#but the blue void feels fitting

[tartrat]

He looks like he's the problem

Its him.

so i'm trying something new, and i really like how this turned out. Line art scares me, so i was surprised that it turned out kinda good. I didn't have any real inspiration for this style, i looked at youtube videos to see how to do line art and then from that i went and did my own thing but that's about it. I'm going to keep developing this style because it is fun to do.

And in case anyone didn't see the wip i posted of this, yes Kapyy is wearing one of the outfits from the anti-hero music video (Minus his shoes, glasses and headphones).

[technoxenoholic]

anyway. i think more people need to stop reacting to "this post leaves out people like xyz" type additions with "i'm literally xyz shut up!" when the post itself literally does not mention people like xyz even once and reads as though people who are like xyz were not even considered. like, just because you are xyz doesn't mean that's clear in your post. people are not automatically accusing you of hating or not caring about people like xyz for bringing up that a specific post leaves them out. (and also people are not reading every inch of your blog before responding to a one-off post they encountered on someone else's blog.)

if you make a post about abc and leave out xyz, then people who live at the intersection of abc and xyz are allowed to mention that the intersection exists. just because you also live at that intersection but didn't point it out doesn't mean people are attacking you or whatever.

whatever happened to assuming "yes, and"? why does everyone assume (and react in kind with) "no, fuck you" nowadays?

[anachronistic-falsehood]

putting dead inside by younger hunger on the vashwood playlist i'm in the process of making because fuck u it's MY playlist and I get to choose the gay ass songs that go on there

[evilgwrl]

ExHusband!Simon x Reader

You Want a Divorce? (One)

Note: I'm having the WORST writer's block now so pls excuse my lack of proper writing... I'm currently sitting in front of a beach writing in hopes that ill gain inspo

CW: Angst, mentions of sex, jealous/possessive Simon, PLS DONT LEAVE YOUR KIDS IN THE CAR !!! Or break into someone’s house

Inspired by: Ex!Husband Simon

PART TWO

Simon stared at you. The shades of his eyes simmering into endless voids of obsidian, blonde lashes moulded against his greased lids, the residue of the perpetual torture his body had succumbed to during deployment.

“You want a divorce?” He spoke, voice deep as he flickered between your shaking heads, sweat soiling into the papers gripped firmly and your swollen face, cheeks feverish with a red hue, eyes even more so.

You held back a rough sob, throat stripped of all moisture evident in your hoarse voice as you spoke, “Yes, Simon. I think it would be best for our family… for us.”

He scoffed. “You think the best thing for our family is to separate?”

“We already pretty much are. You’re away for days, weeks, months at a time. We’re hardly a family and it’s difficult to explain to the children why I’m crying.”

“Ok then.”

That was it. You would admit, it stung. His lacklustre tone felt like a stab in the gut, the blade drenched with anthrax as it reared blistering sores internally, the effects having shown through your putrid complexion. Your skin was dull, practically lifeless, the only living form of you grew day by day through the darkening of eyebags that almost made you look apocalyptic.

It had been 12 months of separation, officially 8 being legally divorced. You kept his last name, the permanent burn of hearing Mrs Riley still searing through you with every syllable, yet you feel it would only hurt you more if they said Ms.

Simon was often away now, and the minimal family time he used to get felt pointless as the shabby apartment he moved into after the sudden interference of your mind-boggling news barely fit the two kids you shared. His body felt more relentless on him, the taunting of his mind fulgurated the inoperative reality that he would come home to you, to his family.

His voice, almost like it dropped an octave had grown richer in aggression, tormenting those he deemed suitable, both with his tongue and with his bruised knuckles, an oil painting of blue and purple hues radiating across the pale flesh as he shrugged it off to his team as “pushing himself and others to do better”.

Couldn’t you realise your mistake? Wouldn’t you prefer crying in his arms about his absence than never having it fulfilled again?

As he looked around the bleak environment, tan stained walls revolting the creaking mattress he had brought someone home to, someone who wasn’t you. It made him feel sick like a viral infection had slunk its way into his bloodstream as he laid next to a woman that failed to make his cock throb, endless images of you sprawled out under him flickering. No wonder he called out your name instead.

You felt the familiar shake of your hands every time your phone dinged; Simon’s dreary tone was evident through his dry “On the way” text. You ushered a day of your children’s life into their cartoon-themed backpacks, innocent smiles adorning their skin, doe-like eyes of brown, far too familiar to Simon’s staring up at you.

The sound of his car scraping into your paved driveway almost made you feel like throwing up, the nerves of seeing him combined with the already present pit of anxiety due to your date later turning you into one big shaky mess as you brushed it off as “too much caffeine”.

The echo of his car door slamming shut rung through your ears, staining you with the reiteration that your ex-husband was now at your door, heavy fists knocking upon the wood. The image you saw of him in your mind morphed back to reality as you stared at him, a blank expression on your face.

“Hi, love.”

“Hi, Simon.”

Your frown was clear, the pet name you were so used to becoming a distant memory in the past few months. It was a hole you were attempting to fill, to clear yourself away from his teasing tongue and faux impression of a healthy relationship. You were divorced for a reason, you knew that, but as you gazed upon the lack of life in his skin, it was almost like he was holding a mirror up to you.

“Daddy!” You watched as your 5-year-old, Ella, practically leapt into his hefty frame, his hands coiling around her like second nature. You could feel his warmth, the heat that would build in your stomach when you felt those same digits touch you.

“Hi sweetheart,” his voice gruff, yet tone lighter as he placed a delicate kiss on the skin of her forehead, “You miss me?”

She nodded, her face buried in the hem of his neck as your other child cooed from the bouncy chair, tubby legs attempting to wheel himself to the door.

“There’s my boy,” Simon practically cooed as he placed Ella down, bounding inside as he lifted the toddler out, grabby arms reaching out to pull at Simon’s locks, gentle tugs causing you to laugh.

Your voice cut through the scene like glass. Why would you want to destroy such a happy moment? Weren’t you supposed to be reuniting? Just say it, tell Simon you want him to come home, that you need him.

“This is Ella’s bag,” you speak, holding up the pink Minnie Mouse bag, “And this is Toby’s.” Your son giggled as he muffled out the words, “Transformers”.

Simon nodded, “Are you doing anything tonight?”

Ella practically screeched, “Mummy’s going on a date!” The thrill of her laughter that followed only seemed to make the situation more awkward.

“A date?” Simon’s voice was deadly, the hair raising on your arms as you shook your head, a tight smile on your suddenly dry lips.

“No, no, nothing like that. Just catching up with an old colleague of mine.”

“But he’s a boy, Mummy,” Ella giggled. Who was raising your daughter to be such a big mouth? Your face formed an annoyed look, eyebrows raising as a line of wrinkles crinkled against your forehead, your pointer fingers massaging your temples.

“An old colleague?” Simon practically gasped. Had he met him at your old work Xmas parties?

“Let’s get you guys in the car.” You fumbled with Toby’s car seat as you strapped him in, your nimble fingers shaking with anxiety before you shut the door, pressing a kiss against the window before wiping away the minimal residue of dirt. Gross.

“Who is he?” His tone was acerbic like he was looking for an argument. How dare you try and replace him? He was your husband, the father of your two kids? Have you seen this random man before? Had he fucked you?

“God, Simon-“

“Who is he?” Simon was relentless, bullying his way into getting the answers as his arms folded across his chest, tattoos practically screaming at you too.

“His name’s Andrew. I ran into him at a coffee shop a few weeks back and he just wanted to catch up. That’s it.”

A loud scoff sounded in the air. “You mean that geezer from that corporate job you hated? The one who didn’t know it was weird to blatantly stare down your dress when you were standing next to your fucking husband?”

“He didn’t stare down my dress! You’re not my husband anymore, Simon. I can see who I want.”

“I don’t want our children to grow up thinking they have multiple dads.”

You’ll admit, that stung.

“Multiple dads? You’re out of your mind. The only reason they would ever believe they have multiple dads is if their real one stopped showing up. And where have you been, Simon? When have you shown up?”

Simon held his tongue, the warmth of the metallic taste gashing through his teeth as he practically snarled past you. “I’ll bring them back tomorrow.”

The dress you wore was practically suffocating you as you tucked your stomach in. Simon never minded the change in your figure after motherhood, he found himself liking it even more. He loved knowing that his seed put you through that, that he made you swell with his children, and he brought out the glow in your cheeks and the delicate stretch marks that laced your hips.

Andrew was nice. His tone was comforting as he walked to your door, ushering you to his car as he insisted you could order whatever you wanted. He was handsome, the salt and pepper hues of his hair settling your insecurity.

“We’ll take the Pinot Noir,” he spoke, looking at you with an almost arrogant sheer in his blue eyes. You only liked white. Simon knew that just like he knew everything about y-

You’re not with Simon anymore. You had to realise that. Maybe that’s why you brought Andrew home, let him shove his cock (that was a lot smaller than what you were used to) inside your heat, as you let out moans you had mimicked from the porn you watched with the actor that resembled far too much of your ex-husband.

Simon's fingers gripped the steering wheel early the next morning, your two children snuggled up in the backseat as he drove back to his old house, your old home. He wasn’t a man who gave up easy, he would show you, prove to you that you made a mistake. You needed each other.

Hold on. You don’t drive a red car?

His car lurched into the entrance of your home, nearly ramming into the garage as he shoved it in park, rolling down the two back windows slightly for air as he dug around in the small side compartment of his car.

The familiar gold key he had stolen from you the night he packed up all his stuff stared back at him, practically egging him on. Go on Simon, march in there. So he did. His hand rattled against the door knob, glancing back to peak into the car for a second before he slammed the door shut.

Your body froze. Were you being robbed? No. It was only Simon. A very angry-looking Simon. You stood, the white sheet barely shielding your naked body as he took in the sight of the man next to you, his hands wrapping around his shoulders as he practically ripped him out of bed, flinging him onto the floor as he grunted, eyes reared with hatred.

“Simon, what the fuck are you doing? WHERE ARE THE KIDS?”

Andrew groaned, on the floor, covering his groin as Simon chucked the masculine clothes at his head, the thin boxers soiled across the man’s scalp as he trembled.

“Our kids are asleep in the car, waiting for their Mummy to come to the zoo with them.” Simon’s words were despicable, laced with an acrimonious tone, small particles of spit seething through his lips as stared at you.

He turned to the man, a giant frame staggering over the top of him. “Get the fuck out, and if you wake up our kids when you go past, I will personally put a bullet straight in the middle of your skull,” he said, pushing a thick digit against his forehead as Andrew rushed out, clothes barely on before you felt the front door shut, a cry of apologises leaving your lips as you tried to assist him but Simon only held you back, a tight grip coiling around your arm.

“What the fuck was that? How’d you get in?” You couldn’t even place the words to say, humiliation roaring through you as you snuggled the sheet closer to you, away from his peering eyes.

“It’s time to be a family again, don’t you think love?”

[rose-tries-to-write]

Mission: Make Danny Nightingale Like Me

Masterpost | PART 1

A few months ago Tim Drake-Wayne, past Robin and current Red Robin, one of the best detectives and a spiteful fuck, met one Danny Nightingale. Who was a complete mystery.

Danny Nightingale moved to Gotham and started attending Gotham University and that is all Tim knows. He can't find where he came from, why he moved here, nothing. It's driving Tim, the FUCKING DETECTIVE, mad. Not to mention, Danny was kind when they first met. Amicable. That, for some reason, didn't last. He was mean, uncouth, and honestly a fucking asshole to Tim most days now. Tim needed to know why.

Then the Bats started meeting Danny. Started talking about a robbery or a stick-up or any number of instances all about a boy that fit into 'adoption bait' territory. Tim didn't have to guess who. Danny was a blue-eyed, black-haired boy of concerning food habits and questionable social habits. But it was another thing on the list of questions, questions, questions about this strange guy.

So, reasonably, the only option was to meet him as Red Robin so that Tim could see what Danny acted like with someone he didn't hate and get answers. On the first reported sight of him, Red Robin went running. And running.... and running... Okay, what the FUCK!

Whenever Red Robin showed up, Danny was nowhere to be seen. Even the others had shown confusion, turning in their spots trying to find the boy that was just right there, I swear! And sometimes, he just took off running! So Red Robin would chase, for hours, as Danny ran and ran and eventually some-fucking-how loses the vigilante.

Okay. Fine. Different approach. Danny didn't run from Tim Drake, just became an intolerable person. Tim would... make friends.

He started doing everything to make a connection with Danny. He wants to be friends, but Danny is borderline mean and dismissive of Tim no matter what he does. One day, Tim is complaining to the void about one thing or another, and… Danny laughs.

Danny—cold, unresponsive, non-expressive Danny—laughs at Tim’s misfortune and gods. It is the best thing he’s ever heard. It's soft and quiet and quick, but Tim is hanging off of it. Is holding still the way Danny’s face scrunched into it, the way his lips pulled and his nose scrunched around those pretty freckles.

Gods… Gods. Tim is lovestruck, head over heels, and on cloud nine all at once.

The moment passes all too fast when Danny speaks, quietly as if he were shy, “Do I have something on my face..?”

Tim is startled so hard out of the spell that he flinches back, hitting his head on the wall with a dull thunk, and spitting out in a flurry of sound, “What? N-No! No, it’s nothing.” Tim looks away, hiding the red that floods his face. He doesn’t understand why his face is flushed nor why the way Danny had looked had been so… perfect. Tim is hit with the feeling of wanting to run his fingers through the boy’s hair and kiss every freckle on the boy’s face and, fuck, he doesn’t understand why. The only thing that makes sense is...

To Danny’s complete and utter resentment (he’s actually very happy and very grateful that his soulmate isn’t giving up so easily on him), this only further emboldens Tim’s efforts on mission: ‘Make Danny Nightingale Like Me’ double down.

[solbaby7]

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

[dcxdpdabbles]

Is it possible to have some more Mr Flavour please?

The first thing he notices is the soft mattress underneath him. It's such a stark difference between the bed of his motel and even the bed at his house that Danny knows he's nowhere near his tax bracket.

There is such a thing as too comfortable. The sinking feeling of the plush pillow around his head is entirely like that.

When he blinks and opens his eyes, he finds that someone has placed him in a large bed with a canopy bed. Shifting about tells him that all four of his limbs were tied to the bedposts, and although he's not pulled taunt, he definitely isn't going anywhere without his powers.

The chains used were long enough that he would likely be able to shift about but not get off the bed. It looks like they were meant to allow him to move in the middle of the mattress, but that's it.

Curiously, he heaves himself into a sitting position, mindful of not going too far in any direction, running his eyes over the bedroom he finds himself in. It takes him a moment to notice that everything is themed around a mushroom forest, almost as if he was dropped in the setting of a fantasy novel.

He realized his clothes had also been changed, starting to look at the silk-like tights and tunic. He felt a weight shift when he moved his back to bring his knees up and lean on them. Glancing over his shoulder, he found a pair of wings strapped to his body.

Danny tilts his head before he goes back to surveying the room, and his eyes catch the mirror of a light brown wooden vanity. His reflection looks back at him with carefully done make-up. He has dark navy blue eyeshadow but with glitter resting on them and his cheeks to remember stars, the twinkle-looking kind. White eyeliner was also used to paint sharp butterfly-looking wings from the edges of his eyes pointing towards his ears.

Metal cuffs shaped like pointed ears were added to his ears, and a pin was attached to his hair, which held tiny little daises, even in his few strands of hair.

A jeweled collar is wrapped around his neck as thick as his thumb, with the North Star resting just over his Adam's apple.

The bed he was sitting in had a mushroom top that spanned out with a bright red cap and white poke dots. He could not see it from underneath it, but it looked like his bed was the steam of the mushroom.

Oscar dressed him up like a garden fairy.

"This feels like it was way too much effort," Danny mutters, staring at his reflection. He looks annoyingly pretty, offended the style fits him so well. He thinks he would have made a way better vampire. At least Sam would find it funny. "I have to handle it to him, though; he knows his way around a make-p brush. Wonder if I can get out of here."

Danny tugs on the chains, pulling his limbs as far as they go before a nasty pop is heard, and he has to bite down on his lower lip to stop a scream. His left wrist is useless, having snapped. A wave of agony courses through him until his healing factor kicks in long enough to snap his bone back, but the soreness lingers.

Phantom was just out of reach still, hidden somewhere underneath his skin.

"Guess not," he sighs. A few minutes pass, and Danny fills the void by reciting the periodic table and their atom masses. But when he grows bored of that, he starts patting his knees to a random beat, making popping sounds with his mouth.

That leads to him singing, at first, a few words from actual songs, then it drifts into nonsense.

He finishes his little jingle for his sodas, creating a rip-off of commercial jingles from home, adding more ecstatic slaps against his knees in a fast-paced drum roll.

He attempts to think of a rhyme for soda, using words he believes aren't real when the wall across from his bed suddenly shifts.

Danny hadn't even realized the open space across from his bed was a door since it blended so well with the flowers that decorated the wall. Oscar stands in the doorway, still wearing his suit and smiling his oily grin. "How is my lovely little fairy?"

