#I’m asking this as if normal rabbits are pink

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

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Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[xozombiee]

“𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑾𝑨𝒀!” | C. KAMO

✫| synopsis: emoboy!choso who works at spencer’s sees how nervous you are about trying out a new toy, so he offers to help!

warnings: sex toy usage, pet names as always :3 (sweetheart, honey, baby, etc), lowkey switch!reader, braindead!choso at the end LMFAOO, little hair pulling, no protection used..wrap it up. uhhh idk what else

notes: uhh guys pretend that batteries are included for vibes LMFAOO and..do i have a thing for car sex?

your feet ache as you walk through the mall. a friend was supposed to meet you half an hour ago to go shopping for dresses, only for her to text and say ‘sorry gotta cancel’.

the public chatter of others fill your head as you walk. since you were already here, you figured you’d look around. it’s been a while since you’ve shopped for yourself, and you were in desperate need of a new vibrator.

a colorful sign from the distance catches your attention. it read ‘spencer’s’ in orangey-yellow words. they sold sex toys right? the last time you checked they did. your eyes light up, figure walking a little faster toward the store.

when you enter, you’re met with the sight of shirts on display against the wall, a rack of hoodies and sweatshirts with ugly anime designs on them, and the section with shot glasses with corny messages written on them.

you pretend to be just shopping for a few minutes, not wanting to immediately go to the back of the store. as you pick through some of the clothes on a rack, a voice startled you from behind.

“need help finding anything, ma��am?” the voice asks lowly.

turning swiftly, you’re met with the sight of a taller man. the name on his tag read ‘choso’ with a small sticker next to it. he was young, had piercings along his ears and one on his lip, and a faint pink scar along the bridge of his nose that stretched out to his cheeks.

and he was kinda cute.

you find yourself staring for longer than needed. with a quick nod, you advert your gaze to something else.

“no, no. i’m fine. thank you though.” you reply nervously.

“well, if you need anything just let me know, yeah?” he replies, sounding uninterested.

you give him another nod before he walks off, tending to other customers. watching him out of the corner of your eye, you sigh a little.

this was the reason why you needed a new vibrator immediately. any attractive male that approached you was in danger. you’re surprised you didn’t jump him when he first walked over.

when you make sure no one’s watching, you quickly make your way to the back of the store. the small pink and purple bullets and vibrators come into view as you try to casually approach.

after hiding your body between the shelves by the wall, you look at all of your options. a bullet? nah, you’d already tried that. maybe go for something bigger?

your gaze catches on a cute, pink 8.5 inch vibrator with a ‘rabbit’ attached. before you can even stop yourself, you reach for it. the box made seem like the size was nothing. with a small shrug, you clutch the box next to your thigh. you had to find something else to buy with it.

yes, buying sex toys was normal to society, but it wasn’t normal for you.

after maybe ten minutes, you cautiously make way to the cashier. your eyes are glued to the floor as you put your things up on the counter. hopefully no one would see you walking out the store with a pink dildo in your bag.

“find everything alright?” that voice says again.

you look up with wide eyes, the pierced man with two space buns staring back at you. choso held no amusement in his eyes like you thought he would; he was nonchalant if anything. you give him a nod, looking to the snacks hanging from the counter.

your voice was weak, “a little..overwhelmed, but yeah.”

he flashes you a small smile, putting the toy and socks into a bag. “overwhelmed? this your first time shopping for—” he pauses, glancing down at the bag.

it was obvious he was just trying to make conversation, but you weren’t all that interested. still, you tried to be respectful.

“er..not really. i mean, i’ve had one before, but it’s-” you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sounded. “i’ve never tried that kind before.” you answer, going a little quiet at the end.

he raises a brow, “never had one with the rabbit?” he asks without really putting thought into his words.

a small nervous laugh falls from you, shaking your head in reply. with that, he leans forward a little, his eyes scanning your figure.

“i’ll show you how to use it if you want.”

your mouth goes dry, looking at him slightly appalled.a chill went up your spine from just his words. your shaky hands move to grab your wallet, brain attempting to find the words wanting to be freed from your throat.

you blink a few times, “you’ll show me? as in..”

choso looks at you, the uninterested expression still on his face. “my shift ends in twenty. i’m parked on the side by macy’s.” he says, watching a few people walk into the store.

now…you’d be an idiot to not meet him. but the contemplation was there. you could just go home, try the toy out yourself. that’d be the sane thing to do.

however, you hadn’t used that small little bullet on your bedside in months since buying a new one was always something you brushed off. so, you weren’t gonna miss this chance to get some dick.

you insert your card into the reader, feeling choso’s eyes on you. when the small device rings, you take it out, putting it back in your wallet.

he hands you the bag, your fingers brushing over his as you take it. it was like an electric current ran into your arm by his touch. you chew on the skin inside your cheek, feet staying planted in front of the counter despite your head telling you to move.

“i’ll see you in twenty.” you say, slowly walking away from the counter.

choso watches you in surprise. he partly only said that for a reaction, the sadist in him wanting to see your cute little eyes widen from his words.

when you exit the store, turning around the corner and leaving his sight with your cute skirt flowing, the crotch in his sweats begin to harden. it left little for an imagination choso wouldn’t need now, and every tomorrow, he hopes.

twenty minutes seem to pass quickly. you stand outside the macy’s entrance, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. the doors slide open, the sound catching your attention. you look up to see choso, space buns and all.

he nods toward the parking lot, motioning for you to follow. and you do, like a clueless puppy. choso leads you to a black colored toyota parked in the back of the lot.

his thumb presses one of the buttons on his keys, unlocking the car with a noise. he pulls you to the passengers side, opening the door for you. his hand finds your lower back as you climb inside. when he assures you’re in all the way, he closes the door.

you watch him from inside, his legs carrying him to the drivers side slower than you’d prefer. when he gets in, he settles into the seat with a soft groan. his hand finds the ignition, slotting the key in and turning it to start the car.

it rumbles lightly, the sound filling the silence between you two. you watch as he turns the wheel with one hand as the car starts to move.

minutes start to pass as you watch him, not even questioning where you were going. he could’ve been taking you somewhere to kill you..would you care? not really.

when he finally parks, you’re in a more secluded area of the mall parking lot. he was near the empty sears that had been closed for about five years, the blue sign still hanging high up.

choso glances over at you, or rather the bag in your lap that you clutched tightly onto.

“open it up.”

you blink at him for a second before complying, hands moving to unravel it from the bag. your delicate fingers try to tear the tape off of it, but struggle as it’s not letting up against the box.

he notices, lip twitching at the side as he watched. one of his hands come up to your wrist, taking the box in his other. you watch as he slowly pulls a blade from his pocket, cutting through the tape with ease.

choso notices your expression, the confusion written all over it as your eyes continue to look at the blade.

he chuckles, closing it and putting it back into his pants. “i was opening some new merch that came in the store today. forgot to give it back to yuki.”

you let a small ‘oh’ fall from your lips in understanding. choso takes the box back into his grasp, unraveling the toy from its packaging. the sight of something pink comes into view, and your eyes widen at how small it looks in his hand.

choso fidgets with it, “you said you’ve never tried one of these?”

“no.” you reply, keeping your eyes trained on the object in his hand. “i’ve only ever used one of the bullets.”

he sighs a little, looking up at you. “get in the back.”

you look at him, brows raised in surprise, “what?”

the pierced male leans forward, his face inches from your own. “get in the back.”

despite the music from the car’s stereo playing lowly in the background, your audible gulp overpowered it. you let out a shaky breath as you move to your knees, climbing into the backseat of the car.

he watches you, the skirt you wore lifting up as you shoved yourself in the back. choso followed soon after, moving to sit beside you in the closed space.

you watch him from the other side of the backseat with your shoulders pressed against the window. one of your legs propped itself onto the seat between you two, the other on the floorboard.

choso glances down at your underwear that was shying underneath the cloth on your legs. a small wet patch adorned the lacy piece you wore. his hand slowly moves to you ankle, his thumb moving back and forth against your skin.

“is it okay if i touch you?” he asks in a whisper.

a quick nod comes from you in response. your eager eyes watch him, expecting him to move closer to you.

his hand trails up further on your leg, “words, sweetheart.”

“please, choso.” you whine, enjoying that electric feeling from his skin on yours again.

choso gives you a sympathetic look. “please what? need you to be specific, honey.”

“touch me.”

he lets his hand move up your leg, making its way to your upper thigh. one side of your skirt pushes up, giving him a clearer view of your underwear. he smiles slightly at the cute purple lining that stuck to your lower stomach.

you feel his hand pull you down a little by your hip, back fully against the seat. his hand moves back to stay planted on your stomach, the fabric of your skirt now in his palm. his other hand picks the dildo back up that sat on the console, pressing onto the ‘on’ button.

the sound echos through the car, making the anxiety in your stomach build up. choso looks down at you, his hooded eyes boring into your soul.

he doesn’t give you a warning before he’s pressing the baby pink toy to your underwear. a small gasp evokes from you, back arching against the seat. choso slowly moves his hand on your stomach down to your hip, keeping that side in place.

everything felt heavenly. vibrations moved into your cunt, making your chest heave. your thighs want to shut together, but choso’s body keeps you from doing so.

“shh. you’re okay, baby.” he mutters, continuing to press the vibrator into the fabric.

you let out soft groans and gasps when the toy hits against your clit just right. when you feel that euphoric tightness in your lower stomach, your hand moves to clutch onto choso’s wrist.

“wait-” you whisper out, “want more.”

choso raises his brows, continuing his movement with the toy against you. your head falls back, hand clutching onto his wrist as the pressure builds up.

your jaw slightly hangs open but no words were escaping your lips, just soft cries. choso watched the scene intently as you squeezed your eyes shut and your body spasmed. you came hard, drenching those lace panties even more with your cum.

the sound of your heart beat in your ears lets you know you’re still alive. you listen as choso turns the toy off momentarily. “that was quick.” he comments as your heavy breaths fill the car.

you open your eyes to shoot a meaningless glare at him. he doesn’t say anything, only rubbing small circles on your hip.

“it was barely anything.” he says with a small shrug, “we should test it out with the panties off.”

with a small nod and ‘yes’ requested from him, his fingers start to dip underneath the band of the purple underwear. choso slides them off with ease after letting you lift your hips to get them closer to the ground.

you feel the somewhat cool air hit your pussy that was glistening. a sudden burst of vulnerability comes over you as you press your thighs together to hide from the man that sits in front of you.

his fingers move up your calves, up to the side of your thighs. he brushes them gently, keeping eye contact with you. “don’t need to hide from me, honey.”

at that, you slowly return to your state from before. he watches your pretty pussy come into view, his gaze going sinister at the sight. choso moves one of his hands to the edge of your core, hovering his palm just above your clit.

“so gorgeous.” he mutters, mostly to himself.

the sound of the toy starts up again. you’d figure he’d give a warning before putting it in, but he doesn’t. choso watches your eyes widen as he inserts all four inches of the dildo inside, the rabbit moving along your clit.

an unfamiliar hunger overtook his existence as he watched you squirm underneath him. choso slowly slotted the pink toy back and forth inside of you. you struggled to find something to hold as the pleasure took over your senses.

your hand is suddenly enwrapped by his, that electric current returning to your skin. he moves it to rest beside your head, his other hand maneuvering against you.

the sound of your pleasure almost makes choso’s head spin. he wants nothing more than to throw the plastic toy out of the window and shove his dick all the way into you. but he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. you seemed like such a sweet girl, and he didn’t want to ruin that.

“mm..’m close, choso.” you rasp, looking into his eyes. “don’t wanna cum with that.”

choso looks at you dumbfounded, trying to process your words. he watches you reach for his hand, pulling the pink toy away from your pussy.

you lean up, pressing your forehead against his. “would you fuck me if i asked nicely?”

“don’t bother.”

not even a millisecond passes after his words before his lips are attaching to yours. choso discards the toy to the front seats, pulling you closer to him.

you feel the hardness under his sweats pressing into you. with a small wiggle of your hips, he lets out a sigh into your lips. his hands find their way to your waist, pulling you up from laying against the seat.

choso places you into his lap, hands curled around the back of your thighs. his head moves upward to keep the connection between your tongues. you bite down onto his bottom lip, and his hands squeeze your flesh.

“please.” you murmur against him, “don’t tease, choso.”

he pulls his mouth away from yours, looking into those gorgeous irises you held. “i like the way you say my name.” he whispers.

you feel his hands remove themselves from you, going to the waistband of his sweats. within a moment, they’re pulled to his thighs. choso looks up at you in anticipation.

“goin’ at your pace, baby.”

your hands fall onto his built chest as you sink all the way down on him, driving the entirety of him deep within you. his hands fly to your hips when it you flutter around him, but then grabs for your wrist on his chest, intertwining your fingers with his.

a moment passes before you begin to lift your hips up and down, pushing his length through you. your movements, your warm skin, fluttering eyes—it's so overwhelming for choso. his head falls back, and even though you’re going at such a slow pace, it feels like you’re milking him, intent on making him fill you to the brim.

choso looks up at you, his brows furrowed with sweat building between them. his face is flushed, highlighting the scar on his nose. you almost cum right then and there from the sight of him looking so desperate.

when you speed up, he groans loudly. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

moving closer to his ear, “that was the intent.” you whisper.

he unsuccessfully stifles a groan when your breath meets his ear. his hands are loosely closed around your thighs, not even wanting to press you tighter against him because his brain is practically melting.

you tug on the buns in his hair, forcing him to lock his gaze with yours. the pain in his scalp doesn’t phase him, in fact, he feels himself getting closer from the feeling. he watches your expression change with each thrust, holding him in your hand like a puppet.

“so fuckin’ pretty, choso.” you gasp, kissing up his neck.

he inhales sharply from your praise, “fuck—”

you looked godly--his savior, and your pussy was one squeeze away from sending him to heaven. you were giving him this gift of riding him and god he was so grateful for it--for you.

“feels ‘s good,” he whimpers, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

when you feel him twitch inside of you, your legs find what’s left of the energy you have left to quicken your pace even more. "come on baby, come on," you whisper to him.

he isn't used to this. he isn't used to being guided to his orgasm first, but he his brain is dissociating. he can't think of anything else--he's lost control over his brain and he feels himself tip over the edge of an orgasm.

choso groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with a newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans intercepted with apologies.

hours could’ve gone by, and you wouldn’t realize it. your body lays atop of him, hands lazily gripping onto his shoulders. choso doesn't pull out his cock, keeping it buried inside of you.

his hands are locked together, circled around your waist. his breathing has evened out along with yours, and the only thing filling the silence is the radio that’s barely above zero on the stereo.

