berrythefish · 2 days ago
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It's nice to have you back moon.
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jmjoneswriter · 2 days ago
Hello there! I love your works, they are so great. Could you please make a reader/oc and Daemon, where she is a slave and he decide to buy her because he is taking a liking to her. She is very afraid of her since all she ever knew was cruelty. Daemon gives her food, clothes, education, but she is still afraid of him due to the horrific rumors of his cruelty in the city. She tries to escape several times unsuccessfully and he gets furious because the city is a dangerous place for a maiden and he goes to save her. Little by little they build their relationship
Cruelty In The Cages - Daemon Targaryen x Reader
summary: When Daemon Targaryen bought you from a slaver, you didn’t think that he had any intentions of buying your freedom. However, after a failed attempt at escaping the room he so graciously offered you, you start to realize that perhaps the Rogue Prince does have softer side to him. 
pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader
word count: 2.1k
warnings: traumatized reader
a/n: Thanks for the request! <3 I have opened my requests again, you can find all info below. (Please use the ‘Request a One Shot’ button my profile for requests)
Request status: open [info] Commission status: open [info]
@mirandastuckinthe80s @omgsuperstarg @agentstarkid @faatxma @a-lil-bit-nuts @wasntpriscilla @glitterandgoldfinds @judig92   @evyiione @severewobblerlightdragon @miahxelizabeth @ren-ni @paprikabadger @isaxbella749  @nikaprincessofkattegat @jamiejazzed @kaitieskidmore1 @moonmaiden1996 @syrma-sensei @edum123 @casualheartadorable @metalfangirl @tetgod 
If you wish to be added to or removed from the character taglist, please comment underneath this post​.
Masterlist - Ko-fi
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You stared at the wall on the opposite side of the room, face blank, as you pulled your knees to your chest. You were still shaking slightly, despite the soft and warm mattress underneath you. It was a small room, with a dresser, a window and the single bed you were sitting on, but compared to what you were used to, this was grand. Perhaps it was only the calm before the storm, though, since you could not believe that someone would buy you to rescue you. 
Girls like you were only one thing to other people: products. Goods they could invest in to get something out of it in return, and you were painfully aware of your buyer’s reputation. 
You wrapped your arms around your torso, nails digging into the exposed flesh of your arms as you bit back a whimper. Who were you to cry in a room with a warm blanket? The other girls were probably still locked up, and while you had enjoyed a warm meal, they had to obey orders. Your eyes landed on the empty tray on the dresser. You had been thankful for the food, but swallowed it too fast and now your stomach was aching. 
You wondered how the other girls were doing and if some of them had been as lucky as you, if you could even call yourself that. Tears threatened to fall but you blinked them away, just as someone knocked on the door and pulled it open.
Prince Daemon Targaryen entered the room, a cup from which steam rose in his hand. The sound of the door falling into its lock made you jump, which he noticed. 
“You have nothing to fear here,” he said with a gentle voice as he placed the cup on the dresser next to the empty tray. “I will have a servant clean this up soon.”
You pressed your back against the wall you were leaning against, causing the mattress to squeak underneath you. Alert eyes followed the prince’s every movement, especially when he came to a halt right next to the bed. He looked at it as if he was debating whether he should sit or not, but seemed to have decided against it since he remained standing. 
“I see the maids have bathed you,” he continued, but you still did not say a single word to him. You haven’t since the moment he’d put you in this room. Judging by how many nights had passed, you guessed that it had been three days so far. And still, your skin had not gotten used to soap and your stomach had not adjusted to regular food intake. 
Daemon studied you from head to toe, until his eyes locked with yours again. He exhaled deeply, before finally sitting down. His weight caused the mattress to sink where he was sitting, and you pushed yourself away from him even more. 
“You have not told me your name yet,” he continued, elbows placed on his knees. 
You swallowed to wet your throat, before responding, “You have not asked.” Your voice was raspy and quieter than you intended it to be. Perhaps you should have spoken to the servants at least, but you feared that everyone could be out to get you. It was how you lived your life when you had always been in a state of survival.
Daemon chuckled half-heartedly, but it sounded more like a scoff to your ears as he intertwined his fingers. “What is your name?” 
You didn’t reply. It was not that he could do some damage with this information, but your name was something that you had carried with the last bit of dignity you possessed. It was sacred to you, and a reminder of your humanity. It would not be given away this easily. 
“Do you really want me to call you by the number they gave you? 1932?” 
You flinched when he said it. To the slavers, you and the others were nothing but numbers. Numbers which did the labor they thought was below them. Daemon must have sensed your tension, since he stood and moved closer until he was standing right beside you, his body blocking your view of the window. 
“You can make this harder than it has to be,” he began, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “But I am not here to harm you.” 
“Then why do you keep me locked up?” You snapped, but as you looked up at him you found him smirking at you. Soon, the smirk faded though and his tone became serious. 
“The streets and even the palace are not safe. It is for your own protection.” You bit your tongue, not believing a word he was saying. You had already tried to escape twice, and he had tightened security around your room as a consequence. Perhaps he got off on controlling you. He walked towards the door, gaze jumping between you and the hot cup on the dresser. “It’s tea,” he explained. “It’ll warm you.”
You watched him leave, and only relaxed your muscles when the door closed behind him. The steam rising from the cup had faded a little by now, but you had no intention of drinking it. Who knew what was inside? You’d only touched the food because you would starve otherwise, and it had smelled incredibly good. 
You swallowed, gaze falling onto the window as the palms of your hands began to itch. This was your very first chance at freedom, which had never been closer. You still felt a phantom feeling of shackles around your wrists and ankles, but knowing they weren’t there kept you sane.
You would not waste this chance.
After throwing one last glance at the door to make sure he would not return, you hurried over to the window and peeked outside, only to find that it was not that high above ground. Underneath was a body of water, but you had no way of telling how deep it was. There was the chance of breaking a leg, but it would heal again. You simply had to get away from this place first, maybe take a ship to another city or even continent. Two failed attempts were behind you, but they did say that three time’s the charm.
You placed both hands on either side of the window, and pushed yourself up until you were crouching in the opening in the stone wall. Your heart beat so fast, the blood rushing through your ears deafened you, but before you could overthink your decision, you let yourself fall and landed in the cold water with a splash. 
Cold bit into your skin as you walked through the town, brushing past people who were too busy or distracted to notice you. The stench of alcohol and urine was in the air, and you had to cover your mouth with the cloak you’d stolen to avoid vomiting. Your hair was still a little wet. Hood pulled above your head, you kept your gaze lowered to avoid drawing attention to yourself, out of fear someone might find and catch you.
You had left the palace hours ago, and had no doubt that Prince Daemon had already found out about your absence, but you expected him to mourn the loss of his money more than you. After all, he did pay a good price for you. At least in your worth you found some sort of twisted pride. 
A man bumped into you, making you lose your balance momentarily. “Watch it” He hissed before he gulped down a bottle of ale. Some of the liquid splashed onto your skin, and you grimaced. You had not missed this world a single bit, but even if it was dirty and filled with scumbags, you were free. That was all that mattered to you. 
Your happiness was short-lived, however, as you crossed a group of three men in a secluded alleyway you had originally wanted to use as a shortcut. You stopped when you saw them, wanting to hide, but they had already turned to look at you, eyeing you from head to toe. 
“You lost, lad?” Asked one of them as he cleaned the dirt underneath his nails with a blade. You took a step back, shaking your head instead of answering vocally to avoid blowing your cover. One of the men approached you, and you had to stare at the ground to avoid looking into his eyes. 
“My friend asked ye a question.” You still didn’t answer, which made him grab you by the coat angrily. “You mute?” 
Your hood fell from your head, revealing your face and long hair. The men exchanged glances, which soon turned to disgusting smiles. “You not a lad at all, are ya?” 
“Please, let me go,” you said, voice shaking, but the men only laughed, so you squeezed your eyes together, not wanting to see what would happen next. Just when you thought that this was the end, you heard one of them struggling for air, and then a crack. And another. Before you knew it, you stood on your feet again, tumbling since you still had your eyes closed. 
A person appeared behind you, and you leaned against them as you opened your eyes, only to find the three men laying at your feet with their necks twisted. You wanted to scream, but you covered your mouth with your hands instead. 
“I told you it’s not safe,” you heard the man behind you say, anger in his voice. Daemon. He must have followed you. You didn’t resist when he wrapped his arms around you, most likely since you were still unsteady on your feet. 
“Are you going to lock me up in that room again?” You held onto him, and hated yourself for how good it made you feel. You had never been protected, or treated well. But this man had just slain three others to save you, had given you food and everything else you needed to survive. Not once had he asked for anything in return. Could your issues trusting have clouded your judgment?
“You are no prisoner,” he whispered against your ear, and even though you had your back still turned towards him, you felt him on every inch of your skin. “But you cannot continue trying to escape. This is the third time.”
You gulped, pressing your lips together in a fine line before you nodded hesitantly, knowing that he was right. He had not harmed you, or given you any other reason to mistrust him. Rumors carried a heavy weight, but if they were true, if he was as cruel as they said, then he had not shown you that side of him.
With shaking hands, you turned around to face the man, whose fury about your escape was still written across his face. But you bowed your head, bringing some distance between you two. 
“I have not thanked you yet, Your Grace,” you mumbled. Out of fear he wouldn’t be able to understand you, you raised your voice as you continued. “So thank you, for taking me away from… these people.” You couldn’t stand to look him in the eye, but he placed a hand underneath your chin and tilted your head up, so you had no choice. 
His gaze flickered between your eyes and mouth as he kept your chin raised. “The world is a dangerous place for a girl like you. It is filled with wolves that kill you, and vultures that feast on the remaining flesh. You would be wise to accept the help of a wolf when he offers it to you.”
You gulped as your breath became shallow, and Daemon’s hand dropped from your chin to your shoulder, where he held you gently, yet firmly. A sudden sound behind you made you jump towards him, and you were trembling when you buried your face in his cloak. This had all been too much for you, so the amount of relief you felt when he wrapped his arms around your body could be felt by both of you. 
All you had ever wanted was to feel safe for once in your life. And something told you that you had finally found what you craved for. 
“Let’s go,” he whispered, caressing your back. “You’re safe with me.” He started walking down the alleyway, but you stopped him.
“Wait.” Your voice was quiet, but he heard it, stopping in his tracks to look at you. You hesitated, but finally said, “(y/n). My name is (y/n).” Daemon exhaled, lips curling up in a faint smile as he held an arm out towards you. “It is a beautiful name. You are wise to keep it safe.”
You returned the smile, heat rushing to your cheeks when you took his hand and let him guide you back to the palace.
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whumpsday · 2 days ago
Kane & Jim #39: Heat Wave Part 2
content: vampire whumpee, heat whump, claustrophobia, death wish, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, recovery, comfort
“Okay. However you wanna do it.” Kane heard from within his cocoon. “We’re at the door. You let me know when to step out. If anything hurts, say something and I’ll bring you right back inside.”
