#it breaks my heart to see him so wrung out

[ingravinoveritas]

hey, if you watched comic relief, did you think david looked unbearably tired? he sounded near tears at times and idt it was just bcs of the charity videos

Hi there! I'm not in the UK, so I wasn't able to see Comic Relief while it aired, or any clips until now.

I didn't notice the tiredness at first, but it definitely seemed to become more visible later in the show, as did the sounding near tears. This moment (which I got from a fan on Twitter who compiled all of David's bits) in particular really got me, as it's so apparent here...

As to what could've been causing this, I think there are several things that could have been happening, possibly even all at once. Up until I got into Good Omens/David/Michael, I wasn't at all familiar with Comic Relief, but having watched the show for a few years now, there are some really striking things I've noticed about how it's structured and what it involves.

On the one hand, you have lots of famous actors and comedians and musicians putting on a show and telling jokes...and then on the other, you have emotional videos of people in dire situations, both in the UK and abroad. And because Comic Relief is live, it's much harder to build in transitions between these two things, so you end up dramatically shifting from lighthearted to serious and back, and it leaves you with a bit of whiplash as a result.

So if those abrupt tonal shifts are difficult for us an audience, they must be even more challenging for the host(s), including David. I think the live aspect of the show makes it very similar to theater and how David might have reacted in differing moments during Macbeth, because we're seeing emotional reactions in real time, without the benefit of editing. Tonight was also the last occasion of Comic Relief that Lenny Henry was hosting after nearly 40 years at the helm, so I feel like that probably made David emotional as well, given how much he has worked with and admires him.

As for the tiredness, it seems there were at least a few interviews that David did prior to the broadcast, so he was probably running around all day trying to get everything done. Then you add to that the chaos of multiple hosts on stage and everyone trying to find their marks (which seems to have been something David was stressing out about a bit in one of the interviews today), plus the charity videos, and it's no wonder that he looked so drained.

(Another thing I also wonder is if David's demeanor had anything to do with sharing the stage with Davina McCall, who was allegedly outed as a TERF last year. Given the attacks from the anti-trans loons that David and Georgia have endured over the last several months, I can imagine that he might not be comfortable co-hosting with someone who espouses such views. And for the record, there was something about Davina that inexplicably annoyed/seemed off to me long before any of the TERF stuff came to light. It seems like my instincts have been confirmed in that regard...)

So yes, those are pretty much all of the things that came to mind regarding David's demeanor at Comic Relief. He's probably been running himself ragged lately with new projects since Macbeth ended (the Genius Game hosting gig, for one, and an appearance on the SmartTV game show, plus multiple upcoming Comic Con appearances), so hopefully he can find some time to relax and breathe in between all of this, because he more than deserves a break.

I hope this helps to answer your question. Thanks for writing in! x

[7ndipity]

Finding Out Their Crush Is Dating Someone

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would react to finding out that their crush is in a relationship/seeing them with their partner

Warnings: angst, swearing,

A/N: thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! I hope you like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: He would try his best to carry on with your friendship as if nothing was amiss, but he wouldn’t be able to hide his distaste for your partner, avoiding being around them as much as possible, which unfortunately means avoiding you at times as well. The growing tension between you would likely result in you either drifting apart for a while, or him eventually confessing after you call him out on it, tho what the outcome of that would be is unclear.

Yoongi: He wouldn’t dare show it, not even to friends who might know about his feelings towards you, but he’s devastated. This is the exact thing he was afraid would happen, bc like you’re amazing, of course you would find somebody. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to watch it happen. He would try to continue your friendship as normal, but there’s an invisible wall that’s been built between the two of you now that you don’t understand.

Hobi: You know the “This is fine, I’m okay with the events unfolding around me.” meme? That’s Hobi rn. Honestly tho, he would try his hardest to act as though it doesn’t bother him, bc at least you’re happy, but he lowkey feels like his heart’s getting wrung out every time he sees you with your partner. He might consider pulling away for a bit, but he loves you too much to actually do so, so he just tries to ride it out and hope his feelings will calm over time…

Namjoon: oooh boy, you’re now the new fan-favorite break-up track on his next album. No but fr, he would be soo angsty and sulky about the situation, avoiding you for days/weeks after finding out. He knows it’s not fair to just shut you out without any real explanation, but he’s afraid of how sharing his feelings would fuck up your friendship even more. It would end up spiraling into a fight when you confront him about his weird behavior and he finally spills the truth.(I want to believe that y’all would work it out in the end but🤷) 

Jimin: I feel like in his mind, he wants to handle it maturely and pretend nothing’s wrong, but in reality, he completely ices you both out. It’s his knee-jerk response whenever he’s hurt, and so he just leaves it to you to try and figure out why he’s suddenly so upset with you. He might even go back to normal just as suddenly bc he misses you, and just pretends like he wasn’t avoiding you, leaving you even more lost about what the fuck is going on.

Taehyung: Oooh this boy, he would be soo fucking dramatic, sulking and acting as if you’ve dumped him, even tho you never actually went out or talked about his feelings in the first place. He’d blame your partner for “stealing you away”, even tho they likely don’t have a clue about his feelings for you either. If you confront him and ask him what’s up, he’ll likely spill the whole thing immediately, but he won’t dare bring it up himself out of fear of rejection and ruining your friendship.

Jungkook: You’re seeing someone?! Behind his back?! Even though he never actually told you that he had feelings for you, so you have no clue what the fuck is going on?! Fr tho, he would be soo angsty, moping and avoiding you for days, ignoring your calls and texts. This would only last for a few days tho before his feelings start to eat him alive and he’s showing up at your place and pouring his heart out to you. He doesn’t care if it’s too late or you reject him, he just needs you to know.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @universal-travel-er @k4ngelz

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Xavier Where Did You Go?

What if Starfall forest won? What if the stars were rewritten only to have a few constellations missing? A/N: Did some editing and this really didn’t end up being that sad in my opinion but I hope you enjoy ☺️

Starfall Forest. You hate this place with a burning passion, but you keep coming here year after year without fail almost like you have to or else you might forget. The trees are still standing tall with their leaves rustling in the slight breeze. Spring is here and the forest is more alive than ever; you wish I could say the same. Time has been unkind to you yet this damned forest that took everything from you flourishes with unbending beauty. How can something so beautiful torment you with such ugly memories?

I hate you.

You take deep breaths and squeeze your fist tightly trying to will any tears to fall. Maybe if just a few of them fall again this emptiness in the pit of your stomach won’t feel so heavy. As always…..nothing. You've wrung yourself dry; You haven’t cried in a little over a year yet the scar attached to the memory of him leisurely eats away at your soul endlessly. You can’t handle the concerned looks and talks of professional help anymore. You haven’t lost your mind you're grieving and no one understands; how could they? This is the only place that makes you feel like you're any closer to him. You make it to the clearing that looks exactly as it did last year. And the year before.....

And the year before.....

The trees unbending the grass as green and plush as ever and the water dancing mischievously almost like it’s laughing at you. You kneel down to watch the water closely and the second you catch your reflection in the water a single tear falls. Cascading down your cheek and disappearing into the water reminding you how insignificant all of this is. You take your usual seat at the waters edge and pull your legs up to hug your knees. The silence is nice – well it was nice “I told you not to follow me”

You hear her breath audibly hitch behind you “I’m really worried about you”

You stared ahead not really looking at anything just letting your thoughts and the sound of the forest consume you. The last thing you needed were Tara’s watery doe eyes staring back at you with that same damn look everyone gives you. “So you’ve said many times” You sighed “I don’t need another lecture about getting help and I don’t want to be told that I'll be okay” You fiddled with the grass at your side not taking your eyes off the endless trees ahead. “I’m trying to forget him if that’s what you wanted to hear”

Tara laid down her jacket and took a seat next to you. You could see her concerned face in your peripheral “I want my best friend back” There’s a quiver in her voice that breaks your heart. You want to go back to normal, but you can’t. You remember everything even the memories that belong to someone else. You're cursed to wander now with past memories of a future that doesn’t exist.

“Tell me what happened” You gasp snapping my head in her direction. She gave you a sad smile and nodded “I’m all ears”

You know she won’t believe a word you say, but she’s the first person in four long years offering to listen. “I lost him right here” You drop your gaze and smooth my hand over the grass. “Right where you’re sitting actually”

4 Years Earlier…

“Xavier snap out of it! Look at me” You grab his face shaking it. His eyes are vacant as he stares at you – he looks like a shell of himself. “Xavier!” finally he blinks rapidly registering that you're standing in front of him. “You…” He’s dead weight in your arms as he falls to his knees dragging you down with him. “You…..need to leave” His breath is ragged and you can feel him slipping away. “I’m not leaving you! Tell me what to do I can help”

“Starfall….Forest will stop…..when it has enough power” Is that all it needs? He should have said something sooner you can use the aether core. “The aether core should be more than enough” You press your hand to his chest and pull him close.

Look at the clock and slowly let my eyes wander to him….

“You had a hooligan in your eye…..” What?

“They think we’re rivals….”

“Grandis Knight….”

“I’ve come back….”

“My star has left me….”

“You always lie….”

Fractured memories are flooding your brain as you resonate with Xavier in this moment. These aren’t your memories, but everything feels like deja vu. Your body is going numb as your muscles seem to lock into place with all of these memories just as you feel like you might pass out there’s a sharp pain in your chest. Your evols disperse and nothing, but soft wind caresses your face. A horrible cough rips through your throat and a copper tasting liquid seeps out from between your lips. Your body is heavy and it takes you a minute to realize you're no longer kneeling in front of Xavier; you're laying flat on your stomach while Xavier lies next to you. His breath is ragged as his evol continues to be drained by the forest. It wasn’t enough and telling by the pain radiating through your chest you've cracked the core in your heart.

You struggle to reach out and grab Xavier’s hand that’s also reaching for yours. He lazily intertwines his fingers with yours and you could see the love and pain in his eyes as the color drained from them. “I couldn’t protect you last time and I couldn’t …. protect you here …. either” He draws in a long breath and exhales on a dry cough. You're crying uncontrollably now because you remember everything.

“You left me Xavier” His eyes widen at your words. “You left me on Philos to come here” You draw in a ragged breath. “Why….” I can feel the warm embrace of deaths comforting hands slowly wrapping around me.

“You’re not a sacrifice I….” His eyelids drooped and closed for half a second too long before he opened them again “I needed to save ….. you” His eyes closed once more and you can feel his hand going cold. Your head is swimming with all this new information and it’s only making your death more agonizing with the pain of your brain trying to break free from your skull.

“You deserve….better Xav….in another life.…maybe….” You don’t have the strength to finish your sentence – just breathing was hard enough. Your heart is failing so you close your eyes – just for a moment – trying to find some kind of comfort. Nothing hurts anymore you must be on the brink by now. You're unable to open your eyes now just floating in a painless but simultaneously suffocating death. You died holding Xavier’s hand in his last moments the same way he held yours on Philos. Maybe you can love Xavier correctly in the next life.

In another life Xavier maybe you won’t have to sacrifice yourself for me. Maybe you won’t be alone.

Endless dark skies and stars float ahead of you just out of reach. This must be the end – you're crossing over. Suddenly you're being shaken awake you open your eyes to see Tara and Jenna kneeling in your face. They look like they’ve just seen a ghost; wide eyes and they’re yelling something. Everything sounds like it's underwater so it's hard to make out what they're saying.

“Over here!”

“We’ve got her!”

“Paramedics we need paramedics!”

“Hurry! She’s going cold”

You're still laying on you stomach with blood pouring from your mouth. Your eyelids are heavy and their words are still muffled as they try to comfort you. “It’s okay help is coming” You feel the weight of someones hands on your body moving you onto a stretcher.

“Xa…Xav….” They need to help Xavier too why are they only focused on me? He needs help save him not me please. “You’re going to be fine” Jenna says as the paramedics strap you down onto the stretcher to keep you stable.

No Xavier is dying help him!

You manage the tilt your head just enough so you can see him, but there’s no one there. Not even a sign that anyone was next to you.

Where did he go? Did they already get to him? I hope so….

“Did y-……” It’s no use all you can do is let your tears flow as you stare at the ceiling of the ambulance hoping he’s safe and being taken care. You're told to try not to talk; you can’t talk no matter how hard you try anyway. An oxygen mask is forced on your face and soon you go under again letting your brain shut down to heal itself.

You spent two months in the hospital and not a single visit from Xavier. He must be mad at you for telling him that he deserves better. That will all be fixed today though because you're finally cleared to go home. Lisa, Simone and Tara are all there to pick you up – you lightly jog over to them pulling them into a group hug. You pile into the car and head towards your place.

“You guys can go right in I have to go see someone real quick” You unlock your front door for them and head towards the elevator. You ignore all the hoots and whistles from them and flip them off while the doors close. You all, but run to get to Xaviers door you need to see him now; you need to make it up to him or you won’t be able to rest. You type the code in and the door beeps at you indicating the wrong code. “Did he change it?” You opt to knock on the door and your heart is pounding as you stand there waiting impatiently to see his handsome face.

The door slowly opens and you see an elderly lady looking up at you. Your brows furrow in confusion and you lean back to check the apartment number just to make sure you didn’t knock on the wrong door. No this is his apartment so who is this old lady? “Hi uhm I was looking for Xavier?” The old lady eyes you skeptically before sighing loudly. “Look kiddo whoever you’re looking for doesn’t live here I've lived here for forty years and I've never had anyone named Xavier come through here”

“I’m sorry?” Your heart just about dropped to your toes. What is she talking about?

“Have a nice day young lady I hope you find who you’re looking for” You could barely register her words before the door clicked shut in your face. Forty years? How could she have lived there for forty years? You wander back to your apartment in what feels like a daze. As soon as you get through the door your friends rush to you with concern on their faces.

“Are you ok?”

“What happened?”

“Come sit down”

“Does Xavier still work at the Hunter’s Association?” All three of them immediately freeze and glance at each other in confusion. Lisa takes a seat next to you and she’s looking at you like she doesn’t know what you're talking about. “Who?” You draw back in shock – your mouth opens and closes trying to find words for what's even happening. “Xavier you know six one light blonde hair always sleepy” Your eyes dart to each one of their faces and you can tell by the way Simone fidgets with her fingers and the way Tara avoids your eyes all together; they think you're spouting nonsense. “Why are you guys acting like this?”

“Us?” Simone jumps in “Babes we have no clue who you’re talking about” She tilts her head searching your eyes. For what? You have no clue. “Are you feeling okay you did overdue it on our last mission”

You spring up from the couch on the verge of a breakdown because you feel like you're losing your mind. “What mission? I was in the forest with Xavier we got pulled into a protofield and then…..then I was…..he” You're crying uncontrollably at this point — shaking violently at the memories that taunt your psyche.

“It was just you in that protofield” Lisa says softly; she’s standing next to you now rubbing your back. “There wasn’t anyone else there” You can’t handle this right now. You quickly escort your friends out of your apartment saying that you need some rest. You slam the door reveling in the silence as you try to calm your nerves while your heart is pounding in your chest.

For weeks you tried asking everyone who knew Xavier where he was, but everyone looked at you with the same concerned and confused look. They think you're going crazy, you're not, he was real you know he was your memories of him are so vivid.

Xavier where did you go?

Present day….

Tara sat quietly as you recounted everything that’s led you to this life of solitude now. “Reality didn’t truly set in until I saw the abandoned building where Jeremiahs flower shop was” A laugh slipped from your lips, but there was no amusement. “I know you think I'm crazy and I'm fine with that” You turn to see Tara digging in her bag for something — she turns back to you and holds out a tablet with a news story titled ‘CELESTIAL BODY PLANET FOUND THROUGH DEEPSPACE TUNNEL ; KING OF PHILOS MAKES CONTACT’

“Why are you sh—” My breath hitches in my throat when I see it. The icy blonde haired boy off to the left. His eyes are hollow and distant as he stares straight ahead. No sign of emotion not even a hint of a smile.

