#crow drabble

[crow-of-ferelden]

"..And also a wanted apostate." Anders added, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. He braced for the Warden-Commander's reaction. As far as he knew, darkspawn be damned, she'd have him set in chains and return to the first Templar they saw. Well, assuming they survived Vigil's Keep.

Glasya looked over the mage, now known as Anders, and the dead darkspawn that surrounded him. He was obviously a capable mage (of course he was, he hailed from the same Circle she did). If there was one thing she learned from the Blight, it's take your help where you can get it.

"Alright? Some of my closest allies were apostates." She replied, removing her hood and approaching the dead Templars to check for goods that could be scavenged.

That's when it really clicked for Anders. Sure, he had seen Glasya in passing at the Circle Tower but he didn't think- no, that little girl? The Hero of Ferelden? He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, quickly catching her attention. Glasya's head snapped up towards him and, through narrowed eyes, his realization was confirmed.

"Funny, is it?" She questioned, retrieving a coin purse from the corpse.

"No, not at all. You know, they say you're seven feet tall and bite darkspawn heads off." Anders replied, leaning down and following her example. This earned a huff and cracked smile from the Commander.

"So I've heard. I hope the truth isn't all that disappointing."

"Disappointing? Absolutely not! Anything but!" They both stood, having finished looting the bodies. Glasya looked up at him, face twisted in confusion. She couldnt say that was a reaction she'd gotten before. "The Hero of Ferelden is an elven mage! That's fantastic! More people should know that, I'm sure they'd reevaluate everything."

Glasya gave another snort. "Perhaps they would. For now, I'm content watching the looks of shock and surprise from those that start off speaking to my husband and are redirected."

Anders chuckled and shook his head. A sassy little elf that kept the company of apostates and was a proud mage. Who better to act as a folk hero? Who better to serve as an example for mages rallying against templars? Caught in his daydream, Anders almost missed the cue to continue through Vigil's Keep.

"Tell me," he jogged alongside her as he caught up, "do you get much trouble from templars? Or, I guess, did you?"

Glasya adjusted her hood and pulled her staff from her back, she could sense darkspawn in the next room over. "I did once, yes. I'm not their favorite, despite everything, but they avoid causing a scene anymore. At the Circle, I was everyone's top choice for 'most likely to fall victim to their own ambition and become an abomination'." A smirk creeped on her lips as she kicked in the door and got to work on clearing the darkspawn. It was mechanical at this point.

"Amazing. Hero of Ferelden and still bothered by Templars!" Anders shouted over the sounds of their combined casting. Maker, he had so many questions about her experience. Who wouldn't? Yet, something told him this wasn't the best time. Perhaps it was the growing darkspawn horde or the way her face twisted with intensity as she fought. Either way, Anders put a pin in the conversation and set it aside for after.

Of course then she'd be unable to escape his questions.

[5sospenguinqueen]

(Forbidden Forest)

Garreth: Fine but if Ashwinders kill us all, I'm going to get Ominis' ghost to teach my ghost parseltongue so I can annoy the hell out of your ghost by hissing in your ear for all eternity.

Sebastian: I'll just hire MC's ghost to kick your ghost's arse.

MC: My ghost won't be associating with your ghosts.

[jazzythursday]

Wylan leaves in the morning.

He doesn’t plan to, not exactly, but he definitely doesn’t plan on staying, either.

Wylan is no stranger to one night stands. He can’t say he gets around very frequently, but enough to know the general plot of how they're supposed to go.

Flirt, drink, fuck, leave. The order isn’t necessarily set in stone, but the list ends the same every time.

He has a good time, for the most part, and it’s always a welcome break from the awful chemical smell burned into the Tannery or the staleness of the empty rooms in cheap boarding houses (when he can afford them) that Wylan is used to. Wylan likes the freedom that comes with it, too. It’s liberating to go where he wants and do what he pleases; to not worry about who he’s seen with or sleeps with or what they might think of him after. And he likes feeling wanted, for a little while. He likes being reminded that he exists.

So Wylan does not make a habit of falling asleep with the people who take him to bed.

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

He doesn't remember, and yet, Wylan wakes up with his head pillowed on Jesper’s chest. With Jesper’s arm draped over him. His breath is warm where it ghosts over the top of his hair, and if Wylan glances up he can see the way Jesper’s mouth— those lips— fall open in sleep.