This was it. He was going outside, in the daytime. With only a few layers protecting him from the sun. To go to a hunter’s house. While restrained to the point of immobility.
He hesitated. Maybe if he just didn’t say anything, it would all go away.
But he was so hot, so massively uncomfortable. He’d thought it was bad before being wrapped up in blankets, but now the heat was nearly unbearable. And the sooner he gave Jim the signal to step out, the sooner he would feel nice, cool air again.
Kane couldn’t really speak at this point, but he made a soft sound, half-hoping Jim wouldn’t hear him.
“Alright. You’re gonna be fine. Opening the door.” Jim said as Kane’s heart pounded, every muscle in his overheated body tensed with dreadful anticipation.
He could feel Jim walking forward, leaning back against his chest. Somehow, horribly, he felt even hotter.
The sun was shining on him. And despite the unbearable heat, no burn followed.
“Anything hurt?” Jim asked.
Kane shook his head no, shaking.
“Great. You’re doing great, Kane. It’s alright, I’ve gotcha. Not gonna let anything bad happen to you.” came Jim’s soothing voice as he felt himself laid down in what he assumed, what he hoped, was the trunk.
“You all set for me to get the ball rolling on this?” Jim asked.
Kane made a soft whining sound, nodding. He wanted this over with as soon as possible.
“Alright. Shout if you need anything, loud, so I can hear you. I’ll get you out of there soon as possible.”
And with a thunk, the trunk was closed, leaving Kane trapped inside. He soon felt the car begin to move from within his sweltering prison.
It’s not the sun. It’s not the sun. It’s not the sun.
Kane repeated his mantra to himself over and over again, as if it would make the all-encompassing heat he was currently experiencing any better. But it felt like every passing minute, it was getting hotter and hotter, the blankets duct-taped snugly around him, pressing in on his clammy skin. He squirmed, trying to see if he could find a more comfortable position, but he was completely, utterly stuck.
Worse, as the minutes passed, Kane was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. His space was so limited, he felt like he was breathing the same stale air over and over. He couldn’t tell whether that was true, or if it was just so warm and cramped that it only felt that way.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. It’s too hot! His thoughts spiraled into panic as he lay helpless in the trunk, his short, rapid breaths only making it worse. He thrashed briefly, but stopped as soon as he heard a small rip.
No. He was a full-strength vampire now, kept healthy by Jim’s gracious blood. He wasn’t trapped. He could easily tear himself out of this suffocating prison if he wanted to.
And then when Jim opened the trunk, he would be burned by the sun.
Kane forced himself to lay still, trying to calm down. A rip, there had been a rip. He couldn’t see anything beyond the blanket directly in front of his eyes and the sweat dripping from his hair to his face, unsure of what exactly ripped. Had it been the tape, or one quilt, or both? He was so glad he’d chosen to have two. So glad Jim had offered him more protection from the sun, no matter how hellish this was. Part of him wished he’d taken Jim up on his offer to sit up front.
He’d endured worse. Less than thirty minutes, and he’d be released. But as the car drove and drove and drove, Kane’s anxiety increased. He had no way of telling how long it had been, but it felt longer than thirty minutes.
A horrible thought occurred to him: had all this been a ruse to get him compliant so he could be sent back?
No. Jim wouldn’t do that.
Would he?
Kane’s heart pounded as he considered the possibility. Jim had promised that if he ever couldn’t keep him, he would kill him instead. He’d slowly grown to trust Jim over the last months, trusted that Jim would allow him basic needs like food and safety. But now, trapped in the trunk of a car in broad daylight, he felt stupid. How had he allowed this to happen to himself? For someone with so much reason to hate him to hold this much power over him?
His stake was packed in his luggage bag. Kane wormed around a bit, trying to feel for it, but he seemed to be the only thing in the trunk. His bag had to be in the back seat. Or, well, if it was all a lie and he was being taken back to the hunters, maybe it wasn’t even in the car at all. His only means of self-made salvation, far away in the safe haven Jim’s home had become.
Kane sobbed. Please, please, I want to be good. I was trying to be good. You don’t even need to feed me, you don’t even need to keep me alive, just please don’t make me go back.
Finally, after what seemed much too long to be just thirty minutes bound in the tight, oppressive heat, the car stopped. Kane’s heart hammered in his chest. Anything could happen now. He had no idea where he was, and he could easily be thrown into the sun.
He heard the trunk open, flinching as much as he was able. Luckily, he didn’t burn.
“We made it, man.” came Jim’s voice. “Looks like you’re all clear, I’m gonna carry you inside.”
Kane felt hands on his upper back and behind his knees, lifting him out of the trunk. Please, please don’t let me burn, please don’t take me back, please just let me out somewhere safe.
“It’s okay, Kane. You’re okay. You’re almost there, just breathe.” Jim said gently.
I’m trying! There wasn’t enough air, the world was constricting him.
“He’s restrained, right? You can let him out anywhere.”
Kane never thought he’d be so happy to hear Liz’s voice. Maybe it really had only been thirty minutes, and the heat had just gotten to him.
“Alright, cool.” Jim replied, setting him on a hard surface. The floor, most likely.
“Is that the vampire?” an unfamiliar voice asked, sending Kane’s heart skyrocketing. Jim hadn’t mentioned anyone else being here. “Can I see?”
“Yeah, you’re about to see.” Jim replied. “Just be careful, he gets scared easy. No sudden moves or anything.”
“Gotcha.” the unknown person agreed.
He heard tape being unwound, and felt himself tumble as one of the quilts came off. Instantly, some of the heat subsided, bringing him a rush of relief.
“Oh, looks like you tore through some of the tape there. Guess two blankets really was a good call.” Jim said as he tore off the second set of tape.
And suddenly, blissfully, the blanket opened to cool air. Kane gasped, sucking in fresh air like he’d been denied it for days. It wasn’t nearly as bad as those times he had been, he hadn’t even fully had his air cut off, but being able to breathe normally again was amazing. He tried to steady himself against the floor, before remembering his hands were bound.
Jim rubbed his back. “There you go. You’re alright. We made it. No burns?”
Kane shook his head, which only made him more dizzy than he already was. “N-none. Thank you so much.” He hugged his head with his hands, trying to make the world stop spinning.
“Oh, shit. You okay?” Jim asked.
“I’ve got it.” said the unknown person, sporting a swath of dyed-blue hair. They ran off to the kitchen, and Kane could hear the tap running before they came back with a soaked washcloth. “Here.”
Jim took the washcloth and pressed it to Kane’s forehead, pleasantly cold. “Knew the trunk was a bad idea.”
“Feels nice.” Kane murmured. He was still frequently surprised when things felt nice, it had become such a foreign concept to him.
“Good.” Jim said with a smile. “Um... Laken, this is Kane.”
Kane knew that name. Liz’s friend, Jim had mentioned them before. He turned his attention to the unknown person, a curious smile greeting them.
“Heyo.” they greeted, casually raising a hand. “I’m Laken de la Cruz, Liz’s hunting partner. Weird to meet you, I guess?”
Kane leaned closer into Jim’s arms, suddenly even more wary than he had been before. Of course Liz’s friend would also be a hunter.
“Hey, it’s alright. They’re not gonna hurt you. You’re safe, remember?” Jim soothed.
“Oh yeah, totally. I’m off the clock.” the hunter said lightheartedly, with a wink. “Sides, you’re already locked.” They gestured to the cuffs encircling Kane’s wrists and ankles.
“Alright, alright.” Liz interjected, clearly annoyed. Kane whimpered slightly, clinging to Jim. “Let’s get you guys set up.”
“In the basement?” Kane asked hopefully.
“This house doesn’t have a basement.” Jim said.
No, no, no. That was bad, bad. Basements were safe. In a basement, he wouldn’t have to worry about- “But, but the sun?”
“I’m setting you up in... the spare room. The curtains are closed.” Liz said awkwardly. Kane had a feeling there was something off about what she was saying, but he didn’t dare question her.
Kane didn’t like this. He didn’t want to stay in a room where he was only the brush of a curtain away from being burned. Sure, he hung out with Jim in his living room, but Jim was there. He would be left alone in there, this time. He hadn’t been alone in a windowed room... ever.
But he didn’t have a choice. There were no other options. He should be grateful his life was in the hands of humans who cared enough to close the curtains. He forced a smile. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Yeah, well. It happens, I guess.” Liz said curtly, her irritation spiking his anxiety. He stopped himself from instinctively clinging tighter to Jim, knowing that would only annoy her more.
“Do you sleep in the daytime or nighttime?” Laken asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Oh. Um, nighttime.” he answered. “I’m on Jim’s schedule.”
“What does blood taste like?” they asked next, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Kane could feel Jim freeze against him.
“Laken.” Liz said in a warning tone.
Laken glanced at Jim for a millisecond. “Shit. Sorry. I got carried away, my bad. Just never met a vampire outside of fightin’ before.”
Liz rolled her eyes. “They’ve tried to interview those vampires, too. Mid-combat.”
Laken shrugged. “They weren’t very open to communication, but it was worth a shot.”
“Okay! I’m gonna get Kane set up in Mom and Dad’s room.” Jim interrupted. “You don’t mind me uncuffing him so he can shower, right?”
Ah. That was Liz’s problem talking about the room. Kane didn’t know what to do about it, all he was doing was following the humans’ directions. He just wanted them to be pleased with him so he wouldn’t be hurt.
“Nah. It’s daytime and we’ve got two hunters here, I doubt he’d try anything.” Liz said.
Jim grabbed both their luggage bags, handed Kane’s to him, and dragged him up the stairs. Kane was relieved to finally be away from the hunters.
“Alright, here we are.” Jim said, opening the door to his parents’ old room. “You’re gonna chill here for the next few days while my place gets fixed up.”
Kane warily eyed the curtains, as if gauging how likely they were to leap from the windows and attack. “Yes. Thank you.”
“I know you probably wanna grab a shower after all that. Lemme unlock those for you.” Jim fished the keys out of his pocket and removed Kane’s cuffs. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”
“Okay.” Kane agreed, staring at his own wrists.
“Hey.” Jim said, causing Kane to look back up at him. “I know this was real scary for you. Thanks for doing it anyway.”
Kane nodded. “It’s... probably better this way. Than being in the heat for hours waiting for sunset. Thank you for making it... not bad.”
“Yeah, I mean, I know... what it’s like to be really afraid. I wanted to smooth it out, you know? Take a nice cool shower. See you in a bit.” Jim waved him goodbye, dropping the cuffs outside the door and heading to his own room.
He’d slept over a few times since moving out, so it wasn’t that unusual. It always felt nostalgic to be back here, but knowing Kane was one door down made everything... surreal. And despite himself, a little scary.
After he unpacked, Jim started toward the stairs.
“He’s sensitive, Laken. You’ve gotta be more careful with what you say around him.” Liz said in hushed tones, though still loud enough for Jim to hear. He paused in his tracks.