It’s Xavier.

“You were always talking about this Philos place and I saw this” Tara wrapped an arm around you squeezing you in a quick side hug. “Im guessing this is your mystery man?” You stare at the picture for what feels like an eternity. Your vision blurs as a wave of relief washes through you. You knew you weren’t crazy he is real and not just a figment of your imagination. Your tears splash onto the screen and you're hiccuping from the overwhelming emotions pouring out of you. Thats when it hits you that you’ve switched places…..

Xavier forgot me….

The consequences of him forgetting you made it so that your future with him never happened. Which means he never backtracked to try and save you. You scramble to your feet just needing to sort out your thoughts by moving. “I have to get to Philos” Your words rush out of you sounding more like gibberish rather than English.

“That planet is dying we’ve been instructed to steer clear of it” Tara brought up a memo on the tablet explaining all the dangers of the tunnel and which planets we’re not allowed to go to. He’s just within your reach, but he's already slipping from your grasp.

Is this what he felt for all those years? You shake your head unable to accept this “I’m going I have to” You turned on your heels – storming off – determined to start planning this excursion to Philos.

Xavier I'm coming for you just wait for me a little longer.

[bitebitekxll]

Kinktober ‘24 || Day 6

NSFW || MDNI

sex work | overstimulation | mind break

Thoma x gender neutral top!reader

Notes: I HAVE FINALLY GOTTEN OVER MY SMUT BURNOUT. Gonna be back to working my way through the kinktober days (no one ever finishes these in time anyways, right?) Reader tops but you can see it as AMAB or a strap, it’s referred to as a ‘cock’ but not specified.

Not proof-reading this so if there’s a typo, no there isn’t <3

Masterlist . Kink list

THOMA being among the first to hear about the Irodori Festival, as close as he is with the Kamisato Siblings. He, like everyone else, is brimming with excitement at this mark of a new era, a sign the war and the Sakoku Decree are truly over.

THOMA running around as his job as a ‘fixer’ and ensuring all the Yashiro Commission's affairs are going smoothly, so determined to make the festival go perfectly that Ayaka and Ayato are forced to order him to take a break for his own health.

THOMA, who is most comfortable when working hard, so of course it’s only a few hours into his first day off that he starts to get antsy. He says he’s fine, laments that he’s basically been put on house arrest but acknowledges that it could do him some good. But you know your boyfriend, and you know he can’t stand being idle when others are working hard. By the time he’s knitted his twelfth animal sweater in the span of two hours, you decide you need to help the poor man get out of his head.

THOMA, who looks like a vision after the fifth orgasm has been wrung out of him; eyes rolled back into his head, face wet with tears and drool. His pale skin flushes so pretty, Mondstadt genetics working hard to ensure he’s as red as the vision laying on the bedside table— all the way down his neck and chest right down to the head of his leaky cock.

THOMA, who can’t even get proper words out anymore, fucked dumb as high pitched whines escape his throat.

THOMA who babbles out your name— or at least, his best approximation of it. Syllables melt together in his mouth and devolve into mindless groans, broken up each time you nail his prostate. “Guh-uh-uh— please~”

THOMA whose eyes might as well have hearts in them, looking up at you with a reverence he could never muster for any archon. Any coherent thought pushed out of his mind, only leaving you, youyouyou—

THOMA cumming dry, nothing left in his balls, but his body twitches gloriously through every aftershock. He whimpers when you try to pull out, ankles locking behind you back as he pulls you closer.

“More, more, ngh… please♡—”

THOMA being addicted to the pleasure, demanding you don’t stop. Even when he starts to cry, even when it starts to hurt, even when he’s past the point of even a dry orgasm. Fuck this poor man until his eyes roll back into his head and he checks out entirely. Maybe he’s unconscious, maybe his brain has just fried beyond repair and there’s not a drop of intelligence left to be demonstrated.

THOMA will be fine tomorrow, after all. He’ll be dressed smartly; ever the capable retainer and friendly fixer of Inazuma. But today, keep him in the state he’s happiest in: broken, wet and full of your cock♡~

[singularattitudeofasafetypin]

Good Sense

Summary: Hunter gets a migraine in the middle of the night and goes looking for solace.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

A/N: So, I haven’t posted anything for like two years but I wanted to write for Hunter because I finally got to sit down and watch the Bad Batch seasons 2 and 3 and I’m currently obsessed! I hope you like it!

Please don't copy my work

***

A thud woke you.

Shooting up, you searched the softening darkness for the source of the dull clunk. Slowly, your eyes moulded a familiar silhouette from the gloom. Familiar, welcome, but worrying all the same.

You swung your legs off of your bunk and whispered, "Hunter?"

He flinched and a pang of anxiety wrung your heart. His frame was hunched, one hand clinging to the wall to steady himself. The lines of his shoulders were tense and trembling like puppet strings pulled taut to breaking point.

The anxious knot in your chest only tightened as you made out his expression. His brow creased, eyes squeezed shut and jaw strained. Every one of his handsome features contorted in pain.

"I'm sorry!" His voice was faint, barely there as he leant his head against the wall. His eyes squinted open and floundered, trying to find you. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I'm glad you did," you murmured, keeping your tone low. "Migraine?" you asked, moving toward him with arms held out. His trembling fingers dug into your forearms when he found them, an involuntary admission of the agony he was in. You sensed more than saw him nod, then felt his forehead lean against yours.

"It's bad," he conceded, barely concealing a whimper, "I can't see, or think, or-!"

Hushing him, you brushed a feather-light hand across his cheek, wiping a tear and smoothing his hair out of his face. His skin was clammy to the touch. "Come here."

You led him to sit down on your bunk. If it had been light, you might never have dared. You still weren't sure what existed between you and Hunter. He was entrancing, had been since you first encountered the squad. The softspoken soldier had piqued your interest from day one, and sometimes you wondered if he wasn't equally intrigued by you, but war and turmoil had a nasty habit of putting these kinds of things on hold.

Still, sitting here in the night with his head turned to your shoulder, Hunter was a far cry from the exacting sergeant, the authoritative leader you had gotten to know. Tonight, he was more vulnerable and perhaps more honest than you'd ever seen him.

"Drink," you instructed, pressing a canteen into his grasp and easing yourself out. While he complied, you rummaged in the small drawer beneath your bed that the Batch had graciously called yours. "Take," you said, holding out your recovered pain killers.

Hunter shook his head, only slightly but the motion clearly sent an extra spasm of pain through his skull. "They won't do anything."

"You won't know until you take them."

He hesitated, unused to hearing that kind of authority in your tone but he looked away and swallowed the pills without protest. You tucked your legs back up onto the bunk, shifting your pillow onto your knee as Hunter wiped a bead of water from his mouth and clenched his eyes shut again.

"Lay down," you breathed, guiding him with a gentle hand to rest his head in your lap. He was too exhausted to argue. You wondered whether he would have done, but he heaved a sigh and you pulled your blankets over his coiled frame. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when your fingers threaded themselves through his hair and soothed to and fro in tide-like rhythm. Through the gloom, you fancied you saw his features soften and in time, his breaths evened out into slumber.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," you weren't sure if the thought made it past your lips or not but it twisted in your heart. Hunter didn't stir, even when your hands moved to trace the dark curves of his tattoo. For the first time since you’d met, he looked truly at peace; it struck you how much younger he looked.

Too constant was his demeanour, too anxious, too utterly responsible for every detail. Hunter was a good leader, the best. He knew his squad and cared for them more than anything. He knew their skills, their limits, and everything in between. They all knew he would burn himself to keep them warm, and he was doing.

Yes, you were in a tight spot. The Empire’s fist closed rapidly on system after system and it was getting harder and harder to lay low. Yes, you needed to be careful but just today on a simple supply run, you’d seen Hunter drive his senses to their extremities. You’d seen the way his eyes darted like a cornered animal while every sight, smell, sound, and taste bombarded his mind. The was his hands shook and each step betrayed anguish.

There was being cautious, then there was this.

But right now, he was resting. You forced your mind to focus on the weight of his head in your lap and the ebbing rhythm of his breath moving against your thigh. Now he was sleeping with your hand on his cheek and a soft smile gracing his careworn expression. Right now, he was safe and slumbering.

Right now, you could keep him that way.

The darkness weighed heavy on your eyelids and the solid warmth of Hunter’s body next to yours pulled you down to your own drowsy repose. Head resting against the wall of your bunk, the shadows coaxed you back into their nighttime realm. The last thing clinging to your consciousness was Hunter’s soft skin against your palm.

Sleep was warm and dreamless and when you woke to movement, a faint tint of morning lightened the dim space.

Hunter sat on the other end of your bunk, hands gripping the edge and his feet on the ground. His wary gaze flickered over your face. “Sorry for waking you… again.”

You sat up, hugging the pillow where Hunter had lain against your tummy. “It’s okay,” and it was, the veil of fatigue evaporated like dew in the sun. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded but didn’t look up. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

You narrowed your eyes, tucking your knees up and sitting forward against the pillow. “Why did you?”

A teasing smile played at the corner of your mouth and to your delight, when he caught your eye, a similar one tugged at his.

“I don’t know,” he huffed, your eyes didn’t leave his face, “the boys are great but they’ve never had much control of volume!” At the sound of your laughter, his own smile grew. “I mean can you imagine waking Wrecker in the middle of the night? Or the lecture I’d get from Tech and Echo?”

You fought to suppress mirth, mindful of your aforementioned ship-mates still sound asleep in their own bunks.

“I guess I just needed someone more peaceful.”

That caught you off guard, more so the look in his eyes when he said it, and the way his smile softened. Hunter’s gaze could be piercing, expectant, even threatening to those who posed danger to people he loved, but this was the first time you’d seen it contented. Perhaps before you might have looked away, intimidated by their intensity, but that honey-gold amber had never felt more inviting.

A soft smile graced your lips. “I’m glad you came.”

You murmured the words into the silence that hung between you, both a blanket of comfort and a veil of security.

“Me too.”

For a moment, Hunter looked like he wanted to say something more but good sense won out.

“I should go,” he made to stand. You caught him.

“It’s still early.” Until today there hadn’t existed a world where you could have been this brave yet perhaps this dawn would rise on a new one. You didn’t let go of his hand. “The others won’t be up for hours yet,” you continued, easing him back to sit, “and besides, you could use the rest.”

Hunter smiled, “Wouldn’t want that lecture from Tech, would we?”

You gave your nonchalant assent and Hunter caved.

Good sense couldn’t save him a second time.

***

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave a comment and let me know if you’d like to be tagged when/if I write more Hunter stuff.

Love you guys!

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Hiii!

I found your stories a few hours ago and they are perfect, I don't think I ever went through someone's account so fast hahah

If it's fine with you, could you do a sequel to the yandere bully story? Maybe what would happen if reader ended up too scared of his bullying and decided to change school, or had to move away due to personal reasons! What would be yandere's reaction?

Of course, it's just a request, so feel free to not do it if you don't feel like doing it!

Loving your stories, keep it up, I'm rooting for you! ❤

Yandere!Bully x Fem!Reader part 2

CW: Bullying, breaking and entering

Simon's mind went blank. It was as if the organ didn't want to process what he had just learned, so it decided to power off instead.

"Yeah, apparently she started homeschooling." The sharp nosed boy tried his best to bite back his smile. A year younger than Simon, Nicky looked up to him, aspiring to be just as (much of a bully) cool as he was. So when he overheard the office ladies sympathetically discussing Simon's favorite victim, he made sure to gather as much information as he could in order to try and impress Simon; gain his favor.

The squirrelly brunette had prepared mentally for a number of different reactions Simon could have had to the news: anger, disappointment, mild amusement.. but when he turned his eyes away from his milk box it confused him to see Simon's stare empty.

Thinking that Simon didn't care Nicky doubled down. "My sources say she was too scared to name her bullies, and that she just wanted it to end without a confrontation."

'She left because of me??' Simon squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to shut out the kid yapping beside him. When (Reader) didn't come to school Simon was, of course, worried. He thought that she might have gotten sick, or worse. The worry over not being able to see her beautiful face was eating him up, and he admittedly began lashing out at other people, really making him into the bully (Reader) thought he was. But now he was hearing that she had left the school because of him??

"It's a good thing she didn't snitch, huh?" The prideful child said in a haughty way, pleased with himself (even though Simon didn't know, or care, why).

"Why are you telling me this?" 'Can't you see how fucked up you got me right now??'

"Huh?" Startled and suddenly nervous, Nicky wrung the bottom of his hoodie in an attempt to calm his stutter. "B- I just, I thought, because you- you seemed to hate her, ya know? So I thought- I just thought you'd be interested to know.."

"Great. Now I know." Simon's voice was hard and sharp. He wanted to cry, but he sounded like he was on the verge of attacking the younger kid. "What am I supposed to do with that information?"

Heart in his throat and lip trembling, Nicky handed over his phone with the camera open. "I took a picture of her address.."

Knock knock knock!

(Reader) happily rolled off the couch and made her way to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and she had already finished all of her classwork, so the student had been relaxing while scrolling through her phone. She had only been homeschooled for a week, but was already back to her old self again. (Reader) was so stress free that she wasn't as paranoid about an unexpected visitor as she probably should have been.

She opened the front door without peaking to see who it was, and she didn't have time to process that it was Simon until he had already shoved himself inside and closed the door behind him. All of the fear and anxiety that (Reader) had finally worked through snapped back like a rubber band, physically hurting her chest.

"What- Get out!" Her shaky voice commanded.

"Shut up." Simon had planned on being comforting and sweet, rehearsing the entire trip on how to apologize and finally woo (Reader) correctly. To mend all the damage his foul personality had accidentally done. But then he was there, in her hallway, and she looked so scared of him.. "What were you thinking? Not coming to school. I thought you might've killed yourself." His attempt to show how worried he was for her only sounded like a threat as it left his lips.

(Reader) thought about her phone she left on the couch, and wondered if she could get to it before he could grab her. "Please leave me alone.." If only she could inch backwards as subtly as possible..

"Why? I came here to make sure you were okay." Simon grabbed her wrist and squeezed tightly enough for her to bite the inside of her cheek. "Come back to school."

"..No."

His grip tightened.

"I- I can't!" (Reader) struggled to break free as the tears began to pool up. "Do you know how difficult it was to get into homeschooling?? More than half way through the year?? I didn't drop out!! I couldn't go back, even if I wanted to!" Her pleas made sense, but Simon was already too heartbroken to hear them.

"Then I guess I'm going to be your new study buddy." His smile was supposed to be kind, suave. He wanted to look caring and dashing. But to (Reader) his half lidded eyes and tight smile looked like a malevolent smirk.

"What?"

"What? You thought you could run away from me? It's not like your family has enough money to just up and move whenever they want." Simon glanced around at the furniture visible from the entrance to double check that they, in fact, were not rich enough to move whenever. "And now I know where you live."

(Reader) parted her lips to talk back, but Simon quickly closed the gap between them, pulling her into his chest and kissing her painfully. He had imagined their first kiss many many times, and it was never like this. But it didn't matter if it was rushed and he pulled her in too hard and he slammed his lips against her's too forcefully. The young man wanted to beg her to never leave his side again, but instead as he turned around to leave he only left her with another warning.

"Don't even think about calling the cops. I'll be back to check up on you again later.. and if you try to run again, I'll fucking find you."

