#but then he beat it with a shovel and made it through

[kagooleo]

my completed world of horror runs! (2020)

their stories were absolutely wild ones but they were still able to make it through the apocalypse

[comfortless]

syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

[jyoongim]

An old request i thought i would try

————————————————————————————————

Human Alastor x demon!wife reader

FLUFF

————————————————————————————————-

Something was off about you.

Alastor just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He loved you dearly, he married you after all but there was just something uncanny about you.

You were obsessed with listening to the crime reports on the radio, relished in it. He would often catch you smiling in malicious glee at the gruesome details.

You weren’t like most women when he revealed that he was the cause of most of the murders in your town.

You asked him for details, even if you could go with him to see how he killed his victims.

Being the gentleman he was he refused, saying that blood and brains were nothing a pretty thing like yourself should see.

And for a time you listened.

Until he wasn’t back for dinner.

———————————————————————————

You caught scent of blood on the wind and followed it.

You knew Alastor had said he would be out ‘hunting’ tonight and that he would done quickly, but your husband was late and it made you worry.

The sound of a sharp cry greeted your ears and you ran through the woods to see your husband on the ground. His victim had his shovel raised above his head to hit him again and you saw red.

————————————————————————————-

He should have finished him off when he had the chance, but he wanted to taunt the man. He had underestimated his strength and canny as the man had gotten loose of his restraint and whacked him over the head with his shovel.

His head spun as he looked to the night sky and the only think he could think of was what were you making for dinner.

”Hope you burn in hell you pyscho” the man said as he raised the shovel and Alastor smirked.

How ironic.

The forest grew cold and a chitter rang through the air.

Fear not my love, Ill handle it that sounded like your voice

But how?

The sound of the shovel dropped to the ground as the man whipped around.

A pair of red eyes stared at him and the shadowy figure of a grotesque beast emerged for the trees.

You let out a thunderous growl as you approached the man, your eyes shifting to Alastor to make sure he was alright.

He was breathing, but he was severely wounded.

“what the devil are you?” The man whispered frightened.

You flashed your sharp teeth at him, a wide grin on your lips

”Your worst nightmare”

Alastor groaned as he sat up, his head spinning and in pain. He saw a large creature loom over him, slowly approaching his now attacker.

It was feminine. Long wild hair, a spiky tail, and beautiful black horns.

You jumped at the man, causing him to scream, but he was soon silenced as your claws ripped him in half.

You clawed and ripped into him, gorging him of his innards and chomping into him. You plucked his beating heart and swallowed it, blood dripping from your lips, marring your face.

You let out a huff and turned around to see Alastor staring at you.

You approached him slowly and a bloody claw reached for his face

”Are you alright dearest?”

He tilted his head in confusion at the question and your form shifted back to normal.

His eyes widened “You’re a …”

You smiled sheepishly “Your kind call us demons, though it is a very broad term”

His eyes searched yours and you feared he would shrink away from you, turn tail and run.

But he smiled at you with that suave smile and leaned into your hand

”just when I thought you couldn’t be more perfect”

You helped him up and began to carry him back home.

”I don’t repulse you?” You asked nervously. You had never intended to let your husband in on your true identity, for fear he would abandon you.

But the lanky man nuzzled into your shoulder “heavens no dear, but that does explain everything”

”Can a human fuck a demon?”

You laughed, your eyes flashing as you looked at him

”Care to find out husband?”

—————————————————————————————-

[bellaveux]

kiss of a vampire | w. maximoff

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: injured and alone, wanda finds herself out in the middle of the night, searching for the one person she can trust to help her. on that night, you find out what she truly is.

content warnings: 18+ minors dni. vampire!wanda, human!reader, victorian era, blood, very tiny mentions of homophobia, loss of virginity (?), smut! making out, biting, marking?, soft sex, fingering and oral (r receiving), praising

wc: 3.9k

note: surprise this is my singular contribution for kinktober hehe, happy halloween everyone!

Fall of 1863 in New York was more or less an uneventful time of the year for you. Your mother insists you read as many books as you can find in the manor’s library, and your father insists you go out and attend all those fancy balls and infernal tea parties—all in an effort to make you more presentable for any of your future suitors. It made sense for them to do so. Your mother was a respectable woman in the town, and she married your father, a man of riches, all thanks to that company he founded many years ago. You could honestly care less, not really having to do anything but read your books all day. Occasionally, in the evening when the sun has already set and you got too fed up with turning pages, you went out for a walk down that nice, pebbled trail through the woods, leading you down to that stone bridge over the river.

That’s where you met her. Wanda.

The moon was out. The sun was gone. She didn’t wear a fancy dress like you did the first time you saw her. She wore an unbuttoned vest over her white, well-made dress shirt, black pants, and riding boots to match. Her hair was red, and for a moment, you thought her eyes were the same color. It went away when you blinked, and suddenly, her eyes were green. You had never seen a woman like her before, much less someone similar in town. All the ladies and their voluminous skirts really only had boys, and gossip filled their daily conversations. It was tiring to be around them, but being with Wanda was relieving.

She told stories. Of adventures. Of distant lands you could barely imagine. She’d tell you about the sea, the moon, and the world beyond this little town you lived in. You found solace during your time with her, and you began to look forward to your walks through the woods every evening you could. She’s always there. Like she knows everything… She was your friend. And each time you met her, your heart beat faster than you’d like to admit, and your stomach fluttered whenever you thought about her. You always wondered, does she feel the same? You supposed you’d never find out, because who in their right mind would confess to having feelings for another woman?

Forbidden. Unthinkable. Criminal. That’s what they would say about you. So, you stayed quiet.

During the latest hours of the night, sometimes you’d see the glow of torches outside your window. You hear the noises first. A woman screaming. Pitchforks and shovels thrown up in the air, metal and iron clinking against each other. The sounds of arrows cracking through wood. Monsters, your father would say. They lurk out in the night, waiting and waiting until they come up to their prey and kill… You’ve heard the stories of those vampires, wolves, demons or whatever it is they are. You found it hard to believe. Even more so that so many people are afraid of what they probably haven’t even seen.

But then you see Wanda again. Not on your walk through the woods. Not on the bridge. A quiet knock is what you hear first. You look up from your book in surprise, then see her outside your window, clutching her shoulder in pain. She’s seated on the edge of your window on the other side of the glass, giving you a weak smile despite seeing how confused and worried you were. You rushed over and opened the window immediately, telling her to get in—of course, after you yelled—or whispered, really—at her for showing up at this ungodly hour.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing here?” You exclaimed as you pulled her into your room.

But the moment she winced in pain, you immediately pulled your hands back, afraid that you might have hurt her. You watch her move to lean against the wall underneath the window. She sighs in relief, still clutching her shoulder. Your gaze falls to her hand, right where you see the stains of red seeping through her dress shirt.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she says through gritted teeth.

“You’re bleeding…” You think out loud, carefully watching her as you hold your breath.

The faint glow of torches outside your window shows up in the corner of your eye—people bustling loudly in your street. You could see Wanda duck even further beneath your window, staring up at the ceiling as you began to put two and two together.

“No…” You shake your head and take a few steps back. “You’re the one they’re looking for, aren’t you?”

Wanda’s gaze softened as she turned to you. Her mouth opened for a moment to say something, but she sighed and laughed sheepishly to herself as she shook her head. Then, you see it in her smile.

She looked up at you again, with those kind and caring eyes you’ve seen on her from the moment you met her, “Please, don’t be afraid of me.”

“Your teeth…”

“I know,” she nodded. “But, I need your help. Please. I’m begging you.”

You didn’t know what to do. “Wanda.”

“They’ll come after me if you tell me to leave, (Y/n),” she reasoned, leaning up to show you she was telling the truth.

“Did you… Have you killed someone?” You could barely get it out.

“No!” She said, “I-I haven’t hurt anyone, I promise you! I-It’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him. He’s…”

“He’s what?”

Wanda sighs and turns away from you in shame. “He’s hungry. We… We haven’t eaten in weeks. He’s got a bigger appetite than I do… I-It’s harder to control him. I think he might’ve hurt someone tonight.”

You stare at her. Her eyes were red now. Her breathing was heavy. Her fangs darted out slightly past her parted lips. You take a second to process what she had just told you. And in truth, you should’ve been scared. You should have been throwing her out of the manor, calling for your father to deal with such a monster.

But to you, she was still… just Wanda. If she wanted to kill you, you’d imagine she’d already done it by now.

You left for a moment to head into your washroom in the corner your room where you tried to find all of the medical supplies you currently had. It wasn’t much—a wet rag, a few bandage wraps, and a kit for stitches. You returned with all the items in your arms, and Wanda looked up at you with a thankful smile.

You sat on the floor with her, your white nightgown bunching up against the wooden paneling. “I… I have bandages—”

Wanda shook her head, looking down to avoid your eyes. “Thank you… But, that won’t help.”

“What will?”

Her eyes bore into yours, but her mouth doesn’t move. She has that look on her face that tells you she's too embarrassed to say or ask for it. Her hands squeezed her shoulder in pain, trying to stop the bleeding.

“Tell me, Wanda.” You say firmly, your gaze unwavering, and for a second, you thought she was intimidated by you. She was, in truth, because of her feelings for you.

“Blood.”

You pause. Then, she repeats it again.

“Blood will… replenish my energy. I haven’t eaten, so I’m weak. On a good day, this wound would not even phase me.”

“My blood?”

Wanda nods. Your prolonged silence tells her that there is no way in hell you’d allow her. Her love for you has her hoping for the best outcome—that you’d have mercy on her and help her relieve the pain. But then again, you don’t owe her anything, and this was a lot to ask. The idea of asking felt impossible even though Wanda had already mentioned it, worried that you might refuse or be horrified by the notion.

“Okay.”

She blinks at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. As long as you don’t turn me into a vampire or anything. I don’t mean it to offend you, but it would... complicate things.”

She nods once again, more eagerly this time. “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s, um… That’s a completely different process.”

“Okay,” you repeat, scooting closer to her, looking down at your dress and your hands as you begin to wonder if you should get a knife. “I-I’m not sure how to… do this.”

“Your neck.” She tells you. Of course.

You don’t ignore the way her red eyes darken and the way her ears perk up in excitement as you move your hair carefully to one side.

“Is it going to hurt?”

Wanda’s gaze softened at your words, “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

She watches you nod and holds her breath as she inches closer to you. Your sweet scent fills her nose with a much stronger fragrance than ever before. She has always loved the way you smelled. It soothed her in ways many other things couldn’t. It was divine, enveloping her senses each time she was near you, and she found herself utterly addicted. She had never been this close before tonight, her breath tickling the side of your neck. She could hear your heart beating fast as she moved closer.

You braced yourself, your heart pounding in anticipation for the expected pain of a vampire’s hungry bite. But it didn’t come. Instead, you felt Wanda’s soft, warm lips meet your skin, kissing it so gently in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel her other hand, resting itself on the curve of your waist. Your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted slightly as Wanda continued to press her mouth to your skin, littering your neck with the softest kisses she could possibly give you. You couldn’t help but notice the frailty and gentleness of her touches and her kisses, as if they were delicate and almost fragile.

Wanda was lost in the feeling of your skin. Every kiss left her craving for more, and she found herself losing control of the overwhelming desire she had been suppressing for so long.

You were so distracted by the soft kisses she left on you that you barely noticed the faint, almost imperceptible sensation of Wanda’s fangs piercing your skin. She was so gentle, and you expected much less when she had promised, but this… It felt too good. A moan slips past your lips as Wanda bites into you. Her first taste of your blood was nothing short of divine. So sweet. So warm. The most delicious thing she had ever put her mouth on. The flavor of you was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and it sent shivers of pleasure coursing through Wanda’s body. Every second that passed as she drank from you, Wanda began to feel her weakened body begin to mend itself. It was as if your blood had breathed life back into her. Wanda’s senses sharpened, and she felt a profound sense of rejuvenation. The pain in her shoulder began to fade away.

Wanda pulled away from your neck, running her tongue softly against the bite, before turning to look at you. The prettiest thing she ever laid her eyes on.

And Wanda couldn’t resist. She pressed her lips gently against yours and sighed against you. You gasp at the feeling as she places her hands over your waist, then down to your hips, pulling you closer against her. A soft moan falls from your mouth and into hers, and Wanda can’t help but groan. She swiped her tongue on your bottom lip, and naturally, you opened up for her, letting her in to explore the expanse of your mouth, the slight taste of iron on her tongue.

Your lips were parted slightly, and your eyelids felt heavy. But you started to feel weak and lightheaded. You found yourself leaning towards Wanda’s touch, unable to hold yourself up without tipping over, and the next thing you knew, she gently scooped you up and carried you to her bed with her mouth still pressed against yours. Kissing you became the next addicting thing for her. Wanda hovered over you as she laid you down on your back.

She pulled away from the kiss and smiled softly, “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips traveled down to your neck once more, kissing your skin softly as she felt your arms wrap around her neck. This time, you feel it when she bites you again, unable to stop the moan that escapes your mouth. Wanda smiled as she continued to drink softly from you, her hand reaching up behind your dress to pull at the string that was holding your nightgown together as you arch your back and pressed your front against her. Your dress comes loose with a simple tug, and your cheeks flush, a deep shade of red donning your face as you feel Wanda’s hand cupping and groping your breast over the fabric.

After she pulls away, Wanda kisses your skin again, her lips traveling further south and her face coming up in between your plush breasts. She moans against you, your scent filling her nose in the most addicting way. She could smell you. How aroused you were. How wet you were. And tonight, despite all that you’ve given her, she was feeling a little greedy.

“I want you. I want to make you feel good,” she tells you, her voice all breathy against your skin. “I want to touch you.”

“Please,” you begged her, running your hands in her hair as she began to pull the dress off of you, agonizingly slowly.

When your body comes into full view, Wanda can’t help but stare. She mutters a curse under her breath before letting her fingertips run along your stomach, your nipples, your hips, and your thighs, and Wanda feels like she’s in heaven.

“Stop staring,” you say, pouting shyly as the vampire continues to ogle you.

She only smiles, fangs darting past her lips, “I can’t, angel. You look so pretty like this.”

Wanda leans down to litter your skin with wet kisses and small bruises. She eventually makes her way down to your legs, holding your plush thighs in her hands, and she kisses you, running her tongue over each part that she kisses. You allowed her to spread your knees apart, exposing your glistening sex to her shyly as she leans over, her kisses traveling closer and closer to your wet core.

“Spread your legs wider,” she said, unable to take her eyes off of you.

You do as she says, your hands now gripping your bedsheets slightly. Her fingers make their way in between your folds, softly touching your opening. She lets them move up and down, collecting your slick and spreading it all over, down in between and up to your clit, where she presses slightly harder against your bundle of nerves. She sees you when you bite your lip to stop a moan from falling past your lips. Wanda smiled at the sight. Her love bites are littered all over your skin; the bite on your neck looked more delicious than ever, and your pretty face looked up at her like she was the only one who could ever make you feel like this. Hell, it drives her crazy.

With a new sense of determination, Wanda finally slips her cold finger into you, your tight and warm walls wrapping around her digit. She sighs and leans forward to lay her head against your tummy, watching closely as she pushes her finger in, then pulling out with a squelch.

“You’re so wet for me,” she thinks aloud.

She groans, listening to the delicious sounds of your softest whimpers as she fingers you. Another finger slips inside of you, pulling them in and out of your pussy at a faster pace. Your breathing got heavy. You could feel your stomach getting tighter, but before you could come undone, Wanda pressed her thumb to your clit, working you up to your orgasm. Her fingers are long, and she can’t help but add another one into your tight, dripping sex. Her other hand holds your quivering thigh down as you tremble against her.

“W-Wanda, I’m—”

Your mouth falls open at the feeling of being filled up with her fingers. She’s much faster now, curling her fingers into your walls sloppily as she continues to press your clit, pushing you closer and closer to your high. And then, it comes. Wanda travels up and kisses you, swallowing your moans as you fall apart on her fingers, cumming all over her hand. Your back arched and your legs jerked closed as she pushed your legs back open.

Wanda carefully pulls her fingers out of you, but she doesn’t stop rubbing your clit, making you shiver against her. She rubs it in tight circles as her kisses travel back down to your neck, where she takes another greedy bite into your skin, welcoming the taste of your divine blood into her mouth once again. She groans when you pull her hair slightly, getting drunk off of your essence and the way your hands feel on her head.

When she pulls away, she kisses you again. And when she pulls away for a third time, she makes her way down your body, traveling through the valley of your breasts, over your stomach, and then her destination—back in between your legs. Her nose nuzzles against your clit, your scent filling her senses all over again.

“W-Wait, Wanda this is…”

You had never done this before. And now that Wanda was face to face with your glistening pussy, you got shy. Wanda only looks up at you and smiles, pressing gentle kisses along your inner thigh.

“I want you,” she reminds you, pulling you closer to her face. “I want to be the first one that makes you feel good. I want it to be me. Only me. Inside of you. I want to see how pretty you’ll look when I have my mouth on you.”

She says it so absentmindedly, her eyes not leaving the sight of your pussy as she spreads your lips apart with her thumbs. You couldn’t help but blush at her words, your face getting hotter each time you felt her breath on your pussy. You felt like time was ticking so slowly, with Wanda staring at you for what felt like hours. You grew tense with anticipation, waiting and waiting for her to do something. And when she finally does, your jaw drops, and a silent moan falls from your mouth. Wanda memorizes every little noise you make, the way you arch your back, or the twitch of your thigh.

She was in heaven. Your inner thighs glistened with arousal as she held you down against your bed, noting the way your hands made their way back to her red hair. Your body was a hot, trembling mess right underneath her as she devoured you, licking every space she could reach with her tongue.

When Wanda looks up and sees your mouth wide open in silent screams, arching your back off of the mattress, your soft hand tugging at her locks in a pitiful attempt to slow her down, she knows you’re close. She grew desperate. She keeps licking you, eager to get you closer and closer to your climax. You’re chanting her name as quietly as you can, eyes closed shut as the pleasure keeps building and building inside of you.