“so..did you like the toy?”

[boyfriendstevie]

Stevie who’s so confident, so in love and sure of the love you share, but also who goes beet red when he finds out you’re a virgin and when you ask him to be your first I’m ❤️❤️❤️❤️

not exactly smut, but this blog is still 18+ so mdni pls! <3

-

“Steve?”

Your boyfriend, your sweet, kind, caring and normally oh-so-confident boyfriend, is oddly silently. Worryingly silently, considering what you’ve just told him. Sure, it’s a lot to take in, finding out that your partner is a virgin, but you know Steve’s heard worse things, and silence is the last reaction you’d expected from him. Though it doesn’t fit with what you know of Steve, you begin to worry that, somehow, this is a dealbreaker for him, “Sorry, I know that’s a lot, so if you don’t wan—“

Before you can follow that rabbit hole too far down, Steve shakes his head vehemently and finally says, somewhat shyly, “Sorry, I just… y-you want me to be your first?”

That’s not at all what you were expecting. He says it like he’s not sure he heard you correctly, eyes wide, cheeks turning a soft pink under your gaze. It’s your turn to become shy, and you feel like you’re on fire as you tilt your head to one side, cheek pressing into your shoulder in a futile attempt to ease the burn, “Well, I mean, yeah. I-if you want. ’S just, I trust you, I love you, and I know you’d care enough to make me feel good, and—“

Steve cuts off your rambling with a small, incredulous laugh laced with adoration, “Baby, ‘if I want’? You— you’re kidding, right? I… I would be honored. The fact that you’d trust me with that? I’d do anything to make you feel good, we’ll go however slow you want, I just— I love you, you know that?”

Steve’s cheeks flush even darker with his admission, a deep red crawling from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his neck, underneath moles begging to be kissed. It’s not that he’s ever doubted your relationship, your love, not like he has in the past, but to be trusted with something like this… Fuck. 

“I love you, honey,” he says again, a smile creeping onto his face, long fingers wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face, “Whatever you want, I want it, too.” 

“I love you,” you repeat, leaning forward until your lips brush over his lightly, not quite a kiss, “What if… what if I want it now?” 

Steve groans, a sound from deep within his chest as he lunges forward, pushing you into the pillows behind your body until he’s hovering over you, “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” 

[lakes-liver]

Legend has been acting very distinctly off, lately.

He’s not injured, Sky knows that much. There wasn’t a time where he’s been separated from the group. Something triggered him, perhaps? The veteran has more than enough baggage to sift through.

Sky really isn’t sure.

Legend hasn’t been the same since… about a week ago? Something of the sort? He’s been quieter, laughter not so loud, snarks not so present. If it were anyone else, Sky wouldn’t be concerned.

But this is Legend he’s talking about. Legend, who shows a prickly front but is soft on the inside. His facade isn’t prickly right now, though, more like a dull point.

Triggers don’t last that long, right? If they didn’t, he would be better by now, at least outwardly. Then again, Sky doesn’t know much (if anything at all) of the “shell-shock” the veteran, the captain, and even Time seem to describe. What he knows is limited, tales from an era long before Skyloft, when the world wasn’t so peaceful. So, maybe there’s a chance it can last this long?

This train of thought does not change the fact that there is still something wrong, and Sky is very much concerned.

Another day passes, and the Chosen Hero watches his friend. A multitude of notes show up.

One: no one else seems to have noticed the problem at hand.

Two: Legend is acting as he usually does (jabs, rolled eyes, etc.) around everyone in their group.

Third: the veteran is only acting oddly around Sky.

Now, this has raised a very important question in Sky’s mind. Did he do something wrong? While he’s never been one to hold silent grudges (except against the goddesses, of course), maybe Sky had done something to be an exception.

He mulls this over throughout the evening, as they set up camp. Physically, he’s busied by setting out his bedroll, as well as some of the others’. Mentally, though, he thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

If the veteran hadn’t been borderline ignoring him, Sky’s sure he’d make a quip about how he shouldn’t think so much.

“It must get difficult thinkin’ so hard, birdbrains,” he’d mock, and Sky would laugh, and all would be well.

But all is not well. And Sky is growing more nervous by the second.

He thinks over every interaction with Legend in the past week. Nothing stands out to him. It started normally, with pokes and jokes and smiles and giggles. Then, like a switch had been flipped, the pink-haired man had become strangely subdued.

Could it have something to do with that? The whole… pink-rabbit, thing? But that was months ago, and this was so much more recent.

“Sky? Ya ‘ere?” Fingers are being snapped in front of his face.

He jumps, looking into the marked face of Twilight. Sky hides it with a flush and a chuckle. “Yes! Sorry, got lost in my thoughts, there” — and here is where the birdbrain comments should go, yet none do — “what did you ask?”

Twi, ever the worrywart, frowns slightly. “I ‘as j’st askin’ ‘bout watch. Doubleshif’s, you an’ Ledge. But, if yer not up for it—”

“No!” Sky is fast to interrupt. “No worries! I’m alright, truly. That sounds wonderful.” He gives the most reassuring smile he can muster, and it’s honest and true, for once.

Twilight’s frown lifts, a bit, and the slightly older man nods and steps away towards Wild and Wind, who are still cooking dinner.

Watch with Legend, huh? Could this be his chance?

A small bit of him warns that things could go very, very, wrong.

Luckily, the bigger part of him tells him that if he doesn’t say anything now he will run out of time to say anything at all.

So, that is that. Watch is set—blech, the middle shift—and Sky walks over to the rest of his friends before he can think any more of the situation.

“Sky!” Wind waves. “Come sit by us!”

‘Us’, in this case, happens to be himself, Wild, and Twilight, none of whom he’s opposed to being near. Thus, he picks his way to a spot on a ground, settling next to Wind. The smaller melts into his side (a common occurrence), and Sky happily accepts a bowl of pumpkin soup.

It’s not the same as from his home, of course, but it’s still soup and there’s still pumpkins. He’s still satisfied by the taste.

“Thank you, Wild,” he says, setting the now-empty bowl beside him.

Wild grins crookedly. “‘Course, Sky, I’m glad you liked. Seconds?”

Sky shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

The sailor, on the other hand, shoots up, mouth completely stuffed. “‘ll take ‘is s’rv’in’!”

“Calm yerself, sailer, others gotta eat,” Twilight chides.

“Meanie.” Wind crosses his arms with a pout. Sky ruffles the top of his head, a fond look surely on his face, and the smaller does not shy away.

He spares a glance to Legend and Hyrule, across the fire. The former is staring, brows furrowed, but looks away as soon as he notices Sky’s gaze. The latter continues chattering away as if nothing happened (and, in their eyes, nothing did happen).

Overall, the fire is warm and his belly is full. His friends sit around him and talk and snort and sigh, contentment filling the air. Sure, they have double watches set up, the tension is high, and they are exhausted, but they are together and they are (physically) healthy. Sky could not ask for much more.

So, Sky turns in for the beginning of his rest. Wind is sprawled next to him, looking like the starfish they all claim to exist.

Three hours later, Time is shaking him awake.

“You’re up, Sky. Four’s already woken Legend,” he whispers.

Sky nods. This is a song they’ve danced to many times.

Seeing him up and aware, the oldest moves to his bedroll with a soft ‘goodnight’. The Skyloftian echoes it in turn, before advancing towards the dying embers and confusing veteran.

At first, the watch is normal. Sky watches one side whilst Legend watches the other. There isn’t much talking—there never is, on the second watch, what with tired eyes and restless heroes—but the bit that is remains light and regular. For a moment, he can almost forget the anxiety that’d been eating him away earlier.

Then, Sky makes a comment that shatters the glass around them.

“Oh c’mon, vet,” he rolls his eyes. “We both know you use those trinkets of yours quite often.”

The chuckle Legend gives sounds forced, and Sky is hit with a pang of guilt. It was meant as a simple jab—nothing more nor less—but it maybe it was too biting?

Sky takes the second to study Legend’s newfound stance. He’s hunched in on himself, hands hugging knees, and despite not being able to see his face, Sky can assume his expression is that of a resigned sort of scowl.

It’s the same reaction he’s seem many times on multiple others. Twilight when scolded by Time; Wild when scolded by Twi; Wind when scolded by Warriors; Hyrule when scolded by Legend. It is not a reaction he expected to receive from their veteran, let alone one to be stemmed from him.

It spikes a whole new pang of worry.

He turns back before Legend can catch his face. “Sorry, Ledge. I like your items a lot. It’s not a problem to use ‘em, you know.”

From the corner of his eye, he catches the tension release, just a little bit. Enough, though, to know he said the right thing. Good.

Legend doesn’t give a response besides a light bump of the shoulders. The watch continues in a not-quite-awkward but not-quite-comfortable silence.

Creeeeak.

Sky’s head is up in an instant, scanning and pausing and reviewing the treeline in front of him. His ears twitch and try to catch every little thing, from the scamper of a mouse to the rustle of the wind. He’s certain Legend is doing the same, on his end.

A beat passes. Two. Three.

Legend’s breath hitches. “Bokoblin. One o’ Wild’s, reckon.”

“The others?” Sky whispers, voice barely making a sound.

“No. It’s just one. On three?”

Sky nods.

One beat. Two.

“Three!” Legend hisses.

Sky springs up, Master Sword poised to strike and shield up to block. Legend follows in a similar manner, clutching the Tempered Sword and some sort of shield. The ‘blin barely reacts before Sky is moving, moving, moving, slashing at the beast with a ferocity he didn’t realize he possessed this late at night.

The monster bleeds black.

Legend notices too, and lets out a soft string of curses before he’s in on the action. They trade blows, one then the other then both at the same time.

The bokoblin does not back down. It swings its own sword at their ankles, then their waists, then their heads. Wide arcs that make it near impossible to get in, despite the fact that the odds are two to one.

Legend pushes and knocks it off balance, and Sky seizes his chance. He steps into the circle, sword going faster than a blink, and stabs through the head. The Master Sword glints on the other side. The beast dissolves into nothing save a gem and some guts.

Sky lets out a cheer and turns to Legend.

Who’s eyes, suspiciously, are blown wide with fear. Did he get hurt? Had Sky missed something during the heat of the battle?

He stumbles forward—wait, stumbles? Sky shouldn’t be stumbling, he didn’t get hurt, just look down—oh. That’s blood. On his tunic. On his stomach.

Shit.

Pain erupts from the area, stabbing and scorching and hot in a way it really should not be, not on a fresh wound, not unless it’s infected—

“Sky? Sky! Stay with me, hero, stay with me.” Legend is frantic and holding his shoulders, lowering him carefully to the ground. Why is he so panicked? It’s not that bad, right?

Another shot of pain rocks his body, and he bites back a scream with practiced expertise.

Nevermind, it is definitely that bad.

Still, though, Legend is upset, and he can’t have that. Legend shouldn’t be upset, not because of him.

“I’m okay,” he gasps. “‘m fine, Ledge, just needa—” a coughing fit fights its way out and he cant stop it.

“You ain’t fine, you needa potion or sum. Hold on fer me, ‘kay? Hold on, ‘ll get Roolie or, or,” Legend stops, stares, and then darts up and away. Sky frowns, because Legend is still stressed and he can tell because his accent is loose and free and that is not something he often does.

He holds on for as long as he can, though. He can hear shouts and people getting up and running and since when did they get so far? What’s even happening? Is someone hurt?

Ow. Right. Sky is hurt.

His stomach doesn’t feel so good. It feels sticky and hot and gross and bad and he doesn’t like it. Maybe a nap will help? Naps usually help when he’s tired, they always have. Maybe he should nap.

Just as his eyes start to fall shut, someone shakes him, yelling and shaking and yelling and shaking. Bright, violet, eyes meet dull sky blue, panicked and calm and panicked and calm and ow ow ow everything hurts so bad.

The violet eyes have a mouth attached, and it keeps opening and closing but he can’t hear anything. Should he be hearing something?

Something cold presses against his stomach and he hisses. It keeps going, pushing and pushing, but the cold becomes warm and soft and comfortable. Sky could nap, like this.

Despite his eyes fluttering shut, someone grabbed and shook him, yet again. He really wishes they’d stop, he’s trying to nap here!

“—descendant!” They say.

…What?

Now significantly more interested, Sky strains his ears to listen closer. Oh, cool, the warm-yet-cold hands gave some of his hearing back. That’s nice.

“I’m—or—dant!”

They’re… huh?

“I’m royal!”

The Chosen Hero blinks. Once, twice, three times. His vision is so blurry he can’t make anything out besides those glaring eyes and disheveled hair.

The pain is subsiding, a little bit, so that’s neat.

What did they mean… royal?

Oh. Oh! Wait! Him and Sun start the royal bloodline of Hyrule, don’t they? This person could be referring to that! Is it a Zelda? Did one of the other Zeldas come? They’re so sweet, all those young women, and it triggers something in him that’s quite enjoyable. Maybe, once this pain quiets down, he can talk to them? That’d be just wonderful.

He closes his eyes again, humming in contentment when the unknown Zelda doesn’t shake him back. The sharp and burning and horrible ache is nothing more than annoying, now, and he’s slept much worse than this. He falls unconscious, unaware to the trembling hero next to him.

What could be minutes or hours or even days later, Sky opens his eyes again. It’s dark out, and stars shine brightly up above. Trees dot the outline of his vision.

He tries to sit up. His lower abdomen protests vehemently, and he has to abandon such efforts. Something between a groan and whine escaped him, despite his feeble attempts to swallow it whole.

“Sky?” Someone asks. “Sky! You’re awake!”

He looks towards the voice, and is pleasantly surprised to see Legend. He made it out of the fight! There’s no visible bandages, or splints, or anything but concerned eyes and a soft face.

Sky musters up the best smile he can. “I’m okay, Ledge.” He pushes up again, and this time makes it as far as propping his weight onto his elbows. His stomach screams, but he’s alright, truly.

“You damn better be,” the vet mutters, but he helps push the chosen hero up the rest of the way. Sky nods his thanks, before scanning their camp.

It’s still the same place they were last time. A small grove in the middle of uncharted woods, somewhere so random that no one knows who’s Hyrule it is or even if it is anyones. There are six sleeping forms and the outline of Wolfie.

There is no Zelda. He distinctly remembers a Zelda being there, after he was injured. Did she leave? He wanted to talk to her.

“Where did she go?” Sky asks, frowning. That’s unfortunate.

