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love-dove-noora · 2 months

Text

Repent.

✩ Tom Riddle x F! Reader

Summary: The one where Tom is confronted by the golden girl of Hogwarts, and he confronts a rather ugly truth. Hatred and desire are very similar things, and Tom can’t tell which one he feels. Alternatively: As Hosier once said “The only Heaven i’ll be sent to, is when i’m alone with you.”

A/N: GRRR WOOF WOOF WOOF

Maybe smut in p2 if people want it?

Songs: Talk - Hozier

The elder Riddle boy found it ridiculous to think he’d be standing here, promoting the very school he had subjected to many terrors, schmoozing with the same snobby, stuck-up wizards and witches for hours on end. His mouth ached from being held in a permanent welcoming smile, and the corners of his lips turned upwards in an uncharacteristic manner.

The role of Head Boy came with countless benefits. For one, he was adored and respected by many, something that was absolutely vital to Tom. Similarly, it also helped preserve his image greatly. No one would question Tom if he was roaming the halls late at night, for he was simply upholding his duties. It became an excellent cover for his now frequent trips to the restricted section of the Library.

There were other less beneficial but still preferable upsides. He got his own room, as the Head boy and the Head girl got their own private quarters. He could be excused from meaningless activities such as the mandatory health education days, if he convinced Headmaster Dippet that his time would be better spent elsewhere. Truthfully, there weren't many negatives to being Head Boy.

Having to spend his valuable holiday time dressed in a rather suffocating suit, promoting Hogwarts as one of the best schools to new prospective parents, was not a part of his role that Tom enjoyed. But if this is the small inconvenience he would have to put up with twice in his one year as Head student, then so be it.

There was, of course, you. That was perhaps the worst part of the job. Having to work alongside you. Tom loathed you, more than he did the average person.

You pranced into the school, having only joined in the 6th year. Within a week of your arrival, the teachers could not stop raving about the prodigy that they had the pleasure of teaching. Your hand shot up before Tom’s, and your marks were almost always higher by 1 damned percent. It wasn’t just enough that you had stolen Tom’s spotlight, no, you made sure you were front and centre in every field. Tom excelled in academics, you excelled in everything. From sports to extracurriculars, no one stood a chance if you were there.

But perhaps what infuriated Tom the most, was that you were nice. People adored you, and you naturally managed to captivate everyone with a sort of charisma that had teachers and students alike stumbling over one another for the chance to speak with you. You had it all, with absolutely no flaws.

Tom didn’t have a valid reason to hate you. With the others, he could attribute his hatred to their foolishness, their stupidity, or their overall incompetence. But you? There was nothing. It was irrational to hate you - the golden girl of Hogwarts, and that was what infuriated him more. It betrayed every rule he held himself to; he always had to be logical and meticulous.

Tom seethed inwardly as he watched you effortlessly charm yet another set of parents, your smile radiant and your words smooth as silk. He couldn't deny your talent or your intelligence, but it grated on him nonetheless. You were a constant reminder of everything he wanted to be but couldn't quite attain.

It wasn't just the fact that you outshone him in every aspect; it was the way you did it with such ease, as if it were effortless for you to excel in every endeavour. Meanwhile, Tom had to meticulously plan and scheme for every bit of recognition he received, always calculating his next move to stay ahead.

His eyes rake down your form, taking in the deep red dress that you wore. No doubt the finest silk draped over your body, a sort of blood red that caught under the dim lights of the chandeliers. Drawing the eye and commanding attention wherever you went, the fabric flowed gracefully around your figure, accentuating your curves in all the right places without revealing too much.

You were undeniably stunning, yet another thing to add to a list of your perfections. You handled the disgustingly leering eyes of the elder Wizards, who came to talk to you, with grace.

A damned Gryffindor too, as though your very presence wasn’t offensive enough.

Gods, he hated you. He really did. Your mere presence was enough to set him on edge, a fire burning through his veins that could never seem to be quenched no matter how hard he tried. He runs a hand through his lightly gelled hair, walking over to the far side of the Great Hall. With the rest of the attendees being otherwise engaged in conversation, he grabs a glass of champagne, knuckles white as he grips the delicate glass stem and drains it in one go. He sets the glass back down and sighs before plastering a fake smile on his face, manoeuvring through the crowd.

As Headmaster Dippet ascended the small stage at the front of the great hall, a hush fell over the crowd. He cleared his throat, adjusting his spectacles before addressing the gathered guests.

"Good evening, esteemed colleagues, parents, and students," he began, his voice carrying easily across the room. "I would like to extend a warm welcome to each and every one of you to our annual open evening here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

The assembled guests murmured their acknowledgements, and Headmaster Dippet continued, his tone warm and welcoming.

"We are delighted to have the opportunity to showcase the many wonders of our esteemed institution to you all," he said, gesturing expansively to the grand surroundings of the great hall. "From our esteemed faculty to our talented students, Hogwarts prides itself on providing a world-class education in the magical arts."

A ripple of polite applause echoed through the hall, and Headmaster Dippet smiled warmly before continuing.

"I would like to take this opportunity to express my deepest gratitude to all of our dedicated staff and volunteers who have worked tirelessly to make this evening possible," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd. "Their commitment and dedication to our beloved school are truly commendable, and we owe them a debt of gratitude for their efforts."

Another round of applause filled the air, and Headmaster Dippet nodded in appreciation before raising his hand for silence once more.

"And now, my dear guests, I invite you to partake in the festivities," he said, his tone lighthearted. "Our talented orchestra awaits to serenade you with their delightful melodies, and I encourage you to take to the dance floor and enjoy the evening's entertainment to the fullest."

With a final smile and a gracious bow, Headmaster Dippet stepped down from the stage, leaving the guests to mingle and enjoy the rest of the evening's festivities.

You look over at Tom and find he’s already looking at you, a shift in his gaze when you lock eyes with him. You see him sigh, and motion to the large area of floor which had been dedicated to dancing. The very face of the school, the two of you step up, and dark green clashes with deep red, the serpent and the lion front and centre. Your hand finds his, cold and unwelcoming, and his other comes down to rest on your waist, fingers brushing against silk.

The melodic hum of the violins echo through the hall, watchful eyes on the two of you. Your steps were hesitant at first. Gradually, as you found your footing, your movements became more fluid, if not entirely harmonious.

“Smile, Riddle. At least make it seem like you’re happy to be here.” You mutter lowly, only for his ears. He clenches his jaw, but ultimately he knows you are, as always, right. A small smile graces his lips, looking down at you as he speaks harshly under his breath.

“I’m not happy to be here.” He snaps, and a smirk tugs at your lips as the two of you continue dancing, harshly whispering to one another.

Tom's eyes bore into yours with a fierce intensity, his jaw clenched in barely restrained anger. Yet, despite the tension that simmered between you, you refused to back down, meeting his gaze with a lazy smirk of your own.

"Is that so, Riddle?" you retorted, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with undeniable challenge. "Because it seems to me like you're doing a splendid job of pretending." You quip sarcastically.

His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with a forceful urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Tom's lips curled into a sneer, his voice dripping with venom as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You think you're so clever, don't you?" he hissed, each word punctuated by a sharp edge of contempt. "But you can't hide your true nature forever, no matter how hard you try. I'm just waiting for the day that perfect facade of yours crumbles.”

Your smirk only widened at his words, a glint of amusement dancing in your eyes as you leaned back slightly, meeting his intense gaze with a challenging one of your own.

"Ah, but dear Tom," you countered, your voice silky smooth despite the tension crackling between you. "I don't need to hide anything. Unlike some people, I don't have dark secrets."

"And what exactly do you mean by that?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear.

You simply chuckled, a sound filled with smug satisfaction as you leaned in to whisper your reply. "Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean, Riddle," you murmured, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, it's not like your plans are a well-kept secret."

For a split second, Tom froze, his eyes widening in surprise before a mask of cold indifference settled over his features. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped, his tone icy as he pulled away from you, his grip on your waist loosening slightly.

“Oh of course not. I’m all the more intrigued to see how it will all play out.” You hum, an infuriatingly smug grin on your face as you look up at him, as bold and blunt as you've ever been.

Tom must admit he’s somewhat suprised. You seemed so demure and polite, he had never expected such directness from yourself.

The song comes to a close, everyone applauding as you meet Tom’s stare head-on, refusing to break away. You go to walk away when his hand wraps around your waist, pulling you back into him with terrifying force as the orchestra begins playing once more, with everyone else joining in.

The sudden tug at your waist caught you off guard, your breath hitching as you found yourself pulled back into Tom. His grip was firm, almost possessive.

"What do you think you're doing, Riddle?" you demanded, your voice tinged with a hint of apprehension as you struggled against his hold.

But Tom's expression remained impassive, his eyes boring into yours with a steely resolve that sent a chill down your spine. "Dancing," he replied curtly, his tone clipped as he held you close, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

He leans in closer, breath fanning against your ear as he speaks.

"You do realize you're playing with fire, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice laced with a dangerous edge.

“I’m not afraid of being burned.” You remark back quickly, meeting his frustrated gaze with a teasing one of your own.

Tom's lips quirked into a sardonic smile at your response, a flash of something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Perhaps you should be," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with a warning tone.

You let go of Tom as the music comes to a close and he doesn't immediately pull you back. You look at him for a second more before tearing your gaze away and disappearing into the crowd.

Silly, silly girl.

Tom pursues straight after you, murmuring half-assed apologies to the couples he shoves past. The serpent slithers through the crowd, far in over his head, desperate for a glimpse of that red.