“Wanda, I-I’m about to—”

You whimpered, your legs closing around Wanda’s head. She hummed into your pussy and continued to eat you out right as you came into her mouth. She ran her tongue through your folds and over your clit softly, easing you through your orgasm with a satisfied moan. Wanda practically forced herself away from your sex, wishing for nothing but more time with you. She pulled back and sat on her legs to stare at the beauty right in front of her. She rubbed your soft thighs in soothing circles with her hands as she smiled down at you. You trembled slightly, still shaking from the orgasm she had given you.

You reached out to her, your weak arms lifting from the bed, wanting to be in her embrace again. She obliged happily, leaning down to hover over you once again. Wanda kissed you up your neck, to your jaw, and, lastly, to your lips, the taste of you still lingering on her tongue. She moaned against you and smiled into the kiss when she felt your hands slide from her neck to cup her face.

Then, you remembered.

You pushed her away softly, just so you could look at the blood stain on her shirt, where an arrow had struck her earlier tonight.

“I’m okay, now,” you heard her say.

Running a slow and gentle hand over her shoulder, you took a peek, pulling the fabric down a little bit to see her wound, but nothing was there.

“It’s gone,” you said in awe.

Wanda smiled softly at you as you continued to inspect her shoulder. You looked so beautiful. So unafraid of her. And it made her the happiest woman on Earth. She sighs and leans down to pepper a few kisses on your cheek, still surprised by her healing abilities. But you got distracted again, feeling her soft lips against your skin. The light of a candle on your night table danced across the room as she kissed you. Wanda was so gentle. Like she promised.

After a moment, Wanda turned to look out your bedroom window, where she had come in. Her senses immediately took notice of how quiet it was and how dark it was outside. The night embraced the world outside of your bedroom, blackness stretching as far as her eye could see. It was different from the warmth she felt in this sim room—a room with you, her love. It reminded her of the world and now, the secrets you both carried together.

Your voice pulled her out of your thoughts. “You have to go, don’t you?”

Wanda smiled, knowing you already knew the answer to your own question. “Your mother would throw a fit if they found me here.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes at the thought, smiling sadly as you begin to play with the fabric of her shirt.

“I’ll come see you again, angel. I promise you.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, looking up at her with hopeful eyes.

Wanda turned her attention back to you, and her heart skipped a beat. You were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Unable to stop herself, she leaned down and kissed you once more.

“Tomorrow,” she said firmly.

With one final, lingering kiss on your lips, Wanda whispered three little words. Then, with a graceful and silent movement, she made her way over to the window through which she had entered. Wanda disappeared into the night, leaving the room she made love to you in. You lay in bed, contentment washing over you as a soft smile played on your lips. She was different from the stories you’d hear about vampires. People called them monsters, and even though you only knew Wanda, she was miles and miles away from being one.

You missed her already.

But just as she promised, you saw her again the next day. This time, with more kisses and closer encounters.

— navigation!

[meowmeowriley]

Bunny ghost anon again, with a slightly more normal but not really idea, where one of the things that tips Johnny off to Ghost’s species is the amount of greens he goes through. This is a man Johnny has found at 3am, shoveling arugula into his mouth from the bag. No salt, no oil, no dressing. And it’s happened more than once. You’d think a man as beefy as ghost would be an absolute carnivore, but Soap knows better than most that leaves can translate into the plumpest bunnies. So he goes on the ever-so-subtle mission of finding Ghost’s Favorite Leaf. Different lettuces, bok choy, spinach, watercress, parsley, cilantro, basil, blackberry, raspberry, mint, fennel. Ends up with a whole garden on base trying to keep his favorite rabbit well-fed.

-🐇👻

I love this so much, but I'm gonna approach it a bit differently.

Once Soap finds out Ghost is a bunny shifter he's initially shocked, and then appalled. He's seen Ghost eat. (How the hell he ignored the buck teeth, which should have been his first sign, he'll never know.) He's seen Ghost eat meat. That's not good for him. Wild rabbits have been known to eat meat when food is scarce, but that's when things are dire. No wonder the man was so lean.

That just wouldn't do. Soap made it his mission to correct Ghost's appalling diet. At the next meal, he found Ghost in the mess, a tray containing eggs and bacon in front of himself. He was about to dig in.

Soap swipes the tray away. Thump. Ghost is not pleased. "Sergeant. That's my breakfast."

"You're an herbivore."

"I'm hungry. Don't make me make it an order, give me back my food." Thump. Soap takes off running.

He runs into the kitchen, rips open the industrial fridge, and grabs a head of bok choy. He whips around to find Ghost bearing down on him, absolutely about to beat his ass, fist raised, and he thrusts the veg into Ghost's chest.

Ghost... examines the food... takes a bite... humms a bit... and backs down. Soap very nearly died, and damn was it worth it to see the softness overtake Ghosts features.

***

Soap gives a list to Price, of all the things rabbits can eat, who gives it to medical, who puts in a request for the kitchen staff to start offering vegetarian options at every meal.

There's a garden on base after that. Soap tends to it. Sometimes finds his Lieutenant stealing from it.

"Hey, get out of my fucking garden!"

"I'll shit in your fucking garden!"

Which wouldn't actually be a problem, rabbit excrement makes excellent fertilizer. It's the principle of the matter.

[crownofgildedlilies]

feelin' like an absolute fool about it -> cool about it [1]

in which: a son of jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: angst, angst, and angst. oh and cursing.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this is a four part fic and im so obsessed with this idea. Jason Grace the man that you are. oh and this follows a nonlinear plot so be warned. lmk if you want to be added to a taglist or wtv!

[one] two three four

"If I have to sit through one more meeting with you making kiss me eyes at the praetor, I'm going to run myself through with my own lance."

"Good morning to you, too, Dakota." You grunted, half amused, half still pissy from the horror show that had been your previous night. "I slept like shit, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome," He didn't miss a beat, pouring more kool-aid than was probably healthy into his cup to drink with breakfast. "Now, man up."

"Real inspiring."

Dakota leveled you with a flat look, and you fought the urge to roll your own eyes. But you knew he would twist the action into your admitting defeat in your impromptu staring contest.

And you were nothing if not a sore loser.

"Admit you want to date the praetor." Dakota demanded, trying to push the conversation along.

On instinct, your gaze darted throughout the dining pavilion, looking for a certain head of blond hair that had yet to make an appearance that morning. And it was then that you knew Dakota meant business, because he didn’t call you out for looking away first.

"Reyna's pretty. Not my type, though." You deflected, stabbing a fork into your breakfast with what was probably more force than necessary. Dakota's eyes widened at the action, briefly, before narrowing at you in suspicion.

"Moving past that comment," He waved his hand in front of him, as if to physically move the conversation along. "Does your current attitude have anything to do with last night's freak thunderstorm?"

Maybe, you would have said, if your mouth didn't suddenly taste so bitter. Still, you winced, and you knew that was enough of an answer for him.

"Oh, come on!" Dakota groaned, pausing only to sip greedily on his kool-aid. You looked on in near amusement, cheek propped up on your fist, waiting for his dramatics to pass. "I finally get my speech all prepared to get you to confess your unending love to Praetor Grace, and you two get in an argument the night before?"

"Pity," You replied dryly, hoping the way you exaggeratedly poked out your bottom lip and knitted your brows together masked the ache in your chest.

"Centurion," Dakota whined, and you wondered how you had gotten so lucky to be promoted to lead the Fifth Cohort alongside him. "What happened?"

Your eyes flashed, shooting him a glare that made him snap his mouth shut.

"Oh-kay." He whistled, sipping his kool-aid some more. Seriously, you needed to figure out how to trick the poor guy into drinking water. "My point still stands. One argument does not change the fact that you guys are in love with each other."

You scoffed, shoveling pancakes in your mouth to avoid answering, head ducked.

Dakota slammed his open palms down on the top of the table so forcefully, almost every head in the pavilion snapped towards him.

"So you admit it!" He accused, grinning wickedly and showing off the red-stained mustache his drink of choice left. You grimaced, swallowing your breakfast to avoid choking. "You do love him!"

"Keep your voice down or I will shove Octavian's entire teddy bear collection down your—"

"Okay!" Dakota interrupted, grinning proudly, as if he hadn't just been threatened. "No need for violence. I was right."

"So is a broken clock twice a day. You're not special." You rolled your eyes, settling stiffly back into your seat. Risking another glance around the mess hall, you still found no sight of the world's most irritating, kind-hearted, moron of a praetor.

Also known as Jason Grace, your best friend.

And as Dakota had just so eloquently uncovered, the guy you've been in love with for years without ever uttering a word about it to him.

"Put me out of my misery, please, and just go talk to the guy, will you?" He begged, like he truly was the one suffering. You glared at him again, but you knew it wasn't fair.

Dakota hadn't been there last night, when you had tried telling Jason how you felt. But the boy was as emotionally oblivious as he was pretty, which was saying a lot.

"Wait," Dakota wiped at his mouth, but the kool-aid stains remained behind. "Did you already—?"

"Centurions," Harper from the Second Cohort appeared at your side, slightly out of breath and eyes wide. You had only ever really spoken to her during Senate meetings, but you were friendly enough.

So you were more than a little confused when she looked at you and took a step back, like she was afraid.

"Everything alright, Harper?" You asked, turning slightly in your seat, mind already running through a million different scenarios of horrible things that could have happened and dragged such a reaction out of Harper.

You had seen the girl take on four sons of Mars before. She wasn't exactly afraid of much.

"He's gone," The words tumbled past her lips before she winced, taking a second step away from you. Face twisted in confusion, you tried to make sense of the vague explanation. "Jason, I mean. He's just—"

Gone.

You were out of your seat before she could finish talking, breakfast long forgotten. The few bites you had managed to swallow felt like lead in the pit of your stomach, weighing you down and making you feel like you were barely moving, even as you raced so fast through camp that even the Lares barely had time to get out of your way.

There was no way Harper was right. Jason couldn't just be—be gone. He was everything a Roman aspired to be; strong, resilient, dedicated.

And maybe you had gotten into an argument, but Broken Clock Dakota was right for the second time that day. One argument didn't mean you stopped loving him.

You have never been so thankful that your father was the god of travelers as your feet pounded on the dirt roads. Sprinting towards the bunk houses, you utilized every ounce of Mercury-blessed speed. Jason had to be there. Or maybe he had snuck off to New Rome to buy you apology flowers, like he had the one time he missed your birthday—you had forgive him easily, as he had been off on a quest he nearly died during.

Heart in your throat, you skidded to a halt outside the small, private bedrooms given to the praetors. You had always teased Jason that his looked like a prison cell, considering his only decorations were books on war strategies used throughout centuries.

But then he had taped up that one gods-awful photo of you and him, both squinting against the sun shining in your faces, and it hadn't seemed so desolate.

"Jason!" You shouted with relief, voice choked up, because the door to his room was open. He never kept his door open, unless you were inside, because he claimed it stopped the other campers from making assumptions about what the two of you were getting up to in his bedroom, alone.

And then you would ask him to explain what he meant by that, trying to hide your grin for as long as you could while he stammered over his words with a blush.

"Jase, they're saying—" You pushed open the door to his room further, voice almost shuddering, and stopped cold when you saw the room's only occupant.

Because it wasn't your blond haired love leaning over the small desk in the corner of the room.

"He didn't show up to our praetor meeting this morning." Reyna's voice was flat, giving you only the facts. You were glad, because if she had spoken with pity, you were certain you would have thrown up.

Jason would be nice about it, but you didn't want to vomit on his carpet.

"That's not like him," You stated dumbly, fingertips vibrating with anxious nerves. Reyna shook her head, and it was then that you realized she had been sifting through the stacks of papers on his desk.

It felt like an intrusion of his privacy, even if it was a necessary precaution. There might have been clues to his whereabouts in those papers. Instead, you were certain they were only his to-do lists, scribbled in his neat handwriting you so adored.

And when she spoke next, you wish you could have plugged your ears and ignored her.

"Centurion, Jason Grace is missing."

Six months, one week, four days, nine hours.

And thirty-six minutes.

Jason had been gone for six months, one week, four days, nine hours, and thirty-six minutes.

In total, you had slept probably a total of nineteen consecutive hours. Octavian had tried calling for your removal from role of Centurion five times. Reyna had offered you the open position of Praetor twice, behind closed doors.

"It's not available," You had snapped. Fear and exhaustion had turned you bitter. "Jason's coming back."

Six months, one week, four days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes.

"You know," Dakota's voice was slightly slurred, already gone on the kool-aid on such a bright summer afternoon. He had found you on the steps of the forum, searching through dozens of letters from retired legionnaires all claiming to not have heard any word about Jason but would keep scouting, and suggested you join him for a walk. "I bet he's out there, fighting for his life to get back here to you."

You shot a glare at Dakota, but kept your mouth shut. Lately, he was the only one of your old friends that could stomach being around you. No one else wanted to subject themselves to your attitude. You were glad to have a friend, even if you didn't act like it.

But you wished Dakota wouldn't talk about Jason fighting for his life.

"Brenda said I could take another eagle out searching today," Your voice had a rasp to it. Rarely used, but never rested. For the first three weeks following Jason's disappearance, you spent each night crying in your bunk, murmuring desperate pleas that your golden boy be returned to you.

And maybe he had never truly been your Jason, but it had felt pretty close.

Finally, Reyna had slipped a key into your palm, disguised as a handshake. The silver key, the one that unlocked Jason's empty praetor room, currently sat on a chain around your neck.

You slept there, now.

No one mentioned your nightly disappearance. You figured everyone was just thankful they didn't have to hear your crying anymore.

"Are you sure you should be flying?" Dakota looked you over with unease, the Little Tiber coming into view on the horizon. You were certain you looked a mess, but what did it matter? You only cared about what Jason thought of you, and Jason never cared about what you wore.

Still, the dark bags of exhaustion under your eyes probably were cause for concern.

"Says you," You countered dismissively, waving a hand towards the flask of kool-aid attached to his belt.

"That's not what I mean," He huffed, defensive. "When's the last time you slept—"

The shouting from the Little Tiber interrupted your conversation. You squinted in the direction of the sound, both surprised and startled to find two massive fists of water raised in the air, a gorgon in each.

At the bank was Hazel Levesque, submerged up to his knees was Frank Zhang, and... controlling the water-fists was a boy you had never seen before.

Without warning Dakota, you took off in a sprint towards the edge of the Little Tiber. You reached the bank just as Frank shot two incredibly well placed arrows at each of the gorgons, turning them to dust and swallowing them downstream.

"Centurion!" Hazel gasped, spotting you approach. Dakota was slowly closing in, muttering curses about children of Mercury and their swiftness. "We found him by the front gates. He was carrying, well, a goddess, so we figured we should let him in."

By the time Hazel finished rambling, both the new boy and Frank had made it ashore. Frank, with his probatio tablet swinging around his neck avoided meeting your eye.

Most people did, lately.

But the newcomer met your stare head on, confidently, if not a little confused. Pursing your lips, something about him set off alarms in your mind.

"What's your name?" You asked, still frowning. You hated being so angry all the time. You missed smiling. You missed your reason for smiling, too, but you had other things to worry about, somehow.

Like the son of Neptune who showed up on your front door.

The boy shifted on his feet, a bronze sword clenched in his tired hands. He looked far worse than you had realized at first, and his voice was exhausted when he answered you.

"Percy Jackson."

"Jason Grace!"

"Careful," He grinned, pointing his sword lazily at you. Your laughter echoed throughout the room, setting the world around the two you singing. "People might think your form is getting sloppy."

"Then they'll think you're a shitty coach," You teased, twirling your own sword as you danced throughout the room, always light on your feet. Jason chuckled, and if you could have bottled up the sound to keep forever, you would have in a heartbeat.

Your favorite moments were when it was just you and Jason, in the training center alone. With curfew fast approaching, everyone else was taking advantage of the two short, sweet free hours before lights out.

"Water break," Jason ordered, flipping his sword gracefully back into the golden coin he always kept in his pocket. You obliged him, slipping wordlessly over to your water bottle on the edge of the mat. "I was serious, earlier. You're dropping your elbows."

"And you're more stiff than a flagpole," You countered, raising a pointed brow at him. Jason gave you a look that screamed 'I don't think so', which was practically an invitation for you to mess with him. "Seriously, Jase, you gotta loosen up."

"I'm loose." He argued, and you let out another loud laugh, the kind that had your head tipping back with the force of your joy. Crossing the room to stand before him, you lifted your chin so that you had a chance at meeting his eye.

I'm loose, he claimed. The thought made you snort, again, as you took in his rigid posture, how even just standing, his arms were crossed over his broad chest.

"Jase," You crooned innocently, settling your left hand on his shoulder, fingers smoothing over the muscle. His reaction was instant, to your excitement. Flush coating his cheeks, his eyes tracking the movement of your hand against him.

Just as you had hoped.

"Baby," You taunted, and he actually choked, burning a bright red as you stepped closer to him, smirk on your lips. "If you're going to talk shit about my elbows, you better get ready to fight back."

Grinning wickedly, you held up the magical golden coin you had lifted from Jason's pocket while he was distracted.

"Give me that," He huffed, eyes rolling and catching your wrist before you could get away. Your laughter fell from you in echoing shrieks, trying to escape Jason as he tried to snatch the coin back.

You stuck out your arm in the opposite direction, trying to hold out as long as you could against him. How rare it was you ever were able to outsmart the great Jason Grace.

He simply pulled you closer, his longer arms stretching out over your body to try and get his coin back. Knees knocking together, your laughters mixed in the air.

By the time his fingers finally wrapped around the golden coin, you could barely breathe. Smiles spread wide over both your faces, you grinned up at him, cheeks albeit a bit flushed.

His arm was wrapped around your middle, holding you flush against his front. And even as he stuffed his coin back into his pocket, he kept his arm wrapped around you tightly.

You weren't going to complain, either, your own hands settling on the tops of his shoulders, toying with the collar of his purple camp shirt.

Gods, you were so in love with him, you felt it in your bones. How was it fair that the powers that be put him in your life, just out of arms reach? And how could Venus despise you so much that she would give you Jason Grace, let him hold you and smile at you, and not have him fall in love with you, too?

