#You buried them. They are dead. They were dead. They are here.

[sashaisready]

Since You've Been Gone: Chapter 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

After a regrettable first meeting in the cemetery, you discover that you have something in common with a certain member of the Avengers. Unfortunately, you can't choose your neighbours, even in death.

(Setting is approx. post TFATWS)

Hi, I'm back! I have no idea where this came from, or where it's going! So apologies as updates may not be consistent while I figure it out. Warnings for death of parents, grief, mentions of cemetery/graves - please tread carefully if these are triggers for you.

🍂

It was a chilly Autumn day, but not unbearable. Your coat could more than handle the frigid breeze. You squinted at the headstone as you crouched on your knees, angling your head to make sure you hadn’t left any streaks or marks from the polish. Satisfied with your performance, you trimmed a few of the roses that were leaning against it before standing and taking a step back to admire your handiwork.

Immaculate as always, so neat you could almost be fooled into thinking you weren’t even outside. You could hear your parents’ voices in your head now, joking about being able to keep their graves far cleaner that you ever managed your bedroom to be, their frequent nags falling on deaf adolescent ears.

You smiled sadly as you looked at the intricately engraved text below their names on the shared stone:

Beloved parents taken too soon,

Waiting in heaven to be reunited with their only daughter

You’d never really like that phrasing; it was a little too whimsical for your tastes – especially all these years later. But a recently orphaned teenager wasn’t exactly an expert in choosing the best headstone wording. You’d been more than happy to let your aunt and the funeral home lead the way, too paralysed by grief to make even the smallest decisions in the hellscape that was death admin.

Still, you’d never want to upset your aunt by getting it changed, there’s a lot of strange emotion tied up in grief even when time has passed, and that mourning teen has become an adult. And it wasn’t like new headstones were cheap anyway…

As you packed up your cleaning kit your attention was drawn to the two graves next to your parents’ - George and Winnifred Barnes. They had both passed several decades earlier, long before your parents were buried next to them. They had died only a few months apart according to the text…maybe they’d couldn’t survive without each other.

It was easy to infer that they no longer had anyone left earthside. The graves had been long untouched, unkempt, and overgrown, the inscriptions getting harder to read – and you’d never seen any evidence of a visitor in all your time coming here. Except of course when the cemetery staff did one of their occasional mass clean-ups of the neglected graves.

About a year ago, you’d started tending to them alongside your parents. You weren’t sure why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They were neighbours after all. And you’d want someone to do the same for your mum and dad if you weren’t around.

You’d cleaned their stones, wiped away the grime and given them a decent polish. You’d trimmed back the weeds and laid fresh flowers. The first time took a while, but after you’d got them to a reasonable standard it was all pretty easy to maintain.

You’d often wondered who they were. What they were like. The dates suggested they’d died of old age, a luxury your parents didn’t have. Were they kind? Funny? What hobbies did they have? They were around during the war, that must’ve been tough. You knew from the inscriptions that they had children who would’ve been over hundred by now. Maybe no grandchildren which is why nobody came by to see them anymore. It made you feel sad, how we could all be just a few generations away from being forgotten entirely. At least you could try to remember them.

You gave their graves a quick once over, took away the dead flowers and added some fresh roses in their place.

“Well, I’m done,” you said aloud, “see you soon, mum and dad. And you too, George and Winnifred. Sleep well”.

You sighed, walking back to your car and back to your life. You knew all too well that the dead may be still, but the world continues around them.

🍂

A week later you were back at the cemetery with your cleaning kit slung over your back, your arms full of fresh flowers.

“Afternoon, mum and dad,” you said as you placed your kit and flowers down and pulled out the foam pad that you used to kneel on, “and you, George and Winnifred”.

“Work has been kicking my ass this week,” you sighed as you got to work on your parents’ stone. “There’s only so much I can take of Brock’s moaning about the numbers…it’s getting harder not to smash my keyboard over his head – yeah I know, violence isn’t the answer, blah-blah-blah…”

You worked diligently, chatting away as you went through your maintenance tasks. It was nice, talking to them like this. You could say anything, really. No judgements, no admonishment, just silent acceptance of everything you told them. It was a bit like therapy for you. You often imagined your parents were sitting behind you as you spoke, just out of sight.

You liked to use old newspaper to buff up the marble. As you gathered your things together, you glanced at some of the headlines from the copy you’d brought with you. Lots of dreary grimness unfortunately. There was also a longread feature on the Avengers and where they were now, their photographs lined up across the top of the page. It was sad that a few of them were dead now, or at least no longer here. You felt a pang of sadness for their loved ones – you knew what that was like.

You didn’t know all the details of The Avengers and their associates, but like everyone else you knew the basics. It was a strange time, just a decade or so ago nobody had ever thought superheroes really existed…but then all of these ‘enhanced’ people started crawling out of the woodwork, revealing weapons and technology that previously had only existed in sci-fi movies. It was hard to believe, really.

You scanned the newspaper page, looking at the pictures for a few moments. You took your time studying their faces before sighing and placing it back down.

“All done…now let’s help out George and Winnie over here, looks like you guys need some new flowers…and all that heavy rain we’ve been having has really done a number on your stones…let me just-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the gruff voice behind you demanded, causing you such a shock that you nearly joined your parents.

You spun your body away from the graves, horrified to see a man looming over you as you stared at him open-mouthed in surprise. You hadn’t heard him approach, not quite understanding how you hadn’t noticed him coming at all…

“I said what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he repeated to you, his blue eyes alight with anger.

He was big. Bigger than you. Even under his coat you could see his broad shoulders. A mop of dark hair framed his face, most likely quite an attractive face when it wasn’t pulled into a furious sneer like it was now. He wore black gloves as he pointed at you accusingly. The fact that you were kneeling on the ground while he stood towering at his full height had not gone unnoticed by you.

There was something strangely familiar about him, but you couldn’t place it. Did he shop at the same market as you? You couldn’t quite…

“I’m…I’m just-” you spluttered as you fumbled for the words, still caught in your surprise and the fact that this normally serene time had been interrupted by a stranger yelling at you…

“Get away from there!” he snarled.

You quickly realised he was talking about the Barnes’ graves. You bounced backwards, landing painfully on your ass in your desperation to do what he said. He had a chilling air of authority that you didn’t want to screw with. You weren’t trying to piss off an angry man while you were out here all alone…

“I was just tidying them up,” you managed weakly as you sat up and clutched at the flowers.

“Nobody asked you to,” he scoffed in response as he leaned over and ran a gloved finger over Winnifred’s inscription, “you shouldn’t be clambering all over graves of people you don’t know”.

You frowned as the initial shock of the encounter wore off, now annoyed now at his abrupt rudeness towards you when you only had good intentions.

“Oh, and you know them, do you?” you snapped back sharply as your felt your emotions surge and your eyes water, your cheeks hot with mortification, “well, nobody has been to visit those graves in years so-”

“Yeah, actually I do know them - I’m their son,” he spat furiously.

Your head bounced back in surprise and confusion. You curled your lip and frowned at his strange claim, he appeared to be his mid-to-late 30s at most – many years away from the very elderly man he’d need to be for that to be true.

What was his goal here, exactly?

Was this guy just looking to start an argument and decided you’d be his target? Spouting off nonsense about random graves just to mess with you?

And where did you know him from?

Despite your survival instincts, you couldn’t help but fight back. You didn’t appreciate being messed with at the best of times, let alone when you were only here to visit your deceased loved ones. Who came to a graveyard to fuck with people? And yell at them?!

“Huh? Son?” you scoffed with derision and jabbed a finger towards the inscriptions about their children, “well, that can’t be true as that would mean their kids would have to be over a hundred…and how many one-hundred-year-olds look like you…?”

“I’m 107 years old, actually,” he said venomously. He sounded utterly sincere despite the ludicrousness of his claim. His face was sullen, his eyes piercing.

You ignored the shudder that threatened to roll through you in response. It was a strangely familiar expression on his face.

Where had you seen that look?

“Oh, yeah! You’re 107…Sure!” you laughed sarcastically. “You just have the greatest plastic surgeon of all time, in fact there’s a bunch of centenarians wandering around looking thirt-”

You trailed off as a wave of recognition suddenly hit you and the penny dropped. Oh. Oh.

He wasn’t from the market…

It was him.

Your eyes panned down to the crumpled newspaper lying next to you. The same man’s face scrutinised you from the page, an exact mirror image of the brooding 3D version in front of you. A little older now, but still unmistakably the same man.

Oh!

Now you remembered that same picture on the news. Read about the terrible things he’d done before when he was under hypnosis. For the Nazis? The Soviets? Both? Flashes of recollection hit you at once, disjointed and scattered.

It wasn’t really him doing all of it, it was a mind control thing, they’d said. He was like the Captain…the first one from the 40s. Kept young…somehow. He had a robot arm. Then there was the big government pardon after he’d helped to save the world. The deep dive the New York Times had done on his assassin past. What had they said he was called? Iceman? Winter? Winter hitman?

The Winter Soldier.

Barton? Baines? No, Barnes.

Barnes.

As in…son of Winnifred and George?

Ah.

He must’ve seen your train of thought written all over your face as he nodded solemnly at you.

“Yeah. It’s me. And I only found their resting place a few weeks ago,” he said with disdain.

You got to your feet, taking a few cautious steps backwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. You didn’t need to be a jerk - I’ve just been coming here for years, and I’d never seen…”

You trailed off, he didn’t care. His focus was on the graves, one gloved hand gripping the top of his father’s stone as he peered down at the grass below.

You turned to leave, giving him his privacy, “I’m sorry for your loss,” you mumbled quietly as you picked up your kit.

You started to head back to your car, then turned to face him again after a couple of steps. You warily moved back towards him and leaned over, placing a single flower between the feet of his parents’ graves. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t pick it up and throw it back in your face, either.

As you walked away, you thought you felt the weight of his gaze on your back.

🍂

Another week passed and you were back at the cemetery once more, working the usual routine and doing your best to forget what had happened the last time you were here. Upsetting a war veteran slash Avengers superhero by accusing him of not being his parents’ child was impressively incompetent, even by your standards. But in your defence, he did just start yelling at you out of nowhere. And you were only trying to help. And he was a literal defiance of nature, time, and aging…

But then again, people weren’t always their best selves in a cemetery. It wasn’t exactly Happy Hour over here. And you’d probably freak out too if you caught a stranger tinkering around with the resting place of your parents. The parents who died of old age while you were cryogenically frozen and a prisoner in your own body…

You’d done a little more reading up on him, James Buchanan Barnes. ‘Bucky’. The man behind the scary winter soldier mask. The older images of him in his combat gear were chilling, as were the alleged stats of his kills, but mainly you just felt immense empathy for a man out of time. A man who had lost his youth, a limb, his autonomy, and everybody he once knew from his old life.

You tried to put it out of your mind, catching your parents up on what they’d missed and pretty-ing things up a little around their plot. You didn’t touch the Barnes’ this time, just gave them a little wave and concentrated on your own flesh and blood.

You were a million miles away, lost in the quiet fog that often seemed to overtake you when you were working in the cemetery. It was peaceful, really. This was the one place you could switch your brain off and quiet the chatter of your head, just concentrate on the tasks you knew so well by now that your hands did them on muscle memory alone.

You were just adjusting the newest flowers when a voice interrupted you.

“Hey,” it said.

It startled you as you were still in your own world and hadn’t heard anyone else approach. You whirled around slightly panicked as a pair of eyes the colour of sapphires met yours.

It was him again.

“Oh, hello,” you replied quietly.

He stared over at you, wrapped up in his coat as he was last time. His stare was still intense despite appearing much calmer than when you first met him. He wore black pants and boots, his hands tucked away into his pockets, a dark backpack slung over his shoulder. His face was more relaxed than it was during your first encounter. His blue eyes were just as arresting, but the absence of anger made them sparkle rather than burn. He had a soft dusting of stubble across his taut jawline, his dark hair was pulled back behind his head as he absent-mindedly ran a hand over it. He was…

…hot?

Fuck.

He nodded at you in acknowledgement and moved to George and Winnifred’s plot, kneeling in front of their stones. He pulled a candle out from his backpack and lit it with a lighter, placing it between where his parents lay.

You turned away sharply, not wanting to look like you were intruding during what was clearly a private moment of mourning. You focused on your own parents’ graves, clipping back the flowers as quietly as possible.

The two of you continued doing your own thing, the awkwardness thick in the air. You remembered how furious he’d been with you last time. You considered saying something, trying to explain that you were only trying to maintain the graves, but you didn’t want to provide any more ammunition for potential anger. Instead, you continued your routine in silence, keeping your eyes down.

After you finished you packed up your stuff and cleared your throat, ‘uh, bye,” you said quietly to him as you hurried down the path and back towards your car. He didn’t respond, but looked up at you as you passed, studying you intently.

[loquarocoeur]

what do i need to give you to have a lil snippet…. 💸💶💵💰 ask and you shall receive…. 🥸

The way I was struggling to find something even remotely tumblr appropriate for you is actually concerning...

Anyway, you can have three paragraphs because I'm in the mood to make questionable decisions on the internet tonight. (Also I assumed this is in response to that possessiveness ask so here?)

“No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, fuck the French, you’re my rival,” he babbles desperately, because no matter where he stands, Charles is, and he knows that. 

Charles will probably be a lot less antagonistic towards Lando, Pierre, and Esteban once he’s marked Max to his content and realises he actually has nothing against them except a tiny bit of jealousy that the Alpines were in the cooldown room with Max today and the media hasn't been shutting up about his and Lando’s rivalry the last few months, but anyway.

“Exactly. Because I don’t care who’s second in the championship standings, I don’t care who is on the podium with you holding your fucking waist in those pictures instead of me, you are my rival, you are my Max, and until I am dead and buried I will not hear you call me fucking decent.”

Charles has lost every single hinge and I will not take responsibility for that btw

[evenfallwriter]

evenfall's aftg masterlist

(the masterlist's pretty much just have mood board's in them along with me talking about the au and throwing ideas around)

to be buried six feet under || presumed dead nathaniel au - au masterlist - let bygones be bygones ⇏ [🖋 ♥ ● ] [Nathaniel is both the best and the worst thing that has ever been given to Mary and Nathan, is the one to get injured as he tries to protect his brother and is left to watch strapped to the medical bed as Jean and Kevin leave the Nest. The first time that he allows himself to act selfish is when he joins the foxes.]

to be a fox || neil klose au - au masterlist - teach me how to be a fox ⇏ [♥ ●] - (currently working on it) ⚠ [🖋 ♥ ● 🗡] [Nathaniel is brought to death's door at his father's hands when he is 14 years old, after Nathan is cast away by Kengo. Stuart is able to save his nephew on time, but not having the heart to look at the boy who has lost his memories he ends up sending him to Germany instead. There, after an unfortunate accident, Neil finds himself getting adopted by the Klose family.]

those of fortune || fortune/chaos au - au masterlist - misfortune of the fortunate (rewrite) ⚠ [🖋 ♥ ●] - misfortune of the fortunate ones (old version - being rewritten) [In a world where humans are put into different classes based on their core energies, Nathaniel is a child of dusk, a part of the rarest class. Joining the foxes, a group mostly consisting of children of night and dawn is like a death wish for someone like him. Yet he still takes his chances, knowing that he'd rather die than let go of Exy, the only thing that makes him alive after all that he had been through.]

if we have eachother || mamma betsy & abby au / andreil different first meeting au - au masterlist - little oasis [● 🗡] - night's filled with hot choco and peach tea ⚠ [♥ ●] [Mary kills Nathan before leaving with little Abram, soon enough leaving the boy in the care of a friend of hers who ends up brining Nathaniel to an orphanage after Mary ghosts them. Neil is put into foster system soon enough, and in one of the houses he finds himself befriending Andrew. Soon enough, they both decide to protect one another from the rest of the world.]

all for the menu || the menu & raven nathaniel au - au masterlist - the fox trap ⇏ [● 🗡 ☁︎] [Nathaniel was never supposed to go to a remote island with Master and a couple of other Raven's as Riko's date, but after Riko's date dumps him and he can't go alone if he want's to impress his father, Nathaniel has no choice but to dress up as his 'girlfriend'.]

blood stained bare teeth || spies & hackers au - au masterlist - to hunt a rabbit ⚠ [🗡] - (planned) [♥ ] [The foxes are hired by Stuart Hartford to find the whereabouts of his nephew and to protect him, which is easier said then done.]

was there any truth to it, to the pipe dream that you once were? || andreil soulmates au - au masterlist - more than just a pipedream [♥ ● ☁︎] - (currently working on it) ⚠ [♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [Everyone had different marks left on their soul by their other half, something that bound the two souls to one another. And Nathaniel, he had his dreams.]

we can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here || espers & guides au - au masterlist - promises better left unkept ⚠ [♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎ ] - (planned) ⚠ [♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [In a world where dungeons, esper's and guide's exist, Neil is an esper who is hiding from the government with no memories of his past, while Andrew is an official guide of the foxes, who is searching for a boy named Abram, whom he can only remember the name of.]

we ain’t angry at you love, you’re the greatest thing we’ve lost || foxes time travel au - au masterlist - till forever falls apart ⚠ [♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [Neil dies in Baltmore, crawling in a desperate attempt to get to his foxes till his last breath. His foxes, who grieve him for years, who one day wake up in the past and decide to protect the redhead this time around.]

the martian au - au masterlist [≡ ♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [when he is just a kid, nat meets matt on the rooftop of the apartment him and his mother has been living in for a while. they are quick to become friends, and when matt shares his dreams with the younger boy, they soon become neil's too. their dreams are what ends up saving them in the end, giving them a much better future than the one that had been promised to them due to the life they had been born into.]

highschool/apocalypse/time travel au - au masterlist [≡ ♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [neil josten is the last man standing at the end of the world, surrounded by millions of zombies with no way out. when he closes his eyes he doesn't expect to open them once again, but when he does he finds himself 5 years in the past.]

normal & trans neil josten au - au masterlist [≡ 🖋 ♥ ● ☁︎] [neil josten is a nobody that finds himself in millport after running away from home. He decides to join his schools exy team after the coach finds him sleeping in the lockers, being in the wrong place at the right time. that all changes when david wymack comes to recruit him for the foxes along with kevin day and andrew minyard.]

transmigrator au - au masterlist [≡ 🖋 ♥ ● 🗡 ☁︎] [neil finds himself in the body of a side character that is going to die soon enough just for the sake of plot development.]

nobody's son, nobody's daughter || coach neil josten au - au masterlist [≡ ♥ ● ☁︎] [neil josten hasn't been a coach for much long, but he has still managed to charm the kids whom he looks after, and neil finds himself caring about the kids just as much if not more. he hasn't had much problems with the kids parents before, but that all changes when the kid that andrew minyard starts fostering, whom had been one of the brats that neil took care of before the kid lost his parents, is found in the locker s of his club again and again.]

short fics - devils come out when the sun goes down ⇏ [♥ ● ☁︎] [foxes + katelyn go to eden's together for halloween]

- t&n fic [???] [???]

