocuously scan the room for a brother looking uninterested in the dances.

Leviathan managed to sneak his handheld gaming device in, and is crouched in the corner, absorbed in his game. You consider approaching him, but Satan catches your eye through the crowd. The smirk that creeps over his face when you wave him over makes your heart skip a beat, and you already feel horrible about what you’re going to make him do.

“MC,” Satan takes hold of your hand and presses a soft kiss to the top of your hand, lips lingering a moment too long. “Care for a dance?”

“Actually.” You begin to sweat, your outfit feels all too tight as worry and remorse begins to take hold of your mind. “Could you join me in the garden for a bit?”

His eyebrows rise in mild surprise. “Oh? Of course, MC. I’d be glad to.”

You both take a glance around the room to be sure that Lucifer or Barbatos’ prying eyes aren’t making note of you two sneaking off. You lead him through the rose bushes and devillilly sprouts, past the pond where the firefish swim, all the way to a small cleared section of grassland that isn’t landscaped.

You barely take note of the way your eyes begin to bead with tears, but Satan does. When you face him, he frowns and lifts a hand to cup your face and wipe away your sadness.

“Satan, you know I love you, right?” You sniff. “And I’m sorry for making you do this, but,” your eyes prick with tears as you watch confusion settle on Satan’s face.

“Do what? MC, what are you…?” He’s cut short as you give your final pact command.

“Please be gentle with me.” You say it like a prayer, to the one who you’re letting end your fate. “Satan, I command you to kill me.” The words come out thick with tears and your throat is so tight Satan might not have to lay a finger on you lest you suffocate on your tears.

The air flickers with palpable tension, Satan’s demon form flicks out and he’s clenching his jaw hard. His whole body is vibrating and his hand flies from your face like you’re made of flame.

“MC, please revoke the command,” it leaves him choppy and strained. “Don’t make me….” Hurt, confusion, anger all bubble up inside Satan.

You fall to your knees as tears finally overflowing from your waterline, you’re hurting him.

A shadow looms over you and a trembling hand cups your jaw. His fingers are hot, much hotter than they normally are, you note.

You wonder how he’ll do it. Crush your skull in? Choke you? Break your vertebrae? Maybe he has poison fangs or something of the sort he’ll puncture you with?

“Mammon!” Satan shouts, but it cracks in volume. “MAMMON!” His eyes are staring at his hands in horror as they trace their way to wrap softly around your throat.

“BEELZEBUB!” A faux squeeze grips your airways for a moment before Satan is being pulled roughly off of you.

Your eyes fly open and Beel is physically restraining his older brother, who struggles weakly against the hold.

Mammon grabs you, and pulls you into his chest as he stands.

“MC, what’re you doing? Please, don’t let ‘im take you.” His face presses into your scalp as you ragdoll in his arms. “Please don’t.”

Satan makes a cacophony of snarls and wounded noises as Beelzebub continues to be an unmoving cage.

The noise has attracted the rest of the brothers to visit, unfortunately. Asmodeus is followed by Lucifer and Belphegor. The shaky cage of Mammon’s arms protects you from the worried gazes of the brothers.

“Lucifer, tell them to revoke the command,” Satan hisses out. He makes a particularly hard jerk in Beel’s arms and for a second Beelzebub wavers before regaining himself. “Get them to revoke it or get them away from me.”

“YN, what have you asked of him?” Lucifer strides over to you, kneeling in front of you. When you try to squirm away he reaches out for your jaw to force you to look at him.

A whine leaves you and you shake your head no.

“To kill them.” Satan chokes out.

The clearing falls silent save for your muffled hyperventilating tears. Mammon holds you tighter and the gaze of everyone is burning into you.

“Leviathan, Asmo, assist Beelzebub with getting Satan inside the Demon Lord’s Castle. Barbatos and Diavolo can handle him. Belphegor join them and please go grab some blankets from the castle. Mammon, let me see them please.”

The brothers follow Lucifer’s orders without complaint, save for Mammon who muffles a sob into your hair.

“Mammon.” Lucifer prompts and you sink further into Mammon’s hold. You hope Lucifer won’t be too angry with you. A cold, leather clad hand rests on the top of your head. It slides to cup your jaw and you inhale shakily as you allow your face to be lifted to meet Lucifer’s.