He was blinding, golden sunlight, and you just needed to be caught in his rays, however briefly.

"Why do you train so much?" You weren't exactly sure where the question came from, but you were certain it was an important one as you studied the emotions swirling in his sky blue eyes. Confusion, mostly, but also a hint of something so similar to admiration it made your skin feel flushed.

"We're soldiers." He reasoned, ever the level-headed Roman. And you loved him for it, really, but you loved him more than the Roman traits.

"Do we have to be, all the time?" You hated how desperate your voice sounded, and you hated Jason for making you ask.

"What else is there for us?" His counter argument was like he hit the panic button in your mind. And maybe if you had more time to think about how to best react, you would have slowed down and talked him through a life beyond the military prowess he had been practically conditioned to think was the only life for him.

But you didn't have time, and you could barely think, so all you did was pull away from his hold.

"Forget it." You mumbled, not entirely sure if you intended for him to hear. It wasn't his fault, you distantly reasoned, he didn't know any better. Raised by wolves then sent to Camp Jupiter? He had no chance at seeing any sort of life beyond battlefield glory.

But you weren't the daughter of reason. Your father was the god of thieves, and your emotions stole the moment from your fingertips.

"Hold on," Jason urged, taking a step towards you as you backed away, mumbling some excuse about needing more water. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Never, Jase." You nodded solemnly, your frown never once leaving your lips as you twisted back around to face him. "And maybe that's the problem."

I want you to break regulation and kiss the daylights out of me, you wanted to scream.

"I don't understand." He shook his head, open palms splayed up towards the sky, like he was pleading with you or the gods to explain to him.

You laughed once more, but this time, it echoed coldly in the empty training room. Gone was the sunshine smiled you wore, as if it had fallen behind the horizon as the real sun set over your head.

Bitterness twisted your heart, firing unfamiliar cruelty through your gaze, pinned on Jason. He almost flinched at the look on your face.

I don't understand, he had claimed. He didn't understand just how much you ached for him, praetor or not. Roman or mortal, you wanted him.

But he was a soldier, first. And maybe he was a soldier, only.

"Maybe that's the problem."

He called your name, but you were already out the door, letting the metal slam shut behind you.

You weren't enough of a fool to pretend to not see the lightning strike the roof of the training center, ruining the perfectly clear skies from only moments before. The only proof of Jason's frustration he would let the world see, you knew.

The only proof that maybe he ached the same way as you.

That night, you didn't sleep. Your poor bunkmates, listening to you twist and turn and try and get comfortable when it felt like knives were piercing your insides. Acid burned your tongue, cursing the appendage for ever trying to broach the subject about being more than soldiers to the other with Jason.

The next morning, you walked into breakfast, determined to avoid talking to Jason for at least a few hours.

Oh, what a mistake that wish was.

[obriengf]

Jubilee || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: You find moments of clarity throughout your boyfriend's birthday. Words: 1.9k Warnings: totally added tay swift references - not really a warning (: Notes: despite the photo used in the banner, the reader is non-gender specific, non-race specific, etc.

April 8th, 1995 - Happy Birthday Stiles Stilinski ・❥・

You weren't sure what it was, exactly - maybe it was simply just how his eyes would widen with excitement, a childhood gleam that twinkled so exuberantly as he smiled. Or, it could be how his body jumped with so much positive energy, the balls of his feet built with springs as he bounded around with pure enthusiasm. Perhaps, it was really the way in which he couldn't stop talking, in absolute Stiles fashion, his mind and mouth running with stories and ideas and honest happiness. Selfishly, you would like to say that it was when he encased his body around yours and provided loving kisses with every 'thank you' during his never-ending expression of gratitude. Whatever it was, it made this time of year your favourite of them all. Nothing could beat celebrating your boyfriend's birthday.

His twenty-ninth year started with a tender peck - lips pressed to his cheek as they covered a freckled canvas, his skin warm as it remained settled under the morning sun that filtered through the blinds. It twitched from such a delicate sentiment and was followed by lashes dancing as the boy began to wake. He was so beautiful, and it prompted your heart to clutch in absolute awe.

His arm was heavy as it remained slung over your waist, despite pulling you closer to his chest in oblivious movements from his still-slumbered state. He hummed lightly against the shell of your ear, a sound of acknowledgement, wordless contentedness to the complacency you helped him feel. It made you kiss him again on the upturn of his nose and he groaned as it scrunched.

"Hi." You whispered so quietly, his caramel toned eyes fluttering once again as they tried to adjust to the morning light. Stiles smiled at you, completely loving with just a simple glance. A hum pushed past your lips, "Good Morning, handsome."

"It is now." He replied, so smooth, so swift. The truth embedded in such little words and encapsulated with sleepy raspiness.

Noses brushed as you giggled under your breath, your thumb rubbing gently under his eye, "And Happy Birthday."

He leaned into your touch as if it were moulded to fit his face, love exuberating from his features with ease, "Thank you, baby."

It was amusing to watch as Stiles shovelled his face with pancakes - the breakfast dish easily branded as his favourite, and seen quite evidently as he moaned loudly in satisfaction. The plate was stacked high and you knew that the sugar rush could potentially be catastrophic, but it was his day, and he deserved everything he desired.

An incredulous look was etched deeply into the furrowed brows and confused lift of Noah Stilinski's lips as he watched his son across the table. The coffee mug in his hand was teetering on the edge of lukewarm by now, but he couldn't tear his focus away. You'd think that after twenty-nine years, the man would be somewhat immune to the quirkiness of his son. Noah's eyes glanced briefly around your small kitchen space - an area where you and Stiles spent much of your time since you moved in together. He had always admired the varied elements representing you both and how easy it was for your lives to merge. It was as if soulmates were united, and this is how your beings were destined to be intertwined.

"You spoil him." Noah's deep voice broke through the silent chuckle you expelled toward your boyfriend, eyes managing to break free as they looked to the man beside you. Appreciation filled the small smile he shone your way and you couldn't help but release an elated exhale, your head nodding in agreement.

"I know." Your reply was simple but was spoken with the utmost adoration for Stiles, observing as a childish spark embodied him with joyousness; a light that took a while to finally settle within his heart after years of trepidation and great wars. A sigh pushed past your lips, "But he deserves it, all of it, after everything he's been through."

And you would give him the world on a silver platter if you could, but you knew that all Stiles truly wanted was to be content. He craved silly grown-up routines and times when he could relax without the threat of worry. He wanted to relive mundane moments from his teenage years that were short-lived due to monsters that lurked in the shadows. He yearned for endearment and safety and just simply knowing that you would be there every morning and night, curled up in his arms, loving him unconditionally. Stiles never asked for a lot, so days like today were ones you strived to make special. Because he deserved special, every last speck of it.

Noah snickered to himself, pride filling his chest as he looked between yourself and Stiles. "He deserves you most, ya know." His words struck a chord - one with melodic tunes, strummed hard enough to get your heart beating fast as a red blush pinched at your nose and cheeks. You reached across and placed a hand over his, your eyes bright as you looked at the older Stilinski.

"Thank you." That was all you ever wanted.

Stiles could work a room, especially when the buzz was centered around him. He had bounced across your living room several times by now, excitement filling his veins as he couldn't stop talking to the friends and family who came to see him for his birthday. You were standing off to the side, half listening as Scott was making conversation about his week at the Clinic - your focus was mostly on Stiles, admiring the way he was utilising his over-energetic nature and definite possible sugar hype from his breakfast. He had never looked happier as words flowed from him, a bottle of beer clutched between the fingers of his right hand as his left arm hung jovially over Liam's shoulders in deep narration.

"You're not listening, are you?" Scott spoke up, amused as his arms crossed over his chest and he leaned back casually against the wall.

"Sorry, Scotty." You offered a smile, apologetic tones seeping through and your friend couldn't help but shake his head as he returned your smile amiably. You took a sip of your own drink, making sure to turn your body slightly, attempting to provide full attention even though your mind still wandered whenever you heard your boyfriend's laugh. "I was, I just got a little distracted --"

" -- It's all good." He intercepted your explanation, a look of knowing putting you at ease. He knew well the effect that you and Stiles had on each other, for the most part, and how you were both connected so seamlessly by an invisible string that without fail drew you back to one another. It only made sense that a part of your focus would always be on him. "But kudos on the party. You definitely decked the place out, and Stiles seems to definitely be enjoying himself."

You hummed, eyes picking up the array of decorations that you so carefully placed only a couple of hours ago. "You know more than anyone that I'd do anything to just see him happy. After all, today is Stiles Day and honestly..." You trailed off, features already beginning to scrunch up as joviality shaped your words, "I think I like it more than Christmas."

You laughed, and Scott joined you. He agreed wholeheartedly as his hand splayed over his chest, head nodding and lopsided smile growing by the second.

It wasn't too long after when the crowd gathered around your dining table with Stiles perching at the head as he sat tall. The lights were turned off and the room became swallowed by darkness - building anticipation, creating an atmosphere of smiles and eagerness for the theatrics to follow. It was the sound of hissing that made ears perk and eyes swiftly track the source as it entered from the kitchen. You had gentle hands as his cake remained in your hold; silhouettes sitting against the walls from shoots of sparking fire that sat atop his cake. His gaze grew large, and the normal caramel tone of his eyes shifted to a glowing golden hue from the reflecting sparklers.

You placed the cake in front of Stiles before planting a tender kiss against the apple of his grinning cheek, your nose nuzzling into his favourite spot under his ear, "Happy Birthday, my handsome man."

The crowd began to sing, mismatched harmonies growing louder in the small space of your apartment. It was hasty as Stiles' large hands gripped at your waist, your body falling toward his own before he sat you in his lap. Legs dangled over his knees and it made you giggle against the curve of his shoulder. Stiles pecked your template before replicating your nuzzle, his nose dragging against your hairline, "I love you."

You watched as the sparklers danced patterns across his affectionate expression, completely mesmerised by him and the fortune you felt, before you smiled up at him, "I love you too. Now blow out those candles!"

It wasn't much different from your usual Monday night; the television played some reruns of comedies from the 90's, every light in the room was turned off except the dingy floor lamp beside the couch, and the coffee table was graced by Chinese takeout containers and leftover plates of birthday cake. Stiles slumped back against the soft cushions with his feet perched upon the table, socks cladding his feet as they moved in tune with the opening credits of an old sitcom. He was in complete comfort, only made better by your frame as it was situated under his arm with your head pressed to his chest and hands curled in the material of his t-shirt. His touch was absentmindedly dragging up and down your side with dancing fingers, the sentiment just barely felt as the movements remained delicate and featherlike.

"Today was amazing." He said so nonchalantly, voice hardly competing with the television as the sound remained low.

You burrowed yourself closer to him, tiredness beginning to takeover, "I'm glad."

Stiles grinned lazily, his lips puckered before pressing kisses down the expanse of your cheek as his nose trailed after them, "But this?Right now... full of cake and chow mein, us cuddling and watching Friends reruns... this is my favourite part. Without a doubt."

"But we do this practically every night." You mused, voice laced with humor and confusion before gently pulling away from him. Your brow was raised, but the puzzled expression across your features was captured with a smile.

"Yeah, we do, but... just knowing how much effort you put into making today the best birthday, it just makes it all mean so much more."

Your heart pattered, a rush of endearment and affection. It was loud and fast in your chest, but one would never have guessed from the quiet squeak of your voice that followed, "I only ever want the best for you."

"And all I ever want is you. Period."

The light from the television casted a blue glow as you leant forward, your arms encasing themselves around Stiles' neck as thighs straddled his own. The programme was long forgotten, and his face settled against your shoulder. You could feel him breathe you in as his own arms wrapped around to your back, his large splayed hands pushing your body further against him.

You kissed the crown of his head, fingers gentle as they tangled themselves in the loose locks of his hair, "Happy Birthday, Stiles."

[unspeakable-imagination]

Cigar smoke and Sleepless nights |Part four

Switched gifs cause this one is wider and prettier

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Reposts and likes are appreciated

Cw: Cigars and smoke, drinking, reader has ptsd. Logan has ptsd, canon-typical violence, references to abuse

Part one two three

For once, you were up 'late,' and by late, it meant daytime. You couldn't sleep, to anxious since your zippo ran out of lighter fluid and you couldn't by more. You sat in the window sill, staring at the fresh snow that blanketed the grass and trees.

Dispite the fox, you felt cold. Maybe it was the lack of your nic fix, maybe it was the absence of talking to any real people. The sun had long risen, and people had been awake for an hour, maybe two. Realistically, you could go out there- talk to someone. Go buy lighter fluid. You had the money from Charles. It was to cold to go outside, you decided. Slipping from the sill, you glanced at yourself in the mirror. Just the same old you.

A lump rose up your throat the closer you got to the door, and it felt like it was burning. To anxious to try to leave your room. What if- What if, so many what's began to fly through your head, but then, they all went silent.

'[Name], it's okay.' A voice. It wasn't Charles? You heard a knock and then opened the door. A lean redhead with bright eyes was looking right at you. "[Name]," she said. "I'm Jean. Charles told me to check on you, and it seemed like perfect timing. He could hear your thoughts from down stairs." You were still confused. It was ger voice you heard in tour head.

"Are you like Charles?" It was the first words that slipped passed your lips. She shook her head,

"No, but I am similar. He can hear just about every one constantly. I'm not like that." She placed her hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I will be, I think I just need some tea to ground me." You wished it was bourbon, or whiskey, or maybe any other liquor. Jean snorted and backed away, having heard what you thought. Of course you were unaware. For a moment, you worried she was laughing at you, but she was able to quell thag worry in just a moment.

"I'd best be on my way. Be safe, [Name]. You'll be okay. Just keep that head up." You nodded and watched as she walked away before you stepped out your own door. Stepping down the stairs, minding the flood of people of all mutant sorts, trying your hardest to ignore the beating of your heart from your chest.

You made it to the kitchen, and with no students there, you were finally able to breath, really breath. Grabbing a mug off the rack, you quickly filled it to the brim with water and put it in the microwave to heat. Whole that happened you shoveled through the cabinets till tou found a perfect tea packet. Chamomile and sweet berry.

After tossing the packet on the counter, you spent your time looking for the honey. That was fairly easy. It was in a large squeeze bottle, shaped like a bear. When the microwave beeped, you were quick to pull the steaming ceramic mug out, taking as little time possible do tou wouldn't burn your hand.

Putting the packet in and rigually tying the string to the handle, you squeezed the honey on top thag way it would dissolve and mix with the pinkish tea flowing from the bag.

Sitting there, you patiently waited. And by patiently, you were actually darting around the kitchen, desperate to find something to do. You looked in the sink, in the fridge, freezer, cabinets and pantry, in the fridge again. Anything to keep your mind off of the driping anxiety.

Like a timer went off, you squeezed the rest of the bag around you fingers getting any of the concentrated tea out of the cup and threw the garbage in the trash. Using your finger to briefly stir it, then licked it off you finger.

You took a deep gulp, one that took almost a third of the glass, trying to use it to calm your nerves. What you didn't realize was that the reason you were growing calmer was the scent of tabacco flowing from behind you. It was hard to smell metal with all of the worry, confusing it for the smell of your own blood. That was until someone cleared their throat.

"That's my coffee mug," Logan said behind you. Jumping from you skin, you nearly spilled the tea over your sweatshirt. "Oh my gods," you sighed. "You scared the fuck out of me. I'm sorry, I didn't know it was your mug, I'll wash it right now." You didn't even give him a moment to speak. You grabbed another mug from the rack and poured your tea into it,

"Oh," he said, to slow to stop you. His brows knitted together as he watched you quickly wash then scrub his mug, rather diligently. You flipped it upside down into the drying rack. "Hey," he said. He wasn't loud enough to break through your trance as he watcher you dip around, grabbing the coffee pot.

"Seriously I am-"

"Hey," he shouted. You stilled, the coffee pot dropping from your hand, the hot drink spilling over the linoleum tiles.

"Oh my god," you said, beginning to panic. Logan was quicker than you this time putting some hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist, stopping you from nearling pulling you your hair.

"Jean," he yelled for the redhead, his jaw twisting over his shoulder. "Jean!" Then, you relaxed, your vision going spotty.

When you woke up, your steaming cup of tea was on your bedside table. Charles sat next to you, his hands folded neatly on his lap. His expression was cross, funn of concern and worry.

"I always try nor to pry into my students head without permission, however you had such a poor reaction to an accident I had to try to help," he said gently. A sour taste filled your mouth, as if bile was rise up your throat.

"What did you see?" He looked at you and you couldn't already tell it was everything. You sat up, glancing to the mug and taking a sip.

"I can take all thoes memories away, [Name]. Usually, I wouldn't offer it, but I feel like it could help you. Wothout living in fear." You raised your hand.

"No, I can't. They make me who I am. They're so important- they show me what not to do." Charles only nodded.

"I know. Don't be afraid to seek help."

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

part 16 - but I know where to start

“Feeling my way through the darkness, guided by a beating heart. I can’t tell where the journey will end, but I know where to start.” -Wake Me Up by Avicii

Regent Masterlist Part 15

Was it a cop-out to summon Jazz back to the Far Frozen? Yes. Did Danny particularly care? Nope! 

Jason was comfortable, propped up with a book Ghostwriter who had popped by to personally deliver. How the ghost had known about Jason Phantom wasn’t going to question, but he suspected GW kept an eye on the bookworms that passed through the Realms- or at least those close to the “Royal family”. Phantom wasn’t much for reading, not unless it was space-related, but he enjoyed listening to the Liminal man reading out loud. He had a brash voice, accented with a cadence like those from Crime Alley, but it only underscored the passion he held for reading. Phantom didn’t interrupt him once, not even when the halfa pulled out his ecto-phone and texted Ellie. 

(His little sister was in Kansas, spending time with another clone she’d literally run into.) 

Almost another full day's cycle passed before Phantom realized Jason had fallen back asleep, a book resting open on his broad chest and soft snores coming from the man. 

Yeah, he could see how he and Jazz fit together so well. 

There was just something about the Once-Revenant, a part of what made him Jason, that resonated with the Phantom. It’s what made him talk to the man as Red Hood, feel comfortable enough to stay in his company for so long, trust him with his older sister- the person who raised him. 