“He can’t be that sensitive. He lives with the vampire. You gotta stop babying him. He’s a grown man.” Laken argued. “Jim’s stronger than you think he is.”
Huh. He never thought Laken saw him that way. He’s never even seen himself that way.
“Listen, I’m not saying he’s not. He’s gotta be, to get through what that fucking monster did to him. I can’t believe the damn vampire’s in my house. It’s just...” Liz sighed. “He’s fragile, okay? You aren’t the one who’s held him after nightmares. You aren’t the one who he calls at three in the morning because he’s scared. You aren’t the one who had to help him write a practice speech begging the vampire for mercy, because Jim was afraid Kane would snap his ankles if he found him. The less reminders of things he doesn’t wanna think about, the better. And the fact that the vampire sees him as food is definitely one of those things.”
Jim winced at the reminder, knowing that only proved her right.
He remembered that speech. He’d written it not long after escaping. He still had it, written on crumpled paper with shaking hands and splotched with tear-stains. Though he supposed he definitely didn’t need it anymore.
“It’s sweet how much you care about him, Lizzie. But if anything’s gonna be a reminder, it’s probably the vampire himself, who he already sees every day. Did you ever think he’d be able to do that? Jim’s up there alone with him right now, taking his restraints off. I’m just saying, he’s obviously still got issues, anyone would after what happened to him, but he’s getting better.”
Better? Am I? Jim didn’t feel better. He felt like he was getting irrationally scared of shit every single day. But Laken was right, in a way. He’d never imagined he could live with Kane again, and willingly.
“I guess you’re right.” Liz conceded. “And I’m glad for it, too. He deserves a little peace, though I don’t know how much he’s getting, considering...”
“Well, the vampire doesn’t seem to be much of a threat these days.” Laken said.
“How can you be so casual about it?” Liz asked. “You know what they’re capable of. And this one’s proven what he’s capable of.”
Jim decided he’d had enough eavesdropping, coming down the stairs loud enough to make sure he wouldn’t sneak up on anyone. “Laken’s right. Kane’s not a threat anymore, I’ve got everything under control.”
Laken gave him a friendly smile, but Liz startled. She knows I overheard.
“Alright, alright. I’m outnumbered.” Liz threw her hands up in defeat. “I’m already letting him stay here, aren’t I?”
“Thanks again for that, Liz. I seriously don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.” Jim said.
“Of course. I’ll always have your back.”
After a delightfully cool shower and a fresh change of clothes, Kane unpacked his luggage. He decided to keep his stake inside the bag, just in case someone happened to be watching him re-pack when it was time to go. Jim came back up shortly after, re-cuffing him and letting him know he’d be right downstairs if he needed anything.
Despite his fear of staying at a hunter’s house, the three days they spent there were relatively peaceful. Jim still came to feed him once a day, hung out for a bit, and he was otherwise mostly left to his own devices.
At night, he dared to peek out the curtain. His glimpses of the beautiful night sky were so rare. He hadn’t seen it since the car ride when Jim picked him up from the hunters, and before that, really only in the dread-filled moments before sunrise, strapped to a board with no escape.
It had been so long since he’d been able to see the stars in peace.
He was able to once again when it was time to go. After sunset on the day Jim’s air conditioning was fixed, he rode in the passenger seat of Jim’s car. No blankets or duct tape or trunk this time. For a moment, he could almost believe he was a regular person again, if it weren’t for the chains binding his wrists and ankles.
It occurred to Kane that he could probably escape, right now. It would be hard to run with the ankle cuffs, but it was only just after sunset, and Jim had given him his strength back. He would be able to make it to vampire territory if he really tried.
But as he looked over at Jim, he realized he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to go back to vampire territory, to explain to his hateful family where he’d been, to return to his lonely life. He was fed and free of pain. He wanted to stay. And more importantly, Jim wanted him to stay. It was the whole reason he was bound. He owed Jim that much and more.
Kane couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he returned to his basement.
i got covid and immediately started writing unstoppably because all my prior commitments are on hold. prepare for a slew of QUARANTINE WRITING!!! the only thing holding me back is my fever!! lol
148 notes · View notes
voidcat · 2 days ago
characters: rain ghoul, gn!reader
a/n: listen,, i am TIRED and sleepy and water has always been a source of serenity for me so its only a lovely coincidence the ghoul represented with water symbol is becoming a comfort character for me<3
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the weight of the entire day doesn't dawn on you until a weight of someone does from behind.
arms sliding from both sides and wrapped around with ease, chin resting on the spot connecting your shoulder and neck, rain's form fits into yours perfectly, as always.
you do not realize just how exhausted you have been, since the morning– for the past couple of days, until rain's chest meets your back and as if on cue, your body drops all its weight onto him, leaning for support.
it is a relaxing position, despite still being on your feet. to let go of the muscle tone without a care, knowing you're in safe arms now, holding you, holding onto you, in a similar search of support like yours, you assume.
this kind of intimacy does not come so easily.
it is special, in its own way, to allow the vulnerability, to have your mind clear of everything, of every nagging thought, the fog that's been consuming your brain, the constant stream of worries– all that vaporized with a snap, no, dispelled swift and smooth, even from the moment you hear rain's footsteps approaching you, when your nose catches his scent, when you feel his warmth against yours.
and that's why, you do not see the need to turn back to see who it is that's holding you now.
not that you'd risk it either, the feeling of skin by your shoulder tells you he has forgo the mask for the time being– something rare for the ghouls themselves, especially outside their chambers.
his steady breathing puts you at ease easily, fastening the 'melting into him' process. you can feel the beat of his heart, the vibrations, the sounds, maybe it is delusional to say but as your pulse continues to drum in your ears, a part of you thinks the beats of your hearts start to synchronize with each passing second.
on moments like this, no words are needed, as you've both learnt together. swaying right and left slightly, rain's weight still pinning you down, you can hear him take a deep breath in, inhale and let go in a sigh. as if burning the sensation to his memory, to make it last for ever.
(but that's how it usually goes, no? to commit the feeling of him, of his touch, of the sounds he makes, of the way he acts and gestures as he talks into your memory– each detail, minor or not, a part of you and a part of him always work actively despite the serenity taking over. all that hard work so these moments will remain inside you forever.)
the thought of him inhaling your own scent shouldn't bring a smile to your lips, but the body does what it wants, the heart feels what it desires– and so you close your eyes, let your head fall back and leaning against his with a smile.
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bearwuvimagines · 2 days ago
Dear people who suffer from hallucinations:
Imagine your f/o notices how you react. If you’re anything like me, your head snaps over to where you saw the hallucination and whether or not it’s gone, you stare at the space trying to figure out if it’s really there. Your f/o will notice this and gently, reassuringly, wrap their arms around you and assure you it’s not real and that you’re safe with them. They’ll never see you as scary or crazy because of your hallucinations and they’ll always make sure you feel safe 💞
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lurkinglurkerwholurks · a day ago
Cass didn’t understand the concept of fair most of the time. It was the emptiest of words, which meant a lot considering Cass found most words empty, like fragile porcelain cups tipped on their sides and cracked useless. The others used it—never Bruce, or Alfred, but the younger ones, and even Dick sometimes, in a voice that went deliberately flat as if to fight against a rise—and people on the street and in shows, people she overheard, but she was never convinced she understood the concept. Things were as they were. Fair was a different thing from right or just, which were also words that were just as slippery, but that struck a voiceless resonance deep inside her in a way that fair did not.
Now, though, Cass thought she might be approaching an understanding. Cats were not fair in a way that specifically aggrieved her, which she thought might be a vital component to fairness.
It did not seem fair, for instance, that kittens were so lovely. She had never much paid attention to cats in her old life, as they were not survival, and survival was what she needed. When she had noticed them, she had liked them. What was not to like about a creature that kept its own counsel but was readable in a way that humans were readable—that is to say, perfectly plainly, if you knew how to look, though few seemed to try.
Cass looked, and she found them sensible. Of course a fast, frontal approach by a stranger would be seen as aggressive. Of course crowding one’s space without permission was a cause for offense. Sitting near but not next, in total silence and apparent disinterest was a valid form of bonding. Turning one’s back was an act of trust. Staring unblinkingly was off-putting and offensive. Slow, languid blinks were markers of affection.
Cass understood all this easily. It was one of the reasons she had so quickly trusted Bruce. He was very like a cat. She didn’t think that was why that woman liked him so much, but Cass also didn’t think that his cat-ness hurt. It certainly hadn’t hurt with Cass.
Cats were also very soft, and Cass liked soft things. She liked nearly everything about cats—their sleek or fluffy fur, their triangled noses, their expressive tails. She liked the kitten that lived in her home now, at least in theory. It had arrived in her absence, a pleasant surprise, when most surprises weren’t. It was very small and very frightened. It made itself bigger any time anyone looked at it, and the effort made it seem that much smaller. It had black fur with white paws, a white tuft on its chest, and a white cap to its tail, like a little suit. In a family of both suits and suits, Cass found the kitten entirely appropriate.
Also appropriate, but less appealing, was its ability to perform inexplicable disappearances from the one place it was allowed to be (Damian’s room) and reappearances in others where it was not (everywhere else.) This usually did not cause too much trouble. Damian was very responsible with his pet and spent a good deal of time with it, so he was quick to notice when it went missing. Wary as it was of others, the kitten took care not to cross paths with the humans of the house when it went on its adventures.
The kitten was not allowed in Cass’s room. This was not her rule, not exactly. It was Bruce’s rule, and Alfred’s, because the first time Cass met the kitten, it was clear they couldn’t be in the same space without Cass’s face melting. That’s what it had felt like, anyways, the sudden slide of her eyes and nose and mouth into liquid form like an ice cream zapped in a microwave. Cass, for all her self-preservation, wouldn’t have connected the attack to the hissing ball of fur in Damian’s arms, but Bruce had explained the concept of allergies as best he could.
This was all top of mind for Cassandra at present because as she lay sprawled on her bed, she sneezed three times in a row, which meant the kitten was somewhere in her room.
From her jumbled puddle of limbs on the bed, Cass briefly considered ignoring her intruder and trying to fall asleep. Patrol had been long, wet, and cold, a miserable combination. Though changed, Cass had been looking forward to being completely still and unconscious for the next six hours or so. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to hunt for one tiny kitten in the various nooks of her room.
She sneezed again, so hard it made the back of her throat hurt. Cass took a small, measured breath, then rolled onto her side, off the bed, and onto her feet. She didn’t groan, but she thought about it, which meant a lot from Cass. She spent most of her waking hours free of the influence of David Cain, but not all, and she had never shaken the unwillingness to make noise except when absolutely necessary. Voicing irritation was not necessary.