It’s the best morning he’s had in months, possibly. Certainly the most comfortable.

He knows it can’t last.

Wylan looks at Jesper, still sleeping peacefully next to him, and he panics.

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

Jesper has a reputation, and Wylan knows it, even new to the Barrel as he is. He’d heard about Dirtyhand’s second and resident sharpshooter plenty— Can’t resist a gamble, never misses a shot, and not just with bullets. Jesper Fahey is an excellent marksman, they say, with terrible luck with the cards, and a soft spot for pretty girls and even prettier boys.

Jesper’s played the field— multiple fields— went on a seismic world tour of fields.

Wylan is very good at not being noticed. He’s also very good at listening. People tend to look past him, they never pay any mind to the too skinny boy with the wild hair and the hunched shoulders and the grime that never seems to wash off completely after his long shifts at the Tannery. Wylan knows this, knows he’s very adept at being able to disappear, when he needs to.

So by the time Wylan actually meets Jesper, he’s well aware of his place in Ketterdam’s booming rumor mill. Jesper has many, and Wylan thinks by now he may have heard them all.

And yet, none of them do a thing to prepare him for Jesper.

They’d met in a tavern.

Wylan had been nursing his drink for the better half of an hour, trying to come up with reasons not to go back to the sad cot he had waiting for him in a rented room, with the only window overlooking the brick wall of a dark alley.

So far, he’d only come up with the one.

Wylan had seen the tall Zemeni man from across the room and hadn’t stopped looking since. He was flirting with a girl at the bar, twirling one of his guns in one hand demonstratively with a drink in the other. The girl— a curly haired blond— was giggling, hand pressed to her mouth with eyes that had very clear and direct intentions.

Wylan had almost resolved himself to a night of wasting the few kruge at his disposal with little to show for it, when the man had looked up and caught him staring. The man had smiled, twirling his gun with an extra flourish and then tipped his hat. Wylan smiled back, and gave a little wave. Embarrassing, He’d thought, stop it, he’s already with someone else anyway. He’d looked down, and stared at the near empty contents of his drink until someone sat down next to him and said, in a voice like apple butter and sweet syrup, “Can I get you another of those?”

Then Wylan had looked up into the eyes of the handsomest man he’d ever seen, and thought, he has the most perfect lips.

Out loud, he’d said, “I, uh, well—” His mouth was wide open, he’d realised, and shut it quickly. Again, the man had smiled. Again, Wylan had smiled back. “Yes, please.”

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

Afterwards, they’d stumbled through the streets— I know a place, Jesper said, If you want to take this somewhere more private— until they’d passed a corner where a vendor was selling traditional Kerch sweets out of a cart.

“Stroopwafels!” Jesper had stopped. “I love stroopwafels!”

Wylan was tugging him toward the cart without really making a conscious decision to move, and Jesper had laughed, surprised and delighted.

Wylan bought them both stroopwafels and handed Jesper his with a shy smile and a shrug. “For the drink.”

Jesper looked at him consideringly, head caulked to the side, and Wylan felt himself blushing in the low light of the lamps. “You’re sweet,” he’d said eventually.

“Is that bad?” Wylan had asked, sheepish. Jesper was already shaking his head.

“It’s good. Just not that many sweet things to be had in the Barrel. It’s refreshing.” He’d bit off a piece of one of the waffles and smiled. “These are sweet too,”— he’d leaned in, smile still earnest but with something decidedly different underneath— “I like sweet.”

Jesper had not touched him like he’d been expecting to be touched. Jesper made no assumptions; he’d asked, about everything, in a way that was near gentlemanly if it wasn’t for the fact that he radiated trouble through his pores. Jesper was— not quite gentle, because Wylan had expected hot and heady and everything deep, and Jesper was all of that and more— but he wasn’t rough. He didn’t bruise, not if Wylan didn’t say yes first, and afterwards he’d laid back down and settled Wylan into his arms in a way that he had no real way of protesting— didn’t want to protest, anyway— and kissed him.

It was that that had scared Wylan the most, he thinks. Because Wylan is rarely kissed for the express purpose of it. It was always the promise of more— the rush of what was to come. But people do not generally tend to kiss Wylan for the sake of kissing Wylan. It’s different. Jesper is different, and Wylan can’t afford to be stupid enough to do something like get attached. Can’t afford much at all— really.