(Spent her birthday money to get him those cheap plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.) 

(Taught him how to read.) 

(Held him as the nightmares of his death shook him to his core.) 

(Did not fear him.) 

(Not as Phantom, Danny, or Dan.)

(Loves him.) 

(Mourns him.) 

(He would never tell her, but he understood how Dan could succumb to grief.)

(Jazz was his.) 

(His first friend, his true mother, his rock.) 

(She wouldn’t have claimed Regency without that tie.) 

Remix & Original chat 

Remix: Lol hows weenie Original:   jasons x3 ur size pipsqeak                    Remix:  ur point?  Original:  lol hes ok                                 frosty says he got hurt wth shrpnel                        new healed core + shrapnel = bad time Remix:  sucks 2 b him  Original:               so tru        Whre r u? Remix: omw 2 spain barcelona Original: ooh send pics if u need me call Remix: pics or nay gotcha txt u l8r luv u  Original: love u 2

Safely back in the living Realm and tucked away in Jason’s apartment, Jazz and Danny tried to investigate the bomb- unfortunately there was nothing for them to do but wait. 

On the upside, the Justice League was about to hit the UN full force with all the subtlety of a tsunami and who had front row seats to the drama? 

Yep, the Regent.  Jazz wasn’t exactly thrilled that her presence was requested, even though it was on the path to the desired outcome the Nightingale siblings had fought for, but both her soulmate boyfriend and little brother would be by her side as support. 

The Birds and the Bats Group Chat

Zombie: I lived bitch Spoiler-Alert: Jason!  Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!  Blood_Heir: Todd. Zombie: don’t sound too excited there demon brat.  Blood_Heir: Never.  Sleep_When_Im_Dead: Where have you been? Zombie: Stayed overnight at my Docs for observation.  Fly-Like-A-Dick: For three days? Blood_Heir: Fail to find that humorous Todd.  Zombie: wasn’t meant to be a joke brat.  I was actually at my Docs.  Zombie: Got a shovel talk from my girlfriends little brother too.                                     Spoiler-Alert:  Whoa GIRLFRIEND!!!! 😱 Jason!  Why is this the first were hearing this??? Fly-Like-A-Dick: Little Wing!!!!!! Quiet_Dancer: 🤗  Zombie:  At least Cass and Dickiebird are happy for me                                    Spoiler-Alert:  Ecstatic! But details! Now.                                                      Zombie: No.                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: Is she a redhead??? Sleep_When_Im_Dead:  Jasmine Nightingale.                                                      Zombie: Babs.                                               Oracle_of_Gotham:  On it.  [member Sleep_When_Im_Dead has been blocked from the group.]  Spoiler-Alert:  too late!!!!!! Cass  with me! Quiet_Dancer: 🫡 Oracle_of_Gotham: DENIED Batdad:  Welcome back Jaylad.                                                        Zombie:                                           Old man       You and I need to have a talk with words                                              Fly-Like-A-Dick: battle stations everyone!!!

Council of Uncaged Birds

Queen_Regent: Ellie, I want you to meet Jason.  Officially meet him.  WanderingPrincess: eh??? temp said wasnt srs Queen_Regent: Danny No InfiniteStarPrince: Danny YES Frosty said they are  soulmates!!!!!! WanderingPrincess: 🤯😱 wha th fuck!!!1 Queen_Regent: language!  WanderingPrincess: ENGLISH imma get a shovel gotta undead weenie 2 bury.

Template. [user InfiniteStarPrince has left the chat]  WanderingPrincess: coward Queen_Regent: I have many regrets.  WanderingPrincess: u luv us 👻

Lady & Knight chat Lady: Jay remember when I told you I wanted you to meet Ellie?  Knight: She’s bringing a shovel isn’t she.  Lady: I love how brilliant you are.  Knight: I aim to please. 

Lady & Knight chat Knight: you patrolling tonight? Lady: wasnt planning on it Knight: wanna meet me? Lady: same time same place? Knight: you know it

The abolishment of the Anti-Ecto Acts officially happened at three pm on a dreary Gotham Tuesday. Jazz was cuddled with Jason on his couch, dozing off to his heartbeat as he read Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time. The comfortable silence they had wrapped themselves in only occasionally broken by Jason turning a page was completely shattered when Jazz’s phone rang with the Ghostbusters theme song. 

“Danny?” Jazz answered surprised, “School isn’t out yet, what’s wrong?” She was greeted by Danny’s heaving cries as he replied. 

“Batman, he- he did it!” Danny sobbed, “He saved us.” 

It clicked then. The Dark Knight had completed the task he was entrusted with by a Spirit of Protection, the Once and Future Star King, and unknowingly kept the promise a ghost made to a young Jasmine Fenton. 

One day my son will stop this. All of this. You only need to be strong. Take care of yourself and your brother. I promise. 

She had waited years for the promise to be fulfilled, the sworn promise of the dead to a living child. Jasmine was a patient soul, but she had still been a child that night in Gotham. 

(The Drs. Fenton believing the stories about a ghostly vigilante patrolling the streets, a never aging child by their side.) (Dragging their children with them. ) (Hungry and cold.) (A dead man who swore his son would end their torment one day.)

(She should’ve known it wouldn’t come fast enough to save Danny.) 

How was she to know the ghost was speaking of the Realms inhabitants, not the abused and neglected children of Ghost Hunters? How was she to know that the hope such a promise kindled wasn’t hers to keep?  Jason wrapped his arms around her, the book set aside and her phone gently taken from her grasp to be put on speaker so they could both talk to her little brother. Danny had dissolved from heaving sobs to muffled hiccups, seemingly now that he’d shared the news with his sister. 

“He really did,” she muttered. “He really did it.” 

(The furry fucker actually did it.) (She’d known that he was going to try, but humans are stubborn creatures.)

A/N: Hi! Welcome to an update for the Regent. Just to be fully transparent with each of my readers - The Regent is still on Hiatus.

I have deleted so much of my writing because I don't like the flow/dialogue/pacing. Original ending thrown out and rewritten twice- still don't care for it. Who knew something other than Angst would be so difficult.

(Not me!)

Having said that, this entry is of course beta'd by the wonderful @meditating-cat who has put up with my random messages.

(You are amazing!)

(In all honesty, I wish I could just skip right to the ending because at least I know 100% I can get it just right....eventually.)

Thanks for reading and happy easter!

[theladyofbloodshed]

@nessianweek

Day 6: Legends and Destiny

When Cassian, the Lord of Iron Crest, has a meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court in Illyria, destiny nudges Lady Death into his path.

Illyria was not for the faint-hearted. It was a place with claws and teeth that chewed you out if you were tough enough – if not, it swallowed you whole.

Cassian landed with a heavy thump upon the sun-scorched earth of Windhaven. His presence echoed through the camp. Males paused from their talking and females kept their heads down as they worked. Lord of Bloodshed they called him. It was a moniker he’d earnt. From the moment he was pushed towards this Gods-forsaken camp, Cassian had spilt blood. He quickly learnt as a child that nobody would extend a hand to a bastard. If he wanted to eat, he had to be the one to put food in his hands. There were the odd few who’d be willing to offer a meal in exchange for a hard day’s work. The smiths were always in need of strong boys to shovel coal and run with a wheelbarrow with logs. On top of his training, the work used to leave him aching and hungry, and some pricks would take the work and refuse the meal at the end. It was easier to fight the bigger boys and take what they had. Cassian soon grew larger than them, quicker and more reckless too. He knew little of self-preservation. Soldiers were born to die.

‘Devlon.’

The camp lord of Windhaven inclined his head in the merest of acknowledgements. He had trained Cassian, many years ago. Over five hundred, to be exact.

‘Is he here?’

‘Not yet.’

Good, thought Cassian. The High Lord of the Night Court would find no allies in Illyria. The other lords had been summoned too. As the Lord of Iron Crest, Cassian couldn’t afford to be late. He was the first bastard to hold the mantle and he intended to keep it, regardless of the amount of blood he’d need to shed. He would do things his way, but an example needed to be set.

Iron Crest made Windhaven pale in comparison. Situated beneath the mountains in the north of Illyria, its summers were bitter and the winters brutal. They lost more to the cold and starvation than the Blood Rite every year. If a child made it to adolescence, it was a thing to be celebrated in the north. Iron Crest made hard bastards of them all, even the females.

And thanks to a petty, little high lord’s son, Cassian was shipped off there at ten years old. He’d beat Rhysand too many times when they sparred - and other times when Cassian attacked him whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd pressed his face into the mud, laughed when he’d broken his nose and his mother swept him into her arms to coddle. They had been at war ever since. Cassian let Iron Crest mould him into something better rather than be crushed by the weight. In the Blood Rite, he'd needed no alliances. He was the first to reach Ramiel and managed it on the third day. Rhysand and the shadowsinger made it on the sixth, bleeding and exhausted. It would have been cowardly to kill them then - although Cassian had wanted to. A hand on his shoulder told him no. If the Mother had other plans for them then Cassian would follow her wherever she led.

When the war came, Cassian had barely been fully-grown but he was sent to the front lines against Hybern. He carved a name for himself by shedding blood and breaking bones. He bodied the spirit of Enalius himself. Cassian watered the ground with the blood he spilt. On the return to Iron Crest, he realised that there was no fight he couldn't win. No opponent that he could not best. So he took Iron Crest for himself. He would create the Illyria that he believed in.

No camp lord had wanted Cassian to rule alongside them with Iron Crest, but once the newly-crowned High Lord made his displeasure in Cassian known, the tide changed. Illyrians stuck together. It was in their nature to push against their high fae rulers. A half-breed who leaned more to his high fae side was unwanted as a ruler. They dreamt of a free Illyria – and Cassian was better to keep on their side because one day, he would cut Rhysand's throat.

Devlon glanced up at the sky. It had been an unnaturally warm summer. Not a single cloud marred the blue sky which was odd for Illyria. Cassian didn’t like it. It wasn’t right. Still, if it meant his people could plough the fields for longer and reap the benefits of good weather, maybe he wouldn’t lose so many to famine.

‘Rumour is that he will bring the high lady.’

‘No surprise,’ replied Cassian, scoffing. ‘They have been inseparable since their mating bond snapped.’

Maybe Cassian was a bastard in his heart too because he wished the high lord nothing but ill. Their people had been slaughtered as he stood by Amarantha – as he pleasured her - night after night for fifty years. Then he found his happiness in a mate he’d helped to torture. Illyrians did not have mating bonds, but the high fae blood in Rhysand overpowered his heritage enough to grant him a bond. Cassian wished she hated him. Wished she bucked and reared away from him. But no. Scouts spoke of an undying commitment between them. So, Illyria was left with a half-breed high lord and a once-human high lady who knew nothing of their customs that they were forced to bow and scrape the knee to.

‘They will bring the sisters.’

Few traders ever passed through Illyria due to its hostility but there were outposts to the east where one could barter passage to the Continent or where ships made port and paid cheaper fees than in the Day or Dawn Courts. Foreigners carried snippets of news. They spoke of unrest in Hybern – a brewing threat of war – and a division in Prythian between the seasonal courts due to Spring’s alignment with Hybern. As a result, the high lady’s sisters had been stolen from their beds into Hybern’s cradle. They had met their fates in the Cauldron. Rumour had it that they’d come out wrong. Cassian would decide if they were threats that needed eliminating. Anything that threatened Illyria would be removed eventually. It was taking time, but little pockets of rebellion were building. Soon, they’d strike out and demand their independence. What could the high lord do? Turn his Darkbringers on his Illyrians and lose two armies? 

‘Watch the skies tonight,’ Cassian murmured. He caught Devlon by the elbow as the elder camp lord tried to move past. ‘And watch for shadows. Even in the dark.’

Since slaughtering his way to the position of camp lord, Cassian had done things his way. The archaic laws of his people mattered little to him. Their hearts mattered more. Any bastard who wanted a chance to train – and train fairly – was welcomed at Iron Crest. As such, their numbers were swelling. The Bastard Camp, some had taking to calling it. He’d rather have bastards who were loyal to him watching his back than pampered sons of high lords who went home to their mothers every night for rich food and a warm bath.

One by one, the other camp lords flew in. They knew to acknowledge Cassian now. The few before them who’d dared scorn him soon found a knife in their chest. And those that had ignored him lost their tongues. If they would not speak to him, they did not need a tongue at all.

When the high lord arrived, his violet eyes scrutinised what little he could see of Windhaven. As long as Devlon kept it tidy, it was all Rhysand cared for. He never bothered to greet its citizens or ask about their upcoming harvest. Their traditions and celebrations were not attended to by any of the ruling party. As long as his soldiers were honed to perfection ready to be utilised, the high lord cared for little else regarding Illyria.

The high lady was not what he expected. Her long, burnished gold hair was loosely braided and she wore the leathers of an Illyrian. She was petite with the spiked ears of the high fae. She certainly looked upon Illyria with the distasteful expression that only the high fae could manage though, her opinion of the land decided before truly experiencing it.

With a scowl, Morrigan – his second – surveyed Windhaven. Beside her was the shadowsinger. A waste of Illyrian talent. One who’d sold out his heritage to stand at the high lord’s side. Azriel would find no companions in Illyria. When their eyes met, Cassian’s siphons thrummed in challenge. The shadowsinger’s blue ones flashed in response. They hadn’t fought since they were boys. Cassian couldn’t say who would win now. He was stronger than any – but Azriel had speed and unholy shadows on his side. He was a bastard too though, who should be standing on their side of history, not Rhysand’s.

One of the sisters was meek. She cowed her dark head towards the ground as if Illyria was too much of an eyesore for her to face. Her gown was the colour of a sunrise, the pink silk at odds with the steel and blood needed to survive in this land.

Shepherding her towards the group was the third sister. This one did not bow and bend. Although she too wore a gown that swept the dusty ground, it was a dull grey. The material was plain and practical. It tucked in tightly at her slender waist to offer a glimpse of generous breasts. She tilted to her head towards her sister and spoke softly in her ear. She had the same colour hair as the high lady although it was braided in a coronet to hide her ears. Was she ashamed to be high fae? Cassian would be.

‘High Lord,’ Devlon greeted. As this was the camp in which he oversaw, it was his duty to welcome the ruling party. Cassian could not name a time in which the high lord had visited Iron Crest; certainly not while he ruled it.

‘Good,’ said Rhysand. ‘You are all assembled. And on time.’

They were soldiers. Punctuality was a staple of their life. Cassian gritted his teeth rather than start an argument.

‘What is that?’

One of the males off to the side asked. His finger pointed at the high lady’s sister, the taller of the two. He felt it too - that strange aura that she exhibited. Not wrong entirely, but something not of this world. Something greater. Power made the air around her go static and Cassian tucked his wings together.

‘Is she a witch?’

The female’s head raised slowly like a predator catching a scent. ‘Yes.’

The semi-circle of camp lords beside him recoiled from her. They had come out wrong, rumours said. One was a seer. One had powers she should not. The power of death. Silver fire.

Her gaze snapped to Cassian. Silver ringed her irises. She looked as though she wanted to burn him on the spot. There was no joy to be found in her face, only endless emptiness. like the bottom of the ocean. And yet, when she looked at him, Cassian went as taut as a bowstring. A ringing sounded in his ears. A need to bow roared through him. His lungs felt as though they were splitting and he fought the urge to reach for her.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Didn’t bloodshed go hand in hand with death?

***

‘We’ll stay in here while they have their meeting,’ Mor explained as she gestured to the few low-seated couches within the grey canvas tent. ‘Does anybody want tea?’

It was cooler in Illyria than Velaris. Although the sky was clear, a wind ripped through the camp but the Illyrians didn’t seem to notice it as they mopped their brows and continued their work. Nesta followed in behind Elain, trying to ignore the feeling like a target had been painted on her back. It had felt that way ever since her sister had returned from the dead with two faeries and promised to protect them. Their protection was as worthless as their word. She ran a hand against Elain’s hair and tried not to be revulsed by the pointed ears that they had been cursed with. It was difficult not to feel cursed. Elain spoke in riddles as she offered glimpses of an unstable future whilst Nesta’s powers had a habit of ripping out of her whenever her mood wavered and her silver fire rotted the world around her. She had melted the flesh from a male’s hand in Velaris when he’d placed an unwanted hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Lady Death they called her. Nesta hated it.   

‘What is a witch? Do they exist?’

At Nesta’s question, Morrigan flopped down onto a couch. Her blonde hair splayed out around her. ‘Yes. They’re rare though. They amass more power than their natural reserve with devastating consequences.’

Feyre blew out a breath. ‘Then aren’t all three of us witches? None of us should have any magical reserves.’

‘No,’ said Mor. ‘The how is most important. Witches use spells to harness magic that isn’t theirs. Your magic comes from the High Lords of Prythian and yours,’ she gestured to Elain and Nesta, ‘was gifted by the Cauldron itself.’

Gifted was an interesting choice of words when Nesta had pulled out the Cauldron’s heart with teeth and claws.

The quiet shadowsinger cleared his throat then gave Mor a pointed look. ‘We should not speak of this here.’

Nesta refused to lounge like her sister and Morrigan were doing. Elain also remained sat upright in the tent. Their mortal habits were retained. ‘The Illyrian lords. They didn’t like that I said I was a witch.’

‘Illyrians don’t like anything, least of all a female who will look them in the eye and answer their superstitious questions,’ said Rhysand as he entered the tent. He shook his head. ‘Az, I need you in there. They’re out for blood today. Mor will guard the Archerons.’

‘Who was the male who didn’t step away?’

Nesta was showing all of her cards, she knew. The other camp lord couldn’t move away quick enough at the accusation of her being a witch, but that one – the one that had towered above the others - had remained rooted to the spot eyeing her without fear. It hadn’t been fear that quickened Nesta’s heart either.

‘That one is a pain in my ass,’ grumbled Rhys. ‘And he’ll drag his feet to make this meeting as difficult as possible. Az, let’s remind them who their high lord is.’