“I’m not disappointed in you. I am sorry that I hadn’t seen that anything was wrong. Please don’t go through such lengths to end your life again, little one. I… cannot bear the thought of losing you.”

Mammon’s grip on you tightens and he trembles around you. The intensity of Lucifer’s darling red eyes is making you squirm and you avert your gaze to a spot just beyond him.

“MC.” Lucifer calls your name again, and tries to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry, Lucifer,” it comes out raspy and so quiet that if he weren’t a demon he wouldn't have been able to hear you.

“You don’t need to apologize, my star.” Your eyes meet and your jaw trembles in his hand. Lucifer leans in and places a kiss on the crest of your head. The sound of leaves crunching under dress shoes makes you flinch and glare over in the direction it’s coming from.

Belphie is walking, faster than he ever does, to your little trio. His body is burdened with a huge stack of marvelous comforters. They’re hand sewn with intricate images and designs and thick as sin.

“Thank you, Belphegor.” Lucifer raises himself to snag one off the top of the pile and with a flourish, wraps it over you (and Mammon, still crying softly and clinging to your body).

“Are they… are they alright?” He sounds so unsure, so meek and out of character.

“They will be,” Lucifer affirms, looking deep into your eyes. He motions for Belphie to join him in front of you. “Let us sit for a while. I trust the others to let Satan return when it is safe.”

With the heat of the moment smoldering down and adrenaline leaving your body, your tired eyes grow heavy. The weight of Mammon and the blanket is soothing and you feel yourself subconsciously leaning forward towards Lucifer’s open chest.

“Come on, little one,” Lucifer’s voice is soft and comforting. Your eyes slip shut as he helps guide your head into his lap and against his stomach.

[sincerelystesichorus]

astarion, anne carson, & autobiography of red - small character study blurb

In which I've written 40k words of Astarion character analysis fanfiction and I'm definitely still normal.

Astarion used to be blue, but ever since that night two centuries ago, he was reborn red. And he had spent at least the past century thinking that red was irreplaceable. It was – red, it was in his blood and the little blood Cazador would let him wring from rats, corroded and stained. His very life force. He was Cazador’s, his spawn, his jewel, his ruby. There was no cure for red. Not until you became the successful means to an end. He had been sure of it. Being red wasn’t good. It made everyone who wasn’t red, and that felt like most everyone, stare at you like you put off a certain aura… like they knew you were a monster that could only act off of instinct and emotion. And it was so frustrating, because parts of Astarion were blue still, knew what was better, but they were nothing in comparison to the suffocation of red. The emotions, and especially anger, fear, came on so strong. It was hard not to act on them, to test out what the boundaries of pure action were. Astarion knew the color and impulse all too well.

I expand way more on the idea of people as colors within my writing than Autobiography of Red does, where Geryon is the only one who is red. This further pushes Geryon's feelings of being separated from humanity in his narrative, but there's a lot of inherent evil and fucked up things within Faerun so I felt expanding on colors and specifically shades/hues was a better way to communicate this for Astarion.

Geryon's red is tied very instinctually to emotion though, and so representing red as a chaotic force of emotion in my fic didn't feel like too far a step. I took a lot of inspiration from Magic: the Gathering's color pie lol. While you never get an exact description of what's wrong with Geryon, you get a lot of the symptoms, reminiscent of some sort of innate childhood mental illness, on top of the obvious trauma present in his story.

Back to Astarion, though. I've just never not been able to code him with CPTSD, I think that's obvious, but I also know that poor bastard has a personality disorder skffkjdf. The game always hammers in he has no sense of self outside of his looks, which he can't even be sure of because he can't see himself. Astarion has to work his confidence and self-image off of memories of his body and face from two centuries ago, and from his master's word. Cazador has assigned him to this seduction role (or, I feel its at least implied that Astarion was ultimately forced into it because he was seen as the Szarr runt, he was pretty and easy to push around, and I'm also pretty sure Petras has a line about getting to eat dogs now and then?) and Astarion fulfills it because it's all he can do. All he feels good for. His actions aren't his own for two hundred years, and in a morbid way of coping with constant sexual trauma, he functions off of "Well, at least I'm pretty," but even that assumption comes from Cazador's rule.

Astarion had decided he was mostly pure red, splashes of black and blue coming in, bright and visible. The remnants of his past and an even deeper level of Cazador’s corruption, bruising his psyche.