Danny waves at him. "Hey, fruitloop. Here to kill me?"

Oscar laughs, steps in, and closes the door behind him. He crosses the room to carefully caress his hair. Danny hisses, but it does nothing to deter the man, who sighs lovingly, "I could never harm you. You're the first of your kind in my collection. Usually, my fairies have lighter hair like those of the forest, but you're from the stars, aren't you? My lovely cosmos fairy."

"Hmmm," Danny squints, "I don't like this. Just kill me."

The man laughs, dragging Danny into a hug by the chain on his left arm. "You are so mischievous and defiant. I should have collected your kind years ago."

Danny allows the hug only to feel Oscar's pockets press against him. He doesn't feel like a key is on Oscar's person, nor does he feel like he is carrying a weapon.

Quick as a wipe, Danny throws out his fist, nailing the older man between the legs. Oscar wheezes, but not enough to make him stumble. He squeezes his arms tighter, encaging Danny, and the pulled chains limit his movements.

Danny struggles against him until his eyes land on the mirror again, watching as his kidnapper grabs the side of the watch. "No misbehaving."

One click later, the North Star lights up. Shockwaves of electricity rush through his body as a scream is ripped from his throat. Distantly, his mind flashes back to the last time he felt this sensation- when he opened the portal on himself. His body spams about as Oscar coos into his hair, muttering reassurances until the power dies.

"Good boy. Such a good boy.," Oscar mutters as Danny gasps against his chest. "A good fairy can be mischievous but not misbehave, right?"

Danny opens his mouth to snap at him when he notices a glow in the corner of his eye. He raises his hands, staring at the familiar sight of Phantom's glow, feeling his heart leap with joy as his healing kicks in. He wonders if he finally got his powers back.

He wills his body to flout, to sink through solid, or even to vanish from sight, but nothing happens. He gains a new piece of his other half, but not nearly enough to turn into him. There is only a glow to his skin for now.

Oscar obviously sees it, for he gasps with delight. "My star fairy, shining for me."

Danny headbutts him, but even though he causes the man's nose to bleed, all he does is laugh and pet Danny like a cat. Another button press has the chains retreating into the wall, flinging Danny back on the bed, spread out and unable to move.

The teen frowns when Oscar eventually leaves him, promising to build him a galaxy room soon. A few hours go by, and a dull ache builds up in his limbs, but eventually, the man returns, setting up some glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the top of his bed. He rewards Danny's "good" behavior by allowing the chains to grow, and he's back to being able to move on the bed.

Days go by like this when Danny attempts to force the man to use the button, wondering if he needs electricity to finally have Phantom back. Sadly, nothing seems to upset Oscar, who chalks every act of defiance as a characteristic of his "star fairy" genes.

Eventually, Danny grows bored, even though Oscar regularly brings him food and walks him to a bathroom where he is ordered to shower—thankfully without the man inside but attached to the chains of the shower walls—and retouches his make-up with great care. His clothes are always replaced with new, clean versions, even with the same design. He doesn't know how long he's been trapped here, but he is sure it's a few days.

"Can I make sodas?" He asks while Oscar is laying behind him, hugging Danny to his chest like the teen was a giant teddy bear. There is, thankfully, nothing intimate about it, just holding him while they slept. "I'm bored."

"Of course. Your kind needs mental stimulation rather than the physical kind, don't you? That's why you made your drinks before; you wanted humans to need your potions." The fruitloop mutters, tucking the galaxy blanket over Danny's shoulder. "I'll bring you things tomorrow."

The following days are a little more leisurely with his soda-making. Oscar had his men find Danny's motel, taking everything he needed to create his Mr. Flavor soda and sets up three tables next to the bed for him to work. Apparently, Danny is his calmest fairy, so the chains around his wrists are removed, and the ones around his ankles increase in length.

Danny can now freely move about the room to his heart's content. Oscar vanishes for hours on end but eventually always comes back every night to watch Danny work on his sodas. He brings glass bottles the two fill, and Oscar hauls them away to who knows where.

Danny can't really tell the time as there are no windows, and the only source of light is one large lamp hanging from the ceiling. However, Oscar's behavior has a pattern. The older man shuts off the giant lamp and lights some fairy lights, leaving the room in a dull glow.

He only does that when the pair go to bed, making him think it's nighttime. Danny carefully counts the hours from there.

One day, Oscar doesn't come back, as the hours drag to what he knows is nighttime. This is his chance. He takes his wooden spoon, the one he uses to mix the syrups in a bored flavor experiment, biting down on it as hard as he can.

Danny grabs his feet, bending them until two nasty cracks are heard. The wood muffles his scream, but even as his healing attempts to fix the damage, he yanks and pulls his limb until it slips through the metal cuffs.

Once they land on the ground with a clack, Danny is hit with a wave of nausea. His tunic is coated in sweat, his head is swimming, and he doesn't feel Phantom, but Danny is free.

A few minutes go by when his healing gets to work to fix the damage as he drags himself to where the door is. The chains had allowed him to wander there, but he never attempted to pry it open.

Today, he not only tries, he succeeds. His bare feet return to a healthy state, allowing him to stand in the doorway. Outside his colorful galaxy, slowly losing the first theme bedroom, is a long grey hallway filled with other doors.

Each door has a number painted in a large black font.

Danny glances both ways, sees no one, and sprints down the hallway on his right. He makes it all the way to the end, where all that's visible is a single door. He looks over his shoulder to where he came from and finds that his room is the last one in the hallway, showing no exit.

He gulps, praying this is the way out while carefully twisting the door numb as quietly as possible. Thankfully, no soul is in sight when he pushes the door open.

The first thing he realizes is that the space is much smaller than his cell, looking more like a broom closet than anything else. Inside, a chair is set up in front of multiple monitors that are all handing over a large desk. Two file cabinets are on the side, but that's all the room there is for.

Squinting, Danny realizes it's a security system. Getting closer, he watches as various light brown hair people dressed as fairies are shown chained up, moving about their rooms frantically and fearfully.

They are all forest themes with a number on the corner of the screen. Danny realizes he knows those numbers and glances back over his shoulder. Sure enough, the numbers are in the same font and color as the ones on the screens.

Well.

Danny hums, rummaging through the office in search of keys. He is alight with dying, but he doubts the other people Oscar has kidnapped are Halfas in waiting. There is nothing on the desk, so he turns his attention to the file cabinets

Inside are deranged notes on fairies' habits. Records of their diet behavior and a shockingly large amount of physical exercise for each kidnapped person are documented.

Apparently, where Danny, a star fairy, needs mental simulation, the forest fairies need to do HIT training mixed in with random types of Dance to keep them happy and healthy.

Number 4 was tap dancing, while Number 7 was doing ballet. It was so unfair. He would have loved to develop some muscle here, making his new desire to break into the grid storage easier.

Maybe he could shock Phantom back. The next drawer has his bottled sodas, which clack against each other. A note about storing his potions for future healing is on top of them, and Danny's face twitches.

Fruitloop.

He considers the drinks before deciding the other captives may need an energy boost to help them leg it when he sets them free. He grabs a premade hanging water cooler, swinging it over his shoulder after checking to make sure his sodas are inside.

Eventually, Danny finds a ring of keys at the bottom of the last drawer. After confirming that the exact numbers are painted on them, he rushes out of the office. He arrives at number 1 with a cheer and flings it open.

A man in his mid-twenties jumps a good foot off the lofted tree-shaped bed. He is also dressed as a fairy, but instead of Danny's blue and purple hues, this one is in different shades of brown, and his face is clean.

A similar color to the one Danny wears is wrapped around his neck, but the centerpiece is a large oak tree instead of a star.

Danny grins, holding out a bottle of cola. "Hey man, want a drink?"

The stranger only has chains around his wrists, which means he can scramble to the back of the wall the second Danny speaks, "What?"

"Oh, by the way, I'm doing a prison break. You in?" He laughs, swinging the keys around his other hand.

Hours later, Number 1—he refused to give Danny his name after the boy attempted to rip off the collar on their necks. Apparently, explaining that he wanted to feel the zap all over his body instead of wanting to set Number 1 free was "alarming"—it had helped him free all nine captives.

The Halfa was the youngest among the group, as everyone else was at least older than twenty, though it looked like ages ranged from early twenties to late forties.

The only things they shared were chestnut hair and earth-themed fairy costumes. Danny stood out for more than just his manic grin and bubbly personality. He offered one of his sodas at every rescue.

Everyone had accepted a drink from the overly cheerful child, who eyed Danny with distrust but was willing to follow him through the last door. It led to a ladder drilled into the wall. Danny volunteered to go up first, ensuring the coast was clear after forcing a latch to open above him.

Oscar had stashed them in a bunker far outside Gotham's city limits. It took some coaxing, but Dannt got the group to wander through the darkness, holding hands so as not to lose anyone. His powers weren't entirely back, but he's always been able to see a bit better in the dark than his friends.

He chatted the whole time, offering more bottles whenever someone grew too anxious. He spent twenty minutes describing all the flavors he made for his sodas, taking careful steps through small dips in the uneven ground. It seemed the bunker was on a hill, isolated from people.

Eventually, they caught sight of a road, and everyone breathed a breath of relief when a car came into view. It was three loops of curling roadways down below. Still, it passed under the only light post, showing a sleek black model that indicated wealth.

Number 3- who also refused to tell him her name- was in the process of thanking the heavens that someone could help them when Danny demanded that everyone drop.

It was gratifying when they all did it without a second thought.

"That's Oscar's vehicle. He drove it at the restaurant." He hisses as the car rounds the cliff's side, nearing them. The air grows cold as the rest of the victims try to hide in the shadows.

It won't work. Despite the fact that they are on high hills, there is no coverage. The second Oscar's headlights were within reach so he would see them.

Danny considers the sobbing Number 3, her once joy now gone, and realizes she doesn't want to be found. Unlike him, if she gets hurt, she won't unlock the powers that had once made him unbreakable.

He takes off his cooler and hands it over to Number 1 with a soft command: "Stay low, and no matter what, don't try to save me."

"What-"

Danny stands from his hiding spot, flinging himself over the edge of the cliffside in a familiar leap and landing with a loud thump on the lower hill. He drags himself to his feet, running in the opposite direction of the group, singing at the top of his lungs his new Mr. Falvor jingle.

Oscar's headlights fall over him as the man hits the brakes. A second of silence later, the car turns on its wheels with a loud screech as Danny rushes to the edge of the second loop.

"My Star! What are you doing!?" Oscar cries, but the tone sounds amused as Danny flings himself over the edge with a cheer.

"Come catch me! I want to play a game!" He calls out, ignoring the ache of his knees, and takes off in a run the second he lands. He hears the roar of the motor as Oscars round the side, foot on the accelerator, and laughs alongside Danny.

He barely makes the leap when the vehicle smashes against the road railing. Oscar had attempted to run him over.

"Oh, you naughty star fairy!" The car is thrown in reverse and starts down the much longer road as the man driving it sings Mr.Flavor's jingle. Danny doesn't look towards the victims, worried he'll give them away, as he whoops loudly and takes over into a sprint.

The longer road bought him time, but now it's just him against a speeding car. There is no light down here, and he forces himself to be as fast as possible. He can hear Oscar getting closer, but he pushes through, wanting to put distance between them and the other kidnapped people.

He uses the fact there are trees alongside the road to his advantage, but beyond that is a cliffside and the crashing waves of the sea. He could jump, but even if that brought back Phantom, Oscar would potentially cut his losses and turn back, catching the hiding group. He weaves through the barks as Oscar drives behind him, yelling about punishments and naughty fairies.

He gets pretty far, he thinks, the hill with the bunker long behind him, looking much smaller when Danny runs out of trees. Then it's just him and the open space. Oscar's headlights bathe him as the man jumps off the road, speeding until the motor sounds like a roaring monster.

Danny can't outrun him, so he doesn't. He stops, twists on his heel, and spreads his arms wide open. He doesn't close his eyes as the lights get closer, and he sees Oscar's mad, flushed face seconds before the metal rams into him.

"KID!" A horrified cry fills the air as Danny is thrown from the windshield. It's like time has slowed down.

He manages to turn his head in time to see multiple police cars come to a stop just a few feet away from him, a man in the process of throwing himself out of his car, one arm stretched toward Danny.

His face is twisted in horror, but Danny recognizes his eyes. It's the masked man who felt guilty the day he was kidnapped. Ha. He knew he was an undercover cop.

Danny hits the ground hard, rolling three times before he lies broken and tired. His skin is glowing, and his hair puffs up a little, like it was electrocuted, but that's the only real chain besides the multiple wounds on his body.

Phantom's powers are still not entirely back.

He feels numb as the background noise of the police swarming Oscar is heard, with one of the Gotham heroes leading the charge with a war cry. Danny can't bring himself to turn his head but watches Red Robin fly by on his motorbike, aiming the front wheel hood of Oscar's car.

He uses that as a springboard to launch himself through the front windshield- already cracked by Danny's body, and attacking the driver like a beast. Police near the car, all with guns pointed and shouting.

Someone drops to their knees in front of Danny blocking his view. It's the same undercover cop who is talking fast and desperate, but Danny can't really understand him because of the ringing in his head. He feels his healing factor finally start, but it's much slower than normal.

Hands carefully turn him onto his back so they can put some pressure on the bleeding coming from his neck. Glass had smashed against his flesh there, and Danny hadn't even noticed.

The man's desperate face fades in and out of focus until his healing finally pops his ears, and sound rushes through his senses.

"-going to be alright!" The man is screaming. "Hang on, kid. Hang on. What's the ETA on the medics!?"

"Five minutes! Keep putting pressure on his wounds, Grayson!" someone shouts back out of Danny's eyesight. Hmm, dark spots are appearing in his vision now. He was going to pass out soon.

He should tell Officer Grayson about the rest of the Numbers before he does.

"The Others...."He coughs, spitting some blood. The man's face spams.

"Don't talk. Save your strength," he commands, but Danny ignores him, forcing his hand to raise and point to where the group was hiding.

"The others...are hiding....I lead....Oscar away.....from them. They need help.....please." He babbles, watching tears gather in the man's blue eyes. He blames himself—Danny can see it clearly as day—for putting the Halfa in this position the day he helped the rest kidnap him.

Obviously, he needed to do it to find the rest, but that doesn't stop the guilt from eating him alive right in front of Danny. He forces his face to twist into a smile.

"Don't be sad....I told you....I wanted to be a ghost." His words are a bit clearer as his healing throbs around his throat, but it's all he can handle. He fells himself, fading as the look of devastation clouds Officer Grayson's face. Just as Danny passes out, he mutters. "Delete Oscar's footage of my soda making. It's my secret formula."

He surrenders the blissful darkness as the ambulance sirens fill the air.

[oneforthemunny]

hold my heart and watch it burn |ex-husband!eddie munson x ex-wife!reader|

prompt: your first christmas apart and it's proving to be a lot harder and lonelier than you thought.

contains: i mean, you know i'm gonna write christmas angst lmao. so angst. divorce. ex-husband!eddie. dad!eddie. mentions of loneliness. of fighting. language. holiday blues. divorce blues. just sad but a little better at the end? maybe? kinda?

"Jude!" Your voice drops, breathy with a stern hiss that your eight year old ignored, running ahead through the crowds of people bustling through the ridiculously busy Starcourt Mall.

Lucy's small hand in yours, you pulled her through the crowds of people, dodging a woman and her twenty shopping bags that swung when she turned, nearly taking you out.

"Jude Wayne, stop." A rare tone of your voice came out, void of it's usual lightness that you always used with the kids- a tone that you usually reserved for their father.

"Woah," Your shoulders tensed, fighting back a grimace at the squeal Lucy let out, wringing her hand out of your grip. Speak of the devil, you thought, lips pursing to hold back the snarl you wanted to give. You wouldn't, not in front of the kids, no- you'd keep it civil for them, even though you wanted to smack the smug, dimpled grin that greeted you when you did finally look at him.

"Hi, sweetheart." Eddie hummed, eyes rolling over your figure, hoisting Lucy on his hip.

Your lips twisted, fighting back an eye roll. "Hi," You snapped curtly, turning to Jude, bending at your knees to get to his level. "Jude, you can't run through the mall, honey. You have to stay with me-"

"-Ah, he was just excited, baby." Eddie grinned, nodding at the young boy, who looked so much like him. "Weren't you, Jude?"

"Yeah, Mama." Jude nodded, lips curling in a positively sweetly devious grin- just like his Daddy's. You could feel your heart melting already. "I just want to see Santa. I hafta tell him the things on my list or he'll-"

"-You will, Jude." You sighed, the start of a headache pulsating dully at the base of your skull. "We'll walk to the line right now, and you both can tell Santa what you want, ok?"

Jude nodded, still walking ahead in quick, excited steps. Your eyes cut to Eddie, looking past him towards Lucy. "Surprised you showed up on time." Your tone clipped, quiet enough that the kids couldn't hear but that he did.

Eddie scoffed, a snort of air. "Showed up on time to see my kids? That's not very nice." Eddie's tone stayed light though his eyes narrowed when they looked at you.

