♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars and ♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s
straniul
[scars cw]
♎ your muse tracing one of my muse’s scars
Her heart is racing, but he’s got his arms wrapped around her and there’s soft music playing in the background. The lyrics overwhelm her senses, echoing in her ears and reminding her of his voice.
Be still and know, that I’m with you. Be still and know, that I am here.
She lets out a breath through her lips and his arms tighten, a kiss pressed to her temple. She leans back into his chest, the hot water shifting slightly along with them. He’d suggested bubble bath solution, just to take her mind off the fact that they were in a tub. But she’d vehemently refused. The idea of feeling water but not seeing it, terrified her. She needed to keep eye contact with it at all times.
His chin is resting on her shoulder, his one hand lazily rubbing circles over her knee with a loofah. She can feel his other finger absentmindedly running over her shoulder, her collar and she flinches when she feels it brush across one of the many raised bumps there. It’s as if he suddenly realizes what he’s doing, but doesn’t necessarily stop.
For a moment, she feels terribly self conscious, reminded of how they got there. The pain. The terror. The screaming.
“Sometimes,” he whispers in her ear. “I keep thinking I got there too late. That I couldn’t protect you. That I couldn’t save you, or stop you from getting hurt in the first place. And it hurts like mad. It hurts, all the time, knowing that this happened.”
She closes her eyes, leaning into his words and his touch, using it to ground herself, to stop herself from being catapulted into the past.
“But then I remember what my aunt told me this one time when I healed her and then felt bad about her getting hurt,” he continues. “She told me that even if she has a scar forever, it’s a reminder that she healed. You’re with me and I’m never letting you go again. You went through hell…and you made it out.”
That’s the last time Sydney ever feels ashamed of them; the first time she thinks of them as proof of survival.
♏ my muse tracing a scar of your muse’s
She doesn’t realize he’s awake until he stirs and attempts to turn away from her. It’s two in the morning and they’re lying in bed, filtered moonlight making streaks through the blinds. They fall across his naked chest, the one her head rests upon, and her hand is across his ribs. Her thumb continues to rub circles over the circular scar right under them, beside his sternum, the crackles around it where his skin tore.
“Why do you do that?” he asks suddenly. She jumps, looking up. He pushes away her hand and turns over, facing his back to her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, keeping her voice low, not removing her arm from around him.
“I know you do that a lot. Keep touching the scar. Why? Doesn’t it remind you of what I was? Of what they had to do to stop me?”
She can still picture it in her head - the door splintering, her screams, the guardians rushing in, her sobs, followed by his.
“No,” she says, tugging on his shoulder until he turns over again. She props herself on her elbow, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “It reminds me that you came back.”
drabble for my gorgeous carrot cake, theadrianivashkov
trigger warnings: blood, biting
“You really are disgusting,” his voice rang in her ear and she writhed.
The words slid down her body like liquid, enveloping her in both agony and an infuriating amount of lust. Agony not just because of the nature of the words directed at her. Agony from the fact that she was meant to fulfill his every wish and desire and she couldn’t do this. Blood was one of the first things she could offer him and, as it turned out, he wouldn’t take it.
It took her a slow moment to realize that the feeling of liquid sliding down her body wasn’t just agony – it was something very real. Her hand came up to her collar, to her neck, where she felt her ruptured pulse throb weakly against her fingers. It trailed down her body, every drop sending excruciating pain through her. When she looked up in horror, he stood before her.
His eyes were as dark as the blood, the smile on his face horrifying, coated in red. A drop fell on his cheek and he reached up a finger to wipe it and lick it. As he did so, his smile widened, baring sharp fangs which were dipped in blood as well. Another drop fell on him, and then another, and another until she looked up to the sky.
It was raining blood. Hot, warm, fresh blood drenching her. She looked down at her hands which were all blending into a mass of murder. She looked up at him and he stayed as immaculate as ever, untouched by the blood. The thrumming sound of the drops drowned out her scream and she shot up.
She was in bed and she’d been having a nightmare. She looked outside, where it had started to rain. No wonder it made its way to her mind. She turned to check on Adrian and nearly jumped out of her skin to find out that he was looking right at her with accusing eyes, and his hands less than inch from her shoulder. He didn’t look like he’d just woken up.
“Adrian,” she gasped, clutching her chest, where her heart was still thrumming fast. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” The words sent a horrible chill of déjà vu through her – a memory of her taking fondue to his apartment, and him sitting in the dark with a body at his feet. She’d lost him that night. Her fear was facing that loss again.
“You were having a bad dream.” His voice was so matter of fact that she almost felt like nothing was wrong with both of them. She peeled back the covers, sweating from the nightmare, and the cold air of the room was a welcome relief. She slid across the bed until she was sitting across from him, taking his lifted hands into hers. It was as if he hadn’t even realized she’d woken up.
“Yes,” she chose her words carefully. “I was.”
“Because of me.”
“Why would you say that?” She didn’t deny it nor did she agree with it. The latter would bring a reaction she wasn’t prepared for, and the previous was a lie which she couldn’t bring herself to tell.