Legend raises an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Zelda,” he says, like it’s obvious. “She was here whenever… I got hurt, I guess.”

“Sky,” Legend looks very confused. “There wasn’t ever anyone’s Zelda here. Why would you think so?”

His words are thought out, slower, deeper than the mess he’d been when Sky was injured. That’s good, it means the vet has had time to breathe and calm down since then.

“There wasn’t? But someone mentioned being of royal descent, did they not?” Had he made that entire conversation up? Something of delusion built from blood loss and poison?

Legend’s expression freezes; a blush creeps across his ears. “You, uh, you heard that?”

“Yes?” How could he not? They were shaking and shouting, for Hylia’s sake!

“Oh.”

Sky is growing quickly more confused, and concerned, and he remembers why he was so nervous around Ledge in the first place. Something was wrong—no, something is wrong—and he wants to figure it out.

“Legend? Did something happen? Are you alright?”

The veteran shakes his head. “You got stabbed, Chosen. Scared the hell outta us.”

But that doesn’t answer about the past week or the mysterious person who he’s very very certain said they were related to him.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. Before the other can object, Sky continues. “What about the Zelda, though? Or whoever it was? Someone said they were my descendant, I thought.”

Legend looks anywhere but at Sky’s face. It’s very suspicious. “That, uh, that doesn’t matter. You need rest.”

Sky uses his own arms to keep him up, despite the insistence of the pink-haired hero to get him to lay back down. The more lucid he is, the less the pain matters. It’s nothing, now. He’s done more on less.

“No, wait, Ledge—”

“It was me,” he whispers, and it’s as quick as the pegasus boots he loves so much.

“Hm?”

Legend flushes, continuing to look away. “It was, uh. It was me. I’m your…” he trails off into something incoherent.

Sky raises an inquisitive brow.

“Don’t make me say it,” Legend scowls.

“Say what?”

“You know what!” And Sky really does. He wants to hear Legend admit it for himself, though.

“Stab wound,” he deadpans instead.

Legend huffs and pouts and crosses his arms, scowl deepening, then softening, then deepening again.

A beat passes. No one stirs except for the two exhausted heroes.

“Fable—my Zelda—she’s my sister. I’m the Prince of Hyrule, technically.” Legend brings his knees up to his chest and hugs them, eyes downcast, stance tense and so similar to how it was by the fire, that night.

Everything clicks into place very neatly.

Legend is not upset with Sky. He is worried about Sky, worried he’s been a disappointment, worried that he’s somehow made a mistake. So he cut back on snarks and rolled eyes, on cocked hips and wide gestures, replaced it with something subdued and a (quite frankly horrid) attempt at being something different.

“Can I hug you?” Sky asks, because it’s the only thing he can think of saying.

The veteran—the teenager, really—all but jumps. But, exactly as he hoped he would, the boy uncurls himself just enough to nod and accept the arms barrelling into him.

Sky represses a gasp (ow ow ow, next time, do not fall into someone’s arms with a scabbed stab wound, good Hylia), and squeezes tight, pouring every ounce of care he can in. This is his descendant, his kid, and it’s such a rush of emotions he’s surely going to have to process later but for right now Legend slots perfectly into his arms and all is well.

“You’re not… you’re not mad?” The boy rasps.

Sky uses one hand to comb through unruly hair. Jeez, did this kid brush it at all while he was unconscious? He’s going to have to use the recently acquired dad-card to fix that.

“Why’d I be mad, Ledge?”

From where he’s pressed the other against his chest (how did he never realize Legend was so small? Has he seriously never hugged him before?), Sky can’t see the expression he’s making. He can well assume, though, that’s something along the lines of furrowed brows and pressed lips, confusion evident with a hint of something else.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Legend finally decides on, and Sky almost laughs at how absurd the question is.

He pulls back to look the boy in the eyes. “Legend, you are a wonderful person who has done wonderous things. You have faced atrocities that no person should, and come out stronger, better, and you have done it again and again, because you care for people less fortunate than you.” His descendant’s eyes are blown wide, wide, wide, and the deep black spots are all the more obvious; no wonder he’s so open, right now, there is not a single ounce of sleep in that body. “I know I haven’t known you long, but I am so proud of you regardless, Legend, and I have no words for how happy I am that I am somehow related to you.”

Violet eyes stare into sky blue, expression lax in a way Sky has not seen before, details in the starlight that are old to one but new to the other.

Sky is hit with the fact that he has never looked at the veteran before this. Not hard enough to point out the little things, like the freckles or light scars or baby hairs.

“Oh,” Legend murmurs, casting his gaze downwards and caving in on his own body a bit more. “Okay.”

“Legend,” eyes flick up once more, “I’m being genuine.”

“I know.” A long pause. “I know, it’s just not that simple, I guess. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Ledge.”

Legend’s eyes go wide, wide, wide, once more. “The others can’t know I’m Fable’s brother.”

That is definitely something Sky is going to address at a later date.

For now, he hopes that the glint his eyes get is mischievous and his smirk comes across correctly. “Exactly.”

Legend does not look convinced.

“We’ll be like Twi and the champion were, for a while. Imagine how pissed Wars an’ Wind’ll be trying to figure it out,” Sky says, because while he’s seen hell he’s still just barely twenty and the epitome of a little shit.

(Holy Hylia, he’s going to have to address that later. How do Twilight and Wild do this all day? They’re barely a few years apart!)

Legend stares at him, and then lets out a cackle of a laugh. Real and honest, all because of Sky, and hope blooms in his chest. The other is undoubtedly the hardest nut to crack and Sky is finally getting through, after months of work.

Soon, he starts laughing too. He can’t help it! The vet’s laugh is so contagious, and he’s rocking back on his knees, and Sky is wheezing, and they’re both definitely delirious.

They’re also a bit too loud, because even as their giggles subside, the other Links begin stirring. Hyrule first, the lightest sleeper by far, but Wind and Wild and Wars follow not long after. The chain wake to two grinning brothers, and while they don’t understand it, they’re joining in as well.

Sky’s stomach hurts like a bitch, which is not a word he uses lightly, but he feels happy in an odd sense. A lot has happened—too much—but he can ignore it in favor of a good laugh with his brothers.

[thesharkwhalewhoohooooo]

Bridget x fem! Oc

Short one! Also, another OC. I’m so bad at keeping it to a few. Also I’m hearing this consistent scraping sound that sometimes becomes inconsistent and its 4:13 here and I’m about to cry i’m so fucking scared it won’t go away.

"Oh my lord." Ella caught the white haired girl right before she fell onto the stone, rolling her eyes and hoisting her up again, helping her keep her balance.

"Oh my god stop fainting like that Arry." She groaned, Artelia stabilised herself, standing weak kneed on the courtyard stones as she leaned on Ella.

"She is so-."

"Hot?"

"-Magnificently perfect, who allowed her to roam this earth? I should personally thank them." Ella almost killed herself when she heard that, instead pushing the rabbit off of her and onto Bridget as she approached.

"Hi Lia! How has your day been?" Bridget grinned brightly at her, holding her close to her chest.

"Good! Amazing even!" Atrelia responded after a second of staring at her future queen.

"Could you send a letter to my mom? I have to ask her something about the upcoming free days." The royal messenger nodded quickly, wrapping her arms around the taller girl's waist.

"I still have some homework I wanted to do now, so, if you could....?" She trialed off, carefully unhooking her hands from her lower back and lifting up Artelia so she was standing straight.

"Right, wait, what subject?" Bridget sighed, patting her head and pulling her to a table, saying her goodbyes to Ella who didn't have a free period.

"It's for math, we can do it together?"

-

"Shhhhh!" Artelia harshly shushed Ella when she burst into her dorm room, probably to copy her homework for tomorrow.

"All right! I get it." Ella whisper yelled back, glancing at Bridget who had her head on Artelia's lap, fast asleep.

"It's on my desk, just take it and give it back tomorrow morning." Ella nodded, tiptoeing towards the desk and snatching the papers, quickly racing out after.

"You didn't have to be so harsh on her." Bridget half-slurred, still on the brink of sleep.

"I thought you were asleep princess." The pink-haired girl merely hummed, rolling a bit so her body laid straight on the bed and not half off of it.

"I thought I was too." The rabbit pushed a bit off hair out of her face, looking down at her lovingly.

"I love you."

"Love you too Sweets." She rolled over, hiding her face in Artelia's thighs.

"Can we lay normally? Now that I know you're awake I am not continuing to sit up like this." Bridget moaned in protest, throwing her arms up to lay next to Artelia, and going limp.

"Bridget!" The girl in question ignored her, opting to grab onto her legs instead.

"Come on dear. Let's just lay down..."

[chvnnie]

Thoughts on a boxing match with min/chan where you ask them to teach you and you end up manhandled to the floor and floored

the way i stopped breathing—

SMUT — MINORS DNI

“You throw shitty punches.”

“You’re a shitty teacher.”

“Oh? Is that why you asked me to train you?”

You drop your fists, face twisting in annoyance as you glare at your friend. There’s a smug smile on his face, one that you were fully expecting. Minho finds far too much enjoyment in your struggles.

“I actually asked Chan.” You say, tugging the gloves off and letting them hit the floor. They bounce a bit, rolling to the edge of the ring. “You inserted yourself into this.”

“Trust me, you much rather have me train you than him.” Minho, who opted for gauze instead of gloves, starts to unravel it. Though he called you weak, his hands are glowing red. A little swollen. Good, you hope it fucking hurts. “Just because he has more muscles doesn’t mean he’s better at fighting.”

You’ve walked towards a corner of the ring, picking you water bottle up off a stool. “What, and you are?” You ask following a long drink, holding it out to offer him some.

God, you hate how cocky he can be. Menacing smile, playfully evil eyes as he takes the bottle from you. As he drinks, he’s sure to make eye contact with you. Raise his brows a bit. You scoff in disgust and look away, acting like the bobbing of his Adam’s apple isn’t making you uncomfortably warm.

“Mhm.” He caps the bottle, returns it to its home on the stool. “Chan might be stronger, but I’m faster.”

You can’t help the laugh of disbelief you give. This can’t be serious. What is this shit? “Sure, Min, whatever helps you cope—“

“I’m not joking.” He’s so serious, it’s almost chilling. The playful expression he had is gone, replaced with his normal, almost cold one. The laugher is gone, replaced with a shiver you try to hide. “He’s bigger, which means he’s slower. To swing, to move, even to react. By the time he’s ready to land a blow, I’m already out of range.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Minho shrugs, and you think that’s the end of it. What time is it? It feels like you’ve been here forever. As you turn your head to look for the clock, you see something in the corner of your eye. Sharp reflexes have you ducking, narrowly missing your friend’s punch.

“What the fuck?” You shout, popping back up in anger.

There’s that aggravating smile. “See. Have to be quick.”

This. This is exactly why you asked Chan and not Minho. Blood boiling, you snatch your gloves off the ground. His eyes are on you the entire time, fire dancing in his eyes at your reaction. Once they’re secure, you swing.

And miss. Light on his feet, he bounces back. Just out of reach. Another one, another dodge. He laughs this time, avoiding each punch with a hit.

“Faster, come on!” Minho coaches. “You’re so close—“

“Shut up!” You snap, chest heaving as you begin this dance around the ring.

Punch. Duck. Swing. Miss. The fucking rabbit narrowly avoiding your shot every single time. As irritating as it is, you’re starting to become more confident. Your aim is better, there’s more force behind each blow.

You hate the smile he gives you. One of pride. One that makes your heart start to skip beats.

Oh, you’re fucking over it.

You lunge towards him, determined to put an end to this grueling and annoying session. Before you can even raise a fist, he hooks his foot around one of your legs. Suddenly, you’re on your back, groaning as stars dance on the ceiling on the gym.

Minho has you perfectly pinned to the ground; you can’t even squirm. Strong legs locked with yours, hands on your wrists and keeping them to your sides.

The smug smirk is back, and he’s leaning in. Nose close to yours, warm, minty breath fanning across your face.

“Still think I’m full of shit now?”

Stars begin to fall, yellow, white, and a soft pink as they land in the tight space in between your bodies. Some of them are cool, like the low octave of his voice. Some are warm, complimenting the fire in your belly. The gravity they bring has a pulling sensation. Follow the light, let it show you how it shines.

You have nothing to say, blinking up at your friend. His body has never been this close to yours, strong thigh perfectly wedged between your legs. It seems like he’s aware of this; the stars are beginning to dim as he gets closer, burning. Ready to explode when the tips of your noses meet. Lips hovering—

The metal door makes a loud door when it’s shut, scaring the pretty lights away. They spin back up to the ceiling, gone as quickly as they appeared. Minho gives an annoyed grunt, snapping his head to see who crashed this closed practice.

Chan stands near the door, gym bag in hand. His grey, cutoff gym shirt is drenched in sweat, obviously coming from his own workout. With a raised brow, he laughs.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The question snaps you out of the haze, gloved fists banging against Minho’s chest. Grunting, trying harder to escape his hold. If the others get wind of the compromising position, you’ll never live it down.

“Fucking move, you cunt—“

“You did.”

The gloves hit the mat with a thud, staring at Minho in complete shock. What the fuck is he doing? Whatever was sparkling is long gone, way out of reach now. Ruined by Chan. It should be left to fizzle away, never to be spoken of again.

With a laugh, he drops his bag, walking up to the ring. “Apologies, I thought we were training.”

You don’t like the look Minho gives you before he sits up, a small but evil grin on his face as he looks at his friend.

“We are.”

It takes him only a second to flip you onto your stomach. Before you can do much as protest, Chan is kneeling in front of you. A hand clasped over your mouth.

He clicks his tongue. “Didn’t you want our help?”

The braids you had so painstakingly put in this morning are untangled with little care. Chan has a rough grip on your hair, keeping your nose flush to his hipbone. Though you gag, cry, drool, he doesn’t move. Staring down at you with dark eyes and parted lips.

With a tap to his thigh, you could end this. Make him release you, and the three of you will leave. Never to speak of this again.

But the weight of his cock on your tongue is almost as heavenly as the one buried deep in your cunt.

Minho moves his hips in an agonizing motion. Hands on your ass, he kneads the flesh. Teases you other hole, thumb just barely inside. The tip of him nudges your walls deeper than anyway has, fluttering and clenching as the new feeling brings the stars back to earth.

Slowly, Chan pulls you off his cock. He thinks it’s precious how you cough, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath.