"The truth isn't always nice, is it?" You quipped, turning forward to look at Jude.

"You act like I don't come to every thing they do." Eddie retaliated, a low hiss in his tone that left your jaw clenching with a familiar bubbling rage. "Really trying to make me into the deadbeat dad, hm?"

"I can't make you into anything." You scoffed. "But if the shoe fits-"

"-You're really doin' this?" Eddie's voice dropped, jaw ground tight with irritation. "Really? Today you're gonna start this?"

"I'm not starting anything." You snapped, a little louder than you meant to, eyeing Jude and Lucy carefully. "You're the one who's usually late to things. It's a fact."

Eddie scoffed, a light airy laugh leaving his lips that made your blood boil, nails digging into your balled fists. "Please. You think I don't know what this is about?"

"What?" You snapped, brows furrowed at him.

"Oh, c'mon, you're pissed about Trina." Eddie turned, looking at you fully.

You knew he had to see the way your heart dropped, sinking into a burning pit in your belly, filled with ache.

Trina was a bartender at The Hideout, she'd been one since you and Eddie had started going, and one you'd always felt a little wary of. The way she'd giggle and bat her eyes at Eddie- she'd been a catalyst to a few fights when you were still together.

Last Saturday morning, Eddie was late coming to the house to get the kids.

"Rough night?" You giggled, his hair wild, eyes puffy with lack of sleep- a look you'd seen too many times before, one that was always a sign he was hungover.

"Yeah, sorry, I forgot to set my alarm last night. I went out, and got a little... ya know," Eddie had muttered, running a hand down his face. "Had to shower because I smelt like smoke and didn't want Lucy's allergies actin' up, and I had to take Trina to her apartment, then I had to get gas, and-"

"-Trina?" You'd nearly spat. "From-From The Hideout, Trina?"

"Yeah, we, uh, we kinda went out last night." Eddie wouldn't meet your eyes, looking anywhere but at you. "I mean, you've been goin' on dates, and... ya know." He lifted his hand, nervously running his fingers through his bangs, a habit he'd always had.

You noticed the gold band missing from his left hand for the first time since your wedding, stomach dropping as he walked in, greeted by your children's excited squeals.

You were sick in the bathroom after that.

Now, your stomach still flipped, still burned with a familiar nauseating ache. Standing in line, trying to feign excitement listening to Jude and Lucy babble on and on about what they wanted Santa to bring them, trying to ignore the spiraling thoughts that consumed your mind.

The same thoughts that kept you up at night, tear stained cheeks pressed into the pillow next to yours, that still smelled like Eddie- the one he'd slept on three nights before his date with Trina. Did he know he was going out with her when he laid there next to you? Was he thinking of her when he had slid into you that same night? When he kissed you so fiercely, so full of love that it left you dizzy, did he wish it was her instead?

A piercing wail of a infant cut through your thoughts, taking another zombie like step towards the front of the line. Jude was bouncing, eyes so wide an intense, honed in on the older man in a red suit juggling the screaming baby to a photo.

"What're you gonna ask for Luce?" Eddie hummed, bouncing the four year old on his hip with a grin.

"Play Doh," Lucy gave a toothy smile. "The ones where you can make the rings." She shoved her chubby finger towards Eddie with emphasis.

"Oh, you gonna make some rings for Daddy?" Eddie grinned, glowing from the inside out- damn him, he was a good dad. Your heart fluttered when he wiggled his own fingers at her playfully, rings shining dully under the white Christmas lights of the mall. "I've been needin' some new ones."

Lucy laughed, silly infectious giggles that had your lips tugging in a grin, your hand smoothing over the wool of Jude's jacket. "You ready Luce? You're next." You cooed, stepping up to the bright candy caned line.

A bored teenage 'elf' looked at you with a less than jolly expression, waving them over as the kids ahead went bounding towards the mall Santa.

"Stay with Jude. Hold her hand, Jude. We'll be right over here." Your voice tightened, not moving until her hand was in his, scampering towards the next marker. "Smile pretty!"

"C'mon," Eddie muttered, his hand softly on the small of your back. "They're good."

You glared at him, huffing and pulling away from his grasp. "Don't talk to me like that."

Eddie sighed, tired and bored. "Like what?"

"Like that," You sneered, voice low as you stood behind the gate with the other parents, watching their kids as they told Santa their lists. "You don't have to be so condescending."

"Condescending." Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, just like that." You snarled, turning away from him, lips in a tight, annoyed line. "Like you always are."

Eddie nodded, slowly, tongue running on the inside of his cheek. There was a tense pause, both of you looking forward wordlessly.

"Look, I don't know what pissed you off so bad, if it's the Trina thing or-"

"-Can you not do this?" You bit in a hushed hiss. "Watch your kids. Don't make this about us." Your chin jerked towards Jude and Lucy, who were too enthralled with climbing on the fake sleigh to look back at two of you, which you were thankful for.

Eddie laughed humorlessly, an airy, unamused snort of air and you could feel him stiffening beside you. "Fine."

The eye roll you gave was so fierce it left you with a headache between the brows, fingers tapping on your crossed arms, trying to ignore him- to be present for your kids, enjoy and embrace the moment, but dammit was it hard. When he always had to have the last fucking word. Flashbacks of countless fights spun through your mind like a rolodex.

You managed enough cheer to mask the tension, greeting Jude and Lucy with their waving candy canes. "Did you tell Santa what you wanted?" You cooed, a hand running over Lucy's head.

"Yeah," Jude hugged your waist. "I told him I'd been really good, but will you tell him too, Mama? When you talk to him later."

You smiled, warm with content at his childlike innocence. "Of course." You nodded. "Let me pay for your photo and you can take it to Papa Wayne-"

"-I got it." Eddie muttered, still not looking at you, already flicking through the bills of his wallet, handing them to the cashier dressed like a elf.

"Let me pay you my half." You frowned, slinging your purse forward, pulling the zipper.

Eddie shook his head with an eye roll, nodding at the cashier, before stepping to the side. He sifted through the change in his palm, plucking out two quarters and handing them to Lucy and Jude. "Here, go get something out of the gumball machine."

Lucy and Jude squealed with excitement, bounding towards the array of candy and toy machines in the middle of the mall, ignoring your shout of warning.

"They already have a candy cane." You looked at Eddie with a bored expression. "So you're giving them more sugar?"

"Jesus Christ, it's the holidays." Eddie huffed. "Thought this was your favorite holiday?"

"It is." You countered, arms crossing over your frame defensively.

"Then quit bein' so mean." Eddie shook his head. "Just 'cause you're pissed at me."

"I'm not pissed at you." Your lips pressed in a hard line. "Not everything is about you."

Eddie let out a laugh, teetering on mocking and mean. "I- you know what, I give up." He shook his head. "Stay in your foul mood, whatever."

His hand fell on the white envelope on the counter, pulling the small photo out, handing it to you. "Here. Merry Christmas." His words fell flat, filled with irritation. "I'll have them back by eight tonight."

You fought back a snarl, looking at the grinning face of your children on the glossy photo, two identical smiles that reminded you so much of the man you loved- used to love.

"C'mon, let's go see Papa." Eddie clapped, grinning at the kids. "Tell Mama bye." His eyes met your with a forced grin, teeth nearly baring at you.

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, bending to hug each of them, pressing a kiss to their cheeks. "Be good, ok? Tell Papa I said hi."

Your eyes met Eddie's, a beat of silence between both of you, nearly challenging the other to speak first, to admit defeat. Neither of you did.

Eddie gave a curt nod, turning in the opposite direction with your children through the ever growing crowd.

You felt incredibly lonely, walking to your car silently, a sinking feeling in the pit of your tummy.

"Fuck-" Your fingers brushing the tip of the box, pushing it further back onto the shelf, away from your grasp.

Your annoyed huff echoed off the concrete of the garage walls, settling back on your tip toes. "Are you fuckin' serious? Ed-" Your words were strangled in your throat, heart dropping with sudden realization.

He wasn't here.

You should've been used to it by now. The house was empty, quiet even with the stereo playing. You'd turned it on, shoved a worn Christmas cassette tape in and tried to drown out the miserable silence that filled the house.

It used to be a tradition, just for the two of you. You and Eddie would drop the kids off at Wayne's going back home to wrap all the gifts you'd hidden. Eddie was always in charge of that, hiding them in the hard to reach, clever places around the house. You'd make hot toddies on the stove, Eddie would put on your favorite Christmas cassette without asking, and you'd spend the evening wrapping gifts.

Your first Christmas, Eddie had been so excited, positively beaming as you wrapped little onesies and teething toys- small gifts for Jude, but Eddie still boasted with pride. "Can you believe we're really doin' this? We're parents. Real parents wrapping real gifts for our real kid. Isn't- That's just fuckin' insane."

Now, you were alone, wrapping gifts for your kids and filling out the gift tag just to them for the first time in years.

The feeling was anything but joyful, sitting on your couch alone while Rudolph played lowly in the background. The hot toddy you'd made didn't nearly lift your spirits the way you hoped. No, if anything, it only made you feel worse.

Maybe it had been a mistake- the divorce. The thought had consumed you since you'd heard about Trina. Maybe Eddie was right, maybe the divorce was too much. Maybe you should have gone to therapy instead. Why else would you be feeling like this? Alone and miserable and full of regret. Were you just jealous? Was it the longer, darker days and colder weather messing with your mind? Or was it really that you-

"Hellooooooo!" Jude's sing-songy scream had you jumping, the hot liquid sloshing over the edge of the mug, splashing on to your reindeer printed pajamas.

"In here." Your voice was tight, not passing for the cheery tone you were hoping.

Two sets of feet bounded towards you as you set down your mug. Jude and Lucy came in, babbling with excitement about their day with Papa Wayne, still in their snow boots and coats.

"Mama, we saw Papa today an-and he asked me if I could make him some extra reindeer food so he can have some for his roof too, so Santa doesn't miss him." Jude jumped in your lap, eyes bright and wild as he told his story with excitement.

"Did he?" You grinned, unzipping Jude's jacket gently. "We'll have to make him some, won't we?"

"Yeah." Jude nodded, looking over at the tree. "Are those for us?" His eyes widened.

"Not until Christmas." You pointed at him. "Or I'll take them all back."

Jude pouted, eyes darting towards the screen. Your eyes cut towards Eddie as he helped Lucy out of her little snow boots, shimmying them off carefully and putting them by the door. The ache in your chest only grew.

You stood, crossing the living room towards the entry way. "Hey, Luce," You cooed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head when she flung herself at you. "Did you have fun today with Papa?"

"Yeah," Lucy giggled, hanging off your leg. "We gotta see the lights."

"The neighbors," Eddie muttered, his gaze not meeting yours, looking at Lucy instead. "They have a bunch of light displays now. Decked out the whole trailer. She really liked it."

"That sounds like fun." You smoothed a hand over her head. "Why don't you go see what Jude's watching? Let me talk to Daddy for a minute. Ok?" You tracked her as she bounded towards the living room, plopping next to Jude on the couch.

An uncomfortable silence filled the space between you and Eddie before you even turned around.

"So, um," You swallowed, rocking back and forth on your slippered toes. "Sounds like they had a good time." You lifted your head, looking up at Eddie.

"Yeah, they had fun." Eddie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyes flickering from you to the frilly garland over the door. That same dreaded pause came back, filling the space between you.

"I'll head out," Eddie broke the silence, your heart lurching at his words. "I'll, uh, be back tomorrow morning, if that's cool? Stop by and-"

"-Wait," Your tone was fiercer than you meant it to be, Eddie's eyes told you that. "I-I just-" You turned towards the kitchen, heart hammering with a steady thud in your ears.

"I, uh, I made hot toddies." You swallowed your hammering heart. "Why don't you- I mean, if you want one, yo-you could stay for a while. Put the kids to bed, ya know, if you don't have plans or whatever." You muttered, cringing at how juvenile you sounded. You sounded like you were back in high school, stammering the same way you had when Eddie first asked you out.

Eddie's lip curled in a small smile, running a hand over his face. "Sure." He shrugged, shedding off his worn leather jacket. "Thank you."

You shook your head gently, turning towards the kitchen, ears ringing with the dull beating of your heart, barely registering the squeals of laughter from Jude and Lucy in the other room. You ladled the steaming contents into a festive mug nearly robotically, brain numb with the same swirling thoughts that made you feel like you were underwater- washing away in the strong current of your own mind.

Your slippers felt like weights, dragging your body across the hardwood floor towards the living room, passing Eddie the steaming cup. His hand brushed yours, sending your system flooded with electric excitement.

As you settled back into the cushions, your body relaxed- just for a moment. The kids were squealing, babbling and giggling about their afternoon with Papa. Rudolph still playing lowly in the background. Eddie next to you, sipping out of his mug. For a moment, the lights strung on the tree felt brighter, warmer.

For a moment, it felt like home again.

That sickening realization had your stomach lurching, pulling you back into the cruel reality that none of this was permanent. Eddie, the lights, the happiness- it was all temporary. It would be gone tomorrow.

You wished it wouldn't.

Your mind at war with itself, filled with conflict and regret as you tried to mask it, giving fake grins and exaggerated coos that half heartedly passed for truthful.

"They're finally asleep." Eddie's voice had you jumping, the mug slipping through your hands into the sudsy water.

You turned, chin hooking over your shoulder to face him. "You were probably right. All that candy wasn't the best idea." Eddie gave a tight grin, his eyes sparkling dully, just enough to have your heart skipping. "They got even more at Wayne's too."

"I told you," You sighed softly, a playful hum in your tone. Still, it wasn't convincing enough, not for Eddie.

Eddie frowned behind you. "What's goin' on with you?" He didn't miss the way your spine went rigid.

"What?" You voice pitched, high like it was when you were lying- when you were hiding something. That hadn't changed since high school.

"Don't- c'mon." Eddie gave a soft huff, accompanied by an eye roll. "Just tell me what's goin' on."

"Nothing's goin' on-"

"-Don't lie to me." Eddie scoffed, shaking his head. "I've known you too long. You think you can lie to me and I won't know? Please."

Your lips tugged in a smile you tried to hide, turning back towards the dishes you were finishing up. Eddie moved beside you, hip leaning on the counter next to you.

"What's on your mind, baby?" His voice was so gentle- you hated that it was exactly what you needed, that he knew it was exactly what you needed.

You swallowed the ever growing lump in your throat, fighting the swell of tears that was already forming.

"Hey, c'mon, sweetheart," Eddie's hand pressed to your cheek, cupping it sweetly, his rings pressed to your skin. "Talk t'me, baby. What's goin' on?"

"Nothing." Your voice was as strained as the words you struggled to get out.

"Baby," Eddie eyed you playfully. "I know we're not together anymore, but I still know you and you can- what's wrong?" He froze, his hold going rigid at the first shake- a tremble of emotion that was a telltale sign you were about to break.

"Did I say something? I was just- hey, don't cry. Don't cry." Eddie cooed, gathering your face in his hands, pulling you towards him.

Your lip trembled, biting back a sob that tore its way through anyways, vision flooding with tears that built on your waterline.

"Is this- Is this about Trina? Because I didn't- Nothing happened, we just went out. Well, I mean, she kissed me, but I didn't- I really didn't-" Eddie's voice rose in panic, rambling, frantic at the watery sob you let out.

"Please, hey, please don't cry? I'm not- fuck, baby, I didn't- I thought it would be ok, be-because you'd been on a few dates, and I thought it would be a good thing."

"It is." You blubbered, sniffling wetly, wiping your eyes with the back of your rolled pajama tops.

"Then why are you crying?" Eddie frowned lightly, pads of his thumbs wiping over the apples of your wet cheeks catching your tears.

"I just..." Your eyes pinched shut, jaw clenching to keep in another sob. How could you tell him? You couldn't. You knew you couldn't, even though you wanted to so badly.

"Just what?" Eddie's voice dropped. "Tell me."

He could feel your trembling breath, his own heart squeezing with constricting fear before you spoke.

"I just... I miss this." Your voice cracked, eyes squeezing shut. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bring yourself to see his reaction.

"I-I didn't know how much I would miss just... just us all being together, and I really fuckin' miss it, and I think," Your breath hitched, heart stilling entirely with hesitant fear.

Eddie held his own breath, eyes wide, looking at you with a wild gaze like he knew what you were going to say.

"I think," You swallowed around your words, strangled in your throat. "I... I made a mistake."

Eddie's heart leapt so fiercely he thought it tore through his rib cage. His body eerily still, unable to move.

"I didn't know you going out with someone else w-would make me feel... this bad, and," Your eyes shone, the strung lights in the kitchen catching in your tears. "And I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too." Eddie's lungs constricted with those words, feeling breathless and light headed.

"I don't like spending the holidays without you." Your voice squeaked, teary and upset, face crumbling with the admission you'd been holding in for too long. "I don't- I don't like being without you, an-and I think I made a really bad mistake and I-I'm sorry, Eddie, I'm so-o sorry-"

Your teary face pressed to the soft material of his t-shirt, your cry muffled into his chest. Eddie held you close to him, as tight as he could, his own head spinning now.