SMALL KEY!

[♥ - fluff] [● - angst] [🗡- character whump] [☁︎ - hurt/comfort] [🖋 - canon rewrite] [⚠ - ongoing] [⇏ - on hold] [≡ - kevandreil] - otherwise it's andreil

[thinkblotted]

A Little Treat

We're all allowed to have one.

-

So. Things happened. Are happening. I will continue posting about stupid 80s vampire boys until I'm physically unable. Speaking of which, this drabble was inspired by something @enquiringangel mentioned a good while back (as in like. Two months lol)

The final draft doesn't have any Micky-Ds in it, but it does have Paul being the most annoying thing in the space at any given moment.

Enjoy!

Paul’s digging into his pockets before the blood was even dry on his face. 

Hand still smeared with gore, claws barely retracted, Paul rummages through first the front pockets of his jacket, grumbling when he only pulls out crumpled receipts, a broken pen, and twenty three cents worth of pocket change. He goes for the inner pockets next. 

The receipt drifts in the slight breeze blowing in across the waves and catches under Dwayne’s nose, still pressed to the body as he drinks. He snorts, startled at the intrusion and pulls off.

“What the fuck?” He growls, licking his fangs clean. Paul just shakes his head. 

“I know it’s here somewhere, I swear I stashed ‘em in here…” 

Now Marko comes up, finished with his own meal. The flesh around his bite is ragged, still needing a few tries before he finds the best spot. “Dude, you gotta kick the habit.” 

Paul throws him a scowl. “I don’t <i>gotta</i> do anything.” 

“It’s candy that’s older than my grandma, Paulie.”

“Your mom is older than your grandma,” Paul huffs, starting to realize it’s a losing battle. 

David finally speaks up. He’s further away, down the shoreline where the sandy dunes meet real dirt, among a grove of scraggly trees. He’d had his fill and gone to start making preparations for hiding their evidence. (At least, for long enough that identifying the body would take time.) He had stripped off his coat and overshirt, wearing only the thin black tee as he kneeled on the ground. Hands curled into claws and covered from fingertip to upper arm in sand and dirt. Digging, in only a way vampires can, a shallow grave. 

“First - nice comeback, Einstein. Second - I’m saving you your dignity.” 

”What!?” Paul yelps. 

David rolls his eyes. “A vampire eating candy? That’s a hill you’re dying a second time on?” 

“I paid for it!” 

Marko laughs. “You did not, you liar.” 

Paul finally abandons his search, now knowing his prize was never there in the first place, and stalks over to David. 

“Where’d you put them?” 

David shrugs and goes back to widening the hole. (If some sand happens to hit his packmate, then oops.) 

“Like I’m telling you.”  

“They’re mine!” 

David turns an icy glare up to Paul. “And keeping that shit around attracts pests. I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to avoid the place I live being more rat-eaten than it has to be.” 

“Or covered in feathers and bird shi-” 

“Hey!” Marko interrupts Dwayne and his little comment, laughter turning to a scowl. 

Paul for his makes a disgusted noise and about-faces, intent on going right back to the nest and finding his sugary prize. The blood will have settled in his system by then, and the sparkling, dizzying energy that came with drinking it will have lost that bright edge. Fucking shame. Food always tasted best as a chaser. Life remembering itself in his dead body, if for only a few minutes before the clock began ticking down again. 

His three packmates watch him go, grinning amongst each other. 

“Good ‘n Plenties aren’t even good!” Marko shouts to his back. 

“Fuck off!” 

-

Paul lays on the rim of the fountain, eyes idly watching the wind spinners and mobiles twirl around languidly in the errant draft. Scattered around him were tins and boxes and clothing that had been lifted and tossed aside in his hunt, but sadly, no sweet candy had been found for him to claim, no matter how he’d torn through the place. David must have either buried it, or just tossed it into the ocean, because there wasn’t an inch of the place he hadn’t checked. 

He sighs and flips himself over, laying on his belly now. Legs kicking up, one arm tucked under his chin while the other dangled down near the floor. A single finger traces idle patterns on the sand. 

If he imagined hard enough, he could practically feel the crack of their hard shells before sticking his teeth together with the softer insides. Like bone marrow. Mm. And the sugar would be so good - it slicked his tongue and the licorice flavor was bitter in the best way. It tasted like it was supposed to. Like he remembered. Paul’s tongue traces a tooth, wanting. 

But, even now, only an hour after the feed, the taste would have been getting muffled again. He’d be fine for another day or two, but any longer and anything but blood and meat would start to taste like the cardboard packaging the candy came in. His body didn’t want sugar. It wanted fat and salt and iron. 

Life. Powerful, sustaining life.

He grumbles low, undefined curses to no one, at everyone.

So it was a little old school. So what? Not like the rest of them didn’t have favorite things from eras past. (There had been a car show in town last year, and they’d basically had to tie Dwayne down to keep him from nicking a Packard ‘22. They were good little thieves, but disappearing a whole damn sixty year old car was something not even they were stupid enough to try. And don’t even get Paul started on the deep, dark hole where Marko kept his disco vinyls…)

Stupid body. Stupid David. 

Paul can feel him, and the others, in the back of his head, like watching pings on a radar. He knows David is feeling his annoyance as background noise that’s easily tuned out. He thinks about annoying him further by sending it to him more pointedly, but that would be a lot of work, and David could just shut him out all the way. 

Paul watches the firelight from the drums flicker against the cave walls, his finger languidly twirling. Letting the gears turn in his head. 

David had things he liked that weren’t ‘dignified’ or whatever. He smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. Sure, it looked cool, and Paul could understand the itch for the nicotine or alcohol to smooth out the rough edges of the world, but it wasn’t the <i>vampire</i> part that wanted it. And the clothing! David and Dwayne had always been punks, even when the definition of the word was slightly different than it was now. They’d just traded in their cuffed jeans and slicked hair for grunge and dark eclectica. The rock and roll for…well, a different kind of rock and roll, Paul supposes. 

Whatever. Same principle. David was still such a hypocrite. 

The irritation seethes in Paul. His eyes narrow as he glares, wandering this way and that as though he were physically following the progression of some thought through space. 

Suddenly, as though striking a bell, Paul breaks out into a manic grin. His blue eyes light glittering yellow in the center and all in a rush he skitters away into the depths of the nest. 

This was going to get interesting. 

-

“Where is my hair gel?” 

David stands in the doorway of the main antechamber of the cave, expression pinched. 

He’s dressed in one of his usual ensemble - dark pants and shirt, but sans vest and coat for the moment. It was early, and they’d been planning on going out to see what Hell they could raise around the concert circuit, depending on who or what was playing, and like the person he was, David took just a little longer to preen himself. Part of which involved gelling the hair on the crown of his head. 

At the moment, it was damp from a wash, still in unsightly clumps that alternatively stuck up at the wrong angles or layed plastered to his forehead. Not exactly the most intimidating sight in the world. 

Marko snorted behind his hand at the sight, and Dwayne looked up from considering his own jacket and whether it would need some new stitching at the shoulder. 

“Your what?” He asks. 

David steps into the room, hands on his hips. “My gel. I had a new container of it right on the shelf and it’s not there.” 

Before Dwayne can assure David that he hadn’t moved it in an organizational fit, or Marko could deny that well, he didn’t use gel so it wasn’t him, there was a jingle and a thump, and Paul is landing with all the grace of a lion behind David, having slipped down from some hidden nook high above in the rafters. 

He rises from his crouch with a sinuous roll, hands never leaving the pockets of his own curated black jacket, the belts slung over his shoulder and multitude of bracelets covering his arms making music with every step. 

“What’s the matter?” He drawls. 

David flashes his teeth, a growl rising in his throat. “My. Hair gel.” He over pronounces each word, as though it needed to be spelled out. “Where is it.” 

Paul stands in front of him, shoulders back and relaxed, eyes drifting. He hasn’t indulged in anything tonight yet, but he’s slow in his speech, carefree in his words. He gives David’s hair a once over, and then the rest of him in a long look. 

“Why in the world would a vampire care about something like that?” Paul asks with a shrug. 

Before David can react, before anyone can react, Paul is skirting around David and up to the entrance, giving a jaunty wave and a jovial laugh behind him. “See you dorks topside! I wanna actually catch the music.” 

And he’s. Gone. 

Marko and Dwayne look from the place he’d been, to David. 

David, who stands there for a moment staring after their missing member with an expression on his face somewhere between gobsmacked and ready-to-smack. 

In the end, David doesn’t find his gel. He settles for using some old hair spray, enduring a night of looking a bit like a blond hedgehog had made a home on top of his head, and letting the others be front and center. All the while glaring at Paul, who remains just far enough out of his way that David can’t get a grip on him. 

-

The storm is rolling in, much faster than the weatherman on the radio had predicted. 

The boats in the dark marina bob in the breeze that had picked up significantly even in the past few minutes. It’s blowing in hot and humid, a taste of the squall that’s rumbling in just off-shore. They didn’t have time to fuck around - not if they didn’t want to have their meal while drowning like rats in a bucket. 

But they were still missing a member. 

Marko is further down the beach and out of sight, keeping eyes on their target. Dwayne is perched like a massive gargoyle on the prow of a beached boat, keeping an ear out for unwanted interlopers. David is glaring at the sky. Lightning cracks across the sea only a few miles out. He can feel Paul somewhere in the back of his head only insomuch as Paul was a member of his pack that existed, but not where, not how far off. Not if he was getting closer. 

Bright urgency streaks through the bond, Marko letting them know that the boathouse clerk was starting to close up for the night. Even stumbling drunk, the man was a functional alcoholic who knew how to drive in a straight enough line to get himself home - in town. 

David hisses, teeth on full display and leavers himself away from the side of the boat, having been leaning against it smoking himself hoarse to try and keep calm. 

“Easy,” Dwayne murmurs above him. 

“I’m going to use his scalp for a fucking boot cover,” David snarls, throwing his latest smoke to the rocky beach and grinding it to smithereens under his heel. 

“He probably just got distracted. Again.” 

Dwayne says it calmly enough, but even still, there’s a hard set to his mouth and his eyes get a little darker with every patter of stray raindrops that had started to fall from the sky. The storm was basically upon them, thundering inland as the unstoppable force of nature it was. Again, Marko basically screams through the bond that if they didn’t move now, they’d miss their chance. 

Something something, most predators miss nine times out of ten. David liked to think they were smarter than most animals, but at times, he had his doubts. 

A massive wall of wind hits the beach, bringing with it a wall of rain, hard and fast. The sea lashes at the shore and the tied boats next to the docks toss. Dwayne ducks his head against it, wincing as his hair lashes against his face. The tarp over the deck of the boat picks up, flapping against him, and he calls it quits, jumping to the ground to join David in the shelter on the aft, just out of the worst of the wind. 

“Think he’s got enough on his head for two pairs of boots?” He growls at David. 

Above, the sky lights purple and blue with a massive streak of lightning, the sound deafening. Close enough that they can almost taste the crackle of electricity in the air, hear the whine of it as it splits the atmosphere. 

Marko comes charging out of the darkness, head ducked against the wind, almost flung to the side as another gust brings the first proper round of rain with it. His own expression is pinched and upset, eyes narrowed into yellow slits as he glares at David. 

“What the fuck! We had this in the bag, David! What, were the stars just not in position for this or something?” He asks incredulously. 

David matches the searing ire in his head with his own, though it’s not really directed at Marko. 

Even Dwayne can’t seem to hold back the rumbling displeasure that they’d not only lost their quarry, but that they’d gotten soaked in the process. 

Another crack of lightning splits the sky, a little further off, and in the distance, like a whirling top, spinning about a bowl, a body surfs the wind. It’s lit from behind for a moment, arms outstretched, reveling in the beauty and danger of nature, how close it could come to complete destruction, but without fear that held any mortal back. 

Paul sweeps in on a blast of storm, his hair a cloud around his head and his smile and white as the lightning. He’s soaked through, shirtless, panting as though he’d gone through some exertion. 

“Boy, nothing like waiting for it to stir up just before the shit hits to go flying!” He crows to his pack with a boyish, gleeful laugh.

David is already moving. He makes a swipe at Paul, claws out, ready tor pull him in and make damn good on his promise of scalping - but Paul sees it coming. Keyed up from his flight, he nimbly hops away, getting a little more air one final time before setting down again. Still grinning, but there’s more of an edge to it, now. More teeth. 

“Aw, what, did you wanna come with?” He asks. 

“We were supposed to be here, at eleven!” Snarls David. “What in the actual fuck were you doing?”

And Paul guffaws. 

He laughs, incredulous, as though David were telling some kind of bad pun, of a story where there’s an unfortunate ending for some poor fucker. 

“What’s it look like I was doin’?” He asks, thumbing over his shoulder at the storm that’s still going strong around them. “Went flying!” 

“We were supposed to hunt tonight,” Marko hisses, not un-catlike. 

“We were waiting for you,” Dwayne says, with all the guilt sent right through the bond like an arrow aimed true. 

Paul’s grin slips off his face. It doesn’t disappear however, simply sinking into something else. A new, subtler, more simpering smile. Which he sends right at David. 

“I don’t see what the problem is. I was just enjoying being a vampire.” 

And just the same, before anyone has any chance to react, Paul is kicking himself up. Back up into the gale above, to ride the wind currents, tossed like a toy boat on a violent sea. His howls echo across the water, distorted with each wave of wind. 

There’s a twitch under David’s eye. 

-

”So what if those girls saw us? We could just hunt them down, we’re vampires, remember?" 

”Hey, I thought the rings were really pretty, they make good additions to the decor, right? Don;t do no one any good sitting in a glass box. We’re immortal, crime doesn’t mean shit.”

”Yeah, I invited them back to the cave, it’s Friday night, party night! If they ever try to come to the nest again, we can just off ‘em.” 

David sits in his wheelchair, head in his hand. He was staring, unblinking, at an unremarkable spot on the ground, some feet away. Marko and Dwayne were nowhere to be found. It was just him. 

And Paul’s fucking music. 

The boombox had been placed up on one of the makeshift tables, where the acoustics would ring best across the huge atrium. To the sides, Paul had broken out some amp cords and had plugged it into two speakers, the pornographic, screaming metal doubly loud. And to top it off, he’d slid a curved sheet of plastic siding behind it. To direct the sound right out where he wanted it. 

So he could dance to it. 

Paul scoots across the floor of the cave, digging his heels into the stone and sand so that when he moved, it flung up, scattering like glitter and getting into just as many nooks and crannies. He was humming just off-kilter with the beat of the music, and mumbling the wrong words, mincing the chorus with the verse. It sounded awful. 

And no matter where he went in the caves, David could hear it. 

Dwayne and Marko had cleared out, a while ago. At the low end of the season, the Boardwalk was slower, but it beat this. Whatever Hell this was. 

Paul shimmies up to David, that fucking <i>glint</i> in his eye. David goes still, and his eyes flash a yellow so dark it made them look like two coals glowing in the burn barrels at the end of a long night. 

He leans over David, hips still swaying. 

“What’s the matter? Too loud?” 

David didn’t say anything. Paul pretends to pout. To think. 

“Too…much?” 

The hand that’s clutching the armrest of the wheelchair tightens, and supernatural ears could hear the groaning of the cast metal. 

Paul tilts his head. Slinking that much closer, until his lips were practically brushing the tip of David’s ear. 

“Too…whatever I want?"

David explodes up and out of the chair. Without a word, he’s slinging around and begins digging at it. Clawing off the teeshirt over the backrest, ripping out the cushion of the seat. Under which is part of the wooden carriage, a little box to settle the seat, supported by the lower crossbars. 

David wraps his hand around a little cardboard box, crushing it in his grip to the point it almost rips in two as he hurls it at Paul’s head. It finds its mark with a rattle and a scatter of the little purple and white candies as it bounces off Paul’s forehead, onto the floor. 

Without another word, he flies off, outside, to find some shadowy hidden place to plot some revenge so dark whatever lived in the Mariana’s Trench would be scared of it. 

Paul watches him go, rubbing at his head. There’s a little cut there, from the edge of the package, which Paul swipes a finger against and then sticks into his mouth. There’s an odd haze to it, the consumption of one’s own blood. But that’s fine. He’s got just the chaser. 

Paul scoops up the box on the ground, torn in half, but still plenty of the candy inside. He pops three into his mouth, and slowly grinds them between his teeth. 

“Sweet,” Paul giggles. 

[endursent]

- God Shattering Star

【 content; morax | rex lapis x reader , slow burn , mutual pining , multi-chapter , archon war period , afab!reader 】

【 note; sorry this is a bit behind schedule, super busy work week, several assignments, 3 exams, league worlds finals and dragon age veilguard came out, happy veilguard release guys. | read on ao3 】

【 word count; 7.267 | previous chapter - next chapter | masterlist 】

- Chapter 7 - Desiccation

Thankfully, most of the remaining patients were too sick to care at this point whether you would turn them into decaying ghosts or not, you went between them and worked day and night to cleanse them to the best of your ability while also working as fast as you could.

  You couldn’t explain it, there was… a strange feeling in your chest, similar to the instances you blow the candle in your room on your desk and have to walk to your bed in the darkness, a prickle below your nape, like there’s someone behind you. 

  Maybe you’ve watched too many plays about ghosts and demons, but after the occurrence last week, everyone is on edge. 

  You’ve triple checked, even six times whenever there is a corpse passed to your hands… and none of them have seemed strange to you, and you’ve never failed to detect foul energies within a body… not until that incident with the two possessed corpses. You double check every movement you make, hyper aware of any mistake or oversight that could occur. 

  You take a bucket of bodily fluids gathered from patients to be tossed out back, a cloth tied over your nose and mouth to give some relief from the smell. After setting it by two others from that day, you straighten and stretch your back… urgh, you feel like you’ve been on your hands and knees for days, and you have to an extent, most of the beds have been used for the patients, which leaves some soldiers or workers sleeping on the floors—yourself included. 

 Patting your robes down to make sure nothing got on it, you spot something in the corner of your eyes. 

  A small shape between two trees, partially hidden beneath a bush. You walk towards it curiously, only for your eyes to widen in surprise upon getting a closer look. 

  A dead bird. 