As Tom finally catches sight of you weaving through the throngs of people, his frustration mounts, fueled by the relentless desire to confront you. Without a second thought, he pushes past the last couple blocking his path and quickens his pace, determination etched into every line of his face.

"[Name]!" he calls out, his voice cutting through the din of the crowd. But you don't stop, your figure disappearing around a corner just ahead.

Refusing to be thwarted, Tom breaks into a sprint, his heart pounding in his chest as he closes the distance between you. Finally reaching the corner, he turns sharply, only to find you standing just a few feet away, your back pressed against the cold stone wall of the corridor.

A smirk plays at the corners of your lips as you watch him approach. "What's the matter, Riddle?" you taunt, your voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Can't keep up?"

Tom's jaw clenches, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface as he comes to a stop in front of you.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

You tilt your head to the side, a mocking smile playing on your lips. "I don't have to think, Riddle," you reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I know."

A flicker of annoyance flashes across Tom's features, but he quickly masks it with a cold indifference. "You may be clever, but you're also reckless," he retorts, his voice icy as he takes a step closer, crowding your space.

"And you're one to talk," you shoot back, your voice laced with a challenge.

Without warning, Tom closes the distance between you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist with a forceful grip.

Before you can react, he's dragging you down the corridor, his steps purposeful as he leads you to the nearest empty classroom. You stumble along beside him, caught off guard by his sudden aggression.

He shoves open the door, pulling you inside with him as your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, fumbling around for a desk as Tom slams the door shut, He turns to you, breathing heavily as he takes a step forward, forcing you to back up into the desk behind you.

“What do you know.” He utters, voice low as he clenches his jaw.

"I know enough," you reply evenly, meeting his intense gaze with unwavering defiance. "I know that you're not as invincible as you think you are. Though you’re certainly trying to get to that point."

A flicker of anger flashes across Tom's features, his eyes narrowing as he takes another step closer, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. "You know nothing," he retorts sharply, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

You should feel ashamed, you should avert your eyes, but you cannot help but feel thrilled at the sight of Tom so angry, a familiar flutter in your stomach as he looks away, his jaw clenched.

The corner of your lips turn upwards into a provocative grin, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip.

Tom lets his gaze stray downwards for one second and he knows he’s fucked.

Completely and utterly done for. He’s fallen for the most stupidly infuriating, brainless, primal emotion of them all. Tom Riddle, who is smart, manipulative, and cunning, has lost his cool because of lust.

How utterly pathetic.

The realization hits him like a punch to the gut, leaving him reeling with a mixture of disgust and arousal. He hates you, despises every fibre of your being, and yet, that only seems to fuel the fire burning inside him.

You remain silent, observing him carefully as you are not privy to his innermost thoughts.

For a moment, there's a palpable silence between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. And then, without warning, Tom's hand shoots out, grabbing your chin with a bruising grip as he forces you to meet his gaze.

"You don't know anything," he hisses, his voice low and dangerous.

You don't have the time to even think of a response because Tom’s lips are crashing onto yours, replacing every single thought in your head with him and him only.

It's more angry than it is anything else, mouths clashing against one another in a punishing kiss. His grip on your jaw is bruising, a stray hand coming down to rest against the curve of your thigh and push you up so you're sitting on the desk.

He kisses you with fervour, as though he’s trying to steal the oxygen from your lungs and snuff the life out of those damn eyes.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer as you meet his kiss with fervour, your lips moving against his with a desperate need that borders on reckless abandon.

“Tom,” You murmur, a gasped plea as your nails dig into his bicep. He pays it no mind, lips coming down to press open-mouthed kisses to your throat.

It's maddening, the way you've managed to unravel him with just a glance, a touch, leaving him stripped bare and vulnerable in your presence.

But even as he loses himself in the heat of the moment, a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminds him of the danger you represent. You know things, dangerous things, secrets that could unravel everything he's worked so hard to achieve. And yet, in this moment, none of it matters.

His rationale and will is eroded to nothing, consumed by the need to possess you fully.

Your hand wraps around his tie, tugging him slightly as you lean back, breaking the kiss. You gaze down at him, green tie wrapped tightly around your hand, and Tom wants to groan at the interruption, though he refuses to give you the satisfaction of doing so.

“Lust is a sin, you know?” You hum, lips slightly swollen and red as you keep Tom in place, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Tom didn’t care. He wasn’t religious. He didn’t believe in God. Tom didn't care about the concept of heaven and hell either. If being with you meant risking damnation, he was more than willing to take that chance.

“So is Lying. Greed. Hatred. Jealousy.” You list, tugging at Tom's tie with each word, pulling him lower and lower until he’s the one looking up at you. You lean back on your palms, crossing your legs as you narrow your eyes.

“Quite the sinner, aren’t you?” You hum, your voice laced with amusement.

Tom is done for, looking up at you with his mind filled with nothing but a visceral need for you.

“Perhaps.” He mutters, his voice strained.

He reaches out for you but you tut, placing a heel on his shoulder as you forcefully push him down, forcing him onto his knees in front of you with his tie still grasped firmly in your hand. The action causes your dress to slip slightly where the slit occurs in the side, revealing a glimpse of your skin so close to Tom’s face that he can’t tear his eyes off of it. A devious grin graces your face, tilting your head as you pull your plush lip between your teeth.

“Do you believe I won’t get into heaven?” Tom murmurs, stupidly playing into this game of yours as he looks up at you.

You laugh, low and mocking as you look down at him.

“Oh Tom, at the rate you’re going at I’ll be the closest you ever get to paradise.”

Tom may have been strong, but he was only human, and mankind was prone to crumble in the face of temptation.

“What do you suggest I do then?” He growls, his voice a low rumble filled with frustration and desire. You smirk down at him, relishing in the power you hold over him, knowing that you've managed to unravel the facade of control he presents to the world. With a flick of your wrist, you release his tie from your grasp, allowing it to fall limply against his chest.

Your heel remains as it is, pressing down firmly on his shoulder to ensure he remains in the same position as you speak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Repent.”

Repentance is not something he's accustomed to, nor is it something he's ever considered. But in this moment, with you holding all the cards, he finds himself willing to entertain the notion, if only to appease the insatiable hunger gnawing at his soul.

@schaebickel @mildlyuninformative @gillyweeds @anti-hero03 @lillywildly @multifandom-worlds

#noora reblogs🕊️

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love-dove-noora · 2 months

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AHGHHH!!! I LOVE ITT🖤🖤 Thank you so much! *mowah**

Hiii, i’ve seen your match ups before but just realized that i wasn’t following, ugh! But anyways, i came here asking for a match up of a call of duty character, if you have time of course. So little about me: Im a little bit of a nerd so i do well in school and i care a lot about it. I also have like “weird” hobbies, i collect animal bones and i collect old books. I listen to mainly goth music but with some metal and rock on the side and my favorite artists are : Type O Negative, Ghost, The Cure, London after Midnight.

About how i look. I have long dyed blonde hair with extremely dark makeup usually. I also have facial piercings and i in the future i want to get tattoos but only a couple. I mostly only have black clothes but my favorite color is actually a very muted dark blue.

Soo thank you in advance and have a grand day!! -Noora💗

🤔 I match you with...

Simon "Ghost" Riley 💀

I think Ghost would fall for you

Ofc it takes a bit of time but he would be smitten with you

He feels something there between you two

One of your "weird" hobbies, he doesn't find them weird at all

Others might find it morbid

But hey, Ghost's got a dark sense of humor so he doesn't mind it at all

And there's nothing wrong with collecting old books

He'd like to read them if you'd let him

Loves your taste in music

You'd probably catch him tapping his foot to the music when he's reading something

Your looks...

Surely you must've been someone divine

He finds you to be otherworldly in a good way

In his eyes, you're such a gorgeous creature to ever walk the earth

He'd gently as possible play with the ends of your hair...

Just to feel is its soft as he imagined

It is.

Then he'd start to run his fingers through them, stirring the scent of your shampoo

You always smell so good its addicting to him

Ghost's love gifts, I think, are physical touch ofc, and acts of service

Hug him, lay your head on his chest/shoulder

Let him know that you're there, and that you're real

"I used to not believe in angels, that they weren't real... but I think do now"

He'd call you his angel/angel of the night, whichever he's in the mood for

#noora reblogs🕊️#nooras doves🕊

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

Text

I Will

Pairing: Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish x GN!reader

TW//CW: Mention of torture, hurt/comfort, non sexual bathing, nudity, depictions of PTSD and panic, probably inaccuracies when it comes to recovery, but it's not something easily researched, so I used personal experience and knowledge. No use of y/n, my attempts of writing a Scottish accent.

A/N: This is part two to this fic, because I'm a whore for domesticity and hurt/comfort, also being taken care of because someone loves you and not because it's a chore <33

Words: 3,108

Recovery started slowly, a new strict diet with a high calorie count to help build back the strength lost from malnourishment, physical therapy as well as actual therapy.

Drugs, mostly antibiotics to help with different infections, the worst being a UTI from having no sanitary way to use the bathroom. As well as some anxiety meds and some things to help with the hallucinations, though hydration and food mostly took care of that.

It was overwhelming the pace they expected you to recover at. It all felt like getting hit with a train then being expected to be able to walk it off.

You were told you had to stay at the hospital for a while, that was perhaps the hardest part. You didn't want to be poked and prodded after finally getting out of hell, and you understood the good intentions behind it. But all you wanted was to go home and never see anyone ever again.

The only thing that made the whole ordeal even manageable was John, his constant presence by your side. His refusal to leave you.

So though you couldn't go home yet, he brought the feeling of home to you. Like a dutiful watch dog refusing to leave their post.