But Jesper had kissed him, pleased and lazy and warm, and at some indeterminate time later they had both apparently fallen asleep.

And it was nice.

It was too nice. It hurt with how nice it was.

Wylan peels himself slowly out of Jesper’s arms, careful not to wake him, and decides then that he cannot stand to be here any longer.

Jesper Fahey is not what he’d expected, he’s better.

Jesper Fahey is lovely, and beautiful, and kinder to him than anyone has been to Wylan for almost as long as he can remember.

Jesper Fahey is more than he could have ever hoped for, and he isn’t going to stick around for someone like Wylan.

So Wylan leaves, and he doesn’t look behind him as he closes the door.

[fbfh]

So I might have watched the Crow.... and I might have read the comics... and I might have made a 3 hour playlist... and I cannot stop thinking about Eric Draven. Just can't. Look at him

This man is a feminist. This man blew up a pawn shop to get an engagement ring back. This man is a metal guitarist which means you KNOW he's good with his hands. This man is canonically SO horny and SO sad. He aches. He laid down on his fiancée's grave and never intended on moving ever again. He has a cat named Gabriel because Shelley wanted a cat. This man is a protector of children who believes that recovery is possible. This man kills abusers violent criminals. He just fuckin. Recites contextually applicable poetry before murdering bad guys.

Eric Draven does not ever let anyone feel unsafe, especially not you. You're not afraid to go out at night or walk home anymore. You see crows and you know you're safe. You hear metal guitar coming from some rooftop in the distance and you know he's got you. He never lets you think anything is meaningless or trivial, he cares about details, your details. Your little thoughts and ideas and dreams. He is not ever going to let you feel pain again. Your safety, the safety of innocent people, of women and children and victims is not something he fucks around with. He is something you can count on.

[rottindecay]

hi～sorry to disturb you！I'm new to this fandom and in the hope of talking with someone else.🥺🥺🥺 i notice that you write requests for Eric Draven👉👈...could you please write something like a crossover head canon👉👈like David from lost boys being bestie with Eric （as i just read somewhere yesterday that Kiefer Sutherland was close to Brandon Lee and even the one who introduced Eliza Hutton to Lee. 👉👈）Or maybe just write a vampire Eric Draven AU please🥺🥺🥺🌹.

OH MY GOD ANNON. THATS SUCH AN AMAZING IDEA! Thanks for the request!

I haven’t seen THE LOST BOYS movie in like a million years and sadly, I don’t write for them. that might change though!

So this post is gunna be about Vampire!Eric Draven x Reader !

𝑹⛧𝑻' s Note (1): also soo sorry I made this super late, lots of stuff is happening in my life such as school and other things so I hope you don’t mind too much! I've also been grounded for some time now so if this layout looks a bit weird, I'm writing this on computer.

𝑹⛧𝑻' s Note (2): also im so sorry if this is ass i dont know much about vampires.. lol

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who writes poetry about you and for you. whether it’s about how much he loves you, or how beautiful you look under the moonlight. anything that comes to mind when he thinks about you, he is writing down on paper and giving it to you once he’s done or he's putting them in a pile full of other his poetry he has written for you but didn't gift.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who feels bad when you give yourself up to him for when he is in need of blood. He hates hurting you in any way and will always feels guilty when he does do it, even after you say how it’s completely okay and you’re fine with it.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who when is done feeding on you, would patch any wounds up he might have left on you. he would hug and cuddle you and tell you how amazing and lovely you are as he kisses your patched up scars.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who would give you nicknames such as love, dove, my rose, angel…

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who is overly clingy towards you, but it’s not like you mind at all.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who stalks you at night when you’re at walking around or doing anything outside of your guy's shared apartment. He doesn't tell he does this; he just wants to make sure nobody is going to hurt you.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who watches you sleep at night since he isn't tired from sleeping all day. He admires your beauty from the one lit candle he has in the room and is astonished by how or why you chose him out of any other good-looking guys.

𖤐 . . Speaking of sleep.. Vampire!Eric Draven who will see you randomly taking a nap on the couch or bed and would just sit there and just stare admire you. He could do this for hours and hours on end and wouldn't get even the slightest bit of boredom.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who is like an actual crow. He would randomly give you things that reminded himself of you like roses, or just any cute looking trinkets he finds laying on the ground when he's out patrolling the night.