  It’s the same one as before—the one Si Leng had brought to the village, well, it’s probably not the same exact bird, but it’s the same species. You had never seen one of its type before, brown with a white belly and long beak… but you’re not an avid bird-watcher, whether it’s foreign to these parts isn’t your expertise. It is… quite strange to see another identical dead one. Your squat by it to try and sense for any corruption or miasma—and sure enough, it’s riddled with it. Not on the surface as a person would, it’s deeper, festered… it was tainted far before it died. 

  You take a stick off the ground and roll the bird further into the forest, where you make a small burial hole. You don’t have your tools with you, but cleansing such a small body won’t leave much behind. Taking a few minutes out of your day to ensure the surrounding area is safe of festering, tainted corpses brings a bit of change into… ensuring the camp doesn’t have festering, tainted corpses. At least it’s not a person, it makes you feel slightly better… kind of…

  At this point, you just want to stop touching the cold skin of corpses. The only warmth you’ve touched since you arrived here was Rex Lapis’ hand engulfing yours, you keep thinking back to it—though you didn’t touch his skin, separated by the glove of his outfit… but even just that was warm and soft…

  You shake your head. Why are you thinking about this in the middle of the woods, burying a dead animal?

  It is quite strange though. You can’t shake it off that there’s just… something not right.

  You feel like you’re at your breaking point. 

  Your back hurts, your knees hurt, you’re so damn tired… you sit slouched—not helping your back pain—over a delicious and hearty stew that was made for dinner, the warmth of it eases the hunger that had been clawing at you since the morning. You missed lunch and only got a leftover bun because of a patient suddenly screaming about creatures under his skin, and you had helped one of the healers calm him down by performing a fake cleanse… there was nothing truly wrong with him, but telling him that didn’t stop his screams. 

  You don’t really like the western border, you’ve decided. You feel uncomfortable all the time, there’s terrible tension in the air and the lingering corruption surely seeping into the earth all around you will attract trouble soon enough. Not to mention there hasn’t been a glimpse of sun for… how many days? Two weeks? You don’t even really know at this point.

  Tucked in a corner of a large hall that has been reconstructed next to the only building that withstood the tremors, you slowly eat the stew, letting each mouthful linger in your mouth until the oils make your tongue and cheeks gross. 

  The capital is nice, there’s a lot of different foods and people—the things you’ve seen sold in stores and stalls in just a few days are more varied than all you’ve seen since you left your home village. 

  You sometimes wonder if it was ever rebuilt, perhaps an adeptus will know—they seem to travel around a lot… perhaps you should ask, Guizhong might also know, she seemed to have a lot of maps and books in her office… or workshop, you’re still not sure what purpose that cluttered room mainly served. 

  It would be nice to visit if anyone still lives there, to go during winter and take in the cold, fresh air as winds blow from the north. To huddle by a stove as it warms a pot of tea, fur laid over your shoulders to lean your cheek into.

  The hot stew sliding down your throat doesn’t lessen the longing for a home long gone, but you’ve also grown accustomed to wanting, to remembering.

  One of the healers that’s been kind to you in the last days sits down next to you—so close that your shoulders touch. He grumbles something under his breath and digs into his own food… you blink at him, as if waiting for him to say something to you, but he doesn't. “... do you… need something?” you ask hesitantly. 

  He shushes you, and you frown. When he tilts his head towards some people sitting by one of the few tables in the reconstructed hall—now used mainly as a meeting or food hall—you try to listen to their chatter, but they’re too far away to make anything useful out. Bai Tao, as he introduced himself only yesterday after several days of working together, continued eating his food. 

  “... what is it?” you lower your voice, spoon stirring in your bowl absentmindedly. 

  He swallows his mouthful. “They’re talking about you.”

  “Me?” your frown doesn’t lessen as you glance to the table again. “Why?”

  “Ever since the possessed corpses, I don’t know what they’re thinking—but they talk as if you seek to hoard the extracted miasma for yourself,” Bai Tao hums, scooping more stew into his mouth. 

  You’re silent for a moment. “For… what? It’s a corruption that eats at your flesh and rots you from within.”

  “Mh, I don’t think they know themselves,” he hums. “We’ve all heard the occasional story and tale of ghosts and possessed soldiers—but none have ever seen it. Fear, perhaps they’re trying to pinpoint a source.”

  “The source would be the dead god’s essence,” you grumble the words as you stare down at your half-finished meal, your frown deepening. You’ve been working so hard, enough that shadows darken beneath your eyes and your muscles burn with exhaustion… and they think you are causing your own trouble? 

  Bai Tao nods at your words, grumpy as they are. “They’ve never seen a god die either, but they saw corpses stand up and rip a man apart.”

  “...” 

  You suppose that’s fair, but it still riles you up a bit that people are still wary of you… you simply don’t understand it. 

  “Maybe if you show them or tell them how cleansing works,” the healer hums and scrapes the last of his stew from the bottom of the bowl, the sound grates on your ears. “That’s how I figured you weren’t evil.”

  You deadpan at him. “Evil?” you had shown the healers of the outpost how you did the cleansing ritual—mostly because patients have the tendency to scream and flail, and you don’t want them to panic, or you sometimes need an extra pair of hands. “That’s the only reason?” 

  He shrugs. “I dunno’, wouldn’t it seem weird that the miasma that’s been seeping into crops and poisoning people for centuries since this god-war started with no real reprieve or solution for most places… is suddenly, yoinked out of someone and not a problem anymore? Maybe they’ve had parents or grandparents that went through famines or died from it.” 

  It’s not like there’s a lot of cleaners or purifiers out there, you suppose there are places that don’t even know of them. Still… it’s like calling an adeptus evil for healing someone. You recall one story you were told when you were young of a turtle adeptus that had healed a farmer that fell off a steep cliff his crops were by and into a ravine where the adeptus had been resting. Why would anyone consider it strange or evil? Was it because you weren’t ascended to godhood? Was it strange that a normal human could do such things? All cleansers you’ve known—which aren’t many to be fair—have been regular people. 

  “Perhaps,” you muse to yourself, but are still unconvinced. 

  You didn’t think you would stay here for this long, and the laundry service in the capital had been so efficient that you are now painfully reminded of how frequently you must wash your clothes. Tending to injured and afflicted causes a lot of stains…

  You don’t really have a lot of spares either, your basket can only carry so much. 

  Some of the attendants at the outpost use a small river that runs along the eastern side of the camp, but you missed giving it to them this morning, so you’ll have to go yourself if you want to have clean clothes for tomorrow. 

  Before you departed towards the river in the late afternoon, you were stopped by Morax. He approached you with long strides. “I apologise for disturbing your routine, but we must speak for a short while.”

  Surprised by the urgency in his tone, you nod and follow him to a secluded part of the now one-thirds rebuilt outpost. He tugs you next to a pile of wood and takes out the gross, slug-like blob of miasma you took out of that one poor sod’s forehead—he’s already made full recovery now. You squint at the thing in his hand… where did he keep it before you stopped here? “Why is it… so solid? It wasn’t like a slug or snail when it was extracted…”

  “I examined its properties and energies closely, it is not a normal progress of essence turned to foul energies,” Morax explains. “It is tampered with—most of the energy is condensed from the essence left behind of the dead god, but here—” he flips it over with his finger and it wriggles, you scrunch your nose up. Morax points to the ‘belly’ where it looks more green than the blackened brown it is usually. “—are traces of another’s touch.”

  But how can someone come in contact with the essence while it’s falling to the earth like snow? You scratch your head in thought… but can’t really come up with any believable conclusions. 

  Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like Morax thinks you can explain it. “I have yet to examine its origins better, but please be careful when you come in contact with it. Perhaps you should wear gloves…” his eyebrows furrow in thought. “The energy or power of another god reacts differently than their dead residue, if you touch something that behaves strangely, stop and send for me.”

  You nod, but you find it difficult to promise… all the miasma you’ve cleansed here is “strange”. 

  It was immensely difficult to focus on washing your clothes with endless thoughts and theories swirling in your mind, you barely even slept that night—not much less than recently, you suppose. 

  On this day, you’ve been at the southeastern outpost for a month and a half. You’ve seen less and less of Morax recently and heard the general of this Millelith camp that he has other things to tend to than watch over the sick that are already being tended to, or help rebuild a few buildings. 

  He hadn’t said much more regarding the strange development of the miasma, and you didn’t really have anything overtly strange to report to him, the sludgy energy was as gross and wriggling as it has been since you got there.

  Thankfully, the hostility cooled down after the last corpses were carried away and there was no dead to hop off a table and rip your throat out. It wasn’t exactly hugs and kisses upon entering the meal hall, but no one gave you stinky looks anymore—the period of hostility, however, did sour your mood and willingness to help as enthusiastically as you did before.

  However, your weak, throbbing heart can’t really say no when asked to assist. 

  You leave the now rebuilt barracks, and carry out some laundry as well as two buckets again by yourself—at first you forgot to give it to the attendants… but you quickly found that doing it yourself again was rather calming, it gave you some time to think and ponder. As you turn to head towards the river, you spot a white robe and long hair at the corner of your eyes, but as soon as you turn, it’s gone… you thought Morax had been busy with some complications elsewhere? 

  Nonetheless, you’re not about to chase after a phantom of his clothes for answers, you have some of your own to chase dirt and stains out of… you briefly wonder how many of that same robe he has—he wears it a lot… maybe the adepti have an art of instant cleaning? 

  The river the attendants pointed you to the first time is very comfortable to use, there’s soft grass along the edges and the riverbank is only slightly raised. The river is only to the half of your calves so you have to bend quite a bit—but at least the slight current won’t catch you off guard and wash you away. You fold your pants up, forgoing wearing a form of robe for the washing, and fold your sleeves as well. 

  You plop down the two buckets by the shore and dip an undershirt into one of them, lathered with soap, before swirling it around a bit and then dipping it into the moving stream. A few rounds of dipping, squeezing and rinsing as well as slapping your clothes against a moderately large stone. It’s a routinely process, the ambient sounds of the river sliding along your calves and the silence of the surrounding forest gives you room to breathe.

  The air is also much clearer away from the outpost… some patients are on a good road to recovery after the energies were cleansed from their bodies, but the infectious-rotting of the miasma leaves difficult wounds. 

  You feel like you’re at a dead end, no matter how you try and examine the miasma within them, you can’t figure out why it’s so… different. It’s always been alike to dense smoke, a dark slither that creeps under the skin—but now it’s solid, the strange creature that’s been extracted from some of the patients are unlike anything you can explain… surely energies like this don’t evolve?

  A sigh leaves your lips as you toss another cleaned article of clothing into the ‘clean’ bucket and reach for a pair of socks next, you wade further into the river and dip them into the water. 

  Perhaps something changed… could it be a condition to when the god is killed? Perhaps being betrayed by an ally produces a different kind of lingering, foul energies…?

  Rather stumped, you squeeze the water from your socks and dip them again, focusing on what you are doing for a moment. You had barely been doing so for a few minutes when you hear aggressive sloshing in the water—as well as ripples from behind. 

  You had barely turned halfway to look behind you when something heavy slams into your body and tosses you into the water—it’s just barely high enough to not submerge you entirely. A searing pain overcomes your senses, water splashes into your eyes and you can’t make sense of your surroundings or circumstance. Your heart rate soars as a heavy weight presses down on you in the water and you feel an agonising pull on your arm.

  Never have you had particularly effective combat instincts, you can whack away a water sprite with a bamboo stick if you have to… but as sharp teeth enclosed your entire forearm and sharp prickles tear into your torso beneath a body likely thrice your weight, your body doesn’t know what to do. 

  You try to pull your arm back, screams tearing from your throat without you even priming them as the pain intensifies—only seconds pass, but you see the clear snarl of an animal around your arm, dotted fur, and you fumble for a rock in the river, desperately pounding it against its head, but the aggression only makes the leopard shake its head violently, tearing your arm with the movement as you kick and try every flailing movement your body allows. 

  Blood roars in your ears and your sight hazes as the river water bleeds red combined with your own blood, and the blood of the leopard after your rock bashes its eye and it explodes with blood and fluids, your body is firmly pinned under its claws in the water. 

  Fear squeezes your body, muscles tense and movements clumsy in their desperation—you hear the sound of something flying through the air, and a heavy mist of red bursts into the air when a spear penetrates the creature’s head. Despite the visceral sight, the leopard is fully conscious and aggressive even with its head split open to the size of two hands. 

  A bright light emits from around you, and suddenly the animal is pushed away by a blasting force, a translucent, golden shield covers your body half-submerged in the river, water sloshing against the barrier.

  You can barely form a thought, your arm tingles terribly—but you don’t feel the pain you felt before, your mind spins, your head feels light and you struggle to even raise your head from the water gently cradling it a coin’s height from the river floor. 

  You see vague movement before you, but hardly comprehend it, all you can think of is holding your arm—you feel like it’s going to fall apart if you don’t hold it together, even as blood seeps between your fingers and it burns when you touch it, you need to hold it.

  The golden glow around you recedes and water sloshes against you again, a sting of pain surges through you and your body flinches almost violently, water hitting your torso where deep lacerations cut your skin apart makes you want to throw up. Hands take your shoulders and lift you into a sitting position, your pounding heart is so loud in your ears that you can’t hear what he’s saying—but you see those striking eyes, roaring suns slitted by white pupils that seem far larger than you remember. 

  Every muscle in your body is coiled and tense, so stiff that you are like a bent plank in the water, not daring to move any small amount—but at the same time, your body trembles terribly and can’t seem to stay still, despite feeling a burning warmth beneath your skin and no feeling of cold. 

  Morax opens his mouth again, his lips shape your name, but you just stare—you don’t dare look anywhere but his eyes, terrified of the amount of blood mixing with the water beneath you.

  A seizing fear grasps your heart as he turns his head, and the weight of his gaze releases you, he seems to call something to the left, but in your need for something to latch onto, to distract from the fact you can’t move the fingers on your left arm. A sound escapes your dry throat, you’re unsure what you want to say, you just want to see his eyes again. 

  Your vision swims, you feel a pull behind your ears and your body feels far too heavy compared to your head, which feels as if it were floating upwards despite the fact you were stationary. 

  In great need of his gaze, your right hand quickly unlatches off your blood-soaked arm and rises to his face, trying to tug it back—blood smears onto his chin and jaw as he turns his head as soon as he sees the movement in the corner of his eyes. The guiding light is back and despite the violent trembling of your limbs, you feel relief. 

  A warm hand takes yours, vague assurances pass through one ear and leave through the other, you hear his voice—the deep comfort and safety of it, but you cannot understand what he is saying. Morax guides your hand back to your arm, where you instinctively grasp it so tightly a sound of pain leaves you, and his thumb—hand still on yours—slides from your wrist to your palm and presses against the skin, your grasp loosens slightly and the piercing pain of your nails in open wounds lessens.

  The cotton of his outfit, extending into coverings of his entire hand, drags its texture against your skin, before the golden glow of his hands intensifies. A warmth encapsulates your arm, as if you had laid it over a hearth, small dots of glowing light float up from his hand that you squint to try and see better. After a moment, the glow fades, you blink clumsily and have to strain to raise your gaze—but your world spins quickly and your wounds stretch and burn as you are suddenly lifted. 

  You must have cried out, because his arms tighten around your legs and back, and he utters a small apology that sounds closer than you would have expected it to. 

  The world still wobbles around you, and you just barely comprehend your surroundings, trees moving, three other people turning to follow as he moves past whilst holding your weak form—but the rapid movement is too much to keep up with, you close your eyes to fight nausea and disorientation, but even with your eyes closed, you don’t find much comfort. 

  Adrenaline still surges through your veins, and though shock shakes your frame, you manage to retain as much sense as you can. It doesn’t take long to reach the outpost again, but voices begin to ring in every direction and you feel as if you’re in the centre of a crowd of thousands, even as you are laid on a flat surface, your body remains stiff in a bent position—you fight against hands trying to straighten out your body, the pull of your stomach sends stinging burns through your body as open wounds stretch.

  You feel something lay over your forehead and your eyes peer open for the first time since you were taken from the riverside, about five heads are above you, eight hands working to examine, assess and assist. One lays over your forehead, a soft glow emanating from it as Morax stares down at you so intensely you could think you were a perplexing puzzle. Your lips part, you want to ask him what’s wrong—why is he staring at you like that? But no words leave your throat. 

  His bright eyes move to meet yours, your blood is still on his chin and jaw, smeared and still wet. His other hand raises and covers your eyes, blocking your view of the world.

  “Sleep.”

  The wild animal is similarly bathed in blood, head split open and one eye bashed into mush. Despite the fact that it should have dropped dead the second its brain matter splattered into the river, the leopard still stares. 

  Its body is still, wrapped with seals of stasis and suppression. Morax examines it closely, eyebrows furrowed as he searches for the cause of its defiance against death—its heart is still, blood cold and energies depleted. But the body is lathered with sludgy energies, dark and corrupting. It’s far denser than even the miasma you have extracted in the last weeks.

  A wild animal such as this, though intelligent to a degree, does not have the same level of conscious behaviour and experience as some other creatures. All manner of creatures and beings that achieve enlightenment and awareness through specific circumstance, but this leopard portrays no such thought or activity, no matter how he pries into the energies in its body and the flow of thought to its limbs. 

  The corruption and destruction caused by the essence of dead gods is different from the passive energies present in in the world, the hatred spewn from those energies can cause sickness by exposure, famine with infection of crops and manifestations of the unrest left behind in the form of unnatural creatures and monsters… but never has Morax seen it take hold of a living creature and kept it functioning after death. Possessing them like a whisp or ghost could—it is easier for ghosts, as they can simply intwine their souls together, or latch onto it like a parasite with the conscious decision and intent to overtake another. But essence of this sort has no consciousness or desire. 

  His hand touches his chin in thought. Spirits and ghosts cannot possess corpses whose souls have been sent off, and the two bodies that had risen many days ago yet had their spirits slumbering within. 

  Morax cannot rule out the possibility that if enough essence is scattered over a land and rejoined in a condensed space can form a consciousness, perhaps a shadow of its former self—but enough to seek form and lash out. He supposes it’s not entirely unreasonable, gods, much like other creatures, have souls… but due to the strength and ambition that are required to hold such a title, once they are killed—gods rarely die from other causes—their energies and soul are released suddenly, the pressure of their power so condensed within a small space they are scattered over a long distance. 

  As such… can it be excluded that many powerful manifestations of monsters and demons are simply a large shard of a soul reformed? Where all essence that landed into a river converges at the end of the stream, creating common monsters that drag unsuspecting children and attendants into the waters?

  The sound of a soft breeze sounds behind Morax, his hand lowers from his chin at the presence that arrived. “What have you found?”   Xiao remains in his position, knelt with one knee on the ground and the other only bent for his hand to rest on it, his head lowered and eyes on the grass. “There are several other animals that exhibit similar behaviour and energies. Thus far have I found three birds, two squirrels, eight primates and one elk.”

