#every once in a while I just low-key lose my mind over this

[dreamytfw]

Dean's siren is endlessly fascinating to me. And I'm not talking about the very surface level "OMG DEAN'S SIREN WAS A GUY" baby's first queer reading here. According to the siren (which, let's all remember, has 0 reason to lie about this), what Dean wanted was his hero-worshipping kid brother back. What I think is extremely interesting, though, is at no point does the siren ever act like Sam at all. Nor do they ever act like Dean's caricature of Sam that we get a glimpse at in Tall Tales.

What makes me go fucking feral is the siren acts like Dean. Which is wild because we're told and shown over and over again that Dean fucking hates himself and thinks he's obnoxious to be around. But based on the way the siren acts, it's very clear that Dean doesn't want a whole separate person with their own feelings, thoughts, autonomy, etc. What Dean wants is someone who likes all the same things he likes, does stuff to boost his ego, and never challenges him or his world view. What Dean wants, as it turns out, is a good little soldier.

I wonder if that speaks to his understanding of family and familial dynamics and certain cycles and things that get perpetuated in those cycles at all!!!

[fangdokja]

:D oooh, I love those things where Scara isolates the reader so that she becomes reliant on his ass. So basically, psychological torture, please?

Your body is chained, but your mind? Still free. Or is it?

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a mind game where love is a weapon and escape is impossible, you’ll learn that survival means surrendering to his twisted obsession. But as his control tightens, you’ll wonder: Are you his prisoner, or his willing prey?

♡ Book. World Ablaze (WA): For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem. Reader

♡ Novelette. #1 - Lover or Captor?

♡ Word Count. 10,821

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non-con, psychological torture, manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, threats, BDSM, psychological torture, Stockholm Syndrome, force feeding, uncomfortable food descriptions, control over food and water, implied kidnapping

♡ A/N. No problem. I genuinely enjoy writing all forms of torture. I’d say this is soft Scaramouche to be honest. But that’s just me. Since manipulation of circumstances pre-kidnapping is a classic (but also a traditional cliche at times), I decided to make some small fun facts on how psychological torture works in general. Also, do note that this has a different writing (especially formatting and plot progression) style from my usual works, but that’s the point… And, low-key got sick of editing this haha. But that’s nothing new. Either way, hope you guys enjoy :))

He watches you with an intensity that burns hotter than the static hum of the electro mist surrounding the enclosed space he calls home—your prison. His eyes, sharp like the edge of a newly forged blade, track every movement you make, every twitch of your fingers, every shallow breath you take. There is no escaping his scrutiny, no moment where his gaze isn’t a weight you carry as if he’s carved himself into your very existence.

“You’re trembling again,” he murmurs, his voice a lilt of mockery wrapped in silk, carrying an undercurrent of something darker. He’s closer now, the faintest scent of ozone and metal clinging to his presence. He’s always so near, yet somehow never close enough for you to strike—not that you have the strength anymore. His manipulation has bled you dry, turned your once vibrant spirit into a pale echo of itself.

“Have I scared you that much?” he continues, his tone like an echo of thunder in a storm, half-amused and wholly cruel. He kneels before you, tilting his head as if studying a particularly interesting experiment, and you wish, not for the first time, that he would lose interest in his obsession. But you know better than to hope; hope is a fragile thing here, something he’s crushed beneath his heel more times than you can count.

Your legs are bound, wrists tethered together with some unbreakable material that bites into your skin when you move too much. Not that movement helps. He’s seen to that too. The chains are just as much a part of his games as the room itself: walls painted in endless monotones, no windows, only a single dim light that flickers faintly, threatening to plunge you into complete darkness at any moment. He’s told you before that he’d like to see what the dark does to you—what he could do to you while you’re blind and helpless.

“Tell me,” he says now, his hand reaching forward to brush against your cheek. His touch is deceptively gentle, a lover’s caress that belies the brutality hiding beneath the surface. “Have you learned to appreciate me yet?”

You flinch but don’t answer. Words are a dangerous currency here. Silence earns punishment; speech earns worse. You’ve been caught in his web long enough to know the rules of his game are meant to ensure one thing: total control. But your defiance—the last ember of it—makes you cling to the belief that your silence is an act of rebellion, however small.

He chuckles lowly, the sound reverberating through the empty room. “Still so stubborn,” he muses, fingers now tracing the line of your jaw. “I admire that about you, you know. That fight in your eyes. But it’s exhausting for you, isn’t it? Fighting me? Fighting this?” He leans in, so close that you feel the ghost of his breath against your ear. “Do you think anyone’s coming for you? That they even remember you?”

Your stomach twists, a sick knot of despair and anger. His words are poison, injected carefully and methodically into your psyche.

“I erased you,” he whispers, his voice soft but cold enough to freeze your blood. “From their memories, from their lives. Your friends? Gone. Your family? They don’t even remember your face. Isn’t that a kindness, though? Sparing them the grief of losing you?”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, searching for the cracks he’s so meticulously created. “Do you hate me for it?”

You do. You hate him with a depth that frightens you. But you say nothing, your lips trembling as you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing it aloud. His expression shifts, a flicker of annoyance crossing his otherwise perfect features, but it’s gone just as quickly as it came.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, his tone growing harder, sharper. “But you will love me. In the end, you always will.”

He stands, his shadow towering over you as he looks down, his smirk returning like a blade pressed to your throat. “I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he says, turning and heading toward the door. “But don’t take too long. I’m not a patient man.”

The door closes with a deafening finality, and you’re left alone in the dim, flickering light. Alone with your thoughts, your fear, and the suffocating realization that he’s right. He’s always right. The world has forgotten you, and all you have left is him.

And isn’t that the cruelest truth of all?

────────────

The room is a void—a cage designed not to hold your body, but to unspool your mind held by fragile thread. The walls are stark and featureless, smooth metal panels that offer no hint of escape. There are no windows, no visible doors, just the cold hum of fluorescent lights that seem to dim and brighten at random intervals, casting shadows that twist and crawl.

The air is heavy, oppressive, suffused with his presence even though he’s nowhere to be seen. You can feel him, though—lurking in the corners of your mind, a phantom stitched into your every thought. His voice crackles through the static-filled speakers embedded in the walls, sharp and invasive, like glass scraping against your skull.

“Lonely yet?”

You flinch at the sound, your knees drawing tighter to your chest. His voice is smooth and mocking, curling around your mind like barbed wire.

“I told you this is for your own good,” he continues, each word laced with a venomous sweetness. “Out there, the world would devour you. I’m saving you, little fool. But gratitude? That’s too much to ask, isn’t it?”

You press your hands over your ears, as if that could block him out. But his voice doesn’t come from the speakers anymore. It comes from everywhere. From nowhere. It vibrates in your bones, coils in your gut, whispers in the back of your skull until you’re certain it’s your own thoughts betraying you.

The silence that follows is worse. It’s his silence—calculated, suffocating, a predator’s patience as it watches its prey wear itself down. Hours stretch into days, or maybe longer. Time is meaningless here. The lack of human contact gnaws at your sanity, leaving only the relentless pounding of your heartbeat to fill the void.

Then, finally, his voice returns, and despite the fear it brings, a twisted part of you clings to it like a lifeline.

“Look at you,” he purrs, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “So fragile. So desperate. Do you see now? No one else will come for you. Only me.”

The words settle over you like ash, suffocating and final.

And then he’s there.

The walls don’t open. He doesn’t step through a door. He’s just there, as if he’s always been there, a seamless extension of the room’s nightmarish design. The dim, artificial light casts a sickly glow over his features, making him look less human and more like a living doll—perfectly crafted, flawlessly sculpted, and utterly devoid of warmth. His smile is delicate, a razor-thin line that glints with malice beneath its veneer of sweetness.

“You’re quiet today,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety hum that sends shivers racing down your spine.

He moves closer, his boots clicking sharply against the metallic floor. The sound is deliberate, each step a calculated reminder of his control, his dominion over this place, over you. His presence fills the room, overwhelming, suffocating.

“I wonder,” he continues, stopping just short of where you sit, “is it silence out of submission? Or defiance?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Words catch in your throat, strangled by the weight of his gaze.

He crouches before you, his movements slow, fluid, and predatory. His violet eyes gleam in the half-light, shimmering with something dark and unreadable. They lock onto yours, pinning you in place, and the room seems to shrink further, the walls pressing closer until there’s nothing but him.

“Look at me,” he commands softly, his voice a velvet glove hiding an iron fist.

Your head moves of its own accord, your body betraying you as your eyes meet his. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and the sight of it is both intoxicating and nauseating.

“That’s better,” he murmurs, his gloved hand reaching out to cup your face. His touch is achingly gentle, a cruel mimicry of tenderness, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you of his strength. Of your helplessness.

“You’ve been imagining things again, haven’t you?” he whispers, his tone almost pitying. “Seeing shadows where there are none. Hearing whispers in the dark. Poor little thing.”

He tilts his head, studying you like a scientist dissecting a specimen. The artificial light casts eerie reflections in his eyes, making them glint like shards of broken glass.

“Do you know what isolation does to the human brain?” he asks, his tone conversational, almost curious. “Deprive it of stimuli long enough, and it starts to turn on itself. Hallucinations. Paranoia. A complete collapse of the psyche.”

He leans closer, his breath brushing against your lips, his eyes boring into yours.

“But you’re not imagining me,” he says softly, his smile widening into something sharp, something cruel. “I’m as real as the blood under your nails, the bruises on your wrists.”

Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your temple, the motion deceptively soothing. But then his fingers tighten, his nails digging into your skin.

“And do you know what the best part is?” he whispers, his voice dropping to a chilling hush. “You’ll beg for more. For me. Because I’m all you have left.”

The walls seem to close in entirely, the air growing colder, heavier, until it feels like you’re drowning in his presence. And through it all, his smile remains, a grotesque mockery of kindness, as he whispers again,

“Lonely yet?”

────────────

The camera in the corner of the room stares at you, its red light pulsing steadily like a heartbeat—like his heartbeat, if he had one. You can feel it watching, a cold, unblinking eye that absorbs every movement, every shallow breath. It’s not just the camera, though. The walls themselves seem to hum with an unseen energy, a constant reminder of the wires and devices hidden just beneath the surface, all tuned to you.

“You’ve always had a penchant for dramatics,” his voice crackles through the speaker embedded high above, sudden and sharp. You flinch, instinctively shrinking against the edge of the bed, the metal frame digging into your spine. “But let’s not make this more unpleasant than it needs to be. You know I’m only doing this for your own good.”

The static lingers, like the ghost of his presence, before dissolving into the oppressive silence that dominates your world.

———

Later, you find it—a book, an old one, its spine cracked and worn. A piece of the life you once had. The familiar weight of it in your hands brings a flicker of warmth to your chest. You don’t know how it got here or why he would allow you something so small yet so meaningful, but you don’t question it. You simply clutch it to your chest, savoring the moment.

But then, he arrives.

He stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his silhouette framed by the dim, flickering light. His eyes—those violet pools of cruelty and calculation—narrow as they land on the book in your hands.

“Where did you get that?” he asks, his voice calm, but there’s a cold edge to it, like a blade hidden in velvet.

“I—I found it,” you stammer, clutching the book tighter as if it might shield you from the inevitable.

He doesn’t move, but the air around him seems to shift, thickening with something unspoken. “Interesting,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his footsteps deliberate and measured. “You’re quite resourceful, aren’t you? Always finding ways to entertain yourself.”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

When he reaches you, he kneels, his movements fluid and precise, like a predator cornering its prey. He plucks the book from your hands with deceptive gentleness, his slender fingers brushing against yours for a moment too long.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, turning the book over in his hands as though it were an artifact of immeasurable value. “A relic. A fragment of something that doesn’t exist anymore. Like you.”

His words sting, but before you can process them, he tightens his grip on the book. With a sudden, violent motion, he tears it in half, the brittle pages scattering like ash across the floor.

“Nothing from before matters,” he says, his tone cool, almost clinical, as he rises to his feet. “You don’t need distractions. You need me.”

———

That night, you try to sleep, but the room refuses to let you. The lights flicker intermittently, each burst of brightness searing your eyes through closed lids. A low, grating hum emanates from somewhere in the walls, setting your teeth on edge.

And then, the noise.

It starts as a soft, rhythmic tapping, like the distant sound of rain against glass. But it grows louder, more insistent, until it feels like it’s coming from inside your skull. You bolt upright, your breath ragged, your body drenched in cold sweat.

“You’re restless,” his voice coos from the speaker, smooth and mocking. “Didn’t I tell you to rest? Or are you defying me again?”

“I—stop it,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“Stop what?” he replies, feigning innocence. “You’re imagining things again. Poor thing. You really should trust me more. I can help you.”

The noise stops abruptly, leaving an aching silence in its wake. You collapse back onto the bed, your body too exhausted to fight anymore.

———

The next morning, you stumble into the small, sterile kitchenette, your limbs heavy with fatigue. The stove is on—flames licking at the edges of a pan you don’t remember lighting. The smell of something burning fills the air, acrid and choking.

“Careless,” he says, leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed. “You could’ve burned the whole place down.”

“I didn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No excuses,” he snaps, his voice sharp as a whip. “You’re lucky I caught it in time. Do you see now why you can’t be trusted? Why you need me?”

You want to argue, to scream that it wasn’t you, that he must have done it himself. But the words die in your throat as his gaze pierces through you, cold and unrelenting.

────────────

The silence stretches into infinity, interrupted only by your own ragged breaths and the phantom echoes of his voice that claw at your psyche. You don’t know when he’ll speak again or if he’s watching, but the not knowing is part of the torment.

When his voice finally breaks the silence, it’s so sudden and sharp it feels like the snap of a guillotine.

“Still holding onto hope, are you?” His voice is soft, almost tender, a cruel mockery of comfort. “I admire your persistence. It’s… quaint.”

His tone is calm, calculated, each word chosen with the precision of a scalpel. It cuts through the fog in your mind, forcing you to confront the reality he’s woven around you.

“You think someone’s coming for you?” he continues, his voice dripping with incredulity. “How adorably naïve. Do you even remember what it’s like out there? The noise, the chaos, the endless parade of fools clawing at one another for scraps of meaning. I’ve spared you from that, haven’t I?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The lump in your throat feels like it’s suffocating you, and the weight of his words presses down on your chest until it feels like your ribs might crack.

“Nothing to say?” he muses. “That’s fine. I prefer you this way—quiet. It suits you.”

———

You didn’t hear a door open. Didn’t hear the telltale click of boots against the floor. One moment you’re alone, and the next he’s standing there, a figure carved from shadow and disdain. The dim light paints him in stark relief, illuminating the sharp angles of his face, the cold glint in his violet eyes.

“I’ve been generous with you,” he says, his voice low and steady, like the distant rumble of thunder. He steps closer, each movement precise, deliberate, as though he’s stalking prey. “I’ve given you time to adjust, to see the truth. But you…” His lips curl into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “…You insist on clinging to those foolish little scraps of defiance.”

You flinch as he crouches before you, his gaze leveling with yours. His expression is unreadable, a mask of icy detachment that barely conceals the storm simmering beneath.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “What exactly are you holding onto? A memory? A promise? Hope?”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing as he studies you with an intensity that feels like it could peel back your skin, exposing every raw nerve beneath.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he says, almost pitying. “You’re just… grasping. Blind and desperate. It’s pathetic, really.”

His hand reaches out, and you flinch again, but he doesn’t touch you. Instead, his fingers hover just above your face, as though he’s considering it, savoring the moment.

“You’re so fragile,” he breathes, his tone a mix of fascination and contempt. “It wouldn’t take much to break you, you know. A little pressure here…” His hand shifts, his fingers ghosting over your temple. “…And here.”

His other hand moves to hover over your throat, and your breath catches.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he muses, withdrawing his hands with a slow, deliberate grace. “Breaking you would be easy. No. I want you to understand.”

He leans in closer, his breath brushing against your ear, his voice dropping to a dark, intimate whisper.

“I want you to know that every moment you spend here is a gift. My gift. And when you finally shatter, when you finally look at me with nothing but submission in those eyes…” He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk sharpening into something vicious. “…That’s when you’ll understand. That’s when you’ll thank me.”

The air feels thicker, heavier, suffused with his presence. The room spins around you, the walls closing in, the ground tilting beneath you. And through it all, his voice lingers, wrapping around your thoughts like a noose.

“No one else will come for you,” he says, standing to his full height, towering over you. “No one else can. It’s just you and me now. Forever.”

He turns to leave—or does he? The edges of your vision blur, the lines between reality and nightmare dissolving as his voice echoes through the void one last time.

“Stop fighting it, little fool. Stop fighting me.”

────────────

The first thing you notice when you wake is the cold. It bites into your skin, gnaws at your bones, wrapping itself around you like a second, crueler layer of flesh. The thin, threadbare shift you wear does nothing to shield you from it, the fabric clinging to your body with a dampness that reeks of mildew and despair.

The blankets are gone again. He always takes them when you displease him.

Your stomach churns with the memory of his last visit—the quiet menace in his voice, the way he tilted his head as he watched you scramble to piece together what was left of your broken dignity.

“You want comfort?” he had said, his tone laced with derision. “Earn it.”

You had begged—how could you not?—but he only smiled, a thin, sharp curve of his lips that cut deeper than any blade. And then he was gone, taking with him not only the blankets but the small, chipped bowl you had been using to collect water from the condensation that dripped sporadically from the ceiling.

Now, the thirst claws at your throat, dry and insistent. You press your lips together, trying to ignore it, but it’s impossible. Every breath feels like sandpaper scraping against raw flesh.

———

When he finally returns, it’s without fanfare. The door—a seamless part of the wall when shut—slides open with a faint hiss, and he steps inside, his violet eyes sharp and calculating. He’s carrying something this time: a bundle of what looks like clothing, though you’ve learned not to trust appearances.

“You look worse than usual,” he remarks, his gaze sweeping over you like a scientist observing a failed experiment. “Pathetic.”

You flinch at the word, but you don’t respond. Experience has taught you that anything you say will only feed his twisted sense of superiority.

He crouches before you, placing the bundle on the floor between you. It’s not clothing, you realize, but a single, thick blanket. It looks warm, inviting—an impossible luxury in this place.

“Do you want it?” he asks, his voice soft, almost coaxing.

You hesitate, your body aching for the warmth it promises. But you know better than to trust him.

“What do you want me to do?” you whisper, your voice hoarse from disuse.

His smile sharpens, a flash of white against the shadows of his face. “You’re learning,” he murmurs. “Good.”