“Aww, poor thing.” A thumb collects the mix of spit and precum on your chin, pushing it back into your mouth. Quickly, you work around the digit just as you had with his cock. “Not used to this much attention at once?”

Your glassy eyes blink up at him, hardly processing the question. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why can’t you think? Where are the words that are spinning in your hallow mind, refusing to leave?

Minho laughs at his friend’s question, thrusting into you hard enough to make you unsteady. You slip, sweaty hands unable to hold you up.

“Of course not, hyung.” The way he smacks you makes your entire body sting, cries aching along with the sound of it. “Think about who you’re talking to. She’s too much of a good girl.”

You hate the way he speaks to you. You hate the way you love it, clinching and whining at the insult.

Chan smiles fondly at you, pulling his thumb from your mouth and quickly replacing it with his cock again. He guides you, setting the tempo himself while you work your tongue around it.

“Maybe with some training,” he tilts your head. Making sure you’re looking right at him. “You can be our good girl.”

[yellowjacketsfashion]

Do you think it would be possible to breakdown the outfits the characters are wearing during the Pit Girl ritual scene? I'm very interested in their outfits and want to analyse the deeper meanings behind them, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what they're actually wearing. If not, it's alright ^^

Sure! This might take a few parts so I’ll start with one of the people probably talk the most about (besides the Antler Queen).

This is Skunk Head, the first person we see in the Wilderness besides Pit Girl. Skunk Head is one of the Acolytes (a term Marie Schley and the Costume department used) to the Oracle (the term they originally used for the Antler Queen).

The thing that’s notable about Skunk Head is that their clothing pieces are used as easter eggs by the costuming department throughout the show to keep people guessing at their identity (which is why they’re often talked about).

The clothing items to look out for specifically are the fair isle sweater that’s used as a balaclava (seen on Misty and Mari), the coed naked soccer shirt (seen on Van, Travis, Akilah, etc.), and the pink converse (which I’ve seen Misty wear in a behind the scenes photo but I haven’t been able to catch anyone wearing in the actual show).

Here are some close up shots of the balaclava and Coed Naked Soccer shirt.

Besides those main clothing pieces Skunk Head has a cloak/coat of furs (not sure what animal it’s from), netted/knitted gloves and arm coverings, a navy blue sweatshirt under the coed soccer shirt, blue pants and leg warmers, as well as floral fabric wrapped around their knees and of course the skunk fur hat.

In interviews Marie Schley, the head Costume Designer has talked about how they came up with these costumes. Something she’s mentioned a couple times is that the animals featured on their costumes are supposed to reference the hierarchy of their Wilderness Society, and the specific animal they wear is supposed to signify their place in said hierarchy. The Oracle is a deer at the top of the hierarchy, there’s Skunk head, Misty wears a beaver pelt, and there’s raccoon, rabbit, and wolf motifs also seen on some of the other acolytes.

To me, Skunk head seems higher up in the hierarchy especially as they sit to the Antler Queen’s left and seem to have a more active role in the hunt but I’d be interested to hear other theories!

Something else that’s important to note is Marie Schley has also said that the costume department doesn’t know who the acolytes are supposed to be (which also means you can’t really use the character’s normal style motifs to help identify them). Stunt/body doubles were used during the Wilderness scenes so no one else knows either.

Misty, Shauna, Taissa, Natalie, Van, Lottie, and Travis are the current known survivors and there are 8 people seen in these scenes (excluding Pit Girl). The only one we know for sure is Misty as she takes off her beaver mask. Because Misty’s outfit is seen in a scene at the same time as Skunk Head I personally think Skunk Head is probably anyone else but her (I could be wrong though and again, I’m open to hearing your theories).

The photos in this post that are not stills from the show come from @schleystyle (the costume designer) and @devynlabella (the stunt double who played Skunk Head and Pit Girl) on Instagram.

Hopefully I covered everything you wanted out of your ask and I’ll post the other’s costumes soon but if you want me to focus on something else about the Acolytes or cover something in more depth more let me know!

[sovya]

like magic

ran haitani x f!reader (with hints of rindou haitani x f!reader)

minors n ageless blogs dni

cw: inc-st, dddne, use of honorifics ("nii-chan/san"), slight manipulation (on ran's part), pet names ("princess" "little girl" "sweetheart" "sweet girl"), D/s dynamics (including having rules), infantilization, slight humiliation, praise, degradation, teasing, hand as a gag (to keep you quiet), piv (mating press), size kink, free use (if you squint)

synopsis: ran, after a long day of work, wants nothing more than to decompress with his favourite girl—but he doesn't want to share. ♡

an: if i forgot any cws, pls let me know ! also srry this is so disgusting lol

wc: 2.5k

"you make it sound so easy..." a loud huff departs from his lips, pink and slick with your saliva and his own.

your whines cut through the heavy atmosphere of your sizeable bedroom, a sound that echoes off the finely decorated walls before seeking purchase in the recesses of ran's mind.

"but i need you... don't you need me?" long eyelashes give shade to your gaze as you look up at him longingly. you can almost see him question if you're asking in good faith or if you're simply trying to rile him up. 

either way, it's working. 

"aw, c'mon princess, you know that i do... nii-chan just hates to hurt his favourite little girl, that's all."

"but 'm tough... i can take it! i've taken you before."

"no, i know... i’m only worried that if you hurt too much, you'll scream and cry and then rindou will wake up. an' if rindou wakes up, he'll want a turn with you… and we both know rindou will be much meaner to you than i am."

your eyes leave his face as you look around the darkened room, just barely visible thanks to the lights of the city. he makes a good point, even though you wish he didn't. as much as you love how rin fucks you, your sleeplacking body might break under his strength alone. your gaze returns to your eldest brother's face, giving him a dejected nod. 

"hey, don't look so sad, little girl... 'm still gonna fuck you." his form hovers over yours rather menacingly, his hands on either side of your head holding himself up.

he looks like a God like this, you think to yourself. his normally perfectly styled hair now falling around his face after his nightly shower, the dark purple strands contrasting against his rather pale skin. the tattoo along the length of his neck bobs as his Adam's apple does, as if intentionally drawing attention to itself—though maybe that was the point of getting it on his neck in the first place. your sights trail further down his body, his work shirt having been discarded hours ago, hung up for dry cleaning the next time the maids come by. despite the strain on visibility, you can make out the distinct markings of his half body tattoo, eyes following the intricate patterns the ink has weaved into his skin. he's too good to be true but he's here and he's real and he's looking at you like he wants to eat you—not whole, but to savour you instead.

"so how are you going to..." your voice trails off, words fleeing into the sound of the fan running on the other side of your room.

"fuck you?" he smirks at your hesitation to use a curse word, something him and rin have agreed is strictly unallowed—only for you though, of course. "'s okay, honey, you can say it just this once. i won't tell rin."

"how are you going to f-fuck me if you don't want me to make loud noises?"

his smirk spreads wider, like a burning wildfire across his face, one he couldn't contain even if he tried.

"i’ll be gentle, sweet. take good care of ya." he shifts his weight to his left hand, using his right to caress your cheek, his thumb smoothing out the plush skin there.

“but… what if it hurts? like you said…”

“hm…” ran starts to look around the bed before reaching for your stuffed rabbit, placing it onto your chest, “hold your bunny, okay? cry into her if you need to cry.”

an involuntary whine escapes you, your arms wrapping around the stuffed animal your brothers bought you many years prior—prior to this moment, prior to them fucking you stupid nearly every night.

reaching his hand down to the waistband of his sweats, he haphazardly pulls them down until the band rests around his muscular thighs, his cock finally springing free.

“see, baby, there you go. just hold onto your bunny an’ nii-chan will be right here, okay?”

“okay…” the utterance comes out much less confident than ran was hoping for, but he’s too hard and his day has been too long to give a fuck.

he gathers the skirt of your nightgown and pushes it further up your hips, his large hands finding their way to your bum as he lifts you slightly, allowing the garment to collect around your body, just below your belly button. he leaves your bottom half completely exposed, your cunt now in full view.

“just as pretty as the first time i saw her…” ran sighs, speaking mostly to himself.

while his left hand remains on your body, touching your side with a gentleness not unfamiliar to you, his right hand pulls back, finding its way to his aching cock. he begins to touch himself, teasingly slow, as his gaze drags up and down your body.

“nii-chan…” whining, you give him a pout and ran can’t help but laugh.

“what?”

“want touches…” your eyes begin to well up as you watch him masturbate above you, knowing that the brothers gave you a rule against touching yourself without their express permission.

“what do you say, then?”

taking in a shaky breath, your brows furrow a little more, “please?”

“please what?”

you can’t totally see his face given the darkness of the room, but you can just tell he’s got a smirk plastered across his face.

“p-please… ran-nii, will you please touch me?”

“touch you where?”

goodness, you feel like sobbing. you feel a painful lump in your throat beginning to form and you swear it’s going to weigh you down into the mattress and leave you there, crying, for an eternity.

“r-ran… please? i need you. need you t-to touch me on my… in my… my…” you struggle desperately to get the words out, wrestling with your mind to just let you say the words—those incredibly humiliating words—you need to say.

“your… what?” his hands go back to your bum, lifting you up as he goes to line himself up with your entrance. afterall, you both know he can’t have you sobbing.

“there! touch me there! please!”

ran places a hand over your mouth, trying to keep you from nearly shouting at him again. the sheer size of it engulfs your face, causing you to clench against him, and he can feel it.

he hisses out a “fuck” when he feels your pulsating cunt against the tip of his cock, the way your arousal is dripping down your slit.

ran simply cannot wait any longer. he needs to feel you wrapped around his cock. his sanity depends on it.

the hand on your face presses harder against your skin, the bones of his digits digging in as he starts to sink himself inside of you. his jaw falls slack, letting a strained groan make its way past his lips. it may be dark in your bedroom, but he can see how your eyes dart around his face in a panic, never having taken him with this little prep before. you’re scared and incredibly pliant, just how he likes you.

you draw in a shaky breath, intense and fraught, like with every inch he presses inside of you, he threatens to knock more air out of your lungs. gripping onto your plushie tighter, you feel tears beginning to pool at your lash line, his cock stretching you with a harsh sting.

“there you go sweet girl… look so pretty like this…” ran whispers as he finally bottoms out, his gaze nothing short of absolutely adoring.

you blink and a tear falls down the side of your face and onto the pillow, “i do?”

ran lets out a breathy laugh, nodding while his hips start with a relaxed pace, “yeah, princess, so fuckin’ pretty.”

smiling up at him, you manage a small giggle, “thank you, ran”

he begins to speed up, the sound of his skin slapping against yours getting louder and more frequent, “that’s not what you call me… you know that…”

starting to sob, you partially hide your face with the head of your bunny plush, “sorry nii-chan… ‘m sorry…”

clenching his jaw, ran groans through his teeth, low and needy—like a man possessed.

“there we go, good girl… that’s what i like to hear.”

his cock stretches you open, keeps you open, as it drags along the gummy walls of your cunt. the feeling is almost agonizing, despite the arousal dripping down and forming a little puddle below you. you feel an intense ache in your core, like he’s threatening to tear you open. and through all of this, you feel so ardent, so eager, so good.

feeling you tighten around him, ran draws in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping at your pillows even harder, “fuck, sweetheart… love when you do that. w-what’s it you’re thinkin’ about in that pretty little head of yours?”

you give him a drawn-out whine, all of a sudden feeling overwhelmingly shy. looking up at him, your brows furrow as you shake your head.

“no? you don’t wanna tell me?”

you can feel yourself tighten around him again, but you repeat your headshake.

“alright, that’s fine.” suddenly, ran stops his movement, causing you to gasp—and you’ve got that precious panic face back on—how cute.

“wait… no. please keep going, ran-nii. i-i’ll tell you, promise,” you do your best to talk quietly, but the possibility of ran stopping is just too much for you to bear.

“you promise?” 

his cock is still buried inside of you, and he’s just as desperate as you are to keep going, but he’s gotta tease you. what else are big brothers for?

sniffling, you nod, opening your mouth to speak, “was just thinking about how you feel…”

ran starts to roll his hips into yours again, a smug look creeping across his face anew, “how i feel?”

“yeah… h-how you’re stretching me out and…”

moving faster, bringing himself back to his previous pace, ran raises an eyebrow at you, “and what?”

“just… how big you are…”

he licks his lips and his eyes grow heavily lidded, the classic haitani stare piercing through your soul, sending the most primal feelings surging through you—feelings you can almost guarantee are rushing through him too.

“how big i am, huh?” his large frame shifts above you, ran’s hands moving off the pillows and to the undersides of your thighs, pinning your legs to your chest.

you let out a squeal and ran’s hand finds its way to your mouth once again, attempting to keep you quiet as the weight of his body keeps your thighs pressed to your torso. a muffled “mhm” leaves your lips but is cut off by your big brother’s palm, causing him to laugh. the low rumble comes from deep in his chest and you can feel his abdominal muscles tensing against the backs of your legs as he chuckles.

he’s so strong, the feel of his muscles like absolute torment to you, causing your cunt to clench around him another time.

“you’re such a naughty girl… getting off on your big brother folding you in half and fucking you like a toy.” ran growls, throwing his head back and moaning. his head comes back down just as quickly so he can look at you while he speaks again, “but that’s okay, you know that… nii-san loves his dirty little girl.”

ran moves his hand from your mouth, pressing his sweaty forehead against your own, gazing into your eyes with so much love.

i love when he does this, you think to yourself. ran can play all the mind games he wants, can be conniving and tease you until you forget where he starts and you end, but the way he looks at you when he’s close gives all of his secrets away.

“i love you s’much, ran-nii.”

before you can register what’s happening, ran’s lips meet your own, capturing you in a kiss. it’s passionate and incredibly comforting all at once, making you dizzy and sending your heart pounding. his soft lips move against yours languidly, a wide contrast to how harshly his cock slams into you.

“nii-chan wants to make you cum, baby… ‘s that okay?” ran practically moans into your mouth, but you know his question is rhetorical. you know it doesn’t matter what you want, not really. that you finishing is all a part of his fun, too.

you nod anyway, lips parted and wet with both of your saliva.

ran snakes a hand down between the two of you, the pads of his middle and ring fingers touching your clit as he begins rubbing fast, tight circles against it.

you can’t help but squeeze your plushie tighter, tears starting to well up and fall, the crystalline droplets catching what little available light peers into your room.

“you’re so beautiful…” ran still speaks against your lips, as if he’s trying to convince you to let go right there underneath him. “the best little sister a guy could ask for.”

whimpering, you dig the back of your head further into your pillow, ran’s lips having no issue following.

