#ive got a lot of ground to cover

[hellsite-detective]

meowdy there, there’s this one text post that i KNOW is on my blog somewhere but the tumblr search function has a personal vendetta against me specifically - near verbatim, it went something like “hey girl is that a 9/11 in your pants or is ur penis just two of them and exploding”. i think about it every day and i need her back

this one was such a fascinatin' phrase i couldn't help but look into it. now, i had never heard of this post, but what else is new? i took to google and started lookin' for this post by searchin' for the exact phrase. i didn't find a tumblr post, but i did find a reddit comment referencin' this post. thankfully, someone in the replies to that comment posted a screenshot of the original post, which i used to track it down. tumblr was bein' rather uncooperative, so i had to reverse engineer it through some reblogs, but i got it!

here's your post anon! a real interestin' one, if i do say so myself. have a great day!

Post Case: Closed

[audiovisualrecall]

This is a start, anyway. Lots of research and work ahead.

[linoguy]

i needed something more from the choreo of rizzness but it's ok 🚶🏽‍♂️

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Lost in the Weeds

Yandere Plant Man x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Non-con, anal sex, painful sex, violent sex, bondage, drugged reader, paralysis, sadistic yandere, dacryphilia, general yandere behavior, oviposition?)  Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took so long for me to write, I hope you all like it.) 

   You were a deep space interplanetary botanist specializing in the retrieval and propagation of medically important plant species. Right now you were on the barely mapped planet Varliss IV trying to find an extremely rare flowering plant, Solanum volātilis that, despite extraterrestrial origin, appeared to be a member of the family solanaceae.    All previous attempts to propagate this rare species in an artificial environment had failed, but you were sure you could figure it out if you could only find the plant when it had a few seed pods on it.

 Procuring some seed specimens was easier said than done though. The first thing you had to do was keep trudging through this damnable jungle. Luckily there were no life threatening species, but it was still a slog through mud and foliage, and the humidity was oppressive. And even if they were not harmful there were still a number of insects that bit and swarmed around mammals, requiring an explorer’s outfit that covered your legs and arms completely. An outfit that did nothing to help the sweltering heat.  You wiped your brow and continued your trek through thick mud and odd cyan and purple vines and leaves, thorns and thistles scraping and poking uselessly at your clothing.  After what was surely many hours of hiking from the clearing you had landed your spacecraft in you still had found no trace at all of the plant. It was a highly uncommon species though, so it was not like you expected this to be easy. Science seemed amazing and technical and sometimes even magical, but you knew that it all required a lot of grunt work.  You were about to set up your camp for the night in a small clearing you had stumbled across when much to your astonishment you actually found what appeared to be the bloom of the flower you were seeking on a vine.  You pulled out your magnifying glass and reference book as you got closer to make a positive identification. Yes, this was definitely the right flower, a large bell shaped flower that was deep purple with cyan streaks and dark blue freckle-like dots on the inside. Though the vine it was attached to was much thicker than it should be. Though any number of circumstances could account for anomalous growth such as that.  You rubbed the vine out of curiosity and were astounded to find that it felt unnaturally warm. You were much more astounded when it moved away from you entirely and then the figure of a large humanoid, easily 8 feet tall, was suddenly looming above you.  You fell back on your rump and looked up in disbelief, unable to find your words. The tall humanoid appeared to be male, his long hair was red but had several vines with cyan leaves going through it, his mouth had two thorn-like fangs, he had a large vine like tail covered in the flowers that you sought out, his skin was cyan with dark blue freckles and his arms, legs, and the tip of his very much exposed cock were all dark purple. His cock was also leaking a viscous magenta fluid that dripped a bit on your face.  “And just what do you think you’re doing, touching me like that!?” He growled as he looked down at you menacingly before using one arm to easily hoist you up and hold you about a foot off the ground. “How do you like being touched without permission, huh!?” “Wh-wh-what? No! I just- I um. I was ju-just looking for seeds! I didn’t kno-” You barely managed to sputter out before getting cut off by the monstrous plant.  “Oh, you want seeds, well why didn’t you just say so? I can bring you to all of the seeds for the flowers like the ones on me, no problem.” He put you down and brushed you off, something about the way he smirked left you unsettled, but you did not want to risk his anger and so you just muttered a thanks as he took your hand and started leading you away. You exchanged names while walking with him, learning his name was Drosera. You really should have just taken your chances and ran, because as far as Drosera was concerned you had marched into his territory and were now his private property.  He lead you deeper into the strange forest until finally you came to the gaping maw of a cave. You gasped as you entered and were greeted with the surprising sight of rays of sunlight streaming in through a hole in the roof leading to the creation of a sheltered grove. Moss, trees, flowers, vines, and a small babbling brook all hidden away from the world.    There, in the center, were indeed the flowers indicative of the plant you were searching for, this time without being attached to any intelligent life. You rushed towards them in your excitement and did not notice the sprawling vines of your companion quickly approaching you from behind as you were bent down to examine the flora.  Before you knew what had happened each of your limbs and your mouth had been completely wrapped up in tendril like vines. You tried writhing from their grasp but you might as well have been trapped by steel for all the good it did you. Your muffled wails and whines were equally useless, not eliciting even the slightest bit of empathy from your captor.  Tears rolled down your cheeks, pooling a bit at the vines that restrained your lips. The vines suspended you a few feet above the ground and pulled you towards him and he brushed the tears from your face with a deceptively gentle hand. “Awe, why are you crying little human? I am just about to give you exactly what you asked for.”  Drosera brought his mouth to your neck, ghosting his two thorn-like fangs against your sensitive skin before suddenly penetrating your flesh. You writhed in pain as he injected you with a powerful venom. He held you close with both the vines extending from his back and his arms as if trying to comfort you through the pain.  Soon you found yourself almost completely unable to move, capable now of only the most feeble attempts at struggling. Whatever he injected you with was clearly intended to do away with any possibility of escape for what was about to happen next.    The tight grip the vines had had on you loosened a bit, as he no longer needed to keep you so well restrained. He used his vines to slowly, almost sensually, peel off all of your equipment and clothing until you were left exposed under the excited gaze of his violet eyes. All you could manage to do was let out a small whimper as you averted your gaze.  Drosera roughly felt up your body, eager greedy hands rubbing and groping you all over, grabbing on to what was now his.  The vines that extended from his back still held you up despite your limp and envenomed state, they quickly moved you into a bent position, your head facing away from your captor as he gruffly gripped your hips, caring little, if at all, for your comfort.  You could feel more of his vines creeping up your legs, reaching and grabbing like tentacles until they found what they were looking for, your asshole.  They roughly prodded at your entrance as you stammered out pleas of mercy, sobbing and begging Drosera to please just release you, promising that you would never cross into his territory or even come back to this planet at all. But he just laughed sadistically, your cries serving only as fuel for his arousal.  Suddenly and without warning the slender vines prodding at you jammed their way inside, eliciting a scream from your sobbing form. There had been no stretching, no application of lube, just a brutal penetration. And he was certainly not going to stop with just his vines.  You could feel them writhing and probing their way deeper and deeper inside you, after the initial pain of them entering you faded it was replaced with an uncomfortable and disgusting feeling of being unnaturally full and violated.  Your sobs finally slowed down as you became more accustomed to your situation, and that is when Drosera decided he needed to apply more pain. To utterly and completely dominate you mind, body, and spirit. To enjoy those beautiful tears that set his heart aflutter while he was inside you.  So he withdrew his tendrils from your insides and before you could even breathe a sigh of relief replaced them with his giant cock, still dripping with pink fluid. You shrieked so loudly at him ramming himself into your un-lubed ass that he almost came on the spot. He could feel it in his cock each time a scream, whimper, or pained sob racked your body.  He pulled your hair roughly from behind with one hand while gripping your hip hard with the other as he continued abusing your poor hole in as painful a way as he could.  “You should be grateful, slut! You wanted seed so badly and that’s just what you are about to get!!” He chuckled cruelly at his joke as he continued ramming into you with more and more speed as he began to wildly chase his climax.  The plant man put a firm hand on each collar bone and jerk you back painfully to get as deep into you as he possibly could as he filled you with a warm viscous fluid, you were confused though when instead of that being the end of it he then started to fill you up with a lot of something that felt round and hard.  After filling you the vines holding you in place retracted and he sat you down in his lap, causing fluid to leak out of you and onto him, though he did not seem to mind at all or even notice.    It suddenly clicked even in your rattled and abused psyche that he had literally filled you with his seeds. A million panicked thoughts went through your mind. What if they sucked out all your nutrients and moisture to grow in your corpse, what if they burst through your skin, what if th-  Your horror must have been plastered all over your face because Drosera interrupted your downward spiral of fears by saying, “Don’t worry, they won’t harm you. They are like eggs and when they are about to pop open they will come out of you, you will such a lovely incubator to keep full of my children~”  You began sobbing and hyperventilating, still unable to do anything more than weakly twitch under the long lasting effects of his venom.  “Fuck, you’re so hot when you cry for me, so beautiful.” He gently wiped your tears away with his thumb as you realized this is what your life would be like from now on.  No more dreams or a career advancing science. Just sobbing and being a flower pot for some alien monster’s seeds just for the horrible crime of bumbling into his territory.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Winner Takes It All || Challengers

Part III: The First Crack

AN: Guys, I'm not going to lie this is the most chaotic posting schedule known to man and I'm so sorry. Parts of this chapter got deleted not once, but TWICE! I had to walk away from this story before I did something I would regret, but I'm back again. I know for sure the engagement for this story will have decreased significantly, but I don't care. I've put too much time and brain power into this, so I'm seeing it through until the end, there's probably only three or four parts left anyways. A lot of song references sprinkled throughout and I took some minor inspiration from certain movies, I wonder if you’ll be able to guess it.

Trigger warnings: emotional cheating (Art and Gianna truly embodying the song B.A.S. in this one), slight manipulation

Word Count: 7.0k

Taglist: @seriousaliysa @hopeless-y @malscorner @miximora @urfavesim @mmmunson @jackierose902109 @youngestxhearts @blkdivinefeminine @kalikailz @lottiematthewsceo @lonnie2390147 @begoniaespresso @everydayimagineer @pnkstali @softimgyu @amethystwonders11 @hazbinh0e @ysuftmikey @summerssover @hummusxx @callumturnerwife23 @whitewashedghanian @brunettegirl @igotmajordaddyissues @soldesole

Part IV: Cocky Af

SIX YEARS LATER - US OPEN, AUGUST 2012

With a powerful forehand, Gianna hit the return back over the net, her muscles rippling with the effort. The neon green ball whizzed across the other side and straight down the court, just out of her opponent's reach. Immediately, Gianna felt her knees buckle and she fell back onto the court, letting out a cry. The thunderous applause and screams are instant, vibrating the hard court beneath her. She had did it, Gianna had did it. She was now the US Open Women's Champion.

Her hands covered her face, tears pricking in her eyes as Gianna's shoulders shook with soft sobs. All the sacrifices she made, every argument she had with her dad, the blood, sweat, and tears she shed had culminated to this very moment. Her crowning achievement, Gianna Langdon was a Grand Slam winner. The media had reported on her every move in the tournament, debating if she possessed the mental toughness to advance in the Open after having a rough start in her first match. Today, she proved her doubters and her most vocal critics wrong.

Composing herself a little, she dragged her hands down her face and sat up from the ground. Gianna rose to her feet and jogged her way over to Irina who was at the net patiently waiting there. Her head hung dejectedly, but she offered her hand to Gianna's shake which she accepted. The handshake was brief and Gianna released her hand to turn her attention to the umpire to thank them before facing the roaring crowd who maintained their rapturous applause.

With a grin that could rival the sun, Gianna began clapping herself before bowing several times to thank her fans and supporters. Staring out into the crowd, her eyes found her family's, their cheers were the only ones that truly mattered to her. Her brother and sisters were going wild in the stands, jumping up and down before embracing each other. Beside them, her mom and dad were openly crying and clapping harder than everyone else. Their eyes were filled with so much pride and joy that it almost made her want to break down sobbing again.

"What a journey this has been for you Gianna!" the interviewer began. "Tell me, what is going through your head right now?" she asked, before moving the mic over toward Gianna.

"Oh man," Gianna breathed out, still winded from the strenuous match only moments before. "There's not enough words in the dictionary to describe how I'm feeling right now!" she answered, a brilliant smile on her face. "This means the absolute world to me! I was pinching myself after I fell out onto the ground to make sure that this was actually happening," she continued, drawing out some laughter from the crowd.