Carson is again sparing with other color imagery as to fully emphasize Geryon feeling like this big red monster, but I love this little excerpt on fearful anger.

Black/shadow is already a strong force and theme within the game so it was easy to work with, acknowledging it as a sort of staining evil. Astrion has his later lines about how he never stopped viewing himself as Cazador's slave, and I think showing that corruption is obviously important. He's hurt but can still heal (as opposed to an ascended Astarion... who I have little if any hope for sdfkjdskf).

Cazador had spent the last two centuries branding it into his skin and mind, breaking his psyche to the point Astarion was worried there’d always be little cracks that remained. That he’d always be Cazador’s wilted poppy, ashamed and folding in on himself, his neck miserably drooped aside for the taking. 

Cazador is Astarion's Herakles, and I think that metaphor works even better considering that whole little side lore with Vellioth in the ruins. Herakles kills Geryon because he must, Geryon is a way for Herakles to ultimately reach a life free of consequence, but it's not like Herakles is innately malicious in the act. He is hardened after already facing so many labors and the trauma that was forced on him by Hera that induced his journey in the first place.

Cazador wants power, some part of him is probably truly convinced he's easier on his spawn than Vellioth was to him (a lot of insults to Astarion are about his feelings and "whining", Cazador feels vindicated in his trauma and is far gone), and sacrificing Astarion is simply a part of that journey. There is no world where their destinies do not intertwine. Geryon will always be pierced by Herakles, and Astarion wouldn't be the Astarion we know without being pierced by Cazador (and without his ultimate decision to finally separate himself from him, or to become him.) Astarion, understandably, will never not feel some sort of shame or agony over this moment, from natural emotions and I'm sure years of Cazador victim-blaming him. He consented to Cazador's help that night after all, didn't he? (And we simply won't acknowledge the coercion.)

Astarion’s attempts to prolong the inevitable were shattered by thick layers of stone suddenly slamming in front of his face, muffling sound and casting him into a void. He could hardly hear Cazador’s foul laugh as he departed. Astarion waited all night for Cazador to return. And then all of the next day, and the next one after that. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Astarion started to agree that dying would have been easier. More peaceful. He had pondered hundreds of ways to attempt to kill himself while stuck in this abyss, the voices that had started developing only giving further inspiration, but it was impossible. He was sure.  All he could do was wait. Beat and claw at the stone around him. Curse. Repeat. Sometimes he'd wonder. If he'd ever get out of here. If Cazador would remember after forgetting. If this would be his forever. The voices began to recite to him again. Just how long eternity can be.

I think this is the greatest and most obvious similarity between these two, within Carson's retelling. Geryon feels somehow trapped and doomed by the narrative from his early childhood, and receives some blunt confirmation of it when he faces early sexual abuse. This affects his entire life, his early relationships. Geryon can't be older than ten in this excerpt, but knows the pain of isolation because of his trauma and for feeling different.

Astarion was plucked up by Cazador right out of law school. While for us it's not all that young, for elves he was fiercely immature, basically just starting to come into himself at his first big-boy job. Astarion was likely raised with a lot of privilege that also made him a bit more naive, his book smarts not meeting street smarts, which has him meet his end. In his undeath, that basically flips, Astarion plays his manipulation games and indulges in petty crime and seduction, unable to dedicate himself to studies. He reads and he's witty, but can you imagine the Astarion we know as a judge? It's giving Divorce Court. It's giving Judge Judy. (Honestly maybe that's what got him whacked in the first place.)

Astarion is already constrained to what Cazador lets him be as a slave. He's less than a person, and his own body is one of his greatest trauma sources.

All of this, to be punished so supremely when making an act of slight self-preservation. Astarion wanting to maintain some of his principles and let someone go. It becomes his greatest regret, his worst and most defining punishment. It's how Cazador breaks him.

I restructure some of the circumstances within my fic, as to better tie in the main romance, but it still functions as a punished act of self-preservation for Astarion. I'm also sure most people are familiar with the pain that solitary confinement can bring, but if not, it's genuinely inhumane and dehumanizing. Lack of stimulation is extremely damaging to the psyche, I wrote in Astarion breaking into psychotic episodes while enclosed, but even in game, he speaks about going catatonic. I'm sure minorly from exhaustion after fighting, but also from the isolation. His mind likely just drifted and dissociated beyond belief, and I can't imagine it. This is my favorite piece of Astarion's story we are given, it really is just so pivotal and heartbreaking, to be punished for having freewill in the most objectifying circumstances.