Wary of where the kitten might be and how close she might have to come to make her face melt, Cass sucked in a breath and held it as she scanned the room. It wasn’t a very large space, by design. Though Bruce had first placed Cass in a standard Manor bedroom the size of a—well, she wasn’t sure what it had been the size of, other than very large—after several weeks of Cass squirreling herself away as quickly and neatly as the kitten, a compromise had been reached. One of the windowed walk-in closets down the hall had been walled off from its corresponding bedroom but retained its connection to the bathroom. The result had been a cozy little nook with level after level of empty shelves, a single window, and just enough room for a full bed. Cass had been thrilled.
Unfortunately, Cass had had enough time at this point to truly nest, which meant dozens of little nooks, crannies, piles, and mounds that a small but determined cat could hide in, under, behind, or on top of. Cass had to draw in four more breaths as she searched, and her eyes were already stinging, tears blurring her vision faster than she could blink them away.
It didn’t occur to her to ask for help. Cass didn’t ask for help, not from anyone, not even Bruce. Besides, it was a very small kitten, and perhaps she could give it a little pet before she returned it to Damian’s room. That might be worth the trouble.
She hoped it was worth the trouble. By the time she noticed the green glint of reflective lenses at the very back corner of the shadows under her bed, Cass’s head felt full and prickly like it had been stuffed with the hay Scarecrow sometimes carefully sewing to the cuffs of his shirts. (Tim called it pretentious. Cass wasn’t sure what that meant, but the word felt as silly as the act of sewing dried grass to one’s sleeves looked, so she conditionally agreed.) The kitten stared at her, unblinking, which was good because all she could see were the eyes and a faint outline of a hunched back and rump.
Cass wiped her face on her shirt and considered what to do next.
“Hello?” she began slowly. “It’s okay. You are okay. It is safe. I am here to help.”
Bruce had taught her some of these, for use on patrol. She understood tone, trusted it more than words, but sometimes people needed to hear specific phrases to feel okay, like a set of passcodes she was only beginning to understand. She wasn’t sure if cats were the same way.
The little smudge hissed.
Please, she wanted to say, I am very tired and do not like my face wet and my nose full. The sneezing hurts. I am sorry, but please go away.
Unfortunately, the sneezing made it hard to remember the right words, and she was fairly certain that cats did not understand hand signs. And Cass was a very patient person until she wasn’t.
With a huff, Cass pushed forward with her toes and slithered under the bed, snatching at the kitten with both hands. Despite her near blindness and rapid-fire sneezing, Cass expected an efficient scoop and rescue. Instead, she found her hands full of a tiny, snarling, spitting whirlwind of teeth and claws. She managed to pull it from under the bed, working backwards on her thighs and elbows until she could kneel upright, but bobbled the kitten when it let out a throaty howl. She caught it again, but the change in position let the creature twist and sink its claws into her forearm.
Cass hurried to the door. The pain wasn’t enough to merit her attention, but she was worried about accidentally hurting the little creature by trying to keep it in her arms. Better to let it free rather than risk further damage through fright or a fall. She bent in a low, scooping motion and shoved the kitten into the hall, shutting the door behind it with a whispered “Sorry.”
This was better anyways, she decided as she sagged against the wall and scrubbed her face with the hem of her sweatshirt. Bad things might have happened if she had been caught with the kitten. Damian would have been angry, surely, and accused her of stealing his pet. Or Bruce or Alfred would have been disappointed in her for holding the kitten when she wasn’t supposed to, or angry at Damian for it getting loose. She especially didn’t want the latter to happen. The Manor was at peace, at long last, but the truce felt like the thin film of new ice, too easily cracked by the slightest pressure.
There was cat hair on her hoodie. Cass sighed to herself and stripped, dropping the now inside-out bundle of cloth on the floor as she shuffled to the bathroom to rinse her eyes. There was also a line of blood trickling down her arm from the kitten’s claws, matched by pinpricks of teeth closer to her wrist. She gave them a cursory rinse as well, having more than once been on the receiving end of Alfred’s disappointed frown in regards to stained linens.
The cold water felt good on her eyes, and after snagging another hoodie from a different floor pile, Cass crawled into bed, under her covers, and was asleep within minutes.
It was strange, being back in the Manor. Cass had thought she would never be here again, that the home its walls represented had crumbled and burned along with Bruce. But Bruce was back. And she was back. So why did feel like she had come back to the wrong house?
“Why don’t you ask Damian to spar with you,” Bruce suggested, his eyes never leaving the screen. It wasn’t a question. His voice stayed flat and blunt, like a broom pole against her spine, nudging her to do as he said.
Cass wished it were a broom pole, so she could snatch it from him and break it in half over her knee. She knew what he was doing. He had been upset that she had left after his “death” and wanted her to connect with the others. To be friends. Like they weren’t still scared of her. Like she had any interest in being friends with them.
I want to spar with you, Cass signed, but Bruce still wasn’t looking. Her fingertips twitched, fighting the impulse to reach out and pinch the side of his neck, to make him look.
She waited. And waited. And waited. Irritation and pent-up energy itched down her legs like ants, but she didn’t move. Bruce finally turned his head, his attention still half-caught by his work like a sticky-hand toy clinging to the wall.
“Sweetheart,” Bruce said with a flat sort of patience that made Cassandra frown when the name usually made her smile, “I need to focus on this case, and you need to spar more with other members of the team.”
He said more, but the words buzzed like gnats around her head, and Cass batted them away. She wanted to spar with Bruce. She wanted to knock this itchy-jumpy-scratchy feeling out of her body. She wanted to feel the familiar collision of his strength, his might, the way they fought together that felt like a living puzzle. Sometimes it felt like if she weren’t touching Bruce that he wasn’t there at all, that she would blink and wake up behind some trash heap on the other side of the world, the last few months nothing more than a pleasant dream.
Cass turned away, Bruce still speaking buzzing words that quieted as she left the platform and stalked to the exercise equipment. Damian and Dick were sparring, so she wasn’t being disobedient, just polite by not interrupting. She didn’t even stomp her feet the way she wanted to.
Cass huffed to herself as she kicked the bag, wishing the sting of her foot connecting with the vinyl did anything at all. She was aware of Dick and Damian’s attention, both focused on their playfight but with glances cast her way that they thought she wouldn’t notice. They were always aware of where she was, or thought they were. Damian especially marked her every move when they were in the same space. He still saw her as a threat, both physically and to his place in the family. She didn’t begrudge him that. He was right about the former and thought the latter about everyone, not just her. He prickled like a little bushpig every time he saw her with Bruce. Dick, for his part, was also wary, maybe still remembering when she had threatened him in the past, but he hid any unease under a warm smile.
Her kicks were becoming more aggressive, the smack of body against bag louder and sharper in the echoing Cave. Bruce didn’t seem to notice, but the other two were signaling agitation with their tense limbs and pointed not-looks. She kept going, until the friction of attention rubbed its way under her skin.
Fine. That was a lying word, an opposite word, and Cass had to admit that it felt good to envision the way her teeth would have to scrape hard against her bottom lip to spit it out. She didn’t. It was an unnecessary noise.
Cass abandoned the bag, moving to the pullup bar instead. The rapid up-down motion helped some, but the exercise was too easy, so she paused to add weights to her ankles and tried again. The additional difficulty helped a little, and the strain aggravated the healing cuts on her arm, and that sting helped, too, mild though it was.
Finally, she gave up. Dick had begun to shift his stance, as if mulling options. One of those options was going to be ending his training with Damian to invite Cass to spar, which would make Damian angry and wouldn’t relieve the itch in her limbs. She was angry. Worse, she was angry that she was angry, because she knew the open case on the computer was important and that she couldn’t have Bruce’s attention just because she wanted it. But she did want it. And she didn’t want to cause problems with the other two, particularly when she was too agitated to deflect Damian’s prickles peaceably.
With a sharp huff, Cass dropped from the bar, unshackled her ankles, and stalked off to the locker room before Dick could make up his mind to call out to her. She would seek some other way to center herself before patrol.
That was the plan, anyways. Abovestairs, Cass was en route to the ballroom when Alfred caught her and redirected her back to the second floor. Her room needed tidying, he said. Something about laundry, something about food. Cass had to fight not to fidget, not to make a face. Her room was fine. It was her room. She didn’t want to clean, she wanted to blast music in the ballroom and dance, cocooned in sound and privacy while the other three stayed downstairs.
Alfred was watching her expectantly, his flow of words finally at its end. Cass nodded, not sure what she was agreeing to and not really caring. His lips twitched beneath the mustache. Irritation? Amusement? She couldn’t tell. Some mix of the two maybe, or a third emotion she had been too distracted to read. She had the uncomfortable feeling he knew she hadn’t been listening, and that sent slimy shivers down her back. Bad things happened when she was caught not listening. Fists and gunshots and pain.
Cass knew better than to flinch back, but she nodded more emphatically and hurried down the hall, eyes heavy on her until she disappeared around the corner. No ballroom, then, because they would hear the music. But not her room because her room was small and her room was safe, but now it was too small, like a trap, like a cage, and too many knew to find her there.
She had no answer. Cass spent the long hours until patrol stalking the Manor halls, unable to settle, unable to sit still. The air lay heavy on her like a heated blanket, and she couldn’t decide if she was… She couldn’t decide. She didn’t know.
Patrol should have helped. Pulling the mask down over her face stripped away the noise, the confusion, the feelings. In the muffled dark of the mask, she was not Cassandra, not Girl, not anyone except Black Bat. Black Bat did not feel anger or fear or sadness. Black Bat did not worry about anyone with the last name Wayne. Black Bat was flight. Black Bat was shadow. Black Bat was dance and fist and wing.
Cass didn’t understand why no one else seemed to have the same clarity. Only a partial team was out tonight, with Red Robin away with the Titans and Red Hood in his own orbit. But it was Dick and Damian bickering on comms, not Nightwing and Robin. It was Bruce’s speculative gaze that followed her from rooftop to rooftop. They clung to their dual identities, dragging messiness into the field despite warnings about code names and chatter on comms. Even Batman, who most cleanly separated himself into Wayne and Bat, was letting himself leak.
Nightwing’s indecision from earlier had reformed into a desire to “connect,” but there was nothing connective for Cass about words, and Nightwing loved his words. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand why he tried. She had watched him shower a stoic and unresponsive Batman with his chatter, water softening rock into something smooth and calm. But she was not Batman, she was Black Bat, and every time he approached to speak, she would flit away to another rooftop, a different shadow. And every time she did, Batman’s frown deepened.
She was a good team member. She was. She was Black Bat. She didn’t need to be like them to be what Gotham needed. She didn’t need to talk about the weather to be good.
She would prove it.
Black Bat made sure she ran the fastest, swung the highest, landed the quietest, spotted trouble first, punched first, ended trouble first. Nightwing had given up on trying to “connect,” and the others allowed her to pull herself further and further away from the flock. Only Batman kept pace, but she didn’t want to talk to him either. He would ask questions and expect answers, and she didn’t have answers, at least none that she was unashamed to give, and certainly none that she could explain with clumsy, empty words.