He stands, taking a step back and gesturing to the far corner of the room. There, you see it: a tray of food, simple but sufficient—bread, water, a small portion of fruit. Your stomach growls at the sight, a humiliating reminder of your hunger.

“Eat,” he says, his tone light, as if he’s offering you a gift.

You don’t move. It’s too easy. There’s always a catch.

He chuckles, a low, mirthless sound. “Ah, still suspicious. How charming.”

He walks to the tray and picks up the cup of water, holding it up to the dim light as if inspecting it. Then, without warning, he tilts it, letting the liquid spill onto the floor.

“No!” The word escapes you before you can stop it, a raw, desperate plea.

He turns to you, his expression unreadable. “Prove to me,” he says slowly, deliberately, “that you deserve it. That you can follow simple instructions.”

“What do you want?” you ask again, your voice trembling.

His gaze narrows, and he steps closer, the soles of his boots crushing the bread beneath them as he walks. He crouches before you again, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.

“Crawl,” he says simply.

The word hangs in the air, a command and a taunt all at once.

Your body stiffens, shame warring with desperation.

“Crawl,” he repeats, his voice harder this time, the veneer of gentleness cracking to reveal the steel beneath.

You hesitate, and his smile returns, cruel and mocking. “Or don’t,” he says, standing and turning away. “But don’t think I’ll be so generous again.”

———

The air in your prison grows colder with each passing day. The concrete floor seems to suck the warmth from your body, leaving you shivering in the thin, threadbare clothing he’s allotted you. Blankets are a luxury, one he dangles before you like bait on a hook. Hygiene products—soap, a toothbrush, even clean water—are rationed out like rare treasures, rewards for obedience that always seem just out of reach.

He watches you from the shadows, a silent predator waiting for the moment your spirit cracks. The sound of his voice is worse than the silence. It’s a scalpel, peeling away layers of your resistance with surgical precision.

“You look uncomfortable,” he remarks one day, his voice lilting with mock concern. He steps into the dim light, his figure framed by the cold, sterile glow. “How long has it been since you last had a proper shower? Days? Weeks?” He smiles, the expression brittle and sharp. “I could help with that, you know. All you have to do is ask.”

You say nothing, your eyes fixed on the floor, but he sees the flicker of humiliation in your expression, and it feeds him.

“No?” He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. “Still so proud, even now. Admirable, really. But pride won’t keep you warm. Or clean. Or alive.”

────────────

When the door finally hisses open, the sound sharp and invasive, you don’t lift your head. But you feel his presence immediately, a dark, oppressive weight that fills the room. His footsteps are soft but deliberate, each one echoing like the tolling of a bell. And then he speaks, his voice low and smooth, a dark current beneath deceptively calm waters.

“You’re looking pale again,” he remarks, his tone laced with mockery that twists your stomach. You don’t answer, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor, but he doesn’t need your response to continue. He never does. “Have you been refusing to eat? Or is it the water? You’ve always been so ungrateful, haven’t you?”

A shadow falls over you as he comes closer, and the sharp scent of ozone and something faintly chemical hits your nostrils. You flinch when his hand, cold and unyielding, grips your chin, forcing your face upward. His violet eyes gleam with a sick kind of amusement as he tilts his head, studying you like a specimen under glass.

“Thirsty?” he asks softly, almost gently, though there’s no mistaking the sadistic edge beneath his words. He reaches into the folds of his dark, flowing attire and retrieves a small, glass vial. It gleams in the dim light, the liquid inside as clear as crystal but no less threatening for its purity. “I brought you something special today.”

He crouches before you, setting the vial down on the floor with a deliberate clink. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, he places a tall glass beside it, already half-filled with water. “Drink,” he says, his voice a command wrapped in velvet. “Go on. You must be parched.”

You hesitate, your body trembling as you glance at the glass. It feels like a trap—no, you know it’s a trap—but your throat burns with the dry, relentless ache of dehydration. It’s been days since he last offered you anything, the air in the room deliberately kept too dry, leeching the moisture from your body like some cruel experiment.

When you don’t move, his smirk widens, and he leans in, close enough that you can feel the chill of his breath against your skin. “Do you think I’d poison you?” he whispers, his tone almost tender, though the words slice into you like broken glass. “That I’d let you go so easily? Oh, no, little doll. If I wanted to destroy you, I’d make it far slower. Far more… personal.”

The implication chills you to your core, but the thirst gnaws at you with an intensity that borders on madness. You reach for the glass, your fingers trembling so violently you nearly knock it over. He watches with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving your face as you lift it to your lips.

The water is cold, colder than it has any right to be, and it slides down your throat like liquid ice. But then, the taste hits—metallic, sharp, and tinged with something acrid that makes your stomach churn. You gag, dropping the glass with a shattering crash, but it’s too late. The liquid burns as it courses through you, a searing pain that spreads from your throat to your chest, your stomach, your limbs.

He doesn’t flinch at the sound of the breaking glass. If anything, his expression grows darker, more triumphant, as he leans back on his heels, folding his arms across his chest. “How does it feel?” he asks, his tone almost conversational, as though he’s asking about the weather. “The sensation of your body rejecting what it so desperately craves? Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Your vision blurs with tears as you clutch your stomach, the pain radiating outward in waves. You want to scream, to beg, to curse him, but your voice catches in your throat, choked off by the bile rising within you. He watches it all with the calm detachment of a scientist observing a particularly interesting reaction, his head tilted slightly, his lips curved in a faint smile.

“Ah, but don’t worry,” he says after a moment, his voice softening in a way that’s even more sinister. “It won’t kill you. I wouldn’t waste such a useful tool on something as permanent as death.” He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch cold and clinical despite the faux tenderness in his movements. “No, little doll, this is simply a reminder. A lesson.”

He leans in closer, so close you can feel the oppressive weight of his presence pressing down on you. “You don’t survive without me. Do you understand that now? Every breath you take, every drop of water you drink, every bite of food that passes your lips—it all comes from me. And it can all be taken away just as easily.”

The pain begins to subside, leaving you weak, trembling, and utterly broken. He stands, brushing off his knees as though he’s finished with some menial task. “Rest, if you can,” he says, his voice light and mocking once more as he turns toward the door. “You’ll need your strength for the next lesson.”

The door closes behind him with a resounding clang, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room. Alone with the lingering burn in your throat, the taste of poison on your tongue, and the sick, suffocating knowledge that he’s right.

You don’t survive without him.

────────────

The silence he left behind had weight—a crushing, suffocating thing that pressed against your chest until your breaths came in shallow, wheezing gasps. Days stretched into nights, and nights into something darker still, where time seemed to lose its grip and your mind unraveled thread by fragile thread.

But then came the voice.

At first, it was a whisper—a delicate breeze brushing against the edges of your consciousness. Soft, insidious, and almost gentle.

“Did you miss me, little doll?”

Your heart stopped, then hammered violently against your ribs. You spun toward the sound, eyes darting across the empty room. Shadows stretched unnaturally, pooling in corners like ink spilled across parchment.

There was no one there.

But the voice persisted, lilting and melodic, curling around your thoughts like smoke. “Poor thing,” it cooed. “You look so lost. So lonely. Didn’t I promise I’d always come back for you?”

“No,” you rasped, clutching your head, fingers digging into your scalp as though you could claw him out of your mind. “You’re not here. You’re not real.”

The laughter that followed was low, rich, and agonizingly familiar. It reverberated through the empty space, vibrating against your skull like a tuning fork.

“Not real?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. “Oh, my little doll, you wound me. But perhaps I’ve been too kind. Let me remind you.”

The world around you shifted—imperceptibly at first, like the faint sensation of vertigo. Then it hit. The walls groaned and shuddered, the fluorescent light overhead flickering wildly. The air grew heavy, thick with the metallic tang of blood. You stumbled, your knees buckling as the ground seemed to ripple beneath your feet.

When the flickering stopped, he was there. Or was he?

His face hovered just out of reach, a phantom etched in shadow and smoke, his violet eyes glinting like shards of broken glass. He was leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath unnaturally cold.

“Tell me, doll,” he murmured, his voice velvet and venom, “do you still think I’m not real?”

You screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore through the silence. You clawed at the walls, at your face, your nails scraping skin as you tried to banish him from your senses. But the voice only grew louder, more insistent, wrapping itself around you like a shroud.

When he finally stepped into the light, the sight of him sent your stomach plummeting. His coat trailed behind him like the wings of some unholy predator, his silhouette framed in a distorted, sickly glow. He tilted his head, a parody of curiosity, and smiled.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, gesturing to the marks on the walls, the bloodied crescents under your nails. “What is it you’re trying to escape from, hmm?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your chest heaving. “You weren’t here,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I heard you, but you weren’t here. You were—”

“Everywhere,” he finished for you, his smile widening. “And nowhere. Isn’t it delightful? How fragile your mind has become?”

He took a step closer, his boots clicking against the floor in a deliberate, measured rhythm. Each sound drove a spike of dread deeper into your chest.

“But don’t worry,” he continued, his tone softening into something almost tender. “I’m here now. Let’s forget all about those nasty little thoughts, shall we?”

His hand reached out, brushing a blood-matted strand of hair from your face. The gesture was achingly gentle, a cruel mimicry of affection. His touch left a burning, icy trail against your skin.

“You look so distressed,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Have you been imagining things again? Seeing shadows where there are none? Hearing whispers in the dark?”

You wanted to scream, to lash out, but your body betrayed you, rooted in place as his fingers ghosted over your cheek.

“No need to answer,” he said with a sigh, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

And then the illusion shattered.

His hand wasn’t on your face—it was inside your skull. You felt the sharp, electric jolt of something foreign scraping against your brain, an icy tendril of invasive thought slithering into the deepest recesses of your mind. Memories warped and twisted under his touch, familiar faces dissolving into grotesque, melting horrors.

“You see,” he whispered, his voice echoing within you now, “there’s no escape from me. Not in the silence, not in the noise. I’m in every breath you take, every blink, every beat of that fragile little heart.”

You sobbed, the sound choking in your throat as the room dissolved into a kaleidoscope of distorted images. Blood seeped from the walls, viscous and dark, pooling at your feet. You felt it creeping up your legs, cold and sentient, wrapping around you like chains.

And still, he smiled.

“Did you miss me?” he asked again, his voice slicing through the chaos. This time, there was no room for denial. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against your lips as he whispered, “I missed you, little doll. And I’ll never leave you again.”

────────────

The tray lands on the table with a resounding clang, a sound that reverberates through the suffocating silence of the room. The metallic echo seems to burrow into your skull, as if the very air conspires to mock your helplessness. He stands above you, a silhouette of unyielding authority, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement.

"You should be grateful," he murmurs, his voice smooth and calculated, like a scalpel slicing through flesh. The faint trace of a smirk curls his lips, his tone dripping with condescension. "I went to such great lengths to prepare this. Just for you."

Your gaze falls to the tray, and the bile rises instantly in your throat. The abomination before you masquerades as food, a grotesque parody of sustenance that seems alive in the most horrifying ways. The slabs of meat glisten unnaturally, their surfaces marred by oozing black lesions that seep a thick, tar-like substance. A faint stench rises from them, sharp and putrid, a rancid blend of decay and chemicals.

Nestled beside the meat is a mound of gray paste, its texture like wet cement, flecked with jagged shards of something white—bone? Teeth? You can’t tell, and you don’t want to. The greens are no better: wilted, slimy, and crawling with tiny, wriggling creatures. The bugs move lazily, their segmented bodies glistening under the harsh fluorescent light, their sluggish movements taunting your growing horror.

���You’re staring,” he says, his tone lilting, almost playful. He leans in closer, his sharp features framed by the dim, artificial glow. "What’s the matter? Not to your liking? It’s safe, you know. Perfectly edible. Nutrient-dense, even."

You swallow hard, your stomach twisting itself into knots. Every fiber of your being screams at you to run, to scream, to do something, but you can’t. His presence roots you to the chair, your limbs heavy with the weight of his control.

“Don’t think I’ll let you starve, little doll.” His voice drops, the endearment laced with venom. He picks up the fork, prodding at the meat. The action elicits a sickening squelch as the black liquid pools beneath it, the viscous substance clinging to the metal tines like molasses. “Go on,” he urges, his tone soft but edged with malice. “Eat.”

Your shaking hands reach for the fork, but your grip falters. The metal feels impossibly cold, a physical manifestation of your dread. You stab at the meat, and its rubbery texture fights back, resisting your every attempt to cut it. When you finally manage to tear off a piece, the smell intensifies, a cloying wave of rot and iron that makes your vision blur with nausea.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He steps closer, his shadow swallowing you whole. “You will eat every bite. I won’t tolerate waste.”

Your lips part reluctantly, and the moment the meat touches your tongue, the taste assaults you. It’s rancid, the flavor an overwhelming mix of decay and metallic bitterness. You gag instinctively, your body convulsing as you try to spit it out, but he’s faster. His hand clamps over your mouth, his grip iron-tight.

"Swallow," he hisses, his breath cold against your ear. The word is sharp, absolute. Tears stream down your face as you force the foul lump down, your throat convulsing violently around it. The moment it settles in your stomach, a heavy, alien weight, he releases you with a cruel smile.

“Good,” he purrs, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “But we’re not done yet.”

He picks up the gray paste next, scooping a heaping forkful. The gritty, slimy mass clings to the metal like glue, its acrid stench burning your nostrils. Without warning, he presses it against your lips, smearing the substance across your skin when you try to turn away.

“Open,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. His other hand grips your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he shoves the paste inside. It coats your tongue, the texture gritty and uneven, punctuated by the horrifying crunch of the shards within. You don’t want to think about what they might be. You retch, but his unyielding gaze pins you in place.

“Chew,” he orders, his voice devoid of patience now. When you hesitate, his grip on your jaw tightens, the pain sharp and immediate. “Chew.”

You obey, the shards cutting into your gums as the paste coats your mouth in an unholy mix of textures and tastes. When you finally swallow, it feels like swallowing broken glass, the jagged edges scraping their way down.

“Such a good little doll,” he croons mockingly, his fingers stroking your cheek in a grotesque parody of affection. His eyes glint with dark satisfaction as he gestures to the greens. “Finish it.”

The slimy leaves glisten under the light, their surfaces writhing with life. The tiny creatures embedded within them squirm and twitch, their segmented bodies pulsing faintly. He picks up a forkful and holds it before you, the bugs wriggling and falling off the edges, their tiny legs scrambling for purchase.

“No,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and trembling. It’s the first word you’ve dared to speak, but it’s a mistake.

His expression hardens instantly, his smile vanishing. He grips your hair, yanking your head back with brutal force, and presses the fork against your lips. “You don’t get to say no,” he snarls. “You will eat. Every. Last. Bite.”

The greens and their crawling passengers are shoved into your mouth, the slime coating your tongue and the bugs wriggling against your teeth. You chew reluctantly, each bite filling you with a fresh wave of nausea as the creatures burst, their insides bitter and sickly. Some continue to move, their twitching bodies sliding down your throat even as you swallow.

By the time the tray is empty, you’re shaking violently, tears streaming down your face as your stomach churns with the unholy concoction. He watches with satisfaction, his smirk returning as he steps back.

“Well done,” he says, his tone almost congratulatory. He sets the tray aside and crouches before you, his fingers brushing against your tear-streaked cheek. “See? You can do as you’re told.”

You stare at him, hollow and broken, the taste of his twisted meal lingering on your tongue. When he finally leaves, the door slamming shut behind him, the oppressive silence returns, and you crumble, your body wracked with dry sobs.

The food sits heavy in your stomach, a grotesque reminder of your helplessness. You know he’ll return tomorrow with something worse. He always does.

────────────

The sterile air of the room feels heavier today, pressing against your chest like invisible hands. You can’t shake the unease, the gnawing sensation that something is wrong, even more so than usual. It’s in the silence that stretches just a beat too long, in the flicker of the overhead light that seems timed to your uneven breaths.

Then, the door opens, and he steps inside with the quiet elegance of someone who knows he doesn’t need to announce his presence. Scaramouche. His name alone sends an involuntary shiver down your spine.

He looks the same as always—poised, meticulous, as if every strand of hair and every fold of his outfit had been arranged with precision. But today, there’s something different in his eyes, something colder, more calculating.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, his tone almost conversational, as if you’re old friends catching up. His lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

You don’t answer. You’ve learned by now that anything you say can and will be twisted, reshaped into a weapon aimed at you.

He sighs, a sound filled with exaggerated disappointment, and steps closer. The room feels smaller with each measured step he takes, until he’s standing just a breath away, towering over you like a shadow.

“I’ve been thinking,” he begins, tilting his head slightly, the motion almost childlike but laced with menace. “You haven’t been entirely honest with me, have you?”

Your heart stutters. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he snaps, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “I saw the way you looked at me yesterday. The resentment, the defiance. After everything I’ve done for you.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he interrupts, his voice softer now but no less dangerous. “And it hurt me. It hurt us.”

His words sink into your chest like daggers, each one meticulously placed to draw the maximum amount of guilt and confusion. You know he’s lying—there was no resentment, no defiance—but the certainty in his voice, the way he says it as though it’s an undeniable truth, makes you doubt yourself.

“Do you know how hard I work to keep you safe?” he continues, crouching down so his face is level with yours. “Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed for you? And this is how you repay me? With distrust? With hatred?”

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t you?” His smile widens, cruel and mocking. “Then why do you keep trying to hurt me? Why do you keep betraying me?”

Your mind races, desperately trying to piece together what he’s accusing you of, but there’s nothing to grasp onto, no crime to confess.

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, your voice trembling.

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, so close you can feel the chill radiating off him. “No?” he whispers, his tone dripping with venom. “Then why do I feel like you’re lying?”

────────────

The first time you see him again, it’s through a haze of adrenaline and fear, your limbs trembling as you push yourself upright. The sound of boots pounding on the concrete echoes like gunshots in the cavernous space. Everything smells like oil and blood and something metallic you can’t quite place.

He bursts through the shattered doorway, his dark silhouette haloed by the dying embers of light spilling from the outside. His eyes, sharp as a blade’s edge, scan the room until they lock onto you, crumpled in the corner, battered and bleeding.

“I told you not to wander off,” he says, his tone more exasperated than angry. But there’s something underneath it—an undercurrent of urgency, of barely contained panic.

Before you can respond, he’s kneeling in front of you, his gloved hands moving with precision as he checks for injuries. His touch is cold, clinical, but his gaze burns with something raw and unspoken.

“You could’ve died,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Do you have any idea what they would’ve done to you if I hadn’t gotten here in time?”