In summary to Astarion Ancunin I just sorta feel like this I guess...

ddfsdfdk but yeah just emo about my poor boy feeling so weird and disconnected yet so drowned in his own emotions you know...

[my homage to autobiography of red, fic series page, my ao3 page]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 49

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: friday... just eight more hours of work

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The world trickles back into existence as it shifts around you. A jarring collison has you groaning as your body slides on the floor, just a few inches. You grumble and sit up, back to the door as it's once more pushed from the other side.

You crawl out of way as Loki enters. You stand, wobbly with fatigue, and face him. He snaps the door shut, blocking it with his lithe figure as he looks at you.

“Pet, what are you doing sleeping on the floor?” He reprimands.

You clear your throat and rub your cheek, “waiting for you–”

“Don't,” he warns tersely, “you will not guilt me.”

“I wasn't,” you pout, “I only… never mind.”

You go to the bed and slip under the blankets. You're too tired and hurt and confused. Sleep doesn't help, it only makes it worse. Every time you close your eyes, you hear Thor's sinister timbre and his demeaning words. You feel his weight on you, suffocating you.

You hear Loki moving around the room. You expect him to come to bed but his footfalls trail into the bathroom. The faucet cranks loudly followed by the splashing of water on porcelain. 

You turn onto your back and look at the open door to the bathroom. You stare, waiting. Still he does not emerge. You sit up as your eyes drift over. You should leave it, just for the night. It's late and you're both exhausted.

You hang your legs over the side of the bed and push the blankets away. You get up and pad over to the door, keeping close to the wall. You turn the handle, twisting cautiously as you hold your breath.

You stop and wait. He's not coming. You hear him sighing and muttering.

You leave the door ajar and tiptoe out into the hall. You won't go far, you just want to walk around, to get the kinks out of your muscles. Just to feel that tiny tug on your leash.

Your feet carry you downstairs without a thought. You go to the french doors and peer out through the panes at the night. You flip the latch back and ease the door inward. You breathe in the cool but fresh air.

You let it wash over you, trying to cleanse yourself as you shiver. It would all be easier if you could just say it aloud. If he would just listen.

You hear footsteps on the stairs. You quickly shut the door and back away, hiding in the shadows as the moonlight peers in. Loki rushes over and searches through the glass. He grips the handle but before he can rip the door open, you sniff and catch his attention. 

“I was just looking,” you murmur.

“Why would you scare me like that?” He snaps and grabs you by the shoulders, wrenching you away from the wall.

“I didn't mean too,” you whimper, “I just wanted to stretch my legs–”

“You cannot sneak off. You cannot,” he shakes you, “I…” he bites down on his thoughts before they can bubble over. “I only mean well for you, pet.”

“You're hurting me,” you whisper as you touch his wrists, “please–”

“I…” he loosens his grip and brushes his hands down your arms, “come back to bed.”

You try to see him through the dark. With his back to the silver moon, you only find a featureless silhouette. You reach to slip his hand from your arm and cling to him. You know it's better to appease him.

You pull him away from the door and turn back through the silent house. You should’ve known better. You’re not even sure why you wandered that far. Maybe just to see anything but those same four walls.

You go back upstairs and he lets you go as you enter the bedroom. He turns to shut the door firmly, dragging his hand down the wood. You look away. He has become your warden.

You climb into bed and pull the rumpled blankets over yourself once more. He nestles in next to you as you lay back against the pillows. He kisses your shoulder, a surprisingly gentle gesture. Had he not lectured you hours before for talking too much?

The pendulum of his moods has you swinging just as wildly.

“Pet, I only want to keep you safe, you understand, don’t you?” He tickles along your arm as his gaze sears into you. You stare at the ceiling restraining your exasperation.

“I do but… there’s a gate, you don’t need to keep me in just this room, do you?”

He doesn’t respond as he rubs your arm. He shimmies closer and stretches his arm across you. He holds you close as he sighs.

“I’m tired,” he says and presses his chin to the top of your head. The conversation’s over. Again.

✨

You drift into a black void. At first, there are no dreams. You are nothing, you feel nothing. A rare taste of peace before the fractured visions break through the blackness.