  The types of animals are too varied for it to have any correlation he can reasonably theorise about. 

  “Continue observing the wildlife, it would be ideal to see it develop from the first point of infection,” Morax orders, he finally turns to look at the adeptus behind him. “Inform the other yakshas as well, be on alert for strange formations of corruption.”

  “Yes, lord Rex Lapis,” Xiao nods, and disappears as quickly as he appeared, leaving only swaying grass behind where he had been. 

  Morax turns back to the constrained leopard, the grass beneath its body was dark and wilting, its mere presence in proximity to life withering it away. With a clench of his fist and a bright light, the body evaporates—and so does the corrupt energy within it.

  The hall reserved for injured and corrupted is busier than it has been in recent days, it is almost exactly as it had been the morning after the essence rained down on them. The head healer hurries towards him as soon as he sees Morax enter the building. “My lord…”

  “Any progress?” he doesn’t wait for the healer to stutter out whatever he was going to say, they aren’t given generous time. 

  The healer shakes his head. “Nothing—the corruption blocks any form of healing or magical properties, we can only bind the wounds traditionally so long as the energies remain… and they only continue to spread, like an infection creeping further.”

  Morax’s eyes move from the man’s face to the table where three healers are working above your body, he looks back to the head healer. “Prepare her for transportation, she needs to be brought to the capital with the next cart.”

  “Transportation? M-my lord, in that condition, there’s no way—” the man cuts himself off, of course, there’s nothing they can do, die here or on the way, at least there would have been an attempt. The healer nods and leaves to fetch necessities. 

  Approaching the hard table you lie on, your eyes are closed, expression flat and neutral—no peace nor agony, perhaps a mercy. 

  He had tried to heal you immediately upon arrival in the river, but all energies that flowed from his hands into your body evaporated as soon as it came in contact with your skin. Though his skill in healing is adequate, it’s far from his expertise—and after trying different methods of prying his energy into you, be in simply laying it over the wound as is successful in most cases, reaching out for your own and intertwining it with his or even forcefully pushing it into you, it fizzled to nothing as soon as it got too close. 

  Of course, Morax already knows adepti arts of healing are useless so long as the corruption remains, the heavy foul energy negates any neutral or positives one might try to inject… but there were few options but to try until he deemed it safe to move you. 

  Without a cleanser in the outpost now that you are out of commission, you will have to be sent back to the capital—though the fastest way would be for an adeptus to transport you, either flying or moving you quickly would be dangerous with your wounds due to the change in pressure, and thus a supervised ride is safer. 

  You need proper care by healers that are experienced in prolonged care and recovery, outpost healers mostly deal with immediate injuries, all fatally wounded or dangerously so soldiers are sent back to the capital for treatment. 

  Though his healing magic was ineffective, he could manipulate your spirit to rest despite the desperate work of your body to constantly keep you alive. It could focus on fighting the corruption with your mind asleep… and spares you the agony. 

  He sets his hand over your forehead again, the perpetual glow of his hand intensifying momentarily as he examines your properties… your body is fighting with all it has, the wounds aren’t closing or clotting despite how the healers tried to sew shut major gashes and torn skin. Despite an artery being torn to shreds in the maw of the leopard, the flow of blood leaving your body hasn’t been as devastating as expected… it was strange.

  Thankfully, the cart that arrived with the usual supplies arrived only an hour ago and would depart soon, Morax looked up as he felt a soft thrumming he hadn’t felt before. He moved his hand from your forehead and hovered it over your throat and then chest, but couldn’t locate where it was coming from. 

  Interrupted by the head healer coming back and ordering the rest of them to prepare you for transportation, Morax decided to investigate it further later and turned to help the healers prepare you. You were wrapped with several blankets, as the trip will stretch into the evening and though spring has arrived, your weak body won’t produce much body heat for itself in its current state. 

  You can’t see anything, it’s all dark. 

  No matter how you squint, open or close your eyes—you can’t move either, it’s like something heavy surrounds your body and presses it into a still position, unable to even drag an arm or leg.

  You hear heavy thumping above you, footsteps—several… heavy and strong, likely full grown adults.

  You… are underground, the weight around you smells like soil and stone, it feels wet and dense. A claustrophobic fear clutches at your chest, but no matter how you try and move, how you try to speak or breathe, you are unable to. All you can do is exist beneath the earth.

  The thump of footsteps continues endlessly, an army of boots marching over you, the soil gets denser and denser with every weight that presses down on it. You don’t sink further down into the earth, you only feel your body being squeezed, flattened further and further until you think your eyes will pop out of their sockets.

  The sound of footsteps continues around you, you still feel as if there are heaps of earth over you, but your chest rises and falls without resistance from the ground. Something wet lands on your cheek and your expression pinches, you fight to open your eyes, the heavy weight of deep sleep trying to pull you back under—but you don’t want to return to that grave, to that prison beneath the earth. 

  A grey, darkening sky meets your eyes, mild drops of rain padding down to the ground. Something is pulled over the walls of the cart and it catches any stray drops that would have otherwise landed on your face. You can’t see who it was, or what’s around you, the cloth blocks both rain and view. You can hear distant chatter but it’s difficult to make out exactly what they’re saying.

  Your body feels heavy and stiff, but you have no desire to move it. You don’t particularly feel pain, but you don’t really feel anything at all, neither are you thinking of what you’re doing or what is happening. You see a cloth above you and hear distant voices.

  Perhaps this is another dream.

  You blink, and a different view greets your eyes, there are fingers prying your eyelids open and another eyeball strangely close to your own. 

  “Hm, pupils seem normal,” a strangely familiar voice says. “Brain has a good circulation of blood but the skin has lost much pigmentation,” fingers prod at your skin in different places. “The spread is the problem, see here? It’s several centimetres away from the laceration, and if it’s gotten so far horizontally, the affliction has likely sept vertically through delicate organ space as well.”

  “Can’t we just take them out, cleanse the organs and put them back in?”

  “No…?”

  Another blink and you see something sharp hovering within sight—somewhere dangerously close to your body. “H-ha—?!” you make a vague sound of surprise and urgency, your body tensing, a sharp surge of pain spreads through your body and knocks your breath from your throat. 

  “I’m cutting stitches—stop moving,” Ground Mender stands above you, a white cloth over the bottom half of her face as usual. “We’ve extracted four jars worth of miasma from your body, enough that your wounds are clotting, but it keeps building up again.”

  You somewhat take in the information she’s giving, but at the same time, you’re not entirely sure what she’s talking about. You can hardly feel anything, you only feel a small slide as the small scissors touch your skin with the blunt back, but you don’t feel the coldness of them at all. 

  “How do you feel? Describe it,” the adeptus orders as she sets the cut stitches aside. 

  “... dunno,” you don’t really know what to say, it’s hard to tell, your head feels as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton, any thought that starts fizzles away quickly. “Uncomfortable.”

  She says nothing for a few seconds. “Dizzy?”

  “A little,” it’s difficult to say exactly unless you’d try to sit up. “Like…” your voice fades, you’re not sure what you were about to say.

  Your body is heavy as stones, you feel so weak you can barely move your eyes to the right and left, there is a strange feeling to your limbs, somehow restless, but also severely tense—like you endlessly have to stretch them, but you can’t move a muscle. 

  “Hm, perhaps some confusion, it’s not unlikely,” Ground Mender hums. “Rest, no use wasting energy just to suffer.”

  You don’t feel particularly tired, but rest comes easy nonetheless as soon as you close your eyes again. 

  Some time later, two nursing attendants wake you, panicking and asking what feels like a mountain of questions, but you don’t comprehend any of them—one tries to help you to sit up, but a pain so visceral prickles in your stomach that you immediately throw up, thankfully on the floor and not the poor attendant. They bring something for you to sit on and manage to get it through to you that they want you to relieve yourself, as you reportedly haven’t used a bathroom since you arrived back at the capital and that you would do harm to yourself if you held it for longer.

  You recall not using a bathroom for longer than that. 

  The next day is plagued with endless streams of waking and sleeping, sometimes because Ground Mender came to prod at you again for whatever reason, other times to measure vital signs and whether the miasma has spread further than before… which is about a two hour window. 

  It’s impossible to tell whether it’s day or night in the medical ward beneath the palaces, there’s no windows nor does noise carry from above.

  You’re unsure how long you laid on that cot, several days at least, perhaps a week. 

  The ceiling had become your usual spot to stare at between sleep and checkups, Ming Hui had brought you some books that Guizhong picked out… but while you would usually jump at the chance to read from a god’s personal library, you couldn’t find the mental nor physical strength to even consider it. Your body, though slowly healing, was still entirely focused on itself and gave you little leeway in return. 

  You broke out of your haze when a familiar shape of colours approached. Morax was wearing a different robe than usual, though similarly coloured to the ones you’ve seen before, a dark earthy hue with golden highlights, it was several layers and felt more formal than the primarily white one he wore at the outpost. 

  He says your name in greeting, his expression tight. Before you can reply, Ground Mender joins the two of you with a board and paper that you’ve seen several times before. “We removed a lot of the foul energies that had spread far across your skin, but have yet to extract what has spread vertically. Thankfully the lacerations on the stomach weren’t deep enough to do lasting damage to any organs—”

  You blink in their direction… are they talking about you? 

  “—but they are deep nonetheless, the stitches held them well on the way and now that the body has caught up somewhat, it has begun closing them and there is little loss of blood at the moment—”

  “Hey…” you mumble, eyebrows pinched. “Can we… slowly? Fewer words…?” 

  Ground Mender shares a look with Morax, who nods. She lowers the board in her hands to her side. “The animal’s claws sliced the skin of your abdomen in seven places, and it nearly tore your arm off,” she pauses, but you just stare at her. When she doesn’t continue, you look down… your arm is still there, you’re looking at it—all fingers attached as well, though it’s covered in a thick bandage. Ground Mender continues. “It was in bad shape, an artery was torn to shreds in two places, it chewed on—”

  “Shook its head like a dog with a toy,” you corrected, though it doesn’t truly matter which, the sight of it shaking its head violently, accompanied with the agonising pain as you thought it would tear it clean off, played before your eyes. 

  “... right. There could be severe damage to nerves and muscle that won’t be obvious until you’re healthy enough to move properly, we’ll do tests with squeezing and moving your wrist later,” Ground Mender sighed, she brought her board back up to look at it. “Ming Hui will perform a cleansing tomorrow morning, and over this week we will be extracting the miasma from your body.”

  “Is it a lot?” you ask, you’ve seen patients react to cleanings, the terrible pain and screams that left their throats at the outpost when you dragged a slimy condensed part out… 

  Morax spoke this time. “It is worse than even the recently afflicted,” he says firmly, but not unkindly—he doesn’t want you to be unprepared. “The leopard’s saliva got into your arm and bloodstream directly, injecting the energy into you. We will discuss the developed properties of the miasma later.”

  You nod slightly, as much as you trust yourself to. Ground Mender bows and excuses herself, leaving the two of you behind. Your eyes slide closed, somehow exhausted after just a conversation, but you open them again when Morax moves closer. You watch as his hand hovers over your bandaged arm for a moment, then gently lays the tips of his fingers onto your forearm. “... do you feel this?”

  He carefully applies a bit of pressure, just enough that you barely see his fingers move. 

  “...” you… kind of feel it? You think? Perhaps it’s just because you’re looking at him touch you. He applies brief pressure thrice in a rhythm and you feel that better. “Ah, yes,” you mumble out, and he removes his hand. “Not much… but I did. Probably just sore…”

  “I see, thank you,” you’re not sure why he thanked you, but Morax straightened again. “I must apologise. A wild animal—especially corrupted as it was—should not have made it through my barrier, or come so close to the outpost without my knowledge. My oversight placed your life in danger and has led to injury.”

  You stare up at him, his unreadable, stone firm expression contrasting with the intensity of his gaze. It’s difficult to read what he’s thinking from his eyes alone, even if they are the most expressive part of his face at this moment. The molten gold that you sought comfort and stability stares into your own eyes. “It’s not your fault.”

  He doesn’t seem surprised by your answer, but neither does it seem like he particularly wanted it either. “It is my duty to protect my people. All of them.”

  His words are resolute, and you wouldn’t dare nor had you any intention of questioning them. You lack words to express your thoughts, but your thoughts aren’t particularly clear either, you’re tired. Your body is uncomfortable and you want to take it off. 

  Morax’s shoulders seem to ease somewhat, he takes a breath and nods. “My apologies, I should allow you rest. You will need all the peace you are given,” he gives you a longer look before turning and leaving, you see him say something to Ground Mender across the hall in the corner of your eyes before you close them again. 

[muscari-melpomene]

So anyway here's this, @kalcifers-blog and @the-pastel-kitsune encouraged me so blame them for this tooth-rotting fluff getting posted lol

"-don't want to wake him up, he's-"

"-telling you, mate, he sleeps like the dead-"

"-long are you in town, anyway? I didn't-"

Marvin heaved a sigh of utter contentment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been relaxed enough to drift like this, skimming the surface of consciousness and only catching a few words here and there through the warm haze that surrounded him. Once in a while he'd feel a gentle hand in his hair or against his back, careful and soothing. It felt nice. It felt safe. He shifted a little to tuck himself down further into bed-

And jolted awake with a wince and an irritable growl as something tugged sharply on his hair.

"Shit," said Chase, "my bad."

Marvin lifted his head to glare sleepily at Chase, who gave him an apologetic smile from where he sat cross-legged by Marvin's shoulder. The pillow Marvin had been draped over shook slightly, and he looked down at it in bewilderment only to find one of Sunday's sleep shirts.

"Up here, Marv," Sunday's voice. hummed, and Marvin glanced up. Apparently his pillow was Sunday. The other magician was sitting up against the headboard of the bed, and Marvin's arms were looped around his middle. Marvin's face must have been buried in his chest.

"You're laughing at me," Marvin observed. He'd meant for it to sound severe and accusing, but clearly it had come out closer to petulant, because Sunday was now pressing his lips together in an effort not to prove Marvin right.

"Sorry," he grinned, not apologetic in the slightest, "we didn't mean to wake you, it's just..." his eyes darted to the top of Marvin's head, then back down to meet his eyes.

"Just what?" Marvin pressed, propping himself up on his elbows in an effort to regain some of his dignity. Chase snickered.

"You tell him," said Sunday, looking to Chase, "it's your bloody fault he's awake anyway-"

"It was an accident," Chase protested, grinning brightly, "my hand got caught and then he moved-"

"Oh," said Marvin snappishly, "so it's my fault, then?"

"Right on the money, babe."

"You're an ass," Marvin told him. Chase leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his forehead, then a rather longer one to his lips. Marvin was a bit more awake by the time he pulled back, and having much more trouble maintaining his glare.

"You love me," Chase hummed, brushing a strand of hair out of Marvin's face. Marvin sighed heavily.

"If I must."

"You must."

"That is not what I sound like-"

"It was pretty close, actually."

"Shut up, Sunday."

Sunday put a hand to his chest, affronted. "Shut up?" he parroted, "you tell me to shut up when you're the reason my back feels like it'll never un-bend?"

Marvin surveyed Sunday's position propped up against the headboard. It didn't look particularly comfortable for him, but... well, Marvin didn't particularly want him to move, either.

"...You put yourself there," he muttered sullenly. Sunday rolled his eyes and smacked Marvin lightly in the head. Marvin frowned. That had felt strange...

"What's on my head?" he asked.

Sunday had to bite his lip against another round of snickering, and Chase just sighed fondly. Marvin reached up to feel at his head.

"...Is that a braid?" he asked incredulously, and Sunday lost his composure, laughing so hard he curled up with it and dislodged Marvin, who expressed his displeasure at being moved by rolling over into Chase. Chase pulled Marvin into his arms in response, and started messing with his hair again.

"In my defense," he murmured, "it's really soft, and I really wanted to play with it."

"It isn't yarn, and you're not a cat."

"But you look so pretty," Chase teased. Marvin shoved at him, but not hard enough to dislodge himself again. He was almost as comfortable tucked against Chase as he had been draped over Sunday, and he wasn't particularly eager to have to move again. He let his head fall against Chase's shoulder, and reveled in tolerated the feeling of having his hair braided. Sunday, now recovered from his hysterics, crawled over to their spot on the bed, bringing along a blanket, and settled in beside Chase.

"You can go back to sleep," he told Marvin, leaning in to kiss his cheek, "the shop's closed, and we're not needed by the Circle today."

His voice was soft and amused, but held the all too familiar undercurrent of worry people seemed to think necessary when talking to Marvin: the unspoken, you can rest, you need to lie down, you should get some more sleep, you've been working too long.

Usually, that tone made Marvin twitchy. No one ever seemed to understand that his work was more important than an extra hour or two of sleep, the feats of magic he could accomplish far more captivating than any dream...

...But here, for this one morning, warm and comfortable curled up against Chase with the other's hands in his hair, with Sunday stroking a hand across his shoulders and expertly locating and beginning to knead out a knot of tension just below his left shoulder blade... Marvin couldn't say that being told to relax for a while bothered him.

He let his eyes fall shut, and practically purred under the attention of his two favorite people to tolerate.

Heyo JSE/ALTRverse community, you've heard of Sunspell, now get ready for Sunshotspell, in which Marvin both Deserves two boyfriends and Needs the Combined Worrying Power of two boyfriends to keep him from doing stupid shit that might get him killed. In which Chase and Sunday get along unexpectedly well and are each other's auxiliary brain cells and Marvin's only brain cells. In which Chase is a complete normie and constantly dazzled by his boyfriends' magical abilities. In which Sunday forces Chase and Marvin both to accept that they Deserve Good Things In Life.

Anyway who wants to read over 3000 words I spontaneously vomited into a discord server of Sunday, Marvin and Chase being Somft and Cute. Anyone. Nobody. Ok

[grumpyghostdoodles]

So this (https://www.tumblr.com/grumpyghostdoodles/745037754457636864/that-other-anon-has-just-made-me-think-about-some) post made me think that just any revived human has this issue like it’s a curse.

Well, originally Clover just had bigfoot syndrome and cant get a decent pic and Chara was just ungodly unphotogenic, BUT NOW ...!

Of COURSE im gonna take a chance to bet my fav characters with an angst bat, its one of my fav hobbies!

The curse: As long as they are even remotely aware that there is a camera, they will just be their usual unphotogenic selves, no weird things happening, those two just truly cant pose for a pic to save their lives. BUT, if they are not aware that they are getting a photo taken, well, theres a chance that it might come out....different

(Post1, Post2 and Post3 that asks are referring to)

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Freaking HAUNTED by the scenario of Cassie falling for the Mimic's act in the elevator and she comes back from it so, so, SO freaking scared but also so so SO freaking biased and spiteful and ANGRY she tries getting back at Gregory in the way that would hurt him even more than just 'paying in the same coin', by taking away from him exactly what he loves the most by trying to get Freddy destroyed. 💀 (definitely not a route I think Cassie would truly dive into but boy ain't it an interesting one none the less! 👀)

It also doubles as a way to free Roxy and the others from Freddy as well!! Two birds one stone!!