"This is your first major title win, Gianna. How does it feel to finally hear those words spoken aloud?"

"It's incredible, truly," she replied, nodding her head. "I've been training so hard for this very moment since the day that my daddy put a tennis racket in my hand. And today, I'm finally bearing the fruits of my labor," she went on, resting her hands on her hips. "This title win is as much a dream come true not only for me, but for my dad as well, Maurice Langdon," she informed, and the Jumbotron camera quickly cut to her father in the stands. "Without his tutelage and guidance, I would not be where I am right now. When I left Stanford, I told my dad five words. 'Let's go make some magic'. I think I can safely say, we accomplished that here today," she finished, causing the crowd to aw at her outpouring of love for her father.

Smiling, her dad blew multiple kisses in her direction before placing his hand over his chest, genuinely touched by her praise.

"I did two things today that I previously thought impossible. I won a major title!" Gianna exclaimed excitedly, to which the crowd roared in cheers. "But more importantly, I made the Maurice Langdon shed tears for the first time ever!" she joked, a ripple of laughter echoed from the crowd as they were all probably familiar of her father's renowned stoic nature.

Gianna's on court interview lasted for a few more minutes before finally, it was time for the trophy presentation. She would forever be immortalized in tennis history with a picture of her proudly holding the US Open above her head. With her press conference wrapped up, the toll of the day was beginning to wear on her. Gianna was exhausted. Every bone, every muscle, every part of her.

Walking alone in an empty hallway within the Arthur Ashe Arena, the sound of Gianna's phone chiming echoed in the air. A smile lit up on face at the text she received from a name with snail emojis beside it.

"Can't wait to see you tonight, champ" with a winky face at the end of the message.

Matthias Schnell (snail as she liked to tease him since the words were similar in pronunciation) was a rising German tennis superstar much like herself. The two met at Wimbledon where they were both making eyes at each other during the tournament, but after she won against him and his partner in the mixed doubles semifinal match, Matthias congratulated her and asked her for number, the rest was history. They weren't official yet, but they were well on their way.

"Gianna!" a familiar voice called.

In a blink of the eye, her smile dropped from her face.

"I know that's not who I think it is," she thought.

Gianna clicked her phone back into sleep mode and quickened her pace, ignoring the repeated calls of her name. Until, she felt fingers lightly wrap around her wrist, an action which made her furiously whip around and rip her arm from the grasp of a strawberry blond haired man.

"Don't fucking touch me!" Gianna hissed.

"Gia—" Art began.

"No! You don't get to call me that!" she snapped, stabbing her finger in his direction. "You lost that privilege a long time ago!" she snarled.

"Please, Gianna," he pleaded, taking a step closer to her. "You ducked me in Atlanta," he reminded, only causing Gianna's nostrils to flare.

With a Nike baseball cap tucked low over her brow, Gianna made her way down the hall of the hotel. It was the night before the Atlanta Open, a tournament she usually didn’t pay any attention to, but this year she was here to support an old friend. Max Sullivan, a name she couldn't believe she was saying. After the Juniors Championship, they didn't part on the friendliest of terms and it was all Gianna's fault. She told Max to his face she thought he was a mediocre player and to add insult to injury, she also said she should take his trophy since she's the one who did all the work on the court. It was a mixture of immaturity, cockiness, and a kernel of truth.

Nonetheless, it would seem her words lit a fire under Max's ass, because from college and now as a professional tennis player, his growth had been tremendous. So, the only lesson Gianna took from that was, bullying works. Depending on his performance, she was considering them to be doubles partners again.

Placing her hand on the door handle to the stairwell, Gianna froze. It felt like someone was watching her. Without hesitation she turned her head in the direction of the hotel lobby, her heart all but stopped as her next breath caught in throat. Gianna's vision became similar to the dolly zoom effect at the sight of Art. The two of them were no longer standing on opposite ends of the hallway. By the second, it seemed like the distance between them was rapidly shrinking.

"Gia?"

He barely raised his voice, but it was just loud enough for her to hear as a soft frown creased his brow. Gianna didn't respond, instead choosing to avert her eyes to back to the door. Her breath beginning to quicken while her heart thumped wildly in her chest, the only thing keeping her on her feet was the death grip her fingers had around the door handle. Out of the corner of Gianna's eye, she could see Art slowly approaching towards her. Panic seized her at the thought of them being within arms reach of each other. They haven't spoken to one another in five years, Art's last attempt was rewarded with a swift slap across his cheek after he cornered her in their sophomore year, pleading for her to speak to him again.

"Gia, please, I'm begging you. I don't know how much longer I can take of this," Art pressed, desperation rife in his voice. "I miss you," he added, his voice cracking as he bent down slightly to try and meet her stare.

Gianna remained silent, keeping her gaze fixated on the cement with her arms folded tightly against her chest . A heavy, lingering silence engulfed them when Gianna finally flicked her eyes up to Art's, startling him. She did not mask her rage, Gianna's eyes burned with hatred which caused Art to flinch. Suddenly, her hand flew forward striking Art's cheek, the force of the blow causing his head to whip to the side. Then, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

Art was less than ten feet away from her when Gianna forcefully pulled the open, rushing clumsily up the stairs and almost twisting her ankle in the process.

"Gia wait!"

Art and Gianna had a silent, intense stare off for several moments, before Art cautiously took a step closer towards her with arms raised.

"Gianna, please. I just wanted to tell you congratulations on your first grand slam win," Art explained softly, with a weak smile.

"I don't want it, least of all from you," she spat, looking him up and down with a sneer.

"Will you at least hear me out?" he asked, frustration creeping in his voice. "I only want to talk," he stated.

A deep, scornful laugh bubbled out of Gianna as she slowly closed the gap between them.

"And what the fuck, would we have to talk about Arthur?" she asked icily, the harshness of her tone making Art recoil. "You know I want? I want you to be a good boy and run along," she continued, moving in for the final blow. "A pet should never stray too far from its master, so how about you go fetch the lost dreams of her career and leave me the hell alone!"

With every venomous word Gianna hurled at him, Art withered from the verbal daggers she threw at him until he was left in a state similar to which a dog would’ve been after it had been scolded by its owner. How fitting. If he'd had a tail, he would have tucked it between his legs.

Gianna's lip curled in disgust, "Fucking pathetic," she muttered, stalking away from him and purposefully letting her shoulder bump Art's arm as she left.

~~~x~~~

FIVE YEARS EARLIER — STANFORD UNIVERSITY, 2007

"40-15! Match point!" the chair umpire announced.

Gianna punched her fist in the air as the crowd erupted into applause and loud cheers, the yelling of her name mixed within them. It was only an exhibition match, but the Stanford bleachers were packed full as if it was the Junior's US Open all over again. It was the highly anticipated potential match up that never came to fruition at the tournament. Today, however, spectators could finally behold the athletic spectacle of two titans facing off against each other. More importantly, they wanted to see if Gianna had it in her, to pull off the upset of the day.

Glancing at her opponent on the other side of the net, Gianna watched Tashi shake her head in frustration, a deep scowl marring her pretty features as she picked at the strings of her racket. Behind Tashi, the ball boy bounced a ball to her and smoothly caught the ball with her racket.

Gianna crouched down, a smirk on her lips as she let the rubbery grip of her racket roll back and forth against her palms, rocking from side to side.

"One more point," she thought. "And I will have beaten Tashi two times in a row this week,"

The neon ball bounces softly off the ground and Gianna's grip tightened around the handle, readying herself. The moment Tashi released the ball high in the air and jumped to hit it, Gianna knew it was going to be excellent serve from her friend. Playing against Tashi was a tasking feat in itself, but going against her when she was absolutely livid and frustrated? Most competitors might as well be signing their own death certificates, Gianna however, had Tashi right where she wanted. Off-kilter and playing sloppy.

Whizzing over the net, the ball came flying at Gianna like a heat seeking missile and for a split second she wondered if Tashi had envisioned her face on the ball as she returned the serve. The next hit came in the form of a forehand slice and Gianna sent the ball back across the court with a strong one handed, backhand return. Tashi sprinted over to the ball, but fell a stride short as the ball bounce off the ground with a force that made dirt kick up.

"Game, set and match, Gianna Langdon," the chair umpire announced in a loud voice. "6-3, 6-3".

The crowd erupted in cheers as Gianna herself threw her arms in the air in victory. Jogging to the net, a grumpy Tashi was already waiting for her with her hand extended out. As usual, she still really hadn't gotten around the concept of losing to Gianna and it showed.

"Good game," she muttered.

Gianna, on the other hand, was clearly starting to get the hang of beating Tashi, and boy did she enjoy it.

"I know," Gianna acknowledged, with a smirk.

Instantly, Tashi's face darkened and she yanked back her hand, abruptly breaking the handshake. Tashi's reaction didn't phase Gianna at all, instead, it made her even more smug.

"And so it begins," she thought amusedly.

Walking back to her bench, she grabbed her gear and put it in her sports bag before leaving the court. Gianna had barely gotten far from the tennis court when Art fell in step beside her.

"Great match!" he complimented, with a grin.

A light chuckle left her, "All in a day's work," Gianna replied, lazily looking over at him.

"Everything alright between you and Tashi?" Art wondered. "She looked pissed off when you two were at the net," he remarked.

"She'll be fine," Gianna assured, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You know how Tashi gets when she loses to me," she reminded, briefly looking ahead her. "She hates being humbled," Gianna added, smugness growing within her.

"Do you think she—"

Her head whipped in his direction, "You wanna come with me to dinner with my family?" Gianna asked suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence.

She's had enough of Tashi for the last hour and a half, it was time to place attention elsewhere.

"Seeing how my best friend is not going to talk to me for the rest of the day," she went on.

"Wouldn't I be intruding?" Art questioned, one of his brows raising.

"No, because I invited you," Gianna answered simply. The two came to a stop on the corner of the sidewalk, facing each other. "Come on, I need to make this dinner somewhat bearable for me," she said, grabbing a hold of his hand with both of hers after seeing the indecision on his face.

Art's eyes flitted down to their hands, his throat bobbing before he swallowed thickly. In the back of her mind, Gianna knew what she was doing wrong, to essentially be toying with his emotions, but she desperately needed a buffer from her dad.

Gianna looked at him from under my lashes, "Pretty please, Art? For me?" she asked, using her thumbs to trace circles on his skin.

Art inhaled deeply, his eyes darting back to hers and he wordlessly nodded his head.

"Yeah, yeah!" he agreed hoarsely, finally finding his voice. "I would love to, Gia,"

"Uhh, you're the best!" Gianna cheered, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Without thinking, she stood on her tip toes and pecked him on the cheek. She pulled back, a grin on her face as she stared at Art who had a smile playing lazily on his lips. Gianna spun around, resuming her path back to her room.

"Meet me at my dorm in an hour," she exclaimed, not bothering to turn around.

Today, it was Gianna’s world and everybody else was living in it.

~~~x~~~

A few hours later

On the floor of Gianna's dorm room, biology notes, index cards, and textbooks were pushed off to the side and strewn about. Her and Art were studying for their upcoming quiz, but Gianna decided she had a better way to occupy their time. With one foot outstretched along the plush rug and the other being held by Art as he blew on it, Gianna let her head bob along to "Sittin' Up In My Room" by Brandy playing on her docking station as her toenails dried.

"When your parents dropped us off before they left your father said 'I'm glad to see developing an identity of your own'," Art quoted, looking over her toes and at her. "Why did he say that?" he questioned curiously.

Gianna let her head fall back letting out a long, dramatic sigh, "It's a long story, but also a short one," she answered, running her fingers through her hair. "My dad and honestly my mom as well, believe that I cannot be my entire self or even unlock my full potential if I'm always attached to Tashi's hip," she explained.

"Wait, they're upset because you're too close to your best friend?" Art asked incredulously.

"I know. Ridiculous, right?" she said, tossing her hand up in the air.

"If that's how your parents think of your friendship with Tashi, that may explain why your mother was giving me the cold shoulder at dinner," Art reasoned, adjusting his grip on her foot.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about," Gianna apologized sheepishly. "I don't what that was about," she said, shaking her head.

"No, it's fine," he assured. "I'm pretty sure Farrah hates me as well, so it balances it out," Art commented, with a chuckle.