He'd dreamt of this, longed for this moment since you'd fist served him the papers. The day had finally come, one he thought he'd only see in his head- you coming back to him, taking it back, taking him back.

Only it didn't feel as triumphant as it did in his head.

Not with you sobbing into his arms. Not with his head spinning so fiercely he thought he might still be dreaming.

"It's alright," Eddie soothed nearly robotically, staring ahead out the window towards the darkened street as he soothed your sobbing apologies. "We'll- We'll figure it out, baby. We'll be alright."

Every time you both felt like you found your footing, finally on stable ground, you were back here- falling with horror back into uncertainty.

Even as Eddie held you in the kitchen, or later when he slipped into bed with you, both of you whispering and sniffly under the sheets, it wasn't new but it wasn't the same as it was before.

You weren't sure if it would ever be the same as it was before, if you'd ever have what you had before. Even if you replicated the same traditions, hung the tinsel in the same place, retraced your footsteps exactly as you did the year before; it would never hold the same feeling as it once did.

[unboundprompts]

Different Ways to Describe Brown Eyes

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

They had eyes like mud, perfectly matched with the frown that permanently stained their face.

Her eyes were as bright as the raging sun and the color of dancing flames.

They wore blue eyeshadow to contrast their dark brown eyes.

Her eyes were as beautiful as the leaves of trees in autumn.

His eyes were nearly black, like a void that held a lifetime of secrets.

Dirt. She had eyes like dirt. They were almost as dirty as her personality.

Their eyes reminded her of old brick libraries and vintage books.

She had the kind of eyes that made thieves wonder why they bothered to steal pieces of art.

His eyes made her think of the sandcastles she used to build as a kid.

Her eyes were the color of honey, irises swirling like the sweet nectar.

His eyes—the color of an intoxicating champagne—beckoned her over with nothing more than a wink and a smile.

Their eyes were the same color as the old oak tree their great-great-grandfather planted in the backyard.

His eyes were the same color as the bottle of liquor in his hand.

They had a smile like spring, but their eyes were autumn with a hint of passing summer.

Her dark eyes were flaked with gold.

His brown eyes had tragedy weaved behind his irises.

Brown, copper eyes that paired with the dry blood stuck to their face watched him as he stalked across the tiled floor.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

last set of tsumsitter ssr groovies 👀

THE TIME HAS COME

First is Pomefiore!! (Edit: The initial version of this Groovy is on the left; Rook is missing the golden Pomefiore markings on his robes. There was an update to fix this. The updated version is on the right.)

The trio is framed by a border of colorful lights, which reminds me a lot of old-fashioned movie theater signs (though not as colorful). If you look closely at the top and bottom, it seems they are posed for a candid photograph and it’s being posted to Magicam or something?? Rook and Epel look super crisp here, which I love!! I think Epel is posing with his hands held behind his back. This paired with his smile and the slight bird’s eye view of his face makes him look super cute please don’t beat me up for saying that, Epel. And Rook is being showy and familiar as usual, even putting one hand on Vil’s shoulder. Vil isn’t cringing or uncomfortable with it, which goes to show that he and Rook are truly good friends.

As for Vil, it’s rare to see him posed casually like this. Most of his cards feature him posed in very “model”-like and mature ways, so to have just one hand on hip, leaning forward slightly, and gripping his grimoire is unique for him (I mostly associate this pose with Ace, lol). His smile is quite casual too—it’s not quite the full catty smirk he has in his live2D model, it’s a lot more subtle and playful.

BahacTeHWWRVwkkwwm YHE VIL TSUM STeALS THE SHOW ThoUGH 😭 (You can tell it’s smiling despite the lack of a visible mouth) from how its eyes!! The placement of the Tsum is also funny. With Pomefiore’s peacock throne in the background, it forms sort of an angelic halo around… the sentient stuffed toy… Proof that Tsum Vil is a heavenly being/j

Next is Ignihyde!!

The Shroud brothers return to Cyberspace, that blue void with tons of ethereal floating screens, particle effects, and code www I don’t know what those three pink balls of flame are in the background, but there being three of them is a consistent theme for Ignihyde. Three pink fireballs, three Shroud brothers, three heads of Cerberus! I wish I could say more here, but I’m basically a Malleus when it comes to tech—

Idia’s pose isn’t anything we haven’t seen before (just at different angles of it, I suppose). But!! It feels different here and adding Ortho definitely adds to it. The Pokémon trainer energy of the initial art carries over to the Groovy. Idia looks like a smug, tough trainer looking down on you with a cocky grin and his face half-shadowed.

Ortho floats almost menacingly next to his big brother, his face entirely shadowed. His aura is like a phantom (fitting) or even like a Pokémon on standby waiting for the chance to fire off a Hyper Beam. This might be me overthinking things, but I wonder if the amount of light on the brothers’ faces references the original Ortho. Robo!Ortho’s face is entirely darkened because his parallel has passed on. Idia’s face is only partially shadowed because while he was close to stepping over to the “other side”, he ultimately found hope and was able to continue living, this time for himself and on his own terms.

I LIKE HoW TSUM IDIA HAS ITS OWN sCREEN TO WORK OFF OF TOO 😭 IBRO IS MAkING A sUS FACE TOO, IT’S GLEEfUL AbOUT WhAtEVRr it’S UP TO… That makes me think that it’s hard at work… I dunno, hacking something systems fnksgwiwozlapaeb Watch out, a Tsum near you might infect your computer and then bounce away happily after ruining all your programs and files.

Last but not least… Diasomnia!! THIS ONE’S MY fAVORITE OF THE SSR TSUMSITTER GROUP, WHICH I WAs NOT EXPecTING AT ALL 🤡

The violet backlight is fantastic—it adds an interesting lighting to the illustration and highlights the green flames and Silver and Sebek’s bright eyes. And speaking of Sebek and Silver, LOOK AT THEM JUST LOOK AT THEM???????? More specifically, Sebek’s arms (they look ultra meaty somehow) and Silver’s whole face(that lopsided smile??? HELLO?????)!! On either side of Malleus like that… Peak bodyguard, I REPEAT, PEAK BODYGUARD

With Lilia bringing up the rear, the three form a perfect squad to surround and to protect their liege. cbsjsbevejwlw I like that Lilia is different than Silver and Sebek; he’s hanging out upside down (as he usually does) and bears a huuuge grin, completely having fun in the moment. (… How does his hat stay on like that when he’s fighting gravity though?)

Up front and center is Malleus of course! He’s wielding his spindle staff like a king might a scepter. This with his fierce face gives the impression of a leader marching into battle with his retainers. You get a real good shot of his teeth and reptilian eyes here which I’m sure the Malleus stans are going feral for right now—and with the limelight shining down on him, he looks almost hopeful for once instead of downtrodden or gloomy.

THE TSUM MALLEUS LOOKS SO FUNKY PLACED tHERE cnsnwveuxvDFsFjqk Just. Cheekily There on Malleus’s shoulder… Because Maleficent and Diablo is a known combination, the image of those two as master and minion comes to mind. Imagine Malleus blasting you with lightning, pausing to listen to his Tsum whispering a suggestion into his ear, and then telling you the Tsum has advised that he blast you with a second strike 💀

Aaaaaah, the Tsumsitter SSR Groovies are some of the best in this game 😭 So glad they’re finally over though, it’s stressful saving rolls for what you know would be a limited event with multiple SSR banners, lol

[merakijinx]

A Gift from the Heart (toxicgf!Jinx) ｡𖦹°‧

Summary: It’s Christmas night, and Jinx gifted something special for you! However, your reaction wasn’t up to her standards..

Word count: 1.3k

(a/n at the end)

wlw

You were sitting on the floor next to Jinx’s workbench, hands over your eyes, when you heard a heavy thud land in front of you. “Open your eyes!” Your girlfriend’s voice rang out excitedly, and her cheerful expression matched her tone when you lowered your hands to see your blue-haired girl.

In front of you lay a cardboard box painted in red with a green bow running along the sides, and tied neatly on the top. “Wow, Jinx! What’s this? Looks so cute,” you said, giggling as you brought it closer to you.

“Open it and find out, toots,” Jinx responded, scooting closer to you so she could watch you closely unwrap her present.

“Okay..” You chuckled at her eagerness to watch you open the gift, not keeping her waiting any longer. You tugged on the green ribbon, letting it fall loose to the floor. When you took off the lid, there was a device that lay inside.

You took it out to examine it further, and recognized that it was a… sort of contraption where the center looked like it was altered (Ripped out and stuck in) to fit a mini-figurine of you and Jinx holding hands, rotating together within a ring of sparklers, like a music box.

“Jinx, this is so cute! What is it?” You asked, stifling a laugh at how chaotic the device looked. “It’s a Valdiani. Of us,” Jinx answered, her voice strained as she observed your reaction, chuckling nervously. “You like it?”

You leaned close to her with a hand cupping her face, and brought her cheek closer to plant a kiss. “I do. Thank you so much,” you said softly, then pulled away to tuck the device under the tree.

Jinx looked at you in confusion when you suddenly stood up and walked toward her couch, ending gift-giving time just like that. “So what do you say about watching a Christmas movie before we go to bed? I heard Carol’s a good one,” you said while walking on the propellor.

Her eyes shifted to the gift she got you, just sitting there underneath the Christmas tree while you were on the opposite side of the room. It was still spinning and sparkling under the fir tree. “Uh, a movie?” Jinx repeated, though her mind was elsewhere.

“Yeah, we can finish the rest of the cookies..”

Your voice drifted far away, and the other voices took over. Did you see how she reacted to your gift? She didn’t even like it!

She liked it, but she didn’t say she loved it.

The gift was too messy, she probably thought you half-assed it. She hates it.

How could you mess up a Christmas gift?

When you turned back around, Jinx was still sitting on the floor, spacing out into the void below. “Jinx?” You called out, but she didn’t respond. “Jinx..!” You repeated a little louder, and she snapped out of her trance. “Y-yeah, coming!” Jinx stood up and quickly walked over to you. It was Christmas, she wouldn’t let them ruin this night.

She brushed past you and slumped onto the couch, trying to play off her near panic attack l earlier. You crept up next to her, leaning yourself against her slowly to ease up the both of you. “Hey, you alright?” You asked gently. You could subtly feel her cold sweat, and she didn’t respond for a minute.

“What do you think of my gift?” She finally asked. “Your gift? I think it’s nice,” you replied simply. It was a nice gift, it was cute, simple, and meaningful.

“Just nice? Did you not like it?” You heard a hint of defensiveness in her tone now, and felt, too, the way she tensed up beneath your touch.

“No, I did like it-! I do,” you assured her, sitting back upright to face her directly.

For some reason, your withdrawal from Jinx just fueled her anxiety more. Why did you pull away? Are you fighting her now? No, Jinx, look at the bigger picture..

“You do,” She repeated, suspicious. “Then why did you just… you know, brush it off? Sweep it under the rug, or… Christmas tree in this case..,” She rambled, eyes darting away from your gaze as she slowly started losing herself. “I mean, usually that’s the time when you’re supposed to be all happy and over the moon, thanking me!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t mean to brush it off, I really do like it. I’m sorry.” You tried calming her down with reassurance and apologies, but you weren’t sure it was working.

“I worked really hard on that, you know..,” She finally said, her voice shaking now. “It’s a real Valdiani, you should be grateful,” Jinx dramatized, shifting the blame to you now. Her pink, shimmer-infused eyes were boring into yours intensely.

“What? It wasn’t on your wishlist? Too… tacky for ya’? I poured my heart into that, you know.. Into us.. Don’t tell me you’re just gonna ignore that? Gonna ignore that and… hurt me again,” Jinx ranted, inching away from you and curling herself into a ball. She was glaring at you now, arms crossed at her chest like she’s guarding herself from you.

“No, Jinx, please don’t think like that. I love it, it’s a meaningful gift. I’m sorry for hurting you, I didn’t mean to,” you apologized profusely, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, to make her come back to you.

She slapped your hand away, shrieking, “Don’t do that! You’re just faking it, you’re looking at me like I’m crazy!”

In turn, she looked at you with defiance and fear— Fear of what you might do, or fear of how she’s acting, she doesn’t know.

You flinched, immediately pulling back when she pushed you away. “No- I’m sorry,” you managed to speak out softly as you watched her stand up, her hands curled into a tight fist.

“Hah, I give you my time and my-… my love and you’re gonna give me that… half-assed reaction?! My gift isn’t half-assed, I thought about it clearly!” She started raising her voice, but it was hard to tell if she was yelling at you or the ones that haunt her. Then, she looked back at you with a manic glint in her deep magenta eyes.

She placed her hand on the backrest of the couch and the other on the cushion itself, and loomed over you. “And you.. Am I not your… top one anymore? Your favorite gift out of all? Did I lose that spot, because of my tacky, not heart-felt gift?” She spat out sarcastically.

“Do you hate my gift? Is it not good enough, huh?” She looked intimidating but her voice was trembling, like you could hear the little girl seeking for your approval.

“Stop it please,” you whispered, tears building up in your eyes. “I love the gift, I love it. It’s still my favorite, you’re my girlfriend,” you tried to convince her. “It’s a pretty, meaningful gift. I mean, it’s a r-real Valdiani, isn’t that cool?” It was strenuous to smile through the worry and pain, but you would do anything to keep her by your side. Jinx can be terrifying, she could kill you at any time, but you love her, and you won’t let go.

It wasn’t your words that brought her back to reality, it was seeing the tears stream down your cheeks. The desperation and resilience on your face broke her, the walls she tried to build up crumbled completely, and she dropped to her knees before you.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, hands roaming your face like she was grounding herself with your presence. If there was anything she hated more than getting hurt by her loved ones, it was hurting those she loves the most. An angel like you shouldn’t be crying, and it shouldn’t be at her hands.

“Please don’t cry. You won’t leave me, right? I wasn’t being me,” she continued, now crying with you in regret of how she acted out.

“I’m sorry, babe. I lashed out, I’m sorry for ruining this night.. Please forgive me, doll. I was acting stupid, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Let’s just forget about this, okay?”

｡𖦹°‧

This is also my first time writing a fanfic with toxic Jinx, so I hope it was okay and notttt overboard.. I wrote this at like midnight so when I’m awake & sober I’ll probably be embarrassed at this fic

Took inspo from a headcanon where Jinx would overthink if you didn’t “like” her gift enough.

[cultven]

Hi!

I was wondering if you can do a Deadpool x reader x Wolverine fic where reader is like very shy. They find her in the void with the other hero’s from the resistance. They both are immediately smitten but since they both are pretty loud and bickering a lot, it makes the reader nervous. Maybe once they win the fight against Cassandra Nova, the two of them confess to her at Wade’s apartment.

Hope you having a wonderful day/night

No pressure or rush

-W.P 💚

Founded Love

Deadpool X Reader X Wolverine

Content: Some cursing, Deadpool’s humor, Wolverine being so done with Wade lol, Self-conscious Deadpool

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Spoilers for Deadpool 3

a/n: First request done! Hopefully, you like it, I tried following the best I could. The reader may seem a little more timid than shy, however.

You were walking around the ruins of The Void, kicking away the dirt and small rocks that lay in your path. Despite always being on edge, you’ve found yourself at peace with your life in The Void. As long as you stayed away from Cassandra Nova and kept to yourself things were just fine. You had even found a family of your own in The Void, superheroes like yourself who were forgotten with time. It wasn’t the life you had imagined for yourself as a child, but you were happy all things considered. As you stumbled around the woods not looking for anything in particular when your eyes spot a blue minivan in the distance. 

You hum to yourself in confusion, taking in the state of the vehicle. It was battered and bloody, the liquid still visibly fresh. It looked a hell of a lot like Nicepool’s car, another trashed variant that lived in The Void. You hoped it wasn’t his car, he always seemed kind enough, hence his not-so-creative name, and you didn’t want any trouble finding the man. Besides, Nicepool was one of the only other people in The Void besides your family you could comfortably talk to. You have always been the shy type, even back in your everyday life in the real world. Casual conversation didn’t come naturally to you, leading you to feel incredibly awkward most times. You were never fond of most other people anyway, so your reserved nature didn’t bother you. 

As you shuffled closer to Betsy, you remember Nicepool always insisting you call the car by her name, you catch a glimpse of two people. The first was notably tied up in various seatbelts, seemingly asleep. He was another Deadpool variant, thankfully not your befriended one, and was bloodied similar to the car. The second man was a Wolverine variant, something that isn’t usually seen in The Void and was also quite beaten. By the looks of it, they had a pretty hefty fight and weren’t going to join consciousness anytime soon. Making a swift decision on what to do with the newfound characters you sigh and try to start up the car, planning on taking them back to your crew.

Much to your surprise, the car runs quite well considering the damage it’s withheld. The drive back to your hideout was quiet with some soft snoring from the back seat. Some music would have been nice but you didn’t want the pair waking up before you got them to the rest of your family. You could handle the transportation, but the questioning was something better fitted for Elektra or Eric. Eventually, you turn the car and park it next to the house you have been calling home for almost a year now. You debated bringing the two men inside by yourself before quickly realizing there was no way in hell you’d be able to move their large figures. 