The pair departed in silence and only the idle chatter of Morrigan and Feyre broached it. When Nesta could no longer take the boredom of whittling away the time listening to their inane chatter, she announced that she needed fresh air. The words to try and stop her fell on deaf ears. Nesta needed to feel the air on her face. This was part of the Night Court, was it not? Surely, she should be able to walk freely through it.

Illyria was a stark contrast to Velaris. Instead of ornate rows of town houses with elegant facades and pristine gardens, most Illyrians lived in tents with better-off families having small, wooden cabins. The nights grew cold in the north, so Nesta could not imagine the misery of winter in such a place. There were no markets or theatres. It was without art galleries or boutique shops. Illyria was, for lack of a better word, bleak. She understood a little why Azriel abhorred his heritage. As Nesta walked through the well-tracked routes of the camp, many males either leered at her or made a sign against evil in her presence. The females kept their heads down while they worked if they were allowed out at all. The commonality amongst the females was that all of them had scarred wings. Some had deeper, heavy-handed scars as though they’d bucked from being clipped, whilst others had more clinical scars as if they had been sedated.

Nesta let her feet wander. Further out from camp, nature reigned supreme. The rugged terrain was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The hills were streaked with pink heather and rough gorse. Streams trickled through the hills into a fast-flowing river so Nesta stopped to cup the clear water with her hands and drink from it. There were so many birds flying freely in the sky. It had been so long since she'd heard birdsong in their tower of red stone in Velaris.

On her ambling through the outskirts of camp, she came across a boy. Tears had tracked through his grubby face. His dark hair had been cropped to the skull and the clothes he wore were too big for him.

‘Don’t run from me,’ she said, voice more severe than she intended it to be.

The boy stood his ground. He lifted his chin and asked, ‘Are you the high lady?’

‘Her sister. And who might you be?’

‘Fedor.’

Nesta caressed his cheek. ‘Where are you parents?’

‘I haven’t got any.’

Life in Illyria was hard – worse still if you were an orphan. Nesta had heard from Morrigan how orphans in Illyria had to fight for the clothes on their back and the food in their bellies. Nobody reached out a hand to help them. Only Rhysand's mother opening her arms to Azriel had saved him from that life.

‘What are you doing all the way out here?’

He searched the hills then his eyes flitted briefly to her face. ‘Nothing.’

‘Were you running away?’

Her fingers fit beneath his chin so Nesta tilted it upwards. His lashes were long and tears filled his eyes.

‘They’re sending me to Iron Crest.’

‘What is wrong with Iron Crest?’

Fedor jerked away from her touch then picked a stone up from the ground. He hurled it away from them so it landed with a splash in the river; Fedor had managed to throw it much further than she’d be able to.

‘It is the worst camp,’ he said. ‘Nobody wants to go to Iron Crest. The Lord of Bloodshed rules it. I hit too many boys here so Lord Devlon is sending me away. It’s not fair.’

Nesta could not bear to see a little boy’s tears – not when he had nobody else in the world. She reached her arms around him, pulling him against her abdomen. The boy sobbed against her. She leaned forwards, cradling his head to her body, as she shushed and soothed.

It took a great deal of time, but Nesta coaxed Fedor to return to camp with her as the dusk encroached. At the sounds of an argument coming from the high lord’s meeting, he clung to her hand so tightly that it hurt. The offer of a free, hot meal was too good to resist as much as his instincts told him to bolt. The boy was too afraid to enter the tent where her sisters and Morrigan remained, so Nesta brought the meal to him and they dined together upon a wooden trunk for weapons near a sparring ring. He ate so quickly that she had to ration his serving to slow him down before he choked.

‘This meeting is not done,’ came Rhysand’s voice.

The tent flap opened then the striking Illyrian stormed through. ‘I say it is done.’

His dark hair was pulled back into a loose knot, with many strands falling free. Although he shared the same hazel eyes and brown skin of the Illyrians, he carried himself differently. The ones she had seen either sneered or snivelled. This one did neither. He walked proudly, his head held high, like a male who knew his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Like Azriel, he wore seven siphons. Instead of the cool blue of the shadow singer’s, his were the colour of rubies.

‘Eat up,’ she murmured to Fedor, giving him her portion too.

 As the darkness swallowed them, Nesta watched the camp lords departing one after the other with a spread of their wings into the sky. Rhysand exited shortly afterwards with a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he spoke in his ear then the shadowsinger disappeared into the darkness as though he’d never been there at all.

‘You have my boy,’ a low voice rumbled.

Stepping soundlessly towards them was the broad chested Illyrian with a scar cutting through his right eyebrow.

Nesta stood in front of Fedor. ‘You are mistaken.’

‘He is to come to Iron Crest with me.’

She felt her lip curl in distaste. ‘You are the lord of Iron Crest?’

‘You’ve heard of me then,’ he replied, an arrogant smile dancing upon his lips.

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Cassian.’

‘I don’t care,’ Nesta snapped. ‘You are not taking Fedor with you. He will be coming with me.’

That incensed him. His wings spread out behind him to show off their massive size like a preening peacock. ‘No. He will not be going to the Hewn City. Illyrians stick together.’ Bypassing her entirely, Cassian knelt near the boy. Quicker than Nesta could blink, Fedor struck out at him. Cassian was quicker, catching the boy’s boot before it kicked him in the face. ‘You will come with me tonight to Iron Crest, Fedor. Lord Devlon has agreed it.’

Fedor tried to wrench his foot away, but Cassian held it tight.

‘Stop it,’ Nesta hissed.

A tear tracked through the grime on Fedor’s face. Cassian used his thumb to smear it away.

‘I will not say do not cry because change is scary for males like us.’

‘Us?’

‘Orphans. Bastards.’ Cassian shrugged. ‘They will throw every name at you, Fedor, but not in Iron Crest. I will not allow it. You will have a home. A bed. Warm food every day.’

He raised his dark head, hope brimming on his features. ‘Do I have to fight for it?’

‘You will train, but even if you lose every day, you’ll still have food.’

The boy eyed him with scepticism as if it was too good to be true. Nesta shared his sentiments. She asked, ‘And what do you gain from it?’

Cassian’s stare was too intense. It set a fire in her body. One that couldn’t be cooled. ‘A better Illyria.’

When he stood, the male towered over Nesta. She was not used to craning her neck up to look at males; usually she could look them in the eye without straining. He was simply enormous. The broadness of his chest was almost thrice her own. There were inches between them. The siphon on his chest pulsed in time with the beating of her own heart.

‘Come, Fedor. It grows late and we have a long flight home.’

At Nesta’s nod of approval – because Cassian’s words had struck a chord with her – Fedor slipped down from the wooden chest. He threw himself at Nesta, arms going tight around her. She held him just as tight, a hand stroking his bristly hair.

‘Has the high lady’s sister been kind to you?’

Fedor gave an emphatic nod with his arms still latched around her waist. Cassian gave a chuckle and stroked the boy’s head.

‘Perhaps the high lord will deem Iron Crest worth a visit and she can come too. You are emissary for the Night Court, aren’t you? It would be worth your while to get to know every part of this court – and Fedor would be glad to see you again.’

The cocky grin informed Nesta that Cassian did know he was backing her into a corner. To refuse would break the boy’s heart.

With a promise to visit him in a month, Cassian ushered the boy across the camp to Devlon to say a goodbye so that he could speak with Nesta privately. She squared her shoulders then stood up onto her tip-toes.

‘If any harm comes to him, I will strike you down,’ she vowed. ‘I care little for your reputation or your siphons, Lord of Bloodshed. If that boy is harmed in any way under your guidance, I will shred your wings with my bare hands.’

‘You have the heart of an Illyrian,’ he said.   

Cassian reached for her so Nesta let her flames wreath her hands in warning. It did not stop him. The arrogant male placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back onto her heels so she lost a couple of inches in height. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them.

‘Is it true that you have killing power?’

Nesta kept her lips firmly together. The less who knew the truth of her powers, the better.

‘They call me the Lord of Bloodshed,’ he continued. ‘And you, it’s said, are Lady Death.’

She delved into a place within her chest that was cold and empty. Did her best to show that impassable ice on her expression to try and push him away. But Cassian gave her such a heated look that she was the first to look away with heat burning in her cheeks. His rough fingers caressed her cheek and lifted her face.

Nesta could hardly breathe as Cassian held her gaze.

‘Death and bloodshed walk hand in hand,’ he murmured. ‘I will thank destiny for leading me to you.’

From behind them, Feyre was calling her name. Before she could respond, Azriel appeared. His hand went to Truth-Teller in its sheath on his hip.

‘Step away from her.’

Cassian trailed his fingers down her face with such tenderness that her knees nearly gave way. She had never let a male put his hands on her that way.

‘No harm done, Shadowsinger,’ said Cassian, holding his hands up in a protest of innocence. He bowed his head to Nesta as he stepped away. ‘When you’re in Iron Crest, emissary, I’ll make sure to say hello.’

[phan3145]

Title: Slippery Slope. Fandom: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes. Rating: T ( Mentions of blood and previous injuries) Pairing: Eventual Noa x Human!Reader.

***Notes: Not leaving you guys in the lurch, I just have to force myself to break these chapters up. Part 2 will be posted today or tomorrow.

Chapter 8: Gifts Pt. I

You

Hiding Micheal would be a challenge, but just as you told Noa, some repairs and adjustments needed to be made to your shelter today. Said adjustments, would be the answer to your problems. Micheal knew that he could slip in through the front entrance by the rock if it was cracked, or wait for you to open it so he could slip in later. It was dawn, and as he tended to do, Micheal showed up for his morning snack. With great patience, you walked him around the large mass of rocks, pausing a few times as he got distracted. Slowly but surely, you made your way around until you reached the back of the cave where your tunnel existed.

You couldn’t dig over top of your tunnel of course, that would let water in and potentially collapse it. However, you could dig diagonally and have it meet inwards. You found a spot close to the cave wall, about five feet away from your tunnel, and showed Micheal how you began to dig. He watched you for a few minutes, munching on his grapes and cut up apple you had put into in a small pile for him. He left some of it to come over and watch you dig. You used a curved stone to stab and shovel at the dirt until it was loose enough to move.

Micheal circled around you and the budding hole, before sliding in between you and the loosened dirt. You were surprised by this, until he began to dig at a furious pace with his front paws. You watched as his claws made easy work of it, quickly moving out of the way when his back feet kicked at the soil he had loosened. You decided to let him dig as long as he wanted, it would save you the time and energy. You stayed close by though, making sure he was digging in the right direction. Micheal of course, living up to his namesake, was nothing if not very smart. He dug about two to three feet down at an angle in the direction of your tunnel.

He took a few breaks, stopping to check where you were and what you were doing. He would come sit next to you, getting up and returning to his digging once your hands had become a little too brave. He wasn’t one to be pet just yet, but you could occasionally brush your hand over the top of his head without him squirming away from you. On this latest break, he decided to finish his snack, just as the last dull colors of sunrise faded into the vibrant blue of day. When he had dug far enough, where you could barely see his tail anymore, you went back to the front of your cave. You squeezed yourself through the doorway, tripping and tumbling onto your hands and knees, before you began to crawl through your tunnel. You measured the distance with your arm from the mouth of the cave to where you were.

It was always quiet underground, but still you stopped and tried to listen. At first, you could hear nothing but your heart beat, but then very faintly in the background, you heard the sound of shuffling dirt. You were in the right spot. You took your rock, not having a lot of extra space to move, and began to chisel away at the solid earth to your left. Micheal was moving faster than you, but the point wasn’t so much to beat him, as it was to give him a moving point to dig towards.

A half hour later a nose broke through the dirt to meet you, followed by paws and the rest of Micheal’s face. He whined and chirped as he dug through, meeting you on the other side. You quickly backed up, covered in sweat and other things you didn’t really want to think about too closely. Micheal finished the connecting hole, just big enough for his body to slip though before flopping down into your much bigger tunnel. The digging must have taken it out of him as he continued to lay there, panting as his chest rose and fell quickly.

You managed a quick pass along his ears, Micheal whining and shaking his head to dislodge your hand as you did. You chuckled, backing out of the tunnel to grab one of the few bowls you hand. You opened your canteen and poured water into it, and though you were loathe to do it, you also grabbed the fish you were saving for breakfast. You carefully carried the bowl and the fish, shuffling and crawling your way back through to Micheal.

His head rose at the smell of food, but he quickly changed his mind and dove for the water once you sat it down. You supposed this was your life now, gathering food and water for more than just yourself. You didn’t imagine Micheal would move in with you, but like any other animal, he would probably visit often enough if you kept feeding him. For a moment, you wondered if he had a partner, but decided he probably didn’t. Mates usually hunted together, so if he was barely feeding himself, there was no way he was keeping a partner alive.

You sighed, watching as Micheal spun in a circle, curling up in the dirt and closing his eyes, “Looks like it’s just you and me, Micheal. You and me against the world.”

Micheal didn’t react or respond, his front paws twitching as his body dropped into a near instant sleep. You were envious, wishing you could fall asleep that quickly. Then again, foxes were nocturnal, so it was probably way past his bed time. You glanced to your left, looking up through the tunnel where the faintest bit of daylight was visible. To his credit, he had also done most of the digging for the tunnel. He deserved his sleep. You began to slowly crawl backwards, letting Micheal rest as you planned to continue about your day.

You made your way outside, around the cave and rocks, to where the new opening was. It wasn’t obvious, thankfully, but you still worried about other animals coming in. You thought briefly about bringing in another rock, but realized you could potentially trap Micheal or yourself on accident. You would just have to trust for now that the hole was small enough, and Micheal’s scent would keep anything else away. The main point is that is was hidden from Noa and any other ape that might make their way towards your burrow. At least, you hoped it was.

You turned then, deciding to grab your fishing pole, fish trap, towel, and some fresh clothes. You needed a bath in the worst way, and now that the weather had officially warmed, you might go swimming. Hygiene first, fun after. You slipped back into your shelter, noting that Micheal was still fast asleep before grabbing your supplies. Two distinct pieces of cloth caught your attention before you walked out, and you quickly snatched them up to bring along. Blood was so hard to clean from material, but you could do your best to wash it. You owed Noa and Anaya that much.

You left your door cracked, beginning the trek to the creek. You took this time to reflect on everything that had happened in the past few months. Your entire life had been turned upside down once more, but this time, you were the driving force behind it all. You were allowed to make your own decisions with the apes, come and go as you pleased, and were always included, but never pressured into anything. You lamented the fact that your friends, or even your mother, were never able to meet the trio. If they had, maybe things would have been completely different.

You reached the edge of the woods, stilling yourself and listening for any sound of life outside of you. You heard nothing, daring to poke your head above the brush, scanning the edge of the creek on both sides. Nothing. You breathed a sigh of relief, dragging you and your load from the foliage to the edge of the water. You spread everything out in front of you, deciding to set up your fish trap first. It wasn’t difficult, but it didn’t always work unless you left it for long periods of time.

For now, you let your fishing pole remain on the ground, finding that familiar stone by the edge of the water and placing your clean clothes on it. You did one final check of your surroundings before you were practically ripping your clothes off. The water had warmed up considerably, and you wasted no time sliding off the edge of the bank and into the creek. There was tall grass and few other plants to wade through, but you broke through after a few strides into deeper water. Not too deep, just reaching past your waist, but once you found solid rock below to ground yourself, you sunk beneath the stream.

You held your breath, feeling the bits of dirt already peeling away from your skin. You rubbed at your arms and at the base of your neck, hair floating above you and making the task easier. You scrubbed at your legs and your feet, knowing they would never fully be clean but still making an effort. As you contorted under the water, lungs starting to tinge with that familiar burn, another type of pang hit your stomach and you cringed.

Breaking the surface with a small gasp, you placed a hand over your abdomen. You sighed and groaned to yourself, “Not again, not now.”

The pleasures of being a female never ceased. The last time this occurred you hadn’t been close enough with the apes for them to be around when it happened. They just assumed you had been off doing other Echo things. Or, avoiding them all together. Since it was a daily, if not hourly, effort to keep yourself fed and safe, your body didn’t often display its natural signs that it could reproduce…but that was before. Since meeting Noa, Soona, and Anaya, you were safer and more well fed than you had been in years. You were considerably less scared on the daily as well. Your body must have decided to start a regular cycle now in response to your better lifestyle, and wow, that was a cosmic joke if you ever saw one.

How were you supposed to explain this to the trio? You didn’t even know when it would start, only that the phantom pains had begun. You remembered having to explain it to Gol, since he had assumed Micheal had attempted to hurt you and threatened to kill him in response. You shivered at the memory, arms curling around your abdomen and praying it was something else. You were tired of bleeding, of being in pain, and dealing with blood.

You were reminded then, of the arm bands. You returned to the task at hand, dipping your head back into the water and scrubbing at your hair for a minute or two before shuffling back to the bank. A quick glance confirmed you were still alone. You hauled yourself from the water, careful to avoid getting your hands too muddy before crouching within the grass and reaching for your towel. You dried off quickly, pushing the thought of your body and its future out of your mind.

You dressed as if you were a machine, the familiarity of the actions engrained within your muscles to move silently and swiftly. Once your modesty was restored, you used the towel to wrap your hair. You didn’t leave it up long, just enough to squeeze the dripping water out. Your towel was tossed to the side then in favor of your dirty clothes. You would wash the bands last.

You were surprised by the brown that was pulled from your shirt, knowing it was covered in dirt, but not expecting the color to be that vivid. You reminded yourself not to wring it too hard, already thin and thread bare as it was. Your stomach turned, another pang accompanying it as you thought about what would happen when these clothes wore out. Your mother’s jacket was already ruined, and you only had two or three shirts and pants respectively. You had your sleeping sheet you had fashioned into a nightgown, which you supposed you could rip and fashion into clothing if you really needed to. You would not sacrifice your blankets though, that would be counter productive.

The question persisted in your mind though, when would you be able to leave in search of clothing? How would you even go about it? And if you couldn’t find anything, what then? You were relatively young, how long could you keep looking? How long would you survive?

The questions suddenly stopped being about clothes and you swallowed the bile in the back of your throat. This world was not for the people who thought long term, it was for the ones who survived day by day. That’s why you were here now, why you had lasted this long. You shook your pants a little harder than you needed to, laying them on the rock next to your shirt to sun dry.