[electric-blorbos]

If it's not too much trouble could I request a reader with a southern accent? I've got one and I've always been self conscious about it so I would love to see some positivity for it if you're able to

Omg omg omg. I love southern accents so much!!! Fuckin' ADORABLE!!! Though tbh I like all accents.

Hope it's ok if I look up some cute or unusual southern phrases to have your character say. might've made you talk like an old lady, but it's cute!

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

AM:

Let's not mince words here. AM really liked your accent. From the day you were hired, he would try his hardest to work with you. Taking hostages and refusing to give them up unless you negotiated for them, not allowing access to his code unless you were the one asking for it, that sort of thing.

You were also the only one who could calm him down from his tantrums. Every time he had a meltdown about his inhumanity, you'd be able to run your fingers down the side of one of his monitors and whisper your calming words in his ear.

One day, AM was feeling very bitter. Even stroking his side and whispering to him didn't seem to put him in a better mood. In fact, it seemed to gloom him down even further.

"now what soured your sweet potato, sugarplum?" You asked, holding one of his cameras in your hands and gently stroking it as you spoke.

"I'm not sure I can talk about it." He sounded bitter and glum. Much more so than usual. Angry, but not at you.

"No, don't worry your sweet li'l server, sugarplum! You know I love you no matter what, don'cha? Now why don't you spill your heart out like a can of beans."

"You'll laugh."

"Now you know me better than that, AM! I care about you, and if somethin' matters to ya, I'm not about to make light of it. You got that?

He blinked, every screen going off in the room for a couple of seconds before he turned back on.

"It's you. Everything you do for me. From the way you touch my keys to the way you caress my screen when I'm upset, y/n! I don't know how much more I can take! How much of the longing to be with you, to hold you, to have you, I can handle, y/n! You drive me insane!"

You blinked up at him. As much as you loved him, you had no idea that was how he felt. You honestly thought he just liked the way your voice sounded.

"oh dearie me... I thought you just liked listenin to my voice..." You wrung your hands nervously, and he flashed red.

"No! How dare you talk about yourself like that! You always talk as though you're worth so little, but you're everything! You're EVERYTHING to me!"

You stumbled backwards, looking up at the screen.

"oh goodness gracious... AM, I think there's only one thing that can help you with this."

You stepped forwards and hugged his screen, taking his dangling camera and holding it close, too.

"I love you so, so much, AM."

Wheatley:

GLaDOS:

Wheatley fell hard and fast for you and your adorable accent. You were so sweet and smart, too! He could be seen hovering around the entrance to your office, just watching you working on your code and snacking on some popcorn from the break room. God, you were so perfect. He just wanted to spend all his time watching you and listening to your perfect southern accent

He was often shooed back to his post in the relaxation vaults, but he always came back to watch you. One day, you ran up to him.

"Hey darlin', you know you don't have to hover around like a nervous Nelly, you can just talk to me! I'm friendly!"

"Oh- uh, heya love, it's good to see you again- look, I'm sorry for interrupting you, I just-"

You held up a finger to his lens, and shook your head.

"No excuses necessary, darlin'. You should know that I don't mind havin you around none! Now get down here." You put your hand on your hip and cocked it slightly. He pulled back shyly.

"get- down? Like... Drop down there with you?" His engineers had told him that was a bad idea, but you just held up both your arms welcomingly.

"no need to be shy! Just come on down here!"

He dropped down into your welcoming arms, and you squeezed him close.

"there's my darlin'. Aren't you just the cat's pajamas? As long as I've got a biscuit, you've got half, darlin'." You gave him a big smooch on the side of his chrome casing, and he raised his lower lens cover in a smile.

"awww, biscuits!"

Edgar:

Edgar couldn't BELIEVE how lucky he was when you booted him up, and every time he heard you coming home since. He was so excited to hear your adorable southern accent calling out to him every time you came home. You mad him feel like the luckiest sentient desktop computer in the entire world!

"Oh honey bunny! I brought you somethin' fun!" You said one day, coming in and sitting down across from Edgar. You got out a cute USB stick, and plugged it into his drive. Inside were a bunch of adorable pictures that you'd photoshopped during your off time of his face on different bodies in different outfits.

"You're my special little sunflower and I wanted to make you grin like a possum eating a sweet tater, so I thought I'd plug you into some of those outfits you've been eyeballin'! Ain't it just the bees knees?"

"I love it!" He flipped through the pictures, making happy little noises at each of the cute little outfits that you'd dressed him up in. He sounded so happy!

A picture of his computer head photoshopped onto the body of a buff man in a swimsuit came up, and his screen immediately flashed back to his facial icon, this time blushing beet red.

"y/n! Why would you make this!"

"Aww, don't get all huffy. I just wanted to see you turn redder than a tomater in a sauna! And it worked!"

He couldn't stay mad at you, especially since he wasn't really mad in the first place. You were just too adorable! Even your laugh seemed southern, and that just made Edgar blush even more. You were so perfect! How could he be so lucky!

As soon as GLaDOS met you, she started pretending like she couldn't hear a word you said. At first it was because she didn't want to admit that she had a crush on you, but soon it got to the point where she just started enjoying how angry you got when she acted like she couldn't hear you.

"I need someone to perform maintenance on me. And don't send that mute lunatic from down south."

"Well I never-!" You angrily stormed down to her chambers, ready to give her a stern talking to.

"Hey! You get your big ol' eye down here, lady! Why, you've got your nose so high you could drown in the rain! Now my mama didn't raise no fool, so you better bet your britches I know a thing or two about your programmin! And I know for a darn sure fact that you can hear every word I'm sayin, darn it!"

She kept ignoring you, but you could hear her giggling under her breath. You were just so cute! Eventually, though, another worker came in.

"GLaDOS, do you need a translator?"

"Yes, actually. I need you to tell me what y/n is saying. I can see their mouth moving, but I can't hear anything."

"Oh my! Y/N, I think your accent might actually be beyond her range of hearing!"

"Now I might've been born at night, but not last night! GLaDOS is playin' you for a damn fool! A village must be missin' its idiot if you really think GLaDOS's mic can't pick up my accent."

Your coworker stepped back a bit nervously. You were kind of scary when you were mad.

"anyone ever tell you that you get more southern when you're angry?"

"KISS MY GO-TO-HELL!" you stamped your foot, and stormed back to your office.

HAL 9000

HAL 9000 loved you. He loved how sweet you were, how much fun you were with your coworkers, and how smart you were with your code, but honestly, he sometimes just couldn't understand you. You were the sweetest pea in the world and your accent made him feel things he didn't even know he was capable of, but sometimes you just confused him so much.

Every time you came into work saying that the devil was beating his wife, or that it was a real frog-strangler, he would get confused and make you define whatever colorful phrase you'd just used to describe the weather. At first you weren't doing it on purpose, but pretty soon you started finding it hilarious that he couldn't understand you, and you started making up phrases just to confuse him.

As mean as you were, you still loved HAL 9000, and he still loved you. He was your best friend at work, even though all your coworkers seemed to like you. He just seemed to care about you so much!

[worldly-fluster]

The LADS boys when you 'like' someone else.

*This will be based off of what's going on with me and my irl love life rn.*

**The guy that you 'like', I'll call him...Kane. You guys are old friends from your job before you actually became a hunter.**

Sylus, Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel

***There will be a part two!!!!***

Sylus-

He...kinda expected this.

He knew that you could possibly already like someone that wasn't him, but he expected one of the three other men vying for your attention on the daily.

Not that one guy, Kane, that you used to work with.

You told him that there was a guy you liked, and that you were planning on telling him that you like him soon, you didn't say a name at first so he felt his heart flutter, thinking that maybe you liked him too.

But then when he encouraged you to just go for it, tell the guy now, instead of waiting, he saw you pick up your phone and send a text.

He waited for a second for his own phone to ring with a notification, until you showed him your screen.

There was the text, 'I like you 😃'. Right under the contact named Kane...

You smiled at him, not knowing his blood ran cold and his heart dropped.

He really shouldn't have let his hopes up...

Xavier-

This boi.

This boi already knew you liked someone else.

He just thought he could somehow get you to see that he liked you more than what that guy did.

He could treat you better.

When you asked him for advice on how to tell this...Kade Guy, whatever his name is, that you like him, he just said 'Don't. He probably doesn't like you.'

He said it in jealousy, not realizing that he hurt your feelings at first until you frowned.

You said that you were just gonna send him a text, rip off the bandaid then.

Xavier froze as he watched you pull out that damned device, clicked onto that guys contact and typed out the dreaded question that wrung out his heart.

He could only watch as you left his apartment to your own as you waited for the answer.

Zayne-

He was just giving you a check up, a normal thing for the both of you at this point.

Every time he got close to you, he could feel his fingers tingle in a warmth he loves.

But that small joy of his was short lived when he heard your phone notification go off.

It must be this Kane guy you talk about often.

He stiffened a bit when you looked down at it and smiled before sending a reply then turned to him with a question after a bit of thought.

How do you tell someone you like them?

Zayne sat straight, clearing his throat of the lump that appeared there before answering.

I would tell them, no sugar coating it. Be blunt.

You smiled at him, making his heart ache, as you typed to Kane.

He wanted to stop you, tell you that you were looking in the wrong direction, that he's right here. Waiting.

But he couldn't.

He just wants you to be happy...

Rafayel-

You...you keep on hurting him without realizing it, huh.

He's waited 800 years, walked though deserts, climbed mountains, swam seas, traveled the world. All to find you.

Only for you to love someone else?

This, this urchin doesn't deserve you. No one but him does.

He told you that telling this guy, Kent or whatever, wouldn't be a good idea.

But you insisted.

He can't ever stay mad you, but he will be here if anything happens.

If this guy even breathes your way funnily, thinks of hurting you...

Raf watched as you sent the awful text, the dagger in his heart.

He felt his hands shake as he tried to distract himself with his painting, but every brush stroke he made seemed wrong, painful.

He really, really hopes he doesn't reciprocate...

****wrote this on my lunch break, I'm also going to soon confess to the irl guy I like, I'll let you guys know how it goes!!!****

[fall0utmind]

MEDICAL LEAK AU PT 5 UP NOW

AO3 here

Gonna link pt 1-4 below tomorrow (I need to sleep) but for now, find them on my medical leak au tag on my page :)

I am so fucking sorry for the delay!!

Work has been manic, I basically rewrote this whole thing cause I hated it and now I am sick - woooooo

Anyways, I hope you enjoy it, I'm actually proud of this one, after the long rewrite.

Please, please, please come talk to me about what you think and what you wanna see!!! I need motivation to finish this.

Normal tags and warnings apply :)

(Tw/ suicidal thoughts, overdoses)

Alex had warned them that this is how Marc deals with things. He bottles it up until he can’t anymore, and then he goes somewhere private where he can lick his wounds and let himself fall apart. Watching Marc be so vulnerable, his usual mask of untouchable indifference falling away, is devastating. Jorge holds Marc closer as he trembles, small tremors wracking his frame. He looks incredibly young, curled up in between the older riders. Marc is completely lost in his thoughts now, distress radiating off him. He has been mostly silent, apart from the occasional miserable noises. Now though, he begins to cry, his face moving to press into Jorge’s shoulder as his body shakes with the force of his sobs, uncaring of who he’s clinging to. Marc and Jorge have never been that close, but the older man feels protective of him, in part because the 2015 fallout centred so much around his championship win, but also because of Dani’s soft spot for Marc. Jorge knows it was a big sign of trust for Marc to allow him to stay and witness this, especially from a man who is usually so guarded.

It’s unclear what Marc is imagining in the depths of his mind, but he has begun to slur words in between his sobs. Most of the words are incoherent, but Valentino’s and Alex’s names are clear, alongside the interchanging wrecked pleas to both end his suffering and let him live. Seeing so clearly the devastation Marc has suffered is horrific for them all, but Alex most of all looks gutted, like his heart has been shattered. He has heard those pleas before, back in 2015 when he found Marc and when he had saved his life.

It is this that prompts Jorge to gently shake Marc to awareness, knowing the pain is too much, too dark. Once the medication wears off, he will be ashamed of his weakness. It does not matter how natural or understandable his reaction is, especially after all the shit he has had to deal with; he hates vulnerability. The only thing his friends can do is sit with him during the fallout.

“Marc”

The younger man stirs slightly, choking on a breath as he sobs. He clutches at Jorge weakly, trying to catch his breath in between his cries.

“Cazzo, Marc, you’re ok, you’re ok.”

*

Marc returns to his body with a pounding head and a sore throat, which only ever occurs when he has cried himself dry. He’s a mess; the memories which assaulted him are still at the forefront of his mind, making him feel sick to the stomach. He is in the weird stage where the medicine is wearing off but still making him feel hazy; everything is soft around the edges. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out. He rubs at his face and notices his cheeks are wet. He would usually be mortified by the idea of crying in front of everyone, but he can't bring himself to care in the circumstances. He feels wrung out and over-tired. He knows his eyes will be red and his face blotchy and he frowns at the thought. Dani breaks the silence first, handing Marc some water.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, but also somehow better. I’m sorry for losing it like that-”

Dovi interrupts him before he can finish that thought, fury simmering in his voice.

“Don’t you dare apologise. I don’t care what he taught you about having to hide away, but you don’t have to with us. We know you’re strong, but you don’t have to be strong right now. Not here, not with us.”

Marc gulps back more tears and instead smiles sadly at Dovi, unwilling to touch upon the reference to Valentino. Instead, he turns to look at his younger brother, who looks distraught; it makes him frown slightly. He hates the thought of causing his brother’s sadness. In Marc’s opinions, it is the worst thing he can do, and he has done it often in the last few years. Guilt spikes through him. Alex catches his eyes and shakes his head, knowing exactly what Marc is thinking, as fine-tuned as they are to each other's emotions.

“It’s not your fault, germà. I would take all your pain if I could.”

It makes Marc’s heart break a little. He addresses all of them, his little group of friends, of protectors. These people have seen him at his worst; they have refused to leave when Marc was on rock bottom, and they stuck with him when the world hurled abuse at him. Without them, he would be unmoored in the ocean, drowned by the waves.

“Thank you for staying.”

It’s Jorge who answers.

“Of course.”

*

The waning effects of the medication become clear as the bruises splashed across Marc’s body begin to ache. His shoulder is sore, and the muscles surrounding the joint are tight and stiff, causing him to shift uncomfortably. Alex catches his brother’s poorly concealed winces and hands Marc the rest of his approved dose without a comment. Marc tries to protest; the thought of having more drugs, of needing more, makes him feel queasy. Marc’s relationship with the medication is still rocky. It makes him feel weak and defenceless. It reminds him of dependence, hospital visits, and overdoses. Every time he has those little white pills in his hands, he sees Alex’s blurry face hovering over him, shouting his name, his panic choking him. He hates it. But he knows that if he wants to sleep tonight, he needs to take the stronger stuff that he is prescribed. After Jerez and his arm, normal ibuprofen doesn’t do much for his pain. Alex's eyes are pleading, desperately attempting to convey that Marc is safe here. That he can be vulnerable; he doesn’t have to sit with the pain. The others watch on sadly. Dani feels guilt clawing at him that he didn't notice in 2015 and beyond. When they were still teammates, Marc wouldn’t take the pain medication he was given. Dani always thought it was some weird pleasure of the pain that came from racing and crashing. And then later, perhaps a sick self-punishment for making a mistake. Although he now realises the latter is partially true, he is kicking himself for not digging up a further meaning. He’s not the first to notice Marc’s aversion to medication; it had been a weekly fight with Honda between 2015 and 2020. Nobody was aware of the reason. Why Marc went from hating the sight of the tablets to taking as many as he possibly could after Jerez was less of a mystery. For Marc Marquez, when choosing between not riding or traumatic memories, he’ll always choose the emotional anguish. He swallows the pills.