Trees, towering above you, leaves like curtains above, blocking out the sky, casting darkness all around you. You’re running, gasping for breath as the thunder rolls behind you. You hear it, you feel it, shaking the earth beneath your bare feet.

You glance down at your white dress, streaked in blood and mud. You stumble forward, shielding yourself with your arms as the brush scratches your flesh. Your feet slip and slide and tendrils coil around your limbs. The vines wrap around you, restraining you as the storm cracks above you.

The thunder peters out to grizzly laughter. A burly figure emerges from the umbrous space between the thick trumps. It’s him; Thor. His blue eyes glow as the cut across his cheek leaks and he opens and closes his massive fists. He comes closer, until he’s right before you.

He raises his hands to your throat and circles his fingers around it. You squeak as he squeezes, tighter and tighter. He chokes you until your vision speckles. Your eyes lull back in your skull and when you can breathe again, you’re sarong up at the leaves, fragments of the sky peeking between the foliage.

There’s a tremor beneath you. As if the earth moves. Then you realise, it’s you. You’re moving. There’s something atop you. Someone. Smothering you. Rutting into you as your bones split and your insides burn like acid.

You smell wet mud and pine, a hint of sweat seeping into your lungs. Thor’s beastly growls crawl over your skin as he bites into your throat, pinching until you shriek. He holds you down as he snaps his pelvis against you, threatening to break you in half.

Your eyes open and a shadow hovers over you. Reality slowly sets in as you stare at the ceiling, damp breaths puffing over your face. Your chest binds and you choke on your own breath. It’s real.

He purrs as he kisses your cheek, holding himself above you as he lays between your legs. His hand is buried against your pelvis as he pets you, kissing you all over your face and neck. You whimper and hit his shoulders. He’s gentle but unyielding. Your head is pounding and your body aches.

The panic flows up from your stomach and a sheet of ice covers your body. You blink. What’s happening? It’s him. It must be him. How did he get to you?

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop!”

“Pet?” The warped voice calls to you.

“No, Thor! No, please, don’t– don’t hurt me!” You beg as your eyes narrow on the figure over you.

To your surprise, he stops. He lifts himself stiffly from you and a long arm reaches over to pull on the chain of the lamp. The bulb illuminates Loki’s features, his face wrought in terror that mirrors your own. You thought…

“I’m sorry, I—”

“You think I am like him? Like that monster–”

“No, no, I was dreaming, and—”

“Pet, you were moaning, you… I thought you were—” he swallows and pushes himself off you altogether, “awake.”

He sits up and sings his legs over the edge of the bed. He bends forward and holds his head. You don’t move as you watch him. You’re mortified. The bed jostles as he stands abruptly.

“I am not like him,” he snarls, “pet, you know– I… you begged me for more. You were crying out my name and now you treat me as some monster.”

You sit up, lip trembling, “no, I was confused. I was asleep, I didn’t know–” You scramble to the foot of the bed as he strides away.

“You think I would let him get his hands on you again? You wander off and tell me you are safe and yet here you are, screaming,” he huffs as he turns on you, “as if I haven’t taken every measure to keep you safe and you override them, then tell me not to worry.”

“Loki, please, just… I don’t need locked doors, I need you to talk to me,” you stand and rush towards him, latching onto his arm, “I need you to hear me.”

“I heard you,” he shudders as he looks down at your touch, “you called me by his name.”

“Because… because…” you suck in a shaky breath as a sob threatens to spill over, “because you won’t listen–”

“No, you will not listen. Hm? You will not obey me and that is all I’ve ever asked of you. You will not stay where I can keep you safe. From him,” he hisses, “you will not hear me when I tell you it is for your own good. You do not see what I do for you.”

He shakes his head and rips free of your clutch, “I took you away from that ogre you called a father. By my measure, no one ever bothered to do so much. Not even a birthday cake.

"I have given you a home, a purpose. I was a fool, I put you in harm’s way, I acknowledge my errors,” he tilts his head and curls his lips, “but I saved you. I found you and I made sure he did not hurt you. I have kept you safe which you cannot say about anyone else.”

“Loki, don’t,” you wilt as your heart pangs. He is right but that doesn't mean it doesn’t hurt.

“If you hadn’t run away, if you had trusted me,” he accuses as he wags his finger at you. “To think I would ever want her again. After all I’ve done for you, I would not throw those efforts away.”