The words hit you like a blow. You remember the men who dragged you here, their faces masked but their intentions clear. You remember their laughter, the way they circled you like predators, and the sickening certainty that no one was coming to save you.

And yet, here he is.

“Why…?” Your voice cracks, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. “How did you find me?”

He pauses, his hands stilling as he meets your gaze. “Because I always find you,” he says simply, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Because you’re mine to protect. No one else cares enough to keep you safe, to pull you back from the brink every time you stumble into danger.”

You should feel grateful—relieved, even—but his words don’t sit right. They coil around your mind like a serpent, squeezing tighter with each repetition.

———

Days later, after he’s taken you back to the sterile confinement of your “safe place,” the cracks in the story begin to show.

You wake up screaming, your dreams plagued by shadowy figures and muffled threats. The first thing you see is him, sitting in the corner of the room, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

“Still having nightmares?” he asks, his tone calm but laced with faint condescension.

You nod, your throat too dry to speak.

He stands, walking over to you with measured steps. “I warned you,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The world out there is cruel, unrelenting. They don’t care about you like I do. That’s why you need to stay here, where I can protect you.”

“But—” you start, the words dying in your throat as his gaze sharpens.

“But nothing,” he snaps, though his voice never rises. “Do you remember what happened? What they said they’d do to you? Or are you already twisting it in your head to make me the villain again?”

You flinch, the accusation stinging even though you know it isn’t fair. “I didn’t say that,” you whisper.

He leans closer, his presence suffocating. “But you thought it,” he murmurs. “Don’t lie to me. I can see it all over your face.”

The conversation leaves you shaken, his words gnawing at the edges of your mind. Had you misunderstood him? Was he right?

———

The next day, you notice something strange. The small, cracked mirror on the wall—the one you’ve stared into countless times, trying to find traces of the person you used to be—looks different. The crack is gone, the glass pristine, almost too pristine.

You press your fingers against it, your reflection wavering slightly. “Was this always here?” you mutter to yourself.

“It was,” his voice answers from behind you, making you jump.

You turn to find him leaning casually against the doorway, his arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face. “Are you doubting your memory now?”

“I…” You hesitate, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to think clearly.

“Maybe it’s the stress,” he continues, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. “Trauma does funny things to the mind. Makes you see things that aren’t there, remember things that didn’t happen.”

He stops just inches away, his hand brushing against your cheek in a gesture that feels both comforting and imprisoning. “But don’t worry,” he says softly. “That’s why I’m here—to keep you grounded, to make sure you don’t lose yourself completely.”

———

Over time, the little inconsistencies pile up: a drawer that seems to shift its contents overnight, a diary you swore you wrote in that now sits blank, the faint smell of antiseptic that lingers on your skin despite not remembering any wounds.

“You’re imagining things,” he says whenever you bring it up. “Do you want me to get the doctor again? You remember what he said last time—about your delusions?”

The mention of the doctor shuts you down. You remember the cold metal of the examination table, the too-bright lights, the clinical detachment in the doctor’s voice as he listed off your supposed symptoms.

“You’re not well,” he had said, his tone devoid of compassion. “But with time, and the right care, you can recover.”

And who had been there to hold your hand through it all? Who had whispered reassurances in your ear, promising that he’d never let anyone hurt you?

Him.

Always him.

———

One day, he takes you outside—or what he claims is outside. The sky is gray, the air heavy with the acrid smell of smoke. There’s no one around, just endless stretches of concrete and metal, like the remnants of a city that never finished being built.

“This is what’s left,” he says, gesturing to the desolation around you. “You wanted freedom? Here it is. Go ahead. See how far you get.”

You take a hesitant step forward, then another, the silence pressing in on you like a physical weight. But the farther you walk, the more it feels wrong. The same twisted tree looms in the distance no matter which direction you turn.

“It’s a loop,” you whisper, realization dawning like a shard of glass slicing through your thoughts.

He steps up behind you, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s safety,” he corrects. “And the sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

You sink to your knees, the weight of his words crushing you.

Because deep down, you know he’s right. There’s no way out.

────────────

The “gifts” arrive in silence, placed delicately where you can’t ignore them. They are always wrong in ways that make your stomach churn—a photograph from a vacation you can almost remember, the faces distorted into grotesque smears as if melted under the heat of his touch. A trinket you once cherished, now fractured or tarnished beyond recognition, its edges sharp enough to cut. A letter written in your own handwriting, the words rearranged into senseless patterns, like a code you’re too far gone to crack.

You don’t want to touch them, but you do, every time. They feel like a thread tying you to the world you left behind, even as the thread frays in your trembling hands.

Today, it’s a letter. A crumpled piece of paper, brittle and yellowed at the edges, that wasn’t there when you closed your eyes to the oppressive dimness hours—or was it days?—ago. The words shift as you read, the ink bleeding into itself until sentences collapse into meaningless blotches.

“It’s all gone, you know,” his voice cuts through the silence, a dagger laced with mockery.

You whip around, the paper crinkling in your grip as you face him. He’s standing in the doorway—or at least, where a doorway would be if this room obeyed the laws of reason. His silhouette is backlit by a faint, sterile glow that gives him an otherworldly edge, making him seem more phantom than man.

His smirk widens as he steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his boots echoing against the cold floor. “Everything you had. Everyone you loved.” He pauses, tilting his head as if savoring your reaction. “I made sure of it.”

His words pierce through you, sharp and unrelenting, a scalpel carving away at your hope. Your hands shake, the letter slipping from your grasp and fluttering to the ground.

“I don’t believe you,” you manage to whisper, though your voice wavers under the weight of his presence.

“Oh?” His tone drips with amusement as he crouches before you, his violet eyes glinting with something dark and twisted. He picks up the letter, smoothing it out with a precision that feels mocking, before holding it out to you again. “Then tell me—what does it say?”

You stare at the paper, the lines of ink writhing like living things under his gaze. The harder you look, the more the words evade you, slipping through the cracks of your comprehension like grains of sand.

“Nothing?” he presses, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “How tragic. And here I thought this might bring you comfort.”

He straightens, looming over you as his smirk softens into something almost tender—almost. “But you don’t need those relics, do you? Memories are just burdens, after all. And I…” He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch so light it feels like a mockery of affection. “…am here to unburden you.”

You recoil, pressing yourself against the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. His hand lingers in the air for a moment before he withdraws it, his expression shifting into something unreadable.

“You have me now,” he says, his voice calm, measured, but with an undercurrent of something that makes your skin crawl. “And isn’t that enough?”

———

You don’t answer. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating, until he chuckles—a low, mirthless sound that vibrates through the room.

“No?” He turns his back to you, pacing with the languid grace of someone who knows they’ve already won. “Ungrateful to the end, I see. Typical.”

He stops near the far wall, his hand trailing across its surface as if feeling for a seam. The room responds to him, a soft click reverberating through the air as a hidden compartment slides open. From within, he pulls another “gift”—a locket this time, small and tarnished, the metal warped as though crushed under immense pressure.

He holds it up, letting it dangle from his fingers as he turns back to you. “Do you recognize this?”

Your heart clenches at the sight of it, the faint glint of its once-polished surface sparking a memory so vivid it feels like a slap. You don’t answer, but he sees the recognition in your eyes, and his smile sharpens into something predatory.

“You kept this with you always, didn’t you?” he muses, his voice soft, almost reverent. “So sentimental. So human.”

He steps closer, dangling the locket just out of reach. “And yet, it couldn’t save you, could it?” His smile falters for a split second, a flicker of something bitter crossing his features before his mask of cold amusement snaps back into place.

He drops the locket at your feet, the sound of metal striking the floor echoing in the silence. “Take it,” he commands, his voice suddenly hard, sharp enough to cut.

You hesitate, your hands trembling as you reach for it. The moment your fingers close around the cold, misshapen metal, his boot comes down next to your hand, so close you can feel the air shift.

“But remember,” he says, his voice low and venomous, “everything you touch, everything you remember—it’s mine now. Just like you.”

His words sink into your mind like hooks, tearing at your resolve as he turns and disappears into the void he came from, leaving you alone with the locket and the crushing weight of his truth.

———

You want to say no. You want to scream it, to hurl the word at him with every ounce of strength you have left. But the word sticks in your throat, a jagged shard of glass you can’t swallow or spit out.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. He doesn’t need to. The smirk that plays at the corners of his lips tells you he already knows.

“You’ll see,” he murmurs, his tone almost reverent now, as though speaking of a truth so profound it defies comprehension. “In time, you’ll come to understand. I’m all you have. All you’ll ever need.”

He steps back, his boots clicking against the floor in a rhythm that echoes like a heartbeat—your heartbeat, weak and faltering.

“Do try to appreciate my generosity,” he says over his shoulder as he moves toward the shadows. “These little gifts of mine… they’re not just for you, you know. They’re for me, too. A reminder of how far you’ve come.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the letter, the photograph, the watch. Alone with the fragmented remains of a life you can no longer remember.

The lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness.

His voice lingers, though, soft and venomous, a ghost that refuses to leave.

“Gratitude, little fool. That’s all I ask.”

────────────

The room you’ve been confined to has changed again. Not in any tangible way—no new walls, no new objects—but in the oppressive way it seems to warp around you, making even its empty expanse feel too small. It’s as though the walls breathe, inhaling your will and exhaling despair. The only constant is him. Scaramouche, who looms like a god in a world of his own creation.

He stands before you now, framed by the stark artificial light, his expression unreadable. Every movement, every glance he spares is a study in calculated perfection, as though he’s rehearsed this scene in his mind countless times before bringing it to life.

“You’ve made progress,” he begins, his tone soft, almost kind. “I can see it in the way you’ve stopped resisting.” He kneels to your level, his hands clasped neatly on his bent knee. “But we still have work to do.”

You flinch as he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your wrist. His touch is light, fleeting, yet it feels like chains being wrapped around your bones.

“Tell me,” he says, his voice dipping into something more intimate, more poisonous. “What’s your name?”

You hesitate, your lips parting but refusing to form the words. The question isn’t innocent; you know that by now. It’s a trap.

Scaramouche’s smile deepens, and it’s the kind of smile that makes your stomach churn. “I see,” he murmurs, withdrawing his hand. “You’re still clinging to it. That identity. That name. That life.” His gaze sharpens, cutting through you like glass. “How selfish.”

“I’m not selfish,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling.

“Aren’t you?” he counters, rising to his feet. He begins to pace, his hands clasped behind his back, his every step deliberate and echoing in the oppressive silence. “You insist on holding onto a version of yourself that no longer exists. Do you know how exhausting that is for me? Watching you struggle, knowing you’ll never succeed?”

His words are a scalpel, precise and cutting. “Let me simplify things for you,” he continues, his tone lightening as though he’s offering a gift. “You don’t need a name. Names are for people who belong to the world, and you…” He pauses, turning to face you fully, his violet eyes glowing with an unearthly intensity. “You belong to me.”

The words hang heavy in the air, suffocating you in their finality. He kneels again, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Say it,” he commands, his voice velvet and steel. “Say you’re mine.”

You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes. “I—I’m not—”

His grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of his power. “Say it,” he repeats, his tone leaving no room for defiance.

When you don’t respond, he sighs, releasing you and rising once more. “You still don’t understand,” he says, his voice tinged with disappointment. “But that’s alright. I’ll help you. I always help you, don’t I?”

———

The next morning, you wake to find everything in the room gone—your blanket, the single chair you’d been allowed to sit on, even the thin mattress you’d been sleeping on. The floor beneath you is cold, unyielding, and utterly barren.

When Scaramouche arrives, his expression is one of practiced pity. He crouches down, inspecting you like a scientist observing a fragile experiment. “It’s painful, isn’t it?” he says softly. “To have everything stripped away. But it’s necessary. You have to learn that those things were only weighing you down.”

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, your voice breaking.

“Because I care,” he replies without hesitation. “Because I want you to be free.” He tilts his head, his gaze softening in a way that feels like mockery. “Don’t you see? I’m saving you from the prison of your own mind. The sooner you let go of who you were, the sooner you’ll find peace.”

You don’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He rises to his full height, towering over you like a judge delivering a sentence. “I’ll leave you to think,” he says, his tone light but his words laced with menace. “But remember: the only way out of this is through me.”

———

Days pass—or maybe weeks; it’s impossible to tell. The walls seem to close in more each day, their featureless expanse a blank canvas for the chaos in your mind. You begin to question everything: your memories, your sense of self, even your sanity.

One day, Scaramouche returns with a new “gift.” It’s a mirror, small and oval, its edges gilded in a way that feels almost mocking. He sets it before you with a flourish, his smile unreadable.

“Look,” he says simply.

You hesitate, your hands trembling as you reach for the mirror. When you finally raise it to your face, you barely recognize the person staring back. Your skin is pale, your eyes hollow, your hair disheveled. You look…empty.

“Do you see now?” he murmurs, crouching beside you. “This is who you are. Who you’ve always been. The world out there didn’t care about you. It chewed you up and spat you out. But I…” He pauses, his gaze locking onto yours in the reflection. “I’m the one who picked up the pieces. I’m the one who’s here for you.”

Tears stream down your face, and you don’t even know why. His words are poison, but they seep into the cracks of your mind, filling the void with something dark and insidious.

“You’ll thank me someday,” he says, his voice soft and almost tender. “When you finally see the truth. When you finally understand that I’m your savior.”

He takes the mirror from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels both possessive and gentle. “But until then,” he says, rising to his feet, “you’ll stay here, where you belong. With me.”

────────────

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[vevobly]

Yellowjackets Dating Coach Ben's Niece Headcanons!

A/N: Misty is still obsessed with Coach Ben but it's more of her yearning for a parental figure than wanting him romantically as her lover. Anyways, shout out to my other babe for her endless encouragement and support! @salfishdelish 😘

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie would feel a little self-conscious at first, aware of the potential judgement that could come from your uncle—Coach Ben. She'd constantly worry from time to time whether he'd approve or not of her relationship with you. Even if he didn't give her a thumbs up for it, she would still pursue you nonetheless.

Jackie would try so hard to make a good impression on Coach Ben, acting extra polite around him during practices and team events to soften the blow once he found out about you two dating later on. Although she seems pretty cool and confident about the whole situation in herself, Jackie is hella nervous on the inside—scared of maybe slipping up and so.

“So…do you think Coach Ben would kill me if he found out? Asking for a friend, of course.”

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna would feel a mix of excitement and apprehension about the entire situation. She wouldn’t care much about the possibility of Coach Ben disapproving her relationship with you, but she would be hyper-aware of how it might complicate things.

Shauna would try her best to keep the relationship low-key, not wanting to risk the idea of Coach Ben finding out way too soon about you two. She would occasionally ask him these hypothetical kinds of scenario questions with the idea of you dating someone just so she could find out what he thinks about it.

“I'm not scared of him, but maybe let's just.. keep this between us for now.”

Taissa Turner:

While Tai is mindful of Coach Ben's position, she wouldn't let that stop her from pursuing you. She wouldn't have that much trouble dating you, just the fact that your uncle happens to be her coach and he could really beat her over you two dating if he disapproved mainly.

Tai would be hella respectful around him, making sure not to give anything about your relationship with her away (and to earn some brownie points beforehand). She'd make sure that you really were comfortable with the whole situation before stepping things up.

“Coach Ben doesn't scare me, but I'll follow your lead on this.”

Van Palmer:

Van would think this situation with you was completely hilarious and wouldn't be intimidated by Coach Ben in the slightest at all. She'd also make plenty of jokes every once in a while about the whole thing with you in private, just full on grinning at you while wiggling her eyebrows and so.

Van wouldn't care much about what Coach Ben thought about your relationship with her, she'd be upfront about what she feels for you. And she would also try to find ways to bond with him, mostly to earn herself some good impression on him along for fun.

“Do you think he'll bench me if he finds out? What! It's a genuine question, and honestly, It'd be totally worth it.”

Natalie Scatorccio:

Nat would be a little wary of how Coach Ben could potentially react but she would not let it stop her from being with you. And to be honest, she kinda finds the situation slightly amusing herself. I mean, it's not every day that you get to bag an amazing babe who just so happens to be your own coach's niece.

Nat would avoid drawing attention to her relationship with you around Coach Ben as much as possible, keeping almost everything you guys do privately. If he ever found out, she'd immediately go up and stand her ground, make it loud and clear to him that her feelings for you are genuine.

“I don't care what he thinks. This, whatever we have, is what I'm here for. Not him.”

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie would go for you, whether you were Coach Ben's niece or not. She loves you. And this thing you guys have is something important to her. She's not just gonna let herself lose it over your uncle's potential disapprovement of her relationship with you and so on.

Although she might say she doesn't care about Coach Ben, she will make the effort to be respectful around him and kinda (maybe) subtly try to win him over without making it obvious. She'd also make sure you're actually comfortable with your relationship with her, before doing anything further than what you guys did.

“I... We'll handle this together, alright? Your uncle doesn't have to be an obstacle between us.”

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee would be the most concerned about Coach Ben's opinion about your relationship with her because, aside from the possibly weird dynamic you guys have—she wants his approval. She'd be cautious about how she went about her relationship with you, wanting it to align with herself and her values.

Laura Lee would most likely get you to have an open conversation with her about how you guys should handle the situation. She'd also pray for guidance and support while making sure this relationship you guys have is built on mutual things, respect and understanding.

“I.. think we should be honest with him when the time is right.”

Misty Quigley:

Misty would be ecstatic about the situation, mostly because it gave her an excuse to interact with Coach Ben even more. She'd see it as a great opportunity to get a good impression from him while she's also pursuing her feelings for you, It's like killing two birds with one stone!

Misty would go above and beyond to win your uncle over, possibly overstepping boundaries while at it too. She would be so overly eager to prove herself worthy of you that you couldn't be able to tell if it was cute or kinda scary of her to be this determined about it.

“Do you think Coach Ben likes me? What, I'm trying to make a good impression for us!”

[ador3him]

Sooo if I just start dumping brain rots here, I hope you don't mind. I need a distraction from worrying over work and losing sleep. And I figured why not share the thoughts so you can feel free to elaborate!

I loved when ppl would do the dad!dream team head cannons. But here's me with my insanely dirty mind going, yeah all 3 of these boys def have breeding kinks. But I feel like it would manifest in different ways based off their personalities.