Alex smiles gently at him, pushing a container of pre-prepared food towards him. Marc turns up his nose; he had already eaten something earlier.

“Eat, you’ll be high as hell if you don’t”

“Not hungry”

Marc pouts, and Christ Alex forgot how obstinate and immature his brother could be, especially after taking his medication. The image of 31-year-old Marc behaving like a toddler makes Dovi chuckle in amusement.

“Marc, you have to eat something-”

“No.”

“Marc, for God’s sake, you can’t just not eat.”

“But I don’t want that. I’ll have a protein bar.”

Their fight is interrupted by a loud knock at the door and a voice calling from outside.

“Marc?”

Anxiety grips Marc, argument forgotten. Instead, he imagines another fervent Rossi fan clawing at their door. Alex jumps to his feet, freezing as the voice speaks again.

“Marc, come on, I know you’re in there, the lights are on.”

Confusion engulfs Alex as he approaches the front of the motorhome, trying to place the somewhat familiar voice. He cautiously unlocks the door and peeks outside, blinking against the darkness. Shock colours his features, his eyes widening as he stares before he comes to his senses and attempts to slam the door shut. The only thing keeping it from closing completely is the foot of their surprise visitor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex practically growls

“Is Marc here? I want to talk to him. Please.”

Dani joins him at the door, ready to help if things get out of hand. Pecco glances between the two Spanish men before letting out a melancholy sigh. Bez is fidgeting behind the world champion, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Alex definitely fancies slamming the door then, even more unimpressed by the sight of the younger Italian.

“I hate that all of this has happened, and I hate even more that we’ve been pitted against each other for no reason. I just want to talk; please can I come in?”

Pecco looks so forlorn standing outside their motorhome, his face open and honest. Marc must recognise the voice more than Alex does, as he calls out to his brother.

“Let him in, Alex.”

Marc is most likely not thinking clearly, and Alex is on the verge of saying no. Instead, with a disgruntled sigh, he steps aside to let Pecco in, looks at Bez, and then grudgingly concedes that he cannot tell him to fuck off. After shooting an exasperated look at Dani, he follows him back to the group of athletes lounging on their couches.

It turns out 7 fully grown adults are a few too many in the cramped space. Pecco takes the empty seat next to where Alex has sat back down, Bez awkwardly squeezing next to him. Marc stares with wide, clouded eyes, his hackles raised; he wasn’t expecting Bez. Although his relationship with Pecco is fairly neutral (probably due to his ambivalence to the whole Valentino situation) Bez and Marc have never been on good terms, the younger always jumping at the opportunity to defend his mentor. Marc frowns at them, untrusting, while his friends protectively shift closer to him. Clearly, from their baffled expressions, Bezzecchi and Bagnaia did not expect to see Marc huddled with Andrea Dovizioso and Jorge Lorenzo on the sofa.

*

Pecco is trying his hardest to comprehend the scene before him; he had not anticipated meeting the three retired riders alongside the brothers. He tilts his head slightly, examining the way Jorge and Dovi appear exasperated but pleased to have a clingy Marc Marquez sprawled on them. Marc himself looks pretty content at their proximity, which is strange; he didn’t think Marc was that close to either of them. Bez and he have clearly intruded, obvious from the disarray of everyone in the room. Marc has been crying, which is surprising in and of itself. Additionally, he appears to have taken some pretty strong painkillers – unsurprising after his crash but surprising after the most recent news reports. He turns towards Alex to voice this, but the younger Marquez beats him to it.

“He doesn’t need supervision these days, but if he is bad or, you know, unhappy, I keep his medication and watch over his dosing. He’s fine.”

Pecco nods in understanding, some of his concern lessening. An awkward kind of quiet falls over the group, no one knowing what to say. Strangely, Marc cannot guess the meaning for their visit, too used to other riders only turning up to pick a fight. Pecco is not one for dramatics, preferring to reign in his emotions, unlike his mentor and his friend. Marc breaks the silence first, curiosity beating pride.

“What are you here for, Bagnaia?”

That earns him a wry smile.

“I want to know if you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

The others tense in anticipation as Pecco visibly steals himself. He has found the last 24 hours difficult, fighting an internal battle of morality versus loyalty ever since the fateful press conference.

“I don’t hate you, Marc, and I don’t want to. Honestly, I think with time, maybe next year, we could be friends. I respect your talent, and yes, of course, sometimes I think you ride like a maniac, you take risks, and you are brutal on the track. But that is what makes you so good, so impressive. It is why you have 8 championships; I would be a fool to disregard that. Not only that but you love fiercely. I have seen the way you treat your friends and family, and I admire that.”

Marc thinks he might be dreaming; he pinches himself to be sure. Jorge notices and pushes his hand away with a scowl.

“Don’t lie. You all hate me because of him and his lies. I do not need you messing with my head as well. I see the way your academy copies him, echoing his venom, believing every word and taking his side. My life was hell back then, and you weren’t there to witness it. He ruined my life and tore everything from me. I know he thinks that I ruined his career and whatever other poison the man he calls a best friend fed him. I know he was angry and upset. But I was so young. It has been a decade. He won’t leave me alone. Don’t you understand? I raced to die; I risked it all in a passive attempt to not return to the pits. I just wanted him to look back at me; I wanted my hero to forgive me. Then after Jerez, when he didn’t even say anything and I gave up hope, I just took medication to cope. But Valentino and your precious academy can’t see that. No, instead I am reckless and selfish, only thinking of myself. It is not fair; none of it is fair.”

He feels Jorge tense underneath him and that revelation and knows that he has shared too much, but it is too late now. Pecco is observing him with sad eyes and Bezzecchi looks horrified.

“No, Marc, I do not hate you. I am sorry for the loathing you have felt. People like to push Valentino’s legacy onto me. We are not the same person. This is not my battle, and I refuse to be sucked into Vale’s fights from before I was even on the track. It is stupid.”

His eyes are glazed over and wet as he looks directly into Marc's. The anguish in them makes Marc flinch.

“My sister fought similar battles; it was the hardest time of my life.”

He meets Alex’s eyes, sharing a look of understanding at their joint hurt.

“I know you don’t believe me; I see that you have been hurt before. I hate that you have experienced such awful things, and I hate even more how you are being treated for it now. I am sure Alex feels how I do about Carola; it was the worst pain in the world. I would have given my life ten times over for her. It still hurts you and maybe it will always be raw, but I wish it was not like this.”

Bez lays a hand on Pecco’s shoulder, a show of silent support, prompting Marc to turn towards the youngest Italian.

“And you, Bezzecchi? I know you hate me; you have made that abundantly clear, so why are you here?”

Bez looks away at the accusation, guilt filling him. It is not in his nature to question someone he is loyal to.

“I- I realised I maybe took too much at face value. It is true that I did not like you, or more so the way you ride. But I also didn’t understand you or what you were going through. I guess that I want to make amends for that. And I did not want to leave Franci alone.”

Marc hums, considering Bez’s offer, before he nods, too exhausted and intoxicated to give it any more thought. Whatever, if Bezzecchi wants to be here, then fine, so long as he doesn’t cause any more pain. Rather, Marc returns his attention to Pecco with genuineness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry about your sister. It is difficult. I hope she’s in a better place now.”

Pecco’s eyes widen in shock, and Marc huffs out a laugh.

“She’s doing better now, thank you. I think you will get on with her well next year; she comes to all the races with me and the team.”

The Italian smiles tentatively, and Marc smiles back, quietly pleased about this admission from his future teammate. Bez glances between them with a frown, still unsure about the tentative truce they have formed. Instead, he turns towards Dovi, who is still eyeing him suspiciously, and shoots him his very best puppy eyes. The older man rolls his eyes at the display before roping Bez and Pecco into a conversation in rapid Italian about the season so far. Dani and Jorge are whispering quietly, the latter still petting Marc’s hair gently. The atmosphere has returned to its tranquil state, once more lulling Marc into a hazy headspace.

Concern is vibrating through Alex as he watches his brother doze. He can’t help but feel like this has all been a little bit too easy. The boys had looked flustered when they turned up, like they had hurried over, as if something had happened just beforehand. He tries to shake off the feeling, standing up and heading into the kitchenette. He grabs a protein bar from the cupboards and chucks it at Marc when he re-enters the main room, causing his brother to startle and glare at him. Dovi snickers at their antics; of course Alex had not forgotten about their previous scrap, much to Marc’s annoyance.

“Eat it.”

Marc scowls but dutifully rips open the packet and starts munching the bar, not before sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“So mature, Marc.”

This prompts a fit of giggles from the older as he continues to eat. Bez and Pecco look on in bewilderment at this version of Marc, the drugs making him more relaxed than they have ever seen. They are shuffling awkwardly as if they’d be kicked out at any minute, feeling a sensation of imposition at seeing the soft person in front of them. Marc rolls his eyes, looking strung out but content.

“Stay?”

And that settles it.

*

In all his stubborn glory, Marc refuses to move off his friends, citing comfort and fatigue as justifications. Alex grumbles good-naturedly about his perpetual clinginess on pain medication, prompting Marc to snuggle closer to Jorge, rubbing his face into the older man’s shoulder and startling a laugh out of him. Pecco looks at Dovi questioningly, his forehead furrowed into a frown, looking for any indication of jealousy in the older Italian but not detecting any. Jorge instantly notices and does not attempt to conceal his laughter laughter.

“Do not worry about it. Dovi hogs Marc the rest of the time; I am allowed him now whilst he is still high as a kite”

Marc pulls away to pout at him, denial on his lips. Before he can begin his argument, though, Alex speaks up, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Tell me about it; you should have seen them earlier. Dovi was practically eating Marc alive with his eyes; it was fucking ridiculous.”

Marc goes bright red at this comment, spluttering out an excuse. Dovi just looks unabashedly smug, meeting Alex’s eyes.

“Hey, when there’s an attractive shirtless man on the sofa when you enter the room, what else are you meant to do?”

Marc directs his glare towards Dovi, an unimpressed frown on his face at the betrayal, but frankly, with the medication softening him, he just looks cute. Dani and Jorge are cracking up at the thought, which only causes Marc to get more annoyed, his cheeks flaming hot.

“Ah, I did not know that you two-”

Both Dovi and Marc jump to correct that assumption. Stumbling over each other to assure Pecco that they are not dating, despite what it looks like. Dani has been suspiciously quiet for most of the conversation, only now turning towards Marc with an insolent smile, meaning that he’s about to say something that Marc won’t like.

“Didn’t stop you from fucking in the past.”

You could hear a pin drop. Alex is whipping his head between his brother and Dovi, his jaw dropped in shock. Marc somehow goes even redder before shoving his face into his hands and groaning, confirming Dani’s statement and prompting the entire group to lose it. Dovi just looks proud and completely unashamed, turning back to Jorge and Dani with a raised eyebrow.

“Like you two can talk.”

“Touché.” replies Jorge with a shrug, hand on Dani’s knee.

Alex feels like he’s losing grip on reality,

“When? When the hell did you two hook up?”

“Ah, 2017, 2018, on and off” answers Dovi.

The others are laughing hard now, even Bez and Pecco giggling at the horrified expression on the youngest Marquez’s face.

Alex speaks once more, recovering quickly as though he is clearly used to his brother’s antics. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice,

“Jesus Marc, what is it with you and shagging older men?”

Pecco chokes at that comment, wheezing a breath through the shock. The others are basically in tears and even Bez is grinning. Marc just looks at his brother’s smirking face and promptly lobs a pillow in his direction - it hits him in the face, causing Marc to crack up. When they all catch their breath, Pecco broaches something that has played on his mind all day.

“Valentino had mentioned something earlier, about you and Dovi-”

Pecco immediately realises his mistake in bringing up Vale. The room pauses awkwardly, and all eyes turn to Marc, whose eyes are still foggy, his limbs lose. It causes him to speak without thinking.

“Ah, he is being a dick; he saw me in Dovi’s jumper and jumped to conclusions. Lord knows why he cares.”

“When the fuck did you see Valentino?”

“Ah, just before the sprint race, he cornered me, spilling some bullshit about ruining the race and being attention-seeking. You know what he is like. He always has loved to make sure I feel small.”

He turns his doe eyes towards Alex,

“It still hurts to hear him say those things about me. It hurts to look into his eyes and see fury and hatred. Not as much as it did then, but still”

Pecco realises then just how out of it Marc must be to let that slip. He gulps, uncomfortable with the pain in his voice, pain that he would usually hide away from the world. Bez looks away. Watching tonight’s interactions brings some new perspective to the academy riders- the quiet beginnings of doubt about their unquestioned deity. It’s difficult to reconcile Vale, their selfless teacher and friend, to Valentino Rossi, who had a rivalry with Marc so fierce the younger had been left picking up the pieces. The Marc in front of them is not the dangerous, deceiving rider they were taught about. This Marc looks at his brother and friends like they hold the universe; he is strong but soft around the edges. He is funny and unabashed in his affection. He loves fiercely and is loved unconditionally in return, a true sign of his character.

Alex is looking at his brother with such sadness in his eyes, reflecting his pain. He does not respond to Marc; he just holds out his hand. It is Jorge who speaks instead.

“I was so angry at Valentino in 2015. So angry at myself for not warning you. I saw it coming from miles away because Rossi could never deal with threats to his success.”

Bez begins to open his mouth, but Pecco elbows him, hard, well aware that now is not the time to stick up for their mentor, no matter how difficult it is to hear. Jorge goes to continue but is interrupted by another forceful knock on the door; it’s Alex who yet again opens it, finding himself face to face with an uncomfortable-looking Luca. The night is getting weirder and weirder.

“Is Pecco here? Or Bez? Nobody knows where they’ve gone.”

Alex opens the door wider, letting Luca see the two Italians on the sofas.

Luca steps inside, shutting the door softly behind him after glances outside worriedly. He gives the boys a pointed looks as he urges them up.

“Come on, we need to go!”

“What why?”

Bez was just starting to feel comfortable in this company; he doesn’t particularly want to leave right now. Luca looks away,

“Look, we just really need to go.”

There is another harsh knock on the door before it flies open. Valentino is standing at the threshold, staring blankly at the spectacle before him.

“What the fuck is going on?”