“Guys, I’m back.” You quietly announced walking through the door. You saw Remy and Laura sitting at a table playing cards while Elektra was making some sort of food in the kitchen. 

“Hey, glad to see you made it back ok.” Elektra smiled, plating five portions of her cooking. “Did you see Johnny while you were out there?” 

“Nah, unfortunately not. But, I did find some new guys. A Deadpool and a Wolverine.” That caught everyone’s attention, especially Laura’s. You and her were quite close which led her to entrust you with her past, most importantly the bits of Logan. You felt uneasy with all the attention now suddenly on you, but continue your thoughts with fiddling fingers. “They’re, um, in a car unconscious just outside the house. I drove them here. I probably can’t move them inside so…” You let your stream of thoughts trail off, noticing Remy stand up from his space at the table. 

“I’ll go get them, eh?” His accent never failed to amuse you, causing you to smile and nod at the man as he went out the door. Blade soon entered the room and began talking with the others, speculating what the hell was going on with the two men outside. You took this as an opportunity to hide away in your room, allowing yourself to decompress after everything. 

After some rustling outside your room, it eventually quieted, likely meaning the two men were still asleep and the others wanted to give them space. You took this as an opportunity to sneak around to the kitchen, the starvation of not eating all day finally catching up to you. As you tiptoe down the hallway and past the living room you hear an inaudible grumble. Turning your head slightly you see the Wolverine stir. Not realizing you had completely stopped to stare at the man, his narrow eyes met yours with a questioning glance. 

“What the hell are you looking at? Where are we?” His accusatory tone and spew of questions caused you to become flustered. You begin to tap your foot on the floor, a nervous tick you’ve developed over time. 

Realizing you have yet to answer his questions you spoke up, “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were awake. Or I guess you just kinda woke up, huh?” You get out an awkward laugh, avoiding eye contact. You hated this with everything in your body. “I, uh, found you guys in that old banged-up car so I called for backup to take you here just to make sure you guys were alright.” When you didn’t get a response you turned back to the Wolverine who was previously throwing questions at you to find him much calmer now. Maybe he finally gauged that you weren’t a threat to him, and even if you were he could easily take you down. You find his eyes scanning your body and finally meet your eyes, causing you to shrink. His frown lines were less prominent than before, adorning a more relaxed expression. 

“Mhm, well thanks for that then.” It wasn’t the kindest thank you in the world, but it was nice he was at least a little grateful for your efforts. As you watched him examine the room you took in his appearance. He adorned the iconic Wolverine suit, the one that Laura insisted her Logan never wore, so it’s likely that this isn’t her Logan, but you figured that much considering ghosts didn’t make it to The Void. He seemed to have a permanent frown on his face, which oddly suited him. There were small tufts of hair on the top of his head, ones that resembled ears. It was cute. Little did you know, when you finally turned away from admiring the man he took his own turn to take you in. You could tell there wasn’t a version of you in his world, but he still felt comforted by your presence in an odd way. Perhaps it was because you saved him and his stupid sidekick. No matter the reason, the gentle look on your face when you hadn’t realized he was awake yet was enough to draw him towards you. 

“What’s your name?” He wanted the conversation to continue and was becoming increasingly interested in you. 

“Y/N. I already know yours, you’re the notorious Wolverine. Also known as Logan.” He seemed shocked you knew his real name, especially by the disregard of how you said it. Noticing his reaction you hastily begin explaining yourself. “Well uh, it’s just Laura told me, if you even know who that is, um I’m not sure if you have her in your universe.” Your speech comes out in an anxious jumble, before deciding just to shut your mouth altogether, wanting to hide away. Wolverine chuckled to himself slightly, finding your skittish behavior quite endearing.  

You felt yourself blushing, wanting to hide from the strong eyes following your figure. Just as you were about to mumble out an excuse to leave the room Logan responded to your earlier ramble, “I’m not sure what all that means bub, but thanks for letting us crash here.” You watched him take in the room, mostly staring at Remy’s impressive stash of alcohol. He stood up from his place and chose a bottle of booze to open and take a swig. You knew Remy wouldn’t appreciate this action, but you were too shy to speak up about it. 

“Yeah, of course.” You rocked back and forth on your feet, something Wolverine took notice of. The whole time you spoke to him he picked up on your small fidgets and mannerisms. Despite finding them precious he didn’t want you to feel so nervous while talking to him, he wasn’t all that scary. Besides, he doesn’t hurt people without reason. “Was that Nicepool’s car you were in?” Before Wolverine had the chance to open his mouth a loud gasp followed by “Thor!” is heard from the bed. Upon seeing the Deadpool variant spring up from his sleeping position you hide yourself half behind the wall. Other than Nicepool all of the other Deadpools you have encountered were aggressive to say the least. But if this one was traveling with the nice Wolverine then maybe he couldn’t be so bad? 

Noticing your caution Wolverine decided to speak up, “Morning, jackass.” 

“Well, good morning to you too, honey bear.” Deadpool took in their surroundings before settling his gaze on you. “I see a beautiful woman has kidnapped us. Not how I was planning for this trip to go, but this could be a pretty hot porn set-up.” You could practically hear the smirk oozing from his speech. Maybe not an aggressive Deadpool, but it didn’t make him any less intimidating. 

You didn’t know what to say, so Wolverine said what you were practically thinking. “Shut the fuck up, asshole. She helped us here and now you’re creeping her out.” He took a swig before slightly positioning himself between you and the Deadpool. 

“I’m not the one with a permanent scowl! You look like the stereotypical villain of every cartoon.” Deadpool stands up before sauntering his way over to you. “What’s your name, pretty little thing.” 

“Y/N.” You managed to squeak out, ready to go lock yourself in your room forever. All of the sudden attention made you increasingly nervous. Deadpool just patted your head and looked over at Wolverine. 

“Dibs on this lovely lady.” He began smushing your cheeks like you were a child. He was quite the character, oddly charming in his weird ways, although you were getting overwhelmed with the physical touch. “I would be okay with sharing with you though Wolvie. Maybe divorced parents' style, I get weekdays and you every other weekend, hm?”

Wolverine growled, “She’s not an object, dipshit.” He pulled Deadpool off of you, clutching the fabric of his suit in his hand. As they begin to argue over you, you feel yourself shrink. Their booming voices and increasingly violent demeanors made you nervous, wanting to flee from the scene as soon as possible. Noticing their attentions were solely on each other you took the chance to sneak out of the room and back into the oasis that is your bedroom. You enjoyed the conversation you had with Logan, but once Deadpool woke up it was clear the two characters didn’t seem to mix well. Once they were caught in each other’s warpath it was like you weren’t even there anymore. 

You heard them eventually quiet, likely realizing you had left the scene a while ago. The arguing also caught the attention of the rest of your roommates, who were all very curious to see what the deal of the two new arrivals was. You opted to stay in your bedroom and listen to some music to help calm you down. As much as you loved your found family, large crowds were still unnerving. As it got later in the night you quickly realized that you couldn’t hide out forever, needing to eat as humans do, so you snuck out of your room. Luckily it seemed everyone had retired for the night early. It was odd considering the new arrivals but maybe they all wore each other out. 

Walking into the kitchen you notice another figure already standing at the toaster, patiently waiting for his food to pop up. “Hey, cutie.” The man in red purred, wiggling his fingers in your direction. 

“Is your whole personality just being a creep?” You half-joked, grabbing a box of cereal. You typically wouldn’t say things like this is strangers, but you could tell that this was certainly Deadpool’s type of humor. He seemed to appreciate the joke as he only giggled at the comment. 

“Maybe.” He said, playfully dragging out the E at the end. You just roll your eyes in return before fixing yourself a bowl of cereal and sitting at the counter, back turned towards him. Realizing that the conversation was over you heard an uncharacteristic sigh from the mercenary. “Sorry for kind of ambushing you there earlier. It’s just fun to watch Wolverine get his panties in a twist. He was sooo flirting with you back there.” It seemed he genuinely felt bad for making you uncomfortable back there, which was sweet. However, his one comment stuck about flirting. There was no way, right?

“I don’t know, it seemed like a normal conversation to me.” You shrugged despite feeling your entire body heat up at the suggestion. 

“Maybe he wasn’t flirting with his words, but he was definitely flirting with his eyes.” Deadpool moved back into your line of vision, waving his hand in front of your eyes. “Just know I’m batting my eyelashes under the mask right now.” You must say, despite the sheer amount of annoyance this man can bring, he is quite funny. 

Giving in to the stupidity you don’t hold back your small laugh, which plainly pleased Deadpool across from you. “Where is Wolverine now anyway?” It was strange to see the two apart seeing as you found them together. 

“He’s talking to your feisty friend out there.” You could tell right away he was referring to Laura. It made sense why they would be talking. You wonder if he had a Laura in his timeline. Suddenly you heard the pop of a toaster and Deadpool’s demeanor pop up. “Oh, fuck yes!” He clapped vigorously before reaching into the toaster and pulling out a freshly made Pop-Tart. 

“Hey! Is that my last Pop-tart?” You question, eyeing the familiar-looking treat. 

“How mad would you be if I said yes?” Deadpool looked at you with fake innocence. 

“Very.”

“Then, no.” He patted your head once more before situating himself across from you, Pop-tart on a plate. You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance. It was strange to find yourself so comfortable with the man in such a short amount of time. Admittedly, you felt this way about both of the new arrivals. They were quite friendly, to you at least, and were easy to talk to. You were grateful you stumbled upon them in those woods, and they seemed to feel the same way. 

“Did you hear about the plan for tomorrow?” Deadpool questioned. Your downcasted eyes looked up in confusion. 

“Plan?”

“Yup, we’re gonna rock Cassandra’s shit tomorrow,” Deadpool said with a grin. “Can’t wait to see the look on that egghead’s face when she realizes she got fucked by a Looney Toons squad.” You just shook your head, smiling a bit before noticing the plate still soundly sat in front of the man. 

“Hey, your Poptart is getting cold.”

“Shit! Cold Pop-tarts are the worst.” He groaned, throwing his head back. “I guess I was just too distracted by your beauty to notice, among other things.” He makes motions with his hands around his chest. He’s talking about your boobs, classy. 

“Yeah, yeah.” You just giggled. “Eat you idiot.” Deadpool grinned under his mask before looking down at the plate. He seemed hesitant about something, but you didn’t know what. It was only a Pop-tart, all he had to do was lift his mask and eat it. Speaking of which, you actually can’t recall ever seeing him without his mask. 

“I might actually take this one to go, baby girl. Don’t wanna ruin your appetite.” He motions to his mask before nodding his head and turning to skip out of the room. 

“Hey, wait!” You’ve seen some pretty nasty stuff in The Void, surely it couldn’t be that bad. “Eat here, with me. I’d appreciate the company.” Seeing you want him to stay Deadpool couldn’t just dent you, so he conceded and sat himself back down. Tentative fingers made their way to his mask, pulling it up only slightly. Under you get a glimpse of scar tissue, textured and wrinkled. After taking notice of your lack of reaction he continues slowly, his prominent cheekbones revealed, and then his dark brown eyes. Finally, his mask is completely off, revealing a bald head underneath. You admit it wasn’t what you were expecting, but it wasn’t horrible in the slightest. 

“You grossed out yet?” He asked with a forced-sounding laugh. His appearance was clearly a sore subject for him. 

“Not at all.” You smiled at him. “You made it seem like your face was going to be melting off or something.”

“Eh, it kinda is.” By the tone of his voice, you assumed you put the man in much better spirits.

“Well, I still think you look quite charming.” Surprise painted Deadpool’s face, and then a face of appreciation. Not many people thought he was good-looking with his deformation, he constantly got berated for it, joking and not. He ended up using his humor to seal the pain, it was a nice break to have someone see him other than his skin. “Besides, I know it’s not the same but I had like major acne as a teen, so my skin was basically as bad as yours.” 

“Probably worse if I had to guess, them hormones be crazy girl.” Deadpool had a wide smile before biting into the, now freezing cold, Pop-tart. Gross. You two sat and talked, picking away at your respective meals before Deadpool, who you learned was named Wade, suggested you both head to bed. Claiming you need your energy for tomorrow because he’d hate to see you skinned and popped like a bloody zit, his words, not yours. 

He already ran off somewhere when you were taking the trash out. As you hauled the giant trash bag behind you, a person grazed your shoulder. “You know tomorrow is a suicide mission, right?” The gruff voice from earlier, Wolverine. He sounded concerned. 

“We’ve been her prisoners for so long, it’s about time we did something for ourselves.” Wolverine seemed to accept your answer with a curt nod, turning away so you couldn’t see the worry etched in his face. 

“Just be careful, bub.” That was all he said before walking inside, leaving the door slightly open for you once you’re done. 

To put it bluntly, the mission was a success. Logan did end up assisting you and your family in effectively taking down Cassandra. This was not surprising to you, despite his rough demeanor you could tell he’s a caring person on the inside, he just doesn’t know how to verbalize it well. What you didn’t expect, however, was to be pulled into the portal with Logan and Wade, transporting you back to Wade’s dimension. This was where you took down Cassandra for good this time, watching Wade and Logan heroically sacrifice themselves for Wade’s loved ones. It was heartwarmingly sweet and incredibly anxiety-inducing. But you all made it, not without a few scratches but regeneration came in clutch. What you were most grateful for was learning the rest of your family got to return to their timelines, something you had all longed for for so long. 

After the chaos, you and Logan figured you had nothing in your old worlds and decided to stay in Wade’s timeline. He graciously offered you a place in his apartment and, after sleeping on a not-so-comfortable couch for months, you finally saved enough money to rent your own apartment which was conveniently next door. This meant the three of you hung out all the time, whether it was an ambush hang-out or a planned movie night. Wade’s family became yours and you were happy.   

“Wade! Don’t burn the popcorn this time!” You yelled from across the room, feeling entirely comfortable in the company of your peers. 

“Please. I can’t handle the burnt smell any longer. It’s a miracle you haven’t burned this place to the ground yet.” Logan grumbled, resting his arm around you. 

“I’m wounded, you guys think I’m that horrible at making such a simple dish.” As if on cue, smoke begins to ooze out of the microwave. “No! Not towards the smoke alarm not again!” He rushed over, hastily fishing the bag out, and dropped it as it burnt his hand. Quickly putting it in a bowl he hops over the back of the couch you settle on your other side, offering the bowl to Logan. 

“I’m not eating your fucking popcorn ash.” Logan mumbles, still looking for a suitable movie. 

“More for me and cutie over here then.” Wade smiles, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth and instantly regretting it, resisting the urge to spit out the popcorn. “Mhm, delicious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” Logan berates as you just giggle. After much bickering, mostly between Logan and Wade, you finally settle on a movie, The Proposal. Halfway through Wade unexpectedly turns in your direction. 

“You know, I’m really happy you found us gutted in that shitty excuse for a car.” It was sweet, in Wade’s own way. 

“Me too, bub,” Logan says, squeezing your shoulder where his arm still rests around you. You look between the both of them and smile brightly. 

“I’m the happiest, I got to meet you guys. You really broke me out of my shell, you know that?” You squeezed Wade’s hand while patting Logan’s thigh. You truly were grateful for them, the other group may have been your family but these two felt different, even closer in a way. “I don’t think I ever want to leave.” 

“We’re glad,” Wade says sweetly before frantically shushing both you and Logan as his favorite part of the movie begins your play. The rest of the night is spent in comfortable silence, much to your surprise with Wade, as the three of you cuddle closely on the couch, thanking the universe for connecting you. 

