Bloom - Blog Posts

Spring finally!!!

Bloom

Chapter 2

Read Chapter 1: Here

All you see is darkness. 

A split-second later, your eyes adjust. 

The inky dark spills across you as you stare at absolutely nothing. 

No one stands in front of your door. No one was knocking. The darkness, for some strange reason, though, seems to melt backwards into the hallway, as if the unholy light of Sebastian’s monster dicks force it away. Stunned, confused, and relieved (just a bit), you let out a small laugh, your mind already categorizing the sounds as pipes creaking in the house, old walls settling as ancient homes tend to do, or even rodents skittering in the walls.

You shake your head, frustrated at yourself for getting so worked up over nothing. With the bat still high in the air, you feel quite silly. As you lower it, your eyes scrape the ground and, finally, you see it.

There’s a box.

There's a box on your floor. Sebastian's massive dongs flicker on your screen, barely able to light the small square container in front of you.

You poke your head outside, peeking at the darkness of the cramped hallway. Was this Marilla playing some sort of prank? 

The box is a decadent lavender, with shiny black ribbons criss-crossed around it. It even smells fancy. A scent like ice-dripped lavender oozes from it.

A suspicious box. Very suspicious. 

Should you open it? Should you even touch it? Thoughts dart across your mind. Confusion fills you, strengthening the distrust you hold for the item on the floor. 

Fuck it. You can at least touch it. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.

You handle it carefully, hands gently surrounding the slight package. You rotate it slowly, eyes passing over it, searching for any answers. There's no note. Of course there isn't, that would make all of this so much easier.

You take a breath. Your hands shift, ready to tear into the crisp wrapping and velvet bow, to uncover what lay within, but some whispering thing inside you makes you stop. Doubts fill you, harsh and echoing. This isn’t yours. Maybe you should leave it alone. Intuition is always a bitch, isn’t it? And Hindsight is all-knowing (or however that saying goes). Just as you shake your head, ready to leave the box where you found it, your eyes catch on the sleek lavender, shining so much that, despite the shadows, you can see yourself within it. Your own eyes stare back at you, darker, yet improbably reflected in the dim light

You are ensnared. Images of you opening the box fill your mind. Thoughts unbidden slither across you. You should open it. It could be good. It would be interesting. Suddenly, you ache to know what's inside.

‘ Too late for regrets ,’ you think, letting out a breath you forgot you'd been holding. 

You've always been too curious for your own good. 

Bloom

Summary: You are a normal college student.

You do normal college student things.

You live in a small 2-bedroom home on the edge of campus (walking distance to all your classes!) with a cantankerous older woman and her cherry-sweet chicken, Pigwilliams.

Your life – at least for the last three years – has been smooth sailing. You accomplish this by following a strict routine. It's simple: You go to class, take illegible notes, eat cheap food, and keep your nose down in the walkways. You read a ridiculous amount of smutty fanfic, and, on the weekends, you play sordid visual novels until Pig starts croaking at the sun and all you're left with is the burning weight of your virtual sins.

Most importantly, you stay away from trouble. 

Unfortunately for you, trouble decides that it finds you very appealing.

It starts with a knock at the door

Chapter 1

It’s 2 AM on a random Saturday night and there’s a knock at your door. 

Actually, it’s three knocks.

Marilla’s knocks are lazy. She smacks twice, an open palm on aged wood, loudly announcing her presence and demanding your attention, usually for another game of Bunko, Pirate Uno, or to watch more WWE. Pig, as you are well aware, doesn’t knock because it’s his house and he doesn’t need to. He pokes his head through the shin-high “Chicken Hole” and makes sad clucks until you let him in. 

These knocks are unfamiliar to you. Firm and crisp, they awaken you from your single-minded devotion to this week’s Boyfriend Experience™, Sebastian, the demon lord of lust. For $19.99, you’ve spent the last 6 hours reveling in his carnal embrace, entranced by his penchant for kidnapping meek virgins and his two, big, uncensored horns. His veiny pair of cocks were a plus, too. 