However... I've never heard the saying 'paying in the same coin' so I'm not entirely sure what it means, but I can take a pretty good guess. Not to be contrarian but what makes you think destroying Freddy wouldn't be doing the same thing Gregory did? He destroyed Roxy, Chica and Monty, and it was his voice telling him to deactivate Roxy for good to come and save him. After shutting her down, and her coming back to throw herself at Mimic for Cassie, Gregory tried to make it all for nothing by dropping her.

All of Roxy's damage falls on his shoulders, both before and after Cassie came into the picture. He didn't even care, did he? And neither did Freddy so really, this is the best vengeance she can hope for. She deals with the animatronic that Roxy keeps saying she'll kill if she ever sees him again, and hits Gregory where it really fucking hurts. Two revenge plans one stone!

And you're so right, Cassie would probably not go down that road... But ya know she might at least be a little tempted given Roxy's aggression over it. She keeps giving her ideas damn it she doesn't want them!!! Roxy can take them and do whatever she wants with them, Cassie doesn't wanna do it!!! And it works out cause Roxy doesn't have the fucking balls to go all the way with a murder plan anyway so no one gets hurt!!!

I guess that's a lose lose scenario ngl though...

This reminds me of a scenario I had the idea for a little bit ago when we were last talking about this stuff! (That got a bit long here so I'll add a read more for convenience)

The idea is that Vanessa, Gregory and Freddy return as quick as they can to try and save Cassie and instead find Roxy, once again guarding the door, Mini swarm in the shadows around them. She's obviously more damaged than before so it's a bit more difficult, but she's doing her best not to fall off the barriers she's stood on over the door and I've just had the idea of Minis holding onto her in the dark like training wheels. Aside from them, she's completely alone.

Vanessa talking is a shock to her and she's beyond happy to hear she's okay and most importantly, was freed. Surprisingly touched by her running to help her too... Just fucking snaps at Gregory and Freddy to shut the fuck up whenever they say anything cause she doesn't give a flying shit what they have to say. Vanessa hurries though, asking how she got away from that thing down there and tells her that Gregory's friend Cassie was down there too, what happened??

Yeah uh. Roxy says nothing for a while and Gregory gets impatient and tries to run at the door. The Minis grab him and the swarm just kinda take him away, literally up the fucking wall and take some pictures with an old Fazcam so Roxy can see it later lmao she's actually devastated she can't see this happening right now. Anyway, Roxy's like "what do you THINK happened?" and since she won't say anything else, they naturally, assume the fucking worst. She doesn't correct them or say another word. Just tells Freddy and Gregory that they've done enough fucking damage and to get out before she throws them out...

Oh yeah Gregory is fucking pissed. Why didn't she save her?! Why is Roxy out here when Cassie isn't?! What kind of useless animatronic is she that she couldn't save one kid?! What, is she only good at killing kids?! Is that it?! He's so fucking mad and Roxy just lets him rant and rave, the Minis stopping him for her every time he makes a run at the door until Freddy takes him away. He says he's disappointed in her, but that he's not surprised and that makes her seethe but she doesn't say anything until she hears Vanessa leaving. She stops her and when they're alone, she tells Vanessa the truth.

Cassie is in bad shape. Mimic is dead and they barely made it out, but her dad took her to hospital a little before they got here. Vanessa - who was in tears already - is so fucking relieved, but then asks why Roxy didn't say anything earlier. She tells her the truth as she knows it. That Cassie was here trying to save him. That Mimic lured her here as him, and at the end, Gregory said he couldn't risk being followed, and dropped the fucking lift with Cassie in it.

Now that doesn't make sense to Vanessa. She may not have been there for that last bit but they didn't rush all the way over here for nothing. Roxy can't exactly answer why he'd want to come back here, but she reminds her what he and Freddy did to all of them and points out that this would hardly have been out of the ordinary for him.

And so, you now have a situation where Vanessa doesn't know what to believe. She knows Roxy wouldn't lie about something like that and even if she did, she's a fucking awful liar. But she's clearly angry enough to let him think Cassie is dead and not give a shit... And she says it's to make sure he doesn't try it again so she's also asking Vanessa not to say a word. She can't do that! She can't just let a kid think his friend is dead because of him! ... But she's right in thinking this may not be completely out of the ordinary for him... But he wouldn't do that to someone he would run to the rescue of, right?? Gregory wouldn't do that, she knows him well enough to know that now!!

You see what's happened here? Now Vanessa is in the middle. If she doesn't say a word, Gregory will forever think Cassie got killed trying to save him. If she tells him and it turns out Roxy is right, then what if he tries again?

I feel she'd tell him, but no matter what, Roxy just straight up telling the truth to Vanessa, his current guardian, and not to him would cause so much pain. He could have been there screaming at her and she didn't say a fucking word because in her mind, this is nothing compared to what he's put all of them and Cassie through. And what happens if she does die in hospital?? What then?? She can't lie and say she's fine when she's not anyway!! She doesn't know shit!!

But ya get me with this? It's emotional revenge enacted at the end of Roxy's very long day in the pizzeria graveyard. Minimal effort required, with Vanessa unfortunately in the middle, but Vanessa is always welcome here. Roxy won't blame her for whatever she chooses to do, because at the end of the day, Roxy's done her job. Whether Gregory or Freddy believes it or not, she did her job.

She's really fucking glad she couldn't see his reaction though, she wouldn't have been able to keep her mouth shut if she had. Like most of the others, she can't bare to see a kid in genuine pain and she knows damn well how much her silence caused...

But yeah, you just got me thinking about that again. It's a spur of the moment thing for Roxy, inspired partly by the fact she's not good with words and doesn't really know how to approach this anyway. It's been a long day and her lack of words just turned into this and she's not even a little bit sorry. I think Cassie would appreciate the sentiment of keeping her safe from a second attempt on her life. And feel a bit bad that she takes some satisfaction in hearing how devastated Gregory was over it...

The picture of him being held from his ankles on the ceiling by the Minis is pretty good revenge too. They're proud of that one lmao

[meatriarch]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[screampied]

#BLOODLINE! s. ryōmen + c. kamo

☆ sum. when they’re both 10s but they’re also vampires. hungry blood-thirsty vampires who’ll stop at nothing to claim you. with how sweet you taste though, maybe humans aren’t so bad after all.

wc. 7.8k

warnings. fem! reader, thrēesomes, vampires! sukuna + choso, pwp, amateur's take on vampires, unprotected, cowgirl dp, manhandling, spīt-roasting, biting, dumbification, size kinks, fighting over you, brēeding kink, mentions of bloōd, implied marathons, fīngering, squīrting, pussydrunk men, cunnīlingus, hair pulling, choking, mistress kink, petnames.

➤ kinktober mlist!

this was crazy - no, this was insane.

not everyday do you have a century plus old vampire between your legs — a vampire who you were actually supposed to exterminate for a pricey reward that was held over his head. both heads. but oh, you were so screwed. not even three days in of getting your official vampire hunter license and you already failed.

rule number one stupid girl: never fuck the vampire. rule number two: never fuck the vampires, plural.

but, you had a scent on you. an alluring fresh scent that made the sukuna ryomen fall weak to his knees. the fragrant—whatever it was smelled very lush with a sprinkled spice of vanilla. it irked him badly, and what irked him the most was the simple fact that he was feeling quite . . parched.

he’s starved, and it’s been a while since he’s had a quenched thirst and satisfied appetite. vampires usually had it rough—especially sukuna, because he’d usually spend most of his years hibernating, and he could live without blood . . for a certain amount of years before he comes well, feral.

but that all changed until you came along, and long story short—here you were sprawled out over his throne with your legs wide open.

“woman,” he snarls, buried right between your thighs. sable honed claws gingerly caress against your skin before his long tongue drags itself out of your pudgy folds. “spread your cunt f’r me before i bite it off.”

“what if i’m into that?” you sheepishly hum, feeling a tear of sweat trickle down your quirked brow. but right as you let off your cheeky remark, a big hand swats at your sopping entrance hard, earning a whimper from your mouth. so wet, your squelches ring through his rusted victorian walls.

sukuna snarls at you, crimson ruby eyes boring into your soul practically before with a sobbing creak, his chamber door opens. the hinges were whining as it unbolts and peeked out was whom you assumed to the other vampire, kamo choso.

you did research on them both—especially choso.

even though both of them were classified as dangerous notorious special grades with huge bounties placed on each of their heads dead or alive, choso was worth far more. you always did want to know why though.

he’s even prettier than person. choso was dressed in nothing but dark toned yet elegant dim clothing. both of their styles were strictly victorian-esque. choso’s hair was slightly matted and down, flowing past his tense shoulders. as unkempt dark strands went through his eyes, it created an attractive a shaggy wolf cut look. “oh,” he timidly murmurs, his eyes averting toward sukuna then at you.

a human,

his heart started to race and he could feel the inside of his mouth salivate with a minuscule amount of water. choso openly stares for a lengthy amount of seconds before nibbling on his tongue with his fangs. with the way he scoffs under his breath and how his body language grows stiff — you can tell, he’s jealous.

“am i .. interrupting, sukuna?”

sukuna groans internally, his tongue still attached to your swollen clit. you were close—he knew it from the way your breathing patterns started to grow irregular and you were struggling to stay still. as your feeble fingers resume to spread your soddened folds further apart for him, he slurps you clean, making all sorts of sloppy noises leave from his think pink lips. “mhm,” and he gives his comrade a side eye. “c’mere, choso. greet our new meal—eh, special guest.”

choso’s gaze never leaves yours, and as he tucks his head underneath his cape, he kneels down beside sukuna. “h- hi,” he swallows thickly, trailing his bloodshot irises that dramatically dilated each second he spent staring at your body.

god, were you pretty.

“hi ch— fuck,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s fangs delicately brush near your cunt. it almost tickled but you weren’t laughing, and your thighs were on the verge of snapping shut. choso stands there, watching as his own whetted fangs dig into his pouty bottom lip. “choso, do you wanna try too?”

“can i?” he blurts eagerly, but he gets flustered the second he sees your lips curving into a soft smile. after all, embarrassment was always his best friend.

choso’s kneeled right beside sukuna and he has an almost scowl marinating against his facial features. with a grumpy glower, he’s watching his partner act so greedy. the pink haired vampire’s got a chin that’s just streaming with slick and he can’t help but pout.

it’s probably been decades since he—since they encountered a vampire hunter, and now you were here. not only that, but choso was the entire opposite of sukuna. he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a woman. “i mean . . is it okay, miss?”

sukuna snickers, briefly breaking his lips away before strumming a fat thumb down your drooling slit. “tch. such a wuss,” and his reddened gaze meets yours as a sly smile twists across the crevices of his lips. “excuse him. he’s a bit, heh, inexperienced.”

“that’s not—” it was, and choso lets off a cute frustrated huff but his demeanor softens the moment you claw a hand through his slightly matted wolfcut. dozens of loose tresses twirl between your fingers and he lets off a quiet purr, leaning into your touch. “mhm,” and he looks up at you—then at your pretty swollen cunt that was just pulsing second after second.

so pretty, it almost looks like a flower. easily akin to a vanilla orchid—he found himself about to drool the more he stared. choso was just millimeters away from a single taste and he couldn’t help but moan once he abruptly got a strong whiff of your candied balmy scent.

“it’s okay,” you murmur, trailing your middle finger down his tender scalp. sukuna’s right beside him, rolling his eyes whilst licking his spit-slick lips. as you remain slouched on sukuna’s primeval throne—your legs sprawl out just a bit wider and you bite your lip. “give it a little kiss.”

“y- yes, miss,” choso utters, and your eyes flicker down toward his lips. perfectly shaped—they have somewhat of an almost natural pout as they purse together—rosy pink and quivering in anticipation.

as he moves his face closer between your legs, you let off a gasp once his plump wet lips gradually smooch against your clit. “hng,” he groans, the sap of your own slick stringing against his mouth. choso can’t help but sneak his tongue down your pulsating clit for a better taste and oh, the way his eyes rolled back. “s- so good.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, growing impatient as his sharpened claws dig into the thin wooly fabric of his burgundy-black cloak.

“that’s it—good, yeah,” you softly coo out, tightening your grip against his head just a little.

choso had no clue what he was doing and it was adorable. his tongue was just as long as sukuna’s, mirroring the same forked-like shape. the softly spiky texture makes you squirm and writhe, feeling pleasurable twinges surge all throughout every inch of your body.

“fuuckk,” you gasp, feeling him suck against your clit. it’s overly sensitive, and he moans, feeling you throb right in his mouth. “mhm, suck there. right there, baby.”

baby, he wasn’t used to such words of affection. petnames, what you might call it. choso’s pointed ears cutely twitch and his nose wrinkles the second his sucking steadily intensifies. “mpmh,” and you can feel him taking a few seconds to sniff against your cunt once more.

“he gets off to being praised,” sukuna huskily jabbers, watching choso turn absolutely pussy drunk within seconds. you could tell just from his expressions alone. that sly yet sleazy grin compressing near the corners of his mouth, hooded eyes and drooling profusely from the sides of his mouth—

yeah, he was entirely weak. weak for you.

as his tongue slowly massages its way between the cracked slit of your pussy, he feels your grip in his hair tighten. “does he?” you utter, and you can hear a shuddering breath leave from choso’s mouth.

he swallows thickly again, wondering when the part was gonna come. the part where you’d finish your job, your mission—out of all the vampire hunters he’s stumbled across, he’s never been between one’s legs . . let alone being spared.

but he wasn’t complaining, not at all.

“mhm,” the older vampire sukuna grumbles, teasingly wrapping a hand around choso’s broad neck. choso moans from his touch too, and sukuna brushes a thumb down the valley of his sensitive scalp. “he can’t help it. praise him once and he’ll finish right on the spo—”

“s.. sukuna,” choso glares, still having a mouth full of your cunt.

the squelches you made from each succulent suckle was quite loud, constantly reverberating through the ancient chamber walls. but oh, your taste was simply divine. unlike any cuisine he’s ever tried. choso would rate your pussy five stars if he could.

you’re so wet — sopping a pretty cascading stream that flows down his chiseled chin to where he’s literally just drowning in your cunt. choso was a quick learner though, despite having little to no experience.

a raw breath rips out of your lungs once you feel your thighs grow weak. his tongue extends a bit inside of your cunt, curling it’s way around and in zigzags to make your toes curl in surprising rapture.

“f- fuck, like that,” you whimper out, and suddenly a dark silhouette overshadows you. slowly, your eyes look up to see sukuna standing right over you with a cunning toothy leer.

your eyes rove down his dark cloak that covers his body entirely, although you couldn’t help but want to see more.

like mentioned before—you’ve done your research about them both. as a vampire hunter, it was well, required.

sukuna had to be over a few thousand years old with choso not that far from behind. “silly, silly woman,” he tsks with a taunting head shake.

sukuna cups your chin and you moan once choso’s hooked nose starts to brush up and down against your clit.

you meet the eyes of a blood-thirsty vampire who’s got the most smuggest grin you’ve ever seen. “you know,” his voice seductively pitches low, and the rough bass that smooths underneath his tone makes you feel a wave of butterflies swarm near the pit of your stomach. a thumb swipes against your glossed lips before he bends, getting right close to your face level. “usually, this is the part where you kill us, you know that, right?”

“i—know,” and for a second, you nearly let off a mewl once you feel choso’s fangs softly nip against your tender cunt.

you were throbbing heavily, and he’s just slobbering all over your entrance just to lap it right back up back with his tongue like the feral animal he was.

it was cute how conflicted you were — your eyes didn’t know where to look, whom to focus on, nothing. .

even so, as your back remains reclined back against the timber-made throne, your brows furrow. he’s right, moments ago you should have pulled out your stake or firearm, getting rid of them and collecting quite a delicious sum of bounty for both of their heads - dead or alive.

but, as the thought struck you — why, why didn’t you finish them off. what’s stopping you?

you didn’t know, and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

besides, it was technically only the first few days of your new job and something internally was screaming at you that this probably wasn’t your right field of expertise anyway.

and the fact that the ‘target’ you were supposed to eliminate was propped up between your legs was . . something.

hell, maybe it was even a sign.

“oh, i see,” sukuna huffs, sliding a thumb across your pursed lips, wanting your pout crease more. cute. “you want more, that right, stupid girl?” a rough voice purrs out to you, and he can see the pout starting to form over your lips once you give him a slow nod. “yeah, yeah you do,” and he looks down at choso who’s got his pretty flapping lashes closed, sliding a hand inside of his cloak.

he’s groaning against your cunt, stroking himself off and whimpering against your folds that sobbed for more. sukuna cups your chin, pressing your lips together. “i don’t speak nod. use those words, tell me what you want.”

“y.. you both,” and it comes out like a lewd broken whisper. by this point, you were shameless. it’s almost as if you were in a dream—maybe even a fan fiction.

as those fatal words leave from your lips, your eyes roll back once choso’s continuing to slurp against your cunt - savoring each honeyed drop of your juices. he’s still on his knees as his pointed ears twitch from each whine and mewl that pours away from your lips.

sukuna groans under his breath, feeling himself get hard as he takes a few occasional glances.

choso’s face was right up against your pussy, and he made sure to run and trace his tongue in every single spot that would make you sing out pretty ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’'s for him. he’s craved a good meal for the longest and the meal between your thighs was all that he really needed.

“greedy girl,” sukuna grouses, lightly squeezing your chin, making you give him your attention back. ruby red eyes flicker toward your exposed nude neck — such precious skin all out and on display, a vampire’s favorite part of the body.

the thoughts of imagining what you tasted like from just a single bite clogged his entire brain. just a single drink of you - just one would have him probably at your mercy - no, he had to focus.

sukuna shakes his head with an annoyed grunt, pressing his head against yours as you lied back. “both, huh? can you really handle that, princess?”