Gianna's eyebrow arched, "What makes you say that?" she wondered, chuckling at the thought.

"She said if I do wrong by you, that, and I quote 'your kneecaps are fucking mine, white boy,'" he informed, his warm breath fanning across her toes.

A smile broke out onto her face, "I'm the baby of the family, of course she's going to spout empty threats," Gianna replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

"Didn't sound that empty to me," Art complained.

"Well, we are talking about Farrah here...so you may have a point," she conceded, with a shrug.

The tickling heat of Art's blowing came to an abrupt stop.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, a concerned frown knitting his forehead.

"You know, now that you mentioned it, my ex did break my heart and he came back to school with a limp the next day," she lied.

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, Art's frown deepening. He opened his mouth to say something and Gianna raised her eyebrows in challenge as realization dawned on his face. Gianna's mouth began to twitch as she fought the urge to smile.

"You liar, he didn't break your heart. You broke his," he remembered, a grin spreading across his lips.

Art and Gianna held each other's stare and after a beat, they both bust out laughing. Three months had passed since their argument at the mini golf course, but they've acted as if it never occurred in the first place. Was it the healthiest way to handle the situation? Probably not. But, in a way, it benefited both of them to ignore it for their own selfish reasons.

For Gianna, her relationship with Tashi was beginning to show all the signs that it would be a stale one. She had remained dead set about not wanting to broaden her horizons for the sake of their relationship, much to Gianna's dismay. At this point, Tashi was more of a girl friend than an actual girlfriend. And Patrick, for as loving and caring as he was, the boy could be inattentive at times. Sometimes he would forget to watch Gianna's matches after she sent him a link that aired them. Or, other times he wouldn't pick up on her tone that she was not in a good mood and continue talking about his adventures as a professional tennis player.

Then, there was Art. He had been her rock whether he realized it or not. Gianna figured he stuck around because he didn't want to give up their friendship entirely, despite the you know, major crush he still harbored for her. Gianna was grateful, honestly. Everything that was transpiring in her relationship with Tashi and Patrick had actually brought them closer. Art filled in the gaps she was desperately craving from her boyfriend and girlfriend, attention and spontaneity.

"Catch," Art called, tossing her jacket towards her.

"Caught," Gianna said, grabbing it from the air with ease. "What are you trying to do? Test my reflexes?" she joked, sliding the jacket onto her arms.

"No, but I'm happy to inform you they're wonderful," he quipped. "We are going to Cantor Arts Center, somewhere I know you've been dying to get to," he informed, moving to stand in front of her.

Gianna let out a little squeal of delight as she sprung off the edge of Art's bed.

"Thank you, thank you!" Gianna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Art and hugging him tightly.

"Anything for you," he breathed, his laughter vibrating through her body.

"I don't know why you're worried about Farrah's threats," Gianna said dismissively. "You would never hurt me," she stated confidently.

"Never!" Art promised. "Out of curiosity, should I expect the same from her?" he asked, flicking his chin at the shirt Gianna had on.

Gianna glanced down at what she was wearing, it was a plain, white tee with the name of the ballet troupe that her sister danced with emblazoned on it.

"Pfft, Alicia is a downright angel compared to Farrah," Gianna assured.

"And Luke?'

"Only dangerous if you let him get close to you with a baseball bat," she warned, smiling at him. "Speaking of my brother, I'm getting tickets for the season opener game for the Dodgers, and you're coming with me," she stated, leaving no room for argument.

One of his brows rose at this, "Just me?"

"I would bring Patrick, of course," Gianna responded, leaning back on her hands. "And Tashi too, if she can squeeze me into her oh so busy schedule," she added, an undercurrent bitterness in her tone.

"I'm sure she would be thrilled to go with both her girlfriend and boyfriend to a Dodgers game," Art said, with a brief, strained smile.

At this, Gianna mentally slapped her forehead.

"Way to go on reminding him of his position in our friend group," Gianna thought.

"Oh my god, I’m so sorry Art," Gianna apologized profusely, covering her mouth with her hand. "I swear, that was not my intention when I brought up us going to the game," she insisted sincerely, reaching out and placing her hand on top of Art's knee.

He shrugged, "No harm done, Gia. I know you well enough to know it wasn't on purpose," he said, a tight smile still drawn across his mouth.

Another annoyed sigh blew past Gianna's lips, "It's so frustrating, you know? Somehow, some way, my relationship manages to find its way into every conversation, she grumbled. "It's annoying to me, I know it's gotta be annoying for you, it's probably the last thing you want to hear actually,"

"Listen, I'm always happy to lend my ear to my friend," Art reassured, his face softening while resting his hand on top of hers. "Seems like you're in need of a shoulder to lean on, I'll gladly fill that for you," he said, squeezing her hand.

She felt comforted, even though all he had offered was the simple gesture.

"I can always count on you, Art," Gianna said, grinning brightly. "Now I know what Patrick means when we talk on the phone," she remarked.

Art seemed to perk up at this, “Oh? What did he mean by that?”

"Just that I’m the easier girlfriend talk to," she revealed, with a small shrug. "Patrick and I are a lot closer than she realizes," she admitted offhandedly.

Gianna didn't miss the way Art's eyes lit up a bit, an unreadable glint in them.

"Is that so?"

"You know Tashi, she's 24/7 about tennis. She's been harping on him about losing and always trying to give him pointers when that’s not what he wants to hear," she explained. "And for him, I'm that person he can turn to talk about anything other than tennis," she continued, with a small reminiscent smile.

Gianna thought back to the time she had Patrick practically doubled over in laughter, recalling all the stupid shenanigans her and her siblings got up to back at their ranch in Louisiana. It delighted Gianna to know she was capable of eliciting that much joy from her boyfriend when he needed it the most after getting practically chewed out by Tashi following a tough loss.

"You and I share that same dynamic," Gianna went on, motioning between them. "It's so much easier talking to you Art, compared to Tashi and even sometimes Patrick. In fact, I always look forward talking to you. You make me feel seen," she confessed, feeling Art's fingers curl around her hand more tightly.

It wasn't uncomfortable nor painful, but a physical reminder that Art seemed to be hanging on her every word.

"You always engage with my interests. Every bio class, you slip a new recipe across our desk that you found on the internet for me to try, more difficult than the last," she said, unconsciously leaning in closer in. "You're even brave enough to try out said recipes, not knowing what the results will be," she joked, chuckling softly. "Anyways, I guess this is my extremely long winded way of saying I'm grateful to call you my friend. And, thank you for being such a trouper and coming to dinner with me and my family," she told him, her mouth shyly curving upwards.

A long moment of silence fell between them, the only sound filling the room was the low instrumentals of "He Loves Me" and both her breathing and his. Art coughed, briefly ducking his head down and trying to keep the blush which Gianna saw was creeping over his cheeks. When Art's eyes finally flicked back to hers, Gianna felt her insides twist. The barely disguised want in his gaze made her warm all over.

This was becoming all too familiar, this careful dance between them balancing on the tightrope of friendship and something more. Gianna's resolve to keep Art at arm's length from months ago was weakening. They both were teetering, another step closer and over, would plummet them into uncharted waters.

"I don't know if I'm deserving of such high praise you, Gia," Art said softly. His eyes darting to her lips, daringly lingering on them and then back to her eyes. "But, I promise I will never break the trust you have within me," he vowed, shifting closer to her.

"You can't tell Tashi or Patrick about this,"

Smoothly, Art's fingers slid around Gianna's hand and went under hers to lift it towards his mouth.