Your lip quivers and you recoil, pressing your hands above your heart, “no, you wouldn’t throw away all you’ve done, but what about me? I am what you call you, am I not? A pet? A stray you picked up off the street.”

“Perhaps, for you have become rabid,” he retorts.

You flinch and take a step back. You curl your fingers through each other, keeping your hands over your chest. Your tears spill over as you push your lower lip out and croak his name. You shake your head, trying to ward off your despair but it only rains down harder. You sob and cover your mouth.

His brow twitches and his cheek tics. You see the doubt colour his eyes. He reaches for you, “pet, I–”

You back away and turn your back to him, “leave me alone.”

“I didn’t mean… we are both very emotional,” he pleads as his fingertips graze your shoulder.

You shrug him off and keep ahead of him, “no, no, don’t touch me,” you hurry towards the bathroom.

“Pet–”

“I am not your pet!” You spin as you enter the bathroom and he staggers just a foot away, stunned by the swell of your anger, “I am nothing. Just as you say, my own father couldn’t love me.”

“I didn’t–”

You slam the door and throw yourself against it. You flick the lock into place and lean against the wood, heaving painfully as your sadness rattles through you. He slaps the door from the other side and says your name.

“You did!” You holler through, “you said what you meant. You told… the truth.” You sink down to your knees, crumpling onto the tile, “so leave me alone. What do you care anyway?”

He repeats your name, softer and you hear him slide down the outside of the door, “I care… if I didn’t…”

“Be quiet,” you murmur in exhaustion.

He abides, just for a moment before he speaks again, “I will be here… when you require me.”

You lay in a heap. Weak and worn out. You just want him to leave you alone. If he can’t let you free, then he can go away. You don’t need him to remind you that he’s all you have.

You gulp as sobs force their way up your throat. You cry until your head pulses and your throat is hoarse. You cry until you are drained dry. You’re left bleary and broken.

Walpurgisnacht is supposed to mark a new beginning but everything is just as bleak as it always was.

[peterthepark]

bby once agaon CONGRATS ON 11K!! you're amazing and so talented and I love you so <333 can I request 🍾 filth drabbles // power play + din djarin??? 👀 maybe a bit of age gap if you feel like it istg all these old men are gonna be the death of me

SILLLLLL my love!!!! thank you baby!!! enjoy your request!

filth below the cut!!

“I told you to stay on the ship.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Din is mad. Extremely mad. You can hear it through the modulator, the absolute malice and concern in his tone, the near-growl that escapes him as he drags you by your elbow and almost flings you against the wall of the Crest. Even through all that shiny thick beskar, you can see the intermittent rise and fall of his chest, the knots in his neck and shoulders, and if that wasn’t enough to warn you of Din’s bubbling anger, the patronizing tilt of his dark visor is — oh, you just know that you and the kid are never seeing the light of day again.

You didn’t mean to piss him off. Especially now that he’s come back after chasing a quarry for three days, only to step empty-handed into a quiet, abandoned ship while you were out spoiling his foundling. “Din, I’m — I’m fine. I held my own perfectly, it was fine.”

“Held your own? And what about nearly getting—“

“I don’t have a single scratch on—“

“… you could’ve gotten…”

“Din, please.”

“… directly disobeying my orders.”

You scoff incredulously, easing your elbow out of Din’s suffocating grip. “Oh, your orders? What am I your good little quarry? Fuck off. You expect me to just sit here and wait forever?”

The cargohold’s atmosphere changes as soon as the words leave your lips.

You just pushed all of his buttons with one big swipe of your hand.

“Good little quarry, huh?” He asks, visor unmoving, nothing but the swirl of your own reflection staring back at you. The creak of his leather gloves warns you that you’ve crossed some sort of line, and had it not been for the twinge of amusement dripping from the rich baritone of his voice, you would’ve expected him to throw you out the side of the ship already. “Is that what you think you are, mesh’la?”

Mesh’la.

“S’how I feel sometimes.” You shrug, gulping as Din’s shadow swallows you, fists at his side like a proper soldier.

“And do… good little quarries run away when they’re not supposed to?”

Oh.

Oh. This game.

You fight the grin that threatens to spread across your lips, replacing it with a look of innocence, a gentle furrow of your brow as you step forward and tilt your chin up to look at him. “I don’t know, Mando. Can’t blame me for being scared of a big, bad bounty hunter like you.”