"Ye're looking a lot better." Johnny praised you, handing you a mandatory snack in your 'recovery plan', at least that's what everyone was calling it. Real recovery didn't feel possible, even if you got back to your healthy size and physique.

Even if you somehow got to the point where you felt like you could breathe and think again.

A piece of you would always be back in the Tomb, delirious and rotting.

You felt a lot of shame from being there, the condition you came back in was not you, didn't even feel like a husk of you. It was beyond humiliating to think of how your captain had found you, the filth and disease you'd become. The thought of him touching you like that made you feel the burning feeling of bile rise in your throat.

Maybe it was the decaying remains of your pride that made you feel this way. Though you were sure anyone found the way you were would feel just as mortified when given a moment to recover and think.

Filth. You were filth and he'd carried you on his shoulders like something to be worshiped.

"Think ye're up fur a shower t'day?" You hadn't showered since being rescued, you'd been cleaned, but not had a proper shower. It was something the doctors were struggling to get you to agree to, there was a requirement for a certain amount of vulnerability and trust that you just couldn't meet with the doctors or nurses.

"No." Gently you took another piece of the snack from him, he liked to break them up for you into smaller pieces, he'd noticed you'd been having a hard time swallowing things since your rescue.

"Ye sure? I promise it's no' as bad as ye think it'll be." The thought of being seen so vulnerable was too much for you. Vulnerability was something you struggled with even before, but now, now it felt impossible. "I'll help ye, it'll be me, no' a doctor. Jus' me. Please."

His rough calloused hand slipped into yours, squeezing it gently. He needed to see a spark of something alive inside of you, to know he'd brought back more than just an empty cage, one that would be in eternal search for the bird that once lived and loved there.

A soft shake of your head made him sigh, you knew all he wanted was to take care of you. The thought of disappointing him hurt. Bad. Maybe he was upset with your refusal, Maybe he was upset with your reluctance to trust him, or maybe with how slowly you were going on your 'recovery plan'.

As if it was as simple as checking off every mark on a list.

"Another day then." He leaned in, placing a soft kiss to your forehead.

The day you were given the greenlight to go home felt unreal, two weeks of recovery and now you got to go home. Three months of hell and two weeks was all the hospital deemed necessary for you to be able to go home.

John helped you out of the hospital, taking the role of caretaker for as long as you needed him to be there.

Stepping out of the hospital into the sunlight and fresh air of freedom felt so foreign now, you'd been outside many times while in the hospital. But this was different. You were going home now. You were going home with the person who made it feel that way.

The sun seemed to soak into your skin, seeping in through all your cracks to bring light to your soul. It never felt this way before, maybe it was the added damage that better let the light in.

"Th' car is over here." Johnny's rich Scottish voice sunk in too, filling more pieces of you than you thought possible now. Maybe recovery was achievable.

"Right." He led you with a gentle hand, helping support you, he helped you into the car, and settled himself in the driver seat, starting the engine and starting to drive you home.

Crossing the property line of the hospital felt beyond good. Leaving as much of the damage and hell behind you as you could, it wouldn't help to hold onto all that pain and carry it with you. A lot of it remained even still, festering in your mind and carving out room to live in your bones, making several pieces of you feel hollow.

The trees were wonderful to see again, until you were driving under them, the sun shining through their branches blinding you, the light flickering in your eyes between blinding and shadow.

A tightness formed in your chest, suffocating and stifling. A fan spinning overhead, the smell of all types of bodily fluids burning your nose, the quiet chatter of rats. Ropes tied tightly around you, squeezing you until you felt like you were going to pop.

"Stop." Your voice was beyond shaky and distressed, catching John off guard for a moment, not sure what was wrong. "I said stop!" You yelled, pulling at your seatbelt, it felt so wrong. You couldn't even breath, or think, or feel. You found yourself waiting for a grounding pain to strike you. But nothing ever came.

John pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning to you with concern, but you were already undoing your seat belt and clawing your way out of the car, all but throwing yourself down onto the park strip.

Your feet wandered without a destination in mind, you just needed to get away, gone. Never to be seen again. If you couldn't be seen you couldn't hurt. If you were gone things would be okay.

"What's wrong?" John followed after you, softly grabbing your hand to stop you, turning you around to face him.

Your lungs burned in search of oxygen, trying to gasp anything down through the tears you hadn't registered were falling down your face. John's voice didn't reach you, your mind too preoccupied with the pain and suffering from the Tomb.

Things didn't get any clearer until you were wrapped tightly in his arms, hyperventilating down his scent, the one you'd spent so many nights secretly basking in, his natural musk so incredibly potent and distinguishable in this moment, free from his cologne he hadn't put on in more than two weeks.

This was just him, just John MacTavish, your Johnny MacTavish.

"I can't. The trees." It wasn't much of an explanation, but he understood the problem, he was in the Tomb for long enough while he rescued you to understand.

"It's okay. Ye're no' there anymore. Ye're no' there." He repeated the words until you believed him, the timber in his voice being the thing to bring you back from the ledge you'd fallen from.

He herded you back to the car, not forcing you to buckle in.

When he settled back into the driver's seat he turned to you. "Do ye trust me?" You sat silent for a moment, before nodding. "I'm no' gunna hurt ye." He reassured, carefully putting his left hand over your eyes. You startled for a moment before hearing his voice. "It's okay, just fur the trees, then ye can see again."

He waited for your consent to cover your eyes before he started driving again, constantly speaking to you to help you stay grounded, to remind your brain it was just him.

Once home he brought you inside, letting you take in the familiarity of a space that was yours, despite the dust, but even that felt like it belonged. It felt like coming home after a long deployment, you could pretend that's all this was.

You could pretend you didn't spend the last three months tied to a chair in hell. You could pretend the pain in your shoulders was from your rifle stock, not from being constrained in the same position day and night, until it felt like more than an eternity had passed.

"How aboot a bath now?" He sounded hopeful, not putting any pressure on the question.

It took a long time to consider it, weigh everything about it. But now in the fortitude of your own home it felt a little more enticing, to be able to really scrub and wash away all that had happened. Not just a spit bath, a real good warm bath.

"Alone?" You asked softly, looking down.

"If that's what ye want." John had an intense need to make sure you were taken care of, even if he needed to take a step back and let you do it yourself.

"No." The answer came quicker than he expected, catching him off guard. "Stay with me, hold my hand."

A soft smile played on his lips, stepping closer to you he took your hand, leading you through your house like he lived there. Like he was never going to leave you again.

When he reached the master bathroom he carefully picked you up by the waist, lifting you to sit on the counter. You were lighter, smaller, than the last time he'd done that. But with time he'd get you back to the way you were.

For now he'd love you just the same, put extra care into making sure you were taken care of.

"Stay here love." He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking out of the bathroom, you grew anxious in his absence, waiting for him to come back. Trying to be brave.

When he came back he was carrying a few things, a bath sheet, the soft one you liked the most. Some white fairy lights you used around Christmas but typically kept in the closet, and a candle, the fancy ones that crackle when you burn them.

"Gunna take good care of ye." He promised, setting the things down on the other side of the counter to start filling the tub, checking the temperature before shutting the drain.

Then he plugged in the lights, turning off the overhead light, making it a cozy atmosphere, lighting the candle he put it on the windowsill.

You watched him with careful eyes, a pain settling in your chest from how much his actions were filled with love, doing everything he could to make you comfortable. It didn't feel deserved. Not when you'd been so badly ruined without him.

"Alright, let's get ye undressed. If ye're still okay with a bath?" He stood before you, hands resting on either side of you on the counter, a tenderness in his blue eyes.

"Okay." That was all he needed, getting to work on carefully removing your clothes, careful not to hurt you or touch any sore or healing spots. He supported your body as he helped you stand to fully remove your clothes.

His eyes didn't linger, that wasn't his intention here right now. They didn't look away in disgust either, there was no pity or grimace on his face. Just the tender love of a man trying to take care of the person he cherished with his entire being.

He didn't try to move your arms when you tried to hide parts of yourself, didn't let that shame of being vulnerable with him fester, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, letting you use his body as a shield against the world. "Let's get ye in the tub, aye?"

"Okay." With another soft nod from you he guided you towards the tub, helping you step in, holding your hand as you lowered yourself into the warm water, reassuring you every second.

"That's it, take it slow." He cooed, dipping his hand into the water before running it over your forehead, back down your greasy dirty hair. "Hair's gotten longer these past few months, think ye want it cut back tae how it was?" He asked softly.

"I don't know." You looked down at yourself in the water, taking everything in, letting the warmth of the water envelope you, consume you so wholly that nothing but this moment remained.

"That's okay." He cupped some water in his hands, dumping it over your head, careful not to get your face, he didn't know what kind of torture they'd put you through, and he didn't want to trigger anything for you.

Dipping yourself under the surface of the water you made his job of getting all of you wet a lot easier, he hummed in approval, grabbing a brush to go through your hair, smoothing it over before squeezing your shampoo into his hands, getting to work on washing your hair.

His fingers were like heaven, gently massaging and scratching at your scalp, removing all the dandruff from several months without washing it away. He was dutiful in his work, maximizing your comfort and enjoyment, humming a song for you.

You weren't out of the tunnel, everything ahead still seemed so dark and uncertain, but being here with John, being taken care of, being treated so tenderly, you knew there was going to be an end, that one day you'd be standing in the light. You just needed to be brave.

"I love ye. All I ever wanted was ye. Always ye. I want tae spend the rest o' my life taking care of ye, making sure ye feel loved." Rinsing away the shampoo he turned your face towards him, kissing the tip of your nose. "I will never let ye be alone again, I think I'll spend the rest of eternity following ye around."