She could sense Batman’s growing irritation, and it raised the hair along her arms, up the back of her neck. Her anger rose with it, matching his frustration with her own inner gnashing of teeth, like a dog baying at the very end of a fraying lead. The night felt stifling, and anger and bitter sickness mixed in the hollow of her throat with an acidic chill. Black Bat suddenly, desperately wanted to sit for a moment. She wanted to find somewhere high, where she could sit with her bare face in the wind, above the exhaust of the streets and the eyes peering out of the dark, and rest with her shoulder pressed against Bruce’s.
But he had no plans to sit. She could read the intent in the angle of his spine, the set of his hands. He meant to circle, to corner her, to scold or interrogate. Black Bat felt less bat, more mouse, scampering from bolthole to bolthole.
They were in a warehouse near the docks when it all went bad. She told herself that she had made the decision herself to plunge from the rafters where the bats had settled to dive into the middle of the smugglers and scatter them like roaches. She would have told herself, if she had been thinking at all, if the hot, jangling sick in her chest hadn’t yanked her down like hands around her wrists.
Hitting smugglers felt better than kicking a bag. Black Bat was vengeance, she was the night, she was justice delivered from on high to those who would hurt, would steal, would deceive. Even the explosion of guns, the narrow heat of bullets flying by, they felt right. She felt no fear at all, until the smugglers all lay groaning on the ground and Batman was rounding on her, scowl as dark as his cape.
“Black Bat,” he growled, and she didn’t flinch, but only just. Anger crackled off him like static.
She half-turned to face him, her surly what in her stance rather than her hands.
“You are supposed to wait for my signal.” His hands moved with his mouth, echoing the reminder that stung like a rebuke. “You were reckless.”
She shook her head shortly. Their targets were all down, their goods seized. She had done most of the work herself, dropping men before the others could even touch their feet to the ground.
“Robin was almost shot,” Batman barked, jabbing one finger behind her.
She whirled, looking for the little one. He stood with an arm extended, Nightwing kneeling to study the fleshy part beneath his shoulder where the costume had peeled away from bleeding skin.
“I am well,” Robin insisted, voice raised for the others to hear. His voice and stance were both annoyed, but his bottom lip puckered slightly.
He’s fine, you’ve had worse, her eyes said.
Because of you, her brain insisted.
“You jeopardized the mission,” Batman was saying, his voice still hard, big words like sharp outcroppings in an unyielding cliff face.
I did my job, Cass snapped back, fingers as sharp as his words. Problem solved. You are welcome.
“You didn’t work with the team.”
I don’t NEED the team.
“You put everyone in danger.” Finally, finally, his voice boomed, echoing through the cavernous warehouse like another gunshot. Bad, his fingers smacked down.
Bad? No. No, she wasn’t bad, she was good, she was stopping bad people from doing bad things. How DARE he—
“Home,” Batman ordered, hands and mouth in sync once more. “Now.”
Cassandra stared at him, mouth empty of anything to say and hands too full of things she didn’t dare. Then she crushed her fingers into fists and stomped in the direction of the Manor. Three pairs of eyes watched. No one called her back.
She was four blocks away when Agent A clicked into her earpiece. Cassandra reached into her hood and pulled it out before she could hear more than her own name. She didn’t want to hear it. If she heard one more word, she was going to scream, truly scream, right there on the rooftop, but she was afraid of what else might happen if she opened her mouth.
Cass went home, not away into the night like she wanted to, but she ignored Alfred’s greeting and shook with anger as she stalked upstairs. If she was bad for the team, then she didn’t need to wait for them to return. She wouldn’t wait up to make sure they made it home safe, she wouldn’t wait for whatever flow of words Bruce had prepared, and she wouldn’t leave her door open. If he tried to wish her goodnight or rest a palm on her head, she would bite his hand. She clenched the sheets in the dark, in shaking, white-knuckled fists, and waited.
She was still shaking when she woke again, disoriented and tangled in the dark. She didn’t know where she was, who she was, what was happening.
Sick was the alarm her body was ringing. Danger. GO.
This was one language she understood inherently, viscerally, and never ignored its warnings.
She went. Clumsy and wobble-legged, crawling across soft obstacles to paw at the latch hidden behind the bed frame. Instinct knew the way, even if her mind was still asleep.
Sick was bad. Sick was weak. Weakness meant pain. She needed to hide. Find a spot no one would look, then find a way to heal from there.
She wasn’t sure what was wrong. Hot, too hot, burning in halls chilly against her skin. Head hurt—she stumbled, added dizzy to the list. More than her head hurt, couldn’t pinpoint it as she ran on fumbling but still silent feet. Thirsty, so thirsty, mouth hot and cottony. Ran like she was being attacked, though there was no one, no sound, no movement.
Ran until she could run no more. Instinct kept her inside, within the walls that meant safe, that meant home, protected from the worse that prowled outside. She knew the difference, between without and within, even if she was too muddled to remember within what.
Fingertips found the lid, lifted, pulled herself inside. It was small, knees pulled up to her chest and clasped tight, breath bouncing back into her face, too dark to see. Safe. She let consciousness slip from her hands.
When she woke again, it was to an attack. Light like knives to the face and hands grabbing at her arms. Instinct was first again, driving her hands to scratch and her feet to kick, and then she flinched, throwing up her arms in defense, expecting a slap or worse.
There was a voice, rough like gravel scraping against itself, repeating sounds that slowly turned into a word.
“Cassandra. Cassandra.”
The hands weren’t lifting her anymore. One pushed her bangs off her sticky forehead. The other cupped her cheek.
Not hurting. Gentle hands. Familiar, with callouses that scratched against her skin in a way she knew. Good hands.
A good voice.
Her name.
He was saying her name.
Cassandra let out a squeak of a sob and squinted up through blurry eyes.
From somewhere above her, a slow breath out through the nose.
He spoke again, in a voice so low she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear, in words she would only decipher later as, “You scared me to death, sweetheart.”
Louder, but still in a low rumble, “You’re burning up. We need to get you to the infirmary.”
Yes, Bruce would take care of her. He would make her feel better. He—no! She couldn’t leave the small space. It wasn’t safe to be sick, to be known as sick, as weak.
She croaked in protest, stiffening against the wooden walls to keep herself inside. She was terrified of leaving her safe little box. Even with Bruce. Bruce couldn’t protect her from everything. He died and she ran. He wasn’t here. He had left her and she had been alone and he didn’t understand what happened—
Maybe she had babbled aloud, or maybe he was beginning to read her as well as she could read him. He could have pried her free, if he really wanted, but instead he settled back to stroking her head.
“Cassandra. I’m not going to lift you out yet, but I need to see what’s wrong.”
She was bad. That’s what was wrong. She was bad. She was wrong and bad and she didn’t fit. She wanted so badly to fit, to help, but she was angry and she was prickly and she had no words or her words were wrong or her room was wrong and she didn’t know how to be what they needed her to be and she just wanted—she wanted—she wanted—
Cass wept, collapsing in on herself. As soon as she went limp, Bruce lifted her out of the box, but only to enclose her again in walls of soft fabric and strong arms that blocked out the light, the world.
He didn’t shush her. He never shushed her. But his words ran over each other like water over rocks as his hand cradled her head against his thumping heart.
It’s okay. You are okay. You’re safe. I’m here. I’m here to help. It’s okay, it will be okay. You are loved. You are safe.
Not safe. Her fingers stuttered and stumbled over the movement, but she repeated it over and over until he noticed.
“Not safe?” he echoed, letting go to use his own hands in her lap where she could see. “Tell me. What isn’t?”
Me. Here. Sick. Bad. Not safe.
He was silent, still except for the steady rise and fall of breath.
Then, “What makes you feel not safe?”
Sick. Weak. She hurt. Her skin was on fire. She needed him to understand, to not carry her to where the others waited, but she didn’t know how to explain.
No. Her hand found her side, where old wounds puckered. NO.
Another breath, different, sucked in like he was the one hurt. When he let it out, she could feel the air against her scalp.
He never rushed. He could be fast, so fast it startled her, the speed misaligned with his size, but he never rushed himself or her. There were several long heartbeats of silence before he offered, with a tentativeness to his voice, “Your room or mine?”
Not the infirmary downstairs, open and cavernous and indefensible. He understood that, at least. Cass thought briefly of Bruce’s room, territory he knew best and could defend from all invaders, but shuddered at the idea of the unending space.
Cass tapped her own chest
Bruce carried her. She wasn’t sure even after if he deliberately chose paths that kept them out of the sight of others, or if he managed to wave them off. Either way, she was aware of no one, though she listened with all her strength for the whisper of breath or the soft shush of footfall.
Navigating her room was tricky. Bruce had to step carefully to keep his footing and not to twist his back too much as he crossed the narrow space from the door to the bed.
Bad, her brain whispered. She was putting him at risk. She almost asked to be put down, but then she was down, nestled back in the familiar blankets of her bed.
“Light,” Bruce warned, then flicked on the bedside lamp. Cass winced and turned her face away.
She must have drifted some, because she startled at the soft knock at the door.
“No—” she began, throat tight with fear.
Bruce’s hand on her shoulder stilled her. He lowered his face so she could see it clearly, every line lit by the pink and gold glow of her ladybug lamp. “They would have to get through me first, and I won’t let them.”
This was a Batman promise and a Bruce promise both, the core of him where they were one and the same. Whoever was at the door, whatever they wanted, they would not be able to cross the threshold unless he was dead, truly dead. And even then he might find a way to stop them.
“No one comes in,” Bruce promised again, and there were no lies that she could see. With a gentle squeeze to her shoulder, he moved to the door, keeping his body between her and whoever was on the other side.
No one else came into her room, and Bruce didn’t leave. Every time she woke, he was there, checking the bandages on her arm, readjusting her pillow, lifting a glass of water or spoonful of Alfred’s soup to her lips. Once she woke and he was curled up at the very edge of her bed, a bear trying to take up the space of cat, her Mothman pillow bunched under his head. A moment under the weight of her attention was all it took, and then he was sitting up, reaching for the thermometer, her water, the light.
“Explain to me,” he said, voice flat like an order but soft enough she knew it was a request, “how this happened.”
He was sitting on the edge of her bed, between her and the window, one flat-tipped finger tapping against the edge of the bandage on her arm. There were lines in his face, tired valleys of shadow, and his hair was a spiky, tousled mess of gray and black. The light from the window softened all his edges. He looked like love.
It was enough, the physical evidence of him and her fever-wracked days, to pull from her the answer she didn’t want to give.
“Cat,” Cass whispered past the lump in her throat. She was scared even still, scared that he would blame that soft, frightened kitten for defending itself, or Damian for letting it escape, or her for catching it herself rather than calling for help.
She knew who he was. She knew who he was not. But fear was not fair.
“Cat,” Bruce repeated.
Cat. Under my bed. It was scared. Not its fault. Not its fault.
Bruce breathed, in and out, and she made herself breathe as well.