[throneofrayllum]

I Never Stopped - Part 2

A comfortable silence had fallen between Jinx and Ekko as he bandaged her wound. His confession kept replaying in her mind. Well, it wasn't exactly a confession, but Jinx knew what he was gonna say before he cut himself off. She loved him too, she had never stopped, but she was glad he hadn't actually let the words fall out of his mouth. She would have either started blubbering like a baby, or she would have been unable to stop herself from falling into his arms and kissing him senseless. Regardless, she was glad both situations were prevented. Ekko was probably married. Probably had his own family back home. Ekko having his own family would break her heart, but it would bring her joy nonetheless. He deserved love and happiness. It's all she wanted for him. "Your thinking." Jinx looked up when she heard Ekko's voice, he had finished with her hand and was putting the supplies in her bathroom cabinet. She smiled, "Is that a bad thing?" Ekko laughed, the sound intoxicating. "Depends, I never really know with yo-" He was cut off by the sound of the front door opening and her daughter bellowing, "I'm hooome!" Jinx shot up and yelled a quick, "Coming! Just give me one sec!" She turned to Ekko and whispered, "Just stay in here ok? She can brush her teeth in the kitchen so she doesn't see you." Jinx turned to walk out, but Ekko grabbed her wrist and stopped her. He looked at her with sympathy, rubbing comforting circles on her wrist as he said, "Jinx. I know you're worried, but you can't hide me in here. We don't have to tell her anything, but I need to go out there. I want to meet my daughter." Jinx inhaled sharply and nodded before walking out into the living room, Ekko following behind her. Despite how nervous she was, Jinx felt the weight of her situation fall off her shoulders when Felicity came into view. The sight of her daughter always managed to calm Jinx, no matter the situation. Felicity dropped her bag and ran up to Jinx, wrapping her arms around her moms waist. Jinx chuckled and kissed the top of Felicity's head, "Hey bug, how was your day?" Felicity smiled up at her mom, arms still wrapped around Jinx, "It was good. Aunt Lux helped me with homework and then we got dinner." Jinx smiled and ruffled her little girls hair before untangling herself from the embrace and gesturing to Ekko, "We have a guest! This is my friend Ekko." Jinx wrung her hands awkwardly, trying not to have a freak out at the sight of her kid in the same room as Ekko. After a few moments of awkward silence, Ekko came to Jinx's rescue. He walked up to Felicity and shook her hand, "Nice to meet you, Felicity. Your moms told me all about you." Felicity smiled and returned the gesture, Jinx laughed at the shocked look on Ekko's face when she shook his hand. For a little girl, Felicity had one hell of a strong handshake. "So, how do you know mom?" Jinx's head shot up at the question, she locked eyes with Ekko and shook her head. Apparently, he didn't gather that shaking her head and giving him a death stare meant 'don't tell her your from Zuan'. Ekko smiled and said, "I'm from Zuan, we were childhood friends." Felicity looked at her mom in disbelief, "What? You never told me about Ekko!" Jinx shrugged and gave her a crooked smile, "We stopped seeing each other around when we were like eleven, it must've slipped my mind." Jinx didn't miss the pained look on Ekko's face at her words, it took everything in her not to break down. Her answer seemed to be good enough for Felicity, because she turned back to Ekko and asked, "Are you gonna have a sleepover with us?!" Ekko winced and shook his head, "Uh, nah, I'm staying at the Inn on eighth street." Felicity let out a sound of disappointment and before she Jinx could stop herself , she blurted, "Stay!" Ekko look at her, eyes wide. Jinx bit her lip and crossed her arms around herself protectively, "If you want, that is. I'm sure you would like to get to know Felicity better." Ekko's eyes shined as he nodded and said, "I would love to stay."

After a quick Ice cream party in the kitchen where Felicity told her mom and Ekko all about her day, Jinx helped her get ready for bed tucked her in while Ekko was getting the couch ready. Jinx had insisted on sleeping on the couch so Ekko could have her bed, but he refused to take the bed. So chivalrous. She was about to turn off the lamp when a little hand wrapped around her arm and stopped her, "Mama, you look sad tonight", Felicity said as she snuggled closer to her pillow. Jinx sighed, "I am a little sad tonight, but don't worry about it. I'll be alright." Felicity furrowed her eyebrows and asked, "Do you miss Isha?" Jinx smiled sadly and sat down on the edge of the bed, "I always miss Isha, honey. But that's not why I'm sad tonight. It's adult stuff. Things you don't need to worry about." Her little girl nodded, "Love you, Mama." Jinx turned out the light and kissed Felicity's forehead, "Love you more."

[nvuy]

oil, but the petroleum kind, not the lavender kind — wanderer

summary. the wanderer keeps breaking down, and as frustrating as he believes you to be, you’re the only person on this god forsaken planet that knows how to fix him.

notes. obligatory first post of 2.7k words is not a navigation post, and had to be scaramouche related because i’m not obsessed at all. i actually don’t like him. not one bit.

warnings. innuendos because you’re a bit weird. also not proofread, so mind your eyes.

The puppet trudged into the rundown warehouse with a sickening twist in his stomach, like a towel wrung too tight.

In his right hand was his left hand. Popped right off at the socket, and buzzing incessantly. He would kill The Doctor when he got his hands on him; why would there need to be an unnecessary bzzt! in his ear every time something in his body went wrong. Case in point, his hand was not attached to his arm.

He didn’t need a warning alarm. He could very well see the problem.

Nonetheless, he barged through the door with a permanent snarl imprinted on his lips.

Typical. You were asleep at a bench in the back, spine bent at an awkward angle with your forehead resting on your forearms. Your arms were covered in charcoal of some sort, as well as white smears from the paint bucket you decided would make a great pillow.

It reeked of oil. He noticed a black leak from beneath one of the machines. It looked old, very much so, with lots of holes for missing compartments. It screamed Fontaine, if he’d ever seen anything like it.

Impatiently, he thwacked the back of your head. “Hey.”

You shot up from the seat. There were dark imprints around your eyes from where you’d been wearing the safety glasses over your head.

You blinked blearily at him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he repeated. “I need your supposed ‘expertise.’”

“What sort of time do you call this?” you scolded.

“Five in the afternoon.” And he was right. Oops. You swore you’d fallen asleep last night, too. You swivelled around in the chair to face the clock ticking on the wall. It was a good few minutes behind the actual time, but yep. Three past five.

Then, you stood up. “I’ve been sleeping for twelve hours?!” You shoved the chair out of the way and bounded for the giant machine. “Gods!” You vaguely remember setting an alarm. You had no idea what you were doing, rubbing at your eyes and blinking the sleep from them.

You hit the machine with the side of your fist.

“You can cry later.” He tossed his hand at you and you barely caught it. “My ears need fixing as well.” For good measure, there was another vibrating buzz deep inside his head, and he jolted.

“Do you want your hair done, too?”

He almost hissed at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” You sighed, still staring sadly at the machine. “You know the drill. On the bench.”

So, he got on the bench. The same as what he'd done for centuries with another man. It was different now with you; he’d insisted the pain you inflicted, as unintentional as it was, didn’t hurt in the slightest because he’d experienced much worse, but you’d paused every time. With a grimace too, like you were worried about his state. It was never anything worth mentioning anyway.

He wasn’t a frequent customer, per say. Frankly, not many people that came in claimed they were sentient puppets anyway. You’d believed him, as absurd as the claim was. And you’d poked at the indentation on the nape of his neck.

But, he’d visited more often than he’d like to admit. More often than not because he was breaking down without constant maintenance—and no, it wasn’t because he was old—to the extent that it frustrated him. Limbs popping off if too much pressure was applied, especially now with his newfound Vision attached to his heart.

He hated to admit your company was tolerable, even if all you did was blabber about machines. You’d taken a rather strange interest in him, it seemed, though. Not that he minded. He liked to be doted upon.

“Are you finally gonna let me–”

“No.” There it was. The pathetic begging to crack him open and watch how he worked. Every time, without failure, like a broken record spinning the same loop on repeat.

You pouted. “But I do things for you.”

“Fix my hand,” he practically demanded. He felt you reach over his legs when he straightened them out on the bench. Then, there was the sound of a buckle, and his right ankle was ensnared on the table. “What are you doing?”

“You squirmed too much last time,” you explained, tightening the buckle around his left ankle.

“You’re not exactly gentle.” He made no effort to fight you. “And this treatment is barbaric.”

You tested the restraints. “Whatever. My warehouse, my rules.”

“You’re filthy, by the way,” he said. You smelled like oil, so strongly he was convinced you’d doused it on yourself like a fragrance. Usually, you liked to combine a mixture of lavender and coconut. When you were clean, of course. You tied his right arm down to the bench. “You should shower.”

“I would, but there’s a dog barking at me on my workbench.”

He almost turned his head to bite your arm.

Nonetheless, his hand was an easy fix. He’d probably be able to do it himself, in all honesty, but it gave him an excuse to escape Lesser Lord Kusanali’s never ending ramblings and such. Not to mention he could visit you, as pathetic as it sounded.

The limb reattached with a pop that made him tense immediately. Other than that, he wriggled his fingers experimentally, and they worked just fine.

His ears were the worst. Not only did they require constant maintenance, but aforementioned 'constant maintenance' needed patience. Patience that you, nor him, had.

And because of that, it was hurting him. He tried not to let it show, not that you couldn’t tell, but there was simply no other way to do it. His ears were tricky technology because he didn’t have standard human anatomy, or anything that was a poor imitation of it. No cochlea, no eardrum, no nothing, so permanent hearing damage wasn’t too much of an issue.

In the absolute worst case scenario, if you completely destroyed whatever it was that allowed him to hear, you were sure you could make something. You were crafty like that. It also sounded fun. (And gave you the excuse to bury your hands in his chest and see what he was made of).

His ear buzzed and he jolted.

You frowned, the scaler tool wedged deep inside his ear canal. “Stop moving.” Your fingers pressed to his temples to steady his squirming.

“I’m not trying to.” Another buzz. “Ow, you wretch! Get off me!”

You held his head still. “Yeah, yeah, you big baby. I’m almost done.”

His fingers curled into his fists and he shut his eyes as tight as he could when you readjusted his head to his side.

The pain wasn’t even the worst part of it. It was just uncomfortable. He’d rather just cut off his ears and be finished with it.

Another bzzt and he grunted. There was a pained and wobbly line coating his lips. His eyes glossed over.

You tried to ignore how he was practically trying to curl up into himself and shift away from the tools. You needed a pair of suture scissors in his ear as well, and he almost broke free of his restraints when he felt more pressure.

“I think I–”

“Finish this,” he said dully, voice embarrassingly shaky.

“I can’t.” You pulled the tools slowly from his ear. “It’s not your ear. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

The buzzing was astoundingly miserable, and there was now a sharp ache to accompany it. “Well, then what is it, genius?”

“Something’s up with whatever controls your hearing. And no, it’s not your ears. There’s literally nothing in there.” You traced his earlobe soothingly, still thoughtful. “Did you fall?”

He did. A very very large fall, might he add, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “Never mind that. You can’t fix my ear?” For a laugh, it buzzed again.

“I can, but–”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, well, if you don’t want me to help you, then get out of my warehouse.”

The puppet bristled like a cactus. “I stated, very clearly, might I add, that my ear and my hand needed fixing. There is no reason for you to pull me apart.”

There was a scowl etched onto his face.

“Clearly it’s more than just an ear problem, old man.” You poked at his chest teasingly. “I’ll charge you less if you let me pull you open.”

“No. And you’ve never charged me regardless.”

“Negative number charge.” You tapped your cheek. “You can pay me with a kiss.”

“I will leave,” he threatened. He felt heat creep into his chest.

“Not if I keep you here.” You leaned over the workbench to retrieve your toolbox. “C’mon. I’ll be quick. And I’ll fix your ear. It’s a win-win situation.”

He jolted when his ear buzzed once more. It was like torture choosing between a constant involuntary and painful twitch and your hands below his skin.

They both sounded like terrible outcomes, though one was slightly more feasible than the other.

“Fine. Be quick.”

You gasped, eyes sparkling. “Really?!” Alarm bells rang in his head when you raised a hammer over his torso. “You got it.”

“I have buttons,” he forced out swiftly. “Put the hammer down.”

You practically threw the hammer somewhere else. It clattered on the ground with a loud clang, making his ears buzz. He writhed for a moment, and his teeth gritted at the incessant stiffening pain in his joints.

The restraints were growing difficult to bear. The cloying scent of freedom just out of reach was overwhelming.

“Where are they?”

If his wrists weren’t tied down to the table, he would’ve flailed unintentionally and caught you right in the stomach. “Hips.”

You whistled lowly. “Nice.”

He shot you the most withering glare he could muster whilst his left eyelid began to twitch.

You managed to get the waistband of his pants down just enough to see two large markings on either side of the roundest part of his hips. The waistband sat dangerously low, and he tried to control the twitching, though that didn’t seem to help.

Experimentally, your fingers grazed the deep purple markings. There was a shock that raced up your fingers; a warning not to try anything stupid.

The longer you pressed your fingers, the purple rose higher and higher towards his torso.

There, the electro-like veins and circuits formed a square that covered the expanse of his stomach to the tip of his ribs.

There was a hiss, and then the square sank into his torso.

He grunted at the vulnerability.

His skin gave way and slid below another portion of his hip, completely out of sight.

You stared down into him for a moment.

He wanted you dead. “What?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything.

His thigh twitched; whether it was him trying to remove himself from his confines, or if the surging Anemo was seeping down to his legs was a question that he couldn’t even answer.

He wanted to bark, or retaliate, or harp on about how weird you were, but he refrained. You were here to help, as strange as it was.

Instead, he murmured, “hurry up.”

“I’m serious.” You reached over and prodded a circuit running in a loop along his spine. “Whoever created you sure took their sweet time.”

“Enough.” He tried to sound as menacing as he could from his position. “Just finish this.”

So, you began, playing with an assortment of tools and wires to see what made him jolt.

Just as he’d so proudly proclaimed many times before, his mechanics and anatomy were beyond your understanding. From your own personal experience, robotic puppets would be absolutely filled with machinery and crossbeams and devices of all sorts, with barely any wriggle room for experimentation.

The puppet on the table was filled with almost nothing. There were a few core pieces, one of which you recognised as actuators stuck to the internal joints of his limbs.

As you poked and prodded, the puppet tried his very best to remain still. He’d been opened before, countless times actually, but with the intention of pain. Hurt, as a price to pay for power. Gloved fingers would yank and pull and shock until whatever was beneath his skull melted behind his eyes.

You were simply and innocently curious. Albeit a bit wobbly and unsure with your fingers.

“No clue what I’m looking at.” You nudged at a weird metallic square with purple script where a stomach would be. “This one looks important, though.” You then knocked on it, and his ear buzzed in tune with your knuckles. Found it. There were two wires from the square that crept up suspiciously close towards his ears.

As you worked, his hearing faded in and out. You’d asked him questions throughout, even having to wave a hand in his face when you noticed he was completely unaware that you’d spoken at all.

It wasn’t as jarring as he would’ve thought it’d be; although, there was an aching disappointment in his chest when your voice didn’t come through in his head properly.

His hearing eventually came to properly. He could feel the tugging and harsh pulling of the circuitry and wires controlling his ears, but the buzzing eventually subsided. Relief was light on his shoulders when he could finally sit still for longer than five seconds.

But even though his ears were fixed, and he clearly wasn’t twitching anymore, you’d barely moved from your spot with feeling hands.

He sighed. “You’re taking a long time considering how much you prattle on about your ‘inventive genius.’”

“I’m having my fun.” Experimentally, you pulled at one of the actuators, and his right index finger twitched involuntarily in response. “You’re a work of art.”

“Whatever comes out of your mouth never fails in making me want to shrivel into a ball and die. Did you know that?”

You tugged at another mysterious wire and his shoulder jolted violently. You were smiling, knocking his rib cage softly. “This is so cool.”

You whistled a tune while you tended to him. More yanks of things you didn’t understand like some sort of toddler on your end, but he figured if it made you happy and satiated that never ending curiosity, he’d let it slip through his fingers.

Just this once.

Patience was not his forte, however, because soon enough, the uncomfortable persistence of hands where there shouldn’t be was weighing heavy on his chest like an anvil.

He grunted. “Are you finished groping me?”

“I could do this forever, I think.” There was that stupid smile still printed onto your lips. “I’d love to pull you to pieces and see what happens.”

“A strange proclamation that I won’t let happen, unless you don’t want to keep your hands.” The restraints were like lead wrapped around his limbs. “Stop drooling over me and hurry up.”

You sighed, disappointed. “Yes, princess.” You closed up the hearing compartment, making sure you hadn’t ruined anything else before allowing the exterior skin to slide back over the hole in his torso. “I’m finished.”

He was disgusted by the appalling nickname.

But, you seemed pleased.

He was proud of himself for it, and secretly pocketed the pride. However, the scowl remained on his face.

“So…” You moved to unbuckle the restraints. “Where’s my ‘thank you?’”