You picked up the arm bands then, knowing immediately which one was Noa’s. Your thumb stroked over it, reveling in the softness of the material while thinking about its owner. You hoped teaching the trio to read was a good way to repay his kindness and care towards you. It was a start at the very least. There was no debt, when all was said and done, but it was a reason to keep the apes in your life. Every day you spent with them, you felt your bond grow stronger, a tug on that intangible thread inside every time you thought about not seeing the trio.

You shook the thought away, dunking the band into the creek, letting it start to absorb the water. You took a small stone and started scrubbing at the material, mind drifting back to Micheal, sleeping comfortably back in your burrow, wondering if that was why you wanted to domesticate him. You hadn’t even named him until last night, and you knew now that the apes did not approve. It was early enough, you could run him off yourself, stop feeding him, and actually block off your home as you had for so many years. But no, just this morning you doubled down. You made a secret tunnel. Why would you risk breaking the apes trust? Was it because you simply felt bad for Micheal? Or, was it because you didn’t want to rely on the apes and then be left alone again?

You felt the truth within the thought, swallowing hard as you gently laid Noa’s band off to the side. You picked up Anaya’s band then, a smile splitting your face as you thought about the sweet chimp and his carefree antics. It fell a moment later, when darker thoughts clawed their way back to the surface of your mind. Realistically, how long could this friendship last? After all, Noa was the leader of the clan, Anaya obviously his right hand, and Soona…?

You had to stop then, considering her place within the clan. She was smart, probably just as smart as Noa, but in a different way. In your mind, she could do anything, be anything for her clan, and seeing the way she looked at Noa sometimes…you imagined she would probably be his mate one day. They were young-ish to your knowledge, their climb last year to honor an egg and raise an Eagle meaning they were just bridging the gap from teenager to a more mature adult ape.

They would get older, just as you would, and things would go back to how they had been. This peace you found wouldn’t last forever- couldn’t last forever. The ape trio and their Echo friend at the edge of the forest. You chuckled, the thought sounding more like the title of a children’s story. Like all stories though, it would end before you were ready for it to. You would be alone again… but you could enjoy your time with them while it lasted. Just like your parents, your friends, your love for Micheal…the apes could be wonderful memories one day. You were already grateful for all the time you had spent with them thus far.

If God was real, you thought maybe this was his way of making up for the pain and suffering you endured before. It would be just; finding apes you could trust, getting a new Micheal, and living long enough to be considered an adult. You were fulfilled, even happy at times. There was nothing else you could possibly want. At this point, you could die tomorrow and consider your life one well lived.

Well lived?

You continued to scrub at the band in your hands, wondering why that last bit bothered you. You had a golden childhood, real friends that were willing to give their lives for yours, and you had loved with your whole heart. It wasn’t the love every girl dreamed of, but it had been yours for those precious few minutes. It was more true and devout than anything you would have experienced in the vault, more than anything you would find if you went back…and certainly more than you deserved now. Your vision blurred in front of you then, forcing you to swipe at your eyes. You stopped your scrubbing, fingers suddenly feeling raw as you took a moment. One deep breath, and one deep exhale.

Lying to yourself wasn’t doing you any good. There were things you wanted, things you wanted to do but would never be able to. You had accepted that a long time ago…or so you thought. No, you did. You accepted it, this was just an emotional lapse. You tried to rationalize it in your mind, running a hand through your hair as you took another deep breath. There was no use crying about it. There was nothing you could do to change things. Wishing for more now, when you finally found friends, after being alone for so long, was just greedy. Finding Noa, and Anaya, and Soona was a gift in and of itself, wanting more from this life would only be selfish.

It would be human.

That thought surprised you. When did the word human become an insult in your mind? You glanced to the arm bands next to you, maybe you had been spending too much time around the apes? Or, maybe you just knew more about your own species nature. With that, you finished up Anaya’s arm band, surprised how much of the blood you were able to scrub out of it. You left it out to dry next to your clothes and Noa’s band, grabbing your fishing pole and towel.

You carefully made your way back to the edge of the woods, following the creek amongst the camouflage of the foliage. It was a quick walk downstream, where it suddenly opened up and merged with a larger body of water. It could probably be considered a river, but only just, as it collected in a large pond like structure before shrinking and winding its way further down the valley. You saw the rock that you had spent many, albeit nervous, days laying on when the weather warmed up.

You found this place on your search for your mother, not brave enough to veer far from your burrow at the time. You had simply followed the creek. Later, when you had become accustomed to the idea of being on your own, during a very hot summer, you had been brave enough to swim out to the rock. You had sat there and allowed yourself to cry for the first time since Micheal, knowing you were safe to be vulnerable in the middle of the water.

Strangely enough, you returned now, knowing you would feel better if you could only climb onto it and warm yourself. You noticed some rabbits by the edge of the water on the other side, chuckling to yourself as you rested your pole along the bank. You would fish after you were done. You quickly stripped out of your clean clothes, careful to set them down next to your pole, before you grabbed your towel and took off in a mad dash and leapt into the water. You made sure to hold your towel above your head, counting nine steps until the river bottom dropped out beneath you. From there you treaded water, pushing yourself towards the elevated stone in the center. When you finally touched it, you let out a contented sigh, holding onto the side to steady yourself before throwing your towel up and over. You would get it later.

You used your feet to push off the rock then, hands going out behind you to feel the water slip through your fingers. You took in a breath, feeling your body float freely, the sun warming your face. You did this for a few minutes, just breathing and relaxing before you sat up, treading water again and trying to see what might be below you. Occasionally, you could find old human things in the water, if it was clear enough for you to see. You found coins once, and old jewelry another time. Then there were times it looked like human things, but was just beautiful rocks. You usually took those too. Today, you saw something sparkling below you, catching the light of the sun.

You took a large breath, diving forward and towards what you had seen. Your vision underwater was blurry, but you could still faintly see the glimmer. You reached your hand out carefully, not sure what you were grasping at, only that it was clear. Your hand touched the glimmer, feeling something smooth and cool. It was glass. You wrapped your hand around it fully then, pulling up until you dislodged it, lungs beginning to burn from lack of oxygen. You brought it up with you, gasping for breath as you broke the surface.

You wiped hair and water from your eyes, turning to see the large, empty glass bottle in your hand. You swam back to your rock, hoisting yourself up and onto your stomach. As usual, water cascaded off of you and made a large wet spot on the surface of the stone. You pushed yourself forward into a kneeling position, allowing the majority of the water to slide off your body before moving again. After a few seconds, you pivoted, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around you. You found a dry spot to lay on now, stretching out your back and rolling your neck. You held the bottle up to the light, watching it refract left and right as you turned it.

It wasn’t useful, at least not at the moment, but you would give it a purpose. It was something from a bygone era, a survivor like you, so you would find something to do with it. You sat it next to you, closing your eyes and allowing your body to be dried by the heat of the sun. You would stay just for a little bit, just a little longer, enjoying the warmth before swimming back and collecting your things. You still had to meet the apes tomorrow, and you should probably fish before it got dark, no guarantee your trap would pull anything…

That was the plan anyway, until your body jerked itself awake, a noise to your right alerting you of the soon-to-be setting sun. Your face felt flushed, a little hotter than usual too, and your eyes were struggling to open from your nap. The light was suddenly too bright and everything was out of focus. You rubbed at them, sitting up and turning in the direction of another noise. It was a rock, one that hadn’t been there before. You looked up when you heard your name being called.

You pulled your towel tighter around your body, eyes focusing until the image of Anaya came into focus. You relaxed slightly, calling out, “Anaya! What are you doing here?”

“Echo…stuck!” Anaya called back, pacing frantically back and forth, “Is hurt…need help?”

You waved your arms and shook your head, “No, I’m fine! I’m fine!”

His pacing did not stop, voice still tinged with worry as he shouted, “Can…come back…need to get Noa?”

“No!” You yelled a little too loudly. “Do not get Noa! I’ll come to you, just stay there. Give me a second.”

“Okay Echo.” Anaya replied, finally settling down. He was arching his back and stretching on his toes to see you better.

You had to admit, you were impressed he was able to hurl rocks this far out, let alone see you. Speaking of seeing you, you thought about your towel and glass bottle. You looked up, seeing Anaya still focused on your form. You bit your lip, yelling, “You need to turn around!”

“Why…danger?” Anaya said, turning quickly to face the woods before turning back to you.

“No, no danger!” You called, voice scratchy from yelling, and maybe also from dehydration. You cleared your throat before continuing, “I need to swim over but I’m not wearing my clothes.”

You couldn’t see clearly, but Anaya looked annoyed, “Do not care…about Echo body…safer to keep an eye…on you!”

You rolled your eyes, “Anaya! Please!”

He planted his feet then, letting out a screech of, “No!…Water dangerous!”

You groaned, deciding this was not the hill, or rather the rock, that you wanted to die on. You ripped the towel from your body then, wrapping it around the bottle you found as you raised it above your head. You felt your cheeks heat up even more, before you slipped off the rock and into the water. You let out a small yelp, the water much colder to your heated body than it had been before. You saw Anaya launch forward on all fours, in water up to his wrists before you called, “I’m fine! I’m fine! The water is just cold.”

Anaya did not move back, he stayed in place, transfixed by your movements in the water. The closer you got, the more you noticed his open look of shock, his jaw slack. Your foot found the ledge again and you pushed yourself to stand, halfway at least, keeping everything from your chest down submerged. You grabbed the towel from around the bottle, hanging it in front of you as you began to walk forward. Once the water was to your knees, you wrapped the cloth around your body again, pushing your clinging hair back from around your face. Still, Anaya did not move.

You looked at him curiously, asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Echo…” Anaya said, sounding a little breathless. “Echo can…move in water.”

“I can swim,” you agreed.

Anaya just stared at you, shifting onto two legs as he admitted, “Did not know…that was possible.”

You continued your trek out of the water, passing Anaya as you confirmed, “It’s a human thing, we float and swim. Apes have more muscle in their body and sink.”

Anaya followed close behind you now as you made a grab for your clothes, finger pointing as he said, “Face…light red.”

You finished pulling up your pants, hand going to your cheeks as you remembered that you fell asleep in the sun. Thankfully, your body was used to the sun, so you wouldn’t have to worry about blistering. Your face was a different story, but it didn’t hurt, so you should be fine. You rolled your shoulders in a short stretch, “Another human thing. We turn ‘light red’ when we are out in the sun for a long time.”

“Hurt?” Anaya asked, fingers looking to touch your cheek.

You quickly pulled away, turning your back to Anaya to put your shirt on before dropping your towel, “No, just warm. No pain.”

Anaya sighed in relief, “Good…looks like…pain.”

“You and Noa both worry about me too much,” you laughed.

“Echo is…fragile.” Anaya defended, “Compared to ape.”

You sighed, “You’re not wrong. Back to my previous question through, what are you doing here?”

Anaya pointed to his tied horse, holding large amounts of fish and a few baskets of what looked to be black berries. Your mouth gaped, and your stomach growled. Anaya hooted, “Echo hungry…need big strong…ape to feed her?”

You felt your teeth clench, knowing Anaya was only teasing, but the jest struck a nerve. It was a nerve he was unaware of, you had to remind yourself. You smiled sweetly then, “Oh, is Noa around?”

Anaya huffed, rolling his shoulders in a mock of your earlier movement, “Echo…not funny…not like Anaya.”

You smirked, “If I say you’re right, could I have a fish?”

Anaya made his way towards his horse, untying its reigns and walking it over to you. He pulled a fish from one of the nets, holding it out to you before pulling it back at the last second, “Echo…must say…Anaya is her…favorite ape…and cackle at his jokes…on the ride home.”

Your pride had its limits, even if he didn’t know how something like that would bother you. Picking up your pole and glass bottle, towel slung over your shoulder, you scoffed, “I’ll walk and go hungry, in that case.”

Anaya’s cheerful expression fell as he paced after you, “Echo..do not be mad…at Anaya…can have fish…was just being…stupid.”

You stopped in your tracks then, turning on your heel and marching back to Anaya, “You are not stupid, I just told you that yesterday. So, stop saying it!”

You didn’t mean to get so close, or shout for that matter. Anaya was leaning away from your furrowed brow and visibly bared teeth, eyes wide in surprise. You noted his look and relaxed your expression with a deep sigh through your nose, eyes closing momentarily. Anaya watched the change, teasing, “As scary…as Noa…when angry.”

You grumbled, “I’m not angry. I just don’t like when you say you’re stupid, or when anyone says they’re stupid for that matter. I also don’t like when you talk to me like a pet.”

“What is…pet?” Anaya asked.

Shit

You tilted your head back then, taking in a deep breath before bargaining, “I’ll explain if you give me a ride. I’ll trade you something for a fish once we get back to the creek.”

“Can have fish…no need for trade.” Anaya agreed, hands quickly going to your hips, lifting you with ease as your hands scrambled for purchase on his saddle. He did not have stirrups like Noa, so you appreciated the help in mounting. He jumped up behind you, clicking his tongue for his horse to walk. Once it continued down the trail of the creek, he asked again, “What is…pet?”

“A pet,” you began. “It is an animal humans would tame for companionship, something we saw as lesser than ourselves. Something we ruled over. We owned the animal at the end of the day, it was ours.”

Anaya seemed to shrink back, “Anaya…does not think…Echo is pet.”

“Thank you,” you smiled.

Anaya was quiet for a few minutes after that. The silence must bother him though, hearing him start to say something and then stop several times. You looked back to him, watching his face shift with several emotions, trying to decide on one. You turned back around in the saddle, feeling like your attention was only making things worse. Another moment, then Anaya finally asked, sounding unsure, “Can you…belong…to apes?”

Your spine stiffened, hissing, “What?”

“You are..our Echo.” Anaya explained. “You do not have….clan of your own…so you belong with Anaya…Soona…and Noa.”

His explanation softened you slightly, but did not make you feel better. You spoke through clenched teeth, “I don’t think that’s how that works, Anaya.”

“Do you…belong to someone…else?” Anaya asked, another genuine question.

You shook your head, “No.”

“Then,” Anaya started. “Echo should…belong with us.”

You were relieved when you saw your familiar rock and creek edge, Anaya barely stopping his horse before you leapt off. He followed you down, hesitantly edging closer to you, “Echo is…un…comfortable.”

You nodded once, “Yes.”

Anaya lowered his head, making himself smaller again as he confessed, “Anaya is…sorry…did not mean…to upset Echo…care about Echo…want Echo to be…comfortable…with Anaya.”

As you pulled your extra clothes and their wrapped bands up into your arms, you froze. Another deep breath, reminding yourself not to overreact. Anaya was your friend, he cared about you. What’s more, he didn’t know. He did not know about the other apes, or Gol. You ran a hand through your tangled hair, dropping your supplies before lowering yourself to the ground and crossing your legs. You faced the water, turning to glance back at Anaya. He stood there awkwardly, confused as to why you were suddenly sitting. You made a gesture for him to come closer, no hesitation on his part as he shuffled to stand next to you.

“I’m sorry, Anaya.” You said, trying to push as much sincerity into your voice as possible. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, I’m just…jumbled. I was uncomfortable before. Humans don’t like being naked around others, and I don’t like being talked to like I’m lesser than you. I know I am. I’m human, you’re an ape. I know it was a joke, but it just…”

“Bad time?” Anaya asked, watching you turn back towards the creek.

You nodded, “Yeah.”

Anaya dropped down onto the ground next to you, shifting for a moment to get comfortable, before handing you a blackberry he had in the pouch slung across his chest. You snickered, taking it from him with a signed thank you, before popping it in your mouth. It was sour, but you tried not to make a face, since you hadn’t eaten practically all day. Anaya watched you closely, nodding his head and looking off into the empty forest across from you, “You are…not…lesser…you are…like Noa.”

You blew a raspberry, laughing to yourself, “I thought you wanted me to be comfortable around you?”

Anaya puffed his cheeks, knuckles pushing against your shoulder, “Think…too much…but do not…share your thoughts…bad thoughts…make bad feelings.”

You sobered at his statement, staring at the water in front of you, nodding your head, “It’s not easy to share.”

“You…share your food,” Anaya supplied. “Not…easy to do…for Anaya…did not have food once…hungry for…very long time…did not like…never hungry now.”

You turned to face him fully then, seeing another berry in his hand offered to you. You stared at it for a beat too long, hesitating while trying to comprehend what he had just told you. His hand stretched closer, and he let out a few hoots of encouragement, wanting you to take it. You did, chewing slowly and appreciating its taste, before you mumbled, “I didn’t know, how important food was to you.”

Anaya sighed through his nose, “Apes share more…than Echos…but do not…always share everything…Anaya shares…with you now…so you will share…when you are ready.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, “I promise that I will tell you. Even if it’s not right away, I promise to always share the truth with you.”

Anaya hummed, “Noa knows?”

You nodded, “Mhm.”

Anaya’s hand came up to cup the back of your head, patting it a few times, “Is enough…for now…Anaya trusts Noa…trusts Echo.”

“I trust you too,” you whispered.

Anaya pushed himself up onto his feet then, spying your fishing trap. He padded softly over to it, pulling it up and showing you it was empty. You sighed, discouraged, until Anaya returned to his horse, taking two fish from a net and placing them within the trap. He smiled at you, hooting in delight, holding your trap up in the air in a victory pose. You did cackle then, standing to take the trap from him.

Anaya hooted, “Mighty Echo…go home now…eat well.”

“Thank you, Anaya.” You exclaimed, “Oh, I almost forgot. These belong to you. Would you mind giving Noa his?”

You picked up the bands from the ground, Anaya making an audible sniffing sound before saying, “Does not smell.”

You rolled your eyes, “I washed them, of course. I know apes do not like the smell of Echo blood.”

Anya looked surprised, “Smart Echo…kind…thank you.”

Anaya re-wrapped his arm immediately, tucking Noa’s into his pouch. You picked up the rest of your belongings then, smiling, “Get home safe, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you…tomorrow Echo.” Anaya said, mounting his horse and clicking his tongue. They continued upstream while you ducked back into the forest.