Confusion fills you, much like you wish Sebastian was able to. You blink your eyes quickly and rub your right hand wearily over your face. You tilt your laptop, the only light source, toward the doorway. Sebastian’s newest CG, with his chiseled abdomen and bountiful pelvis, illuminates the relatively short path to your front door. The Chicken Hole, as it always is at this time of night, is an endless void, much too far for Sebastian’s beauty to actually do any good. For a second, you think you’re mistaken. How could anyone unfamiliar be knocking on your door at 2 in the morning?

At night, Pig stands guard, much like his ancestors before him. His cozy basket, handwoven by Marilla’s late father and overflowing with organic cotton, hemp, and even one silk-adjacent fabric square, is pressed right next to the couch, in full view of the deadbolted front door. You’d triple-checked it before heading to bed as you always do, one of Marilla’s very few rules. Granted, the deadbolt is rusty, the door is plain pine, and at roughly 56 years old, there’s plenty of splintering sections and slight gaps in the grain. On sunny afternoons, those gaps form cracks of light, disjointed constellations trekking daintily around the room, that allow Pig to bask in the sun’s warmth without ever leaving his nest. Your camera roll is filled with cute Pigtures of his florid form bathed in dusk’s splendor, his beady eyes closed in utter peace. Still, in the dead of night, Pig would have made a ruckus if someone broke in. He’s not titled Sir Pigwilliams the Steadfast for nothing (even if only Marilla calls him that).

Then, it happens again. Three quick knocks. Louder now. 

You stare at the door. 

All at once, the air feels heavy, a thick humidity tightening your throat and slowing your breath to a crawl. A cold sweat breaks out on your upper lip, hardly discernible at first but seemingly heightened by an unnerving stillness. Tension lashes up your shoulders and you curl your hands into fists, palms clammy with nerves. Goosebumps flow freely across your skin, carrying a chill across your body despite the weighted air. 

You round your back, tucking yourself smaller as you drag your feet out from under you. You stand slowly, gaze still focused on the dark space leading into the hallway. You take your headphones off and lay them on the bed, the worn duvet rustling slightly as you shift your weight.

You angle your body towards the door and lean to the right, curling your hand over the side of the nightstand. Your hand touches the thrifted dusty baseball bat you tucked there after a particularly bad horror movie. You pull the bat carefully out of the corner, mindful not to make noise as you lift it from in between the bed and nightstand. You circle your fist around the handle and swing it onto your shoulder in your best impression of an actual batter.

Physical strength has never been your strong suit, but you’ve always been a little lucky. All you need is one good shot.

Weapon in hand, you creep forward to the door, measured steps quiet on the thread-bare carpet. You tip-toe lightly to the side, avoiding the area directly in front of the Chicken Hole. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you. That makes sense, right?

The light on your laptop flickers as the laptop’s fans increase in intensity, briefly drowning the room in darkness, sending a shiver up your spine. Your laptop doesn’t like being left on the bed, its downy covers suffocating the computer’s hardware. The muffled whirring fills the room, a dissonant chord amidst the silence stretched before you. All too soon, you reach your destination.

You let out a breath as you place your hand on the doorknob, fingers tightening on the cold metal. You flick the lock. The resulting click echoes in your ears.

You twist and yank the door wide open – as wide as you can – ready to face your fate. 

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Original Work Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader Characters: Reader, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Horror, Power Imbalance, Dark, Fae & Fairies, Manipulation, Dubious Consent Summary:

You are a normal college student.

You do normal college student things.

You live in a small 2-bedroom home on the edge of campus (walking distance to all your classes!) with a cantankerous older woman and her cherry-sweet chicken, Pigwilliams.

Your life – at least for the last three years – has been smooth sailing.

You accomplish this by following a strict routine. It's simple: You go to class, take illegible notes, eat cheap food, and keep your nose down in the walkways. You read a ridiculous amount of smutty fanfic, and, on the weekends, you play sordid visual novels until Pig starts croaking at the sun and all you're left with is the burning weight of your virtual sins.

Most importantly, you stay away from trouble.

Unfortunately for you, trouble decides that it finds you very appealing.

It starts with a knock at the door.