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven who when gifting you roses, would cut the thorns off of it first before handing it to you because he's scared that if you prick yourself on one of those thorns and smell the blood running down from your wound, he doesn't know if he could handle himself with the smell of your sweet... delicious... tasty... blood...

𖤐 . . Vampire!Eric Draven when you do accidently get pricked by something, would walk up to you and try to contain himself. He would ask if you're alright, but you can see the hunger in his eyes when he looks down at your freshly cut wound. After noticing this, you would ask him if he wants some of your blood but he's hesitant (as always) but gives in once he knows your 100% fine with it.

[devildomwriter]

Suspicious Behaviors | Short Story

Lately Mammon had been sneaking out of the House of Lamentation at odd hours. He was missing school. He was carrying around suspicious paper bags. Lucifer was at his wits end with his latest scheme so he followed Mammon and invited you along. Only to discover something rather unexpected.

He was feeding the new baby crows.

Now Lucifer is mad because he accidentally led you to witness something that made Mammon even more endearing to you.

Mammon is sitting there as baby crows hops around on him and he puts birdseed on his head. But the babies can’t reach it and the parents end up dive-bombing his head and he’s knocked over with a scream, spilling the bird food all over him.

He is now covered in crows and screaming. Lucifer sighs and leaves and you take pictures before helping your lovable demon who is swearing you to secrecy.

Mammon claims all the bandages are because he got into a fight and not because the crows accidentally took a few bites out of him. Lucifer shakes his head that Mammon lost a fight to birds.

“Just like Australia,” you declare and he’s more confused.

You advise Mammon he would not survive Australian birds and not to feed the wildlife there.

[crowandmousewritingco]

Late Nights

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Words: 673

Rating: G (mentions of anxiety spirals)

Summary: Your brain keeps you up and a certain FBI agent keeps you company.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: I wrote this after having a particularly bad anxiety night so I hope this helps others when the brain juice is no good. Also unrelated but I'm surprised I've never written for this Marcus before considering my love of art so I have a feeling I will write for him more!

Late nights weren’t a new thing for the two of you. One a curator for the Smithosian’s American Art museum and the other an FBI agent dealing in art forgeries. There was always a case that needed extra work done after office hours. It was typical for the both of you to see the wee hours of the morning fueled by the strongest coffee. 

But today wasn’t one of those times. This time it was your own damn head keeping you up to the wee hours of the morning. At least with the reports you could control when you could fall asleep. But your brain was a fickle creature. Uncontrollable anxiety spiral was the choice for tonight. You had to distract your brain. 

The tv slowly played in your living room. A past favorite show playing as background noise to keep your mind from spiraling anymore. The warm cup of chamomile you held in your hands is your only hope for any semblance of medicine tonight. Absent-mindedly you watched the character repeat the same scenes that at this point you have memorized. 

The female protagonist goes on a date with a guy from her office. He says all the right things and she thinks to herself “I can’t be falling for him.” But the more they talk the more they both realize the same conclusion. Cheesy but you love it. 

You were so sucked into the comfort show that you didn’t realize your husband had walked into the living room. “Honey what’s got you up this late?” You turn to see Marcus standing at the edge of the hallway, flannel robe wrapped around himself. A Christmas present from your first Christmas as a couple all those years ago. 

“You know. Sometimes your brain mixes the wrong kind of cocktail,” You shrugged tiredly. 

Marcus frowned softly. He knew you too well not to notice the use of humor to deflect the situation. “Hun,” He said softly as he sat next to you on the couch. 

Your body unconsciously leaned into his side, like you’ve done for the whole time you’d been together. “Can’t fool you huh?” You chuckled with a sniffle as tears pricked your eyes. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Or you don’t have to. I’m more than willing to stay up with you,” Marcus offered gently, kissing your head. 

You took a minute to gather the scattered remnants of anxious thoughts before you replied. “Just do you ever have those moments where your brain decides to sow some throw away thought but then you hyperfixated on it which makes you spiral. Something like that,” You answer, sighing. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had exactly that sort of thing happen, but I can imagine that it’s scary.” Marcus gently rubbed your side with his hand. 

“Ya it’s not fun,” You answer cuddling closer into his side. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Marcus asked. “Want me to break out those cookies you bought?” 