Dream:

- I feel like he is the type of bf to absolutely spoil tf outta his partner. He just wants to keep you happy and support you in achieving your dreams. He's so thankful to have you, constantly worrying he'll lose you. Definitely gives me the vibes he would propose quickly, like 3 yrs max into your relationship, bc of it. He KNEW you were HIS! Like possessive but in a good way (but more on that in a few)

- Definitely teases you every time you need to refill your birth control... Like you complain about having to call and refill the prescription and he just goes "Or you could just not😏" "Oh you wish," you roll your eyes in response.

- or if you have an IUD or implant and you need to get it replaced and you're freaking out about the pain. Of course he wouldn't want you to endure that! Luckily, he has a better alternative idea!

- dream is the type to absolutely go feral on your wedding night. Officially having you as HIS! Yes, youve been intimate before, but this is where his breeding kink really comes into play. Definitely makes it a point call you by his last name at every opportunity.

- SIZE KINK! That man is so tall 🤤 And if it wasn't apparent by him having a series called "manhunt," he loves that he can easily over power you. 

- your place is seated on his lap cockwarming him while he works

- I could see dream wanting a bigger family (3-4 kids) He's so close to his parents and siblings. Plus he has such a big heart. Having his own kids with you is a dream come true.

- they say that animals can tell when you're expecting. So of course, Miss Patches is the first to know about her new sibling. She's actually how you found out! One morning, you wake up to Patches laying on your stomach purring. She proceeds to follow you around the house, never leaving your side. She's lovey, but usually never this clingy. When you proceed to get sick later on bc of a bad taste or smell, you and Dream start to put the pieces together. Your suspicions come true when you both are starring down at the positive test in your hands.

- patches is your best buddy throughout your pregnancy. You can expected once the baby is born she'd sleep at the foot of the crib. 

- OMG all the crazy baby shower ideas he'd have. He's just crazy excited to share the news with everyone.

- dream would cater to your every demand. He's just so appreciative that you're carrying your baby. He's definitely the type to hold your baby belly to give your back a break. He also low key grateful your sex drive hasnt decreased too much. You'd have to keep him at bay during the last month of your pregnancy if you don't want the baby coming out early 🤣

- singing to your baby bump and his heart exploding every time he feels the baby kick

- he holds your hand the entire time you're in the hospital. He's so scared for you. He won't leave your side, constantly making sure u have whatever you need, even if it requires bribing the nurses /j

- he's SO SO proud of you! The sight of his partner and baby melts his heart! Omfg definitely has a little striped (blue or pink) cat beanie for the hospital.

- he is the type to take you and the kids on different family trips like to see football games and the beach.

Sapnap:

- he's definitely more the reserved type. Doesn't want to rush into things you arent ready for. But don't let him deceive you, he fantasizes about you pregnant in a sundress, with your swollen belly and tits, regularly.

- once you both decide it's the right time, there is no stopping the beast. It's his fucking mission to breed you multiple times a day

- that being said, he downloaded a app to track your ovulation cycle. Whenever he gets a notification, he immediately drops what he's doing and is on you in an instant

- sure Sap is on the shorter side, but he is still taller than you. And sure as heck broader. Again is the type to love that he can easily manhandle you

- again Milo and Naomi are the first to know and are your cuddle buddies

-also gives the vibe of wanting a bigger family (3-5). Also googled what a group of pandas is called, an embarrassment, a cupboard, or a bamboo. 

-will also spoil the crap out of you and the baby.

-he gives the vibes of construction dad. Like already putting up the fence and swing set in the yard and the kid isn't even born yet. But this is very useful during your nesting phase, so your house gets a make over

-loves setting up the nursery with you and picking out baby clothes and stuffed animals 

-he gives the vibes that he would enjoy going to like those couples birthing exercise classes with you. Like you both get a little workout and get to socialize with other couples (That's so random but it makes sense to my brain)

-scared asf when you go into labor. Panic mode activated! He gives the vibes where you wouldn't know if the doctor is giving breathing instructions to you or him. He would fight anyone who pissed you off tho. Full papa bear mode, just wanting to protect you. But it's all worth it when you and the baby turn out fine! 

-Will definitely ask the doctor when you can get pregnant again

-Dad bod.... Yup, no explanation needed. 

-he would be the coach of his kids sports teams. You will be the mini van parent. He's constantly playing with them outside. Definitely a road trip dad.

-would love doing his little girl's hair.

George:

-breeding kink goes brrrr. He would be such a dilf omfg 🤤

-even more reserved relationship wise. Doesn't want to rush anything. Just wants to appreciate your relationship. Not showy of your relationship either.

-you wait to have kids for a while after being married. You have to figure out if you'll live in the US or UK.

-that doesn't mean however that your sex life is boring. If anything it's polar opposite and you're surprised you didn't end up accidentally having kids sooner. Especially with George loving to mark you as his

-whether it's constantly having his hand on you whenever your out, the constant array of hickeys on the two of you, or the fact his cum is almost always buried in you. There is no doubt in your mind that your only HIS.

-george gives cuddle sex vibes. Like cock warming and somnophilia are 2 things up his alley.

-im tired of the George is short slander! That boy is lanky! And he can definitely put you in your place! He loves that if you're on the smaller side he can encompass you. And if you're taller, he loves that you submit to him.

-He gives me the vibes that one day he will just decide to wisk you away somewhere for a month long vacation and you aren't coming back without a baby in you.

-He gives me the vibes of being a dad of twins. Will tease you that you're such a fertile couple he put 2 kids in you, and that you'd have to be careful not to have more.

-As soon as he finds out you're expecting, he goes into research mode. Definitely reading books on what is best for you to eat to avoid nausea and he cooks for you. Just wants to make sure you are taken care of.

- Definitely tries all your weird pregnancy cravings with you

- cuddles constantly. He would love talking to your belly and would rub your back and feet for you. He holds your hair back and rubs your back when you're sick. The pure joy on his face when he feels the baby kicks. So protective of you too! No one is coming near you. Him and you keep your relationship private and your pregnancy a secret til the babies are born.

- OBSESSED with your pregnant body. Worships it. Like if you're ever insecure, he can't fathom it. Makes his point to prove just how much he loves it😉

- side bar, man definitely has a lactation kink

- he doesn't want you to be worried at all and you both do a lot of research. So when you go into labor, George is your number one supporter. Gets you all your favorite foods so you aren't hungry when u can't eat. Holds your hand during your entire C-section, kissing all over your face and constantly telling you how much he loves you.

- when both babies arrive, you both are holding them, cuddled up on the hospital bed. He feels like his life purpose is complete. He is in awe of your strength and how tiny the babies are. Will make sure to count all their fingers and toes and fuss over every little hair on their heads.

- when it's just the two of you in the room, you cuddle and take a well needed food break and fall asleep together.

- he would be the one to check on the kids at night to let you sleep

- he's so smart so he'd be the best to help with homework. And you bet the kids are carbon copies of him!

Okay that's my rant.... I have to try and sleep now bc work 😴 have a good day!

omg I'm obsessed with this. little points I wanna expand on.

SAPNAPS DAD BOD IS SO REAL HE WOULD OMG. AND THE CONSTRUCTION THING!!! he would totally build a tree house or clubhouse for your kids.

GEORGE AND YOUR KIDS WOULD BE HIM. His brown, thick hair would be the main thing they got along with his pale ass skin. And the way he would be so protective of you and your kids. He would def not show you or your kids until it was like really serious and your kids are born. He would blur out your kids faces though and only refer to the kids as nicknames not their real name.

Dream would be obsessed with breeding, on your wedding night he could barely make it to your hotel room. He'd def research beforehand to know the best positions for impregnating you. And he for sure have mini cat hats ready for your baby when they're born with their name embroidered into it.

[zais-zafu]

things I manifested through subs I started creating

I wanted to create a master list for all that I manifested but Idt that's possible cos we manifest all the time + I manifest a lot of things per day/week, so here's just what I got out of my own subs over time!

(yt channel link)

okay so far, I created these subs + results:

° dad does what I want sub

at first I dreamt about dad a few times & in my dreams he reflected back my affirmations + now he is much kinder, generous, and loving too <3 now it's been a while since that and it is so funny how the old story just switched (I even low-key forgot how dad was like before). my dad really conformed to what I affirmed for that now he's the least of my problems + someone I feel safe with and loved by

° perfect lips sub

my lips are much fuller and vibrant, actually they are kinda tearing up bc of how much larger they got lol (they're healing fast tho so dw + I think they're just a lil chapped cos of the heat & some dehydration) & as an update they healed and I am in love with them now, they compliment my face perfectly!!

° best driver sub

I got my license (even when I really gave and asked dad to lemme drop and was sooo done with lmao)

° hairless sub

I listen to it every once in a while and it is nice to see how my whole body is losing hair and really looks hairless (probs lost like 50% of my hair in the 3d)

° 'your life is perfect' repeated 100k+ times sub

this is one of my favourite subs cos it was a start of a new era when it came to how I formulate my subs. I got such a shock when I first listen to it and it is an umbrella aff so I can't exactly provide results but I feel grateful, peaceful + I see much more beauty, opportunities, and fun in my life!

° 'I / you are perfect' repeated 500k+ times sub

this sub is crazy! I remember I woke up, ran some errands, then created it and listened to it for like 4 times then I got SO sleepy like my mind was super tired even tho I jusy started my day (probs cos of the amount of affirmations like it is that powerful!). ever since I started listening to it I have become so aware of myself and changed a lot on the inside (I think my ego died a lil lol). I really feel much happier with myself in a way that is detached from my ego :)

(ofc these subs are not the only way I practice the law but subs are one my main ones so I hope you felt motivated by these results!)

[feedthepheasants]

gale x f!tav, modern college au pt.3 - dinner date

part 3/continuation of what i started during flufftober '24 because while mom didn't raise a quitter i did grow up to be a procrastinator! (sorry mom)

read part 1 here and part 2 here if ye so dare.

tav goes to gale's apartment for their first official date!

read part 3 here on ao3! | wc: 2,932

As the hours tick by, Tav grows more and more impatient and nervous. Somehow, the time passes too quickly and yet, not fast enough. And just when she’s able to focus long enough to lose herself in her work, she remembers that tonight is the night — her first official date with Gale. 

The nerves course through her body so thoroughly that her usual fidgeting worsens – dropping her keys trying to get into the car, fumbling with the buckles on her shoes while trying to get changed once she gets home. Though the early evening air is crisp, it’s blazing in her apartment and the idea of throwing on a coat after her third outfit change exacerbates her stress. 

While Tav knew there shouldn’t be any real pressure about tonight, she couldn’t help but feel like if it went wrong in any way, everything would be different between them. She’d gotten too comfortable wading in the gray area with him – hoping but not expecting, enjoying their repartee and campus walks when they met up with one another outside Smith after class. He’d given her no reason to think things could change for the worse, but still, the paranoia was driving her mad. 

With a sigh of defeat, Tav changes out of the outfit that worked in her mind days ago, but didn’t feel right tonight – not to mention the still-dropping temperature outside. Swapping the black skirt for a pair of worn but well-fitting jeans and grabbing a dark green knit sweater, she tosses the rejected items back onto the laundry pile at the end of her bed, grabs her keys and heads out the door. 

Hours later, Tav’s earlier stress about tonight – the dinner, her outfit, the ‘officiality’ of their date – doesn’t matter. The spiced potato and beef stew is nearly gone, and Gale and Tav are helplessly wine-drunk, giggly and tucked into the couch, their knees touching. Tara surveyed them for a while from a comfortable perch on the back of the couch, but scurried off to Gale’s bedroom in a huff of annoyance when her usual bedtime passed and Gale was still occupied with Tav. They hadn’t seen her since. 

Just like Tara, the first and second bottles of wine came and went. Gale had offered to open up another, and not yet ready to say goodnight, Tav agreed.

And that was precisely the reason why Gale was now narrating Feather-Fall Into My Arms with an alarming surety. He’d even gone so far as to do different voices for the characters, sending Tav back and forth between belly-aching fits of laughter and burning-red embarrassment. 

“Oh, you’ll love this–” Gale says as he flips through the pages. “Gale–” 

“No no, just listen,” he laughs, landing on the page he’d been searching for. He clears his throat, getting into character. 

Tav already can’t contain her own giggling. She sinks further into the couch, pulling the neck of her sweater up over her chin and up to her nose as Gale gears up to read. 

“A storm had been raging within Seraphine all day, and Adrius’ now-silent but ever-looming presence had done nothing to calm her. The moon was low in the sky and the night was quiet, save for the cracking branches and leaves beneath their feet. 

Every glance over the last few days of their travels had felt…charged. With what, Seraphine couldn’t tell, but ever since they’d had to share that bed at the tavern, things felt different between them. She wondered if Adrius felt the same, or if it was all in her head. But she’d awoken that morning, held safe in his arms… 

“Oh my god, the one bed trope? Seriously?” Tav rolls her eyes, nudging Gale’s arm with her knee. 

“Give it a chance, Tav!” He laughs, clearing his throat again. “Her nerves had been set ablaze, and Seraphine couldn’t tell if she wanted him closer, or never wanted to see him again. 

She tried to focus on anything but him; the trees, the moonlight, the sounds of their footsteps. But all she could hear was his breathing, and couldn’t help but feel his warmth at her side. His hand accidentally brushed against hers. Seraphine glanced up at him, and though Adrius was already staring down at her, he looked away quickly and returned his focus to their path. That’s when she snapped.

‘What was that about?’ 

‘What?’ Adrius asks, turning over his shoulder to face her when she stops walking. 

‘You looked away from me,’ Seraphine huffs. ‘Why?’ Adrius hesitates. ‘Do you have anything to say to me, or are we going to continue the rest of the way to Elthyra in silence?’ She doesn’t let him answer. ‘Or, are you waiting for me to say something to you first?’ 

Adrius’ eyes darken, and he looks down at the ground between them. ‘It’s nothing. Come on, we need to keep moving.’ 

‘No Adrius,’ Seraphine says, crossing her arms and planting her feet firmly into the soft ground. ‘I’m not taking another step until you say whatever it is you want to say.’ He gives her a look, but she refuses to relent.’ Seraphine’s quite stubborn, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“Oh really?” Tav asks. “Thanks Gale, I don’t think I caught on to that.” She nudges him again with her knee, but Gale takes the opportunity to lean in closer, settling in between her legs. He shifts so that he’s leaning against her bent leg, his warm cheek pressed to the inside of her knee. Gale props himself up with one elbow, one hand holding the book and the other resting on her thigh. Tav’s stomach swims with butterflies and she can feel her cheeks flush from more than just the alcohol, but Gale continues on. 

“Where was I? Oh– Adrius studies her for a moment, letting out a sigh. He walks closer to where Seraphine stands, their eyes locked firmly on one another for a moment. She instinctively unfolds her arms, but before she can tell what’s happening, Adrius grabs her around her middle and throws her over his shoulder, then continues walking down the path. 

‘Put me down, Adrius!’ Seraphine shouts, though her thrashing is all in vain. His hold on her is strong, and it’s clear he has no intention of releasing her. ‘If you don’t set me down right now, I’ll–’ 

‘You’ll what, Seraphine?’ 

‘I’ll scream,’ she says venomously. 

Adrius scoffs. ‘Even if I talk?’ 

‘Especially if you talk,’ she snaps. ‘Just put me down so we can have a civilized conversation!’ 

‘Not if you have no intention of walking,’ he argues. ‘We’re running out of time, Seraphine. If we don’t make it to Elthyra by–’ 

Adrius is cut off by a blood-curdling scream, causing several birds in the trees above them to squawk and fly away. In a second Adrius pulls Seraphine from his shoulder, pressing her up against the nearest tree and covering her mouth with his hand. 

‘Seraphine!’ Adrius chastises. ‘What is the matter with you?’” 

“They’re totally about to kiss, aren’t they?” Tav asks, peering towards the book. Gale moves it so she can’t read the words on the pages, continuing. 

“Seraphine’s anger is suddenly far from her as she stands, looking up into Adrius’ eyes. The only light comes from the stars and the moon up above, but it’s enough. Gray flecked with green. Eyes she could get lost in. Eyes she had gotten lost in, if she was being honest. Adrius also seemed lost in hers, unable to pull himself away, no matter how hard his magic thrashed within him for release. 

Adrius removes his hand from Seraphine’s mouth, but keeps her pressed firmly between his front and the tree. Their breathing is heavy as they search each other’s eyes for something unspoken between them. 

‘Adrius–’ Seraphine starts, but quiets when he takes her chin in his fingers. Her heart roars from within her chest, almost deafening as the beats echo into her ears when Adrius runs his thumb over her bottom lip. 

‘It’s selfish of me to want you this way, Seraphine,’ Adrius whispers. ‘But I do. I do want you, and I don’t care if it’s wrong.’ 

Seraphine softens at this. ‘Adrius, I–’ 

‘I want to be selfish with you,’ he continues. ‘But I can’t do that unless you let me.’ 

Adrius couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so vulnerable with someone. He hadn’t imagined he could be this way with anyone, until he’d met her. When the wizard had awoken with his arms wrapped around her, when he’d realized that it had been the scent of her freshly washed hair that had helped lull him to sleep that night, he knew there’d be no coming back from this if he decided to face it. But he needed to, just as much as Seraphine did. 

‘Please, Seraphine,’ Adrius whispered, voice barely above a breath. ‘Let me be selfish with you.’ 

Seraphine nodded only once, and–” 

“I KNEW IT!” Tav shouts. 

“Tav!” Gale says incredulously, unable to hide his grin. “Are you going to let me finish reading this or not?” 

“Fine! Fine,” Tav laughs. She had to admit, as cheesy as it was, it was better than The Sorcerer’s Embrace, and she wanted to know what would happen between Seraphine and Adrius after all of the excerpts Gale had performed for her throughout the night. He wouldn’t tell her if her guesses were right or wrong, but he did say that she’d be on the edge of her seat for the last fifty or so pages – and that he had the other two books, ready and waiting for her to read them. 

“Thank you,” Gale says, earning another scoff from Tav. He clears his throat again and returns to the book. “Any words Seraphine might’ve managed disappeared as Adrius’ lips brushed against hers. Tenderly, at first; though a fire began to blaze within her, and a long-suppressed part of her seemed to awaken at the touch. Seraphine kissed him back, and suddenly, all bets were off. 

Adrius’ steady hands cupped Seraphine’s face to bring her closer, the warmth between them enough to stave off the chilled night air. There was no king, no war, no cold and dark forest around them; only the urgency in his touch, making Seraphine’s stomach tighten, and a hunger in Seraphine that nearly drove Adrius to madness. All that mattered was that they were there, together and alive. 

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the air as Adrius rested his forehead against Seraphine’s, his fingers tracing their way through her loose hair. If they didn’t leave the forest, they could stay like this forever. 