“yes—”

“look at me when you speak, girl,” and you feel an overwhelming increase of thumps in your heart once he’s only inches away from pressing his lips against yours.

the eye contact was brutal - sensual.

his eyes lock onto yours and it’s as if you’re staring directly at a pool of bloody scarlet jewels. you could honestly get lost in sukuna’s eyes. such irises never leave yours and you gulp, looking him right in the eye before watching choso starting to bite near your thighs. “repeat yourself, go on.”

with a shaky voice, you drag choso’s head closer between your thighs before whining once he glides his forked tongue against your throbbing pearly nub. “i want you both. p.. please, wan’ you both.”

and the last thing you’d expect was for them to be eating you out — at the same damn time.

both vampires were propped up between your legs as you’re spread open with the cutest expression plastered on your face.

god, this was fucked.

as two forked tongues flick and swipe against your clit, nibbling on your tender gummy flesh, you let off the most melodic whine. it rips straight out of your throat, bouncing off the century old walls. the texture of both tongues — you felt the plush spikes that run against their tastebuds, feeling sukuna hold your nub hostage with choso trapping his your pretty clit with his fangs.

“fuck, ‘m so c- close,” you’d whine out, staring at them both as they’re between your legs with hazy blown pupils. both of your hands fish through their hair, gasping heavily once they start to slurp nearly everything out of you at such at maddened pace.

it was one thing with teeth — but they had fangs, and they both made sure you felt the keen edges against your sopping cunt every single time.

“mmph,” choso mewls out, wrapping his mouth around your slick entrance. sukuna’s only a few kilometers apart, and the older vampire grunts once he tries to push him away. with pouty glossed lips, choso gives your clit a kiss before briefly departing. “ ‘kuna,” he huffs cutely, and you watch as his chin has an even shiner coat of your arousal racing down. “you’re bein’ greedy..”

“good,” sukuna jibes, and you whimper loudly once his long tongue trails further down. it stops right once it reaches your winking hole. it was so long, it located places you didn’t even know could be reached. a fluttering feeling settled inside the very pits of your stomach before he spits on your cunt.

it’s a rude ‘pft’ and you watch as a syrupy strand dribbles down onto your heat. choso’s lip quivers as he stares too, going back to touching himself.

he rarely touched himself — but when he did, it always felt heavenly. “cho,” he grouses, smearing a fat thumb against your cunt that’s soaking up the dribbling saliva. “clean her off for me.”

choso’s eyes widen. but he was too feral to reply, and as if his lips had a mind of it’s own, he leans in and let’s his mouth do the rest of the talking.

honey, your taste was almost equivalent to honey. choso whines against your clit as he drinks you clean, the soddened pure taste of you never departing from his tastebuds. he shamelessly laps up sukuna’s saliva that pours down your pudgy wet folds before softly thrusting his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“fuck,” you moan, feeling your legs starting to spasm. sukuna goes back between and they’re both latching their pink pointed tongues against your tender muscle. you even watch as their tongues touch, getting tangled together and all. choso grows flustered and sukuna’s for the same sly smile on his lips, teasingly licking near choso’s bottom lip before going back to your pussy.

squelch, you were so wet . . profusely drooling. with how wet you were, you were putting faucets to unruly shame.

your thighs were covered in various marks and as they both shared the same pussy drunk grin, that’s when you finally snap.

right when the tip of sukuna’s forked tongue rudely thwacks against your sweetened g-spot, you end up gushing out right away. it creeps up on you like a jump scare, hitting you like a truck, an inevitable wave that came crashing down without warning.

“fuck, ngh oh my god!” and as you’re coming undone on their tongues, you were holding in a breath you didn’t even know you had.

seconds later as you gradually let go, your tummy’s continuing to heave from each exhilarated pant leaving from your lungs. with hooded eyelids fluttering, you end up spraying a sweet amount of sap onto the bottoms of their chins. sukuna snickers and choso quietly gasps—

“my my,” sukuna hums, licking his tongue underneath his bottom lip, savoring the taste. “so the human’s a squirter also, interesting,” and you couldn’t my stop panting.

your orgasm was loud, and it rang through each of the ancient walls that were so old that they were on the verge of crumbling down after centuries of standing tall. your own voice nearly shatters the victorian mirrors as you leisurely succumb into awaited pleasure, releasing your grip from their heads. you glance down and see sukuna already staring at you, giving your cunt one final kiss. “cute, think i’ll take my time with you, princess.”

choso pouts, panting himself as his tongue licks near the crevice of his lips. “y.. you mean us, ‘kuna.”

sukuna rolls his eyes with a grimacing scowl. “eh, right.”

many moments later — once you’re lightly thrown on sukuna’s king sized bed, you gulp.

now you were fucked.

they were more hungrier than ever, especially choso. the taste of your sweet cunt still lingers and his mouth, on his tongue—and he only imagined how sweeter your sacred blood must be.

“choso, watch me,” sukuna gruffs, and you let him flip your body over. landing into the cushions with a soft ‘oof’ your cheek gets pressed against a velvet pillow. “humans are fragile, so you don’t wanna break ‘em too bad,” and you moan once his hand swats against your bare ass. the recoil makes your entire body tense and you chew on your lip, quietly wishing he’d spank you again.

you weren’t really wearing anything except for maybe a black skirt that was now torn to practical shreds and a blouse that was halfway raised toward the top. as sukuna shuffles a bit, he springs out his thick cock and oh, you could tell he was big just from hearing the stroking sounds from behind you.

he grunts, giving his veiny shaft a few ample pumps before aligning himself against your swollen entrance. “look at herrrr,” he purrs, spreading your cunt apart with two fingers as your ass arched upward.

you were still drenched with your panties clinging toward the gummed crevices of your thighs. right as he toys with your dilating clit, he can hear the sloshing sounds make it’s return before darkly chuckling. “eager, isn’t she choso? her pretty pussy’s tryin’ to talk back. how quaint.”

“sukuna,” choso pouts, pushing him off. “let me, i know how to—” and he pauses, his eyes intently gazing at your pulsing cunt.

he was still so hungry. he just wanted another taste. just one more slurp of your slick and he’ll be satisfied. his thirst would be quenched. choso shakes his head, letting off a shaky sigh. “i know how t- to fuck.”

“he doesn’t,” sukuna mouths to you in a cocky manner, getting in front of you.

the pink haired vampire stands near the edge of the bed, a hand cupping underneath your chin. “it’s okay, you can look,” he smugly says, feeling your eyes burn into his weighty length that’s standing tall.

the shadow that’s underneath it makes it appear even bigger, and oh, it’s not just big - it’s huge.

sukuna’s very thick with insane amounts of girth for days, and your eyes slowly flicker toward his pretty tip that’s swollen. spurts of pre-cum seeping from his frenulum and you can’t help but give his tip a few greeting kisses. he sucks his teeth at the audacity, wide jaw tightening at your tender touch. the more you stare, you notice he’s got a bit of pink hair that curls it way around his fat base, almost forming a bush.

it’s unintentionally attractive, and you even found yourself gawking at his shaggy happy trail too. “touch me more, woman,” he utters, as if he read your mind. his rough tone getting a bit softer. “go ‘head.”

as you wrap a hand around his cock, you can hear choso’s sweet whimpers in the background. “oh, my,” and his sweltering hot tip’s just ghosting against your yearning slick entrance. you let off a hum, teasingly wriggling your ass a bit just to get a reaction out of him and you did. “ugh,” he moans with an needy hiss following, sliding his flushed crownhead against your swallowing cunt. “kuna she’s gonna m- make me cum.”

“thought you said you knew how to fuck?” sukuna titters, ogling as you slowly bring your plump lips up to his shaft.

with a grumble, choso kisses his teeth. “shut up,” and as his dick aligns itself between your swollen folds, he lets off a breathy sigh. “fuuuck,” he could feel you wholly trying to swallow him as he eases his way inside.

right there, choso felt a chill run down his spine. you were warm inside, and it makes him gnaw a fang down his quivering lip once his lengthy inches rummages farther. “hng, ‘s so good, she’s so wet, ‘kuna,” he murmurs in a soft tone, his words that slide past his lips shaking from each breath.

hearing your own moans leave from your lips makes him harder. sukuna grunts, watching as you press another chaste kiss against his mushroomy tip.

lustrous strands of pre-cum stick against your lips and he groans, tight abs that hid within the inside of his cloak tensing right away. “that’s it, ‘s all yours, princess,” and a hand of his paws it’s way onto the top of your head. once his dick starts to slowly disappear in your mouth, he lets off a near growl. whitened fangs poke from the outer parts of his lip before he feels your moan vibrate against his shaft. “mhm, atta girl. get it wet, spit on it.”

“hah, ‘m not gonna last,” choso breathlessly huffs, and with his hands gripping on both sides of your waist, he’s starting up a pace. it’s a slow pace that you could keep up with in terms of rhythm, but fuck was he big too.

choso had just as much of girth as sukuna did, maybe even more.

he’s stretching you out with just a few beginning thrusts and your eyes already widen. “mpmh,” and as your mouth’s full, cheeks all puffed from storing sukuna’s cock inside, you pull it out to allow a bit of drool pout from your lips and onto his tip.

the vampire flashes you a wolffish smile as his fingers softly massage down your scalp, his claws gingerly stroking against your tresses. your back was arched to a sudden with your body slightly raised, facing sukuna whilst your rear was focusing purely on choso.

sukuna studies your body, your pretty face, your fluttering flapping lashes, your tight tight throat that’s making lewd noises every once in and while, but most importantly, he studies you.

it doesn’t take long before his fat cockhead starts to create ‘love’ taps against your uvula. your eyes widen and you let off a tiny gargle at feeling him reach the roof of your mouth within no time, clawing your own hands into his beefy thighs.

“such a tight ‘lil throat for a pretty human,” he grunts, feeling you pop out his cock to lap up the remnants of your saliva.

choso’s still plummeting into you from behind, giving you soft sensual strokes yet they soon turn rigorous and deep once he feels your ass slam into him. once your skin goes back against him, that was merely all it took for him to lose it. it makes his ears twitch even more—and he whimpers, falling on love with your cunt right away.

it’s sloppy. already, you’re starting to stick and glue against his chiseled pelvis each time you rut back into him. choso’s hips were downright filthy, and it only takes him a few minutes before he’s meticulously drilling into you at full speed. his cock’s precise, making sure to hunt and search through every part of your cunt with his aching tip.

“fuck,” he hisses, a sweaty palm of his giving your right ass cheek a squeeze. as he grabs a nice chunk of your ass, he can’t help but spank it.

but he feels bad afterwards so the sting shortly goes away once his palm caresses a few circles against your hot temple.

the recoil of your skin always mesmerized him - he found himself in a trance every time. simply put, you had him enticed.

choso moans again, feeling your warm body rock back into his at such an unsteady pace to where he’s stammering over his words. “s. . so pretty.”

“the inside of her mouth’s even prettier,” sukuna sneers, and with a loud ‘pop’, he removes his dick from out of your throat.

you pout, lolling out your tongue without him having to say anything and he hums in patent amusement. “ain’t that right, princess?” and with a whack, his fat meaty tip slaps against your pink tongue.

you moan, and he slaps his flushed cock against your tongue three more times just to hear you whine for him to finish. “fuckin’ hungry, are ya, ‘lil hunter? you didn’t care about bounties, you just cared about gettin’ your sloppy cunt wet, huh.”

“mmph—sukuna,” you mumble, your words nearly inaudible once he rubs his leaky tip against your lips. his tip’s so fat and swollen as a rosé color shades over it from top to bottom. just a few seconds of him being out of your mouth and you were already drooling for more - literally.

choso’s breathing starts to pick up the longer he’s giving you such rough pivotal thrusts. you could feel him practically humping his weak hips into you, and he’s sniffling because he can’t believe humans felt this good inside.

“aw, are you mad, little human?” sukuna gruffly mocks, tracing a thumb over your arched brow.

the scowl that indents between the corners of your lips was adorable. “heh, how spoiled you must be. fine. open your mouth again,” and he views as you quickly comply, sticking out your tongue with your hands grabbing your neglected breasts that hid beneath your bra. “good girl.”

this merely lasts for a century — not really, but it felt like it.

lightning like veins ran down sukuna’s cock and you felt them prod against your tongue, meanwhile choso’s almost hysterical once he ends up dumping ribbons of cum into you. early at that, and he’s never been more embarrassed.

choso fucks you for a long while, and it’s until his thrusts against you becomes insignificantly sloppy and he’s overflowed your cunt with ropes of searing hot cum. it’s so much that it dribbles down your thighs, spritzing all on your clit and gluing against your skin like paste.

“ngh, f- forgive me,” he’d whine, peering as sukuna’s finishing up himself.

with a feral growl, he’s fisting his cock just a few more times before it’s his turn to finish now. you got filled in both ways, and once the bitterly sweet taste of his seed mists into your mouth, you let off a moan. “good . . good girl,” choso rubs the back of his neck, trying to mimic sukuna’s praises he did on you earlier.

you’re still on all fours and your eyelashes flutter as he’s continuing to spill out such slimy amounts of cum. the taste has a bit of a sugary tang that makes your nose crinkle. “swallow,” the older vampire murmurs, a long black claw of his softly caressing the edge of your lip.

a few droplets dribble from the corners of your lips once you obey, moaning once you feel choso unhurriedly pull out. he’s slow, feeling his chest heave out with a heavy sigh as your cunt let’s out a loud ‘pop’ after he gradually takes it out of you.

his tip was throbbing, and as he stared at his own cum oozing out of your swollen pussy, he can’t help but run a finger down it. you feel yourself clenching around nothing now and you can’t help but pout.

“tch. where’s your manners, woman,” sukuna raises a pink slit brow, grabbing your chin. your lips still remain pouty due to how much he’s squeezing against your plump lips together and you let off a whimper.

crisp air sets against your bare ass and skin as you meet his carmine-red gaze. “you’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ for the meal. go on.”

“t . . thank you, ‘kuna,” you softly snivel, feeling yourself pulse the more choso runs his finger down your flabby folds. he’s touchy, his fingers felt hot and shocking like static - and the more he maneuvers tiny circles around your clit, the more you felt your knees starting to grow weaker again.

“hn.” is all he replies with, and just when you thought they were finished — they weren’t.

you said you wanted both of them, not just one but two. and you know what they always say, the more the merrier . . right?

but it’s a bit different when the ‘merrier’ involves two ancient cocks.

to say you got stretched to the very fullest was merely an understatement. they each took turns with you, round after round after fucking round . .

your legs felt practically nonexistent, and every time they’d dump a knot into your sweet cunt, you’d feel like you were about to burst. round after round after round, they’d coax out orgasms out of you like it was nothing—especially sukuna.

choso was the one whining in your ear, whining even louder than you sometimes. he couldn’t help it, especially with how good your pussy wrapped around his dick so freely. it was a feeling he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced—and if he did, it was a long long time ago anyway.

but now, you were preparing to take them both at the same time. the thrill of the thought alone makes your thighs shudder as sukuna’s sinking his thick cock into you. already, he feels you gaping and you can’t help but moan at the elastic stretch unfurling wider and wider. .

the pink haired vampire was propped behind you while choso’s lying flat back against the sofa. it’s a pretty view, and choso’s staring right into your eyes. your pretty eyes—he’s never been one to lust over a mere human, but it was just something about you. with you, it was different.

sukuna on the the other hand—he couldn’t really care less. he’s centuries old and it’s been what, a decades since he’s got laid? it was just who he was - but he wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a while.

for centuries, the two of them lived their tedious lives inside of what appeared to be some kind of abandoned castle—you actually ended up stumbling upon it in the forest by accident while looking for them. the vampires you were supposed to kill, and yet here you were, about to be double stuffed by both of them.

“nice ‘n easy you two. biiiig fuckin’ stretch,” sukuna gruffs, wrapping a big hand around his hardened cock.

it’s flushed and veiny from the rigid sides, florid from the crowned tip with a ruby shade as he’s still getting over his recent orgasm. you’re sopping, your cunt’s crying for more and the sloshes that sang out from your folds only grew louder the more he’s burying himself inside of your gummy pasty walls. “choso, you’re not gonna faint again, are ya?”

“s- shut up,” choso grumbles, a rosy tiny spraying a half part of his face. as choso aligns himself between your entrance also, he let’s off a low sigh at the welcoming squelch your pussy make.

‘pop’ and fuck, could he listen to that all day. just the sloppy noises you made—to him, that was music in itself. “god, ‘m still so sensitive, m- mistress.”

with a sheepish hum, you cup both sides of his face, speaking in a teasing tone. “mistress?”

“i—” choso pauses, a vermillion flush spraying over his entire face. fuck, his words slipped, and he’s felt that wave of embarrassed returning right away.

it was adorable though, and as you continue to bare around both of their cocks, he can’t help but lean into your tender touch. “i mean-”

“no, it’s okay,” you reassure him, moaning once your bare ass gets a swift rude swat from sukuna’s palm. within no time, you’re starting to move your hips again, feeling yourself get stuffed in all orifices.

your sheeny-slicked lips part into a gasping ‘o’ once you feel sukuna then rub a hand against your clit. “fuck,” you whine, and sukuna hisses himself once he feels your clingy grip around his cock tighten. his hips were sharp, and it doesn’t take long before you start to match his deranged rhythm. averting your eyes back toward choso who’s laid back so prettily on the bed underneath you, speak in a soft voice. “ ‘s okay, you can call me that.”

“yeah, cho. call the pretty girl ‘mistress’, heh.” sukuna derides.

with a cute grouse, choso glares at sukuna—but his expression quickly falters once you fall into his chest, slumping into his body. his tight sculptured abs that resembled a greek god peeks through his victorian inky cloak ghost against you and a bit of hair from his happy trail tickles against your tummy.

“shut . . up,” he grumbles at sukuna, but now it’s his turn to cup your face. “m- mistress,” and a thumb of his runs against your cheek.

sukuna groans from behind you both as he’s fucking you from behind—his deep pivotal strokes slowly weakening due to how sensitive he was. it almost stings, but with the way your cunt’s holding him hostage for all its worth, he just couldn’t stop.

“hm,” your eyes meet the dark haired vampire and his bottom lip quivers. just your stare alone was enough to drive him up the first street of insanity.

you’ve done quite your fair share amount of research on these two and what the media reports about them in the papers always shocks you. they typically always describe them as the ‘blood-thirsty duo’ monsters who would mercilessly tear limb from limb off of anyone who dares cross their path.

funnily enough, they said the most heinous things about choso in particular—but now that you were quite literally being filled with them both in each hole, choso was more sweet than anything. the papers described him as a ruthless blood-sucking vampire but he was the sweetest—especially whenever he’s overstimmed and whiny.

and sukuna . . he’s sukuna.

but you were still alive—so that was something, right?

“can . . may i,” and it takes you a moment to realize what he’s asking for.

choso wants to kiss you, and you can tell by the way his big wide eyes continue to flicker toward your own eyes, then back toward your glossed plump lips. he wanted a taste, he needed it.