You giggled loving Marcus’ need for sweet popping through. “No, I think this tea and you will be enough for me tonight.” 

He smiled and leaned down to kiss your head. “Then that’s what I shall do for you.” Marcus held you close as you two watched your favorite show. The noise and the comfort of your husband is enough to finally allow you to close your eyes and sleep. 

Eventually Marcus noticed your breathing evening out. Carefully he turned off the TV, and set the half-full mug on the coffee table to deal with in the morning. Gently as to not wake you, he scooped you in his arms and carried you back to your shared bed. He laid you down on your side before sliding into the covers on his side. When the blankets covered your both, he leaned over and gently kissed your head. 

“Sweet dreams my little sunflower. I’ll protect you from those awful thoughts.” And with another forehead kiss, he pulled you close as the two of you fell back into a gentle sleep.

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thanks to the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

[crow-aeris]

star gazing

Tim kicked his legs up, taking in a deep breath as the stars glimmered above him. It was a rare for gotham to have clear skies, and rarer still for it to be dark enough that stars appear. Usually, with a view like this, he'd have his camera in hand to record the memories forever... but that wasn't the case- at least not for tonight, that is.

He'd been benched due to an injury a few days ago that still left his bones and muscles alike aching.

"What's a birdie like you doin' all alone?" a rough voice rumbled above him.

Despite the gravel digging into his back, Tim leaned forward to see Red Hood approach.

"Hey, Jason," he greeted with a subdued tone, "shouldn't you be on patrol?"

"Shouldnt you be at home?" the older huffed, disengaging his helmets safety before taking a seat beside him.

"Mm," Tim hummed disinterestedly, the night quiet and still.

"Okay, what crawled up your ass and died?"

He rolled his eyes, keeping his eyes fixed on Altair, the star glittering peacefully from its perch as Aquilla's eyes, "It's nothing, okay? Just leave it. If I go back to the manor, will you finally leave me alone?"

"Whatever," Jason scoffed, but the two lapsed into an easy silence.

Eventually, dawn creeps in on little cat feet, and Tim is reminded of a poem.

""Fog creeps comes on little cat feet-""

"Fog, by Sandburg," Jason replies instantaneously, twisting his head to pin Tim with his turquoise eyes tinged with intrigue, "never took you to be a poetry buff, birdie."

"Never took you to be such an annoying asshole, Hood," he huffed back, though his words lacked any substantial heat, "but no, I'm not a poetry buff, or whatever. I just remember snippets from what my mom used to read me, but never the entire thing."

"..."It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on"."

"...What?"

"It's the rest of the poem," Jason keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the skyline, both the buildings and sky alike were steadily being repainted with the gentle apricots and peachy hues of the rising sun. Both knew that the sun wouldn't make it past a few more hours, and will soon be once more obscured by gotham's near-perpetual smog.

"If you want help finding the names of those poems, you already break into my safehouses anyway, so how about we make your visits productive, hm?"

Tim allowed the silence to fill the air once more, both mournful of the vanishing sun yet appreciative that he could witness Gotham painted as the beauty it was. After a few seconds, he replies, "Since I already do it, might as well."

So when on nights where the nightmares seemed a little too real, and the terrors seemed a little closer than they were, Tim would scurry to Jason's place under the guise of a little poetry lesson.

And bathed in the warm glow of Jason's lamp, listening as his childhood hero gently read from the well worn pages of "The Tale of Beowulf", Tim could not help but to be delivered to sleep.

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

AN: The image above was taken off Reddit @jubilee213. They have a few lovely images of Mephisto. I like this one because he looks annoyed with Sylus.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sylus sat behind the desk in his study silently observing his feathered companion. Ever since Mephisto returned from his previous mission, the crow was in a suspiciously good mood.

It didn't help that there was the presence of foreign Evol intertwined within the bird.

"Did something happen that you've failed to mention?"

Mephisto turned and gave Sylus a deadpan look refusing to answer. This caught Sylus off guard.

"Mephisto."

The crow cawed in annoyance before turning his back, a sign of defiance.

"I will eventually find out what you're hiding, so it would be best to tell me now, rather than later."

Feeling petty, Mephisto vanished leaving behind a perplexed Sylus. He felt like seeking out that woman again. He liked how her Evol felt, it sang to him, and he wasn't in the mood to share her.