"It's nasty work taking care of someone, especially someone like me." You leaned into him, leaning against the edge of the tub to get closer to him, making his shirt wet with your body.

"Not tae me. Not if it's ye." Wrapping his arms around you he held you close, letting you soak through his shirt, anything to have you closer. His clothes would dry, or could be changed, but this moment with you could never be repeated.

"Join me." Your voice was soft, just wanting him closer, needing to feel his skin to fully believe you were really with him. That this wasn't all a hallucination.

"Not this time, I'm just tryin' tae get ye clean." He kissed your forehead before pressing his forehead against yours.

"Please." You begged, pulling him in impossibly closer, the side of the tub digging into his ribs. "I just need you closer. I just need to feel that you're real."

His resolve quickly crumbled, taking a deep breath he stood up, stripped himself of his clothes and stepped into the tub, settling beside you. He was thankful for just how large your tub was, a big long garden tub, the secret reason you chose this home.

"Now, lets finish getting you clean." He grabbed your conditioner, getting to work lathering your hair, working from the ends to the base of your head. Massaging it in.

Then he grabbed your body wash and a soft rag, gently cleaning the remaining dirt and grime from your body, careful with cleaning your sensitive places, not wanting to hurt you in any way. He cleaned your back with extra care, working out the tension your body held until you were more relaxed.

Once you were clean you leaned into him, laying on his chest, watching the candle on the windowsill, listening to his heartbeat along with the soft crackling from the wood wick candle.

You stayed in the tub with him, skin on skin, until the water grew cold, only when he felt you shiver did he make you get out, wrapping you in the bath sheet, not caring he didn't grab a towel for himself.

He blew out the candle and brought you into your room, grabbing some pajama's for you, grabbing one of the shirt's he'd left there on 'accident' for you to wear. Helping you get dressed, before leading you back to the bathroom where he towel dried your hair before blow drying the rest.

Only once you were completely taken care of did he take care of himself, getting dressed before coming back to you. "I love ye, ye ken that?" His Scottish accent grew in thickness, tucking you into bed.

"I love you too." A spike of panic filled you when he took a step back, sitting up and grabbing his wrist. He could clearly see the nervous unease on your face. Fear. He hated seeing that look on your face.

"Easy, I'm not gunna leave ye, just moving to get in bed on the other side." He shushed your worries, kissing you tenderly on the lips, climbing into bed beside you he pulled you close, letting you lay your head on his chest.

His fingers traced circles over the skin of your arm, staring up at the ceiling. A comforting silence between you two, his heartbeat and breathing the only thing keeping your mind from wandering too far into despair.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You hum, looking up at him. Things felt alright when you were with him like this, a secret place neither of you could ever be caught in crosshairs or rules.

"Just thinking." He took a deep breath. "Don't know what I would have done if I didn't find ye. I wasn't messin' around when I said ye're all I care about." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "Get some sleep, ye need some rest."

You hummed in acknowledgment, for the first time in a while feeling genuinely sleepy, not just tired or exhausted, but feeling a desire to sleep. Feeling a desire to sleep because things felt safe here with the man you loved.

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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Spooky Girl

Summary: Ghost, Soap, Rudy and König have a girlfriend who just likes things, that are a bit spooky. (Just a few little scenes that my brain spit out.)

Wordcount: 2.497

Ghost

"Are you growing your hair out, L.T.?" Johnny laughed and flicked Simon's wrist.

Simon reacted as expected. Not at all. He stared at Johnny motionlessly.

"Fits the look, after all.", the sergeant winked at him.

Simon rolled his eyes and pulled his sleeve over the hairband on his wrist.

Johnny continued to grin. "My sisters say these scrunchies are best for the hair. There's less friction. So no split ends."

Simon continued to stare at him.

"Are you going to tell me why you've got that thing on?", he grumbled.

"No.", was Simon's simple answer before he turned back to his food. It was nobody's business. (Y/n) was nobody's business, or what was between them. It was still too fresh anyway. This was his first mission since they had met. He wasn't sure what to make of this relationship yet. He liked her. It wasn't because of that. He was just too used to being alone. It scared him. His therapist would probably have found a bigger, more important-sounding word for his emotions, but fear seemed appropriate enough to Simon.

She was weird. He was weird too. He had started to like the weirdness. He was probably too old for her. Maybe he wasn't. He'd never been in a relationship. He'd never had to discuss the fact that his hoodies were actually HIS hoodies until a few months ago. She had only told him that they were hers now, as if that was the most normal thing in the world. But she looked really cute in them. She'd beamed at him when he'd unceremoniously thrown three of his hoodies on her bed.

"Until I get back.", he'd mumbled.

She had then pulled her hairband off her head and put it around his wrist. The black satin with the little skulls on it was soft and had immediately clung to his skin.

"So that you'll really come back.", she had said and kissed him on the forehead.

"Always.", he had mumbled.

"Who is she?" Johnny asked him directly. He looked at him with gentle playfulness.

Simon snapped out of his memory. He looked into his friend's blue eyes. "You don't trust me with a 'he'?", he grinned under his mask.

"Well then HE definitely has long hair."

Simon shook his head in amusement. "A little one from home. It's still fresh."

"Photo?", Johnny continued to grin.

Simon shook his head.

"Oh come on!"

"No Johnny."

Johnny looked at him like a petulant puppy. "At least describe her.", he sulked.

Simon sighed and rummaged for a small photo in his pocket. The boy wouldn't stop anyway. He plonked it in front of the sergent and stared at it.

Johnny stared at the photo. "A goth chick?" Johnny reached for the photo, but Simon immediately pulled it back to him and put it away. Johnny looked at him in surprise. "Hot.", he grinned.

Simon just grumbled.

"Yes, I get it. I can see it. You fit together."

Another grumble.

Johnny grinned like an idiot.

"What?", Simon snapped at him.

"Does she have a friend?"

Simon just rolled his eyes. His cell phone buzzed.

A message from (Y/n). When he opened the message history, he saw a picture of a rabbit skull.

'For your collection?' it said underneath.

Simon looked at the picture. He had been glad, that she didn't see his little hobby as disgusting. But that she was now also participating in it. It was a beautiful bone. Completely intact.

'Beautiful. Where did you get it?‘

'Judas picked it up on our walk.‘

Judas was her dog. A stubborn but tough creature. It was probably her type.

'Put it on the ant farm. I'll bleach him when I come back next week.‘

'The three of us are waiting for you. ;)'

When he looked up again, Johnny was still grinning at him.

"The little one really has you wrapped around her finger."

Simon just raised an eyebrow.

"Good for you L.T."

Simon grumbled in agreement.

Soap

"What magazine did you cut that out of?" Kyle laughed.

Soap pulled off his boots. "Huh?" he groaned and looked at his friend.

Kyle pointed to Johnny's locker page and the photo hanging in it.

Johnny followed Kyle's suggestion with his gaze and immediately furrowed his eyebrows. "That's my girlfriend you douche!"

"That's never your girlfriend! She's far too pretty... Apart from the fetish make-up."

Johnny threw his boot at Gaz. "Don't talk about my girl like that!", he growled.

Gaz raised his hands defensively. A grin stretched across his face. "Oh come on."

Johnny continued to scowl at him. Simon came into the changing room and looked at them both wordlessly. Without another comment, he went to his locker.

"How can you always train with that thing on your head?", Johnny asked him.

"Habit.", came the curt reply.

Johnny rolled his eyes as Gaz clapped his hands with a laugh. "So you've got a type!"

Johnny looked at him in confusion. Simon paid him no attention at all.

"Dark and intimidating," Garrick winked at him and nodded towards Simon.

Johnny followed his gaze and a blush immediately appeared on his cheeks.

"I don't have a type!", he barked.

Gaz chuckled in amusement. "Sure."

Simon slammed his locker shut conspicuously loudly and disappeared just as wordlessly as he had come.

The two of them looked after him.

"She's very different from him.", Johnny grumbled immediately.

"Is she?"

"Yes, she's very reserved, but when you get to know her better, she's really funny. She likes to tell jokes, you know? Even if she's more into dark humor. And she likes her order, but accepts my chaos and she's not immediately put off by my job. Well, she goes to therapy, but she's actually really tough."

"Where did you two meet?"

"At a shooting range for my brother-in-law's stag party. She's really amazing. She could almost be a sniper and..." Johnny eyes widened.

Gaz grinned knowingly.

"Oh God! I'm dating L.T.!" Johnny exclaimed, overwhelmed.

"Really, how did you notice?"

Johnny threw his second boot at him. "What if I'm just trying to replace something with her?", he asked anxiously.

Now Gaz looked at him, confused. "What now?"

"Well... What if I subconsciously just saw her as a replacement. God I'm such an asshole."

"How many times did you try to enroll before you were finally eighteen?", Gaz asked him firmly.

"I stopped counting. What's that got to do with it?"

Gaz shrugged his shoulders. "You're nuts, but you know what you want. You've never accepted an alternative before."

Johnny looked at the photo in the locker. "No I never have."

Gaz nodded. "You clearly have a thing for mentally unstable Halloween decorations, but that doesn't mean you only want the girl as a substitute."

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, you're right. She's really great, you know?"

Gaz grinned. "I'll take your word for it."

"She always makes chocolate muffins, that look like the little coal men from Chihiro.", Johnny smiled at the photo. "And she can cook! I really put some weight on the last time, I was with her. It's almost like the good old times at grandmas.", he grinned to himself. "Even if it scares me a little, how relaxed she is with the house ghost."

"Please what??" Gaz blinked at him in surprise.