“y- yeah,” you moan, feeling sukuna’s heavy cock reach an even deeper angle inside of you. you’re taking them both, feeling your entire legs get weaker by the second but that feeling suddenly disintegrates once choso presses his lips onto yours.

it’s a sultry hot kiss. a kiss that he’s been longing to do ever since he walked in on you and sukuna. choso’s forked tongue delves more into your mouth as you’re riding him with sukuna guiding your hips in place.

it’s sloppy, and he’s been pathetically aching for more of a taste from you for the longest. choso wasn’t fond of sharing you with sukuna—he wished it was you and him, but he couldn’t complain. at least he wasn’t going to complain yet.

“mmh,” you moan into his mouth, feeling his scarred hands softly caress near your breasts that poke through your bra. choso whines, nipping at your tongue with his serrated-sharp fangs before he lets off a gasp.

“ngh, oh fuck,” choso whimpers between your lips and deprived kisses. his arms end up enveloping around your waist, holding you close as sukuna’s driving his cock into you as such a crazed speed from behind.

as your lashes stick together briefly — they flutter shut before opening again. glancing up with droopy eyes, you watch as choso’s currently grabbing onto the wooden creaking headboard, a plethora of veins bulging down his swole biceps.

sukuna grunts behind your ear and within seconds later, he’s taking a playful harmless chomp out of your left shoulder blade.

your skin - so sweet, and his pronged tongue swirls its way around the fang marks that starts to form before choso ends up cumming early again.

“fuck, fuck,” choso whines, feeling his chest tighten. your pussy had them both weak, especially with choso more than anything, because he fills you up with another knot that exudes its way deep inside. it shoots out fast, pouring into you before a few remnants trickle down the crevices of your inner thighs.

your deadened legs struggle to stay open and he brings another needy wet kiss to your lips before he starts panting. “i- i need, need more,” and his eyes stare at your neck. “please, just a taste.”

“wait your turn, choso,” sukuna snarls, pulling you back to sink his fangs further into your skin. oh, they were fighting over you. choso lets off a cute huff before ignoring sukuna, glancing at you.

his eyes and pouty quivering lips were telling you ‘please’, and as you continued to slowly jerk your hips against them both, you let off a soft bashful, “g. . go ahead.”

but choso’s still cumming too—his ropes of cum was so sweet and came out so smoothly that it’s like he was pouring molasses of syrupy ribbons into you.

within a blink of an eye, it pumps into you raw, and choso nearly loses it once his fangs pierce down into the right side of your neck. “ah,” he whimpers, hot breath fanning against your skin. softly, his sharp fangs delicately nip into your sweet toothsome skin and it feels like a tiny prick.

you moan as you’re barely moving anymore, but they’re both still very deep inside, keeping each sloppy aperture of yours very, very busy.

“so dramatic,” sukuna rolls his eyes, a feeling of jealousy washing over him. you’re squeezing around him tight and he groans, clawing a few fingers toward your chest and unclasping your bra.

with hungry claret eyes that favors the color of rich red wine, he openly gawks as your breasts spring free and he gingerly pinches one of your perked nipples. “look at these girls, so perfect,” and you moan at his touch.

choso on the other hand looked so pretty. he’s still enjoying his ‘meal’ and the second his fangs cut deep enough into your skin, he tastes that sprinkle of metallic sweetness before he ends up cumming again.

he’s cumming while he’s feeding off of you — drinking your lusciously appetizing blood, and he hasn’t had a fill as good as this in probably centuries.

it’s so good that his mouth was watering, and the vampire loses his momentum before slouching further back with his teeth still attached to your skin like velcro. a pout curls against his lips as he makes you grind back into him, feeling both cocks stretch you open even more. “mh,” he whimpers, honed edges of his fangs creating various marks. you couldn’t wait to look at it later.

sukuna’s still fondling your tits and cupping them with both side hands before he bites near the other side of your neck, showering the exposed part of your skin with a multitude of kisses.

“careful, princess. you’re gonna break him,” he whispers in a raspy tone, and a hand of his trails further down between your legs.

“s- shut up, suku— fuck,” choso whines, and it’s an even larger knot than before.

it’s hot before it pumps inside of you yet again, filling you to the very peak. creamy globs of it race down your thighs as his mouth’s still clinging onto your bare shoulder blade. your taste, it was so rich . . so succulent.

your taste was almost so overbearing that it makes the flustered vampire’s eyes roll all the back until it reaches his skull, and he’s now feeling his dick twitching sporadically inside of you. “mistress, fuck. i- ‘s so much inside of you, f . . forgive me.”

he ends up shooting a huge load inside that stirs the insides of your flittering tummy. you were sure some even reached deep into womb, you wouldn’t be surprised due to just how big they both were.

but even so, and you couldn’t help but ponder . . could vampires get humans pregnant?

you didn’t plan on it, but that reality of being stuffed full of each of them made your stomach churn with a pool of butterflies living inside, swarming all around and fluttering at just the lewd thought of it all. you were filled to the very max - the very brim, and it leaves you panting for more.

you all remain like that until sukuna finally pries you off of choso, crimson eyes gazing at the mess that spills between your thighs. “tsk. how filthy,” and you land on your back, staring up at the two vampires who share the same blood-lust gaze.

“spread ‘em again, princess. least we can do is clean ya up,” and he nudges choso who’s just lied flat against the bed, still in awe—starstruck.

your pussy probably did break him.

“choso. c’mere,” he snaps in his face, and the dark haired vampire blinks thrice, returning back to reality. he groans, sitting up with sheets of sweat racing down each sides of his face. “our girl need’s cleaning.”

“o- oh, right,” he quietly stammers, a bit of your blood from earlier staining his pink lips. a permanent pout remains on his mouth before he licks them clean, and he can’t help but lean in, giving you one more kiss.

your heart swoons, and as you return the embrace. milliseconds pass and you gradually start to feel sukuna spreading your legs, ogling at the mess they created, the mess that’s pumped into you fully.

velvety ribbons of cum racing down each of your thighs, you were still throbbing ferociously and you let off a moan once you swipe your tongue across choso’s lips, relishing in the taste of your own sweet irony blood.

as your tongues vigorously twirl around each, trying to assert dominance between each twisting muscle—you let off a whimper in choso’s mouth once you feel sukuna’s breath aerate against your clit.

without even batting an eye, he starts to lap the cum out between your puffy folds before he gives it one loooong suck. your chest automatically heaves in and out before your arms wrap around choso’s broad shoulders, tangling saliva strands together and creating lustrous sleek cobwebs.

but, as your lips were locked against choso, you feel something between your legs. sukuna gives your pussy one long sniff, then he does it again, and one more time before gifting it a pat. “oh. .”

choso nibbles at your bottom lip with his fangs before sukuna meanly spanks your cunt. a bit of your own slick sprays against his palm and he hums.

“choso,” he huskily says, teasingly pointing the end of his claw near your pulsating clit. it was hovering over your entrance . . and still, you let off a whimper at the sensitive feeling. “i think i know why our pretty girl smelled so good all this time.”

“huh,” the dark haired vampire briefly pulls away, panting heavily just as you. choso glances down at sukuna before feeling his chest cave in and out. “w . . why, sukuna?”

you look down at sukuna, your brows contorting into a curious look yourself.

sukuna gives your sopping cunt one long stare before giving it a kiss. “mwah,” and you moan, watching as wet strands peel away from your pudgy folds and glue back onto his mouth.

he’s sloppy, and he couldn’t care less. the vampire rubs a circle around your entrance before snickering darkly.

“because,” and he spanks your pussy once more time before playfully putting his fangs against your clit as if he was about to bite you. with a dull expression, sukuna leans in to smell between your legs one more time before whispering against your clit.

“—you’re ovulating, princess.”

[faeriekit]

"Okay." Danny slowly laid the already cold body back onto the table, ready to slide back it into the refuge of cold storage. "Okay. Dead guy. Stay there."

The body didn't move.

"Fantastic. Now. Hang out while I pour the embalming fluid into the pump, alright? It should only be a minute."

And it usually did; working in a funeral home wasn't extremely glamorous, but it paid the bills, and Danny had already been used to the rhyme and rhythm of negotiating death with the public by the time he sent in his mortuary school application. It had been a transition that made sense. And in the end, the degree had only cost him a few extra years post-graduation and a little dig into student loans, and now Danny had a stable 12-8 job and health insurance valid in the state of new jersey.

Today, though, the pump had that decided enough was enough. With a bang and a boom, the pump spat out a cloud of smoke and clunked uncomfortably.

The dead body sat up.

Danny scrambled over to push it back down. "No. We talked about this. Dead people don't move. If you want to stay here and have me put you back together all the time, you have to stay put. Got it?"

Whatever the weird gold-eye corpses were on in Gotham, they at least listened to him on occasion. They weren't ghosts, per se— they never pinged on any of the ghost detection devices Mom and Dad had packed in his going-away-to-college bag— but they were, despite being occasionally animate, perfectly deceased.

Weird. Danny had never gotten used to it. Still, they came in droves, too eager to sit on the top of the basement stairwell and lurk in the corners and stare endlessly at them with their weird, avian eyes, and sometimes they heralded the arrival similarly weird-ass bodies that had lost their heads or their arms or their limbs through the more conventional channels.

"I'm losing too much thread to all y'all coming in all the time," Danny complained to the dead body, who, at the moment, was the only person present to blame. "Stop getting your limbs cut off. This stuff is expensive, you know. It's a specialty order."

The body didn't even have the courtesy to blink. Rude.

"At least let them bury you this time. Every time one of you darts off when my back's turned, my boss thinks I'm stealing corpses. My coworkers think I'm building my own Frankenstein or something."

The corpse neither verbalized nor blinked, but Danny hadn't expected it to; with a sigh, he rolled the corpse back into cold storage, locked its little door (not that locking it in had ever stopped it) and called it quits for the night.

It's not like anyone was paying him for the extra hours anyway.

The whole fic on ao3

[zeb-z]

“bad and pierre were the heroes of today the server will never know how they sacrificed their reputation to save everyone 😞” yeah and they will never know either, what are you talking about. they made their decisions without having any of the information elquackity had - there were no heroes making a difficult decision to save who they could save. there was no honor in their actions today. bad assumed everyone would be using the same underhanded tactics he planned on using. pierre just wanted to win, survival his priority even if it meant the cost of the others. any so called “heroism” was entirely accidental.

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny dragged up another plastic wrapped body from the bay.

“It’s you. What are you doing?”

“Oh, holy smokes!” Danny screeched. “What-! Oh, it’s you! The litterer!”

Batman stood in front of Danny, cape draped around his shoulders and a far better sight to see than the last time Danny had seen the guy.

“… I’m Batman.” He introduced himself to Danny awkwardly.

“Uh huh. You missed a couple of things cleaning up the beach last time.” Danny dropped the body on the pebbled shore of the bay and crossed his arms. He sent Batman an unimpressed look. “You’re just like your city. There’s trash all over the water!”

Batman glanced down.

“That is a body.”

Danny scowled.

“No, that’s plastic. Plastic does not belong in the ocean.”

Batman sighed. For some reason, Danny thought he seemed less… antagonistic. Wait, did he think Danny killed the guy?!

“That is a body wrapped in plastic.”

Fuck it.

“If it was a body, then bury it. Or decompose it before you people decide to dump it into the water. Even the sharks have the decency to decompose when they’re dead. Do you know how long plastic takes to deteriorate??”

Batman glanced to the side, where the line of plastic wrapped masses had caught his eye to begin with.

“I do. Did all of these come from the bay?”

“Quite obviously, yes. I don’t have enough time to clean the waters! Ancients, it’s like they’re multiplying!” Danny knew why they were multiplying. It’s because Gothamites were getting murdered and dumped weekly. The problem is that Danny has classes and assignments to complete and he couldn’t be out here every week.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, will you? And how do you plan on doing that when you couldn’t even properly clean the beach of your plane? I even stacked it up nicely for you to pick up!”

Alright, so maybe Danny had a couple of grudges. Like… a solid one that’s based on the hours of sleep he missed cleaning up after Batman and the wreck.

“We didn’t get everything?”

“No.” Danny huffed. “Whatever. Just figure out what to do with these bodies. I was not looking forward to digging graves for all of them.”

“You were going to dig graves for them?” Batman sounded off.

Danny scowled again. “I’m dead, genius.” And now Batman looked like someone ran over his dog. “Respecting the dead is important and graves are important for the dead. How else would we know we’re remembered?”

Danny threw up his hands. “Humans,” he muttered, like he wasn’t half human himself.

“Anyways, I’m leaving. Handle this properly or else I’m haunting you.”

“Wait-!” Batman said, but Danny had already disappeared.

So, while Batman had an angst crises at two thirty in the morning and thirty new unidentified corpses to contend with, Danny Fenton flew back to his apartment and passed out on his shitty couch.

——

“You need to stop.”

“Pay me to stop, then. What are your villains going to do? Kill me? I’d like to see them try.”

Danny looked Batman right in his lenses and plopped another body down at the man’s feet.

“I can tell you who they are for a fee.” Danny offered the vigilante. “Some of these still have shades of their souls attached still.”

“What.”

Danny tilted his head, moon once more lighting a halo of flickering white flames around his head. “$100 per identity.”

Batman stared.

[valwrote]

PICK YOUR DOMESTIC HUSBAND 🛒

WHICH HUSBAND IS ON THE DOMESTICITY MENU TODAY?

featuring: diluc, alhaitham, zhongli, wriothesley, neuvillette.

synopsis: glimpses into married life with the genshin men.

warnings: implied fem!reader, occasional pet names, ooc (I have a sparse idea how diluc works, mention of "activities" (just mention I can't write smut pls), silly goofy ah loser coded men, mild swearing (damn, heck)

a/n: *stretching my back and crunching my neck.* I'm back from the dead. apologies for the choppy writing. thanks for the support on the other posts, if only I could write 50-page essays thanking everyone. <33 :')) not proofread.

DILUC 🍷

PRODUCT NAME: BREAKFAST AND KISSES IN BED. Diluc always hated the Knights of Favonius… 

He hated how most of them just stand around like buffoons and do not partake in any actual work that involves saving Mondstadt. He wouldn’t admit that he enjoys playing Batman. He hated them all except for one.

One he was willing to forgive all flaws of. "Knight of Favonius…always so inefficient,”  He scoffed at the pathetic sight of the hilichurls trying to dry roast a few knights roped to a wooden stick for their dinner. “Seriously, You’re so right Master Diluc.” Diluc’s head turned so fast at the sound of a new voice. When did you get here? Were you always there and how did he not sense you around?

That’s simply how you always were. A hard worker amidst slackers – he always termed despite Jean trying to explain that others work hard too. Perhaps that’s what caught his attention, honestly, he would never know what did. “G’morning…” He murmured against your skin, head buried in the crook of your neck, your flushed bare back pressed against him. “5 more minutes…” he heard your soft and groggy voice evoking a chuckle from the usually passive man. “Have I ever told you…how beautiful you are?” Diluc muttered against your skin. You smiled and turned around, “You always do. I remember my Dark-Knight Hero crying at the altar.” You pressed a finger against his chest, while he scoffed at the memory. “Don’t remind me about that, Kaeya doesn’t let me live that down…” He sighed, his brother consistently brought up the matter of him crying whenever he was losing an argument. Foul play if you ask anyone. “So…breakfast downstairs or in the bed?” He planted a kiss on your cheek while you hummed out a response, “Bed, you didn’t exactly go easy on me the previous night.” You recalled the events of the passionate night the day before. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end. “I am so sorry–” He panicked,” You're not in pain are you? I promise I’ll be gentle– I knew I should’ve been more considerat–” You stopped him by pressing a kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling of your soft lips touching his hands tangling themselves in your hair.

“I’m kidding silly… you should stop taking things so seriously unless you want me to start searching for grey hairs amidst those red locks of yours.” You snickered out seeing him release a breath of relief.

If the Darknight Hero really does exist, he's probably just someone in disguise. When he gets up in the morning to brush his teeth, it's the real him. He was his real him in front of you. People may call him a loser for such vulnerability…he was a loser for you.

ALHAITHAM 🌱

PRODUCT NAME: READING BOOKS OUT LOUD. One would say married to someone like Alhaitham was nothing short of a nightmare. They weren't 100% right. Shrouded beneath the aloof and meticulous personality resided someone who was in complete denial towards being loved. He loves it.

Who was he kidding? Nobody in a million years thought someone could put up with his insufferable personality — said Kaveh, his unpaying tenant. That was until he ran into you during his time as the newly appointed Scribe. You were like a painter, splashing heaps of paint in his 90s black-and-white life. Was eating ice cream always this enjoyable or was it because it was with you? Was the gossip between co-workers always this interesting or was it because it included you?

Why was his heart having an entire Queen’s rock and roll concert talking to you? Was it cardiac arrest or– He almost shuddered at the thought of it being what they called love.

“You’ve got flour on your face, sweetheart.” His teal eyes blinked amusingly into yours, a faint smile curling up his lips. You must have saved a nation in your previous life to land this man as your husband. Beige shirt perfectly sculpting around his abs – contrary to him calling himself “feeble,” hair slightly tousled and slight sleepiness in his eyes. He might not act like it but he was a little child whose needs had to be tended to like the coffee mug in his hands which you made, like usual. You wouldn’t want a cranky Alhaitham now, would you? “Hmpf, not my fault, this cooking book is completely bogus!” You rubbed your cheeks with the back of your hand, wiping away any remaining flour. “This is so boring…if only someone could provide their poor wife with some entertainment.” You always resorted to theatrics to get him to do things for you, albeit begrudgingly. “No, the same tactic is not going to work again.” “Please…” “No…” He groaned, tone almost pleading not to put him through the torture again. “During better or worse!” You resorted to the ace up to your sleeve. WEDDING VOWS! “Stop quoting the wedding vows.” He sighed in defeat. The most intellectually gifted man in the nation couldn't win against his own wife. Ironical. He got up and grabbed a book out of the bookshelf; a small fraction of his much larger library.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Alhaitham lazily flipped through the pages earning a rebuke. “More emotion! You are ruining the scene.” Alhaitham sighed and cleared his throat, “I love you most ardently…” His tone was feathery soft, emotion surging in it. A smile crept up as he stared at you endearingly.

“That’s much better. Though I seriously think Mr Darcy should’ve said– Miss Elizabeth, allow me to kiseth thy lovely lips.” You mimicked the deep voice of the character with the failing British accent. “Please have mercy on Jane Austen’s ghost and let her enjoy the afterlife.” Alhaitham chuckled and continued reading as you continued baking.  It was a shame that a man of such talent only paid attention to the truth itself and not to the people around him. If only the searching eyes of the ordinary say the exception to his indifference, you.

This was your biosphere, just you, him, novels and food encapsulated inside your small home.