“Because you kept saying my name over and over again. Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, Adrian – “ he continued chanting and she felt her heart drop to her stomach. She didn’t know she’d been talking in her dream. He continued saying his own name over and over, and she scooted closer to him, tilting his head up to look at her. Her other hand went to the bedside lamp. The moment the soft light washed over them, she bit her lip. His hair was a mess, his skin sallow. His eyes held a scared, deranged look to them.
“Adrian,” she said, in time with his whispers. He looked up and smiled at her, and she hated to admit that it was almost as sinister as the one in her dream.
“That’s exactly how they say it. Like it’s a nursery rhyme.” She didn’t need to ask who they was to know he meant the voices in his head. His face was a mess of emotions which she didn’t know how to jumble. All she could do was take his face in her hands and shush him softly, hoping to shush these voices too.
“You’re okay, Adrian. You’re – “
“Stop.” The word was harsh and sudden, silencing her immediately. He glared at her and the look was just as accusing as the one when she’d woken up. How long had he been looking at her like that?
He stood up, pushing her hands away and pacing the room. She was too scared to get up and stop him. She didn’t want to frighten him or set him off. No matter how long they’d been doing this routine, she’d never learn to get around it. It was always new, creating a maze through his mind which always had a different solution. Probability and statistics told her that there was an endless number of ways he could get lost in it. It also told her there were endless chances of her getting lost in it, without finding him.
“Y-You..you’re the one who has a bad dream. I know that’s not the first one you’ve had. And you’re comforting me? That’s not very fair, Sage,” he rambled and she shook her head, at a loss.
“I’m fine, Adrian.” This was relatively true. She’d gotten her dream out of her head the moment she saw his state. She was here for him. Didn’t he see that?
“No, you’re not!” he snapped and her mouth fell open. She stood up as well, just as he sank to his knees, and she was quick to kneel in front of him. She tried to put her hands on his face but he ducked, his own hands clutching his hair, rubbing his skin.
She sat helplessly as she watched him unravel before her. It wasn’t something she could physically note. For all intents and purposes, he was sitting still. But the look in his eyes was haunting. Only he knew what was going on in his head. Only he knew the ingredients to the solution.
She shook her head, reaching for him again, lamely putting her hands on his shoulders and they sagged under her touch. She took it as a hint and scooted closer. Rather boldly, she shifted so that she was sitting in his lap, her legs and arms wrapped around him like a child. She pulled away his hands to wrap around her, until they were sitting in an embrace on the floor.
“Why won’t you let yourself get some help?” he mumbled and she shrugged, helplessly. “You’ve been through equally bad things. I – I ruined everything for you. Why are you wasting your time with me? There’s no fixing me…”
“Don’t say that,” she whispered. His words were starting to scare her. His innocent ramblings she could handle. She adored it – she got to see the Adrian he’d been long before he’d met her. But this…this coherent treatment of himself as a lost cause? That frightened her.
“It’s the truth. You value the truth, don’t you? You’re sitting in its lap. I can’t help you. You need help – “
“No – “
“Stop! Stop it. I know I need help too, but you need it more. Nobody is taking care of you. I promised you I’d take care of you and I can’t. I’m giving you bad dreams instead and – shut up!” She jumped at the words, until she realized he wasn’t talking to her. He was saying it to the voices again. “Stop it. She loves me. I know she does.”
He was looking at her, but above her shoulder at the same time. She turned around but there was nobody there. She turned back to him, shaking him by the shoulders until he looked at her.
“Adrian. Adrian, I’m right here –“
“I know you are. Why are you here? I can’t make things better for you. I will never make things better for you. Don’t you get that? I’m a murderer. I killed people. I almost killed you and it’s giving you nightmares.”
“Everyone gets nightmar – “
“Not like those. I know. I know because I have them too and they aren’t normal and you’re extraordinary and beautiful and I love you and…not like those. Not everyone gets nightmares like that.”
His voice sounded like it was breaking with every word and she pulled him close. He let his head fall to her chest and she kissed the top of his head, running her fingers through his hair. She could feel his body rapidly rise and fall and she realized he was crying. It brought tears to her eyes. Her resolve was already weak from his change in demeanor and the dream, and she buried her face in his hair, letting her own tears fall.
“Now I’m making you cry,” his muffled voice said and she cried harder, her sobs taking her breath away. Somehow, they landed in a tight embrace, both sobbing into each other.
“Yes, yes you are,” she whispered, sniffling and he pulled back. His eyes roamed her face, settling on her eyes. His own looked like shattered marbles. She wondered how hers looked. His fingers came to her face, tracing the tears, not wiping them.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, and he sounded almost too scared to do so.
“Because I love you.” His face crumbled into one of pain and she quickly added, her voice thick with tears. “I love you and I hate seeing you in pain.”
He didn’t say anything to that, his tears still running down his face. She wiped them away and asked, “Why are you crying?”
“Because I love you. I love you and I hate seeing you in pain,” he repeated and she sobbed again.
“It’s okay. The pain is okay. You take care of it. I take care of you and you take care of me. So it’s okay,” she said and he buried his head in her neck again, shuddering.
“That makes no sense. I thought I was the crazy one. You take care of me, and that’s it. I don’t do anything for you.”
“You do,” she whispered, still holding him. “You wake me up.” He didn’t contest it, and she didn’t say, you wake me up and that’s enough. They only continued holding each other and crying until the sun came up.