“p-please?” although you’re unsure of exactly what you’re begging for, ran takes the cue to keep going. his long fingers continue swiping at your clit as his cock drags against the sweet spot inside of you, your entire body shivering and your eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to maintain eye contact.

your eldest brother ruts into you like an animal, breath catching in his chest with each thrust inside of you. his lips meet yours once more as he feels you starting to spasm and clench around him, desperate to swallow your moans, keeping them all to himself.

a high-pitched mewl escapes from your throat as you finally cum around his cock, your arms and legs trembling as sobs begin to wrack through your body.

ran’s orgasm isn’t far behind yours, his movements stuttering as he wraps his arms around your back, desiring nothing more than to hold you close as he finishes deep inside of you. he looks blissed out and incredibly vulnerable, so unlike the untouchable God you’re used to viewing him as. still, you can’t see him as anything short of perfect.

as the two of you lay there, you do your best to catch your breaths, hearing the sound of ran’s heavy exhaling right next to your ear.

“you okay, princess?” ran’s the first to speak, as always. you guys could have gone for hours and he could be mere moments away from passing out, and he would still check in on you, still do all the aftercare you needed. he’s attentive and sweet like that.

“yeah, ‘m okay… are you?” your voice comes out as a whisper, moving your hands from the plushie you were holding to return ran’s embrace.

he chuckles, maneuvering his head so he’s looking at you again, the warmest smile on his face, “just peachy.”

suddenly, the tender moment is interrupted by the sound of the doorknob to your bedroom jiggling, followed by the harsh light of the hallway as it creeps open.

"aniki... i believe it's my turn now."

[ononestring]

Well, I think it’s over. As much as I try to work on this, I just really cannot finish it in a way I’m even remotely happy with. I officially would like to release this concept into the public domain. This took a lot of thought, and as long as you credit me, feel free to use this idea from now on.

Track list:

PROLOGUE

The concept is a spamton based origin story called on one string. It starts with Kris at Spamton’s shop in a normal looking save file, however, the path to Spamton’s shop door has a path going off to the left. When you go on it, an adjacent path is seen with a younger spamton standing on it. The game glitches out. A Gaster sequence begins. He tells you that you aren’t supposed to see this, but he will agree to show you Spamton’s story if you agree that you cannot alter the events and will simply play as a memory version of him. The game starts.

VERSE ONE

Wake up!

(Beautiful concept art by Grimblo)

You wake up in Spamton’s bed. You are instructed to complete his morning routine. One of these is writing a letter to Seam. This is the save system in this game. There will be desks across the game to write to them and save your game. Spamton is infatuated with Seam and Jevils performances, (although doesn’t approve of Jevil’s segment) and writes to Seam as a fan, having watched them on T.V. Spamton has to go to work.

(More amazing stuff by Grimblo)

and after coming outside to see a heavy traffic jam; the player can only walk to the tramway entrance through a brief “Train rush” segment where you have to make the train on time while avoiding other denizens. At work, Spamton is instructed by the pink Addison to “get to work” and so you are instructed to enter the email room. Here is two desks, one that says “Addison #4” and one that says “Addison #0”. Behind the #4 desk is the blue Addison, Spamton’s only real friend at work. He cheerfully greets him, informing Spamton he left all of “your favorite emails” for him. These are referring to all the responses from Noelle. There is then a short work minigame where you have to please customers over email. Upon returning home, you are forced to go back through the tramway at night. That’s when the Nightpath Ne’er-do-wellers attack! This is where you will learn the battle system.

Spamton discovers a letter, from Seam. This is where you receive the shadowpin, an item that will let you move through dark worlds. Seam was curious upon receiving Spamton’s letter, and wants to see if he really does have what it takes to make it. Spamton, excited and nerve-wracked by this, goes to Queen’s mansion where a Halloween party is commencing. He asks her how to get there; and tries to seek advice. Queen informs him of a close friend of hers, (referring to the Dialmiser) and his city which is fairly close to cyber city if you go through the Coldlands, which is what the cliffs are from chapter one. Spamton suits up, gets in his car, and goes to the edge of cyber city where a toll booth is. The man inside warns spamton of the coldlands and the danger they hold, however spamton leaves anyways. It’s a long, creepy segment but eventually Spamton can see DIALVILLE on the horizon.

Down the Rabbit Hole…

The DIALVILLE port is empty and eerie. Spamton hears rustling from a bush.

Out pops Storgsly, a self-defined guide to the city who is also later revealed to be this chapters secret boss. He tells spamton that as long and they stick together, he can take him to the other end of the dark world and get him closer to meeting Seam. Storgsly joins your party. It becomes increasingly clear as you walk through the port Storgsly doesn’t know his stuff, but Spamton is seemingly blind to it. The first Dialmiser encounter occurs when you reach the front doors.

He is standing there, and Storgsly quickly tells you he has to go. Spamton tells the Dialmiser Queen sent him, and Dialmiser is quick to tell him that Queen is someone whom he does not respect. He is very pompous and believes he is the greatest person in the city, and reveals he has taken over the politics here to a grand extent, even locking the mayor up in his own office. It is here when Spamton notices a direct path to the other end. He does not take it. He realizes that it’s his moral obligation to help DIALVILLE, and Seam can wait.

WELCOME TO DIALVILLE!

Although Dialmiser has greatly put a wound on this city, things are as lively as ever. People here aren’t pushy and rude like in cyber city, they love to communicate with one another. Letters, phones, telegrams, litter the street. Spamton quickly finds out about 4 major divisions the Dialmiser is running, and decides he needs to take these out before he leaves. The first, in DIALVILLE itself, is his fun factory. After traversing through the city, Spamton makes it here. This division is run by this chapters “milk” boss: The Bentlov Twins.

Conjoined twins, one happy as ever, one down and sad, they are forcing DIALVILLE residents to work in Dialmiser’s factory. This is where you first fight them. It’s a short fight, and it’s isn’t the last. The next district is the city hall, so Spamton enters at night and has to avoid mini-misers guarding puzzles and mini-games. Once you save the mayor, this district is cleared! The next district is the letter plains. Unfortunately, to liberate them you will need to fight the Bentlov Twins. It’s a twin horseback battle where you have to take them down.

(More amazing art by Grimblo)

VERSUS STORGSLY

Upon defeating them, they reveal the final district: the Dialmanor. But before you go there, they invite you to visit their house and rest up before you go. When you do, you meet their lovely family, and discover a dark secret. Storgsly is related to the bentlov twins. Stashed at the back of the house is a dark, dusty room where you find the key to the ravine tram, aswell as some backstory for him amongst the items. After going inside the room, each family member will relay a short excerpt about him. Approaching the ravine, Storgsly urges you to not go. When you decline, he runs away. After using the lift key, you descend into the ravine. It’s cold, dark, and as soon as you walk for a little storgsly swoops down and steals the pin. A short chase segment ensues before you corner him at the back. The ravine shatters and he uses the pin to try and take you out. Using the pin, he manifests attacks from within his phone book. When you defeat him, a small crack has formed in the pin. Going back to the Bentlov house, you have the option to give the bell beret away to them. The Dialmanor is a large area with puzzles, minigames and there is currently a mask party ensuing when you arrive. After a spat with the manor guards, they tell you where to go to find Dialmiser. After a long staircase, you figure out how to liberate the final district: defeat the Dialmiser. The battle is lengthy but when you do he reveals that maybe he pushed everyone away that ever made him want power in the first place. He gives the key to the city back to the mayor, and Spamton departs in his car again…

VERSE 2 COMING SOON

[strawbbzombwie]

A day worth celebrating.

Eric x Bonnie

Summary: Bonnie wants her big brother to have an amazing birthday so with her stuffed rabbit and pocket full of coins, she sets out on an adventure!

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings:Pure fluff with a teensy bit of angst sprinkled in at points, reference to Bonnie’s leg pains, Eric being a worried father and also miserable😔

Notes: @ceriseheaven giving him the birthday he deserves thanks to Bonnie🥹

~

Eric doesn’t particularly like celebrating his birthday. He never got a proper birthday as a child and now with Bonnie, he celebrates his birthday when it’s her birthday.

They normally split a small cake between them, watch Bonnies favourite cartoons and play games. By the end of the day, Bonnie’s wrapped up in Eric’s bed fast asleep and he may go out for a little while to see his friends from law school.

This birthday was different.

Eric was born on March 19th while Bonnie was born on August 13th and she wanted Eric to have a birthday of his own for a change so he would finally be happy.

March 19th 2020.

Bonnie woke up, rubbing her eyes as she yawned. Eric still asleep beside her. He didn’t have the money to buy Bonnie her own bed so he had to share his bed with a wriggling 5 year old. Most nights he didn’t sleep, too worried about Bonnie getting hurt in her sleep but this was a time he was finally able to fall asleep, probably due to exhaustion.

She slowly crawled out of the warm bed, grabbing her stuffed rabbit and putting on her bunny slippers. The sound of rain pattering against the windows made Bonnie giggle. She always loved rain but hated thunder as the loud bangs overwhelmed her.

“Oki wabbit. We’re going to go on an adventure today to get dada a cake!” Bonnie whispered, waddling into the small kitchen and grabbing a small bowl to fill with her choice of sugary cereal.

After her breakfast, she grabbed her pink raincoat and boots and also put wabbit in a matching raincoat and boots. She grabbed all her coins and dollar bills and placed them in her pocket and quietly waddled to the door.

“Wabbit am I forgetting something??” She asked to her stuffed friend, looking at her outfit. She stayed in her fluffy pink pyjamas with her glittery leg braces on underneath. She had a struggle buckling them up herself as Eric normally does them for her. But she decided to be a big girl and do them herself!

Recently, Bonnie’s legs had been hurting more and more. No matter how many doctor appointments Eric took her too, they all said that her condition was the same and not declining but Eric knew to trust his instinct more. The doctors gave Bonnie a wheelchair and leg braces for when she was in pain and Eric did his best to decorate them and make them all sparkly for her. He took all of her stickers and added them to her wheelchair and when he showed her, she squealed and ran to hug Eric. It warmed his heart knowing that she loved him so much. Eric thought that he wasn’t capable of being loved but Bonnie proved him otherwise.

Bonnie decided that she was ready to go to the store to buy Eric a cake, ready to give him the best birthday she possibly could.

After taking the lift to the bottom floor, she stepped outside into the rain and the cold March air. It was still dark outside and quiet, people not waking up to go to work yet.

“Oki wabbit keep your raincoat on otherwise you’ll be soggy!!” Bonnie giggled, beginning to walk down the street. This was the first time Bonnie was ever out on her own. She was 5 after all. Eric taught her about stranger danger and the only time she needed to speak to someone was when she buys the cake so she knew not to talk to anyone else.

~

The rain was pouring by the time Bonnie made it to the small store. She waddled into the building, making her way to where all the cakes and treats were. The cashier glanced over and was visibly confused.

“Are you okay hun? Where’s your mommy?” They said, walking over to Bonnie. She looked up at the worker, smiling.

“I’m getting a cake for my dada! It’s his birthday today!!” Bonnie giggled. The worker smiled back.

“Ohh okay! Do you want any help??” They asked. Bonnie shook her head and went back to looking at the cakes. The worker smiled, beginning to walk back to the cash register.

Bonnie grabbed wabbit out of her pocket, who was a little soggy due to the rain. She hugged him tight and pointed to a cake.

“What about this one wabbit? It’s chocolate so it will be yummy!” She asked, making wabbit nod in return. She smiled, picking up the cake and waddling to the register and going on her tippy toes to place the cake on the counter.

“I want this please!!” Bonnie says, looking up at the worker, a smile spread across her face. The worker smiles back and scans the small cake.

“Okie dokie thats $10!” They say. Bonnie reaches into her pocket and pulls out a few dollar bills and a variety of different coins and drops them onto the counter. She steps back as the worker counts all the coins. They dont have the heart to tell Bonnie that she’s a little short on the money. She is a child after all and like she said, it’s for her dad’s birthday, why would they ruin that day.

“Here’s your cake!! I hope your dad has a great birthday!” They smile at her and hand her the small box. Bonnie squeals, grabbing the box and running out of the shop.

“Thank you!!” She yells as she runs out the door, placing wabbit back on her raincoat as she makes her way back home.

~

Bonnie quietly opens the door, looking around the apartment to find Eric nowhere to be seen. She smiles, placing the cake on their small coffee table as she throws her raincoat on the floor, grabbing wabbit and placing him on the small sofa.

She runs to Eric’s bedroom, grabbing all her toys and places them on the sofa and floor, leaving a space for Eric in the middle. She giggles, happy with her layout and hoping that Eric would like her effort.

~

Eric rushes through the apartment door, panicking. When he woke up to find Bonnie’s side of the bed empty, he thought bonnie went to the toilet but after a couple of minutes, the bathroom was still silent. This puzzled Eric as he would normally hear Bonnie humming as she washes her hands. But all he heard was silence. So when he opened the bathroom door to find no Bonnie, he started to panic and ran out of the apartment, frantically calling his friends asking them to keep a lookout for Bonnie if they see her. When his friend text him saying they saw her waddling home in the rain, he immediately ran back to the apartment.

“Bonnie!! Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!!” he yelled. He didn’t want to yell at her, but he’s trying so hard to raise her and give her the childhood she deserves. The childhood he never got. His heart dropped when he saw Bonnie’s smile fade and her chocolate button eyes fill up with tears.

“I’m sorry..wanted to get a cake for your birthday..” she sniffled, pointing to the coffee table. He glanced over and teared up at the sight. On the table was a chocolate cake. Eric’s favourite. All of Bonnie’s toys and teddys were sat on the couch and floor, wearing makeshift party hats Bonnie made. Next to the cake, was a card Bonnie made herself, a picture of Eric in a party hat drawn in crayons, which were still scattered on the floor. He bent down and picked up the card, opening it to read the message she wrote.

“To Dada,

Happy birthday to the best dada in the whole wide world!!

Love from your bestest friends Bonnie + Wabbit”

Eric didnt realise he was crying until he felt the tears roll down his cheeks and his vision begin to blur. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve a cake, a card, a party and he certainly didn’t deserve Bonnie. Not in his opinion anyway. He looked after bonnie when no one else would, even though he was technically her brother, he’s been her dad for as long as Bonnie could talk. He’s seen her first steps, her first words, her first everything. He’s been there when their parents weren’t bothered to be.