"The house ghost. She calls him Edgar. After the guy who built the house. She bought this old victorian house and at night you can always hear the back door banging open and shut and someone running up and down the stairs. But never up to the top floor. That was built on later. I nearly wet my pants the first night, when I went to see what was going on and this gigantic mirror fell on me. The thing was secured with six sturdy wall anchors! SIX! Well, I didn't set foot in the house for two weeks after that, but she says she's negotiating a deal."

Gaz looked at him with horror in his eyes.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "I'm used to it by now. But the noise is a bit annoying."

Gaz gave him a forced smile. "You see. You don't have anything like that with Ghost... No ghosts with Ghost."

Rudy

He was sitting in his small kitchen with Alejandro, listening to everything about Ale's last date, until they were interrupted by a loud noise.

Ale flinched in surprise and looked at the kitchen counter behind him. Rudy immediately ran to the counter and grabbed a cell phone. He wiped the green icon across the display and held it to his ear.

"(Y/n)s phone. Rodolfo on the line. - Yes, you forgot it here. - No, no problem. - Good. See you in a minute."

He placed the device on the kitchen table and looked into Alejandro's shocked face. "What? Was? That?"

"(Y/n) left her cell phone."

Ale looked at him like he was stupid. "What was that sound?"

"Her ringtone?" Rudy replied hesitantly. "Yeah... Her taste in music is a bit... special," he admitted, looking at the device again.

"A bit? It sounded like a pig had been tormented.", Alejandro said indignantly.

Rudy grinned. "Somehow that relaxes her." He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I think the band was called... I can't remember. Lorna something."

Ale looked at him skeptically. "Wait. Is she coming over? I can finally see the mystery (y/n) with my own eyes?"

Rudy sighed. "Be nice, please."

"I'm always nice."

"Hmph."

Ale gave him an annoyed look. "I'll pull myself together."

"No subliminal threats.", Rudy stated firmly.

Alejandro started to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"And certainly no direct ones!"

The colonel fell back against the back of his chair, annoyed. It wasn't as if he had no manners. If anything, some even found his temperament attractive.

"Fine," he grumbled.

Rudy nodded in satisfaction as he heard the front door open.

"Hey." (Y/n) called down the small hallway.

Rudy stood up and walked towards her.

Alejandro didn't know what he had expected, but somehow he had always imagined her... pinker.

When Rudy spoke of his girlfriend, it sounded like he was talking about the sweetest creature on earth, who couldn't hurt a soul. Alejandro had envisioned a girl in a summer dress with pink lipgloss kissing Rudy on the cheek.

What he saw was a girl dressed in black. Transparent cut-outs, heavy boots and various buckles adorned her body.

Her lips, which Alejandro had always imagined to be pink, were painted black, just like her eyes.

She gave Rudy a quick kiss on the lips. "Sorry, I'm only here for a moment. Sofia got tickets for a concert today. I'd rather not ask how. Oh hi!"

She waved to Alejandro.

"This is Alejandro." Rudy introduced him.

He waved at (Y/n), overwhelmed.

"I'm (Y/n)." she replied quickly.

"You sure?" asked Ale before he could stop himself.

Rudy immediately gave him a warning look before turning back to (Y/n). "Be careful."

She kissed him again on the tip of his nose. "I'll text you when I get home. Bey Alejandro!" she called out and was already gone again.

Alejandro looked dully into the hallway. Rudy looked back with a raised eyebrow.

"Well I didn't expect THAT.", Alejandro said.

Rudy sighed.

"Oh come on! You described a lamb!" He threw his hands up in the air dramatically. "Not a little vampire. No matter how cute she seems to be."

Rudy sighed devotedly and sat down at the table.

"She's just like I told you."

"So... a black lamb?"

The corners of Rudy's mouth twitched. "Yes. That fits."

"To get back to the, let's call it 'music'."

"I don't get it either.", Rudy smiled with amusement.

König

"Little bat?" König asked his girlfriend cautiously. She was sitting in one of his shirts next to his legs in front of the couch, looking thoughtfully at her puzzle, while the movie of her choice was playing on TV.

"Yes Bear?" she asked without looking up.

His eyes darted to the television at a particularly organic sound, before quickly settling back on her.

"Um... I know I said 'My job is war and I can take more than nornal humans'."

(Y/n) looked up and grinned mockingly.

"But I admit that your warning was probably... justified."

She grinned at him openly. "No (y/n)! I've seen and done things-"

"All right!" he interrupted her. A woman on the television screamed. "Is this girl still alive?" he asked in disgust.

(Y/n) pressed a button on the remote control and the movie stopped.

"There's no way anyone could survive something like that," he huffed.

His little bat just took a sip of his coffee. "The lore is, that Art keeps someone alive ,until he's satisfied. He decides when you die."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It's horror. It's not supposed to make sense." She patted his gigantic thigh. "You held out very well, but you dropped out of the movie. You lost the bet. You have to order today.", she smiled mischievously.

He grumbled and reached for the tablet.

"No! You have to call! That was the bet."

He looked murderously at the phone. He hated ordering food. Which made no sense, considering his job and his career in it. He was a grown man. He made most people afraid, but still. These everyday situations weren't exactly easy for him. It wasn't like it used to be, but it would never be normal either. Nobody had to like him in his job. No one expected him to be polite. In the real world, there were all these rules and unspoken regulations.

"Like always?" he asked her. She just nodded and went back to looking at her puzzle.

Sometimes it was funny. They both weren't the most confident when it came to social interaction, even though the world always thought they should be. Him because of his body. Her because of her look.

They had started making bets. The loser had to make phone calls or tell the waiter in the restaurant that the food was going back.

He ordered the pizza and felt (Y/n) put a hand on his knee. He had started wiggling his legs again. A habit that had always upset his mother. She stroked his knee with her thumb and he brought his limbs back to rest. With a sigh, he tossed the cell phone towards the pillow. It was nice that he didn't feel any anxiety with her. It was nice to have someone who gave him the space to find peace.

"What kind of picture is this going to be?", he asked her, stroking her hair and looking at the dark puzzle.

"Blackness."

"Blackness?"

"Yes. It's just black." She grinned.

"Why?"

"Because we as humans like to play God. The nice thing is... There's a reference picture."

He grinned. He loved how she was amused by little things like that. He loved his little bat. Her and her bloody pointless puzzle.

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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#noora reblogs🕊️

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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I going to rant for a moment

WHY IS GENSHIN SUCH A DARK GAME?!

So I have never played it but my best friend loves the game and these are just some things I have learned.

Warning! Not accurate (probably spoilers don’t know!) im doing this out of my memory and i may have misunderstood understood some things

In the Moon there is a dead god

Some guy’s parents sold children

Yao miko waited for her lover ( the purple lady who pulls a sword out of her boobs) like 500 years

There is an illness that makes people into pigmen and it has no cure

There was a war between foxes and some other animal and now the other animal is banished

Dragons were like massacred and there are only a couple left. And they are underwater?? I don’t remember

There is a doctor man who does human experiments

There was that child god with the hat ( she talks so much shit about this boy)

The whole dessert people thing and how they were surveilled and shit

There was this really pretty valley and it’s was made by some gods blood

The boy on the bridge, yeah his dad died

This list is all i can remember from the top of my head and i will add to it

MOOREEE

There is a thunderbird who only loved a child named rue in this village. The village decided that they have to sacrifice somebody to make it happy and they skinned rue -A CHILD- alive. And now they have to relive it every day

There is a dragon trapped in a tree (because it got dementia?? And attacked its on people)

Salt god exploded and the people who tried to kill him also died in the explosion (the god tried to save them)

Moore pt.2

The scary sound somewhere is actually a person(or whatever i don remember) in a bird form looking for their dead friends

Paimon might be the evil god that separated wander

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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The Three Instances that Tom Riddle denied his love for you and The One Instance he didn’t.

Tom Riddle x Reader

The first instance - Not enough seating on a cold winter’s morn

Tom was allowing himself to indulge in a book while sipping on a butter beer in Hogsmeade, finding a source of comfort in the warm building - a rather oxymoronic atmosphere to the bismal blizzard beyond the doors. However, what wasn’t comforting was the rest of Hogwarts being practically packed into the building - others having a similar idea to Tom, however deciding against a silent narrative; and. Instead opting for a loud and irritating conversion across the building.

Something implored him to look up from the page he had been repeating in his mind for the last twenty minutes to glance towards the door. The bell had been a constant ring however for some reason only this one drew him to it. Your face was red and your teeth were chattering, frosted flakes forming on your lashes and lips plump as a reaction to the cold. Your mouth flashed into an excitable grin when you saw your friends, making an effort to remove the matching white earmuffs and gloves and shrugging off the similar coat. He noticed how despite the wind and snow, your hair managed to stay perfectly intact, finalised by a black ribbon pulled into a bow to hold the final pesky strands back into a more visually satisfactory position.

Tom wanted to tell himself that it was sickly how perfect you looked, but he was also knowledgable enough to know the way his heart started to palpitate and how beads of sweat emitted from his forehead despite his cold stature wasn’t by chance - his heart could not lie so he settled on confused. Never before had he felt such strong emotions but then again he welcomed the swarm of butterflies encircling his stomach. After all, your presence was keeping him warm.

His eyes darted back to his book when you began to approach him and a flurry of questions rose in his brain. Why were you coming towards him? Did he have something on his face? What did you want? Did you reserve this table? And why was he panicking? “Excuse me?” You say, voice small yet sweet giving a delightful contrast to the bustling environment surround you both. He silently cleared his voice. “Can I help you?” He replied, surprising himself as he mirrored your sweetening voice. “I’m terribly sorry to bother, but is this seat taken? I’m afraid we are void of some.” You say, sincerity in your tone and your face visualised your apologetic comment. “Oh no, not at all. Please” he motioned to the chair and you thank him with a grin, taking it and sitting beside your friends.