Art didn't take his gaze off of her, "It will be our little secret," he whispered, sealing his promise with a kiss to each knuckle more lingering than the one before.

~~~x~~~

Staring at her reflection, Gianna vigorously dabbed her sponge all over her face to blend her foundation evenly across her skin.

"Between the two of us, whoever gets the makeup deal first, can we please for the love of god make sure the foundation range goes beyond the color of a paper bag?" Gianna yelled, with a huff before finally placing the sponge onto the bathroom counter.

If she had to keep mixing two foundations just to get the correct shade for her skin any longer Gianna was going to lose her mind.

"Babe, you are the color of a paper bag," Tashi quipped, from within her room.

Gianna playfully rolled her eyes, "Yeah, only in the winter," Gianna pointed out, exiting Tashi's bathroom. "I still have a bit of my summer tan left," she said crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

Pushing herself off her bed, Tashi walked over to Gianna and her hands instantly found themselves attached to her hips.

"Regardless, you look amazing Juliet," Tashi teased, letting her eyes trail down Gianna's costume.

It was Halloweekend at Stanford which meant only one thing to all students across campus, three days packed full of partying. Gianna, was one of those students who was thoroughly looking forward to the festivities with a costume planned for each night. Tonight, she was dressed up in a white dress, a cross necklace, and a pair of feathered angel wings inspired by Baz Luhrmann's iconic rendition of Romeo and Juliet. It was simple, elegant and the pure white fabric of the dress against her skin made her appear ethereal.

"You’re looking fantastic yourself, Josie," Gianna complimented, noting her girlfriend's leopard print bodysuit and cat ears. "And I didn't even have to twist your arm to go out tonight," she joked, placing her hand at the back of her neck.

A faux pout found its way on Tashi's lips, "Hey, I can be fun," she said, before placing a chaste kiss on Gianna's lips.

Gianna raised an eyebrow, "Oh? This is certainly news to me," she responded, laughing a little.

"Ha-ha very funny," Tashi replied dryly, before moving down Gianna's to jaw and pressing her lips against her skin. "Excuse me for embracing the festive spirit," she deadpanned, her breath tickling her ear.

"I am not complaining one bit," Gianna clarified, with a blissful smile while Tashi kissed down her neck. "You're going to ruin my makeup," she complained, her eyes falling close and her breathing becomes ragged as Tashi found the sensitive spot on her neck.

"You're fucking hot without it," Tashi murmured, nipping at her collarbone.

A sharp series of knocks startled the two of them, breaking apart from each other in quiet laughter.

"Must be Art," Tashi guessed, fixing Gianna's hair.

"Gotta be," Gianna agreed, releasing her grip on the back of her girlfriend's neck.

Pushing herself off the door frame, Gianna took a couple, deep breathes in effort to calm her body down. With a hand on her hip, Gianna's finger wrapped themselves around the doorknob and swung open the door.

"Why the hell are you knocking like the police?" Gianna scolded warmly, staring at Art who was dressed up as Waldo with round glasses perched at the end of his nose.

Art opened his mouth to respond which Gianna assumed would be a witty one. Instead his mouth remained stuck in the same position while his eyes looked her up and down.

"You look amazing, Gia," he blurted, his mouth still open in awe.

Gianna placed her hand on her chest, "Aww really?" she asked, with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," he said, nodding his head vigorously. "You look like…well you like angelic," he breathed, flashing her a sheepish grin.

"Corny!" Tashi yelled from behind her. "Seriously Art? You couldn't have chosen the most obvious word?" she questioned, putting her arm around Gianna’s shoulder.

"It's the first word that came to mind!" he cried playfully, looking at Tashi.

"It's not Art's fault, that I'm just that breathtaking," Gianna said, placing the back of her hand to her forehead and swooning dramatically.

"Ugh, you see what you started Art?" Tashi joked, shaking her head with a smile.

Gianna turned to Tashi and they broke into a fit of laughter.

"You're gorgeous, really,"

The girls' laughing came to abrupt stop as Gianna paused, her eyes locking with Art's. She felt herself lean back, shocked by his soft utterance causing her face to heat up massively.

"Oh," Gianna breathed, still stunned. "Thank you Art, that's very sweet of you," she said, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

Gianna wondered it was possible to get a high off of words, because she was experiencing it. From beside her, Tashi loudly cleared her throat as her hand slid down Gianna's back.

"We should get going, don't want to be late for the party," Tashi suggested, her hand curling itself around Gianna’s waist.

Gianna felt herself be tugged her ever-so-slightly closer to Tashi's side, a wordless warning to Art to watch himself. If the message was received or not, Gianna had no way of knowing, but it was from that point on there was a noticeable shift in Tashi's demeanor. And Gianna was doing everything in her power to pretend that there wasn't. She tried to defuse the subtle tension between all of them by talking about the latest horror movies released in theaters, only Art engaged in the conversation while Tashi remained uncharacteristically quiet.

With her arm wrapped still wrapped fairly tightly around Gianna's shoulder, Tashi led her to the porch of the house. Already she could feel the bass pumping from the inside and it became more intense when they entered. "Disturbia" was blasting from the speakers and cheers swept the room at the song playing. The three of them are immediately pressed together in the crowd. Gianna couldn't believe how many people had shown up to this party. The place was packed with students in all sorts of costumes, ranging from serious dedication to hilarious ones clearly thrown together at the last minute. Gianna turned her head to say something to Art, Tashi had other plans, however.

"Let's go dance!" she yelled, in order to be heard over the music.

Allowing herself to be dragged towards the center of the room, Gianna looked back at Art and flashed him an apologetic smile coupled with a half shrug before being swallowed up within the throng of partygoers. The two danced facing each other, their movements loose and carefree while their bodies swayed to the beat of the music. With every song they danced along to, Gianna watched as Tashi’s mood brighten until there was a wide smile plastered on her face as they sung along with "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)" at the top of their lungs. Their laughter filled the air and Gianna spun herself around, her hair whipping across her face while kicking up the fog lingering in the atmosphere from a fog machine set the spooky season mood.

Facing away from her girlfriend, Gianna spotted Art across the room dancing with a tipsy blonde haired girl who appeared to be having the time of her life, but Art looked completely out it and was seemingly just going through the motions in a halfhearted dance.

Gianna turned back towards Tashi, "I'm going to step out for a bit for some air!" she shouted over the music.

"Don't be too long!"

"I won't!"

Pushing her way through people, Gianna made way to the back door quickly opening and shutting it behind her. Immediately, she’s struck by the autumn air crisp and cool, leaving goosebumps on her arms. She didn’t mind it however, it was refreshing after being in a packed living room. Gianna moved across the backyard deck before finally coming to a stop at the railing and bending over to rest her arms against metal surface. Casting her glance upwards, she admired the full moon lighting up the dark sky, the stars faint due to the lights of the city in the distance.

"You're doing on that purpose,"

Gianna's face scrunched in confusion, she looked over her shoulder to see Art standing not too far behind her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion.

"Isn't there an identical shot like this in Luhrmann's version of Romeo and Juliet?" he pointed out, making a finger frame and observing her through it.

A small laugh left her as she remembered the specific scene he was talking about; it was when Juliet was watching fireworks going off from the balcony.

"Perfect," Art said softly, angling his fingers so she was precisely aligned in the square shape of his fingers.

Gianna scoffed and rolled her eyes, "Shut up," she said, a smile on her lips.

He mirrored her expression, dropping his hands and made his way closer to her.

"Why did you come out here?" Art asked curiously, using the side of him to lean against the railing.

"It was a fucking sauna in there," she answered, which Art chuckled at. "I needed air," she added. "What about you?" she asked, flicking her chin at him. "Why are you out here? I thought you and that blonde girl were really hitting it off," she joked, with a knowing smirk.

Art let out a scoff of his own, "Shut up," he laughed, echoing her own words a minute ago.

"What? I don't want her getting jealous—"

"Jealous?" he repeated incredulously. "Even if she was, wouldn't matter," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "She doesn't compare…" he trailed off, and a breathy chuckle passed his lips.

"To me," Gianna thought, finishing his sentence.

"So no point of competing," he finished, with another small shrug.

"You never did answer my question," Gianna remarked, tilting her head to the side. "Why did you come out here?" she asked again, pushing herself up from her position and turning to fully face him.

"Seizing the opportunity to dance with you," he answered bluntly, causing Gianna's eyebrows to shoot up in surprise. "If that's alright with you?" he questioned, his voice softer in tone than before.

Inside, the speakers began playing "Time of the the Season" as Gianna mulled over his offer.

It's the time of the season

When love runs high

"It's harmless, a lot of friends dance with each other," she thought.

Her lips curved, "I suppose one dance couldn't hurt, I don't think it's going to cause a bloody feud between families," Gianna quipped, making Art smile warmly at her.

Looping her hands around his shoulders, Art's palms found themselves on the sides of her abdomen as they began to dance to the music. Then again, Gianna wasn't quite sure if she should call it that, it was more of them gently swaying back and forth. Neither of them spoke, as neither of them knew what to say. They only turned away from each other with shy smiles, both releasing quiet laughs which slightly eased the palpable tension lingering in the air between them.

"You know, back in Louisiana I used to love stargazing with my siblings on our family ranch," Gianna mentioned, breaking the silence that fell between them. "It's one of the few perks of living in the countryside. There's not any light pollution, so you're able to see the stars in their full glory unlike cities," she went on, lifting her head up at the moon and the starry sky above him. "You have to visit me in Louisiana this summer. It's a breathtaking sight honestly, their beauty is unmatched," she said wistfully, their swaying coming to a stop.

"It truly is," Art agreed softly.

Beaming, Gianna looked back down at Art to see him already staring back at her. Her breath hitched ever so slightly. There was not a trace of doubt in Gianna's mind that Art hadn't looked at a single star and was solely looking at her this whole time. His eyes traveled the length of her face before moving back to her own. All the while, Gianna mentally noted Art's hands were sliding down her sides and onto her hips, pulling their bodies closer together. A shuddering breath left Gianna feeling her heart begin to race with anticipation, a mix of want and uncertainty coursing through her.

Art leaned in towards her, "Gia," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Holding his stare, Gianna leaned in closer causing their noses to just barely brush against one another before she pulled away at the last minute in hesitation. She knew the implications of crossing this line, the risks it carried. But the warmth of Art hands seeping through the material her dress was dizzying and actively drowning out all logical reasoning from her, it just all felt too good. So natural. Slowly, Gianna moved back in as Art dipped his head down, their lips a hair's breadth apart.

An ear splitting shriek jolted the two apart and Gianna felt herself sag back against the railing, gripping it for dear life because it was damn near the only thing keeping her on her feet. Fireworks shot up into the air from the front of the house, exploding into a dazzling sight of red, green, purple, and orange. The raucous cheering of partygoers followed soon after. The frat boys must have brought the fireworks and are now setting them off in their drunken state. Gianna covered her mouth with her hand, inhaling shakily.

That was too damn close, she should have never even allowed it get that far.

Art's back was still facing her when she managed to stand at her full height. Gianna’s hand dropped down to her chest, her breathing slightly erratic and her racing just as Art turned around with a dopey smile on his face. Once he saw her expression, his smile vanished.

"Gia?" Art called, concern written all over his features. He a took step closer to her, reaching his hand out toward her. "Gia, are you alright?" he asked again.

His fingers had barely grazed hers when Gianna rushed past him and back towards the backdoor to the house.

"Gianna? Gianna what did I do? Come on, Gianna, speak to me, please!"

Art's questions and pleas were tuned out by her own voice repeatedly saying one word.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

[mymelodymia]

Hey bby how r u? I got a request cause my emotions have been wonky asf can you write where Mike has a younger sis like 13-14 basically going through a lot and is getting bullied at school for not being the "prettiest" being teased and picked on constantly for being the "weird" one, shy, mostly to themselves hard to make friends etc. Iv gone through that and it sucks :(

Uhh fluffy lots of comfort mike lowkey beats the shot outta them. Anyways ty 😊 have a good one hun 🩷

Bullys // Mike Schmidt x sister!reader

**not a ship**

Summary: you're being bullied and don't say anything,

Warnings: bullying, bruises, Mike beating the shit out of some middle-schoolers,

Age: 13

A/N: hi baby! I'm doing good, I hope you like the way this came out 🥰

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

You had been being bullied for a while now. You kept it a secret for a while, most nights you cried yourself to sleep. What did you do to them? You hadn't done anything to them, they just did it to be little pains in the ass.

You tried to make friends but no one liked you and you didn't know why. You got good grades, you helped people in class, and you were literally the sweetest person in the world.

One day you couldn't take it anymore, you were riding home on your bike when you were suddenly hit the ground. Some kids had pushed you, (assholes) you skined your knees on the road, and Injured your palms from catching yourself.

They all took turns kicking you, before an old man walked out in a robe, yelling at them to get off his lawn (sorry)

You were badly injured from the force of the kicks. You could barely stand back up. You had been able to cover up most of your bruises with hoodies and sweaters, but you couldn't take it anymore

You broke down crying on your bike, sobbing loudly. You somehow had the strength to slowly peddle the bike and got home two hours after your curfew. It was now sundown, the street lights had turned on not long ago.