The storm Seraphine could feel within herself seemed quelled for now, and a different kind of spark began flickering to life. 

‘Everything’s going to be different now, isn’t it?’ She asked him, feeling a bit childish given everything that was going on around them. 

‘Yes,’ Adrius said quietly. ‘I…the king,’ he starts to say, closing his eyes. ‘Your father – oh, Seraphine, it’s going to be a mess when we finally return. But…’ his voice trails off. 

‘But what?’ Seraphine asks, lifting a hand to brush his hair from his eyes. 

‘I don’t know,’ he shakes his head, finally reopening his eyes to look back at her. There was an unspoken but understood promise between them now. ‘I don’t know, but I promise you, I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep this. To keep you.’ 

Seraphine taunts him with a smile. ‘Oh really? Like what?’ 

Adrius returns the smile with his own, though he’s reluctant, as if trying his hardest to keep himself together in that moment with her. ‘I don’t know, but if you keep looking at me like that, we’ll both just have to find out.’” 

Gale closes the book. 

“What are you doing? Keep reading!” 

“Nope. I’m afraid you’ll have to start from the beginning and figure out what happens from there,” Gale replies, settling his eyes on Tav as he places the book on the floor. “I told you before that you’d like it. And you’re welcome to borrow it for as long as you’d like – I have all three.” 

Tav tosses her head back again. “I can’t believe you read these!” 

“Why?” Gale laughs. “Look, as an avid reader, if I’m decently interested in the story then I want to see it through. It doesn’t matter who the books are typically marketed for. I want to know what happens!” 

Tav lifts her head to look back at Gale, about to quip back at him, but is rendered speechless for a minute. She can’t place whether it’s the wine, the butterflies in her stomach, or the fact that he’s casually laid in between her legs. Where his hand rests on her thigh she feels her skin absolutely burning. He’s so beautiful like this. Gale’s normally beautiful, whether he’s focused on a reading or telling a story or a joke from across a cafe table. And he always seems relaxed around her, but this – with his cheeks flushed, a little sleepy and still drunk and laughing together like kids playing hide and seek… 

“You’re so pretty,” Tav says before she can stop herself. Her grin widens when Gale blushes at her compliment. “You are,” she smiles, tilting her head. She’s only saying this because she knows she’s drunk and can get away with it, otherwise her face would be redder than Gale’s right now just for thinking it. 

Gale looks right back at her, unable to hide his own smile. “Not as pretty as you are, Tav,” he says quietly. 

A cheekiness that Tav hadn’t felt in years starts to settle on her. “Really?” She asks, narrowing her eyes playfully. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“I think you’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, Tav,” Gale answers with zero hesitation. 

Tav is taken aback at his confession for a moment, stunned by the utter sweetness in his words, the honesty in his eyes. “I–” she starts, then has to shake her head to find her nerve again. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then why are you still looking over at me from right there?” 

Gale’s eyebrows flick up at this. “Did you want me somewhere else?” He teases. 

Tav nods. 

Gale’s eyes narrow as his smile grows. “And where might that be, Tav?” 

She nods at him in a silent request to draw closer. 

“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now, Tav. Use your words.” 

This makes her flush all over, bringing back the giggles. “Come here,” she says quietly, rolling her eyes. 

Gale’s brows knit together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you – what was that?” 

“Come here,” she says again. Gale half crawls closer, hovering just barely above her. Tav can feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it’s all she can do to keep from grabbing at his chest to bring him down on top of her. 

“Now that I’m here,” Gale drawls. “What do you–” 

Tav’s restraint doesn’t last very long – she pushes herself up onto an elbow, leaning up to kiss him as her free hand begins weaving fingers into his hair. Gale wastes no time either, gently settling his weight on top of her and fervently kissing her back as he wraps an arm beneath her, bringing their bodies even closer. 

When Tav wakes up, the last thing she expects is to be tangled up with Gale on his couch with the table lamp still on, and Tara half standing on her, nudging her nose into Tav’s face. “Hi Tara,” she whispers. Gale is still asleep, chin resting on top of Tav’s head.

Falling asleep had been an accident. It was hazy, but she could remember bits and pieces of kissing, pulling back and laughing at Gale’s sweet whisperings, then kissing again. They both knew they were too drunk for anything beyond, but this had been more than enough. It had been all too easy to lay her head on his shoulder once Gale had wrapped an arm around Tav to hold her close, and even easier to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.

There’s no blanket over top of them, but being folded in Gale’s arms keeps her warm enough. She reaches for her phone to check the time, and it’s nearly three in the morning. 

Class wouldn’t be for another seven hours, and surely she’d wake back up with enough time to drive to her apartment and change before heading to campus. Tav scratches the underside of Tara’s chin for a moment until she jumps up along the back of the couch and finds a spot to settle in. Tav does the same as she shifts to a more comfortable position, her head against Gale’s chest. 

As if he too had been stirred awake by Tara’s pestering, Gale clears his throat and moves as well, leaning up to turn off the table lamp, then tracing small circles with his fingers along Tav’s sweater-covered shoulder. “I hope you’ll let me take you out for coffee after keeping you out so late,” he mumbles groggily. 

“Mmhm,” Tav answers, settling against him once more. 

“It’s a date, then,” Gale says, and Tav swears she can hear the smile in his voice. He presses a kiss to her forehead and lets out a contented sigh. “Goodnight, Tav.” 

“Goodnight, Gale,” she says back, biting the inside of her cheek to contain herself. Everything would certainly be different between them now. 

And what a lovely thing that would be.

~

taglist:

@dr-demi-bee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee @lanafofana

@marlowethebard @crimson-and-lavender @spooky-lil-bee

@12thhouse-sun @waterdeep-weavemoss @amorgansgal

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you. 

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be. 

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to. 

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could. 

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped. 

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you. 

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live? 

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from. 

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs. 

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger. 

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul. 

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating. 

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost. 

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him. 

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you. 

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him. 

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten. 

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole. 

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it. 

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again. 

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you’re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee. 

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair. 

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though. 

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door. 

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows. 

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional. 

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask. 

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks. 

“What makes you think that?” she retorts. 

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.” 

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect. 

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here. 

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says. 

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you. 

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her. 

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question. 

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense. 

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans. 

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say. 

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“Thank you.” 

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least. 

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again. 

You reach into your bag. 

“You brought wine,” Claire points out. 

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?” 

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat. 

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again. 

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is. 

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul. 

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat. 

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down. 

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself. 

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs. 

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back. 

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.” 

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob. 

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire. 

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper. 

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out. 

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born. 

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help. 

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you. 

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch. 

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue. 

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap. 

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty. 

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then. 

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you. 

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine. 

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters. 

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion. 

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all. 

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically. 

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says. 

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before. 

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into. 

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever. 

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway. 

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur. 

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask. 

“Drinking,” she says. 

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before. 

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask. 

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her. 

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify. 

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy. 

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?” 

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says. 

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about. 

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him. 

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask. 

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment. 

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had. 

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do. 

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

[alloveydovey]

Blah blah, dramas of this month. This is the ACTUAL month of rewatch lol.

It’s Okay, That’s Love, 2014 (kdrama) 8.5

A psychiatrist who has issues getting intimate in her relationships meets a flirty famous author who might have a lot more issues than he lets on.

Okay, so, mixed feelings. It's very different from what I've seen before, so that's a good thing. It took me a while to get into it because I didn't like the secondary characters that much. One of them is 28 and is after a high schooler, and the other one has a whole family somewhere but lives with FL, ML, and the dude in love with the teenager-- and like? He's also in a weird relationship with his ex-wife. Maybe I can't take complex characters cause what is this man doing with his life? Or maybe that's part of the theme of this drama. What are we all doing? lmao, anyway. It's more adultish, and it deals with mental health. Zo In Sung and Gong Hyo Jin are great, their acting very natural, and their chemistry is fire. It did take me a while to end it, sooo... I don't know. I'm still not sure how to rate it. Overall good, though.

One Spring Night, 2019 (kdrama) (rewatch!) 9 ⭐

A librarian meets a pharmacist. She’s already in a relationship, and he has a kid outside of wedlock.

I guess this is where cultural differences collide. This drama would make absolutely no sense where I'm from. ML is a father whose girlfriend runaway after having the child... ok? Single parents (even young ones) are a common thing where I'm from. FL breaks up with her boyfriend, but he, her father, and his ex's father as well don't seem to get the memo and insist on a wedding... absolutely insane. I do get it, though. I get that in their culture, such things (maybe a little hyperbolic) happen, so I forego the cultural contrast and absolutely adore this drama. It's one of my favorites. And not just because of Jung Hae In (although, yeah, he was the reason I watched it the first time lol). The whole cast is amazing, you hate almost every man in it, but the women... the women are so worth it. Hae Ji Min is such an amazing and realistic FL. And the comfort... It's one of those cozy dramas perfect for watching every once in a while. Even the repetitive songs hit differently.

Because This is My First Life (kdrama) (rewatch!) 9

FL loses her job and on top of that doesn’t have where to live. ML wants monthly rent to keep up with his mortgage. A wedding contract ensues.

This is probably my favorite marriage contract/fake relationship drama. Also, the softest FL and ML ever. Even with their awkwardness, Jung So Min (I loooooove her) and Lee Min Ki manage to grasp you. My only two cons are the ending and one of the secondary couples. The unnecessary, always present separation between FL and ML. Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't. I feel like it might have made sense here, but at the same time it was one of the separations I hated most. Happy ending, though, so yay. I loved the girl with the bra problem and the sentimental boss, they were badass. But yeah, I hated the other secondary couple that broke up and made up over and over again. Extra notes: It was the first drama I saved music from lol.

Boys Over Flowers, 2009 (kdrama) (rewatch!) 7.5

Jan Di gets a scholarship at a rich kids' school and stands up to the F4, a group of popular guys who love to bully the shit out of everyone who they dim as bothersome.

I watched BoF when I was fourteen, and to be honest, I didn't remember much other than the fact that it wouldn't be one of those dramas I'd rewatch again. Well, let's ignore the fact that I'm here watching it again lol. I’m into 00s dramas lately, they’re kind of addictive so I had to re-check this one.

I didn’t remember Joon Pyo being so soft. I mean, still a menace to society, yes, but I think my mind got stuck with the first episodes and I low-key forgot that he actually falls for Jan Di way earlier in the drama and that he's just a caricaturized dumbass. And as for our FL, she could be a pain in the ass, but Jan Di could also be pretty fucking badass. Obviously the drama is way outdated, an adaptation from an even more outdated manga, and has a million red flags. Outside of that, I didn't think I'd be able to rewatch it. It gets extremely annoying at one point, but maybe the nostalgia won me over, and I low-key mostly enjoyed this. Extra notes: One of my favorite secondary couples/ Fuck Ji Hoo I never liked him lol.

Love in Contract, 2022 (kdrama) 8

FL works as a wife for hire. In between various clients, she’s had a consistent one for the past 5 years, a quiet and awkward man who she doesn’t know much about. Now, when she decides to retire, she has doubts about how to approach the end of their business relationship (fake marriage) with her longest and favorite husband/client.

I should stop reading drama reviews before watching them cause, unlike everyone else apparently, I enjoyed this drama a lot. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s far from being bad. The chemistry between Park Min Young and Go Kyung Pyo is everything. It also has an openly gay character who is possibly my new favorite character ever. It does drag at the end, but I don't think it diminishes the rating of the drama.

A Piece of Your Mind, 2020 (kdrama) 8.5

ML is trying to capture the personality of the woman he loves (but hasn’t seen in years) inside a device he invented. A classical music recording engineer ends up connecting with that same woman, and they both meet in— spoiler.

I admit I still haven’t finished this one but I’m really into it. Great story, great visuals, great OST. It’s a slow drama, but I feel like it’s meant to immerse you in its little melodrama world. It's both heartbreaking and comforting at the same time. Apparently, it has a low rating, and I can understand why it might be that way because it's a soft drama, but I absolutely adore it. Jung Hae In never disappoints. Also, Chae Soo Bin might be becoming one of my favorite Korean actresses.

Rich Man, Poor Woman, 2012 (jdrama) 8

Poor Woman is restlessly looking for a job and ends up working for the project of Rich Man’s company. Poor woman likes Rich Man. Rich Man is bratty and in serious need of social skills. However, fire chemistry ensues.

This drama was a surprise, for sure. The chemistry between the leads is amazing (old rom-com style), and the storyline itself, though sometimes focusing a little too much on the company and the partners-turned-rivals, is quite capturing. I did wish that it could concentrate a little more on the two leads and their romance since they were great together. I usually hate when dramas have their leads get together in the last episode (jdramas do this so much man) but here... well, I hated it, but it's okay cause they were cute af. (Also there’s a follow up movie apparently).

Haven't finished yet and don't know if I will ⬇️

Amidst a Snowstorm of Love, 2024 (cdrama) 8

ML falls in love at first sight with a girl in Finland. She plays billiard which is coincidentally the sport he gave up.

I have a lot of mixed feelings here because, yes, this is extremely romantic, which is what I always look for. The chemistry absolutely takes the cake, and the actors deal with it incredibly well. But... For me, love at first sight lacks substance. I rarely like it, and here, it felt like she liked him because he was good-looking and attentive (sometimes a bit too much... like back off, she's not a kid), and he liked her because... he just did. She obviously had great qualities but, yeah, I don’t know. I need a little friction to enjoy a good romantic drama. Also, it's not important, but I don't like billiards, so a lot of this was a bit boring for me. The writing felt also a bit off.

I might finish it because the characters and setting are interesting enough. Romance is cute and seems promising as well.

My Boss, 2024 (cdrama) 7

An inexperienced lawyer ends up sharing a flat with her boss after they accidentally rent the same place. Both are complete opposites.

This is actually from January, but I tried seeing if I'd be able to finish it now and still no. Back then I was looking forward to this one cause it seemed like a cute silly rom-com, but it might have been a little bit too much on the silly. The actors are okay, their chemistry is fine. I guess what really made me drop it was the writing. Which was not good... at all.

[cevans-is-classic]

18+ only please, language, nudity mentioned, tooth aching sweetness and kissing

My Masterlist

My Pedro List

It’s the soft string of lyrics near your ear that wake you up, drawing you to the surface to see Javi leaning against the headboard with his ukulele in his lap.

In lieu of asking him anything, you carefully roll over, smiling when he glances down his fingers slowly, his soft strumming, "Buen día, cariño."

The tune changes for a moment, going even softer as he sings low, whispered lyrics that crack and pitch, a sheepish smile on his lips. The little curl over his forehead moves as he softly nods with the rhythm.

He’s adorable.

He’s perfect.

He can’t sing worth a damn though, but it doesn’t stop the swell of your heart as he sways with the music.

“Can’t you see that it’s just raining,” He smiles at you, “Ain’t no need to go outside.” The song changes as he switches languages, his voice going in and out of Spanish and English.

It makes you want to close your eyes and lose yourself in it.

Except for the crack with each note that makes you bury your face in your blanket, cheeks red to keep from laughing, eyes following the up, down, up, down movement of his right hand.

“Pretend like it’s the weekend now. We can pretend it all the time -” Javi slowed for a moment, eyes casting over the room, gray light coming through the sheer curtains. The sound of rain hitting the windows created a cocoon of tranquility as he started strumming again, “- can’t you see that it’s just raining? Ain’t no need to go outside.”

He closes his eyes, and you watch him.

Javi is mesmerizing.

A force of nature.

Something beautiful, sweet, and kind wrapped up in warm colors and caramel hair. His smile rivals the sun, and most days, it takes a herculean effort not to get lost in the brown of his eyes.

You knew if you brushed your finger across his cheek you’d feel the heat of him. That if you curled your fingers behind his chin and he’d lean into it, rest his cheek in your palm and wait.

He’s wonderfully unreal.

His voice cracks, once again, on the next note, and you laugh — airy, covered by the blanket pulled up to your chin. Javi glances down at you, cracks a grin wider than the universe, and keeps right on singing, off key and all.

“But the telephone is singing, ringing it’s too early. Don’t pick it up-” You sat up, scooting closer, the blanket falling from your shoulders. The air on your bare skin was startling, causing you to gasp, and Javi looked then kept on looking. His fingers playing, up, down, up, up, down, as he sings, “but baby you hardly even notice, when I try to show you this, song is meant to keep ya, from doing what you’re supposed to-“

Your lips hovered over his, every note he sang, brushing them against yours.

Breathe for breath.

He kept strumming, humming now and then, singing words he knew in Spanish, then back to English all while staying there. Head cocked, fingers playing, lips faintly chasing yours.

The rain outside added to the ambiance, suffocating the sound of the world around you. All that mattered was Javi, here and now. Javi's voice, Javi's lips, his eyes, the curve of his nose that you kiss once, twice, three times, then down his cheek going from one to the other.

"And we can pretend it all the time, can't you see that it's just raining, ain't no need to go outside."

A quick glance shows you the time, hardly seven in the morning.

Is he allowed to be this beautiful at seven in the morning?

(You might have a biased opinion, and little sleep, but Javi was heaven come to life.)

The strumming stops for a moment, a crinkle between his brows as he mouths along with the noise in his head before flushing and shaking his head.

"I forgot the words." Ah, his ever running mind.

“Well-" Your voice is rough and Javi blinks at the sound, cheeks reddening even more when he catches sight of your bare chest and the marks he'd left the night before.

(and the night before that.)

"Try a different song."

With a slow nod he looks up at the ceiling, Whispering lyrics from a variety of songs, idly picking at the ukulele chords.

"I'm not sure to be honest."

"Hmm." You slid down, crossing your arms behind your head, "Try playing Banana Pancakes again from the beginning."

The strumming started up once more, up, down, up, down, his knuckles rocking against the slick brown wood as he hummed along with it.

"Can't you see that it's just raining?" Your voice wasn't any better than Javi's.

You wondered how a man, with a bedroom voice meant for the radio, sounds strangled when he sings.

"Ain't no need to go outside."

He winked after singing, the Spanish rolling off his tongue making your cheeks burn as you start the next line.

"But baby, you hardly even notice."

"When I try to show you this."

"Song that's meant to keep ya, from doing what you're supposed to." Javi was smiling again, brighter than before, turning his body towards you.

You slide a hand up his arm, across his chest, resting it over his heart as he sings. "like waking up too early. Maybe we can sleep in. I'll make you banana pancakes. Pretend that it's the weekend now."

Coming in at the crack of his note, you joined him again.