Of course, as you walked home, you were reminded of Noa and his surprise. You weren’t really sure what a positive surprise from an ape entailed, you just hoped it wasn’t anything too awkward or personal. You should have asked Anaya when you had the chance!

This was Noa though, you were sure it would be fine. You were probably overthinking it. He made something…maybe it was an arm band or rap in case you got hurt again in the future? That was probably it, he cared a lot about your comfort and safety, so that only made sense. That was the most logical outcome.

[collapsedglasshouses]

Like The Movies || Vinny Mauro x fem!Reader

PICTURE FOUND ON PINTEREST

SUMMARY: When Vinny and his childhood best friend Y/n jokingly decide to watch adult movies together, things escalate rather quickly.

WARNINGS: smut, MDNI, watching porn together, mutual masturbation, mutual pining, mentions of drug consumption, friends to fwb sorta, …

A/N: I wrote this last night, I don’t know where it came from… Maybe I’ll write another part. I don’t know yet! This is not proofread sorryyy

TAGLIST: @measuredingold @cncohshit @nerdraging4point0 @circle-with-me @tearfallpixie (i hope you dont mind me tagging you, i thought you would like to read this ♡)

Vinny was glad tour was over. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, he had a blast. But coming back home meant one thing for him. He would see you again. Vinny couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t known you. Since he could remember, you were there. From kindergarten, where you beat up a guy that stole him a shovel while building a sand castle, to high school, where you were there for each other during the worst heartbreaks.

Even when he became the drummer for Motionless in White, you were there. You supported him through every life stage he was going through and it even came to the point where you bought the house next to his. You two were basically attached at the hip.

It was no wonder that when he was back in town, he visited you the second he had settled back in. There was this tradition, where to two of you would meet up, smoke some weed and talk about everything that happened during the time you couldn’t see each other. Nothing was out of the usual. Except… Everything was out of the usual this time…

It was a warm Saturday evening in July. The sun was slowly setting down and he had just come over to your house. Of course, it meant he would be here until late at night. As always.

Since the temperature reached their peak at this point, it was no wonder you only wore shorts and a crop top. Nothing Vinny hadn’t seen you in before, but this time he took a great notice in how good it actually fitted you.

As usual, you both had been smoking for almost an hour at this point and you were currently babbling about the most random shit that came to your mind. You enjoyed your time together as always. But you actually didn’t know how you got to the topic you were currently talking about.

“Oh, come on! You can’t be serious.” You exclaimed while handing him the joint. His cheeks were almost crimson red at this point. He was nervous. “You can’t tell me you really enjoy these overdramatic movies.”

“It’s not like I enjoy enjoy it, I just skip videos until I reach one that I can, you know, finish to.” He mumbled and let out a small giggle before he inhaled again.

“And you decided an old and corny eighty’s porn was the right choice?” You giggled and let your head fall onto the backrest of the couch for a second. It wasn’t unusual for you to talk about sexual events in your lives, considering you had gone through so much together, but hearing that he jerked of to something like that made you giggle almost uncontrollably.

“Oh, don’t make fun of me, I bet you watch that shit all the time.” He threw back at you, before putting the joint, or what was left of it, out.

“I’m not saying, I don’t watch porn, I’m just saying I try to keep my taste… Authentic.” You answered him honestly and shifted in your place for a second. Vinny did not miss how your crop top rode up a little and how it warmed his cheeks even more, but he decided to blame it on the drug running through his system.

“So, what’s authentic in your eyes?”

That’s when you noticed something changed. The energy in the room shifted. You looked into your best friend's greenish eyes and you noticed how they seemingly became darker. You knew he just wanted to tease you but something in his tone sparked your curiosity. Something in his attitude made you think he was genuinely interested in your taste in adult films; curious even.

“Should I show you?” You almost whispered, after contemplating your answer for what seemed like eternity. You thought about if it would make things between you and Vinny awkward but you ultimately decided against it. Nothing ever could make things between the two of you awkward.

You saw how his Adam's apple bobbed and you felt strange. There was this feeling in your gut, you couldn’t quite describe. A feeling you had never felt before when you were around him but you just blamed it on your not-sober state.

“Why not?” He mumbled quietly and you could have sworn how his gaze went to your lips for a second.

“Okay.”

Around twenty minutes later, you were gathered around your tiny laptop screen. You had finally decided on a movie to show Vinny but now that you were really sitting there, you were strangely unprepared and vulnerable.

A shaky breath escaped your lips, and you felt hot all of a sudden. There was something weirdly intimate about this thing. You felt dirty to some extent. You were about to show your best friend your taste in adult movies. You turned to face Vinny for a second, his gaze filled with an anticipating and curious expression.

“What if you find it weird?” You mumbled and his eyes immediately found yours.

“There is literally nothing about you that could surprise me in the slightest, Y/n.” He reassured you with a slight teasing tone. It took you a second to believe his words. But he was right. He knew everything about you. There was nothing weird about two best friends watching that stuff together.

“We can make a deal.” He then exclaimed and you blinked at him. “If we feel weird at any point, we just put it out and watch some dinosaur documentary or something.”

You laughed at the randomness of his media choice.

“What?” – “Dinosaur documentaries? Seriously, Vin?” Vinny smirked for a second before he lifted his hands in defends. “If you find it more comfortable, we can also sit in silence and stare at the wall.”

“No, no. You are right.” You exclaimed before holding out your hand which he took and shook lightly. “Deal.”

When you leaned down to load the video, you noticed how Vinny shuffles in this place. It felt like your heart was going to explode out of your chest.

Breathe, Y/n, breathe.

After a short intro that promoted the person’s OF the video cut to a couple in a bedroom. The naked guy was sitting on the edge of the bed, almost shaking in anticipation as the girl was slowly kneeing down in between his legs. Even though the video was filmed in third person, you could clearly see how she looked up at him through her lashes. Then she began to blow him.

You swallowed hard, not really knowing what to do. You sat stiff, not daring to look at Vinny for a solid minute. The only noise filling the room being the guy’s small moans and whimpers.

“Do you like when guys moan?” Vinny then asked, causing you to look at him with a surprised look on your face.

“What?” - “I-… I mean you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but-…”

“Yeah… I-… I think I like it. When it comes naturally of course.” You mumbled and felt how your cheeks grew warmer.

You looked each other in the eyes for a second before he nodded slightly. The scene cut to him eating her out, their positions switched.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw that Vinny‘s eyes were completely glued to the screen. His eyes were wide. His mouth slightly open and he occasionally sucked his lip in to dampen it. You wondered if he enjoyed it.

You took a deep breath, trying to forget about Vinny sitting next to you, before looking at the screen again. They began fucking at this point. It was the first time you even noticed what watching porn was even like. You watched strangers chase each other’s high for your own entertainment.

You noticed the way the woman threw her head back as the guy pounded into her. She wasn’t fake-moaning, slight noises of enjoyment leaving her pink lips. Occasionally, there were words of praise exchanged between the two of them and you couldn’t help your mind wondering off again. You felt how your stomach started to heat up. You felt yourself shifting in your seat. You felt the way your mouth felt dry and you had to keep licking your lip to feel comfortable. The same way Vinny had to. You noticed how your nipples perked up slightly. How your crop top started to feel tight.

You were starting to get worked up and even though you put great afford into it, you couldn’t help but peak a glance at Vinny once in a while. His cheeks were tinted in a red tone and even though you tried not to, your gaze wondered to his pants. He was hard.

Your entire face and stomach went incredible hot at this sight, like you’d been suddenly standing in the hot summer sun. His hands that had become much more defined due to playing the drums so frequently, were laying on his thighs and he occasionally rubbed them against his black shorts like he was desperate to move them.

What shook you the most, though, was that you wanted him to move his hands.

You took a deep breath again, trying to calm your nerves. You couldn’t believe you just thought about your best friend masturbating next to you. You tried your utter best to lock those thoughts away but it didn’t even take a minute until your eyes settled back onto his figure. It intrigued you. He intrigued you.

You didn’t know how to ask him if he wanted to touch himself. You didn’t want to make it weird. But you desperately wanted to ease the tension in the room. You knew you yourself couldn’t hold back for much longer. Not that you didn’t have self-control but seeing him being so turned on by the movie, made you feel even more desperate.

Onscreen, the scene had totally changed a couple of times but you didn’t even notice one bit of it.

“Vinny?” You said, your voice sounding raspy. He made a quiet noise in response, almost sounding like a whimper. Fuck.

“You… I… I'm mean y-… You can…” You sighed before starting the sentence over. “You can touch yourself if you want.”

He swallowed and glanced over at you, looking at you for the first time since your whole dilemma had started. His beautiful eyes were dark and mirrored some kind of hunger, his cheeks flushed and you couldn’t deny how gorgeous he looked. “I-… I mean, you can too.”

“Yeah,” you gasped in response. “Yeah, it’s not weird.” 

With that the dam was broken. Any clear thought in your head that would have held you back even in the slightest, was washed over by how ridiculously turned on you were.

You took a deep breath before you fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts. You were soaking wet at this point. For a short second you coated your fingers with your arousal before placing them on your clit. There was no going back. You began to circle your clit, chasing your high as you closed your eyes.

“Shit.” You slightly moaned and threw your head back on the backrest. Even though your common sense tried to ignore the presence of your best friend next to you, you couldn’t help but focus entirely on the fact he was there. You slightly looked at him again.

You were hearing him. Soft noises slipped past his lips, his hand slightly rubbing along his clothed erection.

“You don’t have to be shy, Vinny.” You breathed out, “I won’t mind.”

“Really?” He asked. You nodded quickly and he let out a relieved sigh. He leaned forward for a second and slipped out of his shirt, earning himself a surprised look of you.

“I don’t wanna wash it, I have just put it on before coming over.” He explained and you nodded with a sheepish smile, realizing what he implied. You tried to hide how you swallowed hard. You knew you shouldn’t have watched him. It was crossing the lines of what friends should and should not do, but you couldn’t help but realize how fucking good he looked.

He basically shoved his hand into his briefs to get some relief.

Onscreen, the girl gripped the sheets of the bed to hold herself together, while you realized your hand at grabbed the small blanket laying next to you, doing the exact same thing.

Your mind was racing. You didn’t know if you should blend Vinny out completely or let your thoughts win. It was like you needed him to be there and at the same time wondered if this would change anything. You knew this was wrong deep down, you knew this was crossing a line but then he made this noise. This sweet and soft moan that escaped his lips made your head go blank.

You peaked over at him and noticed his gaze was on you. On your hand that was between your lips. You were on fire, your chest heaving.

You knew both of you should have looked away, but you didn’t want to. You wanted to watch Vinny. You lifted your fingers to your lips for a second and licked them, causing him to let out a loader moan. You couldn’t do this anymore.

When you moved them between your thighs again and pushed them inside of you, you felt like Vinny was about to crumble into a million little pieces. The pace of his hand became faster and you couldn’t help but look at his member for a second. God, he was big.

As you curled your fingers to find the delicate spots inside of you, you feared this moment would be over any second. You wanted to stay like this for eternity. Watching Vinny get off to the scene of you doing the same. You loved how he looked.

“Don’t stop, Y/n.” He moaned out when he saw you slowing down for a second and that alone almost drove you over the edge. You didn’t know if it was your horniness but you wanted nothing but to kiss him. It felt like his whines and whimpers turned you into some sort of monster that craved him but right now you weren’t even clear enough to filter out your own thoughts.

The sight of Vinny with his member in his hand felt like an intense experience. The sort of experience that made you want to change your thoughts on life completely

“You’re so fucking pretty, Vin.” You moaned out, not holding back in the slightest. “I wish I could feel you.”

If it was even possible, his cheeks turned even more red. You felt your whole skin prickling. The movie in the background long forgotten. You were staring into each other’s souls at this point. If he hadn’t known everything about you at this point, now he definitely did. And so did you.

It felt like a long-awaited event when you finally reached your high. All the tension leaving your body in such immense waves you feared you would collapse. You moaned his name loudly as your head fell back in the backrest.

Then the moans fell from his lips. It almost felt like you would cum again when you saw him cum on his chest for a second, but you pressed your eyes closed for second to calm your thoughts.

You didn’t open them for a couple of minutes until the volume of the movie in front of you was turned down a little. You peaked through your eyelashes, seeing Vinny had cleaned himself and put his shirt on again.

You slowly leaned forward and stroked over your clothes, trying to smooth them out, in an attempt to drown out your incoming thoughts. You were hyper-aware of Vinny’s gaze.

“Everything alright?” You mumbled, trying to ease the tension between you.

“Yeah…” He mumbled and ran a hand through his hair. “Good movie… I guess.”

You didn’t really exchange any words, before Vinny sighed and mumbled. “I need to go home. Ricky asked if we would hangout on Discord after I get home from yours and I don’t want to leave him hanging for too long.”

You nodded, trying to gift him a small smile but all of the sudden you couldn’t look at him anymore. Not that you felt guilty or something, you just feared that those feelings would bubble up again.

“If you want I can call you afterwards and we can watch some dinosaur documentaries together.” Vinny then suggested and you laughed for a second.

“Yeah… okay.” You mumbled and put a strand of her behind your ear.

After that he quickly got up and left, leaving you with your thoughts.

After you cleaned up your living room and showered you quickly got ready for bed and awaited Vinny’s call when you realized he had texted you the second he had left.

Vin: god this was so hot

He was going to be your death.

DIVIDERS BY @saradika-graphics

[katsusno1wife]

Meeting you.

probably a lot of spelling mistakes :/

When he met you, he saved your pretty greenhouse from getting ruined. He thought you was the most beautiful woman to exist, your face stayed in his mind relentlessly for a long long time, filling the quiet walks of his late night patrols.

Until a few weeks later, he was placing through usual post that consisted of panties marriage proposals, new products, merchandise etc.

His hands froze when he saw a pretty handmade letter made by you, his heart skipped a beat, “thank you so much for saving my greenhouse, you are very kind Dynamight, you always have free flowers at my shop.” He looked in awe, has anybody ever called him kind?

she didn’t say about looks, about his hero status, “kind”, you think he is kind?

The next day he’s in need for flowers, of course nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t got you out of his mind.

He entires the shop after his shift, finally experiencing the floral sent he’s been thinking off for weeks now and he lets out a breath he feels like he had stuck in his lungs. A soft voice was mumbling along to whatever song was playing on the radio behind the counter, he builds up the courage to call out a gruff “hello”, immediately he hears a “one second” and you come running out, hair a mess with dirt on your cheek with a shovel in your hand, now Bakugou has models throwing themselves at him regularly, nonetheless, you are truly the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his whole life.

“Oh Dyanamight” you squeal when seeing him, suddenly getting embarrassed about your unruly appearance, “you’ve caught me at a bad time” you say flustered. a pause beats between you as he’s still looking at you in awe. He musters out a “you’re good”, instantly kicking himself at his stupid response.

You smile “so are you here for my thank you gift?”

that smile. that carefree warm smile. He can feel his lips turning up, his body unconsciously reacting to the girl infront of him.

“Yeah”

He’s going to need a lot of flowers before he asks you out.

[muzzlemouths]

what remains after ruination

Eclipse adjacent // Wordcount: 2,045

A year had passed by. Not a day later and no sooner than that since you stepped foot in this dreaded building.

Only in part due to your own resolution. It’d been all over the news; Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, Gone Up in Flames! A week’s worth of synonyms for accident-destruction-fire-disaster-ruin dribbling out from between reporter’s teeth like crumbs from their stale blueberry muffin breakfast, the story already old news by the time their shirt collar caffeine stains between coffee breaks were well and dry.

After all, there was nothing of value to mourn. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that no one was harmed,” they fed the public scripted lines, little white lies on big tv screens, “a shame the ‘bots are a bust,” another chimed in, “but we’re grateful to have avoided a real tragedy.”

And where were you when the fire broke out? Safely at home, on your couch, shoveling the powdery remnants of dry breakfast cereal into your face, phone in hand, uniform on, and an alarm set to leave in ten minutes. Your favorite generic sitcom played at half-volume across the room having just returned from a commercial break when the news struck, every station within a hundred mile radius offering their briefest condolences to the franchise’s demise. As always, you received your information secondhand, the dry voice of your boss confirming that what you were seeing on the screen was the truth, your phone call interrupted by the jarring ring of your alarm in a gut twisting fit of irony.

“Don’t bother coming in,” they told you, “you’ll receive your final check in the mail by the end of the week.”

“What about the others?” You’d asked on baited breath, hopeful.

“The others… you mean the animatronics?” A beat of silence, and only that, “they’re gone,” management answers, “everything is gone.”

You didn’t want to believe it. For weeks after, you did nothing but fight the information, distancing yourself from the memory of it all together. It was nightmarish, a plague of guilt which circled you like vultures in the night.

You had been there, only a night before the fire. You had been there. Made small talk with the staff bots. Had gossiped with the Glamrocks. And in the Daycare – in the Daycare you had made friendship bracelets. Silly, stupid, trivial, the thought of it makes you want to scream, now knowing what you do and how better you could have spent your last night with them.

Sun had bragged about a new shipment of pony beads and convinced you to sit and help him sort. Sorting them turned into stringing, which turned into knots. You had a pretty pastel lineup by the time he was satisfied, and they had two. One bracelet for each of them, yellow and blue. Your own boasted two stars and a heart, childish additions that you couldn’t bring yourself to argue against at the time, but especially now. It would hurt less to simply throw the gift out or stuff it into a box and stuff that box into a closet, and lock the closet door for the rest of your life. But you don’t do that. You keep the bracelet on your wrist like one keeps a locket against their heart, and you pretend it means nothing.

How impossible it is to find solace in the death of something that leaves no trace behind. You have no grave to visit, no ashes to mourn except the old remnants of a crumbling building they refuse to tear down, no final goodbye.

“See you in the morning,” they’d said, something heavier weighing on their tongue. Ultimately, they decided against the words and offered you a parting smile, instead. Warm, doting, it had felt like home.

It’s the last thing you have of them.

And you try to get past it. You run through every stage of grief like it’s a marathon and you’re late for the next race already, but you have no trophies to show for it, no rewarding fulfillment. The wound is fresh and raw. The gaping cavern of hopelessness no less enormous. You are as bitter and traumatized as the day you received that call.