[suguru-getos]

-> happy birthday toru 💗

this is mostly a very personal concept to me but i just love the idea of this. happy birthday to the loml satoru <3 and to @literallythestrongestever my angel my baby 🥹🥹

this drabble contains violence, and abuse, and a lot of healing and comfort after. it takes you through a journey of the reader accidentally switching and shifting in realities from her toxic, abusive and psychotic husband gojo to the one she lives in currently.

the squelching sound of a stabbing wound, how it feels as if you were witnessing it first hand. as if you were in the depths of hell. a man you don’t know, gutted you. the pain— why isn’t it paining— is she already dead? why isn’t the ache registering into the marrow of her bones, the essence of her soul.

no— wait! it’s satoru— he looks different, wait— where is she again? the scenaries change faster than her mind can process. overwhelmed, brain begging for mercy. satoru— yes, her husband— yes— gojo satoru— why are there so many lights— focus, she needs to focus. it feels like death, it feels like drowning in an endless dark trench of nothing. a black hole sucking her life, scraping her marrow with a spoon as she watches from outside.

sounds— spoons tinkling, smell— the smell of kikufuku, the sound of nails against a board. make it stop— satoru?

satoru…

satoru gojo…

yes, yes, he will… he will ground her. he has to, he said he will. he’s going to no matter what. yes, she should-

satoru is sitting next to her, watching her keen eyed as she wakes up from a long, disturbing, forced slumber of mind amputation. humans shouldn’t be forced to the infinite void. he knows that. but she — she’s so fierce & she’s so strong she doesn’t bend to his will. and sometimes it’s better she just shuts up. for good… not with death though, he can’t see her die. he can’t see her live either…

there is a sickening guilt that eats away at his thumping heart, when her eyes meet his, the life beneath them needs searching. buried deep. and his icy blue eyes hate the sight. he hates what she makes him… “i am so sorry, babycakes… i didn’t mean to get mad.”

when people get mad, they yell, they scream, they— depict in ways which are human. how is an honoured one supposed to depict he’s angry, disappointed…. the consequences wouldn’t be so humanly either. she wonders why are there consequences even? isn’t love all about acceptance? isn’t that why she married him…

the next thing she remembers is something that makes her scream in agony, vocal chords strained from the trauma of it all. satoru couldn’t let her get away with trying to escape now. no one could help her. especially when he has ao, aka, kyoshki murasaki at disposal. or maybe he just needs to hold her tighter, watch the audacity crumble right with her bones. fragile & weak, human, delicate….

his eyes, always expressive, show no signs of remorse, or relent. “what? can’t face the consequences after what you do?” why does she dare to run— and challenge— and go against him, the god? gods don’t punish with a slap across the cheek now do they?

she knew, whatever their souls were made of, satoru’s soul didn’t belong to her. “i would be gouging your eye out, an eye for an eye. hmm? don’t you think it’s fitting since you want to hurt me by wanting to die?” the scene shifts, that’s all her life has become. a series of scenes… of shifts… until one day, she did choose death. chose to beat the hollow purple and the infinite void and everything else that comes with it if she were to escape.

watching the blood drain out of her body, with such an eager desperation & passion to lose herself. the sense of what made her alive. the heart. the stupid heart that fell for satoru gojo.

it felt like the sweetest slumber, the one that lulls you into silence when you sip on a little sangria, or when you eat something sweet. or when you live in a world without worries.

only… when she woke up, something had changed. she was in a different room. shit—

“hey- fuck she’s awake!” her heart sinks, the melted honey like voice was much too familar. she glanced over the man, who was grinning ear to ear. the deep, rubble akin chuckle escapes from his parted, beautiful lips. “champion really!”

satoru hates that this girl he doesn’t even know, but saved from a curse — looks so akin to wilted petals…. meanwhile, she doesn’t know where she is, this reality feels different, something intangible about it. to him, she looks around. pursing her lips, eyeing satoru’s fingers for the familiar marriage band, eyeing hers… she doesn’t have it either.

“my name is gojo satoru.” he spoke again, watching her flinch. yes, yes, she knows. she has brandings of satoru in several forms in her body, in her psyche. “i am… y/n.” she mumbles, she doesn’t know if this is just a plot by satoru to pretend that nothing happened.

“are you married?” the next question takes the man off guard. there was no sense of anticipation behind those eyes— just, dread. “jeez i know i’m pretty!” he giggled, headpatting her gently. “nope, single as a pringle. but don’t worry, we could go on a date once you get better pretty girl.” that was smooth, very unlike her satoru… there was no pressure she felt.

maybe she was choosing a familiar hell than an unfamiliar heaven all over again. maybe she’s dying and these are the last few memories in her head. her eyes are heavy again, this time satoru holds her hand. the touch so different, it’s satoru… but it’s different. “sshh~ it’s okay, go to sleep.” his voice balms.

and she’s awake again… definitely not dead… “i don’t know why i’m keeping a watch over you honestly.” he hums, the eyebags visible from strain. he doesn’t look like he has slept in days. “but i want to.” he expresses. and like it was second nature to her, a fool’s nature— the nature of a broken heart of being the more loving one, the words just come out in a silent plea. a desperate attempt of an abused child to apologize hoping there wouldn’t be any consequences. “sorry— m’ just a bother— toru.”

satoru has never heard anyone call him toru. the gentle tone, the submissive venom he wants to suck out of that. “hey— i’m not complaining.” he pouts, looking at her, easing into her frantics by a smile. “besides you’re just so pretty i couldn’t keep these eyes off ya!” he doesn’t know why he’s behaving like this, women… don’t really mean much to him. he has a job, a busy schedule. he doesn’t understand how this woman he found during a mission, enclosed in a curse’s womb, is making everything stagnant.

she blinks at him like a nervous cat this time, until her tummy decides to roar and make hungry noises. the holds onto it, pouting softly, a tender flush spreading across her cheeks like butter on warm toast. “heh, s’ okay little one. what would you want to eat mhm?” satoru asks, noting that her brain didn’t have the capacity to think. maybe being enclosed in a curse does that to you. “i think.” he clicks his fingers, “you’d loveee a nice nutritious sandwich.” he croons, leaning in. again, not missing the flinch.

he is quick to lean back, the flinching hurts. it hurts like his person was harmed. it hurts like he trusted his pet with someone and found them injured later. it hurts like battery acid in his throat. “yeah?” he smiles again, just wanting her to say something.

tears sprawl across her cheeks. “m’ sorry satoru. please don’t be mad.” she says it with such conviction & confidence that satoru is mad. he isn’t. he would never be… she says it like she knows him. “hey— sweetheart, what’s your name?” he knows it’s too much, too soon— but his hands feel like they’re corroding in acid and she’s the only thing that could stop it. he has to cup her cheeks softly, “i’m not mad at you, why’d i be mad at you?”

she doesn’t answer, heart racing, a bead of sweat forming at her forehead. “satoru please-“ she wants him to stop playing with her. lips wobbling at the grief, the fear and the crumbling anxiety rising with every moment. she leans in, like a toddler hugging their caregiver if they’re caught doing something naughty to escape the consequences. clutching at satoru, bawling, again — akin to a toddler. “please toru— didn’t think- much— please it wouldn’t happen again i’m sorry—“

satoru doesn’t understand anything, and also understands something. “do you know me?” he asks, voice low, calm, careful. strong arms caging her in a tight, yet kind hug. delicate…. she’s so… fragile and delicate, like a precious ornament.

“i don’t know what’s happening—“ she exclaims, tears irritating those beautiful eyes. reddening up. “it’s okay—“ satoru coaxes again, gently rubbing her back. “you’re okay, i’m not mad at you. i would never be mad at you.”

“….i promise y/n.” that is such a big promise to keep if he wants to actually see his entire life with her. something he just decides on immediately. no questions, or doubts… or discrepancies… he knows he would keep his promise. “even if you do hurt me, i wouldn’t be mad at you.” he says it with the matching conviction of her beliefs of satoru’s rage. it calms her down. and satoru has never felt happier. he has never felt this exhilarated…. not even when he won over special grades.

one thing about satoru gojo, he always walks the talk. he means it with the heart. even when he said he would keep her happy, even when he hugs her through nights she can’t sleep, even when she repeats endlessly about what happened to her, with her. with an alienic version of him from a different reality, even when she rejects him & he lets her exist while still flooding her life with unbounding love. even when he confessed about wanting to marry her, and wanting to love her to excruciating happiness.

what’s a man ready to move mountains against trauma? an unstoppable force.

“s’ less sweet!” her five year old daughter makes a face. she is the perfect dna copy of her father. gorgeous blue eyes, silky white hair. the same gentleness with the way she treats her mommy. it’s all learnt from daddy after all.

“oh honey is it?” she tastes the cake batter, shuddering. both her daughter and her now husband have such a sweet tooth. “daddy’s birthday needs to have sweeter cakes uh nu!” she chuckles, kissing her forehead and adding a generous amount of sugar. “daddy’s gonna be so happy mama!” she gleams again, at her mother. who was nodding happily, just remembering what life used to be and what life is, now.

she married satoru again, although this time it didn’t come with insanity and violence. satoru was patient, didn’t touch her for two years, just sweet lovesick kisses and nothing else. she knew he yearned but the smile on his face would almost make her think he’s happy with just what he gets…

her phone buzzes with a call, immediately rushing and picking it up. “toru!” the gleam of her voice and the intensity of her is back.

“princess!” he whines over the phone, “i miss you soooo much oh my god—“ he hums, chuckling when she giggles, “you are just out to get candies, not even five minutes are gone—“

“i missed you!” satoru repeats again, “take me seriously i am dying here!”

“happy birthday toru, come home so i could kiss you, then you’d decide if the candy’s sweeter or the cake.”

the moments these words parted from her throat, she feels a familiar gust of wind, satoru is impatient and would teleport sportingly over shorter distances. “mm~ my lady, m’ here for the kiss.”

his hand wraps around her waist, locking her body against his. delicate… his fragile little princess. she gets on her tippy toes, brushing her lips against his with a hum, whispering gratefully. “happy birthday toru.”

“thank you, my present.”

a familiar tiny foot stomping is heard, “where’s my kissies?” their daughter tugs at daddy’s pants. satoru picks her up as if she weighs nothing, (she does not) and peppers her entire face with kisses. the sound of child like giggles fill the room, followed by the soothing aroma of baking satoru’s favorite cake.

satoru.

satoru gojo.

yes, yes, he did… he did ground her. he had to, he said he will & he did it! he’s going to no matter what. yes, she should— she should just live now. she doesn’t need to survive anymore. <3

[eroselless]

───────────────────somebody else // 5

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [3.3k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist | previously

warnings: angst, insecure reader, mentions of sex, cheesy situations, throwing up

note: idk if its because I'm almost on my period or if it was the dulcet voice of baby justin bieber singing that should be me that was serenading me but I definitely teared up a teeny writing a certain section of this lmao 

A new message comes in a few weeks later. 

Come over? 

Lando stares at the message for a long moment, debating. He knew what it meant. He knew what would happen if he went. His thumb hovers over the screen, mind racing. He’s been here before. The ache of loneliness gnaws at him, twisting in his chest. He swears he won’t go—he tells himself it’s a bad idea, that it won’t fix anything. But the emptiness, the frustration, the desperate need to feel something, anything, overwhelms him. The need to forget just for a moment, wins out.

He goes.

When he arrives at her apartment, it’s almost automatic. He knows how this will go—the small talk, the casual drinks, the inevitable drift toward her bed. He pretends it's you when he’s snapping his hips into hers. Pretending it’s your voice that calls out for him, begging him for more. When she kisses him, he tries to remember what you tasted like. Or how your skin felt under his fingertips when he grips the swells of her breasts. But even as he presses his body against hers, even as he moves with her, it’s not her he’s thinking about.

It’s you.

Every kiss, every touch, every sound—he pretends it’s you. His mind betrays him, replacing her with the memory of you. He imagines it’s your voice whispering his name, your body beneath his, your skin under his hands as he grips her. His eyes squeeze shut, hoping, just for a second, to recreate the way it felt to be with you.

He ignores her when she says his name. It doesn’t sound the same as when you said it, when it would roll so beautifully off your tongue. She’s crying his name over and over again, the same way she used to, the way that once sent heat rushing through him. Now, it falls flat, lacking the sweetness, the softness of when you had once said it. He aches for the way your name used to roll off his tongue, the way you fit perfectly with him in those fleeting moments after everything was over.

The two of them don’t move in sync the way the two of you had. Her body doesn’t react to him the way you did. She feels different around him, different on top of him and different when they lay in bed after the fact. Every time they lay in bed, breathless and silent, he finds himself staring at the ceiling. He tries to summon a memory from the back of his mind, what you had looked like in his bed the morning after the club. How you must’ve looked so at home in his bed, under his sheets with his arms wrapped around you. What your hair must’ve looked like sprawled on the pillow and how your perfume had clung to the shirt you picked out from his drawer.

But he can’t. All he could see was her—her blonde hair and blue eyes. Her voice, the slope of her nose and the valleys of her body. The wrong scent, the wrong touch. Everything about her was a stark reminder that she just wasn’t you. 

He returns to her week after week, race after race, he finds himself knocking on her door, using her to drown out the noise in his head. They fall into a rhythm, after every near-win, every frustration on the track, he lets himself fall into the same rhythm. It’s a chase for pleasure, a temporary distraction. He doesn’t know if she sees it for what it is—if she understands she’s just filling a void. She asks for more, sometimes, her eyes searching for him, and each time he brushes her off with some excuse.

“It’s not the right time,” he says. But the truth is, it’s never going to be the right time.

Eventually he relents a little, letting her come to support him at the paddock. She hangs around, filling the space you once occupied. She makes him laugh, talks with ease. She’s good at pretending everything’s fine, like this is more than it is. And for a second, as she follows him around, Lando wonders if this could’ve worked before—if, in another life, before you, this could have been enough.

But it’s not. Not anymore. Because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he tells himself this is easier, she’ll never be you.

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The door clicks behind you, the familiar sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The weight of the day settles on your shoulders as you shrug off your bag, letting it drop unceremoniously by the door. University had been draining to say the least. The endless lectures, the ever growing piles of assignments and the impending looming of exams were beginning to take their toll.

You slump into the sofa, relaxing into the fabric cushions that seem to exhale as you sink further into them. The quiet hum of the city outside your window was the only thing keeping you company. Your eyes flicker to the blank television, mind wandering to place you had been avoiding–places it always seemed to go to when you stopped moving. 

Lando. 

You hated that his name came to mind so easily, hated how it lingered so eagerly at the forefront of your mind. It had been weeks since you had left, but any glimmer of hope that the memories of him would start to face fizzled out as you kept replaying images of him in your mind. They were clear as day, as if they had only happened yesterday. And you hated it. 

You had hoped the weeks away, the build up of assignments and the weight of school would lessen the ache in your heart. But it hadn’t. If anything, it felt much sharper now. 

You pick up your phone, scrolling mindlessly through instagram and twitter. Lando’s face appeared in many photos, your algorithm all things McLaren due to your inactivity. The latest race weekend photos appeared on your feed–with her. Magui, draped on his arm, both of them with wide smiles painted on their faces. 

She was everywhere now, more than before. They had been seen together often at the paddock, her face a constant reminder of what you’d walked away from. It wasn’t just that they were together again, though—it was how natural they looked. The easy way she leaned into him, the smiles that didn’t seem forced. She seemed to be slipping into his life effortlessly, the way you once had.

Your chest tightens at the sight of them and you toss your phone onto the coffee table with more force than necessary. You couldn’t avoid seeing him—he was still everywhere, whether in race highlights or popping up on your social media feed. The image of him with Magui haunted you more than you cared to admit. A bitter cocktail of jealousy, sadness, and regret swirled inside you. 

But you had made your choice. You left. You told yourself it was for the best—that things between you and Lando were getting too complicated, too messy. And now, all you could do was cope with the aftermath.

You pull out your laptop, getting comfortable at your desk, determined to lose yourself in your studies. Exams were coming up, and you had too much on your plate to let your mind wander down that path again. The click of your keyboard echoed in the silence as you tried to focus on the assignment in front of you. But it was hard—your thoughts kept drifting back, replaying the last time you saw Lando, how it felt to leave without saying goodbye.

Before you could sink deeper into your thoughts, the sound of your phone buzzing broke through the silence. A message from one of your friends lit up the screen.

Elara: We’re going out tonight. You need a break.

You could see them all leaning over the screen waiting for your response. You sigh, thumbs hovering over the keys. It was true—you’d been drowning in work lately, barely giving yourself a moment to breathe. Still, the thought of going out, of being around people, didn’t exactly sound appealing. You weren’t in the mood for it.

You grimace as another message pops in from Seraphina. No excuses, you need to relax before you die under a textbook. 

You roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. Your friends were relentless and you knew they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Maybe they were right–-maybe you did need a little break, even if it was for just one night. 

*:・゚✧*:・゚✧

The cool night air brushed against your skin as you, Elara, and Sera stepped out of the cab and into the neon-lit streets. The bass from the club’s speakers reached your ears long before you approached the door, reverberating off the walls and seeping into your bones. The line outside buzzed with energy—laughter, shouting, and the faint clicking of heels on the pavement. Some people were already sloshed, others teetered between tipsy and sober, but inside, you knew it would be a chaotic mix of both.

For once, the madness felt like an escape, and you welcomed it.

As you stepped into the club, the thick air hit you like a wall. The scent of spilled drinks, the faint musk of sweat, and the sugary sweetness of perfume mingled together as bodies swayed and pulsed to the beat of the music. Colored lights flashed around, creating wild patterns on the walls, strobing back and forth across the packed dance floor.

“Shots first!” Seraphine shouted, tugging you through the crowd. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the pounding bass, but the gleam in her eyes told you exactly what she was planning. “You need this!”

You hesitated, glancing at the brightly colored bottles lining the bar. “I don’t know if—”

“No arguments tonight,” Elara interrupted, nudging your shoulder playfully. “You’ve been working your ass off. It’s time to have some fun. Let go for once.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine, fine. But no promises I’ll keep up.”

“Oh, you will,” Seraphine grinned, already signaling the bartender. Three shots of tequila slid in front of you, gleaming under the club lights.

“To freedom!” Seraphine declared, raising her glass. The three of you clinked your glasses together, the sound lost in the hum of the crowd, before throwing the shot back.

The first shot burned like fire, but it was a good burn. The second went down smoother, the warmth spreading through your chest and limbs. By the third, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks started to unravel. You could feel your mind start to slip away from thoughts of school, exams, and even Lando.