The butter beer you were handed gave you a frosted stash and you licked it away quickly with a giggle. Tom thought wall he was watching one of those wizard porno magazines he had found on his dorm-mates bedside table. You were too perfect and he hated it.

Yes. He hated it.

The second instance - Tom is late.

He needn’t have been late. Thomas Riddle was never late. On time is late and early is on time in his book. His watch was lying. But no, his swift entrance into the potions classroom proved futile as everyone was already seated and settled. “Welcome, Mr Riddle please find a seat.” His teacher said, lucky to be favourites and his eyes calmly darted for a chair.

“The seat beside me is free, if you would like.” I voice spoke quietly from beside him and he peered down to see your doe eyes peering back kindly at him. “Yes, thank you.” He sat and soon realised he was unsure of what a was going on.

Your elbow touched his side slightly, drawing him away from his thoughts and towards you. You lean in and whisper “I’m aware you like to write your own notes, but I hope these are good enough to help you catch up.” You hand him your own that are scrawled in a declare and sophisticated hand and smile, turning away. Your whisper made his hair stand on end and spine shiver. He didn’t understand why something as simple as your made him feel this way, blaming it on the temperature of the dungeons and not you.

Soon enough however, it was time for the practical work to commence and he was therefore stuck being your partner. Not that he minded, of course. He just told himself he did. You were each gathering ingredients, you had spit the list into two and appointed one another different roles of which he just complied and went along with, scuttling about to source what you needed.

Walking back towards the cauldron, you find yourself suddenly getting caught on another student’s protruded chair and lurching ever so ungracefully falling. Tom turns as you do so, and for some reason instinctively dripping his own supplies to catch you and break your fall, landing in some sort of forbidden classical dance finale. You look up at him, breath caught in your throat as he mirrors your expression. He eyes you, looking you over concerned that you had hurt yourself. “Are you alright?” He asks, small and you nod, allowing him to help you back to your feet. “Yes, just a little surprised that’s all. Thank you, Tom.” You give him a small smile and hold his arm then turn back to the task at hand.

The student who’s chair it was hurries over to apologise. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so lazy to not put the stool where it belongs she wouldn’t have been in this predicament.” Tom snaps at the student who silences his apology, turning away and handing his head.

Tom looks at you both surprised at himself for protecting you and for the look you were giving him. A mischievous smile. “Aren’t you a knight in shining armour?” You giggle and he chuckles with a smirk. “Shouldn’t have been so negligent.”

But Tom shouldn’t have protected you, Tom Riddle let’s damsels in distress fall. Tom Riddle does not do selflessness.

The Third Instance - Your Festive Nature Rubs Off On Him

Christmas - the muggle celebration - was fast approaching. Spirits were high in Hogwarts and students were busy awaiting excitable festivities and warming hot chocolate; schoolwork discarded and teachers uncaring as they too felt the jolly spirit. But not Tom.

Tom thought it was ridiculous that people so incredible and wise as wizards and witches would celebrate such a lowly muggle holiday. He was quite happy to tuck himself away in the darkest corner of the library until it was all over. Some much needed studying was to be done and he wouldn’t let this infuriating date ruin his exceptional record.

Tom was nose deep into a pile of books taller than himself, when he heard footsteps fast approaching. He peered up slightly to see who dared to disrupt him and had to double take as he noticed it was you. You were adorned in bright red despite being a devoted green, holding a box of sickly sweet decor between your hands, walking towards him with a strong and meaningful stride - you wanted something.

“May I interest you in a Christmas Biscuit or Father Christmas hat?” You ask, holding your treats towards him and he complies by peering into the box of goods. If it was anyone else he would’ve pushed the box out of their hands or use foul language to send them on their way. But for some reason he was yet to put his finger on, not you. “No thank you.” He says and you let out a dramatic sigh.

“A man as hard working as yourself surely needs some sugar to keep his energy up.” You wave a gingerbread man in front of him with a hopeful grin. He eyes you slightly and decided it would be simpler to take the sweet goodness from your hands than to argue, not because it was you - he was just hungry, his growling stomach of which he had been neglecting told him so. It wasn’t you at all.

Your lips form a gleeful smile as he accident lets out a satisfied hum at the taste. “I am a good baker when it comes to Christmas.” You tell him then wrestle through your box and put and odd shaped cylinder-like object, holding one side and encouraging him to pull at the other.

You raised a brow but you remain stubborn and shake the object and it rattles, dull. “It’s a cracker, please indulge and humour me on this one, Tom.” He nearly melts at your words and holds onto the other side, jumping slightly and feeling all gooey when he hears your giggle at his reaction. He holds the full side and does indeed humour you, curiosity killing the cat as he peers inside; pulling out a small muggle rubber duckling, a joke card, and a purple party hat.

He looks from his prize to you and you take the joke from his hands. “What do you sing at a snowman’s birthday party?” You asked, voice overflowing with a sense of humour. “What?” He allows himself to indulge. “Freeze a jolly good fellow.” You laugh and he smirks. “I know you found that funny, Thomas you are allowed to laugh.” You jokingly tell him, removing the party hat from its plastic confinements and reaching to put it on his head.

He should feel repulsed, horrified, disgusted, yet he allows you to put the purple hat on his head and stand between his legs to adjust it perfectly. Your tongue protruded from your lips slightly in concentration and he was enthralled by the sight, a warm bubbly feeling in his stomach when you look down at him. “Perfect.” You conclude and step back.

“Well I’ll allow you to get back to your studying, thank you for that, Tommy.” You say and make your leave. Tommy. What an awful nickname. You should call it him more often.

Tom thumbed the rubber duck and surveyed it for a few moments, before placing it into his breast pocket and tapping it securely as it began to thaw his cold chest, moving to adjust his oversized hat.

Tom enjoyed your unbearable love-ability.

The Instance When Tom Submitted - The Yule Ball.

Tom believed the Yule Ball to be a pointless annual ceremony. Drinks, facing, festivities, how pathetic. What infuriated him the most was how everyone was crowding in the common room to seek out their friends or nightly companions to accompany them to the great hall. How dare they interrupt his peaceful study period!

His breath caught abruptly in his throat when you descended the stairs of the girl’s dormitories. Your skin was glittery and radiating, reflecting from the contrasting black breaded gown tight on your body, corset forcing your breasts to sit in a forcibly plump and admirable position. You hair was in a tight up-do, a headband matching your dress, black lace gloves highlighting the dark and fluorescent green on your well-kept manicured nails, Vivian Westwood flats on your feet and a red lip to tie of the lip. Tom thought he had died and ascended to the holy land where he would reside after death.

You notice his stairs from beyond his book and give him a sweet, adorable tight-lipped smile before descending the final step and joining your friends who were each being complimented by their dates as yours interlocked your arms. Tom felt a horrible twang in his chest as the man touched you - how dare he? How dare he lay his eyes upon you? How dare he breathe your precious oxygen? How dare he - Tom shook his head, ignorantly ignoring his thoughts and forcing his brain to absorb another several paragraphs of perfection-worthy potions essays.

Tom had the common room all to himself. It was peaceful, it was relaxing, it was ideal. But his calm world came crashing around him when the sound of familiar sobs echoed from the entrance of the common room and drew closer. Looking up, he noticed the rivers of ruined mascara and smudged lipstick on your face and his face immediately dropped, discarding his book and standing to stride over to you. You lol up at him, slightly surprised at his response your entrance and allow him to survey you.

“What happened? Are you alright? What did he do?” He bombarded you with questions in an unfamiliar; caring tone. “He left me to go dance with some Ravenclaw who had her breasts practically hanging out. I was forced to sit by myself while I watched my friends dance with their partners and not once been offered a hand. I feel foolish.” You say and Tom’s knuckles go white at his sides from clenching them at your words.

Very much in his own control, he lifts his thumbs to wipe below your eyes and remove the remnants of sadness the residue of your tears had left behind. As much as he wanted to kill the foolish boy, to hex him, to torture him, to make him feel the pain you did currently, his heart told him that you needed him and his comfort more than he needed revenge on your behalf.

“He is the foolish one. He does not deserve you. He should be lucky he still has eyes look at you and a voice still to apologise with.” He says. “You should not have accompanied him, regardless.” He adds. “Who was I supposed to go with? Myself?” You laughs slightly. He shakes his head in response. “I’ll have you know I rejected a plentiful number of offerings and accompanied him as a last resort.” His eyebrow quirks in confusion. “And what did he have that the other bachelors lacked?” “Nothing. A small, foolish part of me ridiculously hoped that you would have asked, Tom.” You said in a small voice looking into his eyes.

His heart beats quick and his breathing stops. The moment in frozen as the world surrounding you both spins in a painful cycle. He looks down at you and forfeits. He surrenders. He raises his white flag. He admits the reason he loved you so much was because he simply did and it was an unavoidable conclusion.

“Perhaps I would have attended such a ridiculous event if you were by my side.” The sides of your mouth quirk into a small smile which quickly drops as you look above your head. Curious, Tom does the same and a small, white-berried bush becomes suddenly apparent. “Mistletoe. What a ridiculous muggle tradition.” He says quietly enough for you to hear it. He then looks down to you and notices the disappointment in your face. “It’s a good job your gingerbread was as delicious as it was, I may have to indulge once more - just this once.” He says and dips his head down and leans in.

Your soft lips touch his and a powerful firework erupts in his stomach in a euphoric manner, settling his inner dispute with a true loves kiss. You each pull away and you go to rest your head against his chest but get confused by the dull ache in your cheek. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the small duck. “Turns out I enjoy indulging.” He tells you, leaning back in to continue his euphoria.