“You didn’t clean the wound,” Bruce said. He took her arm then, cradling the bandaged lower half like it was fragile. “Why?”
Cass shrugged with her other shoulder. It hadn’t seemed important. It had only been a few scratches, just a little bit of blood.
Bruce shook his head slowly. “You know better.” There was no blame there, just heaviness. He shifted his hands, freeing one to push a lock of hair, freshly cleaned for the first time in days, behind her ear. “You weren’t showering. You were angry with me.”
Cass could feel heat in her face, like the fever returned, but with the bite of shame.
“Mad,” she admitted, but her voice cracked halfway through. “Sad.”
She could see it, her sadness reflecting in his face. Too many were too stupid to see, thinking because he held still and silent that he didn’t feel, when he felt everything, hers and his and everyone he loved. It hurt, to love this much. She didn’t know how he carried it.
“Tell me why,” he murmured, hand still cupping her cheek and her wrist.
She didn’t know. Not didn’t know how to say, but didn’t know.
“Punishing yourself?” he prompted, the question held lightly, to be thrown away if it was wrong. “Why?”
Punishing herself? Had she been doing that?
Cass’s brow creased, thinking of the long, hard patrols, wet and cold and miserable, and crashing into bed without a shower or her favorite sweatshirt. Of food half-eaten in her room, left to mold. Of untended wounds. Of short tempers and impulsive fistfights.
But the question remained. Why?
She shook her head slowly, unsure, still reexamining what she had felt, what she had done. This was new still, new as words, new as hugs. What she felt hadn’t mattered before.
“Bad,” Cass whispered, tears finally escaping her eyes to wet her cheeks.
It was the tiniest movement, but as loud to her as a gunshot. Bruce flinched.
She was already shaking her head. Not that. Not the warehouse, though he had been right. She was a bad teammate.
“Left.” She abandoned words, tried to explain with her hands. You left. But I left. Left Gotham. Left the team.
He left and it hadn’t been his fault, and when he came back, he tried. He tried so hard, hard enough that they could all see it, to make things better. She didn’t. She didn’t know how.
“Time,” was the only answer he could give. Her face shifted, and his cracked into a wry smile in response. “I know. Time. And trying.”
Trying. “They don’t trust me.”
He couldn’t deny that, not when he knew what she saw. To her surprise, he didn’t try to deny it, just rolled one large shoulder as if brushing away an old ache. “Time,” he said again.
She sniffled. “What if never?”
“Never never.”
The dry playfulness of it was enough to startle a weak chuckle out of her. She closed her eyes as calloused thumbs swiped tears from her face, then nuzzled her cheek against his hand.
“Who are you?” he asked, Batman and Bruce both.
“Black Bat,” she answered without hesitation, but frowned when he shook his head.
“No.” He tapped a finger against her chest, against the soft warmth of her favorite hoodie. “Who are you?”
“Cass,” Cass said. “Cassandra.”
“Cassandra Wayne,” he agreed, weight leaning on the last name.
He had changed it within weeks of bringing her home. So much mess, so much to fix, and he had still brought her the papers and explained every line, what they meant for her now, what they would mean for her in the future. She had cried then, too, feeling the Cain erased.
“You are a part of this team, this family, always. Forever. No matter what names you wear or what rests here.” He tapped her chest again. “A good part. Necessary part.”
Bruce bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, then ducked his head to rest his own forehead against the part he kissed and to make her look into his eyes, so she could see only truth. “Loved part. Understand?”
She gave a small nod, throat too tight to speak.
“No more hiding. No more running.”
No more leaving.
“Trust,” he murmured. “Trust me, until you learn to trust them. Trust them, and they will trust you.”
She didn’t believe it. But she believed him.
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savagechickens · a day ago
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And more challenges.
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kozpine · a day ago
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bandages - pt. II
pairings- hurt diluc x reader
words- 1k
song suggestion- jamie- montell fish
1 / 2
themes: sfw, tending to dilucs wounds, angst/comfort, mentions of blood
Nothing seemed to calm you. You refused to stop, anxiously looking through any book, letter, or strewn paper in hopes of getting just one clue. Diluc had been missing for just over a week with no notice, and it was too much to bear.
He’d left for another nighttime session despite your warnings and the horrible weather. The entirety of your situation-ship, one of your biggest worries was what his vigilante role would do to him. Regardless, when you heard news of him being returned to the manor, it seemed your legs couldn’t carry you fast enough.
You rushed into the shared bedroom where a servant was removing the torn jacket of your lover. He was standing, knuckles white from gripping a bedpost.
You couldn’t see much from this side, but was able to make out a thick caking of dried blood splattered across his coat.
“Adeline, you may leave us.”
The maid in the room nodded and quickly departed. Diluc sat down quietly; it was silent for a moment before walking around the bed to face him.
It took great restraint to keep back the gasp at your throat. His face was nicked and fresh blood was tricking down his forehead. Without the coat, you could see deep gashes that had torn up his top- littered across neck to the ends of his forearms.
He refused to meet your gaze, distressed that you had to see him like this.
“Luc..” you whispered softly. A gentle hand reached for yours; he lifted his head and dull, baggy eyes looked to you. “I thought I had control but the fatui, they…” he trailed off. “I wasn’t prepared.”
You shook your head. “Let’s not focus on that. Sit back, let me take care of you.”
He allowed you to take his shirt off, and you could now clearly see how bad the damage really was. The warrior already had numerous scars and burns, but the fresh gashes overlapped them and you knew it would be difficult to recover from. Turning to grab a towel, you wrung it with warm water and gently started running it down his chest.
Diluc winced as you ran the fabric over a particularly bloodied spot. It made your heart sting to see him like this, however this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Of course not to this extent, but worrying nonetheless. You wiped his chin and brought his face up to meet yours, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead and resting yours against his.
“I wish you would just prioritize your life even a little bit more,” you murmured just loud enough for him to hear.
“I will.”
You knew in your heart he was just agreeing to relieve your stress temporarily. No matter how much you begged otherwise, he would always be devoted to protecting Mondstadt even if it cost him his life.
Some nights you would stay up and wonder when a servant would burst in reporting his loss in a final battle. If he knew of this, he’d be sure to persuade your thoughts to more positive directions but the lingering horror would still remain. You set down the towel and grabbed the sharp needle resting beside it. Carefully and slowly, you began to suture the gashes across Diluc’s abdomen.
You understood how painful the procedure was but knew it had to be done, so you continued; trying not to pay attention to the yell attempting to escape his throat. In the end your worry won.
“Please, tell me to stop if it’s too much.” Diluc refused and you continued, finishing by wrapping cool bandages around the entirety of his torso.
His flickering eyes rested on you, beckoning you to move closer. A gravitational pull connected your lips to his, forgetting the situation and hungrily melting into him. A burst of energy ripped through him, seizing your draping tunic. You returned this, pressing against his hard chest until Diluc let out a pained groan. Pulling back revealed a streak of dark red on your palm. Gasping, “Fuck, ‘Luc I didn’t mean to-” He pulled you back. “It’s ok, doesn’t hurt that bad.”
Moving off the bed was a better idea, denying anything further in fear of opening another stitch. Helping him lay back into the comfort of your shared bed, you cleaned up the maroon stains over the bed covers and replaced them with fresh sheets. Slipping into bed, his arm found your waist, weakly pulling you to look down on him. This time he didn’t speak, only running a single hand through your hair; a faint glimmer returning to his eyes.
Softly and without sound, you laid a whisper of a kiss upon him, without blood this time. You were afraid any sudden movement would break him (or your resolve).
Night faded to black, your arm draped over the least injured part of his chest. Any remaining fire light from nearby candles died out, leaving only the feel of your lover’s rising and falling chest.
heheheheeheheheehe part two
that’s all
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aramiese · 2 days ago
Love me through silent words
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Albedo x !gn¡ reader
Summmary: overwhelmed student reader getting comforted.
Albedo knows how stressed you can get with school and everything going on with your daily life, however the man is a patient lover, always so understanding.
That's why when you finally decide to come to him, he silentely open his arms for you despite his messy sleep schedule, he would still lay down your shared bed before letting you cuddle up to him.
He would listen to you rant if thar's what you needed the most, but in time where you decide to just let him hold you so close to him, he simply doesn't have the heart to resist you.
One of his hands would slowly find it's place on your wait holding you firmly while his other one would comb slightly through your hair in a way to distract your mind from everything you have been through.
He always smells so nice, a faint smell of cologne mixed that's reassuring at most.
Focusing your hearing on his steady heartbeat, his slight breathing, the room is as silent as ever yet it feels full of love and promises.
Promises that he will be there, that you can count on your boyfriend anytime you need him and then comes the praise..
He was always proud of you, proud of your accomplishements and wouldn't hesitate to brag about you if asked or not.
Warmth fills your heart and soon your own body feels warm and fuzzy.
The last thing you feel are soft lips on your forehead before going to dreamland, secure and safe.
He will be there to support you anytime you need him to.
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sprite-real · 2 days ago
S/O with Eczema || Bubba Sawyer and Thomas Hewitt Headcanons.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Before we get started with this, I wanted to write a little comfort thing for this because well, I am a person who deals with eczema and it’s honestly a painful thing and an awful experience. This may come off as a little OOC so I apologize in advance if it does. Hope you enjoy! 💕
Warnings: Scratching, blood, it’s basically self-harm. Other than that, this is fluff!
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Bubba Sawyer
Let’s be honest, Bubba would probably not recognize at first that you have eczema, but it won’t take too long before he realizes that there is something going on.
The excessive scratching at your arms, legs, stomach, almost everywhere.
When it got to the point of you bleeding and crying from the pain that he ended up panicking and getting your hands away from yourself.
It took a lot of comforting for him to calm down along with yourself because Bubba is a crying babbling mess. Once you go to explain to him what’s going on with your skin.
The man feels for you, he’s got his own skin issues as well!
Sadly there wouldn’t be a lot of cream to help with your skin, but it would more or less likely mean more baths.
He ends up keeping a closer eye on you and stops you from scratching yourself so often.
Expect a lot of hand holding and generally affection, he’s a very loving guy, and he’ll try and help with the itching.
At night he cuddles you and holds both of your hands close to his chest. <3
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Thomas Hewitt
Like Bubba, he wouldn’t really notice until later that you have eczema, as he’s always working away to provide for the family.
It would be more than likely he catches you when he comes into your shared bedroom scratching your skin uncontrollably that he thinks, “Oh my God, something’s wrong.”
You’ll have to talk with him about what’s going on and explain that this is something that you had since you were a child.
He’d understand you, and honestly he’d relate with you as well because he also has some skin problems! And if you’re insecure about it he will do his absolute best to make you forget.
He often caresses your skin lovingly and keeps an eye on your hands incase they were wandering to your spots, unintentionally.
Sadly with his work he can’t really do much about keeping an eye out as much, but luckily when you explain to Luda May as well, she’d probably help.
Luda would keep you distracted with chores and get Hoyt to go grab you some stuff for your skin.