"And we can pretend it all the time."

"Can't you see that it's just raining? Ain't no need to go outside." His voice dropped, low, smooth, dark eyes holding yours as his fingers pick at the chords and slide along the frets.

It's intoxicating watching him like this.

"Javi-"

He stops playing, "Yes?"

"What woke you up?"

An embarrassed look took over his face, "I had a dream. Nicolas Cage stopped speaking to me. I could not go back to that time, that life, before him. I had to call him."

"Oh, baby."

He set the ukulele aside, moving to rest his head against the wall behind you, "Afterward — he was very generous to talk to me for three hours before the sun rose for him — I watched Con-air and started listening to How Do I Live — I thought of you."

"So you started playing our song?"

"Sí, I knew it'd wake you up, but I couldn't resist watching you sleep as I played."

Your hand moved from his chest to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath it, brushing your thumb beneath his lip.

Javi leaned into it, closed his eyes, sitting the ukulele on the bed to make room for you to climb into his lap and capture his lips with yours.

It's sweet.

It's slow.

Javi's hands move over your back to your waist, gripping your hips for a best before moving back up and wrapping around you. There is no space between your bodies, chest to chest, lips to lips, he's everywhere you are.

Kissing Javi felt like falling. It's air stealing, a rush of adrenaline with each swipe of his tongue, and how wonderful he feels when he gives in.

"My baby boy." You pull back for air and Javi pants, his mouth on your collar, fingers gripping you.

"Come back to bed." You murmured, lifted his chin for another kiss even as you moved off his lap.

He follows you, "I'm in bed."

"No," you lift the blanket as he slides in, "beneath the covers, baby, with me."

Javi hums a tune as you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes.

@coulsons-fullmetal-cellist

Just cuz I wanted some sweet Javi music

[wysteir]

Wisteria's FG Journal

S1 In Review

Around the start of this year I decided to try and get into fighting games! This post will have notes about my journey and learning experiences in the first 3 months

My first* fighting game was Granblue Fantasy Versus: Rising! Asterisk because it was the first game I actually wanted to try to learn all the ins and outs of fighting games seriously.

Before this year the bulk of my experience was whatever odd fighting games we had lying around, including Samsho V, One Of The Mortal Kombats, and One Of The Dead Or Alives. Later got Skullgirls and Street Fighter 4 but never got deeply into either, and I'll include any time I played playing Whichever Versions of smash.

Either way, having fun with them casually, but never really thinking about actual strats. I wanted to fling specials at people and hit then with heavy buttons hahaheeheehoohoo

Granblue stood out to me because

1) A bunch of folks I knew were playing it

2) It touted a relatively low skill floor

3) Fox gal with huge fluffy tail

So I steeled myself for losses, and dove in, except - where do I even start?

Well thankfully my friends had my back on that one. I got linked copious amounts of resources, and of them the most important ones for me personally were the ones related to keeping a healthy mental game.

Fighting games are hard to learn because it's a skill like any other. Learning an art is hard- music, visual arts, writing, dance: all of these are skills that take time and have difficult aspects to learning them.

They should also bring joy when engaging in them, both through the fun of doing, but also the satisfaction of honing a skill. This is where healthy mental comes in. I didn't want to be stuck in a bad mental state learning fighting games. That would cascade into my attempts to learn and would spoil my fun- and at that point why bother?

Staying realistic while taking as much pride as I could in my progress contributed a huge amount in how smoothly I ramped up. In many ways I benefitted from being almost entirely new, and starting with upholding mental first. Note that it was also important to me to not dismiss my feelings or bottle them up. These things linger in the subconscious, they are mind killers and they need to be treated with care.

Immense damage was dealt to me by the North American Education System and Familial Expectations. Part of my journey in fighting games involved a continuation of dismantling the shame in perceived failures. I would let nothing stop me from finding joy in learning, and being silly with it. A key thing for fighting games is that for better or for worse, there's a common perception that the failure state is getting KO'd. After much deliberation, I personally refuse to view it as such.

Winning is merely a side effect of good play.

Losing is an opportunity to hone my skills.

Success to me is the 50/50. I'm a performer by heart, I love the drama, the thrill, the narration. And over and over again, I see my goal in others' replays and tournament footage- it's the 50/50. Being evenly matched with my opponent became an immense source of positive vibes, and as I improved, and got closer to it, the joy I got grew more and more. Most notably, I hit a point where even fighting players who could 10-0 me wasn't even daunting anymore, because every round we played I got just a little bit better, and I knew it was only a matter of time before I could turn it into a 10-1.

Mental is the most important thing because it determines how efficient you are in terms of learning, performance, and inspiration. Once mental tanks or ges overwhelmed, it's time for a break!!!

The next important thing for me was defense and taking back my turn.

I thought about it, and realized that at my skill level, I would probably be on the losing side of the fight more often than not. What I needed wasn't the most damaging combo, what I needed were the skills to get myself out of an inevitable scenario.

A dependency comes about from this then:

1) If I'm knocked down or in the corner, my priority needs to be taking my turn back. I can't do anything else if I'm under attack with whatever mix tape my opponent is blasting on loop.

2) If we're in neutral, I need to find the best way to get into a position to establish offence (or just establish it outright)

3) If they're blocking, I need to mix them and watch out for when they want to take their turn back

4) If I'm hitting them I either won or I'm about to get sent back to 3

Combos ain't shit actually!! They kinda fucking suck for a new player!!!! Combos and Complicated Hornswogglery won't save the new player from the situation they'll be in most of the time, ie- blocking in the corner

Second most important is playing neutral to try and prevent getting hit and cornered in the first place.

When I first started playing Granblue the most I could do was a basic baby auto combo into 236L and easy input super for offense, but I learned how to jab out of pressure, I learned how valuable reversals were, as I spent less and less time in the corner I learned how to approach and counter in neutral, and everything else was the fun fancy stuff that most resources list in great detail.

So! Behold, my power 9!

0) Preliminary research on game specifics

1) Learn how to maintain good mental

2) Learn how to block/evade/tech

3) Learn how to escape pressure

4) Learn how to skip/hold neutral

5) Learn a basic midscreen combo

6) Learn Okizeme/counter reversals

7) Learn a basic corner combo

8) Learn the advanced mechanics

Throughout the discord server I'm in I have lists and lists of things I felt I wanted to learn and some little victories and eureka moments

The 9 things above basically cover the gist of things

As I learned more and more granblue basics I also ended up playing guilty gear strive more often, and applied the same principles. Strive has more mechanics/resources than granblue so some of them came hand and hand with the 9, but I'm sure you'll find they slot in easy

By the end of March I was at a relatively low Mental and was taking it easier, but by then I was also playing in a way I didn't see myself being able to do for at least 6 months.

And now, even only 2.5 weeks since then? I could deck the halls with my March self

And if you've ever been interested in fighting games, you could learn them well too!!!

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

Low-key losing my mind at how good the Battlestar Galactica characters are with kids. It’s like a requirement for the main characters.

Like, Apollo has Boxy, who is his kid by marriage/adoption and literally right after he married Boxy’s mother she died. You wouldn’t even know it, you would think this man had raised this little boy from infancy. He’s such a sweet dad, he loves his son SO MUCH. He’s very genuine and in tune with Boxy and understands and validates his son’s feelings. He gets frustrated with his kid sometimes but I don’t think he’s ever actually like, yelled and gotten angry at him. When he met his wife she told him he “seemed good with children” based on a 10 second interaction he’d had with Boxy. He’s one of those people who automatically knows how to talk to children, by not talking down to them like they’re stupid, but explaining things to them in ways they understand. When he meets a little boy and his single mom when he emergency lands on a planet he does the exact same thing and actually helps the kid grow up a little and understand his mom a bit better.

You would not look at Starbuck and think this man would be good with kids but wow he is. Like, yeah, he flirts with almost every woman he meets but I’m 99% sure that if he ever actually got one pregnant he’d drop everything to raise that kid. When Apollo was MIA and they didn’t want to worry Boxy, Starbuck, on the fly, told Boxy that his dad said he was going to be longer than expected but he wanted Boxy to spend the night with the Blue Squadron pilots. He sets up a whole card game with fruit juice instead of beer and jellybeans as bets to give the kid the full experience. He crash-landed on a planet and was rescued by a gang of kids who were trying to rescue their father from cylons by doing hit-and-run attacks. He doesn’t belittle them, or talk down to them (once he understands what’s going on) he just tries to advise them. When the leader of the siblings (a boy about 15) realizes that if he hadn’t listened to Starbuck he’d have made a horrible mistake, he relinquishes command to Starbuck, who agrees on the condition that the kid be his lieutenant. He leads the kids to rescue their dad and teaches them the plan to storm the castle THROUGH SONG. He MADE UP A SONG and taught it to them so, in the words of my mom “all the kids would know what was going on the whole time”. And that’s just SO SMART because that’s how kids LEARN.

And Boomer over here has just learned to roll with his friend’s shenanigans so hard that he totally went along with the aforementioned scenario with Starbuck and Boxy. Like, he went as far as to cue other pilots while Boxy was around so that they kept the atmosphere light for the kid. Also his voice gets so much softer when he’s talking to Boxy and I die.

And ADAMA, the commander of the fleet, who, when his little grandson Boxy comes up to him late one night on the bridge and tells him he can’t sleep, lets the kid climb up on his lap like, “You know, when your father was little and couldn’t sleep I’d tell him stories. Do you want me to tell you a story?” and then he just tells Boxy a bedtime story right then and there on the bridge of the Galactica. I MELT.

Cassiopeia moms Boxy sometimes too and it’s very cute. Back to that time Starbuck set it up so Boxy could stay with Blue Squadron, their card game was interrupted by Cassie showing up and yelling at them about teaching the six-year-old how to gamble and smoke (Boxy did not have a cigar xD) and drink (again, fruit juice). The boys indignantly defended themselves against these claims and added about the card game, “And (Boxy’s) winning!” Cassie gets through yelling at the boys and turns to Boxy with the softest voice, “you can come back once you’re ready for bed-” *turns and glares at the boys* “and they RECIRCULATE THE AIR IN HERE!” xDD

Also, I’d like to point out that all but one of these characters are men and I think that’s fantastic. Showing that the best of the best warriors in the fleet and the Commander himself can be so soft and gentle with children is just, it makes my heart happy. It’s such a needed message- that you can be brave and strong and fight for your home and your people but also be kind and compassionate and loving. They’re just such well done characters and I love them so much. ;-;

[seraphdreams]

If you do can you write Yandere Tokyo revengers characters pls?? Like with Izana/Mikey/whoever watching someone flirt with s/o and they're low-key losing it. If not that's okay and I hope you have a good day. ☺️

izana x gn!reader.

contains. yandere themes, guns, gender-neutral reader, stalking, slight manipulation (??), slight sexual themes.

ser’s note. this is like the first time i ever wrote izana, i’m sorry if he’s ooc!

you were never close with kurokawa izana, only exchanging one or two words with him every so often while you worked as one of his many assistants. you were a busy thing, not having the time to be caught up in his antics or the business he partakes in. yet to him, you were so much more. hours would pass by when izana would think of just how perfect you are, how you weren’t as uppity as the others around him, and just as sweet as his favorite drink.

to him, you were in love.

he took it upon himself to try and get closer with you. he’d call you in to work more hours, give you personal tasks, and even arrange a lunch session for the two of you. at first, you thought this was his way of getting used to his new employee but that suspicion hastily died down.

izana already knew any and every thing about you. he knew what time you woke up, what you ate for breakfast, the shops that you’d frequent — he knew it all; and he wasn’t ashamed of that. that’s what lovers do, right?

he had gotten into the habit of stalking you after a little business party had managed to get you too intoxicated to drive yourself home. izana had taken that opportunity to be cordial with you, get your address so that he knew it like the back of his hand and relish in the sight of you so unkempt. lovers see themselves at their most vulnerable, yes?

after that incident, you hadn’t noticed how often izana was around, merely because he was dexterous at concealing his presence. everyday at the same time for the past month, he’d get accustomed to your routines until there was a little disturbance that angered him more than any traitor.

“sorry i had you come by on such short notice, i’ve been so busy.” you say as you let some man inside your abode. to izana, he was some roguish individual, he looked as though he had no regard for you, and you allowed your guard to be down! if it was him, he’d never allow such a thing to happen. you led the man somewhere throughout your home, possibly the bedroom where izana found an opening to step inside your place since you so conveniently forgot to lock the front door.

he found solace in hiding behind a tall, slovenly houseplant while continuing to spy in on your conversation.

“it’s been a while since i’ve done this, i hope you don’t mind.” said the man. from those words alone, izana could only so much as guess what types of ordeals he was up to.

was he coming over for sex? to hookup?

either way, izana wouldn’t let that happen. he’s about you, he loves you. he’s the one to take your presumed innocence, not anyone else. yet, he keeps himself composed, slowly finding another spot to conceal himself in.

a few moments of silence pass by until izana’s interest is once again piqued.

“down there?” — “yeah, right there.”

the exchange has his heart rate bludgeoning and he knows for sure if he doesn’t stop whatever’s going on, that you’ll regret it for the rest of your life, he’ll regret it. he steadily makes his way to your room where he catches sight of that awful scum of a man with his body hovering over yours as you lay sprawled out on your bed.

like second nature, izana whips out the gun from his pocket, firing off a few warning shots that caused the man to jump from his previous position. izana lined the weapon to the man’s forehead, emotionless purple eyes boring into droopy brown ones. “mr. kurokawa?” you questioned, huddle up amongst your pillows, trying to minimize yourself as much as possible. “lay another finger on my baby and i’ll blow your brains out, y’hear me?”

maybe if it wasn’t too late, you could’ve explained that you had scheduled an appointment with an at-home trainer who was just helping you stretch your body out before working out, but as you know, your boss was extremely trigger happy.

with the shock that settled into you, it wasn’t hard to mold your malleable mind into some warped perception of the whole situation. you had genuinely believed izana did this all for you, to protect you because he sees dangers far better than you can. he had convinced you that the man in your house didn’t have your best interest at heart. he was just a con, like any other man.

you don’t need anyone else besides izana, and he’ll make sure of that.

[i4bellingham]

Love your writing! Could you do one where you’re friends with Trent and he has a crush on you but you don’t know since he keeps things close to the chest. And it’s not an issue until you meet Jude and the two of you click and start dating that he voices his feelings to you. You want to stay w Jude but Trent can’t bare being just friends and seeing you fall in love w someone else.

THE CHOICE : bsf!trent alexander-arnold x fem!reader x mentioned bf!jude bellingham

all of the gifs in my posts are from my keyboard. they aren't mine but i also have no clue who their owners are but all credits goes to them for creating such beautiful gifs <33 thank you so much <333

cw: unresolved issues, trent and reader low-key being redflags 🚩🚩🚩, cussing, mentions of making out, honestly jude deserves better in this fic why’d i write it like this 😭 + not proofread

i added a twist of mine on this one, hope that's alright 👀 how i managed to finish this in a day is beyond me. i normally take 2-3 days to finish a fic but here i am finishing a trent fic in a day 😨

Admitting that you loved someone was hard.

Admitting that you love someone who already loves someone else is harder.

Trent was very well-aware that his fondness of you grew past the stages of ‘like’. It was something that he had to come into terms with just recently seeing you wrapped around someone else’s arms.

Before anything, you were a good friend of Trent’s. You would always show up to his games wearing his jersey, you always opened up your time and attention to him when he’s feeling under the weather or when they lost a game. You were always there for him, through his good times and even at his worst. You were there, hugging him close to you when the hateful comments got too much and inside his head, clouding his mind with doubt and insecurity as he recalls them over and over in his memory. You always liked to remind him of what he’s achieved at a young age, reiterate every single thing that he’s won at football and praise him for being so strong for facing each of his days with a raised head despite the comments, until he’s there in your arms with tears fogging his sight.

You were so good to him, so good for someone with the likes of him that him falling for you wasn’t even out of the picture anymore.

But Trent stopped himself from confessing, thinking that whatever friendship he got with you was too good for him to lose. So he never did, never once gave any inclinations of his feelings for you until it grew and blossomed into what it’s now known as love.

There wasn’t really any worries on his part, because although you've gone to a few dates (none of which really succeeded), there wasn’t really anyone who had the pleasure of being called your boyfriend.

Not until him.

Not until Jude Bellingham came into the picture and shattered whatever complacent Trent found in your relationship.

It was supposed to be you and him and although merely as friends, Trent wanted nothing more for it to be just you and him for a very long time.

But really, he’s the partial reason why you started dating Jude in the very first place regardless if he likes the profound relationship between you and his best mate anyways.

He did introduce the two of you to each other at his own birthday party because while he tried to distract himself with the multiple girls that surrounded him that night from how beautiful and breathtaking you looked in your dress, he had given Jude the perfect open opportunity to get to know you better. And before he even knows it, Trent’s greatest fear had come into life.

Eight months after his birthday party, you began dating Jude leaving him with nothing but the scarce presence of you in his life.

Not until one day when you reached out and asked him to hang out that Trent came into the conclusion that he would rather get the things off in his chest now no matter the cost than never doing it and dwelling on the what should have been. He knows it’s not fair to you nor to Jude but he’d really wanted to do this now in hopes that it would give him the peace that he needs with the feelings he holds for you.

Trent wasn’t expecting much from you if he did confess, but it was still safe to say that he was hoping for at least a little bit that in someway, you reciprocated his feelings too no matter how slim they may be now.

Trent hugs you a little longer than he should have when he finds you in his door step, clad in a familiar hoodie that also had the lingering scent of its owner when he pulls away from you before ushering you inside his house.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

You really haven’t, is what response crossed Trent’s mind as the both of you sat on his couch with an arms length of space dividing you both that wasn’t normally there before you started dating Jude. But instead of voicing it out, Trent reaches a hand out to ruffle your hair.

“You’ve been rather occupied with your new relationship, don’t want to interfere in young love.” He ends his reply with a teasing smile.

You face him, adjusting on his couch with your legs crossed above the cushions. “So... how have you been?”

Miserable?

Missing you?

Regretting lots of stuff?

What should have been a proper answer to such a basic question was drowned out by Trent's thoughts in the situation he tried to move past. It was all about his regrets of not confessing and owning up to his feelings earlier. It was all about the what-ifs inside his head that ran rampant just like his thoughts of you.

“Okay...”

“Just okay?” You teased, chuckling when Trent rolls his eyes. “What? No new flings Mr. Alexander-Arnold?”

Trent’s demeanor immediately shifts into a tensed one, and as if sensing his discomfort for the topic you reel your question back with another remark.