“You have two seconds to get to the cockpit.” He says smoothly, easy and straight to the point as he glances at the ladder then back to you.

“Two seconds?”

Impossible. He’s playing dirty today.

And you’re right, because the moment you try to slip out and under from his arm before your time is up, Din snatches you by the waist with one large hand over your stomach and yanks you back roughly against his chestplate with a snarl of your name. Then he’s turning you to the wall, nearly shoving your face up against the grated metal before he’s tearing off linens and fabrics and cotton and — oh, you really liked that underwear — hiking your shirt up your torso until the cool air meets your nipples. You don’t know how he does it, especially with all those different pieces to his beloved beskar and flight suit, but his bare cock slides its way easily between your thighs, rubbing up against your puffy cunt as you brace yourself against the hold.

“Good little quarry enjoy getting fucked like this, don’t they? Against the wall. Cheap. Filthy. Just a quick fix.” Din rambles desperately, pained as he parts your folds and spears his fat cock into you without much warning or preparation. Not that you needed any. You’ve been dripping wet the moment he grabbed your arm and dragged you back to the ship. “That’s a good quarry…” He purrs, pulling your head back and letting you rest it against his shoulder. “Take it, kair’ta. Maker. Fuck. You ever leave my ship again…”

“S-Stars, Din…”

“You try to leave my ship ever again and I’m fucking you until you can never walk away from me.”

“That doesn’t — oh, fuck — that doesn’t sound too bad. Mando. Mando — Din, fuck, please.”

Din chuckles, low and deep and warm, a hint of an accent slipping between his words. “Atin. Be careful what you ask for.”

“Oh, trust me, I know what I’m asking.”

You’re sure that your legs are out of remission for the next five standard years.

[the-heart-of-a-monster]

This most recent page is... It is insane! Uh... You already know what I'm bouta do, so I'll just skip ahead to the everything. Enjoy!

---

The first thing I wanna mention is what Sonic said in the last page. I basically lost all the spare SA2 context that I had stored in my brain when reading this comic, so I just immediately assumed Sonic was right in saying that Shadow doesn't know how he feels. That wasn't entirely the truth. I mean, duh, Shadow doesn't know how Sonic feels. Sonic is internally suffering. He's confused, scared, worried something bad could happen to his loved ones if he just let loose a teeny bit. Hell, his concerns aren't even coming from nowhere! We saw what he's capable of when losing control! But thinking that Shadow doesn't know how that feels in the slightest??

Shadow was also afraid. When he lived on the ARK, and when he made friends with the STH cast. He had so much incredible power at his fingertips, and not only that, but he was also the eye of the storm to an alien invasion! He's been terrified for decades, worried he might hurt those close to him because of his blood ties and his origins and... SO MUCH. For so long, Shadow's been confused about who he is as a person, having a lack of autonomy, similar to Sonic. And yet, Sonic still thinks that they don't feel the same. He thinks they are not the same. That they don't know how the other feels. And, in a way, no matter how small this way is, Sonic is kind of right.

Because Shadow's not a hero. He's an anti-hero, someone who does what he thinks is right and doesn't care about the public eye anymore. Sonic is a hero, someone who cares too much for his tiny hedgehog heart. He swells with emotion, and this sudden change to his appearance and abilities... It's suffocating. It's crushing Sonic. It's a whole new sensation that he is completely unaware of and doesn't know what to do with himself. Shadow, meanwhile, has been dealing with this feeling his whole life. So yeah. In a way, Shadow doesn't know how Sonic feels.

Still, Shadow doesn't see it this way. He sees it as Sonic basically being a hypocrite. So, in a fit of rage and disappointment, he lets Dark Gaia take control.

I do wanna ask something abt this real quick: How does Sonic not sense Dark Gaia's influence on Shadow? As someone who has the energy of that being fused with his very bloodstream right now, you'd think he would figure out that Shadow's behavior has just. Suddenly changed. You'd think he would piece together why his friend is acting this way and he would figure out that it's Dark Gaia, and not Shadow.

It's just a small nit-pick of mine tbh. Don't worry.

I do think there is an answer to this, though. As someone stated before, these two are basically walking into the lion's den, or I guess in other terms, leaving the frying pan and falling into the fire. This icy cavern they've entered is overflowing with Gaia energy, which could be the reason why Sonic can't tell it's now all over Shadow. It's overwhelming Sonic to the point that he's basically grown numb to it, so even if he could feel the energy all over Shadow specifically, he doesn't recognize the danger. He doesn't see that Shadow's being "Controlled."