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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“I think it’s important to realize you can miss something, but not want it back.”

— Paulo Coelho

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love-dove-noora · 3 months

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“It’s okay to leave someone who doesn’t see the light that you see in yourself.”

— R.H. Sin

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love-dove-noora · 4 months

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I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

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love-dove-noora · 4 months

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“I hope you remember that I loved you more than anyone has ever loved you before.”

— Justina Butkovic

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love-dove-noora · 4 months

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"Thief of the Moon" 1924, by Norman Lindsay (1879-1969)

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love-dove-noora · 4 months

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This is a masterpiece

hi lady osiris!! thank you for offering to take my soap request 💛

can we get a little something about soap x stressed out reader? where she’s had a super long, difficult week?? how would he help her unwind?

Oh I do love this, as someone who is a permanently exhausted pigeon herself and stressed to the max. Let's explore shall we?

Please forgive me, I've never written an x reader before so I do hope you enjoy lovey!

Soap x Fem!Reader for sweet @soapsgf 4.1k words

Tags: Comfort, Smut, mans is good with his hands and better with his mouth. m on v, unprotected sex, fluff, so much fluff.

It had never been uncommon for John Mactavish to fill the silence with his voice, the lilt of it a familiar sound within your apartment. But he'd noticed little changes through the week, what silence did remain wasn't comforting, the dishes and clutter piling up around you even as your eyes darted anxiously about, making tallies on an ever growing list of things needed to be done.

He noted the way you counted on your fingers, twisting and pinching at the skin of your knuckles as if looking for something to ground yourself. Your hands always seeking in their restlessness, a mind that couldn’t quiet even in your sleep.

“M’eudail… What's eating at you? You know I can help you better if we talk about this…” He beckoned, nearly pleading as he drew you into his arms. “Ye cannae deny it at this point, I’ve watched you circle the kitchen four times holding a glass and doing nothing with it.”

“The dishes-” you gasped, pressing your palm to your forehead and groaning. “That’s right, I have to do the dishes so I can take back the casserole dish to Diane, and then I can clean the counter, and make-”

His lips cut off your words, silencing them as his hands found your cheeks, thumbs massaging at the supple flesh. “Fuck the dishes and fuck Diane, she’s been a right cunt lately anyways, I remember you complaining about her monday. She can wait a day or two more for a damn casserole dish. Now. Do ye work tomorrow?” He asked, forehead gently pressed to yours. It was the first he’d felt you relax in days as you melted beneath his touch, your only reply a soft nod to his question.

The glass was stolen from your hand and placed onto the counter as he turned and ushered you towards your bedroom. A sacred place often shared between the two of you. Though he hadn’t moved in yet, it didn’t stop either of you from sharing a wardrobe, having drawers in each other's dressers, a toothbrush in each other's holders, and more haircare products than two people could ever possibly use. Your room was a haven, draped in soft pink and gray blankets with candles and trinkets brought back from his deployments. His favorite was a large glass jar full of rocks. On every deployment since you’d met, before you even started dating he’d brought back a rock, writing in sharpie the day he had picked it up for you. You each set your favorite rock in front of the jar to always be well and truly displayed- the pair having been chosen on one of your first dates together. You’d gone camping, and at the lakes rocky beach you proposed a game. Find rocks that looks like the others eye colors, closest to matching won. It had been almost too easy a win for you, finding a rock so bright and blue-gray with speckles of quartz that made it glitter. The smug look on your face when you’d found it, the gentle whoop and cheer as you won had been more than enough for him to fall in love right then and there.

Gone was that smile from your face, something that ached at him as he closed his eyes for a moment to picture its light. “Yer gonna rest here, okay? I’ll go wash Diane’s damned casserole dish. Ye can take it to work with you in the morning. S’alright if I stay here with you tonight? Miss my girl.” He teased, hooking a hand beneath your thigh and lifting you up onto the edge of the bed. It never failed to surprise you just how easily he lifted your weight, tossing you around like his own personal ragdoll from time to time.

He set you on the bed, slowly peeling away layers of clothes and tossing them into a nearly full hamper before bringing out one of his tee shirts and pulling it over your frame. “There’s my bonnie little thing.”

“‘M not a thing.” You muttered, biting down on the inside of your cheek indignantly- just to hear his soft laugh.

“Yer right, not a thing. No… M’eudail, yer everything.” He mused, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before drawing his arms about you and nestling your anxious body back to the sheets. “...I know you’re not ready to talk about it now, that you need to sort through the things in your head yourself first before you can explain it… but I’m here, I will be here until the day you no longer let me stand beside you.” He promised, the words flowing forth like water from a spring. It comforted him just as much as he hoped it comforted you when he felt you nuzzle into his chest, eyes closed and breathing beginning to settle.

But for all your stress, the things you wouldn't talk about- you didn't snap. You didn't take it out on him or silence him. He almost wished you would. Anything to hear your voice and coax you back to him. Johnny knew you tended to isolate when your mind climbed to new and stressed heights, so to be allowed this glimpse into your mind, to be walked hand in hand through the turbulence of your soul- it was a greater gift than he knew how to accept. Only to hope that you would allow him to do it for the rest of your lives.

“Ye don’t know it yet…” he whispered against your settling form, kisses pressed to the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. He was glad you fell asleep quickly, keeping his words soft as not to rouse you. “But you saved me. Took a man with aimless devotion to his work and grounded him. Brought him back from a ledge so many walk off. I used to dread coming home, craved the firefight and relentless rush of fighting for my life. But god damn it all, you’ve given me something real to fight for. Now you’re just the one thing I come home to. I wake up glad for you… I guess, what I’m trying to say- know we haven’t said it yet… but I’m in love with you. The good, the bad, every piece of you that you show to me just gives me more to love. I’m so in love with you, and I can’t wait for you to wake up so I can say it to your face.”

He waited an hour or so more before temporarily untangling your limbs, taking his phone to the living room and sitting down to make a call. A familiar voice made him smile, though it sounded annoyed to be woken so late.

“Tavish, what do y’need?” Price asked, clearing his throat of sleep. “Better be good if yer waking me up for it.”

“Aye, know you need yer beauty sleep, Cap. But I’m hoping to get the next couple of days off.” He exclaimed, knee bouncing as he rested his other arm over his knee.

“Everything okay? Not in trouble are you?” He followed up, clearly more alert. Because while not as bad as Simon, getting Johnny to take time off from work was like pulling teeth. “No one died?”

This caused a small laugh to escape him, unable to contain his own humored emotion. “No, Sir. No one died… i… ah.” he cleared his throat. “My girl needs me. She’s having a tough time, and always makes herself available f’r me… ‘bout time I returned the favor. ‘M gonna tell her I love her.”

The silence that spread between them was thick, nearly audible surprise in Price’s voice when he spoke again. “How long-”

“Eight months. Last time you sent me on leave for a month, I met her picking up some books for my ma and sis. I didn’t want to say ‘nything till I knew it was… serious. But it’s serious… I think this is it for me Cap. She is it for me.” He exclaimed, eyes warm as he stared at the coffee table before him. “She feels like home just as much if not more than the 141 does. She’s patient with me, accepts that she may never understand what I do but will never stop me from doing it… I want you all to meet her soon.”

Price’s voice was notably softer now, pride swelling within him. It was all he’d ever hoped for his boys, to find something just as important to him as the work. To open themselves up in ways he hadn’t yet been able to. “Is a week enough?”

“Cap- I was only asking for a few days-” Johnny began.

“A week. If she’s having a hard time, give ‘er the world… show her the meaning behind your feelings and your words, Tav. Do Simon and Kyle know?” He asked.

“They’ve had inklings… but you’re the first person I’ve confirmed anything to.” Johnny admitted, turning over a book that rested on the edge of the coffee table, the phone resting comfortably in his other hand. “Thank you, Cap. I… can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s absolutely brilliant… and mine. ‘M not sharin…” He exclaimed.

Their conversation ended with pleasantries and the agreed upon reasoning that would be put on his paperwork before he returned to bed, pulling you back into his arms to keep you there till morning came.

He pretended to remain sleepy and nestled in after you kissed his forehead goodbye, only jumping from the bed when he heard the door lock behind you. So much to do and so little time to do it. Eight hours and counting as he cracked his knuckles, putting on some dance-y pop music to get the day going. There was nothing like hearing a scottish lilted rendition of Dirty Mind by 3OH!3 and Last Friday Night by Katy Perry. And he made sure to record little bouts of it between chores, saving the videos to show you later.

His start was the rest of the dishes, picking them up from all over the apartment, handwashing what needed a bit of extra help before loading the rest into the dishwasher and running it. Next, he took your laundry, sorting it and starting the largest load he could. All of this was about you, for you… his love. To ease the burden resting on your shoulders, the weight that threatened to bend you till you broke.

While the dishes and laundry ran, he swept and vacuumed, rearranging the furniture to make sure no spot was missed. Your books were stacked on the coffee table, his sketchbook and pencils set beside it. It was your best friend he called next, asking for the recipe for her chicken and gnocchi that you loved so dearly, making a quick run to the grocery store to pick up ingredients. There he also picked up an assortment of desserts, cannolis, ice cream, and cheesecake, a lactose intolerant persons nightmare… or daydream, knowing how willing to ignore their intolerance most were. When you texted to say that work was making you stay a couple hours extra, he only sighed in relief. While it annoyed him that they were keeping you from coming home to him, he was glad for more time to better set up his surprise.