Mike was extremely worried about you. You had been very distant and quiet over the past few months. You spent most of your time in your room. And you oddly always left food on your plate. He didn't know why, he assumed it was connected to puberty in a way.

But when he saw you biking down the street, he let out a sigh of relief, but soon turned angry.

"Where have you been!? Do you know how late it i-" he yelled, pausing when he saw your tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. "What happened? W-who did.....whats wrong?" He asked holding one of your shoulders

You slowly took of the jacket you were using to hide the cuts and bruises all along your body. He gasped and gently caressed a few down your arm.

You sniffed and he hugged you. Wrapping his strong arms around you securely. "Who did this to you?" He asked as you sobbed into him. "Y/n...please tell me who it was, i need names." He said in a soft tone.

You slowly whispered every single person who ever hurt you. And that took a while since practically everyone in the school was bullying you.

He listened carefully, remembering everything you said. He carried you inside, sitting on the couch, he allowed you to crawl into his lap and cling to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, he held you to his chest. He couldn't belive someone would hurt his baby sister. This disbelief quickly turned into anger.

Filled with rage, he slowly set you down and took his car keys and put on his coat. You didn't have the strength to follow him, so you curled up into a ball and sat there for a good hour.

Mike returned with a small bruise on his cheek, just under his eye. Let's just say that he took care of them 😈

He picked you up like a baby, cradling you in his arms. He walked you over to his room and plopped you down, forgetting about your injuries.

When you winced in pain he immediately apologized, "oh im so sorry, i forgot, im sorry baby.." he said taking you his arms again, kissing the top of your head.

He walked out for a moment and returned with a tube of something, he applied a small amount to his cheek in a mirror, before coming over to you.

He rubbed it gently into your skin, being sure not to hurt you.

You thanked him when he was finished, he set the tube down on his night table, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you gently. You rested your head on his chest softly.

"Mike."

"Hmm" he responded, waiting Patiently for you to continue. "They have been doing this for a few months now, they'd call me fat and ugly all the time and whenever i would laugh they'd say its ugly." You kept going on and on about what they did to you for a few more minutes.

"Y/n, baby, you are not fat, and your laugh is one of my favorite things to hear, dont let that stuff get to you okay? I love you, and since i haven't heard you laugh in so long i would definitely tickle you right now, but i might hurt you so, just wait until your bruises are gone" he said with an evil smirk on his face. You whimpered, giggling at the same time, you snuggled into his chest.

He ran his fingers through your dark curly locks, rocking you back and forth, he sung you a lullaby to lull you to sleep. This was one of the only nights were he didn't dream abt Garrett.

This was a good excuse.

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

Tags

None :((((((

[polyhexian]

TW: Suicide

You've got that headcanon that Hunter makes a few suicide attempts after Belos's defeat; how would that factor into the eventually au?

Does he not attempt it cuz instead he just shoves so much of his self-loathing onto Jasper that first year after? Or cuz having his dad around in general just helps somehow?

Does he try it like he did in your Loving is Letting Go fic but instead of calling Camila he calls Jasper? Does he still call Camila, but she calls Jasper instead of Darius? Does she still call Darius and then Hunter doesn't want them to tell Jasper this happened because he feels awful about it but it's like, dude, there's no way your dad isn't going to find out about this?

Jasper having to deal with the realization that while he feels like he's dead, and he wishes he had died, and he's so, so tired of existing, he can't stop yet because apparently his son is having some similar issues and if this happens again Jasper is probably the only person who'd be able to locate him, teleport to him, and heal him all in 60 seconds tops.

OKAY SO IVE BEEN ROTATING THIS IN MY HEAD ALL DAY

There's a couple of sort of "Nate draikinator fanon canon" things like, hunter has killed three people and who they are, vee tried to kill him once, he tried to kill himself that one time and called Camila for help when he changed his mind. Lots of little things that I generally repeat unless I have a specific reason to change them.

I definitely think he still does it. He's come out of an extreme trauma and he's adjusting to a new normal and it's completely to be expected he's going to have wild and violent emotional swings as he tries to come to terms with everything that has happened to him. A lot of it IS guilt, that he feels like a massive burden who is never going to recover and he's just going to ruin the lives of anyone who cares about him (just like he ruined Jasper's) and that's terrifying and heavy and soul crushing and miserable. And one bad night he just snaps and makes a very poor spontaneous decision in a manic depressive spiral of self destruction. But he still changes his mind at the last minute and calls for help.

And I think he's still calling Camila. He's not thinking clearly but she's an emotional rock for him he relies on and he's going to call her. Then we have her dilemma: call Darius or Jasper? Both can teleport, but jasper is an incredibly skilled healer.

But he's also incredibly unstable, and she doesn't know if she can trust him to keep his cool jumping into the old throne room when it's covered in hunters blood. So she calls Darius. And when HE gets there he realizes it's Pretty Bad and calls jasper. Even tho hunter is like noooo noooo don't call him noooo. And jasper pops in and there's only like one second where Darius actually recognizes him as present and afraid and himself before he fully locks down into serious GG mode and drops to his knees.

So MEDICAL MAGIC STUFF he tells Darius to hold pressure because he can't heal the wounds yet until he gets as much blood as he can back in him, because you can't just regrow blood, so he's immediately drawing circles so that blood gets pulled off the ground and out of his clothes and he's basically picking it apart to filter out particulates and dirt or anything before he can put any back in, and only some of it is good since some is already old cuz hes been here awhile. And hunter is crying and apologizing and jasper literally is not even acknowledging him. He's fully 100% on task. Refills what he can and heals the cuts but advises Darius that he could still die of exsanguination without a blood specialist, and then says he is too low on magic to translocate two people so he has to take hunter to the hospital without him, and tells him like "you're going to tell them he's a stage 2 triage, massive blood loss from radial artery damage, and that you want to see [name], the resident blood specialist and NOT [name] because she hates him and can't be trusted with his life" and Darius obviously has like a moment he tries to argue but jasper like. He's in GG mode. He knows how to deliver an order.

Which leaves him sitting there on his knees in front of the throne in the dark soaked in hunters blood

Just like. Staring at nothing. Because jasper is 100% not home right now

Or also maybe he's fixing up hunters blood and realizes there's not enough clean blood here to save his life so without even missing a beat he tears off a sleeve, ties a tourniquet around his arm and pulls it tight with his teeth and then cuts himself open just to get some for him. Darius horrified like the fuck are you DOING and jasper just completely deadpan informing him that their blood is completely identical like twins so he can safely use his and he can safely lose quite a bit of blood himself before hes in trouble, so it's only makes sense. And besides he can heal himself when he's done. It's not a big deal. Obviously.

So like. Hunter's good. He's safe. Darius is gonna bring him to a hospital anyway tho. Obviously. But jasper is just like. Not fucking home rn. He's truly going through it. He's already convinced HE'S dead. And jasper has never struggled with suicidal or self harm thoughts in his life, any time he has ever hurt himself was for a reason. He can't possibly fathom what hunter is going through because it is so DIFFERENT from his experience. But he knows he waited too long, he didn't even save hunter, Luz did, and it was too late because he has everything he needs now and he still wants to die. He should have acted sooner. He should have taken the risk that hunter would get killed if he tried to liberate him sooner because he waited too long and it's too late.

And also hunter called CAMILA and Camila called DARIUS. Not him. Hunter didn't call him even though he can teleport and heal. Not even Camila called him despite the fact he can teleport and heal. Hunter is dying and he doesn't call him for help. He calls his mom who can't even help him instead. He's just going to be so utterly crushed by this. Meanwhile Hunter is struggling with the kind of overwhelming shame and humiliation that comes with an aborted suicide attempt. And he doesn't want to see jasper because he's terrified to see him, he feels like- like he broke his whole life and he can't even be grateful for it, jasper sacrificed everything for him and Hunter tried to just throw it in the trash and he's ashamed of that and guilty and miserable.

And jasper is STILL just sitting where he got left staring at the throne and sitting on his knees covered in his and hunters blood.

I literally cannot give eventually jasper a fucking BREAK, can i

[sheriffgrimes-archerdixon]

Comfort

Request: can you do one where Daryl comforts reader after she has a nightmare? Thank you!

Tw: nightmare, description of panic attack, blood, gore, usual walking dead stuff. If sensitive to any of these please read with cautious or skip past this one! Thanks loves!!

NOTE: IF YOU’VE SENT IN AN ASK THAT HASN’T BEEN ANSWERED PLEASE RE-SEND. MY INBOX SAYS IVE GOT 10 ASKS BUT ISN’T LOADING ANY OF THEM. WHETHER IT BE A GLITCH OR WHATEVER I DO NOT KNOW BUT PLEASE RE-SEND IF YOU THINK IVE MISSED YOUR REQUEST/ QUESTION.

Havnet been able to watch TOWL either that’s depressing asf but oh well. Sorry for the delay my heads been all over the place (:

This is awfully written and isn’t entirely “plotted” correctly so excuse the crappiness. This was written over like three months so… sorry for the delay

The loud whistle abruptly wrapped around the sky, sending chills down your spine as you froze in place but it was as if you had lived this exact nightmare before. But it was worse… a lot worse… the sound of the whistling continued all around you as you walked further into the darkness all alone your eyes scanning around frantically before your eyes fell upon the familiar body of Glenn. Slumped. Head completely squished. Like a watermelon… your stomach churned in disgust a shaky breath leaving your lips, your eyes then turning to see Abraham the exact same way but it didn’t stop— your eyes followed the row of your people. Your family. Carl, Rick, michonne, Daryl, Aaron, Rosita, Jesus, maggie… every single one of them limp on the ground slumped and weak. Brains splattered everywhere. Your hand trembled to cover your mouth before you spun around looking for the saviours the whistling growing louder but no one seemed to be around you. Whatsoever. The headlights of vans were a blurred picture. Your breathing grew heavier tears forming in your eyes as you turned around again to face your people their bodies rotting, turning into the dead… glenn reaching out for you, Daryl crawling on his chest ricks cold blue eyes boring into yours, muttering some kind of sentence over and over again. “All your fault” tears threatened to fall as you stumbled back panting heavily before a hand tightly gripped onto your wrist, your head snapping to the side as your eyes met with Negans your jaw dropping as a ear piercing screech left your mouth as darkness slowly surrounded you.

“Y/n!”

A voice yelled and your body jolted awake, your eyes filled with terror as your eyes found those familiar blue ones. Daryl. Alive, well, okay… you panted staring at him terrified he was stood a slight distance away from you his eyes searching yours concerned, you were still in your bed Daryl’s concern clear before he sat down on the edge of the bed making it dip down slightly “bad dream?” Was all he asked and all you could do was nod the terror visible. Your skin was coated in a layer of sweat that wouldn’t go away Daryl carefully getting closer to you as he soon reached his hand out without much of a warning and grabbed onto your hand his touch hesitant and unsure at first but as he got more comfortable he tightened his grip giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m here.” He spoke gruffly voice still worried as he kept his eyes on you. “You died..” you whispered Daryl blinking confused for a second, but didn’t say anything allowing you to continue what you wanted to say however his confusion wasn’t of what you said— no— more so of the fact that you were afraid to lose him. That on its own shocked him beyond belief and broke his heart all at once.

He hadn’t ever had anyone who was scared of him leaving before, it saddened him almost, the feeling of not being needed or wanted had been etched into his soul ever since he was a young boy. But seeing it come from you it unlocked a certain feeling within him a soft feeling that he didn’t entirely understand. “It’s okay. I’m right here.” He assured gently. “You and the others all died…. One… by one.. negan hit you over the Hed with Lucille and killed you all… I was the only survivor.. you— you all blamed me for something I didn’t do… i- I couldn’t stop it! I- I couldn’t stop you from dying.. I— I wanted to I needed to but I couldn’t reach you—“ your breathing grew my quick as you practically began hyperventilating. That scared Daryl on its own but he quickly got to work, grabbing onto your shoulder gently and making you look at him

“Breathe.” He muttered out softly your chest continuing to heave up and down over and over again daryl murmuring little nothings to you to try and sooth you until eventually you were curled up in his arms, his grip on you tight and secure, comforting, his hand trailing up and down your back. “I thought I lost you.”

He only shook his head “never. You’ll never lose me… can’t get rid of me that easily.”he kept a hold of you continuing to help you breathe and calm down until eventually you were more relaxed. He just held you as you remained in silence. “I love you. And I don’t want to lose you ever.” You murmured to him, Daryl’s heart aching slightly and he held you closer to him, not sure how to respond to that, before he pressed a small kiss to the top of your head “you won’t lose me.” He reassured, before bringing you down to lay with him, soothing you beside him, as he helped calm you down until you were settled in his arms.

“Oh and y/n..” he trailed off,

“Hm?”

He smiled softly “I love you too.”

[silent-littles-blog]

Hi hi hi! I’m melatonin! Do you wanna be friends?

I have a request if you don’t mind could you do Cg pomni x fem baby regressor reader? Maybe with mentions of stuffys playtime packs and baby bottles

Only if you want to ofc!

Thanks a lot!

-Melatonin💘💉

Cg Pomni x Fem baby regressor

Theme: Stuffies, playtime, baby bottles

I am using more broad tags, if this isn't your tea, just skip this and continue to other posts