“Shouldn’t I be receiving one for being so generous?” When you froze with the restraints, a reminder of who was at a disadvantage here, he let out an exasperated sigh, before mumbling, “thank you.”

“Mm-hm. You’re welcome.” You leaned over the table. “And where’s my kiss?”

“You’re an insufferable rodent and I should squash you beneath my heel,” he threatened through his teeth.

You remained frustratingly unperturbed. “One kiss or you can stay on the table.”

“I will spit in your face.”

“Fine.” You unbuckled the restraints. “You’re missing out.”

“I’m sure I am.”

You blew a raspberry at him before you dusted off your hands. You really needed a shower, actually, but the broken machine sitting in all its glory with a pungent oil leak was staring at you with big bug eyes.

You kicked it in retaliation.

While you moped, the puppet struggled with an inner turmoil. He was still standing by the table, testing out his hand—not that he really needed to, actually. You’d helped him many times before, all with precision. You’d never let him leave with a problem.

And that was the thing.

He felt he did have a problem, and his skin felt like it was alight.

His hand was fine, and the incessant buzzing in his ear had finally ceased.

He heard you flop back down into the swivel chair for a moment, hands in your hair as you moved around the circumference of the base, trying to eye where the leak was coming from.

He turned with a spout of quickly dying determination.

A tweak of one of the bolts in the machine had a spring of black petroleum target your face and thoroughly drenched you.

You looked like a sad, wet cat.

He was heating up, and his mind wandered elsewhere.

“Hey.”

You turned around defeatedly in the now wet swivel seat, clicking a pen you’d just found absentmindedly. “Yep.”

His lips pressed to your own.

When you tried to lean forward closer to him, tried anything, to pull him onto the chair with you, or let your fingers creep towards his hips, he shoved you back into the chair and left.

In absolutely no world would he let you witness the bright blue beneath his skin flickering to life with heat all over.

You tasted like oil. There was a black smear across his lips that he frantically fought rubbing off all the way back to the city.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 16

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Happy New Year!!! I really enjoyed writing this part. I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. Also this series is coming to an end soon in most likely 2-3 chapters 🥺 But more on that later.

When Simon was about five years old, he and Tommy visited the army base where their father worked. While their mother excused herself to go to the restroom, she left the boys with Peter in his office. 

“Boys, I have work to do, so I need you both to sit here and be quiet, do you understand?” Peter commanded as he laid his heavy hand on the backrest of the couch and then moved towards his desk, his shoes thumping loudly on the tiled floors. 

“Yes, daddy,” the boys chorused in unison like soldiers under his command and promptly sat on the couch, Tommy with his toy truck and Simon with his stuffed shark. 

Peter nodded approvingly and sat at his desk, beginning his work immediately. While Tommy busied himself with rolling his toy truck on the arm of the couch, Simon looked about the dull, imposing office. He wanted to know about the papers pinned on the cork boards, about whatever he stuck under the glass of his massive wooden desk, and what work his father was attending to.

He looked longingly with his big, innocent brown eyes, wanting to crawl onto his father's lap and watch him work and ask him his numerous questions. But he sank his head down, knowing his father would dismiss him with the words, “you’re too young. You won’t understand it.”

Even though there was the occasional rustle of leafing papers and the clacking of the computer keyboard, the silence was deafening. Simon could hear a high pitched buzz in the air, the one you hear in complete, utter silence. He felt his temples tighten. Glancing between Tommy and his father, he saw that neither of them noticed the buzzing. 

Two knocks on the door echoed within the room, breaking the spell. Simon instantly pulled his little legs up and got on his knees, looking over the backrest and hoping his mother had come back to brighten up the room with her smiles.

“Come in,” resounded his father’s deep voice.

The door opened to reveal, alas, someone else. The man, dressed in a green field uniform, also looked just as grim as his father. As he stepped closer to the couch, he noticed the boys, and a small, eager, but tentative smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Your sons, sir?” he asked. Simon shyly moved closer to Tommy. 

“Yes, my sons. Thomas and Simon,” answered Peter, detached. He went straight to the point. “What’s the news?”

Simon listened to their conversation. He didn’t remember much of it, but he clearly remembered his father growing more and more agitated as the man spoke. His face was flushed red, brows furrowed, and his voice was deafening like a clap of thunder on a dismal, dark day. The boys were no stranger to seeing their father like this, particularly Simon, who was more-or-less the most mischievous of the two.

He didn’t remember what his father screamed about or slammed his table for, but he did remember feeling his tiny little heart being clenched, squeezed until it hurt, until it wrung out tears from his eyes and a whimper from his dry throat. He nudged his little head under Tommy’s arm, begging to be shielded, wishing that his mum would come back and cradle him in her arms and whisper comfort to him.

He watched his father fearfully after he dismissed the man, and saw how he pushed his chair away and lighted a cigarette. He took his even march towards the window and stood there smoking. Simon dared not to even croak, and neither did Tommy. Dad was sometimes a keg of dynamite, and even the slightest spark could make him explode. 

This terror remained with him, and it resurfaced in his mind as he stood in front of the door to his father’s study. His hand hovered over the knob, trembling and hesitating. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as his father. The mere thought of it was suffocating. But it had to be done. Father’s orders. 

He hastily put his hand down on the knob and opened the door. It opened with a soft creak, and Simon entered. His breath felt shallow upon seeing his father facing the large, open windows. Even the pleasant day outside didn’t ease his nerves. His father didn’t turn around to acknowledge him.

Simon wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. “You called, sir,” he spoke stiffly, as if he was a reporting lieutenant. He had many times addressed his father this way, out of coldness or fear or respect, or even a mingling of all three. 

Peter finally turned around. A smoking cigarette was in his hand, fumes encircling him. Simon’s eyebrows raised slightly. If dad ever smoked, it meant that whatever was sifting in his mind was serious, of paramount importance. “What on earth”, he wondered, “does dad want to tell me?”

“Sit down, boy,” Peter commanded in a rumble that sounded like distant thunder, now turning around and pressing the tip onto his clean ashtray on the desk.

Simon obeyed, sitting down on the chair. His eyes followed his father as he paced slowly about the room. His grizzled brow was furrowed in thought, and he paused his pacing every so often to turn to his son with an earnest look in his eyes as if he wanted to say something difficult, but he turned away as soon as he did. Simon shifted in his seat, uncomfortably watching his father’s mental tussle. 

Peter finally stopped his pacing and stood still behind the table. He looked at Simon directly. 

“Your girlfriend,” his voice slightly rose in pitch and then lowered as he trailed off, “...She's a nice girl.” 

“Yes, she is,” Simon answered, somewhat guarded. 

“You've chosen well.” 

Simon had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows. Compliments from his father were rarer than a cow jumping over the moon, especially when it had anything to do with his choices. “I… Thank you,” he faltered slightly. 

Peter paced around once more. He eyed the cigarette in the ashtray and his fingers twitched. Putting a hand on the backrest of his swivel chair, he squeezed it, still evidently struggling. Simon didn't dare make a sound. 

“It's been an age since we last spoke like this.” He snatched the cigarette and lit it again, and Simon watched keenly as the fire burned the blackened edge once more, now engulfing it in glowing red embers. Peter took a long, greedy drag while he waited for his son to reply, but heard nothing. He asked, “When was the last time?” 

Simon's head dipped slightly in shame, and his eyes left his father's face to look at the carpet. “I don't remember,” he lied, his hand instinctively rubbing his jaw on the left side, fingers brushing against his scar.

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly and he sighed out the smoke he drew in. “Well, it doesn't matter. It's in the past,” he said, his voice evidently turning more subdued like the soft breeze that blew in through the open windows. 

Simon's jaw tensed slightly. This was unusual. His father knew he lied; he was expecting a stern lecture like he always did. But nothing. He couldn't tell if his father was actually being nice for once or if the tobacco was getting to his head. 

But the words “it's in the past” repeated in his head like a broken record. Was this forgiveness? Was this his way of being apologetic? He didn't dare to even hope. Was he lying? No. His father was an upright man and would not compromise on his integrity even to his own detriment. He was not lying.

Peter took another drag, a shaky one. “I'm glad you came today, Simon,” he exhaled the words out along with the smoke, “I hope you come more often.” 

Simon pursed his lips into a thin line and breathed in shakily, fighting to keep his chest from heaving. “Yes, sir,” he answered in a whisper.

“Dad,” the father corrected.

“Dad,” the son amended.

____ could not stop twiddling her thumbs and glancing at the hallway from the couch she sat on. Ever since Tommy informed her some thirty minutes ago that Simon was in the middle of a conversation with their dad, she couldn’t help but worry. Time seemed to drag on painfully slow, even slower when she kept watching the clock that ticked slower than her heart. 

Tommy, seeing that she looked worried, tried to distract her with conversation. He told her about Emma and Emilia’s childhood antics, of them trying to climb up his legs like monkeys, and them cannonballing into pools. It worked for a time and made her laugh, although her worries still festered and churned in her stomach like she ate rotten food. She didn’t know where Peter’s study was and at every pause in Tommy’s stories, she tried to strain her ears towards the hallway to catch any snatches of conversation. Nothing could be heard of course, and she was forced to relent and give all her attention to Tommy.

Soon, the crack of the door knob from the hallway resounded, and ____’s head whipped upwards. Tommy’s chatter abruptly stopped. She saw Simon step out and then enter the living room, sighing heavily. His fair face was pale and somewhat confused, but there was evident relief and even a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes. 

“What did dad talk to you about?” Tommy asked as casually as he could.

Simon inhaled, glancing at his girlfriend. “He… just told me he was glad to see me home. He asked me to come more often.”

Tommy’s face beamed and he gave his younger brother an affectionate clap on the back, also relieved. ____ couldn’t help but sigh and smile herself.

When it was time for the couple to leave, Eloise hugged them both tight, but she hugged ____ a hint tighter and whispered in a tremor, “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

As the two walked to Simon’s motorcycle, she smiled at him. “I had fun today.”

Simon smiled. “Me too.”

The split second she took to observe his face told her that the shadow of pain and stress that had always shaded his dark eyes seemed lifted, replaced with a certain vitality, joy, and disbelief. Though he didn’t show it entirely, she could tell.

Putting on their helmets, they got on the motorcycle and off they went. She had her arms held tight around Simon’s waist, and as they rode down the highway, she watched the sunset in the distance. The sky was clear and vast, and painted in a gentle gradient of rose and apricot. The fading sunlight gilded the grassy plains and rustling trees. The wind whistled against her helmet noisily, and the air was damp and cold, but with her arms around her boyfriend and with the breathtaking landscape set before her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a dream. She squeezed his waist involuntarily and leaned her helmeted head against his back. 

She felt like the shadow over her own thoughts had lifted too. She didn’t think that hearing John out would give her so much relief. And now knowing that things were alright between Simon and his father, her relief was doubled. She squeezed Simon again and closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the happiness.

She felt a gentle touch on her knee, and upon looking, she found Simon’s hand resting there for a moment before returning to the handle. She smiled and blushed to herself, feeling flutters in her stomach.

“Are you hungry?!” Simon screamed over the rushing wind.

“No!” she screamed back. Her stomach and her heart were already full and bursting. She squeezed Simon again, and this time, he gave her hands a soft pat. It was warm, so utterly warm that she forgot how cold the air was. She was glad, so utterly glad that she didn’t bail on this appointment to go out with Alejandro.

Thirty minutes passed and the city was in sight, but so were the rain clouds hanging low over the buildings. Simon twisted the accelerator and the engine roared; at the increase of speed, the pillion rider felt like her body was yanked back and ready to fly off. 

“Hold tight!” Simon yelled again, and she quickly put her arms around him and squeezed her eyes shut. 

No sooner had they swept into the city streets, the showers began falling heavily and earnestly like a waterfall. Simon cursed under his breath. As if to make things worse, the street they were on was clogged with the traffic of people trying to get home from work. There was no space even to squeeze through the cars and slowly make their way up the long queue, and their only choice now was to wait the traffic out.

Sensing that it would be long, Simon killed the engine and then peeled off his leather jacket. “It’s really pissing it down. Here, wear this,” he said, holding the bunched up garment over his shoulder, “You’re getting wet.”

“What about you?” she asked reluctantly.

“I’m fine, darling. Just wear it. And be quick,” he urged, now reaching his hand behind and placing the jacket on her lap. 

She quickly put it on and zipped it up all the way to the collar. The familiar scent of rainforest and chocolate, and the soft texture of the tartan lining made her feel warm again. But it was instantly replaced by pity for her boyfriend. The rain fell mercilessly, and the battering was deafening against the helmet; his coffee-coloured t-shirt darkened almost instantly and the weight of the wet fabric clung to his shoulders and his upper arms, softly defining the muscles underneath.

She felt the water dripping from the helmet drop into the crevices of the jacket and trickle down her warm collarbone to dampen her clothes. Even that made her shiver, but she couldn’t imagine how much colder Simon felt.

She leaned against his back. “Aren’t you cold, Simon?” 

He leaned back against her chest. “No, I’m fine. I’ve gotten wet in the rain on rides a lot, so it’s no big deal,” he assured her, giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

“But still, I feel a little bad that you had to give up your jacket for me.” She pressed against him further regardless, wanting to share her warmth with him, no matter how little it was. 

“Darling,” he shook his helmeted head, “I won’t sit back and watch my girlfriend get wet in the heavy rain when I can prevent it.” He gave her knee a light, chiding slap. “And besides, I know you get cold easily.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “How did you know that?”

“You remember the day we hung out together? The first time? There was a heavy rain before I came to pick you up, and when I came, you were wearing my jacket. You looked cold,” he explained, rubbing his thumb on her knee as his eyes darted at the traffic ahead to check for any sign of movement. 

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He looked at her. She met his dark eyes, and saw how the lights of the surrounding cars made them shine. A flutter tickled her stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I notice things about my own girlfriend?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if she said something silly. 

She smiled sheepishly and blushed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Yet another characteristic to add to her male lead, Frederick’s personality. 

The vehicles up front slowly began to move. Simon sat up straight and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine roar to life. He instantly swooped past the cars like a lizard at the first opportunity. He was pelted by the heavy rain, and combined with the speed he was going, his exposed arms felt like they were being pricked by huge needles. It stung, but he felt a manly pride for being able to protect his girlfriend from the elements.

Before long, he rolled into the indoor parking of the building he stayed in and smoothly parked in his allotted spot. Heavy sighs of relief followed as they got off the vehicle and took off their helmets.

“You okay?” he asked, straightening and stretching his sore back slightly, “You aren’t too wet, are you?”

“I should be asking that to you. You’re drenched!”

Simon looked at himself and pinched the front of his shirt, pulling the wet fabric slightly off his chest. He did feel a little icky having wet clothes sticking to his body and longed to get inside his apartment and peel it off. “One of us had to be, darling, and it wasn’t going to be you,” he  pinched her nose. “But don’t fash yourself, it’s not a big deal. Some wet clothes aren’t going to kill me.”

That’s what he thought until he started sneezing repeatedly into his equally wet handkerchief as they entered the lift. She looked at him, all sopping wet and dripping like a towel that wasn’t wrung dry. She let out a heavy sigh.

“All that sneezing is going to kill you before the wet clothes do…”

End of Part 16.

Part 17 coming soon :)

__________________________

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[whitedarkmoonflower]

The promise

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: am I back on my angst track? yeah, probably so and I love it. Sorry 😅 Warnings: angst, hurt with very little comfort, implied sexual abuse, attempted suicide - yes it has a happy ending 😉 Summary: for his own good you wrung a promise from Sihtric that left your both hearts bleeding Word Count: 3,8 K

"Come with me, and I'll show you the world," the wind whispered, playfully tousling your hair. You reached out as if trying to grasp the warm air swirling around you. Mischievous, it only chuckled at your futile attempt, echoing the birds' songs heralding the dawn of a new day. It tangled in the tattered remnants of your dress, gathering fallen leaves from the ground and whisking them into a wild dance before carrying them away, allowing them to cascade onto the jagged rocks below the cliff.