ZHONGLI 🪨

PRODUCT NAME: ALWAYS ON HIS MIND. What is the best but the most useless flex you have? Being married to the Geo Archon. The inability to just tell the whole world that you are married to the frigging god was painful. You yourself were surprised by your ability to control yourself. Zhongli was a man of carefully curated words. Instead of words, straight-up poetry flew out of his mouth. Everyone knew how much he adored his wife, every vendor, every acquaintance, heck even Venti. Wangsheng Funeral Parlor's mysterious consultant. Handsome, elegant, and surpassingly learned. Excellent memory. A master of courtesy and rules. The amount of poor women who have tried to grab his attention. "Mr.Zhongli, how does this look?" the woman, who he remembered meeting over a history discussion 17 days ago. "Hm?" his amber eyes shifted to gaze at the hairpiece the lady was holding. "Most exquisite.." He remarked, seemingly going into deep thought. Instead of a compliment, he said something that made the woman back away, "Such beautiful craftsmanship...may I ask you to tell me where you found this? I wish to buy one for my wife–" he paused, seeing the lady vanished after pointing at the shop where she got it from. "Zhongli, you should be able to tell why people approach you..." Hutao sighed, standing beside the rather oblivious gentleman. "Let's just continue...we've got customers to find!" Hutao started walking alongside the railing, hoping to find people in need of funeral services. "Maybe we should go and ask peopl– Zhongli??" Hutao looked around for the Consultant, who was caught up chatting with a shopkeeper over some earrings. "Zhongli!" Hutao called out to him, causing his head to turn towards the director. "Oh, apologies...It seems I got too carried away. These earrings caught my eye...I'm sure [Name} would love them.." he mumbled, staring at the jewellery. "I'll take them." "Mister Zhongli? What about the payment..." The shopkeeper meekly asked, causing Zhongli to turn his head fully at Hutao; gazing expectantly. Hutao should've expected this... "Zhongli, we are out here to find customers! Not buying gifts for [Name], her birthday is months away!" "They say the best things should be done first. After all, why must I wait for one specific day to express my love for my beloved?" Zhongli asked curiously and Hutao shaked her head; love was clearly out of her expertise. Zhongli, he is particular about everything. He only attended the best operas and focused on the perfect ratio for the creation of an authentic dish.  On a typical day, all you will glean from him is a few pieces of useless trivia, because he particularly enjoys sharing these fun tidbits with you. He was particular about you and your likings. A smile on your face was what he wanted by the end of the day. For being someone alive for 6000 years, he could proudly say that he loved and cherished something– someone.

"Wait here, Director Hu...Perhaps I should get those flowers over there to accompany the hairpin and earrings..."

WRIOTHESLEY 🐺

PRODUCT NAME: BATTLE TO BUY A DOG OR NOT.

"Wriothesley, I want a dog!" You crossed your arms, staring down at the Duke who was glued to the chair in his office. “But why? That’s just unnecessary responsibility…” Wriothesley sighed, rubbing his temples. This was the 3rd time this month you’ve brought up this topic. Was he that incompetent in terms of filling his role as your significant other? Perhaps not with the never-ending paperwork. Oh, how he wished people would just stop committing crimes. “I get lonely in the Fortress…I want a child.” You put forth your point by using the term ’ child’. Child, dog same thing. You hoped to finally convince him this time.

“We have Sigewinne.” Wriothesley pointed at the head nurse prepping tea in the room with the back of his pen. “I am sorry, Your Grace but playing the role of the child is out of my job description.” The Melusine replied indifferently, pouring freshly seeped tea into the three cups. “Fine, we will go get one…I’ll schedule a meeting with the owner of the pet shelter. Happy?” He asked you, chin resting on his palm. Perhaps getting a dog was a good idea as he was guilty of being unable to spend quality time with you… “No way…” “Isn’t that..?” “The Duke of the Meropide–” “He rarely appears in public..” Wriothesley held out the door to the shelter for you, hoping you would go in and it would finally save him from the gaze of curious onlookers. The two of you walked in, only to be pounced upon by a big dog. “Kal! You sly dog! I knew I shouldn’t have let you out!” The caretaker yelled at the big ball of black fur who had tackled Wriothesley to the floor and was aggressively licking his face, tail wagging in delight. “Are you okay?” You asked your fallen husband, who just chuckled in response. “I am good just– Okay stop! I understand your gesture of love.” Wriothesley got up as the dog encircled him. “This one is so adorable…” you gasped at the cuteness radiating from the dog and its big brown eyes. “You’ve got a keen eye! This is Kal, Shiloh Shepard, one of the finest dogs out there.” The caretaker combed her fingers through the thick and groomed black coat of the canine. “He seems to have taken a liking to the Duke.” The caretaker continued as the dog ran back to Wriothesley, peppering his face with licks. “He even looks like you.” You teased as Wriothesley stared at you in disbelief. You did not just compare him to a dog…he even did a double take at the dog to confirm. “We will take this one then…” He chuckled in amusement. Never had he imagined marrying you and on top of that getting a four-legged beast. Needless to say, Wriothesley proudly walked out of the shelter, holding the big dog in his hands like a child. It felt complete ever since getting Kal; like your own little family. Wriothesley wouldn’t admit it but he loved the dog, despite it hogging all of your love and attention. He didn’t expect to be fighting over cuddling rights with a dog!? 

He watched you and Kal sleep peacefully on the couch, keeping him company while he finished up his work. He felt a sense of gratitude…people of the Fortress knew little of the crime he once committed. The only one who still remembers it like yesterday is Wriothesley himself. And no matter how much glory or repute he has earned, he still considers himself to be the same old Wriothesley he's always known.Neither a good person nor a complete villain. He's just another soul, still living on in this world. However, your eyes always reassured him in ways he couldn’t describe. Everything was perfect…

[Name]!! YOURDAMN DOG PISSED ON MY COAT!! Maybe not that perfect…whoops.

NEUVILLETTE 🌊

PRODUCT NAME: HELPING THE OTHER DRESS.

Monsieur Neuvillette, The Iudex of Fontaine, always wondered how his life had come to this. 500 years of serving his position as the Beacon of Justice, a lovely, beaming baker somehow broke the monotony. Well, calling you just a baker was now an insult. With your ring finger bejewelled, with one of the rarest gems– an ode to his undying loyalty and representation of his eternal love. “It’s astounding how a covert mission conducted by melusines could’ve landed someone such as myself a lady like her…” He muttered to himself, seeing his full form in the mirror. “Talking to yourself, again?” You leaned against the door frame, lopsidedly smiling at the peculiar antics of Fontaine’s most distinguished man. “Ah, apologies…I didn’t think you would notice me conversing with myself. Now I find myself in a rather awkward predicament.” He chuckled. Dear god, this man was so beautiful that his beauty was almost blinding with the morning sun perfectly hitting his face.

“Say ah,” You requested and he complied. Who better to take constructive criticism from other than your husband? “New filling?” He covered his mouth while chewing on the croissant. “Yup, how is it? I was experimenting with some Rainbow Roses and these Inazuman berries I bought.” You blinked curiously, waiting for some input. “Hmm it is very pleasant, it is fascinating how you manage to maintain the freshness of the fruit…” You smiled at his compliment, before noticing him struggling with the jabot around his neck. “Need help?” You offered and he nodded his head. “This is absurd..it usually isn’t this difficult.” He frustrated replied, it was amusing to see the cool and collected man all worked up about clothing. “I suggest simplifying your outfit.” You attached the jabot and secured it in with the teardrop brooch, fixing the ruffles. 

“Thank you. I do prefer my outfit as it conveys the message I wish for it to convey.” He explained before staring at you. You knew that look, he looked at you with his eyebrows slightly creased when he was hesitating from saying something. “What is it?” “Do I get a goodbye kiss before I leave?” “Pfft! I didn’t think you would take that seriously!” Conclusion: this man was wayyy to cute.

Neuvillette is a solitary person. Neuvillette is not known for his personal desires.

He was deemed as someone with unassailable impartiality. If only they knew that perhaps the Iudex was just a wee bit biased.

a/n 2.0: the crust will come off...hopefully. i wonder if it's possible to guess which one of them is my favourite??

don't steal, copy, plagiarise, or translate.

©definitelysel

[atoltia]

Their Little Nest

In which MC reorganizes their house over time and Sylus, because of an offhand comment from the twins, thinks she's nesting.

Sylus x fem!MC fluff

Pregnancy thoughts and talk.

-0-

It started with the little things.

Tiny potted plants sat prettily on his shelves, the many side and coffee tables in the manor, their little pops of green and brightly colored petals brightening what once was a corner of shadow.

It wasn't like Sylus didn't keep plants in the house, no. It was just he didn't pay them any mind besides making sure the staff was taking care of them.

So it really came as a surprise when he suddenly found himself watching you and the twins hauling boxes into the house, chattering about plant growth and such as you took out several lamps.

"Kitten," he said from his position by the doorway, strong arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame. "With that much light, you're going to start to photosynthesize."

You turned, smiled at him as you tilted your head up to nuzzle into his chin when he strode towards you. You held up two different types of lamps for him to see. "They're lamps."

"I can see that."

You chuckled, leaned against him when he reached over to fiddle with the lamp in your hand. "I didn't know if I needed sun lamps or grow lamps for the plants so I got a lot of both."

"Mm." Sound logic enough, he thought. He patted her head. "Let's set them up, then."

And so they did.

(Even though both of you did bicker about adding a grow lamp - not the sun lamp - in his office for that tiny desk succulents you graciously added to his massive workspace.)

(He conceded, of course.)

But it didn't stop there. Not that he expected it to stop, knowing you.

It was a rough day. A negotiation that Sylus needed to get done didn't pull through as the moron representing the offending faction decided to get flustered and pulled out a gun at him, voiding the deal and thus resulting in a gun fight.

The situation was dealt with easily enough, but the cleanup needed his attention particularly because they had several protocores that he was aiming to acquire and wasn't going to leave without them. Alas, as they refused to make it easier for everyone involved, they had to waste not just his time but his ammo as well as his perfectly cut suit.

Sylus landed on the couch with a groan, relief finally flooding his bones as the tension in his body started to dissipate. He wasn't bleeding any longer, but the aches remained, a dull thrum consistently buzzing so much that it prevented him to experience the relief of sleep.

While the fog enveloped the N109 Zone to obscure it from the wrath of the sun, the instinctual yearn for daylight annoyed him. The mere ghostly memory of the sun on his skin made him purse his lips, the mere thought of it sapping his already drifting energy.

He turned his head, buried it into the pillow-

He blinked, propped himself on his good arm as he stared at the pillows. Gone were the hard blocks of stone that posed for a pillow that he just never bothered to replace, seeing as he was in pain often enough that the uncomfortableness of them barely registered to him anymore. What sat under and beside his head were soft, the slight fur on the covers lightly tickling his cheek as it cradled his head, rapidly easing his throbbing headache.

Long fingers flexed, his brows furrowing when softness once again surrounded his senses.

There was a thick blanket beneath him, separating his battered body from the worn and cold leather of the couch.

Now, Sylus is a perceptive man. Being observant of his surroundings and having the ability to react accordingly is part of his job description, his lifestyle. One misstep, a single moment of carelessness, and he could end up dead.

He was sure these pillows and blanket were not here before he left the house no less than eleven hours earlier.

"Sylus."

He turned, alert eyes softening at the sight of you, drinking up the image of you in one of his long-sleeved button-ups that hung over your significantly smaller frame, your hair mussed in multiple directions.

A lazy, crooked smile adorned your face as you hummed his name, your eyes still drooped with sleep. The adorable crow plushie was cradled lovingly in your arms.

You took your time to cross the room, loved the way he settled back onto the couch as he watched you, those wonderful scarlet eyes not once leaving you. You accepted his outstretched hand, your laugh softly lilting in the air when he pulled you into his embrace.

"Hi," you purred, your body molding perfectly into his.

"Good morning." There was a tenderness in the room, blanketing the both of you as you cuddled on the couch. You cherished moments like this. It's not so often that Sylus would get home when you wake, and while you know that your beloved wasn't all too fond of the mornings, you also know that the man made sure to make time for little moments like this despite his busy schedule.

"You changed the pillows," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling as he nuzzled into your hair.

"Did I?" You kissed his exposed clavicle, trying to hide your smile.

"You did."

"Maybe the twins did it."

He snorted, his fingers digging into your hips before massaging it as his other hand fiddled with the leather that held your knife strapped to your thigh. "They would've have bought a vibrating couch before they get to the pillows."

You laughed. "That's true."

A beat of silence. Just two lovers laying on a couch, sharing whispers and secret laughter as the sun rose far beyond the N109 Zone.

It was peace.

Oh, if only that peace lasted.

It's been a few weeks since that little moment on the couch, and Sylus couldn't fathom how they went from there to where you were at this moment.

He sat on a stool on the kitchen, watching you clean what seemed like the eighth room in the manor and you didn't have any indication of stopping soon.

None of them knew why you were in such a frenzy to clean, but you knew it was important do it Right Now. He offered to help you, of course, after having a quick round with him arguing that you should just leave all the cleaning to the staff, seeing as that's one of the primary reasons why he hired them in the first place.

"Sweetie," he said, exasperation leaking into his usual smooth voice. "If you keep at it any longer, I'm gonna have to clean you up from the floor."

You scoffed, hissed when he tried to grab the mop from you. "You better sit your ass down before I dismantle all of your guns again."

"Oh?" His voice, sickly sweet, as he trailed the tip of his fingers up your neck, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "Will you, now?"

Your eyes glinted, lips curling into a menacing smile as you passed the mop to your other hand, completely dodging his attempt to take it from you as you pressed your body sensually to his. Deft fingers from your now free hand lightly tapping playfully against his chest. You crooned. "You know I will."

A stare down. Something not too uncommon between the two of you. A pair of strong, stubborn people unwilling to yield.

Most of the time.

"Alright," he conceded. Sylus knew, even without peering into your desires, that you will not budge on this matter. So he sat, admitting full well that this isn't an issue that's worth having an argument over.

It only took one look from him to shut the twins' guffaw from the other side of the door. He could ignore the snickering, however.

"This is like the third time she cleaned this room," Kieran whispered to his brother.

"Fourth," supplied Luke as he enjoyed the way their boss was sulking at the counter. He didn't look like he was sulking, Luke knew that full well, but he just had that feeling. "You were too busy buying detergent when she cleaned this last Monday."

"Ah."

"Hm."

"Maybe she's nesting or whatever."

Luke hummed, shrugged. "Maybe."

Sylus was a man of composure. Not even the most lethal of situations are able to get a rise out of him, and even if it did, no one would be able to tell from his perfected poker face.

That was the only reason why he didn't fall out of his stool.

Could you be pregnant? But you two have been so careful, so sure that the both of you have done the necessary things to have safe sex. But it wasn't impossible, he knew. It was also possible for non-pregnant women to exhibit nesting behavior. Surely, you'd tell him immediately if something was amiss or... if you were experiencing some symptoms.

Children, huh? He didn't think he'd be a great father. If anything, he'd be a horrible one considering the simple fact that he brought danger with him anywhere he went.

He was hard lines and violence, bloodshed and death. The sins that he's committed - and will commit - was unfit for a father. A good father.

But... he supposed it would be nice to have children running across the house. His and your kids. A physical manifestation of your love.

It's not that he needed to have a mini version of himself. As far as he knew, he never had any inclination of even desiring to have them. That avenue of conversation hasn't opened up between you too, either. He didn't know if you even wanted to have children.

Children with him.

And he wouldn't mind it if you didn't want them. They were a commitment, not just some playthings to be discarded once the novelty wore off. It would take a lifetime.

Yet... It's a nice thought.

"Darling?" It was well into the night. You and Sylus were already snuggled up in bed but you knew something was off. Ever since your little event in the kitchen, Sylus has been drifting, sometimes zoning out into space. It was very uncharacteristic of him.

So you waited. He'd tell you eventually.

Yet you have to admit to yourself that you can be impatient.

Those eyes of his, momentarily dazed, focused on you. The room was dark, the steady thrum of the air conditioner droning in the background. And still you felt his eyes on you, focusing, focusing, his arms pulling you in closer to his body.

"Yes?"

"What's wrong?"

Of course you'd see it. Not that Sylus even attempted to hide it, seeing as you'd peer through him eventually. You waited for him to speak, frowned when you felt the spiking of his evol. "Sy?"

"Are you pregnant?"

You sputtered, pushed up from your position on the bed. Your hand quickly tapping the button for the lights.

Warmth illuminated the room as you stared into his eyes. You thought he was joking, thought he was pulling your leg, but the emotion that stormed his eyes moved you, surprised you.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Sy." There was distress in his voice, something that you thought you'd never hear. "My period finished a few days ago."

He closed his eyes as he let that information sink in, nodded. Released a breath. "Okay."

"Sylus." You nudged him, urged him to open his eyes. "Sweetheart, what brought this on?"

Sylus sighed, feeling as though the energy was tapped from him. Well, there was no reason to beat around the bush on this. "Kieran mentioned you might be nesting."

For all the time you've spent with Sylus, you knew that man rarely blushed. But the pink that dusted his cheeks and ears endeared you, the heartbeat that you loved listening to spiking.

"I'm sure, Sy."

"Right."

He didn't know if it was relief he felt as he held you, fingers kneading into the dip between your hips. He sighed. Gave you the smile that was only reserved for you.

"Why did you change the pillows?"

You tilted your head, smiled back, leaned down to kiss his nose. So it came back to the pillows.

"I wanted you to be comfortable whenever you collapse on the couch."

"The plants?"

"This place is stuffy without them."

"And the cleaning?"

"I don't like the way the staff cleaned our house."

He stared at you, those gorgeous garnet eyes of his looking at you with a mix of adoration and complete and utter confusion. He blew a breath.

"I was overthinking, then."

"You think so much all the time, I'm surprised it's taken you this long to short circuit."

"I didn't short circuit."

"You don't have access to seeing your expressions, darling."

You laughed when he pinched your sides before your hands slip up and cupped his face. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know." His voice dropped down an octave as he trailed open mouthed kisses from your shoulder to your neck. "I guess that's why you're making me insane."

You snorted. "You never needed my help with that, dumbass."

He nipped your neck, nuzzled. "I love you, too."

"Mm." But you took his hand, pressed it to your stomach, stared deep into his eyes. "Do you want to have children with me, Sy?"

Your eyes were impossibly deep that he couldn't look away. Couldn't even think of attempting it.

"Yes."

Straightforward as ever, Sylus is. You blew a breath.

Swung your legs over him and straddled him in one swift move.

"Maybe we can start trying now, then?"

-0-

this has been running in my brain for days and i just had to write it asfsdg

check out my other sylus fluff fic!

and another sylus fic but with a cat :>