---

So uh. Yeah. That's... That's it.

I really really love this comic btw and the little image of Maria at the top really caught me off-guard. I was like: "WHAT THE HECK IS THAT WHY IS MARIA HERE WHAT HELLO HUH-?"

very interesting points! literally no one looked at it this perspective before i appreciate this :33333

and don't worry about gaia energy. i think mostly when you figure something might be off or you dont get it, just wait for the next pages, because ofc this is a continous story so things will be explained, just not immediately.

(thoguh again, youre the only one who questioned this! super interesting stuff to think abt!!)

[meowzfordayz]

hello hello angsty bestie 🧦

for milestone 5 event may i request prompt #9, sfw, for my guy you know who ;-) // + now excuse me while i prepare myself for the incoming angSt ಥ╭╮ಥ

MILESTONE 5.0

Hi hi !! 🤗 I ended up writing something ~tame(ish)—in terms of angst intensity—for your prompt, but def not happy. 😆😭 Tyty for participating. 💞

If you can’t find another reason to stay, then I know I’m gonna always have a lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely heart. - Lonely Heart

CW: implied sexual content

“You aren’t staying?” Gyomei asks softly, voice nearly swallowed by the movements of clothing scraping your skin All too familiar.

“Of course not,” you respond lightly, brows furrowing at the faint edge in his tone.

Why not? he wants to demand, “Oh, okay,” tipping blandly from his mouth instead.

“My shower runs hotter than yours,” you declare, that silly excuse a flimsy yet effective boundary as usual And there isn’t enough room for the two of us tacked on silently — a private boundary for your overwhelmed heart.

“So let me come over sometime,” he suggests smoothly.

“My place is a wreck, and I’m too busy to do anything about it.”

“Just clear off your bed. That’d be more than enough for me.”

He doesn’t mean to sound crass, doesn’t mean to imply that only physical affection perches on the taut electricity between your stubbornness and his oblivion, but how else is he supposed to approach you? How else is he supposed to cut through your insulation of excuses and escapes and blatant lack of interest — without shocking himself to half to death?

“Your bed’s already cleared off,” you retort.

He sighs, resigned to listening to you shrug on one of his sweatshirts—he can hear the abundance of fabric—wishing he could tug you in by its drawstrings, wishing he could make love to you. Wishing you would stay. Stubborn.

“At least return my cologne?” he gives in, returning to the comfortable suffocation of banter.

Giggling, you poke at his sternum, decidedly ignoring his stuttered inhale, resisting the urge to fluff his sex mussed hair, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can smell it on you.”

Your audible retreat drops like a boulder in his fragile pond of devotion and hopelessness, any taste of romance and proximity dispelled, rippling frantic and confused toward your mutual shore of No catching feelings, no hard feelings. Maybe it’s the lower register in his murmur, or the way he’s still sitting upright, unmoving—fixated—as you dress yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to take his bait.

“So I borrowed some, but I didn’t steal the entire bottle!”

“Borrowed?” he muses, “How does one borrow cologne? How does one return what they’ve consumed?”

You huff, pausing as you reach for his bedroom’s doorknob, “If it matters that much to you, then I’ll buy you another bottle. But I swear I didn’t even use a lot!”

“It’s alright,” he acquiesces, “Don’t forget to lock the front door.”

You always remember.

You always remember to shut his bedroom door, to coo Goodbye sweetie to Maru (his cat), and to lock his front door. To leave a dip in his mattress, wrinkles in his sheets, his body too large to roll over and imagine himself embracing the shadow of your departure. Gyomei knows his shower runs perfectly hot, just as he knows he would help you tidy your house. If you ever relinquished your address, that is. If you ever forgot to return his shirts, sweatshirts, cologne, hell you’d jokingly threatened to take Maru home with you once — then, then he knows he’d have you. He’d have your late night laughter, and your early morning drowsiness, the curve of your soul and the brightness of your gaze, every revealed fragment sinking him further, lonelier. Because you don’t. Because you can’t. Because you never find another reason to stay. Because you never forget what belongs to him, and what belongs to you. Because you never bridge the gap denoting closeness and close.

Because you always remember to leave Gyomei with his lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely heart.