“Bee..hey sh sh..I’m sorry..I didn’t mean to yell..I was just worried because you were out all on your own..anything could’ve happened to you..” he said, kneeling down to face a sniffling Bonnie, wiping the tears away from her chubby cheeks. Bonnie looked at Eric, sniffling and trying her best to smile.

“I’m sorry..I just wanted you to have a birthday..” she sniffled. She didn’t understand why what she did was wrong and dangerous. Eric sighed, picking Bonnie up and embracing her in a hug.

“I can never stay mad at you bee. You mean too much to me. You know that right?” He says, ticking her side, causing her to squeal and giggle. He was happy that he finally got her to smile. He sat down on the couch, being surrounded by toys while Bonnie is sat on his lap.

“Should we have some cake??” Eric asked, Bonnie immediately nodding in response, also making wabbit nod.

~

The day went by quickly, being packed full of fun activities. Eric and Bonnie shared the small cake, Eric feeding Bonnie small pieces so she didn’t make a huge mess while eating it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a birthday cake on his actual birthday. He usually shared his birthday with Bonnie in August seen as he couldn’t afford to celebrate his own but he wanted her to have the best birthdays. He didn’t care about treating himself but it warmed his heart knowing that Bonnie wanted Eric to have a day all about him.

After cake, they both sat watching cartoons, Eric having Bonnie sat on his lap, holding her close as she sang along to the songs on their small tv. Bonnie was making wabbit dance, making Eric laugh.

“You’re so silly!” He said, squeezing her as he kissed her cheek, making Bonnie laugh in response.

When it came to having dinner, Eric’s friends came around and brought takeout for the two of them. They also said at some point when Eric’s free, they would take him out for drinks to celebrate. When Eric moved to New York, he didn’t expect to make many friends as he never had any growing up, mainly being used to keeping things to himself and doing activities alone. But when he started classes at law school, he met a group of people he shared similar interests with. And when Eric introduced them to Bonnie, they immediately fell in love with her, offering to babysit her whenever Eric’s busy. That made Eric happy, finally finding people that cared about him and Bonnie.

By 7pm, Bonnie was fast asleep in Eric’s arms, holding wabbit within her own. After dinner, they had spent the evening drawing and playing games with the rest of her toys. Eric was always surprised by Bonnie and her big imagination. She was able to create games with what little toys she had. It made Eric upset that he wasn’t able to give her everything she wanted but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t ungrateful and she loved and cherished everything he gave her.

Eric got up from his seat, cradling Bonnie in his arms as he made his way to his bed, placing Bonnie down and tucking her in the covers. She mumbled slightly, stretching her arms out to try and grab Eric again.

“I’ll be back soon bee..sleep well okay?” He whispered, getting a soft murmur in response as Bonnie continued to sleep. He walked back into the living room and started to clear up the plates, quietly placing them in the sink. He went back to the couch, picking up all of Bonnie’s toys and putting them back in her toy box. He liked the apartment to be as clean as possible but with a 5 year old, that was tricky. He didn’t mind though, just as long as she has fun.

After cleaning up the apartment, he went into the bathroom to change into some pyjamas and brush his teeth. He already got Bonnie changed into her pyjamas after dinner so he was glad he didn’t have to worry about waking her up.

He quietly climbed into bed, making sure not to disturb Bonnie. He didn’t have the money to buy Bonnie her own bed but she didn’t mind as she got to give Eric cuddles all the time. Every morning he always woke up to Bonnie asleep on his chest, hugging him as she continued to sleep, snoring lightly.

As he began to fall asleep, he looked at Bonnie, who was asleep and snuggling into wabbit. He felt guilty that Bonnie did the best she could to try and make a great birthday for him, but he knows she’d do it a thousand times if it showed how much he meant to her. He didn’t know a child to love a person so much as Bonnie loved Eric.

“Thank you bee..you gave me a day to remember..I love you..” he mumbled, stroking her hair as he began to fall asleep, the light sound of rain still tapping against the glass.

~

I hope you enjoyed more Eric and Bonnie content!! Thank you for reading!!💖💖

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 3

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: oral sex (m receiving), angst, self-doubt, hints at past trauma

*Content warnings will be updated by chapter*

Word Count: 2.2K

Taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @circle-with-me / @darksigns-exe / @xxrainstorm / @monotoniscreaming / @agravemisstake / @iknownothingpeople / @cookiesupplier

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future fics!

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this so far 🤍 I'm still working on a posting schedule for updates and I appreciate (mostly) everyone's patience.

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

His mind keeps dragging him back to it.

When he pulled up outside Noah’s apartment—much further out of his way than he would normally go for a stranger, but close enough that he could justify it—Noah had snatched Nick’s phone like it belonged to him. When Noah held the face ID up and it unlocked, it felt a little bit like being held hostage. He will never admit aloud that he liked the bravery of it, the unabashed way in which he forced himself into Nick’s car and his life.

Noah typed away on the phone momentarily before slipping it back into the cupholder. When he looked up and they met eyes, Noah’s smile was dazzling. Nick couldn’t put a finger on why he didn’t feel annoyed, instead finding himself laughing and smiling back.

“See you around, Nick.” Noah had said, slipping out of the car and nearly skipping up the stairs. He tripped a little and Nick’s heart clenched.

He pulled his phone out once Noah had gone inside, still open to a text. The message read Nick’s name with a pink heart emoji, and he found himself overwhelmed by the butterflies gathering and fluttering in his tummy. His cheeks were hurting from how wide he was smiling and he didn’t recognize the new happy version of himself.

He didn’t want to let himself get used to it, but it felt nice. He found himself typing out a text.

Goodnight, Noah.

He sat outside the building much longer than necessary. He was sure that he could have stayed there for hours, until his phone lit up with a text that made his cheeks heat.

Sweet dreams, Nicky.

Nick finds Noah’s name on the list this time—he bites back a smile as he sets the list back down on the bar and busies himself with stacking glasses. Folio gives him a pointed look.

“Isn’t that my job?” Folio asks.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thanks for the help’, Folio.”

“Thank you so much for all your help, Nick,” Folio says in a mocking tone. Nick can’t help but grin, even as he’s rolling his eyes.

When Folio comes back minutes later with a dish of mint, Nick no longer has it in him to be annoyed, because he hears the familiar sound of Noah introducing himself and the opening to a Bright Eyes song. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

The sincere nature with which Noah performs should make him feel ill. With anyone else, he would either be nauseated or talking shit, most likely both. Nick has been making fun of people like Noah for years. 

He almost regrets it, but he more regrets that he’s allowed Noah to make him soft. It almost turns his stomach when he realizes he’s listening to a Bright Eyes song with a smile on his face.

The end of paralysis, I was a statuette Now I’m drunk as hell on a piano bench And when I press the keys, it all gets reversed The sound of loneliness makes me happier

When Noah comes to the bar after, he still doesn’t need to be asked. There’s a Yuengling waiting for him, and Nick isn’t putting in an ounce of effort to wipe the grin off his face. He almost rejects it when Noah hands over a $10 bill, but he hasn’t gone quite that soft yet.

“Nice job tonight,” Nick tells him. The corners of Noah’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and Nick has to blink away the hearts in his eyes. Goddammit. “Are you parked illegally again?”

“I had just enough in my account to Uber here.”

“You need a lift home,” Nick says, feigning annoyance. Noah looks awfully shy when he nods. “You expect me to be the one to take you again.”

“No, you don’t have to, I—”

“I’m just fucking with you, pretty boy,” Nick interrupts, basking in the way the blush heats Noah’s cheeks. He can barely make it out in the dim lighting of the bar, but it hits him just right when he ducks his head and smiles. He could watch that over and over. “It’s still early, but if you can hang around for a while, I’ll take you home.”

When Nick pulls up out front, Noah is fidgeting with his hands, staring at his lap. It’s almost painfully cute, and Nick could sit here watching him until the sun rises, but he kind of wants to get home to his bed.

“Do you want to come up?” Noah asks suddenly, and when Nick looks over, his gaze is still focused on his hands in his lap, picking at his cuticles. “You don’t have to, it’s just that my roommates aren’t home and I just thought maybe—”

Nick doesn’t know exactly what’s gotten into him. He doesn’t know what Noah is just thinking, but he doesn’t even let him finish the thought before he’s deciding that his bed can wait.

He’s never decided before that his bed can wait.

“Relax, Noah,” Nick says, and when Noah meets his eyes, they’re a little wet. His hands are shaking, Nick can tell from here, and it’s all too endearing. “I’ll come keep you company.”

When Nick shifts the car back into drive, he swears he can see Noah’s eyes sparkling.

Noah’s apartment, decidedly, is a shithole. Not that Nick has any room to talk.

The walls are cracked, the paint chipped, the furniture mismatched in a way that you can tell it’s at least secondhand, but more likely plucked off the street. There’s that little bit of historic charm that makes it so Richmond. The art brings it all together for him—the wall-hangings, framed prints, records lining the walls. It’s all so Noah that it hurts. He wonders about the roommates, what hand they have to play in the decor, but it screams Noah more than anything.

Noah handed him a cup of tea ages ago and they’ve been sitting in silence since. It’s a little awkward, but he finds it comforting somehow, sitting in Noah’s company in his home that feels just like that—like home. He’s itching to thumb through the boxes of records in the corner by Noah’s turntable setup when Noah breaks the silence. Nick lets out a deep breath, relieved.

“Would it be weird if I wanted to play you something?” Noah asks, and he sounds awfully timid, like he’s afraid to ask. He’s never seen Noah look so small, shrunken down more than seems possible for someone of his height. Nick almost wants to reach out and touch. He wishes he could.

“Do I finally get to hear a Noah Davis original?” Nick asks, teasing. Noah’s returning look is uncertain and a little nervous. Nick hadn’t meant to push him, but Noah pushes it off quickly, laughing in an instant.

“Not yet,” Noah says, and Nick has so many questions that he’s not going to ask.

He wants to know so much about Noah that he doesn’t. He wants to know what Noah’s originals sound like. He just knows that he has them—the ultra-earnest types always do. He wants to know what it is that makes a boy with talent like that so shy, so seemingly uncertain of himself. He finds the little moments of confidence so enthralling, loving that side of Noah. The shy moments get him even more. He wants inside of his head so bad it pains him.

“There’s something I think you’ll like even more,” Noah continues, pulling his acoustic into his lap. He wonders how many times Noah has used this move—if it is a move, or if he’s just this painfully cute—and he wonders also when he became the teenage girl that falls for it. Nick’s interest is unequivocally piqued, whether Noah actually knows him in the way that he thinks he does, somehow.

When Noah starts playing, Nick’s mind travels back to the first night he ever saw him. Nick was wearing his favorite ratty old shirt—The Cure. Nick had been paying attention, from the moment he laid eyes on him. He had been paying such close attention that he had to slip out and have a panic attack into a greasy paper bag on the dirty, wet ground next to a dumpster. He never would have guessed that, even then, Noah was paying attention too.

It’s such a small thing, but he hasn’t felt seen like this in a long time.

He finds himself singing along, and Noah’s face lights up in a way that makes Nick’s stomach twist. He leans his head against the back of the couch—no doubt swiped off a Carytown curb—and closes his eyes. He feels happy in a way he hasn’t felt in years, safe in a way he hasn’t felt in over 700 days. He loves it here, in this shitty apartment with this terribly sweet boy.

He doesn’t quite know how he’s meant to feel about that.

However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you Whatever words I say I will always love you

He’s so lost in his own world, lost in the comfort of the moment, that he doesn’t realize when Noah’s stopped playing. He’s taken out of his trance slightly when he feels a finger ghosting across the back of his hand, but he decides to stay in it a little longer.

“Nicky,” Noah whispers. Nick can feel breath ghosting across his cheek. Something in him twists when he lets it settle in that he doesn’t despise the nickname when it’s coming from Noah. “Nicky, can you look at me?” Nick opens his eyes and tilts his head—Noah is right there. His breath hitches, and Noah matches it. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

He has no idea what’s come over him. Deep down, he knows that he shouldn’t be doing this. He also knows that looking into Noah’s eyes, looking back at him so hopefully, he hasn’t wanted anything more in a long time. He doesn’t answer with his words, just leans in and captures Noah’s lips with his.

Noah sighs into it, promptly settling, cupping Nick’s cheek. Nick swipes his tongue along Noah’s bottom lip, savoring the way that Noah opens up for him without skipping a beat, letting Nick in. They kiss for what feels like ages. Nick has practically melted into the couch, feeling at once like he’s floating and sinking, and he’s so dazed that he almost doesn’t notice when Noah slides to the floor between his legs.

Noah doesn’t say anything. He places his hands on Nick’s thighs, and he can feel the heat radiating from Noah’s palms through his jeans. He knows what Noah wants—despite his best judgment, he really wants it too. He knows that Noah isn’t going to ask. He can see the anxiety in his expression. There’s a question in his eyes as he looks up, and Nick nods.

Of course you can, Noah.

Noah’s hands are shaking as he undoes Nick’s jeans, pulling his cock out. His stomach flips, not in the way that he’s used to. He doesn’t feel nauseated, twisty like normal, but he’s buzzing with it. He’s so singularly focused on Noah, on the way it feels when Noah licks around the head, sucks, sinks down further.

He tries not to feel embarrassed by his moans. They don’t even sound like they’re coming from him. They’re coming from somewhere far away, from someone else entirely. He forgot what this was like. He forgot he sounded like this. He forgot he could feel like this.

Noah is really talented with his mouth. He rolls his eyes, because of course he is.

“Fuck, Noah,” Nick groans, threading his fingers through Noah’s hair. He yanks on it a bit, not enough to pull him off or hurt him, just enough to make him moan and feel as it vibrates through him.

Nick keeps his hand in Noah’s hair, while Noah reaches for the other, grasping it in his own. Noah’s thumb grazes along his knuckles and the touch gives him butterflies.

His eyes travel down at their joined hands. He doesn’t normally look at his hands like this, and his stomach turns from butterflies into a painful twisting. Beneath Noah’s thumb, in the dim light of the apartment, he sees them just right. 

The scars along the back of his hand, his knuckles, his fingers. He’s taken back to his reality, to brick, to crashing glass, to screaming—

“Noah, stop,” Nick says, but Noah must not hear him. His voice is cracking, he can barely hear himself through the whooshing in his ears. His vision has tunneled and he can barely see. “Stop.”

When Noah pulls off, he doesn’t have a moment to speak before Nick is standing up and rushing back into his pants, rushing for the door. “I’m sorry, Noah.”

He’ll feel guilty about this later. Right now, he has to get out of here, have his panic attack alone in his car instead of in front of Noah.