With each one, you feel a little lighter, the weight of the last few weeks slipping away. The buzz of alcohol begins to hum beneath your skin, making the lights seem brighter, the music louder. It's not long before your friends drag you out to the dancefloor, weaving through the  crowd until you’ve found a good spot.  

“Ready to dance?” Elara asked, already pulling you towards the dance floor.

The alcohol buzzed beneath your skin, making the lights seem brighter, the music louder. You followed your friends, weaving through the crowd until you found a good spot near the center of the dance floor.

The beat pulses through your veins, vibrating in time with your heart. You can feel the energy around you, people moving, dancing, grinding. You lose yourself in the music, letting it take over as you move against the bodies around you, your movements uninhibited and fluid.For the first time in weeks, you felt free. Completely, utterly free. The alcohol works its magic, and you dance without a care, completely weightless as you let hands wander, gripping your hips and pressing into you. You laugh with your friends, letting the music carry you away. 

The crowd pressed in close, bodies swaying in sync, and for a few hours, nothing else mattered. Your mind was blissfully blank. No thoughts of school, of assignments, of him. You were just in the moment, letting go, moving to the beat, hands sliding up and down your body as the music thrummed around you. It was intoxicating, the feeling of freedom and release. Elara joins you, while Sera finds a guy to pull close. The alcohol surges through you, the pulse of the music slowly and fleeting feeling of the alcohol grounding you. 

The energy in the room shifts. You notice it first in the way the crowd suddenly becomes animated, an uproar of excited chatter speaking through the crown like wildfire. The lights dim and a wave of anticipation washes over the dance floor. You spin around, trying to find the source, only to find yourself freezing in your tracks. 

Even under the low, flashing lights, you’d recognize his silhouette anywhere. He’s standing at the DJ booth, bouncing slightly to the music, his arms out in front of him as he adjusts the controls. His backwards hat and the white T-shirt he’s wearing glow faintly under the blacklight, making him stand out even more against the dark backdrop of the club.

Your heart sinks.

The beat of the music intensifies, building toward a crescendo as Lando moves with the rhythm, a wide smile stretching across his face. He’s in his element, commanding the energy of the room as the beat drops, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The strobe lights pulse in sync with the bass, and for a split second, the lights stop strobing, a spotlight grazing over the crowd until it lands on you.

His eyes find yours.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you stand there, the lights swirling around you. For a moment, it feels like time slows. Your hair is styled the same way it was the night this all had begun and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the way the dress clings to your frame, of how exposed you feel standing in the middle of the dance floor while he watches. His eyes twinkle with the same sparkles they had when you’d seen him the very first time.

The room around you blurs into nothing. It’s just you and him. It was the universe playing a cruel joke on you, the way he was staring up at you from above only reminded him of how you two had been the last time you were both under flashing lights. 

The noise comes crashing back in, along with reality. The pit of your stomach now feels hollow as you turn away. Seraphine and Elara remain laughing beside you, completely unaware of the turmoil inside you, but you’re too shaken to care. 

The tequila isn’t enough to drown out the storm of emotions swirling inside you. “I need another drink,” you mutter, as you wander back to the bar, Sera and Elara in tow, and order another round of shots. It’s too much—seeing him here, so carefree, so alive, and you just want the dull ache in your chest to stop.

“Maybe you should slow down,”Elara suggests, eyeing you as the bartender slides the drinks your way.

“It’s ok,” you reply, ignoring her and downing the shot without hesitation. You feel it burn its way down, numbing the edges of your thoughts. But it doesn’t help. Nothing seems to help.

The drinks keep flowing, two, three, four more shots. As you reach for a fifth, Sera’s fingers grip gently around the glass, pulling it from your grasp. “That’s enough, babe. No more for you.” she says. You nodded, barely processing her words, as she drags you back to the dance floor. You move again, trying to lose yourself in the music. 

You keep dancing, keep moving. If you stayed still for another moment, the thought of him would come back. But no matter how much you moved, his presence lingered. He was still there, lingering at the edges of your awareness.But it wasn’t working. 

The club, the freedom, the buzz–it was all fading and fast, you felt sick. 

You moved back slightly, nearly losing your balance. You stumble, the floor seemingly shifting under you–your fingers brushing against something solid. 

Lando.

 He held onto your biceps, hands holding you up as you felt the nerves in your tummy try to take your knees out. His eyes were filled with a strange mix of emotions as they met yours. 

It was awkward, heavy. You both opened your mouths, as if to say something, but the words were stuck in your throat.

"I... I’m sorry for how things ended," you finally blurted out, the alcohol making your voice slur slightly. "I didn’t mean to—"

You try to explain yourself, the alcohol still in your system allowing the words to flow out effortlessly. But before you can get too far, you can see someone approaching the two of you. 

Magui.

She appears by his side, her arms snaking possessively around his waist. She eyes his hands as they slowly come off your arms, letting you go gently. “Hey” she greets you with a saccharine smile, her voice dripping with condescension as she glances you over. You felt like a bug under the stare. You were probably sweaty, eyes bloodshot and makeup slightly smudged with sweat. She stood perfectly manicured, like a Barbie, by Lando’s side. It made sense, the way you saw it, they seemed perfect for each other. 

Before you can respond, she pulls Lando in for a kiss–a long, sloppy kiss that makes your stomach turn. You can’t look away, frozen in place as the sight of them rips through you like a knife. Her hands are pulling at his clothes, grasping at his jaw. His hand has instinctively gone to her waist, pushing her away ever so slightly, but you don’t notice that. The music suddenly feels too loud, the lights too bright, and all at once, everything comes crashing down.

She pulls away just in time for Lando to spot the tears pooling in your eyes. He can see it in your face, the way your heart is just crumbling in your chest. He’s never seen this side of you, not even in your attempts to distance yourself from him, never. It wasn’t a look he ever wanted to see again.

The knot in your stomach tightens and you feel it rising in your throat before you can stop it. The world spins as you lurch forward, expelling the contents of your stomach all over their shoes–Lando’s and Magui’s. 

The room erupts in gasps and murmurs and you stand there, mortified as Magui lets out a shriek. She moves back into Lando, shouting insults at you. Lando’s eyes are wide with shock, but you can’t bear to look at him any longer. Tears are now freely streaming down your face as Sera and Elara rush over. They grab you as the club’s security moves in. 

“We need to go,” Elara whispers urgently, her voice barely audible over the chaos.

You don’t protest. You let them drag you out, your mind spinning, your heart shattered. As you stumble out of the club, you can hear your name called out from the fading crowd. You cling onto Elara and Sera, squeezing your eyes shut as you feel another wave of nausea roll over you.

It all goes black from there. 

a/n: hey y'all this is a scheduled post, i've been so busy as of lately with school but i did my absolute best to get this out for you guys. I hope you guys liked it! as always, let me know what you guys think of it, i always love to see what you guys have to say!

tags: @bitchesbroknhearts @herexpertcollector @cabbyhabs @horseymchorse3 @bluebluesol @sltwins @sarx164 @f1fantasys @obxstiles @moonvr @spideylovin @rafeyybabyy @lipstickstateofmind

[lets-try-some-writing]

Pursued

It's Halloween night, and Rafael is more than ready to settle in for the night at base with his friends. Unfortunately, Rafael is not so lucky as to rest peacefully. Instead, something darker has plans for him.

(In honor of Halloween, enjoy a little horror story I have composed for you lovely lot. Might not be for you if you can't handle suspense.)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Lights off.” Arcee cut the power with a firm but not unkind declaration. Rafael snuggled up in his sleeping bag, smiling as the smallest of the Autobots trecked further into the base, leaving him and his friends to rest after their night of running from door to door. There had been discussions about going home for the night, but after a lot of pleading from Miko, Optimus had seen fit to let them stay, for which Rafael was more than a little grateful. He’d rather not wake up to find half his goods from the night’s rampage around town gone and likely hidden away in his siblings dressers and lunch boxes. 

Being the youngest was the worst sometimes.

“Goodnight guys.” He called out softly, earning a series of murmured replies from Miko and Jack, who both seemed far too exhausted to mutter anything coherent. Rafael smiled, contented at the sound of their breathing as it eased and slowed. 

His mind calmed, his heart slowed in its previously nervous fluttering, and before long, Rafael found himself yawning. The dark void of the base’s roof was comforting enough that the pull of sleep didn’t feel far off. He was safe, in a base filled with his friends and guarded by some of the universe’s most powerful bots. Everything was fine.

He was fine.

His eyes started to close, and as they did, a faint murmur echoed in his mind. He couldn’t make out the words, not entirely. But just before he drifted off, a single sentence rang out crystal clear, almost as if spoken by someone right by his ears.

‘I will make you regret helping them.’

Fear shot through every part of his body in one jarring sensation that sent him all but careening to his feet. The floor was cold as he stepped out of his sleeping bag, and the darkness of the base felt all the more ominous. He wasn’t tired anymore, not in the slightest. Something was wrong. He couldn’t pinpoint quite what it was, not at first.

And then he looked around.

Miko and Jack were gone. Their shoes were undisturbed, and when Rafael hurried over to touch their discarded sleeping arrangements, he found that their sleeping bags were stone cold, as if they’d not been in them for some time, if at all. He couldn’t help but clutch one of Miko’s stuffed animals, the blue bear that normally hung from her belt. As he stood and looked around, the only light that he could see came from the dim glow of Ratchet’s console. There was no sound aside from his breathing, and it only served to make Rafael clutch the bear even tighter.

“Hello? Guys?” His voice rang out eerily, only serving to have his hair stand on end rather than comfort him. There was no reply to his plea. Not a sound or a whisper. It was all… silent.

His heart raced as he looked around, double checking to be sure he was seeing things right. Was he dreaming? It didn’t feel much like a dream. The air was too chilly, and the floor was far too cold against his feet. He was no stranger to nightmares, but none of them had ever felt quite like this. Not nearly so real. 

"This... this is fine. I just need to find one of the bots.” He attempted to reassure himself, pitching his voice up a notch with faux cheerfulness even as he fumbled to grab his glasses. Once they were firmly in place, he strapped on his shoes, socks forgotten in his relative haste, and made his way to the ground. 

He did not let go of Miko’s bear.

“Ratchet? Bee?” His voice rang out in the empty base as he moved, his small feet pattering as if in mockery of his own existence. The base had always felt like a second home, but given light only from the far off console, it felt as though he were intruding on the home of giants, or perhaps things not meant to be disturbed. 

He tried not to acknowledge the way his eyes threatened to well with panic induced tears as he passed the console and made his way toward the long hall leading toward the bots and their personal rooms. He’d never been in any of them, but maybe if he wandered that way, someone would hear him.

“Guys? What’s going on?” Again and again he called out as he walked. He received no response, not even once. And yet, the farther into the base he moved, the more uneasy he became. Where silence once reigned, there were now faint sounds, pattering in the dark that felt so much heavier than his own steps. For brief moments, he thought he saw the outline of Miko or Jack behind him, but travelling in the increasing darkness made him doubt his own eyes, poor as they were.

Louder and louder, the noises rang out. Rafael clutched the bear even tighter as he recognized the heavy marching of one of the bots. Eyes blazed in the dark, cycling and viewing the world like spotlights. He didn’t know who it was, but as bright blue eyes gazed down on him, Rafael felt nothing but fear.

“You should not be here. It is far past your bedtime.” Arcee’s voice echoed in the hall, but Rafael found no comfort in it as the spotlights grew nearer, her voice even louder.

“Let me take you back to your bed. You are up far too late.” Her shadowy form drew nearer, and as it did, her shining eyes let Rafael view small portions of her frame. As a clawed hand reached out for him, Rafael’s eyes widened in horror as he caught sight of so much red splattered across her fingers.

“Come now. Don’t be afraid.” Her voice was sweet, but Rafael didn’t hesitate to run. He dropped the bear in his haste, and in the brief moment he took to look back, he saw Arcee’s claws digging into the concrete where he once stood, the bear shredded between her talon like fingers.

“Rafael.” Her voice rang in warning, but he merely bit back a scream of terror as he darted around a corner, frantically searching for an escape. Her heavy steps thundered behind him, increasing in loudness and speed as he frantically searched.

“Rafael.” Another voice joined the chorus, another set of heavy steps getting in line with the march. Rafael’s breath came heavy and labored as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, trying not to trip over anything in the void that spread out before him. What was going on? What was happening?

Why was Arcee covered in blood?

He shook his head, fighting back tears and sobs in equal measure as he felt along the wall, searching for a door, a vent, anything he could shove himself into to avoid his fate.

��RAFAEL!” He heard Ratchet and Bulkhead, and somewhere amidst their near-shrieking voices was the unmistakable binary of Bumblebee’s voice. They were all so close he could practically feel them, their feet so loud in hitting the ground that all else was deafening. Their glowing eyes lit the world around him, but as they did, he could sense them closing in. Why wasn’t he faster? He had to be faster!

He screamed and sobbed as Ratchet’s foot came about an inch away from squishing him into paste. He threw his arms up over his head, despite knowing it would do nothing as he ran. His glasses were barely staying on and his vision was blurry from tears. Their steps were so loud and their eyes so bright that everything was a mess of sensation. His lungs burned, his legs ached as his feet pounded against the ground, trying in vain to gain some sort of distance.

As their eyes all focused on him, Rafael could feel cold and cruel realization sink in.

He was going to die here unless he acted and did so fast.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, leading Rafael to frantically use the lights of his prusuers to scan the walls.

There, a vent. It looked small, perfect for him.

He readied himself, taking in as much air as he could before he threw himself to the side, just in time to avoid Bumblebee’s foot colliding with his body. He skidded across the ground, watching as the spotlights started to scatter, searching for him once more. Rafael didn’t take more than a second to recompose himself, uncaring of his bruised knees and side as he crawled to the vent. He silently thanked Miko for undoing most of the bolts in order to get around as he tugged on the thin metal covering, forcing it open.

He just about threw up in sheer terror as every single one of the bots focused in on the source of the sound, watching as Rafael shoved his body into the small tunnel to escape their gaze.

“Come back out here, you little-!” He didn’t know who was talking; all he knew was that it was deafening as he crawled deeper into the vent, desperate to get away. Everything hurt, and his head pounded from the constant noise. He could hear the bots chattering behind him, one of them screeching in outrage. His body shook in primal terror as one of their eyes glared into the vent, lighting up the entire space for a brief moment before what he could only assume was a curse escaped their mouth.

He didn’t stop. No matter how much his body ached, he forced himself to crawl ever deeper. He was cold, his knees were bleeding from his brush with death, and his head rang from the screeching of his pursuers. But on he went, not stopping until he’d gone through enough twists and turns to feel even somewhat safe. He paused by a vent cover, not sitting too close for fear of being grabbed but still near enough to wait for light that didn’t come from watching eyes.

Something was obviously wrong with the bots. Mind control, maybe? Or perhaps it was another Makeshift incident. It wasn’t them. It couldn’t be them.

It couldn’t have been real blood.

"Jack, Miko, please be okay.” Rafael shivered, his teeth chattering as he brought his knees up to his chest. He sniffled, wiping away mucus and snot that threatened to run down his face. He tried not to think about how much it hurt.

He just had to wait. Once morning came, he’d be safe.

“Rafael.” He heard his name again, this time softer, less cruel. But that fact hardly registered as he frantically threw his hands up to his ears, praying to every higher power out there that he wouldn’t be found.

He had no such luck.

“Rafael, it’s Optimus. I know you are scared, but you must listen to me.” No no no no no. He wasn’t dying here.

“Leave me alone!” Rafael screamed, trying to drag himself further into the vent. But before he could, the nearest vent cover was torn off, and the blazing light stopped him in his tracks. He turned to look, drawn in by the glow against his will. It was Optimus’s eye; that much was certain. But instead of glowing blue, it glowed white.

“I am here to help you, Rafael. I wish to assist you in escaping this nightmare, but I cannot do so unless you let me. Without your consent, the grip he holds over you is too strong for me to tamper with.” Most of the words flew right over Rafael’s head, but the sheer calming presence of the Prime eased him enough that for a brief moment, he felt safe again. Hesitantly, he moved closer to the opening, and as he did so, Optimus moved back.

As he stuck his head out of the opening, he looked down to see the Prime watching him quietly. The vent was right next to where he and his friends had been sleeping less than an hour ago. To him, it seemed more like a mockery than a relief.

“You will be safe with me, at least for a time.” Optimus held up a hand, but he did not smile. It was unnerving, but far less dangerous than the rest. Quietly, he slid from his safe haven and onto Optimus’s hand, watching the Prime fearfully as he carried them both toward the console. The faint glow of the device was a welcome comfort as it drove back the darkness.

“Listen to me, child.” Optimus’s voice was deep and almost guttering as he set Rafael down on the edge of the console. Their eyes met as Optimus stared down at him, blinding white, both a comfort and a deadly warning.

“On nights such as these, the Unmaker stirs. His essence runs with more fluidity, and those who have been touched by him are more susceptible to his designs.” Optimus’s eyes shifted, the delicate mechanisms turning like the facets to some grand key that Rafael could not comprehend. Still, he nodded as he tried not to focus too much on the noises of the bots slowly working their way back to the main part of the base.