When you and Thomas retire to your room for the night he often ushers you to take a cold shower, and sometimes he’d join you.
At night, he holds you close and tightly, but the gentle tight, and he is sure to distract you with lightly rubbing your back. <3
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Alright that’s it! Hope you enjoyed, I might write more so honestly, request if you wish! Have a lovely day/night everyone! 🍂
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asimpsstuff · a day ago
glow — miya atsumu
request: Uhm im sorry if it’s too much but can you do atsumu (or anyone else from haikyuu) with a s/o who’s embarrassed of their big smile and braces, like their smile takes up 80% of their face so they’re constantly covering it w their hand? sorry
a/n: tysm for the request!! please don’t feel bad - of course i can write that for you 💕 i hope you enjoy what i wrote! <3
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summary: you’re insecure about your smile
genre(s): fluff, hurt/comfort-ish
warnings: none <3
your bleach blonde, chocolate-eyed boyfriend was cocky, a more often than not royally righteous pain in your ass. he was a man-child and frequently had the tendency to make you want to smack him upside the head. but he was also caring, observant, and the only person you ever imagined yourself being with in a romantic relationship.
however, atsumu, when it came down to it, was one of the greatest occurrences to ever take place in your messy life. he was always there for you when you needed a hug after a long day, or a random late night next that he would instantly reply to. he was there for when you needed to laugh, to cry, or to even be angry. the point was - he was always there and he always knew when something was going on. those brown eyes, sharpened to detail by his acute skills on the court, seemed to miss nothing.
atsumu had just finished cracking one of his usual lame jokes whilst you walked home from school, resulting in you choking on a spontaneous laugh, when his eyes flickered alike they did in a game when he realized something important.
“what?” you inquired upon the sudden change through a smile, or rather, a half-smile since a limp hand covered the majority of it.
“i’ve just realized i’ve never seen you smile fully before.” atsumu replied casually as his keen eyes continued to search your face, of which was slowly slipping into a more stoic expression as tendrils of dread unfurled from the bottom of your stomach. “you always cover it up.”
“oh.” you echoed nervously after quiet moment. your hand had mostly slipped away from your mouth, but the tips of your fingers still rested against your now frowning lips. “just habit i guess.” you shrugged. but your tone wasn’t all that convincing, and atsumu -who never missed anything- picked up on it rather quickly.
“hey,” atsumu countered as he reached for your hand whilst you continued walking. “wait a second, c’mere.”
the blonde proceeded to tug on your fingers, making you stop in your tracks so that you could look over your shoulder at him and perhaps see why he made you stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
“what is it?”
you felt his other hand soundlessly take a hold of your free wrist, resulting in both of your hands being bounded by his.
atsumu then composed his features into a serious expression. deadass, if you will.
his sudden change in composure was so abrupt and so uncalled for that it made you laugh despite it not being very funny.
“why? why are you laughing?” atsumu pressed, his face continuing to be an expression of cold stone. but if you looked close enough, you could note the slight feathers in his jaw, along with the twitch to his nose that indicated that he was holding back laughter. “what, you think this is funny?” atsumu continued in a serious tone.
“atsu,” you managed through small giggles, your face practically splitting in two as atsumu continued to do things to add to your laughter. “why-” you began with a smile, but it quickly faded when your brain registered that you could not raise your hands to mask your big grin.
with an expression of disbelief, you looked down at your hands that were held hostage by atsumu’s as the smile slowly slipped from your face.
“hey,” you intoned quietly as you feebly tried to tug your hands free. “let go.”
but when you looked back up at atsumu with a pleading face, his features were no longer serious as they had been only seconds before. instead, he seemed happy, almost glowing.
“you...look so pretty when you’re happy.” atsumu intoned after a moment, as if his brain was still processing all that he had seen. “you just look really pretty.” he repeated.
“oh, well...” you replied nervously as your hands were slowly released from your boyfriends grip. “thanks?” you added shyly as a hand subconsciously rose to your face to try and shield the small smile that had begun to form from atsumu’s words.
“no, no,” atsumu interjected quickly once he realized what you were doing. “no, no more of that.”
atsumu fixed you with that serious expression again, and the sudden shift made you snort.
“stop doing that.” you scolded through a smile as you swatted your boyfriend on the shoulder.
“stop doing what?” the blonde shot back, his features unwavering. “this is my face now. what, are you saying you don’t like that. cause that’s kinda mea-”
atsumu yelped lightly as you pinched the underside of his upper arm.
“c’mon, idiot.” you huffed as you dragged atsumu forwards, a grin still splitting your face in two - a grin that made atsumu’s chest flutter. “we gotta get home. i have homework.”
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darklcy · a day ago
hey can i request prompts 2, 19 and 20 for Jinx x gn! reader.
i was thinking about a reader with ptsd and depression where they try to drown the pain from an old toxic relationship in alcohol because they cant make the difference between violence ad love
sorry if thats a bit too specific btw!<3
i actually prefer for requests to be a bit specific, so thank you! i don’t have ptsd myself, but i know people who do + done a bit of research, so hopefully my portrayal of the condition is satisfactory!
**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ arcane masterlist ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*
→ prompt : “just fucking leave me alone.” : drinking past your limit + your s/o getting mad : any mental illness : depression, anxiety, PTSD, trauma + s/o helping you through it 
→ pairing : jinx x gn! reader | Arcane
→ warnings : mentions of alcohol abuse, bad language, toxic past and relationship,
→ word count : 1k
→ A/N : just wanted to put this out there as well: this is how i interpret jinx in terms of comfort, reassurance, and how she behaves in a relationship overall. i don't expect her to be the most, healthiest, for lack of better word, person to be with in this situation, so just keep that in mind before reading!
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It was hard to decipher which part bit the most.
The light had diminished, all hope gone. You were to rot from inside out, soon to fall victim to the burning liquid dripping down your throat. Condensation residue on your fingers, cooled glass now empty, you sighed with a beckoning look to the bartender.
“One more, please.”
It was your own twisted way of comfort. The buzz in your stomach that flared your skin yet blurred your senses into one. It was better when you reached the point of no return, when the bartender finally cut you off for the night before sliding you a cup of water, to which you and him both know, you weren’t drinking it.
Alcohol didn’t provide much in the beginning. Before, the repeats of their confessions burned themselves into your brain, forever branded into your memory. It left you restless; hours upon hours spent studying their faded presence over and over and over. Even when they weren’t there, your integrity questioned itself, and if what they were doing was truly that bad.
Another swig of the liquor hugged your throat with the familiar burn. One more glass, empty in seconds.
“One more-,”
“Sorry, [First]. Last call was ten minutes ago.”
Thieram, so particular to not bending the rules, tsked while discarding a damp rag over his shoulder. The empty cup had been swiftly stolen and now left a vacant counter. A distasteful frown pulled at the corners of your lips.
“...Can’t you make an exception just this once?”
The bartender scoffed. “I could, but then you’d abuse me. So I’d rather not. It’s already enough that I don't charge you.”
That part was true. Employee benefits, you suppose.
“Besides, I’m sure… she wouldn’t wanna see you like this.”
The mention of her made the skin of your nose scrunch.
 “Why the fuck would she care?”
Thieram’s hands lifted in surrender, the bite on your tongue raising his reflexes. 
“Hey, I’m just making an observation. She… cares about you, yknow.”
Care. A vague, gray word for such an unmeasurable feeling. You’ve experienced it before, right?
She cared for you unlike they had, so maybe it was real. 
Your forehead met the wood in a slow slump, exhaustion and drunken blood mixing together in a looped mess. All of a sudden, it was hard to keep your eyelids open, and the bar stool appeared more soft than before. The bone of Thieram’s pointer finger poked the top of your crown.
“C’mon. I gotta close up.”
A groan was all you could muster in response. Go away. 
His lack of rebuttal and receding footsteps gave you the impression he’d finally fucked off, much to your relief. But a painful urge to shout fired from your chest when two hands clamped down on your shoulders, jolting your body in a quick shake.
“Hiya, toots.”
Jinx hummed at the whine, jostling her body around yours to sit at your right, eyes never leaving your slouched figure. When you refused to move or look up, her grin deflated. She gave you another shake.
“What’s got you down in the slumps?”
Your scoff sounded muffled through the fabric of your sleeve. 
“I’m perfectly fine. Just fucking leave me alone.”
Her hand twitched as it fell off your arm, her warmth vanishing. Her knee had knocked itself with yours, though she remained deliberately silent. What was she contemplating?
…You gasped when she suddenly grabbed hold of your arms, hoisting your dead weight off the bar and onto your clumsy shoes, balance threatening itself into her frame. Her fingers roughly gripped the bone of your chin, pulling your face close to hers.
“Hmm.. You don’t look perfectly fine. I actually think you’ve seen better days.”
You grabbed her wrists to remove her hold, “Jinx, stop.”
She only pushed forward. “You’re lying. You were drinking.”
Your eyelids closed with a sigh. You really didn’t want to deal with this today.
“It’s not that big of-,”
“Why are you lying?”
Jinx’s stare locked into yours, eyebrows arched and wild in accusation, though her voice was gentle. Her stern grip threatened the border of pain, though you couldn’t tell if she meant to. A part of you hopes she does.
But then she releases you in a gasp, expression faltering and hand recoiling from yours as if she was just burned.
Her face twisted into one of guilt, and you watched as water tickled her eye ducts. Her left hand caressed her right, tucking it close to her chest while avoiding your stare. Exhales wavering from her parted lips, she looked as if she were about to break.
“Did…Did I hurt you?”
Honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. If she did, would it feel good? Maybe you only ever accepted true love when it came in the form of sharp nails embedded into your skin. Now.. you wish she would’ve.
You seem… disappointed, almost. Jinx tilts her head, furrowed brows turning upwards.
“..That’s good then. If you ever got hurt, I might just lose it.”
Would it be worth it to see her that way?
You faintly nod at her words, your irises at last finding each other. The calm, doting attention she’d just given you.. you realize in that moment, that it didn’t feel so terrible. 
It felt good to see her smile when you enveloped her hand with yours, fingers embracing and holding on tight. It felt good to not fear her, instead welcome her to your space. When she latched her arms around your shoulders, you didn’t find yourself anticipating the bruises that would show in the morning, because this was Jinx, not them.
It confused you. Jinx confused you, and so did her love. Why she treated you the way she did, instead of the opposite, baffled your senses and expectations on relationships you thought you accepted. 
But as she nestled deeper into your affection, pouring out her heart onto yours in a simple hug, you held on tighter.
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skyscartoons · 2 days ago
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Fantober Day 3-Hugs
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thecrazyashley-blog · a day ago
Lo Prometo
Encantober Prompt Day 4:  Head Pats.  ( @encantober-official )
Young Luisa is upset, and Tio Bruno and his rat Luna are there for her.
“Luisa!  Luisa come out now!”