“Nick, wait—”

But the door is already slamming behind him.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Know I've Kissed You Before | Carnal XVII

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

The aftermath of the hunt

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, rape mention, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Pink in The Night by Mitski

In his dreams she was a rabbit and he was a dog. His mouth clenched tightly around her neck. She was screaming and fighting, kicking at his chest until she could do nothing but twitch. Blood dribbled from her mouth and onto the stone as he dropped her at Simon’s feet. 

“Good boy.” Simon patted his head before scooping her up with a tea towel. He followed inside to the kitchen where he laid her on the butcher block. He drooled onto the floor as Simon snapped her neck and began to dress her, loud tears as her fur and skin was ripped from her meat. When he cut her open it wasn’t the normal mess of organs, just a constant flow of warm, red blood. It flooded over the edge of the block and onto the floor where he hungrily licked it up. It tasted like vanilla. 

He was alone when he woke up. The rest of the bed empty and made. Simon’s doing. The room still smelled like him and Nina. Sweet and woody. He got up and found a pair of sweats before making his way downstairs. He could smell tea - black and sweet. 

Downstairs had a cold draft, he followed it outside where Simon sat on one of the iron patio chairs with Nina tucked into his lap wrapped in a quilt. Her blonde hair stuck out in messy tangles. She was taking small sips out of a steaming mug while Simon’s sat on the ground beside them. They weren’t talking. Simon stared out towards the garden and field into the woods. . It was barely dusk and the first snow of the season had started over night leaving a dusting of white over the browned landscape. 

“Good morning.” Johnny said to announce himself. Nina perked up and reached out for him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her face was more scratched up than he noticed last night. There was still a smear of black makeup around her eyes. 

Guilt gnawed at him. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. He should have gone looking for her sooner. The rage he felt when he turned the corner, saw the man from earlier and smelled the blood. He was at the end of the hall faster than he could think, a knife pulled from his pocket. He’d been trained to kill. He was a soldier. His speciality was clearing buildings, fast and cleanly. He shredded that man. His hands were shaking. If he had more time he would have torn him apart slowly, ripping skin off with his teeth . He only stopped stabbing because the blade broke off. 

Simon was the one who rescued her. He had the sense to open the door and find her. Seeing her face down on the ground, made his stomach twist. He thought he was too late. He could still smell the blood on her. On all of them. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Simon’s free hand had found itself on the small of Johnny’s back, pulling him in closer till the iron arm of the chair dug into his leg. 

“I’m okay.” She said softly. “Tired still.”

Simon pulled her closer to him as well, letting her head rest against his shoulder. Johnny leaned against the chair, his hand holding the base of Simon’s neck. It felt natural for the three of them to be like this, holding onto each other. 

He couldn’t say he was a good partner. He must have done something wrong for Simon to leave him or to make Nina think he’d leave her. He tried, was attentive, empathetic, dedicated. Maybe loyal to a fault. He’d followed Simon around like a dog for those Spring and Summer months. Got kicked like one too. 

He wouldn’t let her hunt again. He didn’t want to make rules for her after his injury and what happened last night, Simon seemed to be the only one fit to do it. His grip on Simon tightened to steady his shaking hand. He didn’t want to lose either of them. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Simon said not to either of them in particular. “Johnny grab the tea.”

He carried their mugs inside while Simon carried Nina. She was wearing some clothes at least. Looked like his boxers and a sweater. Simon was only wearing boxers. Crazy get. 

They set her up on the couch in the living room. Tea in arms reach. 

“Johnny and I will make breakfast. Call if you need anything.” Simon rubbed her cheek with his knuckles. A couple days ago he would have gaped at this show of affection, now he felt like Simon was the only one worthy to give it. 

Johnny sat at the little table, staring into his tea. Scottish breakfast with cream and honey. Simon was always good at the little details.

Eggs and what looked like bacon were cooking on a pan on the stove. 

Two hands laid on his shoulders, rubbing the muscles. 

“How’s my boy?”

“Not well…” Johnny admitted. His hands were shaking again. Residual rage coursed through him thinking about how that man was in the basement, locked away in the freezer. He couldn’t hurt her yet he still wanted to cut him to pieces. Make sure he could never come back. Burn it all, let the wind take it away. 

“She’s safe now.” Simon cupped Johnny’s face and turned to face him.. “We protected her. We got her home. We killed the cunts that hurt her and we’ll do it again if we need to.”

Johnny pressed his forehead against Simon’s. He didn’t remember the last time they touched like this. That cottage by the sea, blood still on their lips with Simon slotted between his legs. He wanted to crawl back into bed with Nina at his front and Simon at his back. He wanted to taste them both at once. He wanted to keep Nina and take back Simon. Eating his cake over and over again.  

“The food’s burning…” He choked out. He wanted to kiss him, let him fuck his worries away. Johnny’s hand was on Simon’s chest, palm over his heart. 

“Go keep her company.” He nodded. “I’ll bring breakfast in a bit.”

She was still curled up where he left her - knees tucked to her chest. Johnny sat down next to her and helped her into his lap. His hand rubbing her back under the quilt. He kissed along her hair line. “I got’cha. Not letting go.” 

Her quietness stung. She was never chatty like him but she’d whisper and giggle to him. He would mould himself to her, wrap himself around her to keep her safe and warm. Hand feed her, breath from his mouth.

She turned and hugged him, legs around his waist and her face in the crook of his neck. He pulled the quilt over both of them.

“We won’t leave ya, Neen. You’re our girl.” Our girl… not just his. His and Simon’s. Their girl. 

Simon brought breakfast in on a tray. 3 plates with eggs, bacon and toast. Johnny fed Nina, letting her relax against his chest. Simon fed him, sat next to the two of them, resting his free arm along Johnny’s shoulders. 

“I want a bath,” She said untangling herself from him. Her legs were covered in bruises. Johnny wanted to kiss each one, a healing touch. 

“I’ll clean up.” Simon said, gathering the plates. He nodded his head for Johnny to follow her. 

She liked the water hot and he winced as he got into the tub with her. His legs stinging. 

“You’re gonna cook us both.” He chuckled, kissing her shoulder. 

“Simon…he kissed me last night or this morning. I don’t really know what time it was.”

“Oh…err… did you want him to?” He tried to overcome the wave of nausea that hit him. Not out of jealousy, worry maybe. 

“I guess… I wasn’t really thinking about it. I couldn’t sleep so he took me downstairs and I ate and then he kissed me. I was worried you’d be upset… I don’t really know what we all are.”

It was a good question.

“I think if we want, the three of us can be something together.”

“Is that something people do?”

“We’re the only people like us so I don’t think it matters what other people do.”

“I think I’d like that. Being with both of you… up until last night I thought Simon didn’t like me very much.”

“That’s just how he is. Took us almost dying for him to admit he liked me.” 

She giggled at that, leaning back against his chest. He washed her hair for her. Washed her face and body. He piled bubbles up on top of her head just to make her smile. He helped dry her hair and wrapped her in a towel. Got new clothes for her. His shirt and her panties. He tucked her back into bed. Rubbed her back until she fell asleep. 

Simon was watching from the doorway. 

“Thought she’d be worse.” He said, shutting the door behind Johnny. 

“She’s tough.” He said. “Wish I’d done more to protect her.”

“We won’t let it happen again.” Simon took a step forward, backing Johnny against the wall. “You ripped that cunt to pieces, Johnny.”

He closed his eyes and breathed Simon in. Cedar swirling around in his head like a boa constrictor.

“You kissed her?”

“Jealous?”

“Of her.” He admitted. “I miss yo-”

Simon’s mouth was on his. Commanding and all consuming. Memories of this time last year flooded his head. The two of them in dive bars and club corners. In cars and alleyways. Simon inside him. Johnny in his mouth. 

“What did I do wrong?” He broke, holding Simon back. “Last Summer. What did I do?”

He wouldn’t fuck it up again.

“You didn’t do anything, Johnny.” Simon kissed him again. It didn’t settle his soul. Johnny was a weak man though, he knew that much, because he ignored it and kept his mouth on Simon’s. He missed the taste, the feel, the warmth. 

“I want you.” He breathed. “I want you so much.” 

He might cry if he was rejected now. 

“Not here. Don’t want to wake her. We’ll go to the stables.”

Johnny nodded. 

Simon having lube on hand didn’t surprise Johnny. He was moaning shamelessly, bent over the counter of the tack room. Simon had already worked two fingers inside of him. His legs were shaking, Simon was pressed against him, hunched over his body, grunting dirty things in his ear. 

“Tight as ever, Johnny.” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” he prayed. Simon’s fingers scissored inside him, gently stretching him open. Almost four months without. He would have treasured their last time if he knew it was the last. In the sand, at sunset, on the beach down the trail from their rented cottage. Romantic actually. More than this was. 

“Missed this.” Simon breathed, nipping at Johnny’s ear. “Missed splitting you open.”

Precum dripped against the front of the cabinet. He was glad Nina never came in here. Less worry for cleaning up. His mind still floats around her. He’d like to have his head between her thighs right now. It might be the only thing to make this better, trapped between the two of them. 

“Where you drifting off to, Johnny?” Simon tugged on his hair. It was longer than he preferred but Simon always liked something to hold. “You thinking about her?”

“Yeah…” He shuddered. Simon’s hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him teasingly. 

“You wish she was here too?”

“Yes.” 

Simon lined himself up with Johnny’s hole. Drool ran from his mouth onto the counter. He was white knuckling the edge. He needed this more than air, more than meat. 

“Close your eyes, Johnny. Think of Nina.” He licked behind Johnny’s ear, melting him. It burned in a familiar good way like holding your hand too close to a fire. 

“Fuc…k simon. Fuck please.”He keened. 

“I got you, Johnny. Just relax.” He pumped him faster, timing it with his thrusts. “I’ll take care of you.”

Johnny’s eyes rolled back into his head, letting Simon take control of his body and mind.

It was almost lunch time when they got back to the house. Nina was still asleep. 

“Clean up. Then bring her down for lunch.” Simon said, kissing his temple before disappearing downstairs.

“Hey, love. How are you feeling?” Johnny brushed the hair out of her face. She blinked up at him with a frown.

“You smell like Simon.” He turned red. She cupped his cheek. “You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed.”

There was a torso sitting on the butcher block in the kitchen. Simon had his usual array of knives sitting out next to it. Nina leaned closer to him. 

“C’mere. Both of you.” Simon nodded. 

Nina stood between them, a hand in each of their pockets to steady herself. 

“It’s okay.” Johnny cooed, rubbing her shoulder.

“Cut it, Nina.” Simon offered her the knife. 

“No,no, I… I can’t.” She was blocked from moving by Simon’s arm gripping her waist. He leaned over her, their foreheads almost touching.

“You can and you will. This is your kill. You took the first bite. You need to do it. There’s no difference between this and what you did last night.” Johnny wrapped his arm above Simon’s and kissed her shoulder. “He was going to rape you, Nina. He was going to rape you and then gut you.”

She held back a gag and turned away, tears pricking her eyes. Simon grabbed her chin and forced her to look back at him.

“I ate the men who raped me.” Johnny bit his tongue to hold back any look of shock or horror at Simon’s words. “Animals get treated like animals. Cut him and eat.”

Nina took the knife in a shaking hand. Simon held his hand over hers to steady it and motioned for Johnny to do the same. He’d seen couples do this to cut cakes at weddings. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“You can do it,” Johnny soothed. 

They followed her hand as she cut down into the muscle.

“There you go,” Simon cooed, kissing her tears away.  “I need to know you’ll be able to take care of yourself when we’re gone. My brave girl.”

Nina’s tears were replaced with an angry frown as she cut. A righteous anger that steadied her hand.

They butchered him together. Till the torso was broken down to pieces, wrapped in paper and twine with Simon’s handwritten labels. 

 When it was done they sat together in the living room. Nina’s head in Johnny’s lap and her legs in Simon’s. He pet her hair while Simon rubbed her legs. 

“I’m sorry, Simon.” She said softly. “I didn’t know.”

“No one does…did. Just you two.” He shrugged. Johnny leaned his head against Simon’s shoulder, nuzzling him. Simon wrapped his arm around Johnny. “You’re a fighter, Nina. You have to be.”

It started to snow again. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[th3w00ds]

HABIT + Habitoid lore (I have committed an EMH brainrot)

So, in my headcanon, HABIT is the original of the “Habitoid” race. He formed from the ancient chaos of early mankind’s thoughts, instincts, and of course their habits. He’s basically a god/kingly figure to the Habitoids. While HABIT isn’t actually a god, some beings, including most Habitoids, believe him to be one due to his immense power and strength. 

To them, HABIT is their god above their other gods, their creator (as HABIT did actually create the Habitoids.) How did he do this you might ask? He did it from his thoughts. But first, HABIT did not create the entire race, but a test run of six other individuals like him. His signature color was purple, so he created the other Habitoid “gods” with other colors. 

Their general looks are based off of HABIT's true form, btw.

Their little hierarchy goes as follows: 1. HABIT 2. Melancholy (Blue) 3. Fury (Pink) 4. Envy (Red) 5. Venom (Green) 6. Ruin (Orange) 7. Desperation (Yellow)

HABIT is the Habitoid “god king” of the slaughter, habits and atrocities. 

Melancholy, the blue god, is the “god” of sadness, despair and loss Fury, the pink god, is the “god” of anger, rage and wrath Envy, the red god, is the “god” of jealousy, resentment and desire Venom, the green god, is the “god” of deception, betrayal and manipulation Ruin, the orange god, is the “god” of destruction, decay and chaos Desperation, the yellow god, is the “god” of fear, anxiety and desperation The reason I’m putting god in quotes is because none of them, not even HABIT, are actually gods. They’re only extremely powerful ancient beings. 