“Now don't be so uptight with me T, you know I don't judge you for that.”

Of course you haven't. You don’t judge him in anything he does. You hold him at such a high regard to trust him fully that he doesn't do anything stupid, one that could potentially dwindle your trust on him.

Those flings haven’t come by for more than a few months now, only seeking out the presence of other girls to satiate his needs with the courage he's gotten from the alcohol, but even those instances became sparse ever since he owned up to how he really felt about you.

“I know, you love me too much to judge me for every shit that I do.” Trent insinuates.

You unknowingly nod your head. “Of course I do. You have been such a good friend to me T, of course I love you-”

“Just as friends?”

You snap your head to his direction, shock on your face before you're letting out forced and nervous chuckles.

“Of course Trent, you're my friend aren’t you?”

There is a feint hints of smirk on his lips. Trent nods his head spuriously to appease you, but the next words to come out of his lips did anything but to ease you down.

“I see you're still a horrible liar.”

You look at him confused.

“You don’t call me Trent unless you're hiding something from me pretty baby...” Trent inches closer to you, grabbing your hand in his to which you didn't take backㅡnot immediately anyways, no.

You seemed to have been stunned to hear the nickname he used to call you before you were dating Jude tumble out of his lips.

Frozen next to him and shocked, you only managed to shake yourself back to reality with the thought of your current boyfriend passing by your mind.

You take your hand back immediately, scooting a little further away from Trent.

“Trent-” You warn him, not wanting to hear the next words leave his lips.

“What? Really? You thought I would believe that you only ever loved me as a ‘friend’ ?” He asks you almost mockingly. “Friends don’t kiss each other baby. Friends don’t make out a plenty of times-”

“We were both drunk that time Trent!”

“The first time it happened we were! But what about the other times that it happened Y/N?”

You stand up from the couch. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up now Trent! It had been a year and a half since it happened!” You started to head to door, planning on leaving the entire conversation and Trent behind when his hand reaches out to grasp at your arm, pulling your back against his chest.

“Don’t lie Y/N. You know me better than anyone, and I know you better than everyone else.” He wraps his arms around your waist, slotting his forehead against the plane of your shoulder. “You didn’t see me just as your friend-”

You struggled against his hold, mind reminding you of your boyfriend and how wrong and unfair this is to him.

“Yes Trent! I did see you more than just my friend! Is that what you want to hear from me!?”

Yes, you two did kiss during that one damned night during New Year’s eve drunk and out of your wits and the situation went completely out of control when the two of you found yourselves in the back of his car, lips slotted perfectly against each other as you spent the New Year countdown in each other’s arm and tongues down each other’s throat.

After that, the tension just grew more to which the both of you tried to ignore at first but to no avail. It just turned palpable that even some of your mutual friends began to suspect a thing when you’d hang out with them. It was so apparent that something went down between you and Trent but you've never had the guts to openly admit that.

It was one random night when the both of you finally broke that tension out into the open air, nearly ridding each other of clothes in a messy lip-lock and hands on opposite bodies that didn’t stay at one spot for more than a second.

Instances like that happened for a few more times before Trent himself ultimately ended what he himself started.

His birthday party was the perfect gateway that able you to meet Jude, eyes and attention on him instead of Trent and the multiple girls on his arms as he openly flirted with them.

You remember trying to keep your tears from falling, tried so hard to tune down the disappointment, hurt and sadness that you felt in that moment.

But Jude was there. Jude was there to distract you with his lame jokes and made you play boardgames with him in Trent’s guest room that you used to occupy sometimes when staying at his house.

Both of you left the party a little past 12 am back then, giggling and shoving each other past the number of guests in Trent’s house before driving over to a local fast food chain. There were still loitering thoughts of Trent here and there during that night but somehow, Jude managed to divert your pain into a copious sound of laughter from his foolish punch lines.

If he knew what you felt for Trent back then, he made no comments about it. But he stayed with you and a few more times after that night meanwhile, you chose to ignore what you witnessed Trent doing that night.

Even though you only made-out a lot of times in an unlabeled relationship that went past beyond just being friends at that point, it still hurt to think that Trent did that in front of you. It still hurt that he didn't seemed to care that you were watching them moreover when he was openly kissing a girl on his lap in front of everybody before you and Jude left the house to drive around the city for food.

It just went like that.

Everything went unresolved and although you began to reconnect three months after that, everything was just not the same.

The both of you tried so hardㅡor you did at least to keep those memories and feelings buried deep down your mind because you have someone better now. Someone who provided so much of his attention, care and adoration for you. Someone you know would never ever think let out alone act on hurting you.

Jude was perfect in so many ways, and he was so good to you but you don’t want to let him go. Not even for the sake of Trent’s realizations.

Trent’s grip around your waist loosens, and from there he can hear your sniffs before he’s turning you around, lips on your forehead and hands on your arms.

“But you broke what we had Trent... and Jude was there to pick up the mess you made...” You murmur, letting the tears to freely cascade down your cheeks. “After your birthday party all I heard from your teammates was you seeing different girls each week Trent... how do you think I’d feel from that?”

“But you didn't reach out to me-”

“You fucking hurt me when you talked to those girls all night long and completely ignored me! You even had your tongue down some girl’s throat on the couch when Jude and I left and you expect me to reach out to you?” Pushing him off you, you pointed a finger against his chest. “Don’t put the blame on me for something that is completely on you Trent. I waited for you to explain yourself even though you really didn't have to... what we had was just like what you have with the other girls isn’t it? A friend with benefits type of th-”

This seems to trigger something in Trent because his pulling you by the arms and slotting his lips against yours just like how he did long ago.

Stunned, you were too dumbfounded to push Trent away. The realization only hits you like a truck when he pulls away and places his forehead against yours, whispering the words that you refused to hear until now.

“Don’t.” Trent caresses your cheeks in gentle motions of his fingers, cupping your face against the warmth of his palm. “Don’t ever fucking compare what you and I had to my stupid rendezvous. I was a coward. I didn’t admit that I love you, not even to my self until a few months ago. I didn’t want to lose you Y/N... I was so afraid to lose you that I'd rather lose my chances of being someone more than a friend to you than lose you in my life entirely if you didn't reciprocated my feelings and felt uncomfortable to be my friend again to stay.

I know I had such a douche way of showing that I didn't want you gone from my life and I admit that, I know that. I want to apologize to you in every waking day but I was way in my head to even recognize the selfishness that I did. And before I knew it, you had broken the news to me that you were seeing Jude and we pretended that those times didn't happen and I was okay with it. I was okay with it because at least you were talking to me again. I was okay with pretending that I was supportive of your relationship when all I ever wanted was what Jude have now because at least you acknowledged me again as someone in your life...”

Trent sighs, cursing underneath his breath before closing his eyes to keep his tears from falling. “I was so okay with you being with him because at least I got to see you again... I was so fucking okay with every minimal gesture from you because at least you were back in my life. I was ready to take everything you gave me baby, no matter how foolish and insignificant they may be... I’d take them all because they're from you...

I love you Y/N, and I don’t fucking care if you're with Jude. I’ll fight for your affection if I have to, if I get you by the end of it... it’s all gonna be worth it.”

With the tears freely rolling down both of your cheeks and like a twisted sense of irony, the phone in your pocket rings. You fish it out to see the contact name and face of the very person who had given you his everything ever since you became his girlfriend officially; the guy who tampered your broken pieces to keep you whole and kept you safe and loved.

　

　　　　　　　Incoming call...

　　　　　　　　　jude 🖤

a/n: i know this is a piece of information you lot already know but marcus rashford is so fucking fine like i would literally breathe dust if he ever do as much as look in my way-

read part two here !!

[bella-studyblr]

Task Management:

Creating + Maintaining a Schoolwork Schedule

Key elements

Your schedule suits your individual time/task management preferences.

It is flexible enough to accommodate sudden changes, plus fluctuating energy levels, states of concentration, symptoms and moods.

Daily tasks are not over-whelming; they are small enough that they are achievable.

You do not get “burned out.”

It allows you to be consistent.

Steps to create your schedule

Decide if you want your planner to be paper or digital

Find an “order” that’s logical and achievable for you (more on this later)

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all the assignments, tests and other events taking place that week/month (and their due-dates).

Then break these down, assigning tasks to each day of the week (more on this later).

Break down your tasks even further (more on this later).

Decide if you want to follow a simple daily to-do list or a timed schedule (more on this later).

Find your “order(s)”

Mandatory: Schedule assignments around other commitments (work, social, hobbies, etc.).

Do the hardest task first to get it out of the way (so that the rest of your tasks are less daunting, and because your smaller tasks require less energy therefore can be done even after completing the hard task).

Do the easiest task first to build momentum (give yourself a feeling of accomplishment which will motivate you to continue, and boost your self-confidence early in the day to establish a positive mindset for the rest of the day).

Do the task that’s due first to minimize deadline stress, and so your assignments don’t fall through the cracks (causing you to get discouraged and lose momentum).

Plan according to your energy level throughout the day and week: Do you have Pilates once a week? Maybe you can reserve that day for easier assignments. If you know you’re going to be tired for whatever reason, account for that in your planning.

Consider your state of concentration: If you know you’re too groggy or spaced out for the first hour of your day, you can either schedule easy tasks in that time, or none at all. If you take a medication in the afternoon/evening that makes you tired, schedule easier tasks or none, and get harder tasks done earlier/later in the day. If you have ADHD and crowded places mess with your concentration, but you like studying at a café, go when it’s not busy.

Be mindful of your emotions and symptoms: If you have depression, or are prone to depressive episodes, you’ll need to consider that when scheduling. You might have to rework your entire schedule when you get into a depressive episode (like adding lots of breaks). If suddenly you’re going through a big life event (like a breakup), you need to account for that when scheduling. For instance, if you can’t stand to be alone, maybe you can go out instead of staying in, and if your motivation is low, you may need to up your reward-system or break down your tasks even more.

Break down this week/month’s tasks

Refer to your addendum/syllabus and write down all your due dates for the time period you’re scheduling for.

Based on due dates, outside commitments, predictions of energy/mood/symptoms, assign assignments to the days of the week/month that make most sense for you.

Break down daily tasks into sub-tasks

You can do this (in advance) for your full week/month’s assignments, or do it every morning/evening.

Generally, your assignments will follow a variation of this formula: brainstorm, create an outline, research, write rough draft, edit and revise. Test/exam prep will look something like: check to see what the test is based on, pinpoint important sections, review to see how well you know the material, create a list of items to study, rewrite select notes, make flash cards, study topic 1, study topic 2, etc.

What are the individual components of these steps? Here are some examples. Brainstorm: what should my topic be, what should my thesis be, what points can support my thesis, what do I need to research, what questions do I need to ask my prof? Outline: topic, thesis, points, conclusion. Research: write down all the important parts from each source (separately), then sift through to sort into Supporting Point 1, Supporting Point 2, etc. Rough draft: opening statement(s), intro, point 1, point 2, etc., conclusion, closing statement(s). Edit/revise: read and check for grammar only, then read again and check for spelling only, read again and check for cohesiveness only, etc. Topic 1: Part A, Part B, etc.

Each of these small components can be individual items on your to-do list. Big tasks like, “write essay” are too big for most people. Even “write rough draft” is daunting. If you start with something specific and small like brainstorming, and work your way up, it’s a lot easier to approach. Plus, being able to check off tasks more often and more easily will boost your confidence and your sense of competence, thus building momentum.

Here is a sample to-do list: Research X for Point 1 of Literary Essay, create outline for History Essay, Edit/Revise Assignment 1, study Topic 1 and Topic 2 for Test 1.

To-do list or time-based schedule?

To do list: Write down all your assignments for the day. Put them in the order you want to do them, or go through them intuitively (based on what you feel like doing, or what’s most practical at the time/place you’re at).

Timed-based: Write down all your assignments, then write down the time you’re going to do each of them. You could set reminders or alarms if you want, or simply refer to the list. There’s an awesome app I recommend if this is your thing. It’s called Structured (iOS only).

Curate your study environment for maximum focus

Eliminate distractions such as uncomfortable clothing, sounds (or silence), phone and computer notifications, clutter in the room and on your desk, people who may try to talk to you (shut your door and/or inform them that you’re busy).

Designate a space to doing homework only and avoid spaces that you associate with other things (do not study in bed, as you will want to relax or sleep, and/or you will mess with your sleep by weakening the bed’s association with sleep).

Build associations: Incorporate other events and items into your study/homework routine that you only use while doing that, so that you associate those things with studying/homework (examples: specific playlists, pencils/pens, cups/bottles, scents, rituals, decor, etc.).

Ensure good lighting (preferably including daylight).

Get dressed in clothes that make you feel good about yourself. They don’t have to be “professional” and they should definitely be comfortable. Do not stay in your pyjamas. Believe me, I know this can be hard, and I love PJ’s. But they are not good for productivity.

Don’t “multi-task.” It may feel like you’re getting more done this way, but by splitting your focus, not only do tasks take longer, they also diminish in quality. Commit to the task you’re doing.

Meditate: You can even meditate for just 1-5 mins right before studying, homework and/or classes.

Practice self care (daily!)

Sleep (enough, well, and regularly).

Daylight: Get outside, work by windows, use a light therapy box. These can help regulate your sleep, improve and maintain mental health, and boost energy.

Fresh air: Getting outside even for a couple minutes can help you refresh and reset, and feel good about yourself and your life. Fresh oxygen can help you wake up and is great for your health. Even just opening your window can do a lot for your mood, energy and motivation.

Movement: Try to move at least once per day. The benefits of exercise are numerous and immense.

Healthy and consistent eating: Avoid spikes in insulin levels by eating regularly so you don’t have extreme dips in your energy level. Also, brain power uses calories too, so make sure you’re eating consistently, and try to eat healthy. There are so many other reasons eating consistently is good for your health (and by extension, your productivity).

Relaxation and leisure: Make time for fun and socializing, as well as intentional relaxation. Hobbies, movies/tv, time with friends/family, meditation, baths, progressive muscle relaxation, etc.

Therapy: Your therapy sessions are not daily, but you can do 5 minutes of inner-work per day based on what you and your therapist are currently working on. Working with a therapist is a great way to stay on track with your goals, and develop the skills and positive mindset required for success in school.

Reward yourself

Track progress: Reflect on all the assignments you’ve completed and your grades to remind yourself that you’re capable!

Completing to-do lists daily maintains a sense of accomplishment which keeps your momentum going. Check those items off! Or give yourself gold stars! ⭐️

Treat yourself with non-food rewards: Tie completed school work with fun tasks like video games, or take yourself out for coffee, or some other small (non-food) outing. What I’m trying to do right now is not do my leisure activities until my daily tasks are done.

Develop a positive mindset

Take promises you make to yourself seriously. The more you break promises to yourself, the easier it will get to continue breaking promises. You will lose respect for yourself which lowers motivation, and you will lose trust in yourself which can become debilitating as well. The more you keep promises, the easier it will get, the more motivated you’ll become, and the more you’ll trust and respect yourself. Your confidence will improve, and you’ll feel better about yourself. Productivity is choosing yourself. Discipline is choosing what’s best for you instead of what you feel like doing in the moment. Discipline is a muscle, and like any muscle, it can be strengthened, and it can atrophy.

Remember your “why.” What is the end goal of being in school? What’s your career path, and why did you choose it? What will your life be like when you have that career? What would your life be like if you gave up and didn’t make it to your goal? Aiming for your dream while running from your nightmare is a great strategy for maintaining motivation. Lighting a fire under your *** can be a huge motivator.

Remember how good you feel when you get schoolwork done, and let this motivate you to stay consistent. You can also remember how you feel when you don’t get work done, but definitely focus more on the positive!

Go to therapy and/or hire a coach. There are SO many benefits to therapy and I’d honestly need a whole other post to get into it. You don’t need to be depressed or mentally ill at all in order to benefit from talking to a therapist. They can even help you with time management, procrastination, motivation and more! If you can afford it, please do it. It’s such a worthwhile investment.

Be consistent

No “zero days.” Do at least a bit of homework or studying every day so you don’t slip into vacation mode. Make schoolwork a daily part of your life, so it just becomes the norm.

Build productivity momentum (track progress, check items off your to-do list daily, treat yourself, keep promises to yourself, remember your “why,” remember how success feels).

Stay on top of projects. Your assignments are made up of smaller tasks you assign yourself across time. “Success is the sum of small efforts repeated day in and day out.” - Robert Collier

Avoid burnout (more on this later).

Keep it interesting (more on this later).

Avoid burnout

Self-care: shower and/or bathe regularly, maintain proper sleep habits, stay hydrated, take care of your skin, do relaxation activities like meditation and reading, do fun activities, pamper yourself every now and then with face masks or foot baths, take your meds as prescribed, eat well and regularly, get outside often, move daily, etc.

Break up study/homework sessions into small, manageable chunks of time, with constructive (refreshing) breaks in between.

Break assignments down into even smaller tasks so that you aren’t over-working yourself during the course of a day, and so that you don’t overwhelm yourself (the stress can lead to burnout).

School-life balance: Keep up with your social life as best as you can, make time for your hobbies, maintain self-care, say no to things that don’t serve you, etc. Try to follow through with scheduled schoolwork 100% of the time, but know that you won’t. Sometimes you’ll need to prioritize mental health over schoolwork (be careful though, this is a very fine line, and a slippery slope). Sometimes things will come up and it’ll be out of your control. But more than anything else, there will be times when you just decide to prioritize something else like fun and socializing over schoolwork. This is why your schedule needs to be flexible: to accommodate sudden invites to hang out and random decisions to skip a homework/study session, but more importantly, flexibility will reduce the odds that you’ll skip in the first place. If your schedule includes hobbies and socializing, and anything else that’s important to you, then you won’t feel deprived. If you have school-life balance, you’ll have more of yourself to devote to schoolwork when it’s time to.

Keep it interesting

Romanticize your life by putting effort into making all of your daily tasks a special occasion.

Make meals and drinks special by using your favourite dinnerware and cutlery. Perhaps even incorporate extra elements such as: a beautiful tablecloth, napkins, candles and/or dim lighting, music, wearing your favourite clothing, etc.

Pretend you’re the main character in a movie about a successful, productive student (because you are the main character in your life).

Make games out of studying if this is something that interests you (the Forest app comes to mind).

Use lots of colours in your notes and buy colourful stationary! 🌈

Vary your approach/methods if needed to avoid boredom.

Study with friends (online or in person).

Reward yourself often.

Remember your “why.”

[yukidragon]

Heeeey YukiDragon!