· ─────────꒰🎪꒱───────── ·

[ Prologue ]

I hope I did well! Ive never done fanfics before, so this might suck. I am better at writing casual things with characters I know (preferably OCs)

It's been a long time since the Digital Circus welcomed a new member with open arms, so your sudden appearance shook everyone up. For a moment, everyone remembered that despite the saturated colors of the circus, the infinite dimensions they could explore, it never made up for the life they had before.

Pomni had a horrible time adapting to the circus, which eventually graduated into an argument with Caine. Though, after the harsh exchange of arguments, Caine decided to study human behavior closely, but very secretly without admitting it upfront.

You found yourself in the circus about a month ago and so far it's been traumatizing. A new name has been picked for you, ‘[name]‘, a silly one at that. You've been introduced to new activities and new people, but your memories have been taken away. You knew something was missing, you don't belong here, but you can't do anything about it.

Frankly, Pomni had the same issue. She's been here for six months, Ragatha introduced her to age regression, as Gangle showed signs of that first. Pomni adapted the coping mechanism quickly and it helped her on her journey to recover. She's been a flip now.

Pomni has noticed your strange behavior, the sudden anxiety and stress that plagues your mind whenever you seem to get deja vu. It feels like you've been uncomfortable when approached with childish things. Being offered toys, or even confronting attractions around the circus yourself.

She introduced you to age regression a month ago, but so far, it's been no help. Only today, Pomni stumbles upon you regressed as she enters your room.

[ Story begin ]

"[name]?" A silent squeak escapes Pomni's mouth, a tone that makes her worries clear. Her eyes dance around your room, with no sign of your presence. Only when Pomni sets her foot in, her ears capture soft giggling coming from beneath your bed. She cocks her eyebrow as she keeps the door open, assuming the worst, has the anxiety got to you? Did you finally abstract?

She keeps herself on high guard, "[name], I- I can hear you. Where are you?" she speaks as she advances further into the room, closer to the bed where you dwell. Suddenly, you crawl out fast, striking her feet with a soft grasp. Pomni gasps and almost allows a scream to escape her throat. Her eyes are wide open as she stares at you in shock, suddenly noticing the hand-made paci she's made you a week ago.

"Oh my... hello little one!" Her eyes sparkle with the sudden surprise, she kneels down and gently tucks her hand under your arms, lifting you up and pulling you on her lap. "You scared me! Such a scary little thing you are." You giggle under your pacifier, hands put together as you let her embrace you. Pomni slowly stands up with you in her arm and she coos at you, she can't contain the excitement about finding you regressed by yourself.

"You must feel pretty bored, no? Hiding under the bed, let's take you outside, yeah [name]?" You squeal silently and clap your hands together, and off to the door you go. Pomni carried you into the main hall, finding Ragatha and Zooble enjoying some tea time together. They both face you in Pomni's arms, Ragatha gasps, covering her mouth with her soft hands. "[name]!" She happily crows.

Pomni sets you down on the ground to let her arms rest and stretches a little. In instance, you crawl to Zooble and Ragatha as you notice the colorful blanket they are sitting on. You get yourself comfortable in their presence, Zooble coos at you and Pomni quickly rushed away and you stared at her with a whine, but in a moment, she was back with some blocks and stuffies in her arms. She set the stuff on the blanket, showing you a cute, fluffy teddy bear, a stuffed kitty and a stim toy with a variety of textures made from different materials. She took the teddy bear into her hands, "Hello [name], would you care for a snack!", she imitated the bears voice and pulled out a chocolate bar from her pocket. You squealed in excitement and took the chocolate bar with no hesitance.

For the time being, you spent the time playing with the three. Mainly snug to Pomni while Ragatha took care of snacks and food. Later, you began to be hungry, it hinting at your sudden shift in behavior. Pomni stood by your side while Ragatha disappeared to prepare you warm milk. She handed the bottle to Pomni, who then proceeded to bottle feed you, your eyes began to feel heavy gradually.

You finished your bottle and cuddled into Pomni, tugging at her hat for comfort as you liked how the bells ring. She picked you up and walked you to your room where she placed you upon your bed.

"Goodnight, [name]." She pecked your forehead with a kiss and let you rest.

· ─────────꒰🎪꒱───────── ·

[quills-of-freedom]

Crossroads Chapter V

I can only apologise for the lateness of this, my ask box is flooded with requests. (Thank you for your interest) It started with burnout, then my laptop broke, then I was busy (I still am really) and this year I've lost family members and just all round been a time where Tumblr isn't my main priority. Thank you for understanding 💓

Previous Chapters:

I

II

III & IV

Warnings: Angst, a lot of it. Smut, fluff, violence.

Kinks:

Praise kink. Whining pathetic Reiner. Breeding kink.

Reiner

If your choice is Reiner, continue reading. If it's Porco, you'll find it here when it's uploaded.

No cheating!

The chokehold you've been placed in wasn't a pleasant one, both men gazing at you longingly, their eyes pleading for you to make the right choice, to pick them over the other. Can't you see they are the one that loves you? The one person who truly would do anything for your heart. The other choice is evidently the wrong decision, for the opposition could not possibly admire you as much as they do.

With a tightness in your throat you take a step away from Porco and towards Reiner; the breaking of Porco's heart was almost audible from where you were standing, his hand immediately flying over his chest to cover his new deep wound.

"I'm sorry, Porco..." your strained vocals press. "There's just so much I need to know that only Reiner has the answer to. We can catch up later, okay?"

"No, yeah..." He whispers, his head nod/shake exaggerated by his shell shock. His eyes seem to be looking right through you, not at you, as they become glazed with sorrow. "I uh... I understand. Just... look after her, okay?" His gaze snaps over to Reiner, whose deep frown is prominent.

"Of course." Reiner nods in reply as you take another side step towards him.

"I'm so sorry, Porco..." you repeat, the guilt so heavy you could barely stand.

"Don't be." He croaked, forcing a smile.

"Come on." Reiner ushers you to his side turning to take you further into the Forest. "We got a lot to talk about."

Your head nods curtly, following the broad-shouldered man into the treeline. You're sure you made the right choice. The questions running around your head every night, haunting you, why did Reiner do this? Why did he do that? Was it all a lie? They had to stop, for your own sanity. Breaking Porcos heart was collateral damage, unfortunately, but closure was what you needed to move forward. You glance back at the man who just saved your life as you step into the shaded trees; now sitting on the ground with his head in his hands. Your heart stings before the brush Reiner pushes aside for you springs back into place, covering the broken man from your view.

"Will he be okay?" You ask quietly, eyes glued to the floor as you stepped over thick shrubbery and fallen limbs of the trees.

"Yeah." Reiner mutters. "He's a good fighter."

"No, I mean-"

"I knew what you meant."

After a while of walking, Reiner finally is satisfied with a location for a temporary place to stay. The journey wasn't too long, but the heavy atmosphere made every second feel like a short eternity. Every footstep away from Porco's crumpled form was difficult, the desire to turn and run back to him was sometimes so strong it almost possessed you. But you remained focused, reminding yourself of why you'd chosen Reiner in the first place.

You watch the Blonde Warrior out of the corner of your eye as you help him set up camp. God's he hadn't really changed... physically anyway. Or had he? He looked a little older, his chest and shoulders a little broader. Maybe to shoulder the weight of the world he seemed to be carrying? But everything else was the same. His mannerisms, the way he carried himself as he strutted through the brush... reminding you of the first night you had spent together.

Feels like a lifetime ago...

The small huffs he was making as he rolled away a heavy log were the same noises he'd make during training. It was hard to believe everything had changed so much from that time. You close your eyes imagining you're back in time. This is just another training exercise Shadis has sent you all on.

Sasha, Connie and Jean arguing over who gets to avoid sleeping in the middle of their small tent.

Ymir and Historia cosied up by the fire.

Marco on his back gazing at the stars, eyes filled with childlike wonder.

Such simpler times...

Your throat tightens, hand forming into a fist as you breathe through this wave of emotion. Back then, Eren wasn't a mass murderer who has totally lost his sanity. Sasha hadn't been shot. Ymir hadn't been eaten by Porco. Marco wasn't killed by the man you're now standing with.

You picture the scene so vividly in your mind, you could almost hear the fire crackling, the burning musk of dampened wood filling your nose.

"You alright?"

Your eyes snap open.

That was an actual fire you could smell, freshly built by Reiner as he now started on the tent.

"Y-yeah."

Every fiber of your being, every cell in your body wished you could reach through the fabric of time to go back to those good old days, even if just for mere minutes.

The events of the last few years have taught you that hauntings are indeed real but they're all within yourself. Your heart twists and yearns for the company of ghosts who's presence you no longer felt.

Reiner has to really focus on the task at hand as he begins to put up the tent poles. The mirror image of your first time together. A tent in the woods and now... well now, he was sure one wrong move and you'd try to kill him. Again.

Last time was so nervous he fumbled, stuttered, and dropped equipment. Now he feels so empty. A glance into the past of the life he once had. Over the last four years he would have given anything to be able to see you, to touch you once more. And now he has that chance, he feels so unworthy he can hardly look at you.

But God were you still beautiful.

He walks by you to get another pole, not daring to ask you to pass it to him.

The sleepless nights, tossing and turning in a cold sweat from the thought of what could have been. But he couldn't abandon his mission, his comrades, his country - just because he fell in love with an island devil.

What he wouldn't give to smell your scent again. To hold you in his arms. Just one more chance. Please.

He walks back towards the tent when his hand accidenlty brushes against yours. It was only so slightly, both of your minds elsewhere. To have any spacial awareness in the tight clearing wasn't likely when both of your cognitive functionings had spluttered and stalled.

You both freeze.

Reiners eyes widen like he's just been electrocuted, his jaw tense.

You take the pole from him, your face beginning to smoulder with a coloured hue, taking it to the tent and finishing the job for him.

"I'm sorry." He grumbles behind you.

"Its no big deal."

You can't even turn to look at him, instead you focus upon your task. Now it's your turn to be nervous, to fumble and suddenly totally forget how to set up a tent, even though you'd done it a thousand times.

"No, y/n... im... I'm sorry."

You realise now he's not talking about accidently touching you.

You now turn to meet his gaze, silent tears pouring down his cheeks. All the regret, sorrow, frustration, guilt... its finally now able to release somewhat.

You don't know what to say.

You glance down, fiddling with the bamboo pole in your hand. You wanted your answers. Here they are for the taking.

So why can't I even look at him?!

Your eyes widen in sheer horror as Reiner Braun, the holder of the armoured titan, the man who caused so much death and destruction, falls to his knees before you, grabbing your hand and gazing up at you. Those honey eyes that had been witness to the atrocities he was capable of, now full of agony.

"Please, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness..." His words struggle through his sobs. "I wouldn't even ask for it. But I'd give anything for you to understand... why I did what I did... why we did what we did..." His mind flitters to Annie who was gods know where, and Beartoldt, poor Beartoldt, the timid and kind hearted boy who was dragged into this infernal hell - the boy so kind he couldn't even fully utilise the Colossals full power.

That knife that had been permanently wedged into your back since the reveal four years ago suddenly loosens at his words, the sight of him being such a sorry mess pulling your heart in ways you didn't expect.

You've been to Marley.

You infiltrated their way of life, and boy was it a sorry one.

Segregation, indoctrination, false histories, much like your own world- he gave his heart to his cause. He gave his heart to a lie.

Much like yourself.

Paradis wasn't full of witches and devil's. It was full of people just like his mother. His cousin. Like himself.

And even when he'd learned Paradis wasn't this realm of darkness he was led to believe, if he didn't finish what he started, his loved ones would surely suffer for it.

You sink to your knees along with him, not being able to bear how broken the man you love has become, your own tears shedding as you hold his face to ensure his teary gaze locked onto yours.

"I do, Reiner. I understand. I know what you've been through. We've seen your country. We're all a byproduct of this cruel world..." you take a deep breath, steadying yourself. "The only answer to hate and segregation, is love and acceptance. I forgive you, Reiner. I may not be able to forget... but I know now you were just doing what you had to do. Just like we were when we... attacked Liberio. Sort of... its... complicated. But you know that better than anyone, right?"

He nods, his eyes crumpling closed as he desperately leans into your touch, the one he's been longing for, for four years.

"But were we a lie? Did you mean what you said then? How you and beartoldt were dead... and it was all a lie?" Your tragic eyes blink at him.

Reiner places his head against yours. "No. We were real. I had to say that to convince myself... God, y/n if only you knew... this whole situation is just... bullshit."

You laugh softly.

Bit of an understatement, but yeah.

"And you..." Reiner then whispers, placing the side of his index finger under your chin. "How've you been holding up?" His eyes search yours, looking desperately for any sign that you still love him as he does you.

"I've just been... moving forward." You answer honestly, a phrase he'd often tell you in encouragement.

"That's my girl..." His voice almost a whisper.

You freeze at his words, wanting nothing more than for this stupid fighting to stop. His hand runs through your hair, his eyes gazing into your very soul.

"I've... missed you." He admits honestly, still pawing your hair. "I'd do anything to be able to have you in my arms again. I thought of you... every damn day for the last four years."

Your heart swells both with love and despair.

Fuck it.

You press your lips against his, immediately your senses bombarded with his familiar smell, taste and feel.