Some people would think perhaps it was strange to buy three of the same candle, but now that he was back in your apartment, he put one on the coffee table, one on your desk, and the third in the kitchen. Sweet Mint and Grapefruit. Something comforting and uplifting, just like how he hoped to have you. On the chair closest to the door, he laid out soft pajamas, intent to have you out of your work clothes and leaving that world behind you, if even only for the weekend. Clothes were folded and put away from the laundry, your bed made as a pot simmered on the stove. The realization that he loved you had hit him like a freight train, making his heart soar and sing, so to see you so stressed and pained… he felt it at his core.

The door unlocking had him perked like a dog, vaulting the back of your couch to meet you at the door, his hands on your forearms with an earsplitting smile. “Mo ghràdh…” He swallowed, watching as the startled confusion faded to recognition, a tired and strained smile pressing to your lips.

“Johnny, sunshine… lemme get my shoes and stuff off- WHATAREYOUDOING JOHN AIDAN MACTAVISH-”

But your shriek only spurned him further, soft laughter tearing from his throat as he lifted you easily past the threshold and taking your bag to set it on the ground. “Turn your brain off, Mo ghràdh. Just let me handle… everything.” He cooed, catching your eyes as they wandered about your freshly spotless apartment.

“Johnny… when did you…” but your words stalled again as he sank to his knees before you, eyes light with hunger and reverence.

“Called into work. I’m yours for the whole next week… Cap pulled some strings for me.” He explained, watching your eyes widen and water. Any words of dissent fell away as his hands smoothed over your hips, bringing his face to your abdomen as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your clothes. “Ya had a long day, hen… tha’s not lost on me… and the weeks been so hard for ya… just let me take care of it, let me take care of you. Can ye be a good girl and let me do that for you?” Johnny hummed, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Only when he felt you melt into his touch, your eyes closing a nod consenting to his actions, did he continue. His hands left your hips to remove your shoes and socks, a kiss pressed to your clothed knee as he did. “My pretty bird… so sweet for me… working so hard to make everyone happy, you just forget about yourself do ye? Not a soul in this world deserves your kindness, your smile… hell, let alone me. The fact that I get it at all?” He sighed contently, tugging the waistband of your pants down, and your underwear with it. “Perhaps that’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven… and I couldn’t be more glad for it. Glad for you to have waltzed your way into my life and made a home in my heart.”

The flush that had grown on your cheeks, the warmth that spread through your body as his touch wandered over beautifully scarred skin, kissing freckles and dimples, anything that could be considered an imperfection by a society that had forgotten what love and devotion truly were. His hands caressed from thigh to waist, bringing your shirt up over your arms, guiding you forward just enough that he could pull it over your head and press his lips to your forehead once more. “Yer perfect f’me… so perfect.” He breathed, pushing up on his knees to wrap his arms around you, chin resting just at the lowest part of your sternum as he flicked his fingers, your bra coming undone and falling slack off your shoulders.

He relished in the sigh that left your lips, enjoying that bras existed only so he could remove them from your beautifully painted body. “My cliodna, my venus, my very own aphrodite. Not a single thing in this world is more precious than my girl…”

“Johnny…” You groaned, turning your head away to hide the ever growing flush at your cheeks.

“Please look at me…” He bid, eyes wide and almost puppyish as he pressed ticklish kisses to your naval, facial hair gently scratching at the skin to make you jump into him. When he saw your gaze back upon him, a boyish grin crossed his face, wedging your legs apart as he walked you back to the door to lean against it. “Oh, Mo ghràdh, don’t look at me like that, makes it hard to think.” Johnny teased, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder. “Hold on if you need to, but I promise I’ve got you.”

And when he looked at you like that, as if he were a man gazing upon salvation, how could you not believe him?

Any thoughts were quickly interrupted by his kisses as they trailed lower before pressing against the sensitive apex at the top of your heat. Unbeknownst to you, his devotion had already taken affect as he felt wetness against his tongue, savoring the ragged gasp that left your lips like a starved man.

Fingers dug at the fleshy part of your hips, his chin inclining as his lashes fluttered, eyes rolling back as he began a sweet and unyielding pace. He was yours, so deeply and entirely yours as he doted upon your body, seeking only to hear those familiar and sweet moans that showed just how you were feeling. Because while your mind may betray you, your voice and body never could, not when he was between your legs.

Your hands fell to the longer, thickened and somewhat curly hair of his mohawk, fingers curling into it as you momentarily debated whether to push him back or- no, no, you pulled him closer, hips canting against his lips with a breathy cry as his other hand slipped down between your legs, two fingers finding their way inside to curl and thrust against the spongy heat that craved to be full. As you whispered a soft apology for pulling his hair so roughly, you were silenced by his own moan, your eyes meeting for only a moment as you caught sight of his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. It was a romantics painting in its own right, the visual opposition of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, this angel full of endearing passion and idolization.

Your eyes rolled back as his tongue delved deeper, circling your clit as he traced letters over it, something only for him as he savored your sweetness upon his tongue.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U. Over and over until he felt your hips begin to tremble, leg buckling as you grew nearer and nearer to release. On different terms, he would have stopped, wanting to draw out and prolong your pleasure as long as he could, torturing you with your release- but not today. Not now, no. That was for a day where his focus was on not only you.

“Sunshine-” you whispered, the breath stuttered along with your hips when his fingers curled against that spot deep inside you, stars bursting in front of your open eyes as your vision went white. Did you scream? Did you moan? You briefly felt a bit of pain on your tongue, a metallic taste spreading across it as you subconsciously bit down, weak whimpers sending your body trembling and tumbling forward into your Johnny.

He was all too happy to sustain you, holding you up and pinning your hips to the door as he lapped up the thick and creamy juices that spilled onto his tongue, face glistening when he finally pulled away with a rough gasp. “All that f’me, princess?” he hummed, rubbing his chin across the inside of your thigh, just to feel your sensitive and overstimulated body jump beneath his touch.

Johnny stood then, carrying you to the bathroom and turning on the shower. It was easy to ignore- well, not easy, but he was more than willing to ignore the aching strain in his pants as he guided you through a shower, your sweet, starstruck gaze on his as you kissed the taste of yourself off his tongue. He didn’t care as his clothes got wet, making sure to take his time as he ran the loufa over your body, scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the day before cleaning each part of you more gently and tenderly. Your hair was washed, your scalp massaged as he hummed softly to you, crooning sweet words of praise and pride. “My pretty girl… so perfect f’me… look at you… jus’ look at you… so gorgeous.”

When the shower ended you were wrapped in a still warm towel and whisked back to the living room, your feet barely touching the ground long enough for you to register it. So this was what it meant to be loved? The words hadn’t been shared between you two, not yet, but it was undeniable now. These acts of service were hardly acts at all, only the truest form of love and devotion as he dressed you just as slowly and tenderly as he’d undressed you.

“Wait…” you slurred, lashes fluttering as you glanced around. “What’s that…”

A cheeky smile crossed his face as he pulled your nightshirt over your body. “Might’ve called your friend for a bit of help…” he exclaimed, taking you to the kitchen and grabbing two bowls. “Think you can eat fer me? I know it’s hard when yer stressed so… thought I might tempt you.” Johnny laughed.

Bowls of food were brought to the table, and when you hesitated to take a bite, he ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth and lifted the spoon to it, feeding you slowly. “There we go… tha’s a good girl… don’t gotta eat it all, just gotta eat enough for me. I’m here, I’m with you… won’t make you talk about it…” He stated, watching as your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the love and devotion shown to you.

“I love you.” You blurted, the words causing your eyes to widen. Stress had melted away as his hands had earlier explored your body, but now it was back, tension coiling in your chest. “I mean-”

“I love you, too.” Johnny exclaimed softly, a slow smile gracing his face- like the sun cresting the horizon after a rainy night. “I love you. Tha gaol agam ort. You and I… this… it’s everything to me. You’re everything to me, and I wanted to show you, really show you just what you mean to me. Not in grand gestures, but… just like this… I want it to always be like this, or better. I want us to keep working towards better, as long as it’s… together.” He stated, setting down the spoon and pressing your foreheads together.

Tears fell as the floodgates burst, your head bowed and elbows resting on the table. It had been too much before, your work life, family life, even health feeling like it was all working against you- and in a moment of anger, you’d convinced yourself you were alone.

But how could that have been true when you had the literal sun before you? You understood now, Icarus and Apollo, Achilles and Patroclus, Odysseus and Penelope. The all encompassing love that drove people to war and compassion.

“I love you.” You wept, the words more freeing than you had ever known them to be.

Dishes were forgotten on the table as he swept you into his arms, an increasingly common action as of late and led you back to your bedroom, laying you down upon soft and silken sheets. “I love you, M’eudail… every piece of you that you had long since abandoned, the parts you didn’t think were capable or worthy of being loved, I love all of it, and if you’ll give it to me, I’ll show you… I promise, and promises are meant to be kept.” He whispered, caging your body in with his own as he acted like a weighted blanket pinning you to the bed.

Your chest screamed for air, as laughter bubbled out between your tears, one hand threading into the back of his mohawk, the other rubbing small circles into his back. “How did I get so lucky?” you whispered, the words a betrayal of your mind.

“You didn’t do anything, Mo ghràdh, just by existing you are worthy of love. Worthy of living a life lighter of stress. Just by existing you have earned and deserved kindness… I am sorry that I am the first one to show you that, especially now.” He whispered, the words soft upon your skin.

“I’ll call into work next week…” You whispered, hiccuping softly as his hands slipped beneath your shirt.

“I didn’t plan to leave you for a moment anyways.” He mused in return. “I love you, M’eudail… my perfect, bonnie love…”

“I love you too, Sunshine. If there’s a place for me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

“I’m counting on it.”

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