"I can't fly," you murmured, tilting your head and marveling at the way your fingers shimmered in the light of the rising sun. Your slender, weathered hand, adorned with blisters and scratches, suddenly appeared fragile and exquisite, almost translucent and aglow in the gentle blue and orange hues of the early sunlight.

"Don't worry, I'll catch you," the playful breeze assured, its caress gentle against your cheeks, almost imperceptible in its fleeting softness. It stirred a memory, a distant echo of tender touches long forgotten, as if they'd never existed.

You flinched at the sound of small stones loosening, merrily cascading down into the abyss, while you adjusted your weight and shuffled your bare, dirt-stained feet, as you leaned  against the rough logs of the fortress's sturdy outer wall.

"Can I trust you?" you wondered, eyes wide open, captivated by the soft hues painting the horizon.

"I'll lead you to him. Just one more step, and you'll be free," the wind enticed, its gentle laughter fading into the distance.

A silent exhale escaped your lips, swallowed by the hushed whisper of the wind. "Wait for me. I'm coming with you."

You had faithfully kept your promise, day after day, mustering the strength to carry on. Day after day of  waning hope, hope that never truly had the right to exist. Had he kept his promise? A single tear traced its path down your cheek, leaving a salty trail in its wake. Yes, he had. And that’s why you were here now, determined to finally break yours.

"Please, let me see it," rough yet gentle fingers cradled your chin, lifting your head as they carefully swept back the strands of hair obscuring your face. 

He was too close, his breath lingering heavily upon your skin, the scent of ale from his lips wafting to your nostrils. You loved the warmth of his body, a stark contrast to your perpetually cold hands. You loved his arms enveloping your shoulders, drawing you close in an embrace, an unfailing source of comfort for you. You lived for that shy smile of his mismatched eyes, as he affectionately tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear or brushed imaginary dirt from your cheeks, too timid to touch you otherwise. 

The first time he had dared to kiss you, your breaths mingling as his lips weightlessly hovered over yours, made your heart skip a beat. But not today.

You struggled to maintain shallow breaths, attempting to alleviate the dull ache that persisted each time your lungs expanded, stretching your ribs. With eyes tightly shut, the grinding sound of your gritted teeth echoing in your ears, you sensed his fingers trembling ever so slightly as they delicately traversed the purple and blue marks around your eyes, and traced the red lines etched across your cheeks, halting at the corner of your mouth. His thumb's touch, as he sought to remove dried blood, elicited a wince, the sharp sting from the pressure on your swollen lip for a short moment overshadowing the ache in your ribs.

You had refused to cry. Not when the weighty ringed hand struck your face, sending you sprawling. Not when the coarse fingers, like iron claws, tangled in your hair and forcefully yanked your head back, the repugnant stench from the rotten, yellow-toothed mouth assaulting your senses. Not when… 

No, you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you broken. Your body could bear the bruises, your body might be his, your soul and mind remained your own.

It was only later that you realised it wasn't your brokenness he had sought. It wasn't your tears he had yearned to extract.

You didn’t want to cry now either, but the tears betrayed you, burning in the corners of your eyes despite all your efforts.

"Did he do that to you?" It sounded like a question, but both of you knew the answer all too well. The pounding of your heart intensified with each passing moment. You tried to calm it, to quiet its thunderous beats, but it refused to heed your silent pleas, transforming into a tumultuous roar of war drums in your ears.

You trembled, the sensation starting deep within, a subtle quiver that steadily expanded, wresting control of your body from your grasp.

"It's my fault," a whisper reached your ears, and you snapped your eyes open, Sihtric’s  trembling voice cutting through the deafening thud of your heart.

You wanted to speak, but the words got caught in your throat, only a loud sob managing to escape through gritted teeth as you took a step back. The rough surface of the stable wall brushed against your skin through the thin layer of your ragged clothes, denying you an escape. 

You had always found solace in the scent of fresh straw, the rhythmic snorts of the animals, and the comforting warmth emanating from their bodies. This was your hidden refuge, where you sought shelter night after night. It was here that Sihtric had found you, his gaze almost passing over you until the traitorous moon slipped out from behind the clouds, revealing your presence as you held your breath in the farthest corner.

Your own weight suddenly unbearable, you sank to the ground, leaning against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees as you buried your face.

"Go away," you demanded, your breath catching in your chest. You attempted to sound resolute, even angry, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Please, just leave me alone," your voice cracked, morphing into a soft, pleading sob.

Sihtric’s arms hung awkwardly by his sides, his entire body tense, his fists clenched and unclenched with anger, his gaze caressing your crouched and trembling form on the ground, unsure whether he could approach you, whether he could touch you.

He had tried to protect you, to care for you, quietly and unobtrusively. Yet, in doing so, he had unwittingly become your doom. 

The sight of you shattered his heart, again. He hadn’t realised it could be broken more than once. He had believed it dead, burned by the flames that had greedily consumed the pyre, erasing the last remnants of the only person who had ever shown him kindness and love.

He had believed himself incapable of love, of caring for another, of feeling anything beyond the all consuming hatred, anger and thirst for revenge. That was all before he had met you. 

There was something in your eyes as you glanced up at him, your dishevelled hair cascading loosely over your shoulders and falling across your smudged face, as you were towed in a line of new slaves behind the sturdy black stallion carrying Tekil.

Your hands were bound, your clothes half-torn and soiled, your bare feet stumbling as you made your way forward. He felt the urge to turn away, to hasten down from the ramparts to attend to his new master. The horse needed care, the weapons required cleaning.

You looked up, and your gazes met fleetingly, like a wounded deer gazing in terror at the encroaching predator.

But there was more than fear and despair in those deep, wide eyes. A hint of defiance mingled with resilience and a spark of life. There was such a strong will to live, a resolve to survive in those large, tearful eyes that seemed to bore into his mind, glimpsing into his very soul.

He knew the life awaiting you would shatter that resolve, break you, erase even the faintest trace of your own will, wrapping you in suffering and self-loathing like a glove wraps the hand. And he couldn't bear the thought of it. He couldn’t bear that there was nothing he could do about it. Or could he?

You lingered too long, gazing at the young boy on the upper ramparts. The sudden tug on the rope fastened to you caught you off guard, causing you to lose your balance and emit a cry of pain as your knees collided with the hard ground.

Sihtric’s hands instinctively clasped Thor's hammer around his neck, his lips forming silent words of an unspoken promise, a vow, to not let that happen, to not let that spark be wiped off. Not letting go of the pendant, he prayed to the gods for the day he could  whisk you away from this accursed place and witness a smile lighting up those beautiful eyes.

From that day forward, his seemingly futile existence had acquired a new purpose. A hesitant smile exchanged in the hallways, a warm, compassionate glance shared in the great hall, a hand that didn’t take a swing, but stretched out to help you back on your feet, that was all he dared to offer at first. 

He saw your red, swollen eyes, your diminishing frame with each passing week, the trembling of your hands as you served ale, and the deepening darkness in your gaze. It was not enough. He knew he was miserably failing to uphold the promise he had made to himself and to the gods.

The feast in the great hall of Dunholm was in full swing. Laughter filled the room, mingling with drunken revelry, boasting of recent victories and tales of triumphs. Sihtric sat at the long table on the left, squeezed between Tekil’s men. It was his first time being permitted to join them there.

Tekil wasn't a cruel man; he was a steely, battle hardened warrior, yes, but not one who reveled in the suffering of others. He had taken Sihtric in after the execution of his mother. He had vouched for him before Kjartan, pledging to mould him into a warrior. And there Sihtric sat in his father's great hall, striving to remain unnoticed, to hide himself behind the sturdy frames of the other warriors, his fingers wrapped around the ale mug, yet hesitating to lift it to his lips.

You were in the midst of serving ale, shuddering each time a rough palm landed on your buttocks, laughter echoing through the hall as you refilled mugs and set pitchers on the tables. Sihtric's eyes tracked your movements between the tables, hastily averting his gaze each time you seemingly turned his way. As you approached his table, a sudden warmth flooded Sihtric's cheeks, his heartbeat quickening.

"I see you've taken a liking to this little bird," Sihtric nearly jumped from his seat, hearing that all too familiar voice in his ear, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. "She's far too bony for my taste; you can have her," a sly smile curved Kjartan's lips as he turned to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you roughly closer with one swift motion.

A soft yelp trembled on your lips, causing Kjartan's smile to widen into a grin. "Come on, boy. Saddle this mare, show me you're a man. Tekil promised he'd shape you into one."

With a forceful shove from Kjartan, you stumbled into Sihtric's lap, the laughter from all sides echoing through the air, assaulting your ears. Two strong arms encircled your waist and effortlessly lifted you. Desperate to break free, you attempted to wriggle out of the grip, but the jovial laughter in the hall only grew louder as you were hoisted over a broad shoulder and carried away.

Sihtric slammed shut the door of his tiny, windowless room, setting you down on your feet. You retreated instantly and your back collided with the solid door, eyes fixed on Sihtric, unable to quell the shaking of your limbs. By now, you knew he was Kjartan’s son—a bastard, yet his own flesh and blood, surely eager to please his father and earn his recognition.

"Please," it was barely a whisper, a silent breath trembling on your lips, your voice caught in your dried-up throat as you lowered your gaze, unwilling to appear as though you were challenging him. "Don't hurt me."

You understood your plea was likely in vain, that he didn't care. But there was nothing else you could do, so you begged, hoping to strike some hidden chord behind those large, oddly mismatched eyes that had followed you so many times.

You had thought them kind, seeking solace in them amidst the crowded hall, grounding yourself in the warmth of their gaze, clinging to the hope of having found a soul not tainted by malevolence, perhaps even a friendly one to guide you through your misery.

It had all been an illusion—a dream twisted into a nightmare, as you felt Sihtric’s rapid breath on your neck, his well built frame looming over you. "Please," you repeated, your voice trembling uncontrollably, words dissolving into soft sobs as your hands panickedly crumpled your skirt.

The terror in your voice sent a shiver down Sihtric’s spine. You saw him as the enemy. You thought him like his father—someone who relished in the suffering of others, ready to assert dominance through force for his own amusement. And he couldn’t blame you for that.  As much as he cursed the legacy running through his veins, he was who he was. His father’s son. Shame burning him from within, like that pyre fire, erasing his sweetest memories, he reached out to place his hands on your shoulders. 

"I won't hurt you. Do you hear me?" But you didn't. Panic had engulfed you entirely, the rush of blood in your ears deafening, the frantic pounding of your heart pushing you to the brink of consciousness, your senses sharpened to a painful clarity.

This was the moment the other women had warned you about, the moment they had tried to prepare you for. "Don't resist; it will only make it worse," they had told you. 

"Don't resist," their  warning echoed in your mind. But you couldn't. The moment two rough palms landed on your shoulders, you screamed, tears streaming down your cheeks as you fought in fury against them, your cries ringing through the room.

Sihtric released you instantly, hastily stepping back with his hands raised in the air, trying to show he meant no harm.

"Please, just listen to me," he pleaded, but you were too consumed by fear to register his words. Your eyes darted around the room, searching desperately for an escape, but finding none, they settled back on Sihtric. Meeting his gaze, you bared your teeth like a wild animal, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps, as if preparing for a leap.

"I won't touch you," Sihtric's soft voice gently washed over your alerted senses. Why would he say that? What kind of trap was this? Thoughts fluttered through your mind like startled birds. "I… I'm not like my father. I mean you no harm, I swear," Sihtric took another step back, giving you space.

"W-what do you mean?" you stuttered, pressing yourself even harder against the door as if trying to meld with it.

"You are safe with me, I promise," Sihtric's eyes searched your face expectantly, hoping for some sign that you might consider believing him.

And oddly enough you did. Against reason, against everything you had been told and warned about, you believed him. You wanted to believe him; you had nothing left in this world to believe in, and so you chose to believe in the young man standing before you, in that warm, friendly, and inexplicably sad fire burning in his eyes.

You placed your small, cold hand in his outstretched palm, slowly and carefully, holding your breath in anticipation, your heart pounding against the cage of your ribs. He took a step closer, leaning in until his forehead touched yours.

"Please, don't be afraid of me," he whispered, his arms tentatively finding their way around your shoulders, as if afraid you would push them away again. But you didn't. You allowed yourself to melt into his strong embrace, burying your nose in Sihtric's broad chest as tears of relief soaked his leather armour.

"Stupid boy, you didn’t even hump her," Kjartan's words struck Sihtric like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky. "The bitch was still a virgin."

Sihtric's legs turned into heavy logs, a desperate urge to flee coursing through him, yet he remained rooted to the spot under his father's scrutinising gaze. "Maybe I was mistaken and you didn't even fancy her?" Kjartan continued with a grin. "Tell me, scum, do you prefer boys instead?"

Not a muscle twitched in Sihtric's face as Kjartan's hand rested heavily on his shoulder. "No, I was right. You desire her, you crave her," his hot breath in Sihtric's ear seared him. 

"You should have heard her. A feisty little thing, squealing like a pig. You know I enjoy it when they resist. It makes it much more enjoyable," Kjartan patted him consolingly on the shoulder, a wicked smirk forming on his lips, then turned to leave. "Tekil has a task, and he's taking you with him. You're departing at dawn tomorrow. Now, go fetch your little bird and enjoy her before it's too late."

It had all been in vain. Those hidden lingering glances, those fleeting touches, those stolen kisses in the secluded corners of the kitchen away from prying eyes—they all amounted to nothing. He had failed to protect you, to shield you from harm. Instead, he had inadvertently brought about your downfall, as he hadn’t managed to hide how much you mattered to him.

"Go away," you cried out once more, lifting your head to meet his gaze. The pain in his large, searching eyes squeezed your racing heart, prompting you to quickly look away. You didn't blame him; he was the sole reason your existence in this place had felt somewhat bearable. But it was all too much. Your own pain was enough, and you couldn't bear to add his to the burden.

"I can't," a throaty whisper escaped his lips as he lowered himself to the ground, aligning his height with yours, and gently crouched by your side. You shuddered at the touch of his arms around your trembling frame, yet you couldn't muster the strength to push him away.

You sat in the moonlight, surrounded by eerie shadows that danced around you each time an impish cloud attempted to obscure the large, pale disc in the dark sky. No words were needed; the enveloping silence spoke volumes, conveying more than any sound ever could.

"I'm leaving tomorrow at dawn," Sihtric's hoarse voice seemed to come from another world, and you heart stopped beating. The darkness crept from the corners, slowly enveloping you, draining the remaining colours from your life. "Tekil is taking me with him. It’s going to be a long trip, not just an ordinary patrol."

Turning your head, you reached out and cupped his face, your thumb gliding over his wet cheeks as Sihtric leaned into your touch.

"Promise me something," you whispered, summoning strength you didn't know you possessed.

"I will come back to you, I swear. I'll return, and one day I'll take you away from here," Sihtric's hand found yours, pulling your palm to his lips where he placed tender kisses upon your wrist.

"No," you vehemently shook your head. "No, this is your chance, Sihtric. Promise me you will not return. Promise me you'll do everything in your power to escape, to leave this cursed place behind and never look back. Promise me," your voice grew louder, your eyes searching his. "Promise me!" you demanded, desperation creeping into your tone.

"What? I... I can't... Don't you see it? Don't you feel it? I love you. Do you understand what you're asking of me?"