The Habitoids actually have a hierarchy themselves, looking like this:

HABIT

The other “gods” The offspring of HABIT The offspring of the other “gods” The “demigods” (Regular Habitoids who were elevated from being a regular Habitoid to a demigod for one reason or another, rarely happens) Regular Habitoids

Habitoid hybrids, i.e a hybrid of a normal Habitoid and a human

I had an idea that all the Habitoid “gods” have signature animals, like HABIT’s being a rabbit. HABIT’s signature animal: Rabbit Melancholy’s signature animal: Raven Fury’s signature animal: Tiger Envy’s signature animal: Serpent Venom’s signature animal: Spider Ruin’s signature animal: Hyena Desperation’s signature animal: Vulture

And that’s all I’ve got figured out so far :D

[minniebbang]

Train to nowhere | S.Changbin

Pairing: Changbin x fem!reader (from 3rd person perspective) Summary: a meeting with a stranger on the train, nothing will go bad, right? It's a train to the hereafter anyway... Genre: angst(?) Warning: mention of suicide and description of death(detail). If you're uncomfortable, please don't proceed. Word count: 1.8k words a/n: I kinda rambling on the last part, I'm sorry :') and I hope it makes sense

Standing, between the busy crowd in the waiting station, she was solitude herself from other bustling silhouettes in the train station. Footsteps and loud chatting were all echoes in her ear as she made her way toward her designated platform, hands gripping ever so tightly onto the bouquet of white roses…that she didn’t remember getting from where. Unnoticeable, she would sniff the flower occasionally, inhaling the fresh scent. Intoxicating and addictive, weirdly it reminds her of someone’s scent. She grabbed the locket watch hanging on her neck, checking the time.

8 am…the train will be here.

As she stepped onto the last slap of the stairs, the train arrived with a loud screeching as it stopped at the station. Never late, never early; someone told her. Her blue sky dress blew from the gust of wind. The train door slid open and a masked man stepped out, glancing directly at her. A rabbit mask, what a cute option. Noticing it, she instantly walked to him. The masked man had stretched out a hand, palm open as if asking for something from her. She took the train ticket and a rose, handing it to the man while flashing a thin smile.

Don’t fumble on your ticket and get inside quickly. The conductor hates those who waste his time.

The door shut behind her and she immediately went for a seat. The train's interior was unusual; flowers and bushes grew on the train's ceiling and some on the floor as well, and the seats were positioned strangely; some were facing each other and some weren’t but she didn’t mind much. It was her fate to be here. She settled down beside a man, who appeared somewhat more normal for her than the other. Some passengers aren’t human-like, some cover their faces with an old piece of newspaper, some have a feature of art in a museum or completely cover their heads with a white cloth.

The man wore a white tuxedo and was holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand. What a contrast from her roses. The train began leaving the station in a blink. The scenery in the front changed, and the clouds had changed; to a mix of pink and white. There were houses on the edge of a cliff, unstable ground to build a house, tall trees and chirping birds were all she witnessed throughout the ride…and eyes, different in sizes and irises, just staring at the passengers inside.

If you see the eyes, ignore them. They’re purely watching. They won’t harm you as long as you’re on the train.

The ride was quiet with her gaze stuck on the window, watching every endearing scenery pass them until the man spoke up.

“Weren’t you scared by the eyes?” His voice was soft and low as if his voice would disturb any passengers. She turned to look at him and shook her head.

“Didn’t they say that the eyes wouldn’t harm us as long as we stay inside? So why should I be scared?”

He lightly chuckled and smiled, a tender smile that she swore she saw somewhere. The same goes for his scent. Ever since arriving at the train station, every memory turned blurry. She couldn’t pinpoint what was happening to her. Normally, she would freak out at everything she saw currently but she didn’t, she was calm…?

“What’s your name? I think we should know each other before we stop at our destination.”

“You know it’s not a good thing to get to know a stranger on this train.” he hummed nonchalantly, showing the dimple on his right cheek.

“I know but both of us are ‘ordinary’ so why not? I’m Changbin” A sigh escaped from her lips. A recognizable face and name.

“I’m Y/N”

“Such a rare name, I like it-” Suddenly, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to another seat when a person with a newspaper on his face approached them, who seemed like a new passenger. About three seats away from them, they sat back. She glanced at the person but was immediately turned away by his hand gently.

“Don’t look at them. They will take your eyes to replace theirs.”

Well, the man knew more than her. Their gaze stuck on each other before she hung her head low, feeling awkward with their new seat; a seat that faced each other and the quick stare they shared. He giggled, realising her action and watched outside, where a night funfair was happening. He could see visitors with faces glitching out, walking with their family or significant others. Any emotion was invisible so Changbin didn't waste his time, guessing their feeling being in there.

How long he'd been on this ride? He never figured out where he was, or what kinda of world he was in.

“You can raise your head now, I’m not looking at you, Y/N."

Slowly, she raised her head and leaned on her seat comfortably, seeing Changbin had turned his gaze elsewhere. As time went by, bit by bit, his company was enjoyable, it got rid of all the oddness that occurred on or outside the train but she couldn’t help being curious about his real identity in her mind. A strong connection between them, friendship or lover, whatever, she was sure he was someone important in her life. Spending their leftover time talking, her mind failed to piece the puzzle together, nothing is vivid unless that night's memory.

The train stopped at a station. She stood up, dusting her dress.

“Thank you for being my company throughout the ride. It was my pleasure to meet you, Changbin.”

She picked a rose from her bouquet and placed it in the middle of Changbin’s bloody red roses. Changbin emerged and did the same to her bouquet. The two exchanged a tender smile. He lends her his hand.

“I’m stopping here too. Let’s go together and get your justice” She accepted his hand and left the train.

“You are not a murderer, Binnie. I’m sure they would hear my explanation.”

“So you remember. I hope what you are saying it’s true, baby” He kissed her knuckles and proceeded to walk toward the building - a school building where he’s gonna have his trial. A trial that determined his final fate; punishment or chance.

Flashback to the day they die

Changbin stormed up to the stairs. She clenched her jaw and grabbed his arm, causing Changbin to haul his arm.

“CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP AND HEAR MY EXPLANATION, CHANGBIN?!?!”

“I WOULDN’T! HOW COULD YOU AFTER EVERYTHING I DID.”

Plates were smashed, mirrors were broken, and shouting and crying echoed in the apartment, in the middle of the night. Both of them didn’t show a sign of breaking the fight, too busy feeding on their egos. As in losing in an argument means you are weak.

“I swear I never did that. Why would I kill your best friend?! You know it’s so stupid of me if I ever did it.”

“But the CCTV showed it was you! You weren’t in the house that night also! I have enough evidence to prove it was you.”

She scoffed, tears streaming down her cheeks. After 6 years, this is all she got? Her husband doesn’t trust her explanation. Right, his best friend matters more than her.

“I went to my grandma’s house that night. You can ask my mother if you want proof. Please, Binnie, believe me. We've been together for 6 years, how you not trust me?”

She stared at him, eyes brimming with fresh tears. Her heart just shattered at how easily he’d accused her of such murder.

“Just said it was you! I’m tired, Y/N. I’m tired of being accused of cooperating with you to kill her.”

“For a thousand times, bin. I didn’t do it. What's so hard about it to trust me?!”

“Y/N, I beg you please admit it you did it.” He grasped his hair, frustrated over the situation. The whisper in the back of his head didn’t help, it dishevelled his mind even more.

She was jealous…that's why she did it

She was envious of her beauty and life

She was envious that his best friend got all of his attention

The whisper said, dragging him to the valley of lies.

“I DIDN’T DO IT!!”

Banging from behind the door caused the argument to come to a quick halt. Both of them snapped their heads towards the door. She looked at Changbin, lips pressing together and shook her head in disbelief.

“The police are here. They're gonna take you out. Let’s end it a good way.”

She clenched his shirt, shaking his body forth and back violently, begging him endlessly so he trusted her.

“JUST FUCKING ADMIT IT!!”

With that final shout, he pushed her from the stairs out of frustration. The air thickened with a palpable sense of dread as the body tumbled down the staircase, limbs flailing helplessly against gravity's relentless pull. With a sickening thud, she landed at the foot of the stairs, a crumpled heap of broken bones and shattered dreams. What left behind only a haunting silence and the bitter taste of tragedy.

His eyes trembled out of horror, a scream or shout left his mouth, too stunned by the scene at the end of the staircase. Her head snapped to the side as a scarlet-coloured liquid poured down from her head down to the edge of her white dress, soaking it red. Her hand quivered as she endured the impact of the fall before the final air was released from her lips.

“W-What the hell did I do?!”

No no no no, Y/N. He killed his lover…the one he’d made vows to protect and love until their last breath. He dropped to his knee, mourning. All the regrets devouring him, eating him. He should investigate it again before blaming her. He is an asshole for that.

An asshole for not giving the promised love to her,

For not paying attention to her

And mostly, for ignoring her for the past weeks

He's the one who should be blamed.

Why did he accuse her in the first place?

Tch, right, his title and dignity as someone everybody looked up to were more important than his wife's feelings.

“You're a fucking idiot, Changbin.” He smashed his head into the walls until it bled. He lost his mind as he kept smashing his head, over and over again, repeating the same word ‘stupid’ and ‘asshole’ to himself as the bagging on the door became louder. The image of her last countenance and words were repeating in his head.

He felt something poking his thigh, a sharp object. He pulled it out, it was a knife….

Taking a glimpse of her dead body below him in his blurry vision, he pointed the weapon at his neck. It was living alone in guilt forever or burning in hell because of his abrupt action.

White roses mean innocence,

Red roses mean strong love,

But putting those together,

Will reminds him of the day he killed her.

[betterbooktitles]

On looking older than I am:

By the time I was a teenager, I’d fully accepted my early adulthood. When I wasn’t playing a sport or acting in a play, my number one hobby was taking a John Updike book (sorry) to a coffee shop. I frequented a place within walking distance of my house in Cleveland called Talkies. I sat at the front bar with my book and ate a second lunch at 3 PM. I talked to random people sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes inside. One was a researcher at Case Western who studied molecular biology. He seemed to know no one in Cleveland except me and the baristas. Another guy was a white dude with dreadlocks, a gifted actor who bussed tables at the fancy restaurant next door. Every barista was a 20-something woman who told me about their various trysts in graphic detail. Multiple times the men offered me cigarettes or to split a joint outside. No wonder it took me years to finish one of the Rabbit novels. I was soaking up more than enough adult content in my real life than any book could offer.

The oddest encounter occurred at a hotel in Annapolis, Maryland when I was 15. I attended a boys’ catholic prep school and because my parents and I were taking a few college campus tours during our family trip, and you never know who you might bump into, I chose to wear the tie and khakis I would normally wear in class. I had chosen an aqua shirt with a bright textured gold tie that morning and was still wearing it when I approached the front desk that evening. I promised my English teacher I would have a late assingment on his desk Monday morning despite my travel schedule. I had finished writing it on my mom’s laptop and put it on a flash drive. 

“Is there an office in the hotel with a printer?” I asked the woman at the front desk. I deepened my voice. “My boss needs this report ASAP.”

The woman behind the desk wore a maroon and beige polo shirt with the name of the hotel embroidered on one side and a fat plastic name tag that read “Jess” on the other. She kept her curly brown hair tied back behind her head and looked like she was ready to take a nap rather than help one more jerk fix his malfunctioning room key or find the hotel’s office. She smiled though and led the way. We walked through a large banquet hall that looked like it was hosting a wedding or prom. Pink uplighting and one of those whirling balls with differently colored light filters spun around and painted the room. I watched fat white men in suits sip cocktails out of plastic cups and flirt with young women half their size and age. A number of them wore saris. 

“What is this?” I said aloud. 

“It’s a party for the IMF.” the woman said. “You’re not with them?”

“No, I’m on a different kind of work trip.” I said.

She kept walking until we found a door on the side of the room. Bright tube lighting poured into the mock nightclub when she opened it. I hurried in so as to not disturb the party atmosphere too long, and to my surprise, she shut the door behind us and stayed to watch me use the office. 

Computers in 2002, especially out-of-date communal ones used by everyone in a hotel, were not very fast. The fat glass monitor was already on, and when I opened the browser, I had a good two minutes to chat, which the hotel employee seemed keen on doing.

“So where are you headed?” She asked.

“Well, it’s here tonight, then New York, then upstate somewhere, back to Cleveland.”

“Busy weekend.” 

“Yes, we’re- I’m trying to squeeze in a lot.” 

We talked about my work. I vaguely said I was on a deadline for a writing assignment which made me sound like a journalist or someone with an entry-level publishing job. At some point, she said she was glad I wasn’t with the loud bankers because I seemed too nice and cute to work with them. 

Was this happening?

I found my little essay about Chaucer and clicked print. As a printer the size of a Fiat whirred to life and started pumping out the pages, the woman said: 

“I’m actually off the clock now if you want to have a drink with me.”

“I’d love that,” I said.

I put the essay in a folder (not a professional manila folder, a high school-ass, bright glossy blue folder with my school’s logo on it) and followed her to the hotel bar.

I ordered a beer in the annoying fake way people do in movies: the actor walks up to the bar and instead of checking what’s on tap or thinking of their brand of choice like ‘Bud’ or ‘Stella’ or even naming a type like ‘stout’ or ‘pilsner’ the actor confidently says “I’ll have a beer” and the extra playing the bartender wordlessly gets to pouring.

“I’ll have a beer!” I said to the bartender who squinted his eyes at me and cocked his head. 

“OK…” he pointed at Jess, who still had her uniform and name tag on. 

“Jack and Coke, Ben.” 

I sipped the beer slowly. We drank and talked about work and if Jess was going to bite the bullet and go to grad school. She asked if I wanted, when we finished our drinks, to go with her to a house party up the street.

“We can smoke a bowl, listen to my friend play some music. It’ll be fun.” she assure me.

“I really shouldn’t,” I said, “We’re- I’m… I have an early morning.”

“Ah,” she said, looking down at her drink.

I now realize that every coy excuse I made sounded like I had a girlfriend or wife at home and I maybe had a problem with drugs and alcohol that might make me do something I regretted. I was playing an adult better than I ever had in my life.

“So, someone is with you in your room, then?” Jess asked nervously.

“Yeah. There are people in my room.” 

And here, dear reader, I’m sorry (or happy) to tell you that I fessed up.

“I’m staying with my parents.” I said.

“Oh. That’s sweet. Are they meeting up with you on this trip? Where are they from?”

“We drove here together from Cleveland, actually.”

“Oh, OK.” She said, looking confused.

“I- You see. I’m not on a work trip. I’m seeing schools.” I looked at the bartender who was pretending not to listen on the other side of the empty bar.

“Grad schools?”

“No. Listen. Sorry. I’m in high school.”

“Wait- how old are you?”

“I’m 15.”

“Jesus. Uuughh!” She leaned her torso over the bar as if she was fainting, and looked up at me with one eye over her glass. “Oh, boy. I know how to pick ‘em.”

“I look older,” I said, consolingly. 

“Yes. You do. Oh, God. Wow. OK. Ummm.” She sat up and did a little drum roll with her hands on the bar.

I chugged the rest of my beer. 

Read the rest of the essay here.