Sylus on the other hand has never been so blatantly defied before. He knew Mephisto had a temper and preferred to be left alone at times, but this was out of character, even for him.

The leader of Onychinus intended to unravel this mystery.

[screamingcrows]

OKAY IT'S SURPRISE TIME MY LOVELY MURDER

There is no drabble today because I ran out of creative juice. Instead, I've planned a chance for you to rectify a poll result you didn't like. That's right, for the final day, comment here, send me an ask, tag me in a post, whatever, and argue for what drabble (that hasn't already been selected) that should be written into a full fic. Today isn't about democracy, it's about bribery, playing dirty, and manipulating me into doing what you want. You have until the end of this week.

Here's the masterlist

This is it. I'm crawling into my hidey hole after this month.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

i kinda want sanemi being so new to relationships other than family so it takes him a while to differentiate what he feels for kanae as something familiar or romantic. like, he knows he and masachika were best friends, but with masachika it felt a lot like family. but kanae’s someone completely different, he doesn’t really understand it and just assumes that she reminds him of his mother so that’s why he cares so much. but then there’s a little something here and there, subtle pointers to a little four-letter word. something a bit deeper than friendship—something he can’t discern. to the point he ends up rambling about it to kanae, hoping she can help him. kanae only smiling and patting him (sanemi was too confused and stuck in his own thoughts to avoid it) and telling him that he’ll figure it out himself in all due time. but he doesn’t place it until it’s too late. and he’s so excited to tell her, finishing his mission faster than usual just to make his way to the butterfly estate. only to be intervened by a crow telling him that all his efforts have gone to waste and it doesn’t matter if he knows what it was. because now it only ‘was’ and never ‘is’. kanae’s dead, and sanemi knows that. he doesn’t need to ask her to tell him.

[crow-of-ferelden]

screaming and crying over Alistair showing up in DA2 and imagining him meeting back up with Glasya for their super secret mission. Thinking about her hearing about Hawke being Hawke for the first time for real.

Looking him over and just saying, "take a pit stop, did we?"

"Just passed through Kirkwall. Qunari invasion." Alistair shrugging. Glasya putting two and two together and glancing to Carver.

"Your sister?" Eye-brow raise, "hope she's alright."

"She will be fine, Commander." Carver, standing firm at attention. "She's fought darkspawn scarier than a few Qunari."

A little impressed. Maybe Glasya would have to meet this Saoirse Hawke.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Y/N: Can I say something that will probably annoy you?

Kaz: Since when do you ask for permission?

[petvampire]

Little CricketCrow drabble, because they are too damn cute in my head and I need to share that.

Charles and Monty are the most openly tactile of the group - Edwin is reserved when it comes to touch, and even the Cat King has his particularly feline moments when he doesn’t want to be anywhere near anyone. The crow, on the other hand, is a frequent seeker of physical reassurance, and touch is practically Charles’ second language. They’re both open and affectionate, reaching out with thoughtless care to check in, or reassure, or soothe.

So it comes as no surprise that, the moment they start spending more time around each other, they fall very quickly into easy touch. Charles will toss an arm around Monty’s waist when they’re chatting, ruffle his hair, knock his hip against the crow’s when he’s making some teasing joke. Monty will lean his head against Charles’ shoulder when they’re sitting close, grab his hand to draw his attention to something, plant one of those impulsive kisses on his cheek whenever the ghost does something kind.

It escalates quickly, because they’re both just so comfortable with touch, because it means a lot to both of them to have that physical anchor. So it becomes a frequent sight when they’re together at the offices to have Charles sprawled out on the couch, head pillowed on Monty’s thighs, or to have Monty literally sitting in the other’s lap, draped comfortably over him like a living blanket. Neither of them questions it for a moment.

Edwin and Thomas don’t, either, though they exchange amused looks from time to time at how purely oblivious the pair are to the image they project.

And if Crystal and the Cat King have another bet going as to how long it takes the two to move from friendly tenderness to something a bit more actively romantic, well… that’s their business.

[ms-fade]

hi! how about kaz brekker smut with a reader who's crying cause it feels sooo good??

Tears.

Kaz brekker x reader. 18+ Drabble. (No confirmation of gender)

YES! YES I WILL DARLING.