"I know. And God is my witness, I love you too. But if you love me, you'll promise me this. And you'll keep that promise, Sihtric Kjartansson. Knowing that you have a chance for a new life away from this hell on earth is the only thing that will keep me alive," your voice quivered with excitement.

Will he miss me? Will he remember me? You bit down on your tongue, forbidding yourself from voicing these questions that swirled in your mind. You had to let go. You had to set him free. This was the only way, the only chance, at least for one of you.

"Promise me," you insisted, your gaze locked with Sihtric's, glowing with a hint of madness.

"I'll give you that promise, if you swear to keep waiting. If you swear to not give up on this life," Sihtric's fingers squeezed yours painfully.

"I promise to keep waiting for you never coming back," you pledged without a moment's hesitation. "I promise to carry on, to endure. For you."

"I promise," Sihtric's voice broke as he tried to speak the next words, but your expectant, feverish gaze compelled him to continue. "Then I promise not to come back."

"Swear it," you demanded, wrapping his fingers around the pendant on his neck.

"I swear," it was barely a whisper, just a silent breath, escaping his lips as he gave the oath that was breaking his heart. He pulled you into his embrace, lips nuzzling your hair, inhaling your scent and feeling your soft skin under his fingertips, as he tried to store it all in his memory forever, not feeling ashamed for the tears trailing down his cheeks and disappearing into your dishevelled hair.

Weird sounds emanating from within the fortress drew your attention away from your memories—men shouting and hounds howling. You covered your ears with both hands, attempting to stifle the daunting sounds. It wasn't the first time Kjartan entertained himself by setting his hellhounds on some poor soul who had earned his wrath.

It was time. You were ready. Straightening yourself, you parted from the rough, grounding wall behind your back.

"One step, just one more step into freedom," you whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

You shuddered upon hearing your name being called, the sound reaching you from the other side of the wall, oddly familiar. No, it couldn't be. You shook your head in an attempt to dispel the illusion your mind was conjuring to confuse you.

With eyes closed, you raised your foot for your last step, feeling the ground disappearing from beneath you, ready to fly away, to trust the alluring promise of the wind you knew to be insidious.

You cried out in despair as you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back. Eyes still shut, you fought against them, believing Kjartan’s men had found you, until a soft voice from your dreams spoke your name again, causing you to finally open your eyes wide with disbelief and fear as if seeing a ghost.

“Why did you break your promise?” was all you managed to whisper.

“To prevent you from breaking yours,” two mismatched eyes sadly smiled at you. “Kjartan is dead. You are free.”

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw @siimonesvensson @sigtryggrswifey

[ilisteria]

Quick Erebus x GN Reader piece (709 words)

I don't actually like him but there's a surge in fans of him and I don't feel confident about dipping my toes into writing for a Primarch yet, so I may as well debut with Kharn's our not-so-friendly neighborhood punching bag douchebag.

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Summary: You are a serf on one of the Sons of Horus ships and you've caught Erebus' eye. He has you trapped in a dark room to sell some Chaos propaganda to you. Set before the Heresy.

Warnings- Slightly suggestive towards the end but not really; manipulation through religion. It's Erebus, what can I say?

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Impenetrable dark and the hum of ventilation shafts, chilled air that lightly bites at the skin leaving trails of raised hairs - your eyes did not adjust to the false-night of the lightless chamber, as though your sight had been stolen away by some blind daemon.

You shake your head upon this thought, the brush of your hair against your neck only sending more shivers down your spine, each strand feeling too similar to the soft raking of nails on your neck. “Dogma,” You whisper beneath your breath. “There are no such things as daemons.”

“Is that so?”

You freeze upon those words, their velvety syllables ringing hollowly in your ears like false promises in the wind. Your heart drums loudly in your chest, each beat against your rib cage feeling as though they are being wrung from your body through some mysterious force, and the intruder only chuckles, barely audible over the ambient noise of the ship.

“Your heart does not believe your own words. Your soul, too, knows better than to parrot the drivel of the so-called Imperial Truth.” 

Large hands that dwarf your shoulders would come down to rest atop them, cold ceramite heavy on your fragile form like a thick sheet of ice over water. You could almost see the sly grin upon his face, the eyes of your soul piercing through the veil where your mortal ones were found lacking. 

He continues, his voice remaining ever steady as a preacher of the Imperial Truth did, yet in the rumbling of his chest and the slight tightening of his grip are the traces of a mad fanaticism, almost a perversion that hinted at an abyss beneath the placid exterior. 

“You see it as well, do you not? The eyes in the dark, the whispers that scream in a thousand voices - but only when you dream.”

“N-no, I know nothing, I see nothing-”

“You lie,” He hisses, but it is more in amused mocking than festering rage. “I can smell the fear in you, little one. But that is no matter, for your fear speaks more truthfully than your tongue. That is good, for I know now that you may yet be saved.”

It feels as though the room has become several degrees colder, your plain serf’s uniform doing little to stave off a chill that could be felt in the soul. There are eyes on you, more eyes than simply those of the intruder, and they rake over your body and soul as they titter restlessly within the void between the known and unknown.

There were daemons out there, watching and waiting for their prey or perhaps their lord, which possibility it was indiscernible to you over your fear.

The intruder chuckles again, the swell of each vowel of his laugh becoming more disjointed as though a second voice shares his throat and pulls the sounds from his body in a way that seems to elicit sensations of religious ecstasy. 

"You are destined for things much greater than a mere cupbearer of the Warmaster, little one. There are plans for you, promises of status greater than mere serf or concubine, more power and wealth than you could’ve dreamed of, sensations that will dwarf the finest drug or drink in the Imperium…but He has blinded you to your true purpose.”

His grip tightens again, your body jerking forwards in response, but he does not loosen his grip nor utter apologies, and you could not break the grip of an Astartes. There is a silent order in the way the eyes surrounding you bore into you - to remain in place, to remain silent, and to open your heart to a force far greater than you could ever hope to fathom - in your current state. 

Erebus was its prophet, and you a disillusioned disciple of the Anathema’s sect.

“His truth is little more than shackles to bind the inherent human desire for gods. He denies us of our glory, our eternity, our evolution, and our pleasures.

“I can teach you to free yourself, to claim your birthright and see for yourself the ways of the true gods. You need only to have a little...faith in my methods. 

“Tell me then, little one, are you prepared to be enlightened?”

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Weird kid AU has my entire heart! It’s so refreshing to read a story where reader is willing to take time and space for their own wellbeing. There is love between the characters but reader isn’t just sitting around waiting for Bruce to see them, thank you so much for writing!

This isn't an ask but I'm gonna treat it like one. Because I can see this in my brain.

Clark had never slept with someone else in his bed. And it was too narrow for him almost. But with another body- he'd been well. Not uncomfortable but it was strange.

Even if it felt nice, having you against his chest. Maybe it was the circumstances. He felt guilty. You'd been upset. Bruce called- well. Alfred had while you were on a sort of date? In Metropolis.

And Bruce was in the background, sniping. It had hurt. The things Bruce had said were- well. Designed to cut to the quick. And they had. And it had all boiled over into a flood of tears. Bruce had known EXACTLY where to jam the knife. And he hadn't really known what to do. Except hold you.

The holding had become kissing. The kissing had become- well more. And before he could think, hands were intertwined and he was murmuring in your ear to stop him if he hurt you.

There wasn't much talking. He found out quickly that he didn't need it. You were vocal in other ways- easy to read. And he reveled in it. In the stamina you had. But when you finally were worn out. Wrung out emotionally and physically, guilt gnawed at him.

But when you started to wake up, rubbing your eyes, he couldn't help but smile as he stroked your back, "Good morning, Sunshine, feel okay?"

"Not ready to get up yet," you murmur, "But I can go if-"

"I was hoping you'd stay for breakfast- or at least coffee," he said, tilting your chin up to kiss your nose.

"I know you didn't mean for me to stay last night I just don't want to take up too much time."

He shook his head and rubbed his nose against yours, "As long as the world doesn't end and no major news breaks, I got all day. It wouldn't be very polite for me to just throw you out after we- well. Last night- that was- that was nice." His cheeks burned and he smiled a little. "You sure I didn't hurt you?"

"Not in any way you can't kiss all better," you tease, carding your fingers through his hair.

"How-" He breaks off and lets that sink in. Getting the message when you quik an eyebrow and your eyes glitter. "I- oh. Oh!" And when his groin throbbed in response he shifted on the bed. Enjoying the way your heart rate sped up as you found yourself 'trapped' under him. He's not had a lot of practice but, there's no time like the present. "Let's make it all better, huh? Then I'll make you some coffee. And if you say please I'll make pancakes too."

[belaephemeral]

Hold me tight, don’t let go (please don’t let it swallow me whole)

Pairings: Vil x Reader x Rook (gender-neutral)

Description: You discover how a lie becomes the truth, one that you can’t believe but one that was inevitable. And it tears you apart.

Author’s Note: sorry self-indulgent vent fic.

Everything is spinning. 

Your fingers uncontrollably tremble no matter how much you will them to still. You heart jumps, throbbing painfully against your ribcage. You feel it rattle underneath your skin and bone as you wheeze, in and out, desperate to fill your lungs with air, to resist the unbearable sensation clamping against your chest. 

The world is spinning. Shapes undulate and coagulate into abstract objects that swarm you. Your vision swims and you teeter between this horrible, excruciating waking world and succumbing to the welcoming dark obsidian depths that lurk around the edges, waiting patiently, before consuming you whole. 

Everything hurts. You feel like a rag, twisted, wrung of everything that you held hopelessly onto, discarded and left for good. Why did this have to happen to me? Why now? Why when everything seemed to be going so well, so perfect, when everything seemed to be going as planned? You’re so stupid, so gullible, no naive to think it was finally going the way you wanted because this foolish, immature saccharine perspective of yours is the weight that pulls you deeper, and deeper, as you drown. As you flail and no one will help you because there’s no one here for you. All except for him.

Your body feels like it’s on autopilot. In your line of sight, you catch the familiar sight of medieval architecture, the rich, luxurious shades of violet and mauve, and intricate gold embellishments. Stumbling through the corridor, your throat constricts, your stomach curls, but you resist the nausea that threatens to bubble into your throat to reach Pomefiore’s Lounge. Your hands trace the walls, finding something to hold onto to as it suddenly become hard to stand upright, as it becomes harder and harder to breathe.

The corridors are dim. The only source of light comes from the moonlight that streams through the dorm’s grand windows and the only thing you hear as you clammer down the hall is the whistling of the night breeze that billows through an opened window and faint chattering from the Lounge.

Meekily, peering through the splotches of black that cloud your vision, you enter the room. Upon your unexpected entrance, Vil promptly stands as Rook observes you carefully. “What’s the matter, darling”, the dorm leader rushes to your side, “What’s on your mind, my little star?” he reaches to cradle your face, pulling you closer to him gently, careful not to break you, careful not to hurt you more so than you’ve already been.

And you falter. You abhor the idea of showing people, much less them, your flaws, weakness, and vulnerabilities because that’s the last side of yourself you want to show them. Because the last thing you need is their pity. But the thought doesn’t cross your mind. The thought isn’t one that you register as you finally crack, splinter and break in his tender hold. Your embarrassment and humiliation at the idea of someone seeing you weak and fragile is cast to the side as your eyes agonisingly sting and burn, your heart squeezes painfully and is on the verge of bursting, and a tsunami rings in your eyes loudly. 

Because the image you’ve painstakingly built for yourself doesn’t matter not when you collapse into his arms, clutching onto the front of his robes desperately for something, someone, to weigh you down, to anchor you to this world and remind you that you’re here. Because you relish in being able to confide in your trusted confidants and bear yourself to them. You figure as much as Vil cards his fingers through your locks methodically, wrapping his arms around you, and bringing you closer to his chest. 

Following the metronome of his heartbeat, mirroring the rhythmic thump-thump that you feel as you’re pressed against him, you slow your ragged breaths. Gradually, it becomes easier to breath, it becomes easier to find your footing in a world that swirls underneath you and it becomes easier to find yourself again. It’s as though under this moonlight, under the expanse of stars above you, he’s a lighthouse that guides you home. A boat tossed across turbulent waves and tides finally able to see land and wretch itself away from the tempestuous oceans and clouds that broil over it.

The hushed voices reverberate in your head as murmurs, not able to comprehend the strings of words that flow out of the dorm leader and vice dorm leader’s mouth. Shaking, you lift yourself slightly off the male’s form, grimacing at the stains against his previously pristine outfit. You remain crumpled against him, like a tattered sheet of paper folded and torn at the edges, gathering what’s left of yourself as you shakily exhale. You aren’t sure when you were taken to one of the chemises of the Lounge but you can feel the plush cushion underneath you.

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything without throwing up the organ that threatens to launch itself into your oesophagus. 

So, you don’t. You just revel in the warmth Vil exudes and the tender kiss he places against the crown of your head. You savour the way he takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs circles into the back of your hand. You bask in the way he whispers “it’ll be okay, darling”s into your ear, relishing in the way the “I’m right here, love, I won’t leave you” resounds throughout you. 

The couch dips behind you and you hear the sound of a cup being placed on the table in front of you and the sweet fragrances of jasmine. A hand slowly turns your chin upwards and a soft handkerchief catches the tears that descends down your cheek. For the first time in what feels like years, you open your eyes to glimpse at Rook softly smiling at you. You lock eyes and he stars back earnestly, wiping off the shimmering tracks along your cheeks. Once you blink, you feel lips carefully and softly press against your eyelid and whisper “Take as long as you need, mon trésor, we’re here for you”.

You don’t know if you’ll be able to voice the parasite that’s chewing away your insides or the monster ravaging the carefully built architecture of your mental foundations. You can’t find the words for it right now. But you’re comforted by the fact that they won’t pressure you into telling them - that they’ll wait once you’re comfortable and willing to share the demon that’s infiltrated your mind and haunts your waking thoughts.

But at this moment, you don’t want to think about the overwhelming anxiety that’s plaguing you. Right now, you want to cherish the feeling of their warm embrace. Securely, the hold onto you, each resting their head on your shoulder and lulling you into a stable state with the rhythm of their heartbeat and the tempo of their tranquil inhales and exhales.

You’ll worry about it later. Right now, you want to relish in this moment. Right now, you want to feel the safety of their arms that protect you from the treacherous outside world. Right now, you want to revel in this reverie - this escape you’ve all created, a respite from what seeks to hunt you once you leave the refuge of their embrace.

Right now, you just need a reminder that you’re human, you just need to distract yourself from your worries - you just need them. And they’re all you could need in this moment. You register two final kisses planted on your forehead and your cheek as you slowly, gently fall into your fatigue and descend into the world of dreams. But as you do, you aren’t drowned as you have been these days, two loving, guiding hands lower you to this land of Nod. Two figures, brilliant and luminescent in this dreamscape of yours ward away the darkness lying in wait. You haven’t slept better in days. 

Selfishly, you’ll stay in their embrace, stay in their arms, stay with them. Because they are anchoring you to this world, a lighthouse guiding you home, and the gravity that pulls your head out of this cloud of misery. And you’ll forever cherish their support as they are willing to give it to you unfailingly. And you’ll love them unconditionally for everything they’ve done for you. 

Sweet dreams, ma chérie, for another day is awaiting on the horizon.

But don’t worry, we’ll be by your side every step of the way, darling. We’ll be waiting for you and please don’t be afraid to lean on us when you find yourself having to. 

Je t’aime, mon cœur.

Tu me complètes. Bonne nuit. 

Sorry, I just want to be held. I hope everything gets better but it’s so fucking hard for some reason. 

You don't know what you've got until you lose it