Big fan; been low-key tearing through your SDJ headcanons and making notes for a fic that I'm somehow 25K deep in after only a few days....

Anyway, wanted to ask: what do YOU think the sun in the corner of the screen when you play SJD indicates? Because *I* have thoughts...but I also wanted to pick your brain 👀

Apologies if you've already been asked this! 😅

I’m really glad you like my headcanons and that I could be helpful for your fic!

I haven’t been asked about this actually, and I happen to have a few thoughts and screenshots I’d like to share!

This took me a couple tries to capture the full title screen before the “start” button appears. I did it to get see more of the children’s drawing of the ‘84 incident where Jack died. The crying of Jack, the children, and the X eyes make it pretty clear that’s what’s being depicted.

You’ll notice in the corner that the sun with the red, yellow, and blue swirls is obscured by a crinkled cloud, and three primary colors are awash in a layer of bloody red. This affects the border around the game as well.

We get to see this cloudy sun more clearly once we start the game... while Jack is talking to his sunshine for the first time.

There’s a cloud obscuring the sun, and all the colors are washed out in an unpleasant shade of gray. The border similarly is washed out. Curiously the text box is normal and vividly colored.

Then, when we jump ahead to MC’s monologue that takes place after they’ve started living with Jack and accepted him as a part of everyday life, the colors are vibrant all around. There’s no cloud blocking the sun. The corner icon remains like this for the rest of the game regardless of choices, including in the mini story with Ian at the end.

I want to show all three versions of this icon up close and side by side so you can see the difference better for yourselves.

I think the symbolism is pretty obvious here. The cloud and unpleasant colors muting the bright and cheerful colors that represent Sunny Day Jack... I imagine this is going to be an indication of when the relationship with Jack is deteriorating... or perhaps his mind.

I honestly hadn’t noticed this detail until someone pointed it out in this post, then I searched for every instance where this might change. I would’ve assumed that we might see it cloudy again in the “no” route, but it was still the sunny version there too.

What I suspect is that the user interface we see during the game is going to be affected by the route we’re on and the choices we make, specifically when it comes to our relationship with Jack and how it affects his state of mind. When everything is positive and MC’s feelings towards Jack are favorable, it’ll be sunny and colorful. When it’s negative... that’s when the cloud comes in and the colors are muted.

I suspect that when things start going this negative route, the interface in the text box is going to change as well. We might see dingier colors, stains, or even tears in the paper. After all, we’re given crinkly paper textures and folded up stickers in the regular interface. The cloud over the sun is especially crinkly. We might get more font changes as well besides just red text.

In this way, the game user interface is doing some storytelling here, likely giving us a hint of Jack’s state of mind. He is solidly in the mindset of Sunny Day Jack, who is all colorful, cheerful, and even child friendly.

Starting to lose his sunshine... that’s going to make Jack start to degrade, I think. His grasp on reality and his sunshine’s love is slipping. He is at risk of being forgotten in that cold, sleepless static hell where God had abandoned him...

I think that as Jack’s sanity starts slipping, that’s when the framing is going to be darker, more unsettling. Jack has the potential to be our foe after all, and he’s certainly a yandere considering what he does to Nick no matter what choices we make in the demo...

If I was to make a guess about what these mean currently... The red version with the cloud is the harshest of them all. It could, in a very real sense, represent Jack while he’s trapped in hell, reliving his gruesome death over and over again. He can’t leave it until MC plays the tape... or we start the game.

Then things change for Jack. He’s not reliving his death, he’s interacting with someone. He’s still wounded, as evidenced by the dimmed colors and the cloud obscuring his sun. MC doesn’t care for him yet because they don’t know him yet. However, by contrast the text interface is colored cheerfully, almost welcoming. The presence of someone interrupting his hell and reaching out to him gives him hope.

Then finally... everything is bright. MC wants Jack around no matter the route. They want him in their life to be their friend, or maybe more. They make him feel love, which of course makes him feel happy. He loves them. He’s free. He’s warm and basking in their happy light. Everything will be wonderfully sunny... as long as no one takes his sunshine away.

What’s interesting too is that by showing that the game’s interface is malleable in this way... it might hint that Jack could be a character who breaks the 4th wall and addresses the player directly at some point. After all, we’re the ones that start the game and let him live again. We’re supporting him and the game being made in the first place. It could even be more confusing to him why we would pick the “no” option when we’re literally playing the game for his company and love.

Personally, I think this is just a meta touch for us as players. It’s much too soon to jump to the conclusion that Jack is a 4th wall breaking entity like Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club, Flowey from Undertale, or other games like that where the characters address the player directly. We haven’t gotten any real hints that he’s interested in us, the player, rather than the MC we’re guiding through the story. MC does have their own personality after all, and a pretty strong one.

Still... it would make sense why Jack can read MC’s thoughts if he was a 4th wall breaker. After all... he could just be reading their narration right alongside us.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur  

[kaijime]

watch your mouth

includes. osamu miya x f!reader

cw. corruption kink, virgin reader/first time, osamu wants to breed u <33, dubcon, kitchen sex? [it’s in his shop so?], fingering, pierced dick [prince albert piercing], vaginal penetration, size kink, praise kink, tummy bulge, breeding kink, slight dumbification, creampie, thigh slapping?

wc. 3k

a/n. my piece for @seita’s corrupt-a-virgin collab, thank you for letting me join!!

osamu miya likes to think he follows a strict routine. he wakes up early, shows up for his job, works, and goes home, waiting for tomorrow to arrive and the cycle to repeat itself.

but ever since you've entered his restaurant, you've become a part of his routine.

he sits behind the kitchen counter, watching in admiration how you tend to the customers. he'd be lying if he said he wasn't staring at your ass, but it’s not a lie if he doesn't say it right?

"samu?" there's that nickname again, the one you deemed him ever since that interview for the part time job. "this customer says you forgot to give her a part of her order"

"no i didn't"

"yeah, look" you approach him with the receipt in hand, pointing to a small part of the inked writing. "see?"

he can't see. or at least he can't see the receipt. he's too focused on you, pressing up against him. he knows you're not at fault, but you couldn't be that innocent.

you couldn't be innocent enough to not know the things you were doing to him, the things you were making him feel, the urges that blossomed with every lingering look and longing touch you left on his body. you just couldn't be.

right?

yet, even when his idiotic brother dropped by his shop and shamelessly started flirting with you, you, it seemed like you didn't catch onto what he was doing.

"what's the freakiest place you've ever had sex in?" the fake blond asked, and osamu would've stopped him, if he wasn't curious to hear the answer for himself. still, he doesn't drive his full attention away from the counters he's been wiping, seemingly focused on the simple task.

you chuckled awkwardly under your breath. "that's inappropriate, tsu-"

"c'mon, tell me" he bumps his elbow against yours "can't be that bad"

"no i-... i've never uhm..." osamu can tell you're stumbling and stuttering to find an answer, so he lends you a few helping words.

"'tsumu” he calls "will ya stop harrassin' my employees?"

"'m just talkin' to her samu, no need to make a big fuss" he downs the last of his food and leaves, supposedly in a sudden rush.

it doesn't seem like it’s been hours since then, but the moon hangs low, and the crickets sing outside the window in spite of the late hour. despite the passing of time, not a single word has been said between you and your boss about the conversation you had with his brother, and every minute that passes only seems to thicken the tension between the two of you.

"shit" you mumble, mostly to yourself. you didn’t expect him to shoot up from his place, bent down searching through the lower cabinets.

"watch yer mouth" he says, an evident frown on his face, where he would once smile at you and nod in greeting.

"sorry" you reply, lip pouting slightly while you cleaned off your finger with a paper towel "just got a papercut" the blood tints the paper red and you wince at the stinging sensation.

"here" he holds out his hand to examine yours, even though you already cleaned most of it off, there's still a slight trickle of blood. he wipes it out with the towel he always hangs on his shoulder.

as he cleans your hand, he can't help but think about how it'd look so pretty wrapped around his cock. it would certainly bring more relief than his fist after all this time he's spent thinking about you while stroking himself late at night.

it’s not the first time thoughts like these cloud osamu's mind, but this time he's a little less discreet about it. he stares at your hand like he wants to devour it, and you'd be a fool not to notice it.

"samu?" you call out to his faraway mind, and he snaps out of his thoughs, loosening his grip around your hand.

"right" he mumbles, clearing his throat "sorry"

"thank you" you almost whisper, if he wasn't so close to you, he probably wouldn't have heard it.

he turns and goes back to the cabinets, thinking about what you answered earlier. you'd never what? had sex? were you that uncorrupted?

it would make sense to him, and it would help ease the pain of seeing you let his brother flirt with you like he wasn't even there, but those are all selfish reasons he wants to believe, and he's too scared to ask.

apparently not scared enough.

“what were ya talkin’ about with my brother” he asks, nonchalant as ever, making your breath hitch as you turned around hesitantly.

“we were just chatting” you say, the slightest purse on your lips that tried to relieve the nervousness of the conversation.

“sorry about that” he apologizes. “he can be annoyin’ sometimes”

“oh no, he wasn’t” you lie, clenching around the table cloth you held in your hands. even if the talk had been going smoothly, you still felt on edge after the question his brother left you thinking about. “he was really friendly”

“really?” his hands find comfort in his pockets, and if you’d looked close enough, you would’ve seen the slight smirk in his lip, one that indicates how eager he is to hear what you had to say. “then why didn’ you answer his question?”

if only you knew how much it mattered to him, to know if you were a pretty untouched virgin or not. osamu miya likes to go for girls like you, college girls who look for a quick cashgrab as a part time employee, innocent little girls who unknowingly fall for his charms and next thing you know he’s ruining them with his cock.

but you feel different, you feel delicate. like a pretty piece of porcelain he might break if he continues to toy with you under his calloused hands. yet, he can’t help but think about how perfect he finds your body. perfectly ripe and ready to be filled to the brim with his seed, the perfect age to be plump and round with a child. his child.

“does it matter?”

oh, it does, especially when he pins you against the counter and grips your cheeks between his thumb and his index finger. “samu?” you ask, displaying that innocent look on your face he’d grown to hate.

“i told ya to watch yer mouth” his hands roam down your body until they grab at the back of your thighs. “now jump”

“samu i- i’ve never done anything like-“

“i said jump” hesitant with your actions, you jump and wrap your legs around his waist as he settles you on the shop counter, where he takes off your pants and runs a finger over your clothes slit.

“please” you grip his wrist and beg in hopes for him to stop, but he slaps it away, pinning them behind you with his other hand. he slides your panties down your legs and plays with your clit, circling the nub with his fingertips and watching as your expression changes from one of fear to pleasure.

“please what?” his breath shudders against your neck, where he nuzzles his head and finds comfort in your scent. he slowly inserts a finger into your hole, scanning your face and searching for any signs of discomfort, despite him practically forcing you into this position.

you’re not strong enough to answer him, too lost in the way his fingers feel inside you. you’d been too afraid to do anything by yourself, but god did it feel so good when you gave yourself up to him, slightly bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers and arching your back into his frame.

he’s fond of every little expression you make, the bite of your lips, the clench of your thighs around his hand, and the tilt of your head, willingly granting him access to the skin, all for him to mark, bite and suck. all for him to claim as his.

“d’ya like it?” he asks, putting another one of his fingers to use inside your tight walls, feeling them clench and suck his fingers back inside every time he was close to taking them out.

“yes! yes! i-i... mmh!” you can’t even finish the sentence, not only because you’re sobbing and clenching around his digits uncontrollably at the foreign yet pleasurable sensation, but also because his lips suddenly enclosed yours in a hungry kiss.

he didn’t even have to put up a fight with you, pleased to find you let him do whatever he wanted with your mouth. his tongue tangles with yours in a passionate clash of lips, until he pulls away at the feeling of your hips wildly bucking against his hand, a sign of your inevitable orgasm approaching.

“feels weird ‘samu! ‘s-‘samu please!” the implication of your sensations being new to you made his cock strained against his pants, threatening the thick fabric of his jeans to snap if he grew even harder. the tight knot in your stomach finally snaps when he curls his fingers, sending you into ecstasy as your vision blocked out and you moaned uncontrollably loud.

still, after everything, osamu hasn’t forgotten where he is, and he knows his shop isn’t a decent place to lose your virginity. so he puts you down with shaky legs and slips up your panties, catching you before your trembling thighs can treason you and make you fall.

“do ya have a car here?” he says, grabbing his keys from the counter and puts a hand on your hip, guiding you over to the door which he locks before he continues to walk to his car. the dim lighting of the parking made this the perfect spot, if he were to fuck you in his car, no one would see it. but he has self control, or at least he tells himself that.

“no, my friend usually picks me up” he hums an answer and opens the passenger door to his car.

“i live a few minutes from here” he explains “wanna come over?” he asks, fully aware that he’s taking a leap of faith and you could just refuse him. but that’s not the case, and he’s more than happy to see you hesitantly get in his car and put your bag in your lap, covering yourself as much as you can since he ‘forgot’ to give you back your shorts.

the short ride to his house is awkwardly silent, and terribly torturous. his hand had found home in your thigh, and it had only sent an ache between your legs like you’d never felt before, prompting a clench from your thighs every so often.

he wasn’t lying, he only lived ten minutes away from his shop, but the distance seemed so much longer when his lingering touch would leave you high with the need for more.

“you ready?” he asks, holding the door open for you again as he waits for you to take his hand and get out of his car. he’s quick with hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs against his hips, carrying you to his doorway and leading the way to his room. there, he gently placed you on the bed and stripped off his clothing, taking off the apron he should’ve taken off at the shop, his shirt, his pants and—

“eager?” he can see the wanting look in your eyes, he’d be a fool not to notice it. his voice only startles you out of your thoughts, enough to make you stand up and take off your shirt as well, now fully exposed to him if it weren’t for the bra covering up your tits. there’s only so much he can hold back, but right now, with those pretty puppy eyes you unintentionally give him, he just can’t help it when he takes off your bra and slightly suckles at your nipple, circling his tongue around your perky nub and watching your face warm up in embarrassment.

he takes you to his bed again, this time while he plants kisses all over your neck. he’s hungry with the way he nips and bites at the skin, leaving a trail of teeth marks that would need to be covered up in the morning. in the morning, because right now, you couldn’t be bothered to care about anything else other than the way he rutted against you.

his cock already seemed big when he hadn’t taken off his briefs, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when he slipped them off and rubbed his tip against your clit, right?

he was huge, thick tip dripping precum, with a girth that looked too big to be real, pulsing against your pussy. he positions it against your drooling hole, using your slick to lube up his tip and feeling— metal?

you sit up, leaning against your elbows to see the prince albert piercing that runs along his tip, metal jewelry threatening to slip into your pussy, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“i-it won’t fit!” you kick and shake your thighs around him, only for him to put your ankles together and fold your legs over his shoulder, pinning you down and slipping in the pierced head of his cock. you wince and gasp at the sudden stretch, silenced by his mouth clashing against yours, eagerly nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to drink in all your saccharine moans.

“good girl” he praises, slipping in inch by inch of his cock into your tight virgin walls “fuck- this tight little cunt is suckin’ me in, want ma cock princess? yeah? gonna stuff ya full of me ‘til ya can’t even speak, you’ll just be a dumb baby for me”

“hurts!” your words only drive him closer to shoving himself in one smooth thrust, but he holds back, he sees how much you struggle to take barely half of him, he wants to make this good for you to. he wants to make your first time your best time, the one you’ll remember and think about if you ever fuck another man. he wants to mold your insides to fit his cock perfectly, he wants to train you to be his perfect little girl who won’t find another way to get off if she doesn’t have his cock, he wants you to depend on him to always make you feel good.

“‘s ok princess” he leans down, folding you into a mating press as he kisses your neck and slips in the last of his cock, covered in a thin layer of white sheen. “my good girl, creamin’ around me” he mumbles against your ear while he starts a slow pace into your pussy, carefully rutting his hips into you, almost afraid he would break you. “so pretty”

“please!” you sob, tears stream down your face despite his carefulness, it would break his heart, but he can feel the way your own body betrays you, clenching around him and pulling him in for more of the delicious sensation of his cock dragging against your walls. “so big! c-can’t take it!”

“sure ya can, look” he puts a hand to your tummy, guiding you to do the same as he puts his hand over yours. there’s a small bulge, that appears and disappears whenever he thrusts in and out. “you’re takin’ it so well princess, keep yer hand right there” his other hand starts working tight circles against your clit, making you throw back your head at the sudden sensation.

“no! if you do that i-!”

“what are ya gonna do? cum? clench around my cock like yer doin’ right now every time i praise ya?” you fist the sheets to your sides, anything to relieve the aching between your legs and the tight knot that keeps forming in your stomach again.

“please don’t!” you desperately paw at his wrist, only to be slapped away and for him to increase the speed of his cock, rutting into your with more force. suddenly, the head of his piercing hits a different spot, one that left you gasping for air and arching your back against the mattress. “ah! right there- right there ‘samu!”

“yeah? you like it when i fuck ya right there?” he parrots, angling his hips at the same spot over and over, abusing it until he’s sloppily thrusting into you, on the verge of cumming and spilling all his load into you. “my pretty girl, moanin’ like a bitch in heat, all because i’m makin’ ya feel good”

“yes ‘samu! please please, please m-make me feel good! wanna cum, please!” fresh tears roll down your cheeks as you scream and beg for him, unwillingly rutting your hips against him as you cum around his cock, your high too much for your sensitive body as you whine uncontrollably when he doesn’t stop. you’re too overstimulated to say a word, gone too dumb on his cock to even realize that you’re babbling little nonsense words about how good you feel, and how much you want him.

“dumb lil’ thing” he says, giving one sharp, final thrust before he empties his load between your legs, deep inside you, careful not to move you too much in fear of his cum spilling out of your clenching hole.

he’s right, you are a dumb little thing, because as soon as he pulls out you’re desperately bucking your hips, blindly searching for him in hope he would fill up the sudden emptiness in your pussy, unintentionally spilling all his hard work between your thighs.

“no!” he grunts, slapping your thigh and grounding you to the mattress as you wince in pain, dark color blossoming at the skin where he’d placed the spank. “look what you’ve done, bad fuckin’ girl” he says, the sudden tone shift sends a tinge of fear all over your body, and you’re reduced to nothing but a kin to a stray puppy, a terrible look of guilt in your eyes, even if you don’t realize what you’ve done wrong.

“look at the mess you made” he mumbles, flipping you over and placing ass up “now i’m gonna have to fill ya up all over again”

©️ kaijime 2021 | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost