#the world hurts and it hurts badly and people ache in time with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yinyuedijun · 9 months ago

Text

translation

Aventurine doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you. (Or: You are the only person in the universe who understands Aventurine in his mother tongue. He often regrets teaching it to you.)

5k words. gender neutral reader, established relationship, angst, non-graphic sex (reader bottoms, anatomy neutral), themes of cultural loss, references to slavery, aventurine’s canonically implied desire to die. MDNI.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

Deception does not come easily to him in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak—and too kind. The universe was a different place in the days when his life was coloured by the warble of Avgin dialect. It felt simpler, partly because he was a child and partly because Sigonia was yet untouched by outsiders. There were no corporations, no casinos, no commodity codes. His entire world was sand, desert, mother, sister, father (or more often—ghost), goddess, tent, wagon, luck, sin, rain, blessing, Avgin.

Katican.

Aventurine is sure that he knew more than just those words. He was fluent as a child. He had conversations with his sister that were complex enough to make his heart hurt, though perhaps his heart was just constantly aching anyway. But the rest of his early words escapes him. He could maybe dredge them up if he thinks long enough, but he also isn't sure if his tongue and lips could form the shape of them anymore. Sometimes he still counts in Avgin, memorises phone numbers in it, but he doesn’t remember the last time he actually strung together a full sentence in the language.

When Aventurine was first stolen into slavery (a word that he had not known as a child, and still doesn't know in Avgin), he wasn’t given a Synesthesia Beacon. He had to rely on his ears and his wits, deciphering the harsh edges of the Katican dialect and then the strange garble of Interastral Standard Language. By the time he had a Beacon installed, it was already translating all speech into Standard—his dominant language.

Sometimes he feels a little aggrieved by it, but at least it wasn't Katican. He'd have blown out his brains if it were.

But it is easy to console himself: Avgin is not a useful language anyway. Dead languages have no value, and the Avgin dialect was killed along with its people. You can’t perform commerce in a dead language, can't negotiate contracts, can't enter a gambling den and use your silver tongue to rob people blind. You can't use a dead language to fell governments and extract resources; you can't use a dead language to bring an entire planet to its knees. You can’t use a dead language to gamble your life; you can't use it to save yourself from the gallows.

You cannot deceive people in a language that is defined by sand, sister, goddess, ghost.

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin. His command of it is too weak, and there is no one left to which he can lie, anyway.

When you ask Aventurine to teach you his first language, he gives you an amused look.

“Why Avgin?” he asks. “No one speaks it anymore. I can teach you Common Sigonian if you’d like. Or we could learn Xianzhounese together. Maybe Intellitron code? I know a little.”

“You speak Avgin,” you argue.

“Not often,” he says. “And badly when I do.”

“But it's still your language. And I want to understand you.”

Aventurine has to stop himself from laughing. Understand him? He hates being understood. When people understand him, it makes him predictable. And unlikeable. Hardly a position from which he can manipulate people in.

You understand him well enough to know that.

“You'll have to give me a better reason than that,” he says neatly. “Make it worth my while. Reward me.”

You look at him as you ponder, your eyes lingering on his. Perhaps trying to read him, though he prefers to think you're just enjoying the sight of them.

“I’ll teach you my language as well?”

“You mean—you'll reward my hard labour with more work?” he says, lighthearted.

You frown at him despite the joke. “You don't want to understand me better than what a Synesthesia Beacon would allow?” He blinks, pausing. “It’ll be convenient too. We can talk shit about other people in public and no one will understand us.”

Aventurine considers you. He doesn't like being understood, but he does like understanding other people. It is essential for manipulation, for scheming, for control. And he likes controlling you especially—for keeping you close but your heart a comfortable distance away, for opening your legs when he wants the pleasure of your body, for playing your emotions however he needs. And the day will come when that skill will be invaluable—the day when he must die without shattering you.

He also likes the idea of talking shit in public.

“I'm listening,” he says, voice lilting. You lean in, smiling. Sweet. It makes his heart feel something he isn't used to. Something addictive. Something disgusting. He scrambles to cover it with one of the usual tools: humour or distraction or maybe just plain old lying—his most reliable weapon.

“I'll throw in a kiss?” you try.

He hums. “Just one?”

“One per day.”

“Three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Well, I am a businessman.”

You snort, but he knows you're endeared. You have very noticeable tells when you’re flustered.

“Okay,” you say. “Three kisses on days you teach me.”

“Deal.”

Aventurine remembers more Avgin than he thought he would.

It comes to him slowly, painstakingly. You aren't interested in structured lessons, and he wouldn't be able to provide them anyway. He has a nonexistent grasp of grammar aside from this sounds right and that sounds strange, and Avgin dialect is both so niche and so dead that no textbooks are available. The scholars have abandoned the language as much as the politicians abandoned its people. Aventurine only has you, his fragmented memory, and whatever questions come to mind as you live out your days with him.

Mostly, you ask him about basic vocabulary. Sometimes you ask him to repeat sentences from your conversations in Avgin, like he’s some kind of multilingual parrot. Each prompt forces him to wade through the fog in his mind, the one that’s been shrouding his childhood memories until now. He's startled at how naturally the old words roll off his tongue: One, two, three, four. Good morning. Good evening. Good night. Sweet dreams. Five, six, seven, eight. You're lying to me. Why do you always lie to me? I don't know what you're talking about. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Welcome home. Have you eaten? Have some bread. I made you stew. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty. That was dangerous. I thought you wouldn't make it back to me. Sometimes I think you want to die. One hundred, one thousand, one million, one billion. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

When you say, How do I ask you to let me hold you, he answers easily. He'd heard the words so often as a child: Let me hold you, Kakavasha. Let Mama hold you. His mouth forms the sounds without conscious thought.

He regrets it almost immediately.

When Aventurine hears it from you—stilted, halting, but no less gentle—he stops breathing. Let me hold you. You say it all the time in Standard, but it feels different in Avgin. More painful. A strange sense of panic closes in on him when he's wrapped up in you, thinking in Avgin, thinking sand, sister, goddess, ghost. He holds you tightly, like the rags cut from his father’s shirt, or his mother’s locket won back from the shell-slashers, or a bag of poker chips beneath a card table, clutched within his trembling grip.

“Aventurine, is something wrong?” you ask in Avgin, and he replies in Standard with his usual smile.

“Hm? No. What could be wrong if I have you here?”

Lying is one of his greatest tools. Sex is another one. So he says, “I think I'd like my reward now,” and he runs his lips along your jaw, your pulse, the spot over your heart (there's a word for that in Avgin but not Standard, he tells you), until you're laughing. I thought you wanted three kisses, you tease, and he replies, Who said I wanted to kiss you on the mouth?

But he coaxes open your thighs, and once he's inside you, he collects his payment properly. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and you swallow his lies whole.

There are some things that Aventurine doesn't teach you. Mostly, they’re things that he can’t teach you.

There are countless gaps in his Avgin. His speech is painfully childish—probably more childish than it was when he actually stopped speaking it. He doesn't know how to swear (something that disappoints you) and he doesn't know how to flirt (something that devastates you). He doesn’t know any words that would be useful for work either: commercialization, governance, stakes, winnings, profit. When you ask him what his job title is in Avgin (“Was senior management even a thing in Avgin society?”), he laughs and gives you the word for gambler.

Then there are the words that he remembers—has remembered his whole life—but never says. Not to you, and not to himself. He doesn't teach you any prayers. He doesn't teach you any blessings. He doesn't teach you about Mama Fenge, or the Kakava Festival, or how the rain fell when he was born. When you ask him, What holidays did you celebrate when you were little? he shrugs and says, We didn't have any. Sigonia’s too bleak to do any partying.

Then you ask him one day, while your bodies are spent in the afterglow of sex, sticky with sweat and sweetness, how to say I love you. And he goes quiet.

Love is a cheap word in Interastral Standard. In the language of globalisation and trade, love has been commercialised, commodified, capitalised for power. You say it to him in many contexts: I love this, I love that, I love you. He hardly ever reacts, and he's never said it back. It would feel unnecessary and also cruel if he did: Aventurine has only ever said the words himself as either a joke or a manipulation.

But love feels different in Avgin than in Interastral Standard, doesn't sound like a thing that can be traded or bought. Kakavasha only ever said the word love to his mother, to his sister, to his father's grave. Love in his mother tongue feels priceless.

When Aventurine thinks about you saying it—I love you, Kakavasha, in clumsy, earnest Avgin—something so painful swells in his throat that he can hardly breathe.

“There is no word for love in my language,” he tells you.

You blink. “Okay, then what's an idiom for it?”

“There is none. There’s no word or phrase expressing love.”

You raise a brow. “That’s hard to believe.”

“Is it?” He smiles. “There’s no Avgin in the known universe who cares about love. Only scheming, thieving, and treachery—and you can't do those things when love is involved.”

You look at him in alarm. “Why are you saying that?” You're practically squirming in your discomfort. “I don't know why you think I'd believe such a racist stereotype.”

“It’s not a stereotype,” he says. “I'm not talking about the Avgin culture. I'm talking about myself.”

After all, he is the only Avgin left.

It is an unfair thing to say. A cruel thing to say. After all the laughing and kissing and crying and fucking, after all the tender eyes and gentle words from you—it is probably the worst pain imaginable: I don't give a shit about you. He waits for you to cry.

But you only stare at him calmly, studying him. You brush the hair out of his eyes, seeing them clearly.

“If you lie to me all the time,” you say in Avgin, “eventually I'll stop believing anything you say.”

Aventurine is speechless. His heart does that addictive, disgusting thing again. He thinks about leaving, but then you say, Let me hold you, and he can't do anything other than obey.

Avgin dialect was once included in the Synesthesia Beacon list of functions. The Intelligentsia Guild added it before the Second Katica-Avgin Extinction Event, when the IPC was trying to get a political foothold on Sigonia via the Avgin people. The language was alive then, with enough value to be included into the Synesthesia LLM by the linguists.

But since the Extinction Event—since Kakavasha ran away from home—the Synesthesia data on Avgin has been stagnant, a fossil. Aventurine knows because he's subscribed to software updates for certain languages (Avgin Sigonian, Common Sigonian, Interastral Standard, and now your mother tongue). He gets pinged every time there's a new addition for slang, for neologisms—but there hasn't been a ping for the Avgin dialect since he had the Beacon installed. The live translation function hasn't even been available since the previous Amber Era. When he checks its page on his Synesthesia app, it's very clear why—

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 0 STATUS: Extinct END OF SERVICE: 2156 AE

The complete death of the language has led to an irritating dilemma for you and Aventurine. You keep running into words that he doesn't know—this time not because of his childlike speech, but because they never existed in his language to begin with. Ocean, tropical, rainforest. Starskiff, accelerator, space fleet. Stock market, shortselling, mutual funds. Black hole, event horizon, spaghettification. All things that never came up for Kakavasha, but now come up for Aventurine, and the language has not evolved to include it.

He always wants to switch to Standard to discuss these things, but you're insistent on speaking in Avgin as much as possible. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't mind humouring you—partly because he likes to indulge you, and partly because he’s grown used to hearing the honeyed timbre of Avgin dialect in your household. The place would feel strange without it.

So you start filling the gaps with other languages, filtering them through the lyricism of Avgin. Loanwords, he thinks they’re called. You take ocean, tropical, rainforest from Amazian; starskiff, accelerator, space fleet from Xianzhounese; stock market, shortselling, mutual funds from Interastral Standard. For the astrophysics terms, you try directly translating them—with limited success.

“Can't I literally just say ‘black hole’?” you ask in Avgin, and he nearly spits out his coffee.

“Please don't. That's a dirty word.” He can't bring himself to say what it means, but from the way you’re laughing, you can clearly guess.

“I thought you said you didn't know how to swear.”

“You've just reminded me how.”

“You're welcome.” You look on the verge of cackling. Aventurine finishes his coffee and wonders when you're going to surprise him with your newfound vulgarity.

“Let's just do the space terms based on Standard,” he says. Begs.

“No, that's so boring.”

“Then let's do your language.”

You open your mouth. Close it. Give him a blank look.

“You don't know how to say those words in your mother tongue either, do you,” he intuits.

“Well, ‘spaghettification’ doesn't really come up in everyday conversation, does it?”

“Then maybe we don't need it.” He smiles, senses an opportunity. Smells blood. “How about ‘love’? I'd much rather know how you say that. I bet it sounds beautiful.”

You give him a long look. Your eyes are vulnerable when you share it: Love. I love you. He’s fascinated by the sound of it. Your voice is never that fragile when you say it in Standard. It's never so earnest. He repeats it, staring at you, and your gaze falls to the ground. His mouth curls.

“I like it,” he says. “Let's use that. It'll sound nice in Avgin.”

You try to recover. “Sure. That works. But back to ‘black hole’—”

And the two of you continue like that for days, weeks, months. It feels like a complete bastardization of his mother tongue on some days, in some conversations. Almost unrecognisable. But it doesn't feel bad. It’s all he has, it's all you have, and when he walks into your home, he starts speaking it without thinking: your bastard, patchwork language. The Avgin dialect that exists only in your house. A tongue that can only be understood by a liar.

And then, one lazy Sunday morning, he gets a familiar ping. He expects it to be Interastral Standard, as usual. The language balloons with each planet that the IPC colonises.

But instead, he opens his screen and freezes.

SIGONIAN, AVGIN DIALECT SPEAKERS: 2 STATUS: Endangered. SERVICE RESUMED: 2157 AE NEW UPDATES: 103 loanwords and 5 neologisms added.

He can't stop looking at the status. Endangered. Endangered, which means dying, but alive. The Avgin dialect is alive again. The Intelligentsia Guild determined it, so it must be true. But Aventurine can't agree: there are no Avgin speakers in the known universe other than the two of you, and what you speak isn't real Avgin. The Avgin spoken by his mother and father and sister is dead; the Avgin spoken by Kakavasha is dead. The festivals are gone; the deserts have been terraformed. There are no wagons; there are no dances; there are no prayers. There are no blessings, and he has no home—

As long as you are alive, the blood of the Avgin will never run dry.

His throat locks up.

“Aventurine?” you ask. Your voice is drowsy, but concerned. “Is something wrong?”

He looks at you from his phone, a polished smile on his face.

“No.” His syllables are plain and efficient in the noise of Interastral Standard: “Just looking at details for a new assignment. It’ll be a long one.”

“Oh.” You frown. “Will you be away from home for a long time, then?”

He stops himself from swallowing. “Yes, I'll be away from the house. For several months, probably.”

“Okay.” Your voice is small. “Take care of yourself, okay? I'll miss you.”

Each word you speak resonates with heartbreak. It always does in these conversations, even in Standard—but the sorrow is amplified in Avgin. His mother tongue has an inherently sad quality to it, he's noticed. His people have lost so much over their history—their language is one of loss. It's his language of loss. Kakavasha did all his grieving in Avgin; Aventurine has never felt sorrow in Standard. When the language died, so did Kakavasha—and all his regrets with it.

“You'll come home to me, right?” you ask. It's a beautiful sentence in Avgin. A heartrending one. He feels something that he hasn't known since he was a child.

It's a feeling he has to kill.

“Yes,” he says in Standard. “Of course I'll come back.”

This is not the first time that Aventurine has been mistaken for dead, but this is the longest time.

The latest world to join the IPC network was a tough acquisition. It had been ruled by a despot who wreaked havoc on both the people and the planet, and who was too stupid and reckless to resolve conflicts with his trade partners. He probably would have blown up the whole star system had he been left to his own devices. Aventurine had no qualms about bringing him to ruin, nor did he have qualms about nearly dying in the process.

If things had gone his way, he'd either be dead or missing. This would have been the perfect opportunity to do the latter, actually—to be freed from the IPC. Free to drift alone, speaking with strangers in strange, unfamiliar tongues. No connection to his past, to the cruel history of his luck, to his commodity code. No tether to his inherently unjust destiny. But instead he's back in your house, pockets heavy with his borrowed wealth, speaking to you in his bastardised, childish Avgin. I'm sorry. Come here. Let me kiss you. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

Your Avgin is—shockingly fluent. He doesn't know how. He can't think about it right now. All he can process is the wounded animal noise of your speech as you yell at him, as you cry. Like an injured songbird, or a weeping child. Why did you leave, why did you lie, why do you always lie to me, why don't you give a shit about me, you spit. Why do you want to die, why do you want to die, why do you want to die, you keep saying. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost, he keeps hearing. Sand, sister, goddess, ghost. Don't leave me, big sister. People will die. Why do you have to go?

“I’m sorry,” he tries again, this time in your language. “I'm so sorry. Come here. Let me hold you.”

You collapse into your mother tongue. Aventurine is both relieved and horrified. Relieved that he doesn't need to hear the language of his grief—horrified that he needs to hear yours. He's never heard you cry like this. He's never heard you break like this. These must have been the words you used when the soldiers found you hiding in your closet, when they dragged you out of your home. You were just a child.

Aventurine doesn't know the words you are using—you've never taught them—but he still understands them.

You're very malleable when you’re sad; even more so when you're hysterical. Aventurine understands this about you, and he understands how to calm you—this time in your native tongue—and he understands how to kiss you. He understands that you need to feel close to him. He understands that there are ways to accomplish this other than sex. A normal person would talk it out, have an honest conversation, come to a mutual understanding, and maybe even stop trying to kill himself. They wouldn't fuck you into the mattress while your face is still wet with tears.

But Aventurine is not a normal person. He doesn't know how to have an honest conversation, and he doesn't want to be understood. Lying is his greatest weapon, and sex is a close second. So he kisses you until you’re too breathless to cry, fucks you until you can't think, and makes you come so hard that you’re in too much bliss to grieve. And maybe it's horrible of him, but he enjoys it. He enjoys the way your body takes him in so easily, the way your nails dig into his back, the way you tighten around him when you climax, so wet and needy for him. The way you beg for him in your language for liars as he spends himself inside you: I love you, Aventurine, I love you, I love you, I love you—

Only because it feels good. This is all only because he enjoys fucking you. This is all only because you enjoy fucking him. This is all it'll ever be, and it'll be this way until he gets to meet his end.

(Some months ago, Aventurine started dreaming in Avgin.

It surprised him when he first noticed it. The last time he remembers having a dream in his native tongue, he was twelve years old and still in chains. And even then, it had become a sporadic, strange thing. Awful to wake up from. One minute he was with his mother and sister on a cool, rainy day, speaking fluently in Avgin as he laughed and played—and the next minute, he was being shaken awake in his cage, hearing the cruel lash of Katican.

But ever since he's started speaking Avgin with you, he's been dreaming in it. Vividly. Sometimes he's a child in these dreams, and sometimes he's grown. He's always back in the Sigonian desert, among the tents and the campfires and his family wagons. His mother and sister are alive. Sometimes his father is too. The skies roar with thunder and the stellar winds are always harsh, but they always keep him cocooned up in their arms. He's always warm.

Sometimes Aventurine dreams of nicer days. Clear skies, warm sun, cool breeze—all blessings from the Mother Goddess. On these days, he tends to be an adult, and you tend to be there with him. Your Avgin is fluent but strange, filled with funny loanwords and peculiar slang. His father likes the neologisms and starts using them—but only in wrong ways. His sister finds it embarrassing and keeps apologising to you.

His mother loves you. She loves you so much it hurts. This is how I know you're blessed, Kakavasha, she says, glowing. You’re so lucky to have found such a kind person.

Kakavasha knows this. He knows he's lucky, and in his dreams, that isn't a bad thing. In his dreams, his luck means that his home is not violently excised from his heart: his father never dies; his mother never dies; his sister never dies. The tents are not burned; the wagons are not destroyed. He is never forced to forget his people's dishes, their songs, their language, their joy. And in his dreams, his luck means that he meets you anyway, without all the loss and the chains and the lying.

In his dreams, he is able to bring you to the desert. He is able to teach you the Avgin he spoke as a child, to cook all the meals his mother used to make, to share with you their coffee and their tea. He teaches you prayers. He teaches you blessings. He tells you about Mama Fenge, about how the rain fell when he was born. He takes you to the Kakava Festival, shows you how to dance, sings to you all the Avgin songs until you're singing back. He presses his palm to yours in prayer; he kisses you in devotion, not avoidance.

Sometimes the two of you still fight, the same fights that you have in real life, but he handles them with honesty. He listens to you. He apologises to you. He tells you that he’ll change, and he means it—because this world is a kind one, and he has no need to be so cruel to you.

In this kind world, when you lay in bed with his arms tight around you, you smile at him and say, I love you, Kakavasha. You say it in Avgin—real Avgin, not the dialect born from genocide and deceit—and when he responds, there's not even a little bit of insincerity in his voice. Because Kakavasha never became Aventurine in these dreams, so he has no Interastral Standard in which he can lie to you, no silver tongue with which he can manipulate you, no commodity code that inspires his fear of being controlled by you. Kakavasha only knows Avgin, and he only has his sand, his family, his goddess, his home.

And he has you. Finally, he has you.

He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you—and then he tells you the truth.)

Aventurine cannot lie in Avgin.

You noticed this very early on: whenever he lies to you, he always switches to Interastral Standard. Probably he wouldn't be able to do it in his mother tongue. His command of it is too weak, and the words he knows are all too kind. He speaks with the innocence of a child, and children cannot deceive people in the way that adults can. Children cannot perform commerce or negotiate contracts. They cannot use a silver tongue to rob people blind. They cannot save themselves from the gallows.

So Aventurine’s Avgin is defenceless. Vulnerable. So vulnerable it hurts. You are not so vulnerable in your first language because your captors spoke it on occasion, and you learned to lie in it to gain their pity. You told Aventurine that knowing it would help him understand you, but this was a deception. Aventurine’s mother tongue was a language of trust, but yours is a dialect of abuse.

The Avgin language died before Aventurine could be gutted by it; this is why it disarms him so completely. This is why he’s so indulgent and so warm when you use it with him, why he yields to all your requests. Not requests for money or gifts—you’re certain those are meaningless to him—but for affection. Let me hold you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. He can never say no.

This is also why he loves hearing you speak his mother tongue, you think—it makes him feel at home, it makes him feel safe. Maybe it even makes him feel loved. He never seems so at peace speaking any other language, so you try to use Avgin as much as possible. You like seeing him happy. You like it even if it means you need to teach him your own native language in exchange, even when it means you need to hear him say all the things your captors used to say. You don't mind it if it's him. You never mind the harm he inflicts on you, especially not when it brings you closer to him.

It is convenient that he cannot lie in Avgin. You only wanted to learn it in the first place because he talks in his sleep—mostly in Standard, but sometimes in his native tongue. And now that you know he cannot lie in Avgin, you also know he's always being honest in his dreams. Honest when he throws his arms around you in his sleep. Honest when he grabs you so tightly that you bruise. Honest when he buries his face into your neck and whispers prayers into your skin.

Most of the words he says are common ones, the earliest vocabulary that he taught you. But there are some things he's withheld from you—and to learn those things, you had to track down linguists from the Intelligentsia Guild, bribe them with your dirty money, have them give you all their deprecated, extinct data. It felt two-faced, and it was violating, but it was the only way. You already know that Aventurine would rather die than translate his feelings for you, would never want this part of himself understood.

I'm sorry for always leaving you.

I'm sorry for making you cry.

I can't bear the thought of losing you.

Freedom would be too lonely without you.

I don't want to hurt you anymore.

I don't want to lie to you anymore.

I missed you.

I want you.

I need you.

I love you.

end

afterword

#aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #x reader #hsr smut #aventurine smut #lol it isnt really smut but it is nsft i suppose #nsft #yueshuo.fics

3K notes · View notes

helloilikepurple · 7 months ago

Text

DC X DP - DeAged

The Nasty Burger explosion took a lot from Danny.

Stopping Dan meant nothing when Danny lost everything. His friends, his parents, his sister, his teacher - all gone. Danny, desperate to not become Dan, fled. He would not let Vlad destroy the only thing he had left; himself. He didn't turn human again if he could avoid it. Let Danny Fenton die with his family.

He did what he could, trying to keep it all together. Avoid Vlad. Catch havoc-wreaking ghosts. Try to not have a panic attack every time he saw his reflection. FentonWorks became out-of-bounds. No one was sure how to turn off the portal or any of the house's defence mechanisms so it was taped up instead.

Danny kept the GIW away. They wanted his parents' research, even if they had to bend the law to get it. Danny would not let them have it. Never.

But the GIW was persistent and Danny weak from nearly two months of being Phantom and nothing else. He was so tired. Tired from grieving, from fighting, from wandering around, completely lost and alone.

The GIW got a lucky shot in. Danny went down. He woke up, still ghost, somewhere white. He'd trained himself not to have to turn back. He was grateful he did.

The GIW studied him. Danny did not have the energy to fight back. The will to survive. Curled up in his cell, bloody and becoming less human with every passing day, Clockwork finally intervened.

He could not let the future High King wither away into nothing.

With Nocturn's help, he whisked him away. His world was dying anyway. With no one to maintain the portal, it would soon overload and explode. The radiation would kill all life on Earth, leaving nothing behind, and taking with it the potential for new life. One world among infinite realities meant nothing. But Danny, as High King, is a singularity. A unique existence, only found in one reality. Clockwork, for the sake of everything that lives and dies, could not let Danny fade away.

Danny slept at the Far Frozen, dreaming of his family, his friends, and the stars he would one day rule over. He healed, wounds knitting together into scars and fractured core slowly, ever so slowly, repairing itself. A future Ancient, bound to protect all that is and will be, was bound to be very badly hurt from such a loss.

Clockwork only wished he could have done more, but to remove Danny too early would have spelt disaster worse than the deaths of billions. This boy would someday be someone he'd proudly call his grandson. Seeing that future alone was enough to make his own core ache for the young one.

The Infinite Realms wept for its child, still but a babe yet having suffered so much. It embraced its future King, blessing him with its loyalty and adoration. The ghosts of the realms, spread far and wide over distant realities, timelines and worlds, felt the loss too.

Danny healed, unaware of how loved and precious he was to so many - how far he was from alone. The dead's sudden quiet unsettled many. Enemies froze in the silent mourning, animosity forgotten. Raging wars came to abrupt ends. So many, unable to bear the ever-reaching, unidentifiable pain in the air killed themselves. Good, kind people cried alone.

Magic users, like Constantine and Zatanna, hid, waiting out the Infinite Realm's despair for its child. No one spoke of it, for fear of disrespecting the dimension between dimensions. But they hid, and they waited, and they couldn't help but worry for themselves and everything and everyone else.

Danny got a lot of visitors. Ancients, regular ghosts, crowded around his bed, gifting him blessings and support. Danny slept, he healed, and his world died, taking with it all he'd known. He wouldn't remember or know of any of this when he woke - even the memories of his pleasant dreams will have left him. He'll awaken and think himself entirely alone.

But he'll know, someday.

Clockwork will make sure of it.

---

Danny doesn't know where he is or who he is.

He has a vague idea. His name. His life and his death. But so much is so distant, like impressions on sand, washed away by the ocean. He knows he should be bigger. He knows this isn't home. He knows there is no home anymore.

He knows there are people he misses, but he doesn't know who they are or where they've gone. He knows so little yet so much. White walls and orange hair, green (toxic, writhing green) and hazmat suits, white and black and orange and blue. Expensive, Packers-branded cologne, burning flesh, the scream of an alarm and laughter and fear and hope and love and pain and loss. Disjointed flashes, snippets of another life.

And this isn't familiar - this city and these people. These crowded, filthy streets aren't home, but there's no home anymore so of course they aren't. And maybe Danny should be afraid. He doesn't know where he is, or how he got here. There are people, so tall, walking around him not sparing him a glance. It's loud and smelly and so much to process all at once.

But Danny doesn't care because he's so tired, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep the day away. But he doesn't have a home, so obviously he doesn't have a bed either. He looks around for somewhere else to sleep, rubbing at his chest subconsciously as he does.

There, a building, on the other side of the road. The windows are tinted, but the doors open and Danny, through the crowds and passing traffic, catches a glimpse of what has to be a couch. Maybe the people that own the building will let him sleep on their couch for a little bit.

So he crosses the street, sticking close to the legs of some lady with skinny heels that go tap-tap-tap so the cars don't go because they can't see him. The lady turns to go a different way after but it's okay because Danny is in front of the building now.

He pushes the door open and slips inside. It's quieter inside, and warmer. Danny wasn't cold outside but in here there's a nice heat that makes him feel even sleepier. He looks around at the fancy chairs and potted plants and lights, and is happy to see there are couches. Long couches, with lots of pillows and space for him to spread out.

He walks up to the desk. He's too short to see over it, and it makes him kind of angry because he's sure he's supposed to be taller. But he figures maybe he remembers wrong because people don't just shrink. Except, he's a halfa so maybe ghosts do?

"Hello?"

There's a lady here too, behind the desk, but unlike the one he followed across the street she has short, curly hair. Danny wonders if she's wearing skinny heels too. Leaning his head back, he can see her look up, glance around, and then look back down.

Danny pouts. Did she not see him?

"Hello?"

He waves an arm this time, reaching as high as he can to catch her attention. She finally sees him, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, sorry! Hello." She has a nice voice.

"Your voice is pretty."

She smiles, and Danny decides her smile is nice too. "Why thank you. You have a pretty voice too. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Can I please sleep on your couch? Just for a little bit."

"Of course you can. Would you like a blanket? I could fetch one for you from the staff room."

Danny shakes his head. "I'm okay. Thank you."

"Alright. But if you change your mind, do tell me."

"You're very nice."

"Thank you, but it's really no problem. Not much to do today anyway."

"You should sleep too then. Sleep is good."

She giggles. "That is a very good idea. I just might take your advice." Danny nods. He has lots of good ideas. "Okay. I'm gonna' go nap now. Bye-bye."

"Sleep well."

There are a few couches, and for a bit Danny's not sure which one to sleep on. He chooses the one with the most pillows. It's very comfy, and the pillows are nice too. He puts one under his head and hugs another, curling up around it. He falls asleep in seconds.

When a toddler with black and blue eyes asked to sleep on one of the couches on in the reception hall of Wayne enterprises, May had assumed he was one of Bruce's boys. He certainly fit the type Gotham's favourite playboy liked to adopt, and it wasn't unusual for his wards to show up out of the blue.

Once she found Tim Drake passed out on the floor under her desk. Apparently, he'd been hiding from Dick who was visiting from Blüdhaven and forgot to bring his coffee with him, consequently falling asleep while he waited for her to arrive so he could ask her to go pick some up for him. That had been an interesting Thursday morning.

On another memorable occasion, Cass, Bruce's only official daughter, and her girlfriend Steph had shown up, said hi, went upstairs, then came back down after about an hour, giggling as they ran out with a wave goodbye. Not even ten minutes later, Bruce himself stumbled out of the elevator, absolutely covered in purple glitter. May remembers raising an eyebrow and asking if Bruce wanted her to have another suit brought in.

He'd ended up collapsing on one of the couches with an exhausted sigh, and said he'd have Alfred pick him up instead. He left a sparkly trail behind him when he walked, and the couch he sat on had to be replaced because, even after numerous cleaning attempts, no one could get the glitter out. He had glitter in his hair for months afterwards.

So, May hadn't bat an eye when the little boy came in. Well aware Bruce had several meetings scheduled that day, she sent him an email saying one of his kids was taking a nap in the reception hall and resolved to look out for the boy herself. Throughout the day, she made sure to check on him often, making sure no one picked him up ran (this was Gotham after all).

He slept soundly for most of her work day, barely shifting. She ended up putting a blanket on him herself during her lunch break and leaving him a water bottle and little snack for when he woke up. She also made sure security kept an eye on him whenever she left for whatever reason.

It was well into the afternoon when Bruce finally replied to her email and asked if his kid was still sleeping downstairs. She said yes, and not long after he arrived on the ground level. He walked up to her desk and asked if his kid had caused her any trouble. She smiled and assured him no.

Then Bruce asked where Tim was.

"Sorry? Tim isn't here today."

Bruce frowned, looking just as confused as she felt. "My apologies. You said one of my wards was asleep here. I assumed it was Tim."

"Oh! No, no, it's not Tim. Well, I don't actually know his name but the little guy has been here since this morning." She gestured to the toddler in question.

Bruce turned around, saw him, and frowned. "He's not one of mine."

"He's not?"

"No. Are you sure he's not an employee's child?" He kept his eyes on the boy, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Yes, I am. Only three employees brought in their children today, and all of them are ten or above. He can't be older than five." She frowned now too, turning to her computer to double check. "I'll send out a company-wide email to be sure. I should have done this sooner. I'm sorry, I was just so sure he was under your care."

"It's alright, May. I'm not upset. I'm just worried about him. When about in the morning did he get here?"

She glanced up, but Bruce was still looking at the sleeping boy. "A little after nine."

"And he's been sleeping all that time?"

"Yes, as far as I'm aware."

"Alright. Thank you for looking after him. I'll take it from here."

"Of course, sir. I'll reach out to you if anyone identifies him."

He nodded appreciatively and walked over to the boy. She watched, frustrated with herself. She's worked as one of Wayne Enterprise's receptionists for over four years. She should have known better than to just assume some random, black haired blue eyed child was Bruce's kid. She should have at least reached out to make sure that was the case.

She sighed as Bruce knelt down by the couch and gently shook the little boy awake, resting her head in the palm of her hand. This poor child. His poor parents. They must be worried sick.

She has to make this right.

---

#dc x dp #dcxdp #danny gets deaged for his own health #bruce adopts him #danny's memories are messed up because he's little #danny wakes up and calls bruce “daddy” cause he looks like jack #bruce has a heart attack #alfred raises an eyebrow at bruce when he comes home with danny #"another one #danny wants to be astronaut #dick tries to adopt danny hismelf but bruce got first dibs #danny is adorable #danny phantom #danny fenton #nasty burger explosion happened #orphan danny

1K notes · View notes

misskirisame · 2 years ago

Text

#it's a really bad night for missing my source material #i hoped a year ago id be feeling better. now we're here and im really not #am i ever going to get rid of this ache. it hurts so fucking much. i just want to see my friends again #it's days like this i want to just uninstall everything social media wise and cut everyone off and then never come back to the internet #like i swear so much of my misery spawns from the people i meet online and how my life is in general #i want a simple life again so badly. back in my home in the woods not really worrying about shit too much #i mean yeah i had issues but god it wasnt like this. it wasnt anything like this.#moments like this also make me hate being a system kinda. not really but also idk i want my own life again. but also idm at the same time #bro idk #we'd all happily live my life from before tbf LOL if i did just go ahead and try to shape things different to make myself happier.. hm yk #idk. idk idk idk. im just unhappy. horribly unhappy. even the fucking modernity of street lights and shit bothers me now.#i hate trying to sleep and hearing loudass cars outside and i hate the artificial lighting CONSTANTLY #it makes me appreciate that we lived in the countryside previously that much more. ya bitch actually had a natural sleep cycle to rely on #and it was like that back home too...#i feel like a fucking 'born in the wrong generation' kid for saying that lmao but yeah take me back to the weird 1800s fantasy world #i hate it here #i vent a lot on this blog i apologise

0 notes

obsesssedblerd · 2 months ago

Text

Birthday Wishes

Synopsis: You, your kids, and all of your friends and colleagues work together to give your husband, Satoru, the best birthday ever.

Pairing: husband! Gojo x f! reader

Contains: Teeth-rotting fluff, comfort, angst but i promise it’s brief, canon divergence, reader and gojo are married and they adopted the first years, reader and gojo also have a baby together, the students being students, yuuji planning a party, everyone is happy bc i freaking said so.

wc: 3.2k

a/n: happy birthday satoru <3 you’re so loved.

likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3 (also, if you want to read the first part where they adopt the first years, it’s here!)

barely proofread, sorry for mistakes.

— — — — —

The first time Satoru felt bothered about birthdays was when he was seven, and he was walking around the city on his own so he wouldn’t have to deal with his annoying trainers. He passed by a park, and he saw a family singing happy birthday to a young boy. He was surrounded by his family and friends, who all looked happy to be there with him. There were presents, a cake that everyone shared, and decorations that the boy loved.

The sight made his heart pinch slightly, and he began imagining how his birthday party would look if the world was perfect and far kinder to him. As he grew older, that pinch on his heart turned into a tight squeeze, an ache that intensified with every minuscule reminder that he truly was alone in this world, no matter what people told him.

Even though he attempted to shove the idea of birthday parties, celebrations with friends, and a family to hug him tight on his special day to the back of his head so it wouldn’t hurt as much, every year on December 7th, he found himself making a birthday wish when it was late and everyone else was asleep.

I wish I could make friends; when he turned eight.

I wish I could have a party; when he turned eleven.

I wish I could have a normal day for once; when he turned fifteen.

I wish I could stop having nightmares about Toji; when he turned eighteen.

I wish Suguru would come back; when he turned twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, and twenty-three.

It was fine. He was the strongest. He shouldn’t feel that way about a birthday. They were stupid and beneath him anyway, right? He’s not like everyone else, even though there was a tiny sliver of something heartbroken within him, constantly screaming about how badly he wanted to be like everyone else.

–

“Satoru.”

The nightmare has the same scene as the others. The crowded street in Shinjuku, Satoru’s heavy breathing as he’s desperately blinking back tears, and Suguru, dressed in black, slowly turning around so his back was facing him.

God, no. Not again.

“Satoru.” Suguru’s tone is dismissive, and Satoru’s feet are glued to his spot on the sidewalk. He can’t follow him where he’s going. He never could. All he could do is watch as his best friend walks away, leaving him and the friendship they had behind.

No. Please.

He knows how this ends, but it still hurts. Around him, the people and buildings start to darken, and the light fades with every step Suguru takes away from him until he’s alone in pitch black. Soon, there’s nothing but a sickening, shadowy silence.

–

“Satoru.”

The voice that calls his name isn’t Suguru’s from the nightmare. It’s soft, feminine, patient, and so full of love. You. He feels fingers tenderly brush against his cheek, and he stirs in his sleep with a small groan.

“Baby,” you call him again. “It's time to wake up.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker open, and he’s met with your smiling face. He looks around the large bedroom that you two share, remembers that life is so, so much different now, and exhales in relief. He sits up in the bed, and he looks over at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Oh, wow, it’s past noon?”

“Well, yeah,” you say with a small, quiet laugh. “We all thought you should sleep in today.” Your hand finds his cheek again, and you lean in so you can kiss his forehead. “Happy birthday, Toru. I love you so much.”

“Oh?” He looks at the clock again to check the date. Sure enough, it’s December 7th.

However, the ache that he’s felt for most of his life wasn’t there. Since falling in love with you, it’s been replaced with a comforting, gentle warmth. For the last few years, he’s actually looked forward to his birthday, because it meant another year and more experiences with you and the family you two made together. More time, more love.

He smiles up at you and hugs you close to him so he can rest his head on your tummy, allowing you to rake your fingers through his snow-colored hair, which was messy from sleeping all morning. “Thank you, pretty girl. I love you, too.”

Once he’s done brushing his teeth and washing his face, you appear in the bathroom door again. An adorable, yet frustrated whine from your side makes him look down, and you laugh, shifting your baby so she’s in front of you instead of resting on your hip. “Someone is a little upset that she didn’t get her morning cuddles from Daddy.”

Satoru chuckles at that, and he takes his daughter from you right as she starts reaching for him, her blue eyes light with adoration and excitement. “Aw, ‘m sorry, princess. I was sleepy.” He rains kisses on her chubby cheeks until she bursts with giggles, and Satoru can’t help but grin, gently stroking the girl’s hair—colored exactly like yours except for a few white strands. “How has your morning been, Riko? Hope you’ve been good to Mommy.”

“She was whining for a while because she didn’t know where you were, but other than that, she was great.”

He carries Riko and follows you out of your bedroom. Like every time he’s in the hallway, Satoru finds his favorite picture hanging on the wall. It was from the evening when Riko was born. Kento was kind enough to take a picture of you and Satoru holding her. The three teenagers you adopted, Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara, were surrounding the bed with teary eyes and happy smiles.

Speaking of.

“Hey, the house is as quiet as the day we moved in,” Satoru says. “Where’s our other three kids?”

“Hm? Oh, they’re taking care of some things at the school right now,” you reply once you reach the living room where the first of many gift bags rested on the couch. You lift it up for him to see, and Satoru gasps excitedly. “Oooh, a present?!”

“Duh, silly. It’s your birthday.” You trade him the present for Riko, and you point towards the notecard that was taped on the gift. “That’s a clue. When you’re done opening that, get dressed. You’re going to be going on a little scavenger hunt for the rest of your gifts.”

“Oooh, interesting. Can I teleport?”

You frown, and Riko cosigns with an adorable pout and whine. “Absolutely not. That takes the fun out of it.”

Satoru scoffs with a roll of his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. He starts opening the present, and you sneakily open your messages to text one of your sons.

You: We’re about to leave the house. It’s 1pm right now. Do you think you guys can be done by four? I’ll do everything I can to stall him.

Yuuji: 100%. We got this! :)

— — —

“Alright, everyone!” Yuuji calls out to the rest of the group. “Mom just left the house with Dad. We only have about three hours to get everything there and set up! Everyone ready?”

“All ready,” Yuuta replies as he places three more bags full of party supplies in the back of Kento’s car. “Ino is with Kugisaki and Inumaki right now. They’re at the bakery grabbing the cake.”

“I bet you lunch tomorrow that someone here is eventually going to drop the cake.” Yuki chortles.

Maki snickers as she loads a box into the trunk, using her free hand to ruffle Yuuta’s hair when she passes him. “I agree with her. There’s always some type of tragedy when setting up surprise birthday parties.”

“Ladies, please. Let’s not speak that into existence,” Choso says. “I heard that [Y/N] spent quite a bit of money on that cake.”

Next to Yuuji, Megumi taps his shoulder to get his attention. “Do you think he used his Six Eyes to see the presents we hid in the library?”

“Well, Mom said he woke up a bit late. He had to get ready before starting the scavenger hunt she set up, plus Riko’s an adorable distraction, so I doubt it.”

Megumi nods, then peeks at his phone. “Okay, got Mom’s location. They’re about thirty minutes away from home. Now’s our chance.”

“I’ll have Ichiji meet the students at the bakery once they’re ready,” Kento Nanami says, pulling his jacket on to fight the December chill. “I would hate for them to have to catch the subway back.”

–

“Holy crap.” Takuma Ino’s surprised voice echoes throughout the living room where everyone else is setting up for the party. “This is where you guys live now? This place is huge!”

“Yup!” Nobara answers as she takes off her shoes and places them next to the others near the door. “Amazing, right? I truly had no idea how much money Dad had until I saw this place. There’s rich, and then there’s stupid rich.”

Megumi pauses filling up a balloon and turns towards her with a small, amused smile. “I thought you learned that when you spilled something on one of his shirts and nearly fainted when I told you how much it cost.”

At the memory, Yuuji snickers. “Then we tried to shove it in your shirt to hide it.”

Megumi rolls his eyes. “Like the idiots you two are.”

“If anyone is used to how much Gojo likes to spend on clothes, it’s definitely Megumi,” Maki says as she tapes a blue tablecloth down on the table.

“Yeah, he’s known him the longest. Has Gojo-sensei always lived here?” Yuuta asks. “I never heard him talk about a house this size.”

Megumi shakes his head. “He had no intention of living here. This place was a gift from the Gojo clan. He showed me once when I was nine, then never brought it up again. He had a small place near the school he stayed at.”

“Then he fell in love?” Yuki asks with an excited grin.

“Then he fell in love,” Ieiri Shoko replies. She smiles as she points at the portrait of you and Satoru on your wedding day hanging on the wall. “Moved here, adopted those three, then [Y/N] had Riko.”

“Speaking of Riko, why couldn’t she be here?” Nobara asks with a small whine. “I was hoping to hold my baby sister while you all set up for the party.”

Panda scoffs. “You could help, y’know.”

“I did help! I went to go get the cake! Right, Toge?”

Toge, who was helping Yuuta with some decorations, nods with a thumbs-up. “Salmon.”

“Alright, guys, the table for the presents is all set up,” Maki says. “Leave your gifts here.”

“I’ll go grab ours from the library!” Yuuji announces, then taps his older brother on the shoulder. “Could you give me a hand? There’s quite a few.”

“Of course.”

Choso follows Yuuji to the sunroom that you and Satoru turned into your at-home library. He finds the presents stashed in the corner behind one of the bookshelves, and starts to lift a few of them.

“Wow,” Choso breathes out. “This is a lot of books.”

“Yeah, Mom reads a lot. Her and Megumi spend a lot of time here,” Yuuji replies.

Choso helps by grabbing a stack of presents, and smiles at his words. “I’m glad to see how happy and comfortable you are here. All three of you.”

“I still can’t believe it. Like, a part of me still thinks that this is a dream and I’m going to wake up back in the dorms, still attached to Sukuna.”

When Choso’s smile falters, Yuuji changes the subject. “You should come over more often. I know you and Yuki are incredibly busy, but I still want to teach you how to play video games.”

“I’ll make time. And I—”

“OH, NO!!!”

The loud chorus of fearful gasps and screams make Yuuji and Choso drop what’s in their arms, and they sprint down the long halls back to the living room. “What is it?!” Yuuji exclaims.

Toge turns around with a gulp, then shakily points towards the ground. “Mustard leaf,” he whispers. Yuuji looks to where he’s pointing, then gasps in horror, nausea swimming in his gut.

The cake is splattered across the floor.

Ieiri releases a loud sigh to break the silence, and she drags her hand down her face. “And there’s our tragedy.”

Megumi shakes his head. “I blame Maki and Yuki for speaking it into existence.”

“Well I blame Takuma for dropping the damn thing,” Maki snaps back.

“I said I was sorry!!” Takuma shouts, looking as nauseous as Yuuji felt.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!” Yuuji’s heart pounds, and he yanks his phone out of his pocket to check the time. They only have about forty more minutes if they want to be done on time. What now? How can I fix this?

“Okay, no one panic. That won’t get us anywhere.” Kento says. “First things first, let’s get this cleaned up. Itadori, call [Y/N] and let her know what happened.”

“Yeah, he’s right. Besides, this isn’t the first time we had a cake dropped on someone’s birthday, remember?” Yuuta gently pats his shoulder. “It’ll be alright. We’ll clean up.”

Right, he needs to call you. As everyone else either helps clean the mess or continues setting up, Yuuji steps outside where it’s quieter. He waits for a couple of seconds, then presses the green button near your contact to call you.

“Hey Yuuji, is everything alright?” You softly ask him once the line connects.

He swallows hard. “Hi. Uh- Yeah, things are fine. How’s Dad doing?”

“He’s currently showing Riko around the butterfly garden where we confessed that we loved each other for the first time. He’s having way more fun on this hunt than I anticipated. We might be about twenty minutes late. I figured it wouldn’t be too much of a problem, just in case you all needed more time.”

“Well…” He mutters sadly. “We messed up the cake. I don’t know what to do. I can’t imagine throwing a birthday party and not having a cake.”

“It’s okay. Are Yaga and Utahime there yet?”

“No. They mentioned that they’d have to work late so they wouldn’t be able to help set up. They’ll be at the party, though.”

“Good. Have either Kento or Ieiri call and ask them to stop by the bakery closer to our house. Yaga will know exactly what to get, okay?”

The knot in Yuuji’s chest eases. “You had a back-up plan.”

You laugh at that. “If being a sorcerer and being in love with the one and only Satoru Gojo has taught me anything, it’s to always have a plan B, and sometimes a plan C. Everything’s going to be alright. I promise.”

“I’m really sorry about the cake. I know you spent a lot on that. Gosh, I just really wanted everything to be perfect, and—”

“Yuuji,” you sigh. “It will be perfect. He’ll be so excited that you even came up with this plan and brought everyone together for it. You tried your best, and no one got hurt. That’s more than enough. Yaga is going to pick up Satoru’s favorite treat, and we’ll put his candles with that. All of the guests will have the cake he brings. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course, honey. Chin up, okay? Finish strong. I’m so proud of you for planning all of this. It wasn’t easy, but you did it. I’ll see you all soon.”

“See you soon.” When Yuuji hangs up the phone, he’s overcome with a burst of determination. Finish strong. I can do this. He walks back into the house with his head held high.

– – –

“Satoru, did you really have to buy her so many butterfly clips for her hair?” You ask as you hold up the souvenir bag from the butterfly garden. “Riko’s going to be wearing these for the rest of her life.”

“Of course I did. Look how cute they are in her hair!” He lowers his head so he can talk to Riko, who’s safe in your arms. “Right, princess? Of course you need sixty butterfly clips. I would’ve gotten you a million of them if I could.” When the baby giggles in response, he kisses the top of her head.

In his hands are all of the gifts he’s received throughout the day. Clothes, accessories, cologne, a new watch, and a detailed birthday card and love letter from you. Satoru spent the whole afternoon smiling that you’re certain that his face will be sore tomorrow morning.

“This was so much fun, pretty girl,” he tells you as you approach the front door of the house. “Thank you. I’m so grateful for you.” He begins unlocking the door, and you struggle to contain your excited grin. This is it.

“Still wondering what’s going on with Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara,” Satoru mumbles as he opens the door and switches on the light. “I really hope they didn’t take a mission today—”

“SURPRISE!!!”

Satoru stops in his tracks, and the shock is so great that he lifts his blindfold to take all of it in. His colleagues, his students, and his three teenagers are all here in the living, wearing blue party hats and using noise blowers. There’s balloons, a banner that reads, Happy birthday, Satoru, and a table full of presents and cakes.

He looks over at you with wide eyes, then back at everyone else in the room. “A party?” He whispers. “Did you plan this?”

You shake your head. “Actually, he did,” you say as you point at Yuuji, who was standing in the front with Nobara and Megumi. “I planned your scavenger hunt, and he planned your party.”

“I hope you like it,” Yuuji says as he steps forward with his dessert, neatly topped with a few lit candles. “Happy birthday. Thanks for being so incredible. From stopping my execution all the way to adopting me, you really changed my life. You changed all of our lives.”

Your heart swells at the scene, and the crowd ‘aww’s. Yuuji does a small countdown, and everyone starts singing happy birthday to him. Satoru thinks back to the child he was; how he watched from a distance as that boy in the park was surrounded by love, and how he yearned to be in his spot. Now, he is.

Once they’re finished singing, Satoru reaches forward and hugs Yuuji, Megumi, and Nobara all at once. “Thank you,” he whispers to them. “You all changed my life, too.” When he pulls away, he looks down at the still-lit candles, then glances at you.

“Go on, love,” you tell him quietly, wiping away the happy tears that formed in the corner of your eyes. “Make a wish.”

Satoru thinks about his past again, and how he spent all of his birthdays wishing to be somewhere else, something else, someone else. But as he looks at you and the daughter you blessed him with, the three kids he would choose in every lifetime, the students he cared so much about, and his colleagues from Jujutsu Tech that all came here for him, he desperately wanted to stay himself and stay where he is.

I wish for another safe year, full of love, he thinks to himself, then blows out the candles.

#gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #gojo au #dad! gojo #first years #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk au #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x f!reader #gojo satoru x f!reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru au #written by rey <3

573 notes · View notes

irndad · 10 months ago

Note

Hi, I’m so sorry, I searched for request guidelines and must be missing them so if this isn’t something you write I apologize-

Flower prompt heliotrope with Spencer where reader sacrifices herself/or gets shot to save Maeve so Spencer can be happy, even though she’s hopelessly in love with him. 🥹

Little angst, little fluff. You can decide if reader fully sacrifices or just gets really badly hurt and how Spencer reacts.

my dear!! there are no rules yet- i have things i won't fill but thus far the onus has been on me to clarify. i had so much fun writing this- thank you for requesting it!!! requests r open :^) wc: 1.1k

“Is Maeve okay?”

It’s the first thing she says when she wakes up from her hospital bed. Spencer’s shaking, a little woozy too. It turns out that they have the same blood type, and she lost a whole fucking lot of it. He’d been happy to give it to her, although ‘happy’feels like the wrong word to use in this situation.

She had internal bleeding, and collapsed harshly from the gunshot, scuffing her forehead so badly she needed stitches. Comparatively, it’s the least of her worries, but still- Spencer can’t stop staring at it. She’s literally marred by the choice she made to protect him.

Maeve is okay. She’s in the same hospital, but Spencer’s spent about ten minutes with her- the rest of the last 12 hours of his life were spent oscillating between donating blood and praying to a deity he’s not sure exists.

She’d survived. They’d both survived. He should feel relieved- why doesn’t he feel relieved?

It’s a stupid question that he keeps asking himself. Two of the most important people in his life are alive, but still in the moment, her blood spilling over him- the gasp of her breath when the bullet hit her- He’s going to remember the sound of it forever, what it sounded like for her to almost die for someone else. He hates that she’s the type of person to do it. To jump in front of a loaded gun for a woman she’s never met before.

He’s mad at her. He has no right to be- he gets a chance with Maeve now, and that’s all due to the choice she made. And yet- he’s so, so angry at her. Because she could be dead right now. He could never, ever talk to her again. She made a choice that meant that he might have never been able to hear her voice, do a magic trick for her, ever, ever be near her again. How the fuck could she do that to him?

“Yes,” he replies, “she’s okay.”

She nods agreeably, before wincing at what appeared to be an intense ache at her temples.

“My head hurts,” she says, her voice low and endearing, and his heart roars with protectiveness. “Do you think I could have a juice box?”

She’s so sweet- he wants to laugh, in a sad desperate kind of way. This is his favorite person in the world, sitting up shakily and asking for juice, clearly groggy and so endearing. He almost lost her.

“You’re okay too,” he says, “If you’re wondering. You scared us. You had internal bleeding and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood.”

It’s only then she frowns.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she pouts, trying to sit up and speak to him. “But it all worked out, Spence. She’s okay.”

“It didn’t all work out!” Her eyes widen at his outburst, and he feels like scum. Yelling at her when she’s in a hospital bed, taking a bullet so he’d have a chance at romance.

“You said she’s okay,” she says back, slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“You lost blood. You almost died. That is not it working out. You have to tell me you understand that.” He doesn’t know why he’s being so harsh, but he also doesn’t know why he has to explain this to her.

“I know,” she sighs, “I know. But this is the job, and I didn’t have time to get a vest on!”

“Then you wait. You wait. You don’t just burst in-“

“And you would’ve lost the love of your life!”

“What makes you think she’s the love of my life?”

A nurse shuffles by the room and Spencer takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to be kicked out of her room, and on some level he knows how crazy it is to be yelling at a gunshot victim. He pinches his nose, eyes winced in frustration.

She’s been his favorite person by a wide margin for an incredibly long time. She joined the team as a consultant and he remembers the first time he did a card trick for her- the first time he’d fallen asleep on her shoulder. He was so grateful to know her. Still is. In this moment, knowing feels like time slipping out from an hourglass- like it was almost numbered. Their time was almost finished.

Maeve was lovely. Maeve listened and she was kind and Spencer really did like her. He’s glad she’s safe, now. But his best friend, his coworker and favorite person- Spencer thought everyone could tell that he’s been in love with the team consultant since the first week he knew her.

Everything he liked about Maeve reminded him of her.

And she’d jumped in front of a bullet for someone she thought he was in love with. And fuck, maybe he did love her in some way- but whatever ‘in love’ meant with Maeve, this sorrow, the pain of knowing she’d almost been someone he’d have to remember was far, far deeper.

“You’ve never mentioned anyone to me romantically. I’ve known you for years, Spencer. She’s important to you.”

Maeve is. She was. It’s all so confusing now. He has liked someone for years, though. He couldn’t tell her, though. Maeve was a welcome distraction from a love he thought was wholly impractical and impossible to love him back— a love that now he has to witness languish in a hospital bed.

Morgan knew. Morgan would tease him every time Spencer drew a smiley face in purple marker on her coffee cup. He would tell him to just ask her out, and it had always felt so improbable. She’d never go for someone as lanky and uncharismatic as him.

“You’re important to me.”

She has no idea how much.

Her eyes soften at that, and not for the first time, he wants to curl into her arms. He wants to lay next to her in the hospital bed, and feel her pulse beat against bare skin. Feel her pulse and with every beat know that she is alive.

“I know that, Spence,” she breathes out.

Even though it’s not kosher, not necessarily the right thing to do when your not-girlfriend/girl you went on one date with is in the same hospital, but when his best friend opens up her arms for a hug, he ends up doing exactly what he wanted.

The team finds her asleep in her hospital bed, with Spencer asleep in her arms. It feels voyeuristic to look at, but Spencer really, really couldn’t care.

He resolved to tell her that he loves her as soon as she’s healed. With the way Morgan side eyes him every time he ‘helps’ her walk across a room by holding her waist, he’s not sure he’ll last that long.

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

2K notes · View notes

toastnotonfire · 1 month ago

Text

Show Me Yours.

"All the bad dreams that you hide

Show me yours, I'll show you mine"

-Phoebe Bridgers

pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

wordcount: 1453

Summary: You remember the night Daryl showed you his scars for the first time, while you were patching him up from a failed supply run.

A/N: guys i am so sleep deprived and swamped with work and coursework but i really wanted to get back into writing for the new year and revive my page, so sorry if this is absolute dogshit I honestly cant tell!! As always my asks are open and any spelling errors or critiques pls let me know! Happy New Year Lovelies!!

The archer was simply not what many people had preemptively assumed. He shouldn't be defined by his exterior or the way he lashed out when threatened, like a wild and dangerous wolf caught in a snare, because it's simply just not him. You know that better than anyone else.

You remember the night he dropped his walls to you, back at the prison, which felt like a lifetime ago; it might as well be.

It was storming badly outside; the wind howled and thrashed against the prison walls loudly, drowning out the sounds of walkers ravenous growls, yet the noise couldn't drown out your incessant worrying for the archer who had set out earlier that very day.

The rain seemed to pick up in momentum every time your brain screamed the different possibilities to itself. You couldn't sleep. You wouldn't until you knew he was safe and sound.

Some god might have been listening that night, he might have taken pity on your poor mortal soul for all that you'd lost, maybe the higher power who sent him back to you knew you'd need him yet. The sound of the large prison gates being pulled open was the sweetest music to your ears.

You remember racing out towards the gates to greet him, your joy faltering slightly as you took in his sorry state, soaked to the bone from the unrelenting rain and some gashes that decorated his cheek and arms, but alive nonetheless. Breathing is all you can ask for in this unforgiving new world. You know that now, more than ever.

That night you took him up to your room, the small cell in the furthest corner, which you claimed the first night you all fought your way into this block, although you didn't actually sleep in it for a good while. The fear overpowering your exhaustion. You can't really remember the cell walls anymore. The memory slipped from your brain slowly the more places you sought refuge in throughout the years.

You had walked him in slowly, closing the curtain behind you to conceal you both behind a screen. It almost gave the illusion of safety, being in a little room like that, secluded from prying eyes.

"Are you hurt badly?" you asked him quietly, grabbing a small towel and filling a bowl with some lukewarm water.

He shook his head from left to right, eyeing you warily as you lowered yourself to sit next to him with the now damp towel, gently dragging it up and down his bare arms to clear the grime away, your movements featherlight as you ghosted over a gash on his arm. A silence laid between you both, heavy but not exactly uncomfortable.

"Where else are you hurt?" you whispered, breaking the fragile silence, Daryl seemed to go ridgid at the question, staring straight ahead, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, a habit you had observed from him since way back at the quarry.

After a few long seconds in silence Daryl gently makes a move, removing the soaked leather vest, which fell to the ground with a wet plop, and slowly unbuttoning his dark grey shirt to reveal his back to you.

You held back a shocked gasp as you took in his back, long deep scars stretched across his back, colouring him in deep purples and reds. The scars have ragged and angry edges, and your body nearly ached at seeing them, mirroring his own pain in yourself. There was a new cluster of gashes where he must have skinned his back falling today. You gently shook yourself for pausing so long and sprung back into tending to his wounds. Thinking better than to acknowledge the blatant vulnerability in the moment for fear of scaring him off.

You reached out slowly to press the damp towel to his back, wishing desperately to somehow absorb the years of pain from his body, to take it into yourself and erase this past from him. However, as much as you wanted it to be possible, it wasn't. So you had to make do with easing the pain of his newest wounds, hoping to god you could convey the affection you held for him.

You cleaned his wounds with the utmost care that night, gentle movements that ensured the sting of the antiseptic was numbed, as you contemplated breaking the long, vulnerable silence.

"Daryl?" you had whispered attentively, the end of his name lilting up into a slight question. You weren't exactly sure what you were going to say yet.

"It's fine" He replied quickly, practically cutting you off, his tone gruff and almost defensive.

"it's not... it doesn't have to be fine" You whisper back, a small correction, desperately wanting, needing him to know that you cared.

The silence afterwards was long and painful, you were scared to move in case he snapped out of it, snatched his shirt back and left. in case he never spoke to you again after this, in case you pushed too far, crossed some line, some barrier he had.

What happened next was what you had least expected at the time. His shoulders, imperceptibly, started to tremble. it was such a slight movement that you could have missed it had you not been paying such close careful attention to the man before you.

You lay your hand carefully on his shoulder, offering him the slightest physical reassurance, the movement unsure and hesitant. You gave him space and time to flinch away, to turn sharply and tell you off before leaving.

But he didn't go. He didn't snap or shout or push or shove.

You kept your hand steady on the archer's back, slowly leaning forward to wrap your arms around him carefully, slow and steady in a deliberate effort not to startle him. After nearly a year in his company you had learned that Daryl startled easily, lashed out quick, and now you were beginning to understand the root cause. You cursed yourself for not seeing the signs sooner, for resenting his attitude in those first months, for arguing when he pushed you away.

It made sense now, and it broke your heart.

He let out a broken, shaky sigh as your arms wrapped around him, his breaths coming faster and irregularly as he finally let every defense crumble. In that moment nothing could have pulled you away from him, nothing at all. You were consumed by the need to comfort him, to soothe his aches and pains, to take the unbearable weight off of his shoulders.

After what felt like an eternity, and simultaneously not nearly long enough, the archer finally spoke.

“S’a hell of an ugly sight” He mumbled, his voice uncharacteristically broken, soft.

“No. no it's not… it… you could never be.” You whispered back, your voice hushed and gentle. You pulled back, gently beckoning him to turn to face you, desperate to tell him to his face.

“You're perfect, scars and all.” you whispered, grabbing his face up in both hands, urging him to believe, to understand. He just stared back stunned, his eyes searching yours long and hard. For a fleeting moment you were worried you had once again overstepped, that he would push you away and leave, running from you and the prison walls.

All doubt left your mind when he leaned forward, the horrific world surrounding you was suddenly forgotten as his lips met yours in a soft, gentle manner. It caught you off guard before you softened against him, giving in to the magnetic pull between you both. The world turned off around you, the horrific, awful things you'd seen, and done, together became irrelevant as he pulled you in. Your hands stayed cupped around his jaw as your other went to tangle in the hair as the back of his neck.

When he finally broke the kiss, he leaned back to give you a long, meaningful look, his eyes taking in your facial features, your short and rapid breaths mingling with one anothers in the inches between both your faces.

The storm raged on outside the prison walls, but the threat that night had been swiftly forgotten as you curled up in the Archers arms, so naturally it was as if you had been doing it your whole life.

That night will never leave your mind even now, when youre looking at him from across the room in your apartment in the commonwealth, watching him chasing RJ about the house as laughter fills the air, or when you're standing in the doorway, listening to him read to Judith.

It was the night he dropped his guard, the night he was brave enough to rip down the walls he had built to keep you out. The night he became yours.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #twd drabbles #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon imagine

315 notes · View notes

revelboo · 4 months ago

Note

Found your blog by chance last night and I gotta say I love the way you write, especially for Starscream. You’ve found yourself another eager follower ❤️

Thanks! I mostly started this as a place to dump the silly, little scenes that pop into my head. I was honestly a bit surprised that people seemed to actually like my nonsense ramblings.

Everything is Alright pt 7

Starscream x reader- fear

• As the silence sinks in, you realize it’s over and the other two are gone. The servos carefully pinning you to his chassis are trembling as badly as you are. An uncontrollable, teeth chattering shaking. Because this Starscream is a stranger. You’d thought you’d figured him out. That you knew him, but how can you? You don’t know him and you have no idea what to expect. And you’re scared.

• The red haze of rage slowly ebbs, leaving him only exhausted. He’d always prided himself on thinking things through. Having a plan. Seeing your tiny form helpless in Skywarp’s hand had shattered his careful indifference. It shouldn’t have. Skywarp was right, he shouldn’t care because you are just a human.

• How long has it been since he’s had anything that was truly his? Moving from battlefront to battlefront, the only permanent thing was how impermanent everything was. The harder he’d tried to hold onto anything, the faster it had slipped through his servos. But he still hadn’t been able to let Skywarp destroy the one good thing he has.

• Shifting you in his hold, he carefully uses the tip of a servo to tilt your chin up. Trying to tell if you’re hurt or not just reinforces how little he knows about humans. About you. All the things he’d never asked or cared about. One of your little hands lifts to touch his servo and he can see the fear in your eyes. Fear of him?

• It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Guilt is right on its heels as he runs a servo over you wondering if any of your tiny bones are broken and if he’d be able to tell if they were. Yes, he’d stopped Skywarp this time, but he can’t watch you all the time. Can’t keep you safe all the time.

• But he can’t let you go, either, because then he’s alone again. And he can’t stand the thought of going back to that lonely isolation. Sinking to sit on his berth, his wings droop slightly as you offer him an uncertain smile as if to comfort him. “Scrap,” he growls, head falling back to stare at the ceiling because he knows he won’t do the right thing and let you go to protect you. He’s far too greedy for that.

• Holding your fragile body, he thinks of the tiny, little birds of this world. Delicate, impossibly beautiful things that seem like they shouldn’t exist as they fly. He’d tried to catch one once. Tried to cage that beauty in his servos and its little heart had gave out as it battered itself against his hands. He’d only wanted to better see it, not kill it. But the outcome was the same. Are you doomed to that same fate, to struggle to be freed until you can’t?

• “Do you despise me?” He doesn’t mean to ask and he can’t look at you while he waits on your answer, because even if you do, he won’t let you go.

• You’re silent staring up at his face turned away from you. Sometimes you do despise him, but others you pity him. Ache for that loneliness you hear layered in his words, badly buried in sneering condescension. “No,” you say finally, not really the truth or a lie. Both. Neither.

Previous Next

#transformers #starscream x reader #idw starscream

313 notes · View notes

dilfstar · 6 months ago

Text

daddy dearest

realdad!leon x daughter!reader 3k words. warnings ! incest, forced ddlg, infantilization, slight coercion, drugging, fingering, oral (f), piv, daddy kink, loss of virginity, creampie notes ! mega super awesome thank you 2 @localkiss for the idea and so much of this... wouldn't be able 2 do it without U i love u 🙏 ignore how fast the pills kicked in... just go w it ☹️

You were old enough to move out, get a job, live on your own, be an adult. But he had other plans. What kind of father would he be if he let his sweet, innocent daughter out into the cruel, harsh world? Where people could get you, men could grope you, ruin you! Just the thought of it made his skin crawl…

Leon made sure you stayed home, safe, and tucked away in your childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted in a light pink. Though, the decor was more reminiscent of a 5-year-old's room. Toys and coloring books were everywhere, with stuffed animals watching your every move. Yikes.

All of your old clothes were thrown out, too mature for his liking. What? Was he supposed to let his little girl wear next to nothing around the house? What if he had company over! His friends would eye-fuck you into the next century!

It wasn't like you didn't try to fight it or leave. You just couldn't. He put stuff in your food. You know he does. But how are you supposed to stop him when you can barely walk long enough to get to the bathroom on time? Your legs were turned into useless sticks from all the pills he snuck into your food!

He lived in some kind of delusion. Some made-up world where what he's doing to you was good for you, saving you. Fucking freak! You're his daughter! Not some random girl he met on the street, not some fucked-out whore he picked up from a bar. His child, his own flesh and blood. What kind of dad fucks their own daughter?

A good one! At least according to his definition of the term. A good dad should fuck his daughter’s brains out, leave her full of cum and barely conscious. It's his right. He deserves this after all the years taking care of you!

He didn't really care how you felt about the situation. Why would you be thinking about it in the first place? You're just his dumb little baby, too high to even eat on your own. You needed Daddy for everything. You needed him to feed you, change you into your cute little outfits, bathe you, fuck you until your body gave out.

He ruined you. Leon took and took and took until you were nothing, just a doll for him to use and abuse with his twisted fantasies. He was a sick, sick man. A sick, twisted man you still loved. More than anything in the world. How could you possibly hate him? He's your daddy! He's just looking out for you.

It all happened so fast. Starting from a simple movie night with your dad. A few too many beers making you a little too needy, clinging to him like you did when you were little. The way you rested on him, used him as a pillow. Oh, it made his heart squeeze!

Your voice was so soft as you cuddled up to him, mumbling Daddy over and over. Leon raked his hands through your hair as you laid your head on his lap, so, so close to his dick. The way you wiggled around so much made it so difficult for him to keep it together. Such a tease, just like your mother.

Maybe that's why he loved you so much. You looked just like her, after all. Same hair, same nose, same lips… He needed you. He needed you so badly that it hurt. His cock ached, craving something warm around it. Something tight. Something perfect, like you.

You would be the best thing, right? I mean, you’re literally made just for him. Meant to be used as his personal fleshlight. The thought of any other guy touching you made him sick to his stomach. He deserved to be the only one! That's when it all clicked inside his head—the perfect plan coming together.

Leon carried you up to your old room, setting you down on the twin-sized bed like a princess, tucking you in with a gentle kiss on the lips. You tasted so sweet, like the strawberry chapstick you always put on. “My beautiful angel… All mine…”

He planted another kiss on your forehead before leaving, running down the stairs to the garage to get some boxes of your old toys and clothes. He had to get everything set up while you were asleep, so you could wake up to your (his) dream!

Your head was pounding the next morning, the sunlight coming in through the window not helping. The sudden attack of pink woke you up instantly. Every single inch of the room you were in looked like a little girl's dream come true. The number of stuffed animals and dolls around you made your eyes burn.

You looked down at the outfit you were wearing, a shocked gasp falling from your lips. What could've possibly happened last night for you to be wearing something straight out of a Justice catalog? In what world would you willingly put on something this childish?

The door opened, revealing a smiling Leon carrying a tiny cup in his hand, a few pills in the other. “Hey, sweetheart… ’m glad you're awake. Was starting to get worried! Here, I brought you some medicine. Should help with your headache…”

He handed them over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as he watched you swallow the pills. His stare was focused directly on your body, as if he wanted to pounce on you and attack. It all felt so off, so nauseating. Why was your dad staring at you like a piece of meat? Why did you wake up to all of this?

The room started to spin, your vision blurring as your head hit the pillow behind you. Everything felt so hazy, like a fog rolled into the room, blocking all of it from your view. “Dad… Daddy… What’s happenin’...?”

Leon crawled over to you, pulling back the fluffy comforter, revealing your bare legs underneath. He had to bite back a groan; the sight of you, his daughter, so vulnerable made him feel crazy. His hands moved up your legs slowly, inching towards your inner thighs, pulling them apart to reveal the pink and white polka-dot panties covering your core. He leaned in, inhaling your scent like it was the antidote to an illness he'd been suffering from forever.

“Shh… Just rest… “Daddy's here.” He mumbled, his breathing shallow and fast. His fingers looped underneath the waistband of your panties, gently pulling them off and pocketing them. He needed something for later!

He poked and prodded at your cunt, smiling like a perv at how perfect you looked. The light touches, mixed with his soft breaths sent chills down your spine. Your hips bucked as he brushed against your clit, disgust immediately washing over you. Why was he touching you like this? Why did you like it?

“Need t’see if my girl is a virgin… Make sure she saved herself for me…” He placed his thumb on your clit, pressing down gently, groaning at the way you shuddered from the slight contact. This shouldn't be turning you on. He's your dad, for crying out loud!

He spit on your pussy, eyes twinkling as the glob of saliva dripped down your slit. His fingers moved down to your hole, mixing the spit with your juices as he pushed a digit in. He started with slow, simple movements, soon adding another finger, and then another.

They moved inside of you so painfully slowly that you wanted to scream at him to move faster! But whatever he gave you earlier made your tongue feel so heavy, your arms and legs felt like 40-pound weights were tied to them. All you could do was let your dad tease you like some jerk.

“Seems like you did… You did so well… I think you deserve a reward, yeah?” He pulled his hand away, causing a small whimper to escape from you. He stared up at you so sweetly, as if you were a princess awakening from a years long slumber.

Leon leaned down, immediately diving into you. His nose bumped against your clit as he ate you like a starved man at a buffet. His tongue thrust inside of you, lapping at your wetness like an animal. He groaned into your cunt, loving the way you tasted. If he was on death row and got offered his last meal? It would be you.

“‘m close… So close…” You whined, desperately trying to squeeze your legs around his head, still feeling too fuzzy to move a muscle. All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and move your head, your body feeling too much like it was encased in cement. How were you already so sensitive? It’d barely been 5 minutes, and you were this close?

The room felt like it was spinning again; all of your nerves felt like they were on fire. Pleasure shot up your spine, exploding in your head like a fireworks display. The word Daddy fell from your soft lips like a mantra. Your mouth could only form the one word, your brain filled with thoughts of him. Your breath hitched in your throat as you came, eyes shooting open and rolling to the back of your head. “S’too much… Too much! No more…”

He sat you on his lap like usual, grabbing a spoonful of whatever mushed-up food was on the pink plate in front of you, bringing it to your mouth while making airplane noises. Your mouth fell open like usual, allowing him to shove the head of the spoon in. He wasn’t a bad cook, no. He was just weird. Weird for making you act like a little girl at your age, weird for turning you into a toy.

You just wanted your old life back, when you had friends and other people to talk to. Acting like a kid wasn’t exactly the most fun thing a girl could do. Though you didn’t necessarily hate some of the attention he gave you. How fucked up is that? Liking the way your own dad touches you? What kind of sick freak acts like- Oh. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

He frowned at the way you denied the food, the dull look in your eyes. Why couldn't you just be good for him and eat it? Why did you always have to fight him on this?

The plastic spoon hit the plate, food flying off it onto the table. His hand moved to your face impossibly fast, fingers digging into your cheeks, squeezing them together as he turned you to face him. “What did I say about acting bratty, hm? No treats for disobedient little girls.”

His grip on you was bruising, his nails digging into your skin, sure to leave crescent-shaped marks. The way he stared into your eyes terrified you. Anger hiding behind his blue irises. He was pissed. He was beyond pissed. Why couldn't you just listen?

“I told you not to do this again. Remember what happened last time? Y’wanna do that again? Sure seems like you do…” Your eyes widened as memories of that night flashed through your mind. The bruises he left all over, the red marks on your ass—how you couldn't sit properly for a week! The threat made you curl into yourself on his lap like a small child being yelled at for stealing from the cookie jar.

He released his grip on you, patting your cheek lightly with a sickly grin. Leon pulled down on your chin, opening your mouth enough to shove the spoon in again, making sure you swallowed the food. “Now, there's a good girl… So good for Daddy, yeah?”

He held onto your jaw as you ate, making sure you couldn't refuse him more. What kind of daughter disobeys their dad? Bad ones. What happens to bad daughters? They get punished.

His punishments were cruel, just meant to be pleasurable only to him. Spanking you with his belt, tying you to your bed, taking away your toys. His favorite was fucking you until you passed out! The way your eyes fluttered shut, how you went limp in his arms. God, he loved it. He loved how scared you were of him, the look of pure fear in your eyes was enough jack-off material to last for weeks!

His fingers curled inside of you, squeezing against the spot that made you see stars. Your head was spinning. Every inch of your body was on fire. “Daddy… I can't do any more… Please!!” You squealed, crushing his wrist between your thighs.

Your hands gripped the pink sheets beneath you for dear life, holding on as if you were about to fall off the side of a building. Bliss shot up your spine, filling you with a feeling of delight and pure disgust. All because of your dear, sweet father.

He smirked down at you, the sight of you writhing underneath him sent all the blood to his cock, the pajama pants he was wearing suddenly feeling a little too tight. “That's it… There's my girl… Y’think you're big enough to take me yet? Think you're ready for me, baby?”

Yes, God, yes! You wanted to scream it, let the world know you wanted to get fucked by your dad! But sadly, all you could do was nod. You looked like a stupid bobblehead toy, silently begging him to rail you into the next universe. None of it mattered when you had him, though.

He chuckled at how enthusiastic you were, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on your lips, tongue rubbing against your bottom one, asking to be let in. You deepened the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around his neck, pulling him in close. His hand left your soaked cunt, wiping itself on his pants before moving to the back of your head. He slotted himself between your legs, rutting against your heat as he made out with you.

His free hand snuck down to his pants, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to pull his dick out. Leon pulled back from the kiss to look down, smirking at how wet you were. He looked up at you for a moment, a sympathetic look in his blue eyes. “This is gonna hurt for sec… Promise I'll be as gentle as I can…” And with that, he slowly pushed in. His head fell at how wonderful you felt around him, like you were already shaped perfectly for his cock.

“S’okay… I’ve got you.” The stretch absolutely burned. It felt like you were in some medieval torture device. At least the drugs he had you doped up on dulled some of the pain…

He moved his hand back to your clit, thumb moving in small circles, trying to make it at least a little more pleasurable for you. He pushed and pushed, inching in slowly until he was buried to the hilt inside of you. His chest heaved as he caught his breath for a moment, the whole situation now overwhelming him. “I’m gonna move now, ‘kay?”

With a small, comforting smile, he pulled back, shoving into you all at once. His thrusts started slow as you adjusted to his size, trying to be careful with you, terrified to hurt you. How could he live with himself if he hurt you without meaning to? Punishments were one thing… But actually harming you? It’d kill him!

Once he fell into a nice rhythm, all rational thoughts flew out the window. The fear of hurting you was gone, he couldn't care less about it now. It was like a switch flipped inside his head. Your walls just squeezed him too perfectly, clamping down on him like a vice.

It all felt so perfect, like it finally made sense. The disgust that was in you melted away at the feeling of him pounding away at you, just using you for what he wanted. It sent your heart into overdrive, the organ beating against your ribcage. Your head dropped back onto the mountain of pillows behind you, cushioning it while you let your father take advantage of you.

He felt like a teenager again, like he did before he met your mother. She was a good fuck, sure, and he did love her, but it just never felt as good as this. Nothing could ever compare to you, to how you felt around him. The way your velvety walls hugged him so wonderfully made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Daddy… Daddy! S’too much… Can't do it… I-I can't!” You whined, shaking your head from side to side like you were throwing a tantrum. You felt too sensitive, his touches too much for your body to handle. The coil inside of you felt like it was about to snap, like it was about to explode! You didn't know if you could last much longer, and neither did he. His pace got sloppy the closer he got, hips stuttering inside of you.

He finally stilled as thick, hot spurts of cum coated your walls, painting them in a milky white. You squeezed around him, cunt refusing to let him go. Your orgasm hit you like a wave, legs twitching around his waist, accidentally pulling him in impossibly closer. You whined involuntarily as he pulled out, feeling too empty inside without him. He almost came again at the sight of his cum dripping out of you, staining the sheet below.

“You okay, baby? Are you hurtin’ anywhere?” He checked over you frantically, looking into your eyes like a madman. All you could do in return was give him a sloppy, fucked out smile. A smile that made all the worry in him dissolve. He crawled off the bed, snaking his arms around you bridal style, carrying you off to the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy dark content #leon x reader #resident evil dark content #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #tw incest

382 notes · View notes

jennifer-jeong · 1 year ago

Text

Fluff | Genshin x GN!Reader What Made Them Fall For You?

Xiao, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Diluc

SUMMARY Headcanons on what makes the genshin pookies fall for you <3

CONTENT Fluff, gender neutral reader, men falling for reader, reader is not traveler but is friends with them, mentions of character's trauma, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOUR NOTES I hope to eventually write about all the men >:) it will probably take a while to get to it but I’ll try to keep each one short to encourage myself to finish them all hehe.

XIAO

I think Xiao would start to fall for you because you see through his tough, mean guy act. You can tell that even though his words are harsh and he’s telling you to leave him alone, he’s just protecting you. You might not see it at first, but as you understand his condition, his karmic debt, you understand him. Your realization makes you feel warm knowing that Xiao is really just an innocent soul who wanted to keep you safe. He wants so badly to never hurt anyone ever again and “repent” in solitude even though he has nothing to really repent for; he was forced to kill by his previous master and his karmic debt only comes from killing the remnants of old gods and absorbing their debt.

You start to hang around him more as a result and, much to Xiao’s dismay, he doesn’t hate it. In fact, he actually enjoys how you reignite the warmth in him, the warmth he hasn’t felt in so long since his fellow Yaksha have passed. But did he want to let you in? Shouldn’t he push you away? He’s been alone for so long, why change that now? He felt like he didn’t deserve to enjoy company again, that he didn’t deserve you and your kindness. But maybe just this time… just once, would he allow it.

WANDERER

I think Wanderer would start to fall for you because you make him feel human emotions like he’s never felt before. He’s always searched for a “heart” in the form of a gnosis, thinking it would make him human and make him feel loved and wanted. But even when he had it, it didn’t feel right. Even now, with his anemo vision, he feels more, but still not what he wants. But with you, it feels perfect. Others would probably describe what he feels as something like “butterflies in my stomach” but since he probably doesn’t really experience physical things like that, being a magical puppet and all, he thinks about how you make his vision glow. When he feels a surge of emotions, it feels like he’s using his vision. It feels powerful, happy, strong, and warm, like how a light breeze feels on a sunny afternoon.

You know about his past, what he did, and how the world wronged him. He’s been so traumatized and can barely comprehend his emotions. So when you reach out to him after he regains his memory and a new anemo vision, you try to help him through his emotions in the gentle way that you do. You’re so soft with him and it makes his vision heart ache. He believes he doesn’t deserve you but you try your best to show him otherwise. As you two get closer, you never really notice, but the wind always picks up just a little bit when he sees you.

DILUC

I think Diluc would start to fall for you because you don’t just see him as “the young and rich son of the Ragnvindr family estate.” You see him for him: Diluc. You see a beautiful soul with a broken heart that has put up walls that he intends to never break down again. Others might think that Diluc is just cold, but you and the others close to him know that no matter how cold he may seem, the pure fire that burns inside him always spreads its warmth to those around him. He’s believed for a while now that barely anyone can see what he’s hiding underneath, that people want him for his money, his property, his material things. But you prove him wrong time and time again. You sweetly say hi to him every time you see him not because you want to put on a facade to get on his good side. You don’t help him break up a fight at the tavern and clean up after because you want a monetary reward. You don’t bake him an adorable strawberry cake for his birthday because you want something back. No, you do it because you care, because you have so much love to give, and Diluc feels so lucky to be a part of your life.

He feels his feelings grow for you as time goes on. He feels you getting closer and he barely hesitates to let you in. You didn’t break down his walls, you politely made a door for yourself to enter and it makes you both laugh to think about it that way. He stays reserved around most others but always holds the door open for you, physically and metaphorically.

|| MASTERLIST ♡ || Thank you for reading! ||

800 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 3 months ago

Note

im under the assumption that requests are open, so uhmmmm

ahem-

can i request Aventurine giving Reader a hug or whatever physical affection, and Reader starts crying because of that? (Reader is crying because it's been a long time since they were last touched/held, and the thought of someone wanting to touch/hold them is very scary. even the sensation behind being touched/held is almost overstimulating, despite how badly they want to be held)

i know my request is, uh, oddly specific ?? hope that's ok with you tho 🧍‍♂️ im one of the few dorks out there that is so touch-starved that i cry when it happens lol,,, it's not that i hate touch, my brain just can't register it.

“If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did”

Summary: After a long time without any physical affection, you’re overwhelmed when Aventurine gives you a comforting hug. The sensation is almost too much, and you break down, finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Aventurine reassures you with gentle words and a steady presence, letting you know he’s there for you whenever you need.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Emotional Overwhelm, Touch Starvation, Reader Crying.

A/N: Don’t worry, Rose! My requests are open, so feel free to drop yours whenever you like! ;) And don’t worry, your requests aren’t weird or anything—actually, they’re cute and wholesome. 🤧🥺 I can also relate to the touch-starved feeling, though I’m uncomfortable with people touching me without consent (trauma). I’d be fine with holding hands or arms, though. :') Hope you enjoy this! And remember, you're valid! 💖🌹🫂 *Sending virtual hugs <33*

Sorry this uh rushed and I didn't edit it properly and got to your request late :')

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the city outside. Aventurine led you in, his gentle hand resting on your back. You felt your pulse race as he guided you to sit on the sofa, his easy confidence steadying you as you took a shaky breath. Tonight, he’d traded his playful banter for a quieter presence. His usual grin softened, and his eyes were filled with something far more tender.

You sat beside him, hands twisting nervously in your lap, feeling that comforting warmth radiating off him. Despite how close he was, you couldn’t shake the distance you felt from it, as if an invisible wall held you back. It was as though you were tethered to a feeling you couldn’t escape—something that had kept you from letting anyone close for so long.

“Are you alright?” Aventurine’s voice was low and gentle, his words laced with concern. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture simple, yet it felt like a landslide of emotion.

And then, without another word, he drew you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. The sudden warmth, his touch, the feeling of his heart beating steadily—it was too much. A wave of sensation hit you, so foreign yet so needed, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision.

You hadn’t been held like this in so long, hadn’t felt this kind of closeness. It scared you, left you trembling in his embrace as the ache in your chest spilled over into silent sobs. Every part of you was screaming that this was wrong, that you couldn’t trust it, that you shouldn’t let yourself need it so badly. Yet Aventurine held you tightly, his presence unwavering, silently urging you to let go.

“Hey… you’re safe here,” he whispered, a hand rubbing slow circles along your back. “I’ve got you.”

You felt his hand press against your back, steady and comforting, grounding you with each small touch. His other hand cupped the back of your head, cradling you as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His words, low and close to your ear, were soft promises that left no room for doubt.

The tears came harder, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his coat against your cheek. You clung to him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as though he might disappear if you let go. Every part of you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying, yet liberating.

“I’m sorry...” you managed, voice muffled against him.

“For what?” He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, were filled with nothing but understanding and warmth. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Your words choked up, and you simply shook your head, a fresh wave of tears welling up. You couldn’t explain it; it was too raw, too deeply ingrained in every wall you’d ever built around yourself. But Aventurine seemed to understand. He stayed, hands gently brushing up and down your back, thumb tracing soothing circles along your shoulder.

And in that moment, for the first time in ages, you felt safe. The warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his hold—it reminded you that maybe it was okay to let yourself be held, to be cared for, even if it was overwhelming. His hand found yours, fingers entwining, grounding you in the here and now.

“Whenever you need this,” he murmured, his voice steady and filled with reassurance, “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise lingered in the quiet, like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. You let yourself lean into him, allowing the tears to finally fall as he held you, the world slipping away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, safety, and an unspoken promise of more moments like this—of a love that was patient enough to wait.

This is so Aventurine 😪💛

#honkai star rail #hsr #x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr aventurine x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #emotional vulnerability #reassurance #established relationship #emotional overwhelm #touch starved #reader crying

152 notes · View notes

neomujinjja · 11 months ago

Text

Come Back Safe

Pairing: Park Chanyoung x reader

Length: 885 words Genre: imagine, reunion, fluff(?)

Warnings: not edited, pre sweet home events, reference to enlistment, vague mention of celebrity treatment during enlistment, mentions of guns, cursing, crying

Synopsis: You and your boyfriend were only supposed to part for a little while for his enlistment. But with the outbreak, you're not even sure of his status. And yet, the world works in mysterious ways.

Note: Because it felt too soon/too close to home to write this for woodz. But hey! sweet home 💃; also jinyoung is insane in the left picture 😵‍💫. I don't know when Chanyoung is said to be enlisted but I assumed it would be some months before the events of Sweet Home S1 happen.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Are you sure you're okay with waiting for me?" Chanyoung asked as he set his bags down. The two of you had just became exclusive; you had been on dates with one another but only decided on your relationship recently.

"Yes, you just focus on getting back to me safely" you told him with a nod and smile. You were scared for him, that he'd be treated badly due to his celebrity status or become hurt at some point during his enlistment. Chanyoung hummed before pulling you into a hug.

"I will be. Promise me that you'll keep yourself safe as well" he said before pecking whatever he could reach. You hit him on the shoulder and laughed.

"What the worse that could happen to me in the civilian world?"

"Just promise me. It'll make me feel at ease."

"Okay. I promise~" You pulled away to place your pinky finger between you. The baseball star snickered as he interlocked his into yours. He pressed a kiss onto your lips with a smile.

"Seal it with a kiss" Chanyoung whispered before pulling entirely away from you. You stood in a slight stupor at his actions, that was insanely smooth. You complained at him, explaining he shouldn't tease you before leaving for roughly two years. The enlisted male only laughed, playfully grabbing your hands to fight you off. The two of you struggling against the other whilst your stomaches began to ache from the fits of laughter. Chanyoung relaxed his arms, allowing you to lean in close to his chest, the two of you successfully out of breath. "Okay, I've really got to get going" he panted as he released your arms and sat to put his boots on properly. You watched as he did so, continuing until he had all of his bags gathered up and was opening the door.

"Be safe, I mean it" you told him, leaning onto the door frame. You knew that it was just bad timing and there was nothing you could do, but you wished you didn't have to be separated from your boyfriend so early on. Chanyoung saluted with a smile before blowing a kiss and heading down your apartment complex hallway. The two of you decided that it'd be best for you not to send him off at the gate to avoid dealing with the news tabloids; meaning this would be the last time you'd see him until his break or a visit.

'Shit!' you cursed in your mind. You had thought that moving early in the morning would prevent you from meeting others. You were especially trying to avoid soldiers, the civilians were bad enough, you didn't need to deal with people with gun access. Hiding behind a pillar, you thought about what your next move would be. The sound of voices caught your attention, you whipped your head in the direction it came from. Listening in to their conversation, you let out a sigh of relief at the their addressing. Watching the two males on the balcony, you decided to head inside the building anyway; any medicine you could get your hands on would do some good in the long run making it worth the risk.

'Fuck' you cursed in your head once again. You hadn't seen the tray behind you; and of course, your elbow bumped it causing it to crash to the floor. You turned your head in the door's direction, praying silently that no one would come to check it out. Though it would be a death sentence to not a noise out in recent events.

"I thought the building was empty?" a female voice asked.

"I'm not sure. Stay here, I'll check" a male voice responded. You heard the female scoff at his words but she didn't make anymore verbal protest. The room you managed to sneak and ransack was barren of any hiding spots. Running a hand through your hair, you closed your eyes with no choice but to accept whatever fate that came. "Who are you?" the male asked.

"Human" was the only thing you said as you opened your eyes again. You were left shocked by the person standing in the doorway. Standing there was Chanyoung pointing a weapon in your face. Your boyfriend was alive, seemingly safe and sound, with a gun trained on you.

"Y/N?"

"Chanyoung?"

The two of you spoke at the same time. The former baseball player lowered his weapon, staring at your figure in similar shock.

"Where have you been this whole time?" Chanyoung exclaimed as he practically threw the gun to the side. You said nothing as he strides closer to you. "Are you okay? Have you been safe?" the male asked. Chanyoung grabbed you, checking over what he could see for any visible injuries. He pulled you into a hug when he didn't find any, his right hand caressing your hair. You brought your hands up, lightly setting them onto the male's lower back. You began shaking as you released tears, one's of relief and frustration. "What's wrong?" Chanyoung panicked as he tried to pull away but you held onto his clothing.

"You're safe. You came back safe, you kept our promise" you whispered in between your sniffles. You ignored your boyfriend's coos as you buried yourself deeper into his arms.

#sweet home 2 #sweet home chanyoung #park chanyoung #sweet home x reader #sweet home imagines #sweet home 2 imagines #park chanyoung x reader #b1a4 #b1a4 jinyoung #jinyoung x reader #jinyoung imagine #b1a4 jinyoung imagine #kdrama imagine #kdrama x reader #kdrama x poc reader

386 notes · View notes

vampykween · 1 year ago

Note

toxic ex(?)husband!simon where he's all alone in his home, wife moved out across the city with their two girls, steps on something on the carpet and its the earring the missus lost a few days ago while moving out. it was a simple diamond stud earring, the pair being a gift from him during date night, once upon a time a long long time ago. he might bawl or lose himself in alcohol. or come crawling back; people change after all, right?

simon would actually spiral so hard over this. he's left alone in a house that's far too big, empty with all the furniture you took, along with all the laughter and joy you and the girls brought to the home. he hangs onto the earring as he storms around every corner of the house as if that'll make his girls materialize right in front of him. he's so fucking angry at himself. he vowed to be better than his father, and sure he doesn't drink himself under the table and smack around his family, but was he really any better?

he thinks about cracking open a bottle of Kentucky, the one you got him for his birthday, even though he's always insisted on not doing gifts (you always got him one anyway). if he drinks away the pain, perhaps it'll ease the ache of losing his family (again, only this time it really was his fault), but then he sees your face flash across his mind and he knew you'd hate for him to drown himself in alcohol; at least he hoped you cared, he wasn't sure if you really did anymore and he can't even blame you.

after he's sufficiently drunk, he decides he didn't even care if he drank himself to death in his now empty living room, he considers calling you. it isn't too late, only half past ten, so he knows you're still up; he's not sure what he would even say though. there aren't enough apologies in the world to win you back, you've made that abundantly clear, but god he misses your voice. the voice that nagged at him, that yelled at him, that kissed him with so much love. how could he have taken you for granted? he knows you'll get onto him about calling so late when it's not about the girls, but he needs you so badly it hurts.

"simon?" he lets out a drawn-out sigh of relief, he hadn't expected you to answer really. he goes to respond, but it feels like every word is lodged in his throat. "si, im tired. i really can't with this," you reply tiredness was evident in your tone. he hoped the girls weren't being too much for you, then again it's not like he was ever much more help when you all were under one roof. the way you whispered out the shortened version of his name made his heart race, perhaps this phone call would go much better than he expected.

he finally finds his voice after a moment, "baby... i miss you," he slurs out. he's not sure what he's expecting you to say back.

"you really have a knack for being too little too late, simon. goodnight, and please don't call me like this again. you don't get to drunkenly pour your heart out to me now." well that was definitely not what he wanted you to say. there's an edge to your voice that, despite the situation, sends him reeling. he secretly prays that this will all be some sick nightmare, that he'll wake up, roll over, and pull you into his arms. except he's awake, standing drunk and alone in a house that no longer feels like home.

#mic answers #mic writes #toxichusband!ghost #toxichusband!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost angst

622 notes · View notes

genderqueerdykes · 15 days ago

Note

Thank you. Genuinely thank you so fucking much. I'm a trans guy who's been scared to talk about issues I deal with as a trans guy because it feels like any time I see a transmasc talking about anything someone or a lot of someones yell at them and harass them for hating trans women. I feel like it's only been getting worse and worse.

And yes, I fully understand that trans women have it really fucking bad, and are the main focus of a lot of IRL transphobia while trans men have moreso flown under the radar. But it seems like online, trans men have become the punching bag simply for being men. People call us evil for our gender.

It's just. Really nice to see someone standing up for us I guess.

I saw punkitt making a similar post and getting some horrific hatred, so I hope you're doing ok <3

hey, you're very welcome! thanks for taking the time to send this ask, i appreciate it

i'm honestly just so tired of watching people treat others like shit just because they've been mistreated. yes society treats trans women like shit. we know this, we're the ones experiencing it. we don't need to push that pain off on to someone else. instead of addressing our pain and tackling it head on, so many trans women and transfemmes are defaulting to attacking men and manhood to try to soothe that ache instead of just dealing with the actual goddamn fucking problem.

it's not okay that we've made trans men feel like they quite literally cannot even fucking talk. and it's not even JUST online where trans men and mascs are the punching bags, either, the fucked up truth about this is that it has bled into real world queer spaces. this is why we're seeing trans men and mascs getting kicked out of trans and queer spaces. this is why we're seeing people openly mock trans men and talk about misgendering trans men in person like as if that's somehow normal. this is happening in real life too it's not just online

i honestly don't give a shit if people wanna get mad at me over this and call me transmisogynistic or whatever. we have fostered an environment where we are telling trans women and transfemmes that it's literally okay to speak FOR and OVER other trans people, and that trans women and transfemmes are the only ones who "truly know" or whatever and it's actively damaging all of our communities. it's hurting people in real time. this isn't progressive, it's just hurting people.

it will never be progressive to assert that women and femmes are incapable of hurting others. even if that woman or femme has it very, very badly, they are still very much capable of hurting others. it doesn't matter how much someone suffers, they still have the capability of hurting others. stay safe out there, take it easy, and remember that you don't deserve to hate yourself for being a trans man. you're not hurting anyone by virtue of existing as a man

#asks #feedback

68 notes · View notes

pedrospatch · 1 year ago

Text

lost on you l a safe haven drabble

series masterlist

summary: You’re missing Joel and a certain mare seems to be picking up on your sadness—or at least that’s what you think is happening when there’s a sudden change in her behavior. Why else would Stella be acting so strange around you?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. angst, horses, and a lil more angst. reader’s pregnancy is lightly being implied, but it has not been explicitly stated yet, only hinted at. no Joel, he is only mentioned in this one. Dina makes an appearance, i threw in some comedic moments to try and balance out the angst. ends with a horsey hug.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: so this is meant to be as a bit of a filler fic before chapter 9 is posted and shit hits the fan. i knew i wanted to do a short drabble that touches on how reader is doing after the confrontation she had with Joel. i also asked people to send in short prompts for the series to do some no pressure writing exercises, and this particular prompt that was sent in was just incredible and i decided to incorporate it. It makes me nervous to post a fic with no Joel in it, but my heart wanted to write it so fuck it, I just wrote it. chapter 9 is almost done and will be posted soon. @eyesneverbeensoblue i hope it’s okay to tag you in this and tell you thank you so much for the idea!

Lately, I’m getting lost on you

I tore your world apart like it was nothing new

every day I’m a slave to the heartache…

Summer slowly, but surely comes to an end.

The days are long, but the nights without Joel?

They’re even longer, at least, that’s how it feels.

You miss him. Oh God, how you fucking miss Joel Miller.

He’s all you can ever think about.

Every second of every minute of every single day.

You miss Joel so much that it physically hurts. Every part of you just aches for him. Aches.

Your insides feel like they’re on fire, and you can't put it out.

The heartache is agonizing, almost unbearable—it’s unlike anything you have ever felt before.

In front of others, you hold it together pretty well. But when you’re alone, behind closed doors?

That’s when you fall apart. Crumble into pieces.

Losing Joel is something you will never heal from. Never.

Traces of himself he’d left behind—would you ever be able to wipe yourself clean of them? Of him? Or would you have to spend the rest of your damn life trying to get over the man who fucking adored the hell out of you and who loved you so unconditionally?

“He misses you, you know,” Ellie says, quietly. She stands beside you and diligently runs a hard, bristled hand brush along Jasper’s side to clear his golden coat of dirt and debris. The palomino is just one of several horses that needed tending to after that morning’s patrol shift. Realizing you’re too busy jotting down notes in Jasper’s handwritten file you keep for him—you kept a file for every single horse in the commune—Ellie clears her throat and then speaks again, louder this time. “He misses you.”

You wince and stop mid scribble.

“Ellie—” you trail off, your throat going dry.

Even though you’d asked her about a hundred and one times not to talk about Joel, Ellie was hellbent on bringing him up to you as often as she could. At first, it seemed innocent enough. She stuck to just letting you know how his recovery was going.

“His shoulder’s healing really well.”

“Donna came over to help with physical therapy.”

“He’ll be back on patrol in a couple of weeks.”

So you’d given her a pass. Besides, you would be a liar if you said you didn’t want to know how he was healing after his injury.

However, Ellie then began to wander into more sensitive and dangerous territory.

“He asked me about you.”

“He was drinking again last night.”

“He looks so fucking miserable.”

You know why she’s doing it.

It’s not to make you feel guilty for hurting Joel.

Hell, she knows that you’re hurting just as badly. She loves you and she loves Joel—the two people Ellie cares about more than anything are suffering without each other.

You hate that she’s essentially been pulled right into the middle of this mess that you’ve created.

Ellie is collateral damage. This is all hurting her too.

“He misses you a lot,” she adds after a minute.

You exhale sharply. Her words feel like a punch to the gut and they knock the wind out of your lungs.

Finally, you look up from your clipboard, turning to her. “Ellie,” you say her name warningly. “Stop it. We’re not going to do this today. Okay?”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbles, placing a hand on Jasper’s side. “If someone was missing me, I think I would want to fucking know.”

You feel the lump steadily rising in your throat.

“Ellie, please don’t—”

“I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!”

The sound of Dina’s voice fills the horse stables.

The teenager whips herself into Jasper’s stall, skidding to a stop in front of you, sweaty and breathless, as if she had just run across the settlement.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!” She apologizes, setting her bag down on the ground. Pulling a scrunchie from the back pocket of her jeans, she throws her long, black hair into a messy bun as she explains herself. “Talia asked me to help her out in the library this morning and I totally lost track of time. And then on the way over here, I bumped into Mrs. Miller as she was walking home from the market and I mean, I could not just let a pregnant lady carry all those heavy bags across town—”

“Dina, breathe, sweetheart.” You hold up a hand to stop her. “It’s okay. As long as you show up, that’s all I care about. Especially since Tommy and Maria moved Logan to patrol duty. That’s another stable hand gone, so I need all the help I can possibly get around here.” Slipping your clipboard under your arm, you glance from Dina to Ellie. The emotions from what had happened just seconds before your niece had run in are bubbling, threatening to boil over. “Listen, I have to go do a routine examination on Stella. Finish up with grooming Jasper. I have a couple of horses that are due for baths—Luna and Bandit. Then it’s feeding time. Got it?”

Dina smiles brightly. “We’ll take care of it, won’t we, El?”

Sensing your urgency to leave, Ellie gives a subtle, small nod of her head. “Yeah. We will.”

“Good. I’ll come check on you girls when I’m done with Stella.” Spinning around on the muck caked heel of your boot, you hastily leave Jasper’s stall and nearly fly all the way down the stables and into Stella’s.

You rush inside, closing the top and bottom half of the Dutch door before sagging back against the wood. You toss your clipboard aside on the floor of the stall and lift both your hands, covering your face as you choke back sobs of pure agony.

He misses you.

As you will yourself to keep yourself from falling apart, you feel a warm muzzle dig lightly into your lower stomach. Dropping your hands from your face, you glance up only to see Stella peering at you with clear and unmistakable curiosity in her big brown eyes.

“Hi there, my gorgeous girl,” you murmur softly to the pregnant mare. A tear slips out from the corner of your eye and you quickly wipe it away with the back of your hand.

Stella lowers her head and sniffs at your stomach, right where she had dug into you. Her ears prick forward and she nuzzles the same spot again.

You shoot her a strange look. You’ve never seen her exhibit this type of behavior before.

“Stella, what are you doing?” you ask, almost as if you expect her to speak and give you an answer. “Why are you being so weird?”

Stella sniffs you again, then nips at the hem of your tank top.

“Hey! Cut that out.” You can’t help but let out a watery giggle as you carefully pull the fabric out of her mouth. Realizing the strange behavior must have something to do with the mare sensing the intensity of your negative emotions, you gently place both of your hands on either side of her muzzle. Inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you slowly exhale it through your mouth before touching your forehead to hers. “I’ll be okay, girl. I’ll be okay. There’s no other choice—I have to be okay.”

An hour later, you’d finished the examination.

Stella had continued to act oddly around you, her behavior becoming more and more peculiar as time went on. You were bonded to her of course—you were bonded to just about every single horse in the commune—and so it didn’t really surprise you that the mare was so in tune with your emotions and could feel that something was off. She was extremely attentive to you as you worked, her eyes never leaving you, not even for a second.

Stella also continued to sniff you, nuzzling you in the stomach any chance she had. For as bizarre as it was, it brought you an off sense of comfort and it made you feel less alone.

“Hey auntie.” Dina opens the stall door, poking her head inside. “Can we come in?”

“Of course.”

She pushes the door open further and walks into the stall with Ellie on her heels. Both of them are almost completely soaked from head to toe.

Your eyes widen. “Um, girls, I’m pretty sure I told you to bathe the horses—not yourselves.”

Ellie lets out a small scoff. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“Bandit wasn’t having it,” Dina chuckles. “But he’s all clean, and so is Luna. We just came in to tell you we’re going to go dry off and change our clothes. We’ll be back for feeding time.” She glances at the mare. “How’s our sweet mama-to-be doing?”

“Good. She’s as healthy as a horse.”

The teenagers roll their eyes, but laugh.

“You’re so lame, auntie.”

“Just a little equine veterinarian humor. My dad used that one on me all the time.” You grin at the memory. “Stella’s doing really well. In about seven or eight months, we’ll have our new baby.”

“Well then, I think someone deserves a little treat since she’s doing so good.” Dina reaches into the bag she has slung over her shoulder and pulls out a crisp, red apple. She walks over, holding the fruit out in the palm of her hand for the horse. “Here you go, girl.”

Stella gives the apple a sniff, then takes it from her.

Usually, she wolfs it down in just a few chomps—but what she does next surprises all three of you. Apple still between her teeth, the mare turns and pushes her muzzle into your stomach.

“Oh shit,” Ellie cackles. “No fucking way!”

“Oh my god,” Dina grins. “Is she—she’s giving it to you?”

Shocked, you lift a hand and delicately take the apple from between her teeth. “Stella, you silly girl! What are you doing?” You hold it out for her. “This apple is for you, sweetheart. Here, take it.”

She tosses her head in the air.

Dina snorts into her hand. “She just told you no!”

“She wants you to have it.” Ellie shoots you a teasing look. “Come on, princess. Take a bite.”

You look at her, then down at the apple, which is covered completely in Stella’s slobber.

“Um, no thanks. I think I’ll pass,” you mutter.

“Auntie, don’t be rude,” Dina jokes. “It’s bad manners to refuse her offer.”

Rolling your eyes at your niece, you turn back to Stella and tell her, “I’ll eat it later. When it’s washed.”

“We’re starting to smell like wet horse,” Ellie makes a gagging noise as she takes a whiff of her shirt.

Dina lifts the collar of her blouse to her nose. “Oh, gross. We are starting to smell like wet horse.” She reaches out with her opposite hand, grabbing one of Ellie’s. She laces their fingers together. “Come on, let’s go change.”

You can’t help but notice the way Dina looks at Ellie—with the sweetest, most adoring little smile.

You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head slightly.

Ellie’s eyes meet yours and she blushes deeply.

If you ever had a chance to give Ellie Williams shit, this was it—but instead, you just give her a subtle wink from where you stand. Her face instantly goes from red to maroon.

“Be sure to be back in an hour for feeding time!” you call as Dina pulls her out of the stall. “I’m not feeding all these horses alone!”

“We will!”

Once the girls are gone, you turn to Stella and wrap your arms around her neck. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up today, pretty girl.”

She rests her head on your shoulder.

You feel more tears coming and hug her harder.

lyrics: Lost on You - Lewis Capaldi

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller series #queued to post

700 notes · View notes