“You were touched by his essence, and because of that, he has gained a degree of influence over your mind.” Optimus raised a finger, gently touching the top of Rafael’s head. It was soothing, but there was a lingering weight that left him itching to move as the Prime continued.

“I have used my influence to reach you in this place, but there is little else I can do.” The steps of the bots grew louder, and Rafael started to shrink in fear. He looked around, frantically searching for his pursuers. But Optimus’s words drew him back.

“Listen to me. Unicron feeds off torment. To escape this place, you must take a leap of faith.” The sounds grew closer. Rafael shook so much he could hardly process what Optimus was saying. What was he supposed to do?

“He will keep you here, trapped until you fight back. Face the doom that awaits you with honor, and he shall have no satisfaction.” He wanted to scream as Optimus stepped away from the console, the comforting light of his eyes fading as the Prime moved to stand at the far end of the space, observinging in silence.

“Wait!” He wailed in fear as the bots entered, their eyes all falling on Rafael like he was some sort of prey animal. Every single fiber of his being demanded he run, but as he looked over to the Prime, he saw Optimus mouthing the words over and over again, as if forcefully silenced.

‘Face the doom that awaits you with honor.’

He stood on the edge of the console, watching with tears blurring his vision as the bots gathered around. They stood like judges, staring into Rafael’s very soul as their towering frames crowded above him. The fear was overwhelming. He could already feel his heart pounding like a drum in his chest, threatening to burst from the stress of it all.

“No more running, little mouse.” Ratchet spoke up, and as he raised his hand above Rafael’s head, he saw blood staining his digits too. His legs shook, his body chilled. Time seemed to slow, and as it did, Rafael found himself presented with two choices.

The console behind him was clear. If he bolted, he could hide and run back toward another vent, hopefully escaping in time. He’d done so once; he could do so again. But if he ran... would it really change anything? Optimus said this was Unicron’s work. Could he really escape the power of a godlike entity?

Looking past his pursuers, Rafael saw Optimus watching, still as stone. And yet as he observed, his mouth continued to form silent words.

‘Face the doom that awaits you.’

Tears gathered in his eyes again. The urge to run felt like it was drowning him. But against every instinct, Rafael stayed still. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stared up at Ratchet’s hand as it began to lower. What if this was real? What if Optimus was wrong? What if this was where he died?

‘Face the doom that awaits you.’

The hand lowered. Eyes glowed brighter as laughter echoed all around him. And yet, whenever Rafael looked at Optimus, the words continued on endlessly. 

‘Face the doom-’

“Face the doom.” He murmured the words that ran on repeat in his head. They drowned out the laughter as Ratchet’s bloodied hand drew ever nearer.

“Face the doom.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his arms, trying not to focus on the dampness of his clothes that came from exertion. 

“Face it with honor.” His voice was barely a squeak, his entire body shaking like a leaf. But with all the will he had left in his soul, Rafael forced himself to stand still.

“Face it with honor!" In a burst of courage, he opened his eyes and glared just as the hand came down on his head. There was momentary pain, then blackness. For a brief moment, there was nothing except his screaming thoughts, telling him again and again that he’d failed and that this was his end.

Then he woke up.

He shot up with a gasp, clutching at the plush surface of his sleeping bag. His entire body was drenched in sweat, his breathing fast and erratic. And yet, as Rafael looked around in a daze, he saw that Miko and Jack were sound asleep next to him, both perfectly safe and at ease.

“You did well, Rafael.” Optimus’s voice washed over him like a soothing tide, and before he knew it, comforting white eyes let their gentle glow grace him once more. 

“The Unmaker shall trouble you no more. You have broken free of his grasp, at least for this night.” Optimus leaned closer, his face coming up near to the bars separating the platform Rafael was on from the rest of the base.

“Rest now. We shall ward off his foul machinations.” Optimus’s eyes flashed, a surge of colors and hues shifting into place before it returned to that chilling, and yet oh so calming, white. Despite the terror, Rafael found himself relaxing back into his sleeping bag, unusual exhaustion washing over him as the Prime sang a song he couldn’t understand.

“We have fought him once, and we will do so again. Be at ease, child of Earth. Your duty is done.” With those final words, Rafael again found his eyes closing.

And this time, there were no whispers.

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸🇱🇧 BEFORE YOU READ: DONATE TO PALESTINIAN FAMILIES • EMERGENCY FUND FOR MARGINALISED WORKERS IN LEBANON • BOYCOTT TLOU

𓊝 — 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚 | 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫!𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐱 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

song: golden hair — slowdive

summary: the ocean is a trepidatious force. abby has never felt its power until she falls into the hands of a siren, a dark and ruinous mistress of the sea.

warnings: mdni 18+, smut, fingering (r!receiving), hair pulling (a!receiving), mentions of death, mentions of religion, profanities, afab reader, reader is a mythical creature and comes off as cold and detached from humanity, set in an unspecified time in the past, a bit of hatred between the two, toxic dynamics, abby is down bad, not proofread

a/n: this is a semi rewrite of a fic i posted on my old blog last year! i don’t have time to write new things at the moment so please accept this even though it’s not my best 🧍

The ground beneath Abby was rough, cold in a way that immediately told her that she was not in the stuffy warmth of the sailor's quarters. Her eyes were screwed shut, her head blaring for relief and her body soaked to the bone. She was not where she was meant to be.

She took a moment, a breath, to regain her bearings, eyes opening to slits. A void met her, nothing visible in the pitch black.

She let no panic inflate her chest or scratch at her already dry throat. To survive the sea for so long was a miracle, and those who rode its waves knew that being fearful was useless, since besting such a beast was impossible. The sea chose her victims indiscriminately, and it seemed that Abby was not one of them. Not in this moment, at least.

She instead shifted focus to her other senses to understand where she was. She reached her arms out on either side, feeling the jaggedness of the moist ground. Her ears picked up a consistent drip, drip, drip and the sound of distant crashing water. The briny taste of the ocean was still sharp on her tongue... she was still near the sea. Good.

As she laid there, her brain strayed to the events leading up to her predicament. She was unaware of how she got here, but she recalled the crashing of the hull against wrathful waves, her fellow sailors staggering back and forth on deck as salty tendrils whipped the ship about. There was frenzy as the crew’s prayers to gods and pantheons from all over filled the air, to either rescue them or welcome them into the afterlife with open arms.

Abby had stayed silent, jaw clenched. There was no deity that she believed in, no soothing prayer that could save her from a sinking, air-absent demise. All that encompassed her mind was, it is fitting that I die here. A frothy headstone to mark her vast grave, a silence settling into her bones.

She remembered her acceptance being cut short by a stillness that came about so suddenly, a golden haze. Then, the first gentle notes of a beautiful hymn...

It was something otherworldly, she was aware of that much. But why did the recollection of it elude her?

As she tried to remember the notes of it, she stilled at a gentle tone caressing her ears. The same song.

Abby's eyes shot open at the intrusion of noise, blue eyes boring into nothingness. It was lilting and lullaby-soft, the loveliest voice she had ever heard, perhaps. But its foreign, silky words and the power gently thrumming beneath its cadence made her spine tremble.

There were many cruel, monstrous things beneath the sea's depths, but there was only one described as so beautiful. Sweet death, they nicknamed the thing. There were only ever stories about them though, for they were as good as legend. Nobody had ever lived to tell the tale of the real thing, these stories made clear. Their victims' long-forgotten bones rested on sandy ocean beds, now used to pick the teeth of these fearsome creatures.

The fear that she had such good grasp on began to bleed into the corners of her passiveness, an inkling of dread. A shipwreck she could handle. A shipwreck caused by one of the most indomitable predators of the seven seas was another thing entirely.

"Sea witch," Abby hissed through gritted teeth, voice pained and hazy. Concentration was a task when all she wanted to do was melt into the gentle arms of your song. But she was no man, no simple sailor. It would take a lot more than this to subdue her.

You stopped singing, only to laugh at her in the near-off distance, still shrouded by darkness. It rang through the space like the distant sound of church bells in a steeple.

"I am no witch, mortal," you spoke perfectly, to her surprise. It was a voice dripping with strength, lightning crackling along the surface of a still lake. “You are all the same. We use your own desires against you and you claim it to be magic… pitiful.”

Abby did not want to care about the implications of your words. You knew nothing about her or her desires. How could one ever want this?

There was a bite to her voice now. "I am uninterested in your games, siren." Even so…

Against all her loathing, her breath quickened as she strained to find you in the darkness. She thought that, as a woman, she would be immune to a siren's charms if they ever did prove to be real, but it seemed not to be the case. Your voice alone was a thing swathed in ethereality, and she needed to see what such a being looked like.

There was dead quiet before the space began to fill with a deep blue light, radiating off of where water seeped in. She sat herself up now despite the throbbing ache in her body, mesmerised as the light pulsed throughout what she now realised was an enclosed cave. Beautiful was the first word that floated to her head. Then a scathing, correctional, unnatural.

After a moment of distraction, she searched for you again, but you were nowhere to be seen. Disappointment dropped in her gut like a pin, but it was enough to ignore the prickle of curiosity that slid up her neck and reddened her cheeks.

"I have said it once already. Your games are of no interest to me, sea witch," she yelled into the cold cavern as evenly as she could muster. "Come on then, enjoy your damn feast."

Perhaps it was foolish to mock something immortal. A beat of silence passed, then another. A soft thud hit the jutting ground of the cave, barely audible amongst the sound of lapping water and Abby’s own chattering teeth.

"I do not care much for feasting on women"," you whispered, mere inches behind her. The hairs on her neck stood on end, alert to your presence. “Not many are led astray… and the ones that are? Well…”

She felt that same dizzying urge to gaze upon you. She turned in the direction of your voice, and this time you made no effort to conceal yourself.

Your bare body was adorned in pearlescent scales, shimmering and reflecting the rich light that danced around the cave. Your hair was damp and it stuck your cheeks in wispy swirls. But it was your eyes, gods, your eyes that she lingered on the most. Alluring and deep, they demanded every morsel of her attention.

What most enchanted Abby was the way you looked so human despite everything, the softness of your being comparable to a maiden onshore. Whenever Abby thought of a siren, she imagined jutting scales from spine, sharp teeth that could put a blade to shame, talons built to rip stocky men to shreds, eyes the off-white of drops of sour milk. The only unsettling thing about you were the slits on your neck, like that of a shark.

Her gaze lingered on your captivating person, drawn to it like moth to a flame. She supposed your appearance made more sense now. Beauty would always strike a person dead before terror ever could. As her heart hammered in her chest, she began to wonder whether the two were intertwined.

"Then... then why, pray tell, did you not let me drown?"

Your surprisingly soft hands came to her chin. Fingers traced her strong jawline, drew a line to her collarbone before softly grazing them over one clothed shoulder. She shivered beneath your touch but did not dare to move away, did not want to. Your hands were the coldness of the deep undersea, as if they had never witnessed the sun before. She wanted to grab them, breathe warmth and life into your inhuman palms… had the sea water left her brain addled?

Your eyes flicked from her arm, where the linen of her undershirt clung to a muscled bicep, back to blue eyes that appeared black in the deep light.

"You were lured by me. I believed you to be a man. I only had a glimpse of your silhouette before you were in my arms, fighting for air, and then I realised. I suppose you could say... your strength as a woman is one I have not yet witnessed."

You gave her shoulder a gentle, intrigued squeeze.

"That is why I saved you, human. Nothing more and nothing less.”

The shivers that racked her body quieted. You expected her to either shy away or move closer, but she did neither. She remained unmoving, staring at you with an expression that warped back and forth between contempt and desire.

“Will you eat me now that your curiosity has been satisfied? Or will you keep me here as a little pet to ogle at whenever you grow bored?” It was a question with teeth, directed to mock your intentions. Her eyes shone with repulsion but also anticipation as she waited for your answer. Did she want to stay shackled to you until she wasted away or you finally decided on what to do with her? Is that what she wanted?

Such a foolish woman she was to question your motivations, but all that rose within you was a light amusement, like that of an onlooker watching a butterfly flit about in a glass case. You had the upper hand. It was you, after all, who lured her into the raging tides to begin with. And it continued to be you who kept her fate clutched in your grasp, still undecided on whether you should squash or embrace her. You cared for none of the furious emotions that roiled in her little, mortal heart,. But entertainment? That could be found in toying with her, just a little.

You moved closer to her once again, humming softly as your hand met her damp and matted braid. Your fingers found the piece of leather knotted around it and you slid it undone. Your fingers raked through the tangled mass gently, with the sweet slowness of a lover. She could almost believe that were the case when her mind started to fog, if not for the chorus of voices screaming within her through the haze. This is wrong, this is wrong.

Each movement of yours set your body alight. Abby had seen a myriad of the night's constellations, but they did not hold a candle to your ethereality. She felt the reigns she held on her convictions slipping. How could this be immoral when this proximity felt like a thing of fate, a thing meant to be?

Your voice was the purest of sugar, sweet and addictive.

"I believe you," your hands found their way out of her hair and to her chest, palms resting flat, "are the one that has been captivated." Your mouth was close, a finger-span distance away from hers. You could feel the way her body tensed, a sharp intake of breath without the release.

"You hate it, do you not?” you continued, tilting your head. That I am the only thing about the sea that can make you feel vulnerable? Admit it... I frighten you."

The blonde woman did not trust her mouth to form coherent words, not when you smelled so familiar, like salt and windswept sea foam. This wasn’t fear, it was something else, itching just beneath the skin and begging to break through. You were too close.

Damn it all.

There was a hesitance in her movements before her mouth descended upon yours abruptly. There was no rhythm to the way her lips pushed against yours, beastly in an overuse of teeth and tongue. You responded almost instantaneously, your mouth dancing against hers with the perfection centuries of seducing countless others sculpted. There was a dim recognition of this as she pressed herself against you and lowered you to the rough ground. She wanted to be the last one you tasted like this. The last one you harboured any kind of mercy for.

She had not prayed on that ship before the wreck, but as she relished in your lips she knew that she had been a fool to shun the notion of holiness. This was divinity. This body, cold and devoid of life. These lips, experienced and deliciously deceitful and tasting oh-so-familiar.

You were the celestial force in which she never believed. She had no altar to pray at yet, but she would carve one out right here, in the depths of your iridescent body. Her kisses would be her offerings. Her heavy, desperate breaths would be the choir.

She pulled back slightly to gaze at your face. Your eyes, glinting with challenge, compelled her to go further. Your icy arms engulfed her shoulders, pulling the brawn of her body, that pulsing human warmth, closer. You could feel her hummingbird heartbeat against your collarbone, could hear the blood pumping through her system again and again, a song all on its own.

Heat pooled in your core, the feeling almost foreign to you after years of its dormancy. There was something so delectable about letting a being inferior to you in, to taste and touch and fuck something that could eat her alive.

Her brows were knitted together, eyes wide pits of blazing blue lust. She was waiting for it, a silent plea in the drag of her teeth against her plump bottom lip and the phantom feel of her palms over your scaled skin. Who were you to deny such muted acts of devotion?

With a honeyed smile, you took one of her large hands in yours, and rested it against your sternum. Searing heat bloomed through your chest and downwards as you guided her wind-chafed palm. The ribcage, the belly button, the divot where stomach gives way to sensitive flesh.

Her breath hitched, eyes droopy as she rocked back onto her haunches. Your legs were sprawled so prettily, iridescent thighs gleaming in the little light there was. She watched as the hand latched around her wrist led her to your folds. Beneath her fingertips, your cunt felt like unspooled silk. It was impossible to suppress the tremor that passed through her.

“Well?” Your voice penetrated the fervoured veil that threatened to swallow her whole. “Cease your gawking, human.” A command. An invitation.

Abby traced her fingers down your slit gently, then parted them. Her lips opened at the feeling of just how soaked you were, breath coming ragged and cheeks painted red at the dewiness of your cunt.

She slipped one finger in with ease, a sigh floating out of her mouth as her middle finger followed suit. Pure velvet, it was heaven wrapped around them. Her wrist trembled, body temperature reaching a feverish pitch as she pumped and curled them within your snug cunt. She watched as your body arched, that same saccharine voice echoing through the cave in a chorus of loud breaths and rhapsodic moans.

She admired the way your body had become an instrument beneath her touch. It was like plucking a harp string, hearing its divine tune ring out and watching as it wobbles and wavers from the force.

She pressed her weight to you, the way the sea and the earth meet on shorelines. Shallow puffs of air were hot against your cheek as she continued her ministrations, face one deep pool of lust as she lifted you higher, molten pleasure building within your gut so rapidly that all you could do to buoy yourself was pull at the knotted mass of her golden hair.

She pressed sloppy, open mouthed kisses to your jaw, to the neck that reminded her over and over that you were not hers, but a vicious thing of the sea. Even then, that could not fizzle the blaze burning within her with each buck against her thigh, each drawled out praise spoken against her lips like dove-soft prayers. She was well aware of what you were, and yet you were heady all the same, like too much ale on a star-riddled night.

For the second time perhaps in her life as a sailor, her mind pulsed with a rare revelation. Sweet was its honesty now, she would be content if it were to be so;

It is fitting that I die here.