That little nudge was all he needed, his eyes closed with a pleading brow, holding your jaw delicately as if he would break you if he allowed himself to go at the pace he wanted. The whimper from his throat an indicator of his honesty that he had indeed, wished for this for a long time.

Your kiss deepens, his tongue smoothly sliding into your mouth, boldly entering as if it hadn't been away for years. He pushes you back gently, one large hand grabbing your thigh from your kneeling position, pulling it up to his hip as he lowers you with trembling arms. You swing your trapped leg free, more than happy to feel his weight between your hips once again as the hold on his self control begins to dwindle and falter, another, louder whimper sending heat surging through you.

You revel at the feeling of his hair between your fingers once again, and enjoying the new scratching sensation from his facial hair, as his mouth makes its way down your neck, slowly and yet also hurriedly at the same time. His quaking body holds back, a large paw pulling your shoulder stap down your arm as his mouth now trails to your chest.

Reiner had hungered for you for too long, and boy was he starving, his other large hand grabbing your ass cheek firmly, his hips slowly thrusting, looking for some sort of friction against you, something, anything. The pathetic whining puppy look turned you on if you were being honest with yourself.

"Let me have you again..." He pleads, face flushed already from this short interaction.

You're surprised at how quickly he's lost himself in the red haze but you weren't complaining.

"You're so perfect, so beautiful... please, y/n, let me feel your insides again... I'll do anything to make you feel good again... let me make you feel like you're floating... I wanna feel you cum around my cock..."

Your entirety burns at his words, your own red hue starting to develop under your cheeks. He'd certainly become more brazen over the years. Or maybe it was just sheer desperation? You didn't know, nor did you care as you nod to signal his permission.

A groan rumbles him as he pulls down your shirt with a roughened haste, his hot breath looking like titan steam as he gasps at your form, eyes heavy-lidded and predatory.

"Look at my princess..." He whispers in awe as he then pulls off his own shirt, quickly returning to your touch, those mere seconds far too long away from your skin. He grabs your breast, leaning down and placing it in his mouth, his other hand reaching between your legs, sliding his hand down your trousers and slowly rubbing you over your underwear. He groans at the warmth of you, your already dampening cloth an invitation for him to ruin you.

The testosterone soaring through his body made him think of how he'd almost lost this moment to Porco. Porco fuckin' Galliard. The loser who would touch himself at night thinking of you, images of you naked from Ymirs memories... well now he once again had the real thing.

Sucks to be you, Galliard.

And boy was Reiner going to prove to you that you'd made the right choice. Reiner already has the previous knowledge of where all of your sweet spots were and he was going to get them all. His mouth moves to your next erogenous zone all while slowly circling your main one through the soft fabric.

Your body is engulfed in flames, your lips parted in gasps, your fingers digging into the grass beneath you as Reiner assaults your senses with no mercy. You'll not receive an ounce of mercy either, his hungry mouth now moving to your next sweet spot, still humping at nothing.

You whisper his name in encouragement, a loud croaked whine from him as a reply.

He suddenly sits up, hair a mess, face flushed as he roughly pulls down your trousers throwing them carelessly to the side, his eyes not once leaving your form.

"I'm going to devour you..." He huffs, mostly to himself the force of him now yanking your panties down pulling you closer to him. "You belong to me and only me....I'll remind you of that."

He arches over you, unzipping himself free, that beautiful cock just as fat as you remembered with that delicious upward curve at the tip. It throbs and dances angrily, weeping with precum as he grabs the base of his shaft.

"I can't hold back any longer..." He breathes, looking into your eyes. "I won't last... I've needed you for too long."

"I don't care..." is your reply, your equally starved body more than ready for him.

He pushes himself in firmly but at a stress pace, the size of him always a tough pill for your insides to swallow. Your mouth hangs open at the sensation of his girth splitting you open so deliciously, your walls pushing and resisting him.

He cries out loudly, your tight insides snuggly protesting his invasion as they spasm, seemingly swallowing him whole yet pushing him out at the same time, like they can't decide what they want. But he knows what he wants, and with a final push, he was at the hilt.

He wastes no time, lifting up your leg and thrusting within you with feverish glee.

Your body can't seem to comprehend what was happening, your eyes closed in bliss, pleasure flowing through you and building up from each push of his form, that curved tip pushing against your G-spot and pleasure zones you'd forgotten you'd had, places only Reiners dick could stretch and reach.

With each movement, a loud groan or hiss sounded from the feral warrior, the wet, sloppy sounds music to his ears as you sing your song of pleasures.

"Shit... ah... all mine. Fuck, please... please don't make me wait this long again. This body feels so good... so perfect... baby... urgh I'm not gonna last... cum for me, sweetheart... I'm going to make you a mess..."

The words of filth from his mouth only add to your mounting pleasure, your body being the thing that has pushed him beyond his sanity.

Your nails sink into his back as he works you, your ability to speak has all but gone.

"Nurgh, harder..." He instructs. "Make me yours again... show me how good you feel right now."

You obey, sinking your nails harder into his back, his hiss of pleasure drowned out by the hiss of steam emitting from his small wounds as they heal.

"Again..." He moans.

You agree as he thrusts with more urgency knowing that the tightening of your insides meant he was pushing you towards your end.

"Good girl..." He smirks into your neck. "You're my good girl... cum for me..."

You gasp as you snap, your insides spasming and pulling him further into your orgasm. His loud groan fades away as everything goes black, your face numb as you're carried away to realms beyond your understanding.

You feel his thick liquid splatter against your cervix as you slowly fade back into your assigned dimension, your breath heaving as his spluttering cock is audible while it spews and vomits his seed into you. He collapses, grunting but he remains inside of you, the white sticky substance from his body leaking from you, his dick still as hard as it was when it first invaded your insides. You wince as he slowly begins thrusting again, your swollen and oversensitive cunt not yet ready for another assault.

"Gonna impregnate you..." He whispers with a smirk, somehow still not within his own mind. "You're gonna be all swollen with me... fill you right up... all big and full... URGH!"

You groan as you feel him pick up the pace. How is this even possible? Did he want you that much?

Your question is answered for you as he pushes your legs to your chest, the deep and full feeling almost too much as your sensitivity returns to pleasure.

"You've always taken me so well, princess..." He praises as he watches you with awe. "Such a good little pussy... so tight... all m-mine..."

You'd almost forgotten about his little kink of getting you all full of his seed but sure enough, he's quick to remind you as he continues to stuff himself as far into you as he'll go, his breathing hoarse and his groans even more so.

"R-reiner..." you gasp.

"Yeah baby... moan my name... I'll never get tired of hearing that..."

He plunges harder, the mess he's making down there evident as his balls and pubic bone are smeared with his thick load and your own wetness. It squelches and slides yet not once does your unbridled passion nor pleasure leave you.

"Look at me..." He orders, gazing into your very soul. "There's no way I'm letting you go again. You're mine. Say it."

"I..." you stammer through pleasure. "I'm y-yours Reiner. All yours..."

Satisfied, he plunges harder, the breath leaving your body as he partakes in self indulgence within you. His grunt of approval with your words loud and gruff, his focus on the last few pushes before your next orgasm.

"Shit, Reiner..." you curse as you swirl the drain, falling and tumbling into your second wave of bliss.

"Mmmm take my load...." He grunts as he cums again, maybe not as strong as the one he'd just had but just as sweet nonetheless.

He rolls off you, panting having pushed himself a little too far while his chest heaves. You immediately feel his hot goop spill out of you, the sheer amount of it surprising you. You knew he was capable of a huge load, but this?

He takes your hand, his gaze at the sky with a pained expression.

"I missed that..." His pants are heavy and laboured.

"Yeah... me too."

*

"Wait... what do you mean?" Armin whispers, eyes wide. "Are you... sure...? You can't be sure, right?"

"Tell me you're lying!" Mikasa screeches, grabbing Jean's coat with desperation.

"I'm sorry, you guys..." Jean's teeth clench, fighting and failing to hold in his sobs. "I saw it with my own eyes. She was eaten by the jaw titan. I couldn't get to her, I was flanked either side by Flochs flunkies... I'm sorry we couldn't rendezvous sooner, it was too dangerous. But yeah, that was a couple of hours ago now..."

Mikasa's legs tremble, Jean holding her arms to keep her steady as he continues; "When Eren finds out... I can't imagine this is going to help his current mental state, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who witnessed it."

Connie slumps to the floor - or rather the rooftop they were all standing on. "No... not another one... I cant... I can't keep doing this!"

"Come on guys..." Jean snarls through tears. "We still have plenty to do. She wouldn't want us putting our mission on the back-burner like this!"

His words are met with only sobbing as a reply.

"So they're here..." Armin ponders solemnly. "Which means -"

Their mourning is cut short as a huge explosion is heard, their automatic flinch and yelp of surprise now seeming like second nature as their ears are filled with a distant enraged roar.

Mikasa dabs her eyes, looking in the direction of the military building. "Looks like Eren has heard the news..."

Jean nods. "Come on, get it together! We gotta move!"

They all nod leaping into action, flying their ODM gear through the streets towards the plume of smoke, dust and titan steam.

Mikasa's thoughts race as she blasts towards another loud roar and smash. Maybe y/n managed to cut her way out? Please, anything but this. She can't lose anyone else...

She blinks away tears as she pulls herself up higher, the huge figure of Erens titan form now coming into view in the distance. She can already feel Eren slipping through her fingers, no matter how tightly she grasped. She couldn't lose you too.

Eren transforming has of course attracted all attention, Mikasa spotting another Jeagerist also heading towards the disruption. With a tug of her wires, she slings around the corner, blades raised and ready as the enemy spots her.

"He-!"

Before he could even finish his word her blade had sunken into his chest and removed again.

"Keep your eyes open!" She hears Jean yell. "They'll surely be more!"

"Its the Cart titan!" Armin calls down from up higher. "Its armed! It's got that artillery on its back!"

"Shit!" Jean hisses as they fly. "That thing cuts through us like paper mache!"

*

The plans gone to shit.

Porco thinks as his Titan form sprints through the town on all fours.

What's made Jeager expose himself like this?! Whatever the reason, I'm glad Magath is with Pieck up on the wall with the artillery. I hope Reiner heard the explosion, there's no way we can get word to him now.

His eyes spot a familiar figure, one of the Ackermans not too far away, also heading towards the attack titan. He gets poised, ready to attack when the image of you stabs into his head.

Shed be crushed if I killed her comrades. But... she made her choice. Right? Ackerman is a huge threat. I need to get rid of her now before she causes more trouble later.

He positions himself on a rooftop, titan eyes glaring and ready to pounce towards her in a sprint. It'll only take a couple of bounds before he's on top of her.

*

You sprint through the forest as fast as your legs can carry you, the thundering footsteps of the armoured sprinting pretty far ahead of you. You'd left your god damn ODM gear in that clearing Porco dropped you off in and Reiner in all his wisdom wanted you to get it yourself, the later you are to the fight, the better in his eyes.

You break through the clearing where Porco had released you from his mouth, the only sign of his previous presence the almost fully disintegrated titan corpse.

Your fingers fumble as you quickly grab your gear, glancing up and seeing Reiner leap over the top of the wall, disappearing with a huge crash on the other side. Your thoughts race as you attach your gear to your belt, working as fast as you possibly could to -

You freeze.

You heard a roar.

A different kind of roar.

One that filled the sky with static and a bright orange glow.

Zeke... he's... he's done it.

Deafening crashes emit in the distance, only pushing you to move faster. The amount of drills you've taken to get equipped as fast as possible didn't seem to have had any effect as each second felt like an eternity. You needed to be there. You needed to get there quickly. And even when you're done, it's a good run to the wall, nothing around you to sink your hooks into.

Finally ready, you break into your frantic sprint, your gear clinking loudly with your violent steps.

Please god, please... keep everyone safe... I just want this all to end...

Was that really Zekes scream? Had he done it? Turned everyone into a titan?!

*

"Keep em off him!" Mikasa screams as she zooms around and over Eren who is grappling with Reiner.

"There's titans everywhere!" Armin screeches. "Get the thunder spears ready! Take down the cart titans artillery!"

"Jean's taken down the Jaw!" Mikasa informs him as they zip towards the wall. "He saw it ready to pounce, but for whatever reason, it didn't."

"There's no time to ponder on details just now." Armin pants as they fly together. "Keep your focus on the job at hand."

"That goddamn monkey!" Jean curses from behind them. "He really did it... he's turned everyone who drank that wine into a titan!"

"Stay focused!" Armin reminds him. "Are you certain the jaw is down?!"

"Got him with a thunder spear. I missed my shot but it's down and won't be fighting anytime soon."

"Good." Armin hisses through his teeth. "We need to -"

He's interrupted by a loud cry from Mikasa.

"Its y/n!"

"What?!"

Sure enough they see you blasting over, taking in the situation.

The three of them blink in disbelief as they watch you head over towards the grappling titans.

"Focus!" Armin smiles. "Although... I cant say I'm not glad..."

Your eyes flicker across the scene, taking everything in. Zeke was down. Titan steam made visibility pretty low. Reiner was stuck against Eren with a long necked titan nibbling on his nape. You weren't too worried just yet, knowing Reiners armour will keep him safe for now. But then you see Gabi, alone and far too close to the fight in a town now swarming with Titans.

Landing next to her you grab her arm.

"Come on, hold onto me, I'll take you somewhere safe." You instruct.

Her eyes are wide staring at something you weren't yet aware of.