I hope this is okay! It’s short, also added a bit of another kink in it- Hope it’s okay. Also a glimpse of slightly dark Kaz entering.

Warning: Crying of pleasure, fluffy? Smut, spanking.

Kaz brekker was one who needed you to be comfortable at all times. You had stayed by his side and waited for him until he was comfortable with touch. The time with waiting, wanting and painfully watching you, he finally let the demons in his head go away.

So he hasn’t been letting anything get in the way of him having you, where he wants, when he want. (If you want it too) But he was a monster in bed, even though he cared he was always so rough with you. But you didn’t want it any other way.

“Fuck.” He groaned above you as he slammed his hips between your spread thighs. The room smelled like sex and the two of you, the room was getting hotter as each second passed by. He didn’t care that you both had pushed the bed back into the wall.

You wrapped so perfectly around him and the warmth felt so fucking good. He would slam so hard to get his cock to hit the deepest parts he could reach. He knew just the way you liked it, what way to push his cock in and the rhythm you liked. You had taught him how to touch you right, even taking some leads on his own that made you see stars.

His head leads back and his eyes closed from the pleasure. He had no clue as you started to tear up but he could feel the effects it had on your hole. But when a sob left your lips his head stopped and his eyes snapped open to pay attention. You had tears leaking from your eyes. It was painful to feel him stop, you didn’t want him to stop.

“What’s wrong?” He asked worries and went to pull out but you grabbed ahold of him. “No! Keep going. It feels so good, please.” You cried and raised your voice to get him to fuck you again.

He liked it when you had a tear or two from pleasure but this was new, it was different. Something in him slapped and screamed at him to make you cry worse, he wanted to hear you sob over and over as he pounded into you. But there was one thing he needed to do before releasing a new monster from within him.

“Are you sure? I need to know your okay.” He asked so calmly that it made your heart strings tug. You nodded quietly and looked up at him with scrunched brows of need. “I’m fine, so please just keep fucking me.” You whined and wrapped your legs around him and arched your back to get a new angle.

And with that you unleash him from a cage. Smirking darkly and got a almost a evil look in his eyes. “I want you weeping all night.” He took his hands and flipped you over on your stomach and pushed your head down but lifted your ass up. A moan left your lips as he pushed himself back in and slammed into you, earning a sob from you.

“I’m going to have every hole wet and dripping, when we are through the pillow better be soaking wet.” His firm hand slapped across your ass cheek. “I enjoy seeing, and hearing you cry for my cock.”

[jazzythursday]

Jesper doesn't understand how he holds it all in there. Wylan’s brain is like a squirrel. Packing nuts into expanding pockets for the long winter. He knows everything.

He lights up with it. Like he constantly wants to share the fruit of his labour. Like the knowledge he collects needs to be poured out in bits before it overflows. He talks and explains and it’s fast and free and it’s so Wylan, through and through— and then it’s like he catches himself. Like he dims once he realises what he’s done.

Jesper doesn’t want to think of the implications of that look. Because it makes his chest tight and puts a bad taste in his mouth. He’s happy to reassure Wylan that he likes when he talks as much as it takes for him to believe it.

But that look— right before. Like he’s so happy to be telling him, like he’s happy to be listened to. Then the split second of frozen fear. The pinched lips, tense jaw, widening and then squinting of those big, big eyes. The part where he huffs that short, horribly self deprecating little laugh. The part where he looks down, and when he looks back up there’s something stiff in his smile, false in the upturn of his lips. Eyes like cut glass shining in the light. The crest of an eagle, mid flight, shot down. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Um— I’m probably boring you. I’ll stop.”

You could never bore me, he thinks. Keep talking forever, he thinks. Tell me who made you think your words weren't worth anything to anyone so I can make them taste the blood on their own tongue.

Wylan and boring are not two words that Jesper can even fathom placing in the same sentence. Wylan is like lightning in a bottle. Like a spark personified.

Jesper isn’t sure how much he’ll accept. He doesn’t want a repeat of Shu Han if he can help it. Jesper hates disappointing people, hates being anything other than exactly what they want— expect— out of a good time with Jesper Fahey. He isn’t sure what he’s allowed to argue for or against when it comes to Wylan. What they have— This thing between them— is still so terrifyingly new.

He’ll put himself out there for this, though, as much as he dares, to make sure Wylan knows that he’s listening.