Maybe that’s why you’ve found yourself here again, on the doorsteps to the plex, three-hundred-and-sixty-five days since you last dared to look in its direction. What you need isn’t medication or a therapist burning through your pockets, it’s closure. You need to see the body.

This suffering will not recede until you’ve convinced yourself there is nothing to return to.

There’s a sixth stage of grief they don’t want you to meet. If you remain a stranger to its siren call then you really, truly, will start to feel better. That’s what they say, time and time again, and it’s what you believed for a long while, but you’re through with fighting this emotion and through with pretending it doesn’t rule your every waking moment. Its name is lunacy, and it tells you to duck beneath old, yellow tape and take a brick to the building’s rotten structure.

The shattering of glass falls on deaf ears. You march through the opening with purpose, giving no thought to the nicks and scrapes and beads of crimson that form along your skin as you make your way further into the depths of this desolate building. No life stirs from its festering core, nor light from the smoldered ceiling, blackened with old soot. Debris crunches beneath a pace that refuses to slow until you find yourself standing before the two doors most familiar to you, and only then, do you stop.

Everything stops.

Sanity winds you with its return, startling you into questioning what the hell you’re doing here. They’re dead. You know that, don’t you? Really, deep down inside, you know it to be true. You know there’s nothing that could evade such devastation as this. You know they are gone. For good. Forever.

Still, that minute, resilient hope continues to pulse with a beat of its own desire, and you haven’t the strength to put an end to it now. After a year of waiting, of wailing, of walking into circles that lead to nothing but more agony, you can’t bring yourself to call it quits. Not after you made it this far. You had to know, once and for all, or the question would drive you over an edge you’ve been skirting beyond recognition.

Your hand outstretches and comes to a halt at the doorknob, fingers twitching a flick of the wrist away, and there it sits, hesitant, terrified, until desperation spurs it forward the remaining way and the rusted knob is turned ever so gently to the right.

The door springs open with a force that drives you backwards, tumbling stumbling fumbling through the air, knees buckling, you land on your ass with a hardy thump and stare, aghast, at the wreckage that stands between the open frame.

A familiar face stares back.

The animatronic bursts from their entrapment like confetti out of a canon, claws drawn and eyes aglow with a menacing half-grin, only reeling themselves back a step upon the sight of you, where they go completely still.

The scream that rips through your throat does not come unbidden; they are not your beloveds but something else entirely, a grotesque assortment of gears and torn fabric, disheveled beyond belief, splayed about with the same obscenity of exposed bone. They are not Sun and they are not Moon and they are not someone or something that you can easily recognize, simply a horrifying by-product of disaster.

Even still, your fear appears to force them back a cautionary second step, and then a third, as if taking on the frail hope that they won’t scare you so terribly in the dark. That if you can’t see them past the shadow, maybe you won’t look at them that way.

“Ffr…rrrr...fri…f...”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat and attempt to make sense from any of this. The word it– he– they attempt to speak is as familiar as it is foreign, and you can feel an immediate shift in the way your lunacy becomes hysteria, and you laugh. You laugh even as tears well up and begin to river down your cheeks. You laugh as their arm outstretches to meet you—

“Don’t!”

–and then you stop, and they stop, too, and all falls silent.

The expression they make is beyond your understanding. Where before you could reasonably find human emotion in their mechanic smirks and smiles, now all you see is barren metal. Loose gears with sharp edges. It creates a nausea that builds and builds until you want to roll over and relieve yourself of everything you’ve ever consumed.

Rather than try again, their arm recoils ever slowly and instead lifts to point at the wrist of their other, gesturing with great hesitance to the two bracelets found there. One blue, and one yellow.

“Ff...fri…e-end?”

Your stomach lurches and then drops as it comes to a conclusion. Quickly, your gaze snaps toward the pastel beads that sit so neatly on your own wrist, the string keeping them together now old and fraying. Your eyes return to their wrist and see perfect color among the blackened metal. The string beneath it still holds up despite its surroundings having burnt hopelessly. The implications of this – that they protected it to the very end – immediately severs any remaining instance of fear.

You move blindly through the tears, climbing back to your feet with every intention to try again. The creak and screech of crooked metal can be heard as they retrace another step backward in response, flinching from your approach, allowing you greater space between them. It makes your heart plummet to the very pit of your stomach.

“They told me you were dead,” you cry, “they told me there was nothing left to save,” a daring step forward has you that much closer to them, and then another, and another, slow and shaky as it goes, “they told me not to come looking,” your feet stop directly before their own, bare-toed silver against scuffed rubber. You share their shadow and in their sorrow, mourning the short distance still between you and the distance of the days you’ve spent apart. They wait for your lead, paralyzed with anticipation, as you raise a doubtful, trembling hand to cup their ruined cheek. “Is it really you?”

The stillness is suffocating, no less agonizing than the phone call, because any answer beyond the one you seek will feel like death all over again. You can’t imagine yourself content in life with the knowledge that the one you care so deeply for – even without recognition, without ever having said the words – is nothing more than a husk of who they once were. It would ruin you.

And what remains after ruination?

Love remains. Love remains and it is a slow, sure nod. It is a cold hand cupping with meticulous care over your own and refusing to let go. It is them. And they are yours.

A sob breaks from your throat before you can stop it, greater and louder than you've allowed yourself to feel to the day. Relief floods your chest until you think it might burst.

The hand at their cheek pulls back if only to wrap around their waist, fingers bunching desperately into the remaining fabric of their collar and smearing the ash at their back, holding so tight that you hear their frame begin to creak and moan, followed immediately by their own arms cradling your body against them with an equally bone-crushing weight, one you for once don’t fight. Rather, you would be content to stay like this forever.

It isn’t the pins and needles in your arms or the pungent smell of smoke that eventually forces you out of the position, but instead, the sudden forming of a plan and your intention to immediately put it into action. When you pull away it’s to take both of their hands in your own, and only then do you step back from the door, guiding them toward you.

“Come on,” you smile, because at last there is reward for your hope, “…let’s get you home.”

[apollosunshineisdead]

my favorite lyric or two from every will wood song

Everything is a Lot:

6up 5oh: "they shoulda fried me, I'll give ya PTSD!"

skeleton Appreciation Day: "give me all your LSD so i can feel my mind unweave again!"

front Street: "you said let loose, but now you're lost"

aikido!: "i told doctor tillis to prescribe an illness, but he said his schedule's filled with children with need Prozac, prilosec and lo-jack, triple-sec and lexapro"

white Knuckle Jerk: "i wonder how i woke up in the middle of my surgery, and i watched them botch my heart"

cover This Song!: "i'm just a little bit crazy 'bout you, just a little bit out of my mind"

Thermodynamic Lawyer: "so all that i see, absolute entropy as the chemical bounds fall apart"

red Moon: "the crescent rests, tethered to the west"

lysergide Daydream: "ooh, i wanna be on the picture on the postcard, pouring pitchers in the backyard by the garden we tend"

the First Step: "i lost count after 21 in the college crawl"

jimmy Mushrooms': "i think the truth is that everyone's wrong!"

Compound Fracture: "bienvenidos a la villa de arañas españas"

everything is a Lot: "night sky, i wonder why i am alive until i die / i find that at this size, no answer can be right"

destroy to Enjoy: "lao tzu, chaung tzu, yin-yang tattoos, FUCK your mystic wisdom! find your own way home from Bonnaroo!"

SELF-iSH:

self-: "i'll shake the apples from my family tree, so when the autumn comes to take the leaves..."

2012: "testing my hypothesis, never finding a theory!"

cotard's Solution: "rolling my third eye into the back, of my head and squinting through the black"

mr. Capgras: "eulogy or biography, i'm who i ought to be, and that is God to me"

the Song with 5 Names: "WHAT IS "IS"? WHAT IS "NOT"? WHAT IS "WHAT"? WHAT'S UP PARTY PEOPLE! WHAT? / WHY I WONDER WHY I'M NOT WHATEVER, WHAT THE FUCK!"

hand Me My Shovel: "looking up, i could say Heaven sent me! / hand me my shovel, i'm going in!"

dr. Sunshine is Dead: "i'm noone if i'm nowhere in between!"

-ish: "well at 27 will i see, that i was born to be the man i'll be?"

The Normal Album:

greetings from Mary Bell Township!: "so give me your half-life crisis / i can tell that you know where paradise is!"

(vampire) Culture: come on, drink that BLOOD! didn't they want your blood?

Love Me, normally: the Lord looked down, said, "hey, you're only mortal"

2econd 2ight 2eer: "my grip on the secrets' slippin' while i'm speakin' in tongues!"

laplace's Angel: "so if you wash your hands of where you've been until you flood the second floor / neatly fold your skeletons, but still can't shut the closet door"

i/Me/myself: "eating your prosthetic, meet your anesthetic"

...well, better than the Alternative: "she's gonna be a lot like me, but i don't wanna be at all like me"

outliars And Hyppocrates: "i am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you, the red hot sky"

blackBoxWarrior - OKULTRA: "his ribcage was a hornet's nest, his palpitations set the beat!"

marsha, thankk you for the Dialects: "doctor, what's my prognosis if the studies show that / disease is in the eye of the beholder, tell me "so it goes!""

love, Me Normally: "is there nothing to fear, cuz shit's getting weird!"

memento Mori: "no need to fear cuz when it's Here you won't be alive / try not to think about it!"

Camp Here & There: Campfire Songs:

venetian Blind Man: "string on his finger, a tourniquet ring"

yes, to err is Human: "if you don't hate me, then reanimate me!"

your body, My Temple: "furthering the fever of your fervor for believing, I will"

when somebody Needs you: "fishing lure moon on a string for you, didn't you say you need space?"

"In Case I Make It,"

tomcat Disposables: "what's the moon made of? meet me there after i'm gone"

becoming The Lastnames: "weeding out the garden where the milestones gather moss"

Cicada Days: "here at the end of days, my god, what have I done? / christ, now it feels damn inhumane to get all i dreamed of"

euthanasia: "and every, everybody dies / fighting for their lives, just trying to survive"

falling Up: "airplane eclipses over spirals of math – would or could the impact kill me?"

that's Enough, let's get you Home: "but CO2 and fish tanks do enough to get you home"

um, it's Kind of a Lot: "sorry darling, please excuse my constant need to self-aggrandize!"

half-Decade Hangover: "but i can't make amends for things i can't remember"

vampire Reference in a Minor Key: "the seraphim on my shoulder, whispering "please don't turn your head""

you liked this: "Ten Red Flags that a Neurotypical Narcissist is Trauma Dump Gaslighting You into Sex-Negative Self-Abuse Emotional Labor and Internalised Reverse Racism Against Post-Modern Flat Earthers with Facts and Logic (Number Seven Will Destroy Your Family)"

the Main Character: "judge me by what my cover shows, author becomes beyond reproach"

Against the Kitchen Floor: "i'm not a good person, i'm barely a person at all"

Sex, Drugs, Rock 'n' Roll: "and i hate proving that i'm still human after all"

BFB's Blueberry Pie: " "

Willard!: "so gather 'round pandora's skinner's box, look through the one-way mirror / if you can see in shade's of grey, the colors are much clearer"

White Noise: "it begs the question just to tell you the answer!"

ICIMI outtakes:

misanthrapologist: "I hear your hear beating under the floorboards" and if i did, you deserved it: "that i really don't carе what you think or what you say, either that or I do way too much, oh well whatever, either way"

thank you for listening

[ddejavvu]

hi lovely!! 💓 could you write about aaron hotchner x reader and he’s just admiring her with jack and proposes the idea of another baby hotchner or something along those lines??

have a good day xx 💓💓

hi sweet baby! i hope you enjoy :D

--

"Mama," Jack's sweet voice rings through your kitchen and without skipping a beat you pipe up.

"Yeah?"

"Can I have green eggs today?"

"Have you been reading Dr. Seuss in class, by any chance?" You peer suspiciously at him with an amused smile on your face.

"Yes! We read about green eggs and ham, and-" Thus begins Aaron's son's chattering about breakfast. He goes on to tell you, in vivid detail, that Alex from his class said his mom gave him green ham once, but that it made him throw up because it wasn't green-colored ham, it was ham that had grown some sort of fungus. You try stifling your laugh behind your hand, courteous to Alex.

Aaron watches as you drop green food coloring into Jack's eggs for the morning, and while you're not preparing ham as well, he knows his son will brag about the meal to his entire class. You serve up the steaming plate to the boy and remind him sternly to cool it down first. He hasn't quite mastered the art of blowing on his food quite yet, most of the air funneled towards his lap instead of at the eggs on his fork.

"Not yet," You chide gently, watching Jack lift the unchanged eggs to his mouth with the plastic fork, "They're still steamy, Jack."

"Oh." He frowns down at them indignantly, "I blew on them, though!"

"Green eggs are tricky." You fib, and it brightens him again. Aaron marvels at your quick thinking, because he was just going to explain thermodynamics to the boy.

You blow quickly on the forkful of eggs, and Jack watches the steam billow away from your breath. Once you deem it safe for him to eat you guide it to his mouth, patting him on the head as you duck back behind the counter.

Aaron's sure his eyes are in the shape of hearts. You have a more-than-natural way with children, and dote on his son like he's your own. And, he supposes, Jack is your own child. You're not his birthmother, and you never will be, but you're his mom, and Jack loves you for it.

He admires you every day for the way you manage his hyperactive toddler. Jack had dragged you outside the other day for six hours of soccer practice, and you'd made popsicles for the family afterwards. You're a wonder to him, because he feels like passing out after Jack asks why one too many times. He loves his son, with every fiber of his being, but he's not always the most equipped to entertain him.

"Oreos in your lunch today," You pat the transformer on the front of Jack's lunchbox, tucking it into his backpack of the same brand, "Don't let Ashley steal them again!"

"I won't," Jack speaks through a mouthful of green eggs, tongue already turning colors, "She said her mom's bringing her some too."

"Good." You huff, and Aaron has the sudden mental image of you giving the evil-eye to a five year old girl. He doesn't like that she's been stealing his son's lunch either, but he'll refrain from intimidating her, and you will not.

He vows to pick up Jack this week, for Ashley's sake.

The doorbell rings and you're abandoning your own breakfast, rushing to greet Amy's mother. She takes Jack to school on Wednesdays, giving the two of you a break.

"Sasha!" You grin at the woman on the other side of the door, "We'll be right out! He's just finishing up his breakfast."

Aaron vaguely hears her say 'Awesome!' but he's too busy monitoring your breakfast to care. He gives Jack the pointed, 'time to go' look, and his son shovels more green eggs into his mouth.

"I'm ready," He shouts triumphantly, egg flying out of his mouth and onto the tabletop. Aaron lets out something between a good-natured scoff and a chuckle, leaning forwards to pluck the food off of the table and set it on the edge of his own plate. Jack grins sheepishly at him, and he remembers how intensely he loves his son.

"Bye buddy," He offers the boy, squeezing him in a tight hug, "No red cards today, right?"

"No! I won't get any." Jack swears, intent on staying on top of the disciplinary system for the day. He never causes trouble, it just seems to find him.

"You can do it," You've made your way back over to them, ruffling his hair and apologetically setting it back in place afterwards, "Remember, no red cards for a week and you get ice cream!"

"I know!" Jack's excited at the prospect, as if he isn't given a heaping bowlful of the treat every night after dinner while you snuggle up on the couch to watch a movie. The boy's racing out the door to join his friend as soon as you let him go, and you both watch him with a fond smile.

"He remembered to close the door this time," You congratulate your son on repairing his rather lax habits, though you wish he wouldn't slam it, "What do you want for breakfast, Aaron?"

"Green eggs." He jests, a soft smile on his face.

"I just gave the last of 'em to a little boy that came in a few minutes ago," You scoff dramatically, "Get up earlier next time, maybe you'll get first pick."

"Coffee's good." He decides, though he knows it's not for you. Sure enough, when you sit down at the table with your own breakfast, you slide potatoes onto his plate.

"Eat." You command, and Aaron thinks love has never sounded so scary before. He complies so that he doesn't face your wrath, chewing on a potato wedge while he mulls his thoughts over.

"You look like Bert," You giggle, smoothing a thumb over the crease in his brows, "Any reason you're mad at Ernie today?"

Aaron rolls his eyes, but any insult he'd taken to the comment is washed away by your sweet laugh. Instead he's almost happy you're comparing him to a puppet, because he gets to hear your giggie.

"Not mad," He promises you, "Just.. thinking."

"About?"

"Having children. Or- I mean, a child. Maybe just one. I dunno."

His admission shocks you, but it doesn't drive you away. Instead a blinding grin spreads over your face after you're over your surprise, and you nearly launch yourself into his lap.

"I thought you'd never ask!" You squeal, mouth too close to his ear to be comfortable. Though, he supposes, if he's going to lose his hearing, the last sound he wants to hear is your voice.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." He chuckles, clutching you tight so that you don't fall to the floor. You readjust yourself in his lap so that you're not teetering on the edge of the chair, staring at him with wide, shiny eyes.

"Yes!" Your hands grip the collar of his polo tightly, "Oh my god, Aaron, we can have so many little ones!"

"How many?" He glances at the staircase, "We've only got three rooms."

"Bunk beds." You propose with a sly grin, "Kids love those."

"Bunk beds," He agrees, a giddy smile on his face as he realizes how committed you are.

"Wait.." Your eyes shift and he's worried he's lost you on the idea, "You have the day off today?"

"Yes," He chuckles, staring down at his casual dress.

"Let's get started!" You cheer, springing off of his lap and racing up the stairs. He hasn't even processed your absence yet, but sees your blue bra fly down the stairs behind you, and suddenly his legs are moving on their own. They lead him up the stairs and he finds your panties just outside the door, lacy and perfect.

"Don't come in yet!" You shout, voice muffled from the closet. Aaron bends at the knee to pick up your panties, finding a barely-there wet spot from when you'd straddled him in a hurry.

It makes his stomach knot tight, and he leans against the bedroom door, "You have twenty seconds. After that, I don't care what you're wearing, you won't be wearing it for much longer."