Luisa did not want to come out.  She missed school.  She missed her friends.  She missed being able to play like she used to.  She held the cracked and broken remains of the wooden horse her Tio Bruno had carved for her to her chest and let fat tears roll down her cheeks as she tried to hide under the bed in the nursery.  Mirabel was out looking for her with Mamá, no one would think to look in here.
She liked her gift most days, but sometimes she wished she was like Mirabel. Mirabel got to play and didn’t get pulled out of school to help move big rocks or help Senòr Rendon get the Ortiz’s donkeys back again.  She got to spend time with Mamá and Papá, and Camilo wasn’t afraid of her.  If she’d just been strong, maybe it would be ok. But she was getting so tall and so…wide…
Chepe Chavez had called her a freak.  Alberto Perez teased her that she was built like a bull.  Mamá told her to ignore them, and that it wasn’t true.  Papá told her that he had family that was tall, Abuela that her gran-tio Oscar had been a big, muscular man, but it didn’t make it any easier.  She was almost as tall as Mamá now.  And she was only eight!  She just wanted to play with her friends, but there was too much work, and no time anymore. And her friends had forgotten her. Even Emilio Guzman and Constanza Torres didn’t play with her anymore, and they’d been friends since they were babies.
She didn’t want to come out.  She didn’t want to see Mamá’s disappointed face or Abuela’s angry one.  She didn’t want to see her Papá or Mirabel worried about her. Or Isa and Dolores grumpy. Dolores was being nice, or was in her room, and wasn’t telling, so maybe that was ok.
There was a knock at the nursery door.  Five and three.  The knock-knock-knock-knock-knock, knock-on-wood of Tio Bruno.  Tio who was going to be so sad and upset she’d broken his birthday gift to her already, who got so upset so easily lately.  Tio who barely had the strength to keep himself up most days and came home late walking funny and looking sick.  But…Tio Bruno was better than her Mamá or Abuela or Tia Pepa right now.
“Come…come in.”
She watched as sandaled feet shuffled across the floor.  A little white blur came running, and Luna snuggled up under her chin before Luisa could stop her.  She froze, afraid to touch the little rat after today.
Black hair and tired green eyes peeked under the bed.  The smile he greeted her with was crocked and bright, but fell when he saw her tears.
“Can I join you?  Looks cozy under here.”
Luisa nodded and sniffled, and waited for her tio to drop and shuffle under the bed.  Her tears renewed and she sobbed when she realized she was probably bigger than him now too, and her stomach hurt from too much feeling.
She hid her face as he got settled.  She didn’t want to say anything.  Didn’t think she could with the lump in her throat.
A big dry hand with a soft palm covered hers, and tickled the freckles on the back until she had to huff to cover her giggle.
“Now, I know I like hiding when Mamá comes looking for me…buuuut…I like hiding anyway.  Now Luisa? She’s always out in the sun, very healthy by the way.  But today no one can find her.  There’s just this funny little monkey under the bed.”
Luisa swiped at her eye and smiled.  “I’m not a monkey, tio!”
“But you are hiding under the bed!”  Tio Bruno laughed.  His other hand cupped her cheek and brushed away the last of a tear. “Want to talk about it, mi monita?”
Luisa turned and buried her face in her tio’s narrow chest, hugging him tight. She stopped when she heard his back pop and his breath come out in a wheeze, but he just smiled at her and ran his hand over her braids, loose and coming undone from hiding.
“Needed that cracked anyways.  Tell me what’s got you so upset, Sita?”
She peeked up at him, the grays in his hair and the bags under his bloodshot eyes and his stubble longer than normal.  Tio Bruno hadn’t been feeling well for a long time, but he’d come to look for her and asked her what was wrong rather than just find her Mamá.  The least she could do was tell him.
“Do you…tio, do you ever not like your gift?  Like Dolores sometimes?”
 Bruno sighed and squeezed his sobrina.  He’d been waiting for this talk, but hoped he’d never have to give it.  But Julieta was under so much pressure of her own that there was almost no avoiding her missing it.  He couldn’t match the strength of her hug, but he could cocoon her in his ruana like he’d always done.  He stroked her hair again, trying to tame it down, knowing it would need to be redone when she felt better
“Ay Luisita.  Some gifts…are hard.  You know I’m not upset about the horse, right?”
“You’re not?”
“No, dulcita.  It’s just…It’s just a thing.  I can make you another if you want.”
“But I wasn’t careful!  I broke it! What if I broke something else? What if I…What if I…”
He could see where her mind was going, and clutched her to him as tight as he could, kissing her forehead and humming for a moment.  Luisa was the softest, most gentle soul he knew, and Casita had given her this gift.  Maybe it was because she was born small and early, maybe it was to help her be strong when she wore her heart on her sleeve.  The miracle made no sense to him most days.  But today it made him angry.
“You will never hurt someone, Luisa. Okay?  Never.  Accidents happen, and they are no one’s fault.  But you are so careful.  So careful. Look at Luna.  She’s an albino, always sick, always frail, and you are her favorite person.  Not your Mamá, not me.  You, niña. Does she look like she think’s you’d hurt her?”
Luisa sniffled and twisted to look at the little rat, her big red eyes sparkling up at her and her whiskers twitching.  Luna crept up to her and perched on her hind legs before licking her nose and tickling her.  Luisa couldn’t help but laugh and reach out.  She patted the tiny head with her pinky, the fur soft.  Her tio clicked his tongue and Luna hopped into her hand and snuggled against her and Bruno shuffled out from under the bed and held out a hand to her.          She was within an inch of his height, and she knew she outweighed him, but he reached up and patted her hair and smoothed down her braids.  
“You love on Luna, and let Tio fix your hair back, ok?  We’ll tell your Mamá you were helping me with something and nobody needs to be any the wiser.”
“Is…is it ok?  I…some of the boys…they called me a freak.  I’m not a freak am I, tio?”
He led her to a chair and sat her down, ribbons in his mouth as he brushed her wavy curls, so much like his sister’s.
“You tell me their names and they’ll never tease you again, Luisa.  Of course you aren’t a freak.”  He tried to glare threateningly in the mirror.  He went cross-eyed, and Luisa burst into giggles as she petted Luna.
“Tio!  Mamá said no more doom visions!”
“But I’m good at doom visions!”
“Tio Bruno!”
“Doom!  Doooooom! ooOOoo!  It’s Maldicion Bruuunooo!  I’ll kill your fiiIIIiisshh!”
Luisa couldn’t speak for laughing, but she paused long enough to set Luna down before she flapped her hands, giggling and wiggling as her tio tried to comb her hair out and laughed along with her.  He gave her a solid couple of pats on the head and tugged at her braids affectionately to get her attention.
“Now then,” he smiled, pointing to the little rat on the vanity, watching them curiously, “You just laughed yourself silly, and you still set her down. You have a gentle heart Luisa.  No matter how strong you are, you’ll always be the sweetest person in the room, Sita.  Don’t ever worry about hurting someone, and don’t listen to those silly boys. They don’t know what they’ll be missing in having you as a friend.  Ok?”
“Ok, tio…she sighed.  Fingers dug into her sides and dug out peels of laughter.  
“OK?” He demanded again, making his eyes go wide and big.  
“OooKaaayy! Tiooo, stoooop!”
“And what did you help me with today?”
“You…needed someone to…pose as Atalanta for Senòr Borges?”
Bruno laughed and gave his sobrina a curious eyebrow.  “Getting better!  I’ll make sure you have a new myth book soon.  And blame the horse on me.  Say I dropped it.  Don’t ever be afraid to come to me or your padres, ok?  We understand, sometimes the gifts can be…a lot.  Prometo?”
“Lo prometo, Tio!”
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4e7her · 2 days ago
october writing prompt #3 - handholding
characters: ace trappola, twisted wonderland
contains: yandere themes, detachment / disassociation, hurt/comfort, reader referred to in second person pov, gender neutral reader
It’s been a difficult day, you vaguely register, looking up at the cloudy skies with detachment.
Of course, most days at Night Raven College were, magicless student and all. It had just been especially infuriating today - you didn’t care to relive the details, but it ended with you here. Annoyed, but more importantly, tired.
You walk without any thought to your movements or where you were going, letting life take you where it would. You just… didn’t have it in you to think about these things right now. You just wanted to find somewhere peaceful.
So out of it, you don’t even realize you’ve sat down in a clearing that must be on the outskirts of campus until you’re blankly looking down at the palms of your hands, eyes stinging with unshed tears. Flexing your hands for a moment, you sigh, and instead look up at should have been the sky.
Instead, though, Ace is there looming over you with an expression somewhere between irritated and concerned. Had he been trying to get your attention for long?
“-finally. Seriously, what has you so out of it, Prefect?” His voice cuts through your fog and he shakes his head, scowling slightly as he looks down at you before he must’ve caught sight of your tears - expression twisting so fast you almost missed the frenzied desperation to help somehow in his eyes. “Shit, no, what’s wrong?”
A feeble giggle, a shake of your head, and a shrug. That’s all it takes for him to understand, and for tears to start running down your face in earnest.
You hiccup between shaky breaths, just barely holding back from sobbing, and Ace looks so panicked that you laugh a little bit. It’s hysterical, but you’re not sure what else to do. So you cry, and you mumble incoherently, and you reach out to him.
You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for him to do, and it’s obvious he doesn’t have a clue either. In that confusion, he decides that the best course of action is to hold your hands.
It’s comforting, but you still burst out laughing, shuddering breaths stabbing through your lungs and cheeks starting to hurt from smiling. It was just- it was so ridiculous.
Who sees a crying person and decides to hold their hands instead of, I don’t know, hug them? Especially when said crying person is the one who reaches out in the first place.
“Wh-? Don’t go laughing at me, that’s just rude.” Ace’s pouting brings you back down to earth, and you’re glad for the unintentional grounding that he’s doing. “…You want a hug?”
He waits a moment, but as soon as you nod your consent you’re wrapped in his arms.
“You don’t have to tell me what you’re cryin’ for, but I hope you know that I’m gonna fix it either way.” His voice holds a darker tone than normal, but you don’t notice - instead reveling in the comfort that his hold brought you. You never would’ve thought that Ace, of all people, would be the one coaxing you through a breakdown.
Him, though? He was intent. He had eyes on you virtually all day, and whenever he was there, everything seemed fine. What had gone wrong?
He’d have to figure it out and fix the issue, obviously - that wasn’t even in question. He’d do anything for you. You deserve the absolute best, and clearly no one else in this school would give it you.
Not that Ace would let them in the first place.
The last person who tried had learned their lesson quite well, he thought. And, luckily, you had never noticed. He took measures for it anyways, but he was glad that he didn’t have to use them.
It was just proof that you loved him as much as he loved you, wasn’t it? You were always so perfect like that. He couldn’t wait to make whoever made you cry suffer.
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random-fandom-whump · 15 hours ago
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Whumptober Day 5: Blood Loss ↳ Lucifer S05E15
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asksweetdisaster · a day ago
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