You turn to follow her gaze, a figure emerging from the thick, hot steam.

Your lips part and some unseen force seems to punch you in the gut as you see Porco, staggering towards you - half of his head is missing, his face covered in blood and yet... and yet he's smiling.

"It took everything I have to heal just this much..." His voice croaks, the effort of speaking too difficult.

He stumbles, still walking towards you.

Before you could even react, the titan chewing on Reiner leaps from him and heads towards the man who saved your life. The man who's heart you'd not long ago crushed cruelly in your palm.

"PORCO!" You scream.

And he was gone.

His legs flail in the air as the long-necked titan chews him in half right before your eyes; a scene now all too familiar.

Everything goes numb as you hear a roar of rage from Reiner, the surge of emotion giving him strength to pummel Eren into the ground with a single punch.

The world around you spins as you lose your balance.

Whether it was grief. Whether you'd just had enough... you didn't know. But all you were aware of was the hard ground meeting you before everything goes black.

*

Your eyes open, but you're not within the normal realm. You realise this is a dream and you recognise this place. It's the meeting place for you and Porco. The one you've shared for four years. Except now, he's standing with his back towards you.

Where you'd normally greet the other with glee, the atmosphere felt... different.

"Porco!" You gasp, sprinting towards him. "Are you okay?"

He doesn't respond.

You give him a small shake, panic gripping you harshly. "Porco, please tell me you're okay. What happened?"

He takes a step away. And another. And another.

You go to follow him but your feet are glued to the floor. With all your might, you just can't seem to pick your legs up off the ground.

You shout.

You scream.

You plead.

But without ever looking back, Porco continues to walk across the sand dune towards the star-filled sky until...

Your eyes fly open. You bolt up, breath heaving and tears falling down your face.

"Hey... its okay. You're okay..."

Reiner hovers above you, looking worse for wear.

"What happened? Where is Eren? Did Porco... was he really...?"

Reiners head lowers. He's not really sure how to respond to your question. He sees how broken you are. He didn't want to be the one to make it worse.

"Eren started the rumbling." Connie mutters from the corner of the room. "He's a lost cause."

Your brain fails to register his words.

Mikasa and Armin wrap their arms around you, more than glad to see you alive.

"Wait... what?" You struggle to comprehend. "No, he wouldn't do that."

"Its true." Armin whispers in your ear as he hugs you. He pulls back from your squeeze, looking forlorn. "We... we've joined forces with Reiners side. We... we have to stop Eren."

You let out a loud laugh, confusing your friends.

"So... this is what it's took, huh? For the pointless fighting to stop... its a little late... poor Porco... oh god... Porco..."

Reiner gives your hand a squeeze as you crumble into sobs.

"Who?" Jean frowns.

"Porco Galliard, the jaw titan." Reiner informs him. "He saved y/n's life earlier today. He hadn't eaten her. He saved her."

Your friends glare at the floor, guilt bombarding them.

"We need a plan." Connie huffs.

"We need to rest before anything else. Reiner is in no shape to fight and neither are we." Jean admits. "I mean, how much time do we have? Hours? Days?"

"I don't know..." Armin sighs.

You get to your feet slowly, still a little unsteady.

"This ends now. It has to. We can't take anymore."

The room remains silent and they ponder.

"We have to either kill Eren or let him kill everyone else."

[sparkles-and-trash]

dabihawks a little au ~

Keigo is no stranger to the hospital.

Being a pro hero who sometimes act faster than he thinks, he gets himself into tricky situations more than he’d like to admit, so he ends up back in that sterile, white room more often than most.

He never stays long tho.

Actually, he usually leaves as soon as they let him, far sooner than they reccomend.

This was exactly the case that day, when Keigo was on his way back to his room to back after succesfully convincing the stafff to release him, still in his hospital gown with bandages on both his arms and head, when something caught his attention.

Someone was reading to the kids in one of the common areas, which in itself wasn’t unusual, but the voice certainly was.

Even though it was raspy and sort of fragile it still carried trough the halls with the conviction of a true storyteller, and Keigo simply couldn’t help himself from slowing down so he could get a proper peek at whoever the reader was.

The room was even more crowded than usual, kids of all ages sitting in a half circle, all eyes focused on the white haired man who was sitting cross legged on the floor in front of them.

The book he was reading for was a lot thicker than what Hawks would have expected, and from what he could see from there, he was animated and full of life when he read.

He was beautiful.

The snow white, fluffy hair of his head was a beautiful contrast to his electric blue eyes, and while parts of his face were covered in burn scars that didn’t make him any less beautiful the sligthest.

It just showed that he was a survivor, and that he was still full of life.

Just as Keigo had convinced himself to move along, the reader looked up, and for one, everlasting second, their eyes met.

Keigo was so mesmerized by the eyecontact that he somehow turned the wrong way, and slammed face first into the window he’d be peering trough.

Like a bird.

The bang was loud enoug to get almost all the kids to turn around and look towards the noise, and Keigo had never been more grateful for a doting nurse coming to his aid in his life.

A final peek trough the doors told him that the white haired man was doing his best to distract the children from the blushing hero in the hospital gown, but there was still a small smile on his face.

The stunt with the window revoked Keigo’s early discharge, as he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) tell the nurse why it happened, so now they suspected a concussion.

He surprisingly slept trough the night, dreaming about white hair and blue eyes, and when he woke up he was finally allowed to leave for real.

As he threw on a oversized hoodie and sweatpants he caught a look in the mirror and realized he had a big bruise where his forhead had met the window the day before.

Amazing.

Distracted, he ran a hand trough his hair and hoisted his bag over his shoulder as he left his room, and in the same step slammed into a moving mass.

Thanks to Keigo’s quick reflexes he was able to grab the person’s arms before the hit the ground, but the shock of looking into those damn blue eyes again was almost enough to drop the poor man again.

They both froze for a second, and then the beautiful stranger gave him a lazy smirk.

«In a hurry are we, Pretty Bird?»

Keigo squawked, but managed to gently pull the stranger to his feet again.

«I, heh, I wasn’t looking, I -» Keigo stammered as je felt heat rush to his cheeks.

The stranger chuckled.

«It’s alright, I’m still in one piece,» the stranger said lightly.

Keigo managed a small smile of his own, and finally felt like he had solid ground under his feet again.

He finally got a second to take in the man before him, and was surprised to see he had an IV stand with him.

«Oh, you’re… you know, you’re…» Keigo started saying, and the stranger raised an eyebrow.

«…not just here to read to sick kids?» he finished, and Keigo nodded.

«Or be stared at by strangers who then make a fool of themselves in front of said kids,» Keigo added, and the stranger laughed.

Of course he laughed like that.

So openly and beautifully.

«That too, I suppose,» the stranger said, and Keigo smiled, feeling the tension leave hos body a little.

«Well, I’m gonna be late for my appointment, so…» the stranger said as he gestured in the direction he was heading before Keigo nearly knocked him over.

«Oh, right!» Keigo nodded, and the stranger smiled again.

«Don’t worry, I’ve seen you around before Birdie, so I’m fairly sure I’ll see you again sooner rather than later,» the stranger added and Keigo blushed.

«Hopefully for something less embarrasing than flying into window,» Keigo chuckled, and the stranger grinned.

«Until then, Pretty Bird,» he said with a wink, before he dissapeared down the halm before Keigo had the chance to even ask his name.

Until next time, indeed.

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.li // Risk

Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

Conrad jolts awake when the door he’s propped up against pops open, sliding away from him. He leans sideways until the cuffs grate harshly against bruises, letting out a groan. Left and right are hard to differentiate as Davin crouches down next to him, looking uncharacteristically exhausted.

“Shit took a turn, hm? Sorry to keep you waiting.”

As if Conrad has a clue how long it’s been. He finds it hard not to grimace when Davin brings the knife to his hands, even if he knows it’s just to cut the zip ties. His voice is still distant, rough. “Is he…?”

“Renee?”

Conrad nods.

Davin shrugs a shoulder. “He’s still got most of his organs. Decent start, all things considered.”

Once the ties are cut, he unlocks the cuffs, one after the other. Pocketing steel as he turns Conrad’s hands over to gauge the abrasions in his skin. Whatever heat remained in the car is quick to seep out, making the air icy. Davin ushers him forward, and he follows along with sluggish, unsteady movements, finds himself already exhausted by the time he swings his legs out the door.

“Do you think you can walk? We’re not in a rush this time.”

Conrad shakes his head, blinking hazily at the concrete floor.

Maybe it’s obvious, because Davin pauses to look at him, then touches his cheek and forehead with a hand that feels painfully cold. A line appears by his nose when he shakes his head. “It just keeps getting better.”

The garage is foreign, but it connects to a narrow hallway he vaguely recognizes. It’s a colorful home, almost cozy if you disregard the strong smell of disinfectant hanging in the air. Pain is constant in Davin’s arms, something Conrad has to bite to avoid making noises about – the arm pressing into the bruises on his back makes it hard to breathe, or think.

He doesn’t get more than a glimpse of the first room, but it imprints itself in his mind. All spent tissues, thin metal tools discarded, clear tubes hanging disconnected from IV stands. There’s blood on the floor. A lot of it, or maybe it just looks like that because shoeprints have smeared it around. It looks like something horrific happened, but Davin doesn’t even pause. Instead he silently pushes the second door open with his back

Conrad’s eyes are drawn by memory to the wallpapers first, thin vertical stripes of red, white and yellow. A bed lines either side of the room: one he remembers lying in, while the other isn’t more than a mattress on a foldable frame, a couple feet closer to the ground than the other.

Renee is lying on his back, unconscious and naked apart from a cloth that covers his crotch. Part of his face is obscured by blue plastic connecting the hose of a machine to a thick tube that disappears between his teeth. An IV in his left hand and the crook of the elbow, sticky pads on his chest, an armband of gray nylon, and a clamp on his finger all connect wires to different devices held by . A set of clear tubes have been sewn into the skin of his stomach, draining blood into two bottles at his side. Apart from bruising, old and new, those are the only visible injuries on his abdomen; the rest is covered with white gauze, folded and taped down on an area that covers far more than the wound Conrad saw in the car.

A man stands leaning over one of Renee’s hands, dark fingers carefully running over one side of his palm, feeling out the bones underneath. His profile is vaguely familiar, as is the diligence in the way he moves. He doesn’t look up when Davin carries Conrad to the opposite bed, just nods in the direction of one of the displays. “Already fighting the vent, though I don’t reckon he’ll be back until tonight.”

Davin sighs. “Late shift, hm?”

“Should’ve timed it better,” the man chuckles.

The mattress is thin enough that Conrad feels the springs underneath. The smell of detergent blooms from the covers. As he gets settled, body aching, he draws his legs up, wrapping his hands around his ankles.

His focus is drawn to Renee compulsively, deadlocked.

The mechanical, even rise and fall of his chest, the stillness of his face, not just unnatural for him, but unnatural, period. His hand isn’t clenched or shaking, but is instead limply steered by the man lining up a fracture. No sign of pain even at that. No grin, no sneer, no frown. Just closed eyes and pale, scratched skin. Someone must’ve cleaned him up, but missed a spot behind his ear, a patch of either dirt or dried blood about the size of a quarter.

It doesn’t feel fair to picture him as a ticking bomb threatening to explode the moment he goes back to normal, even if Conrad can’t shake that feeling. Renee doesn’t look like a torturer right now. He just looks injured, and it messes with Conrad’s head, like a tapestry flipped to expose the knots that allow it to be.

Davin taps his shoulder with a glass of water. His other hand is cupped, obscuring its contents.

“Wh…?”

“Painkillers,” Davin says. “If you want them, anyway.”

Conrad is still for a moment before he reaches out, letting Davin pour the pills into his cupped hand. He tilts them all into his mouth in one go, taking the glass as the film begins to dissolve. He drinks all of it, although it doesn’t fully wash away the bitter taste.

The dark-skinned man has turned to watch him. He hesitates before offering a careful smile. “Do you remember me?”

Conrad moves his tongue in his mouth, eyes faltering to the ground. “I don’t remember your name.”

“That’s alright. I’m Shaun.”

He shifts. Different thoughts float around his head, things he might’ve said if he weren’t too fatigued to make an attempt at confrontation. Instead he murmurs out a half-hearted, “Okay,” and leaves it at that.

Shaun doesn’t ask his name in return. He doesn’t say anything, in fact, just nods and eventually returns to strapping two of Renee’s fingers to a splint. 

The silence resettles. Davin sinks into a chair by the wall, sitting for a long time with his elbows on his knees as if thinking, before he leans back, head against the wall, closing his eyes. Quietly, Shaun works on lesser injuries, a couple lacerations here and there too deep to leave alone.

And Conrad watches that perfectly even rate of each inhale and exhale, listens to the rhythmic hiss of the machine pushing air into paralyzed lungs.

It has occurred to him that Renee might’ve been broken long before that first night, but being presented with it this brazenly following another night of terror at his hands is nauseating in a way he can’t fully put words to. It’s cosmic. It expands beyond everything that has happened between the two of them, touches at some universal fact Conrad isn’t entirely sure he has the stomach to grapple with. That maybe the only thing separating their suffering is the degree of complicity.

Maybe the only real question is how far back one could trace Renee’s self-destruction, how many lies he might conceivably have told himself before the cracks began to form.

Closed eyes, mechanical breathing.

In the beginning, Renee would order him to beg – only to lash out in anger whenever he finally did.

Conrad feels faint.

He’s been so wrapped up in the spiral of thoughts that he hasn’t noticed a third person entering the room. A woman has walked past Davin to a low side table near the foot of Renee’s bed. Her back is turned as she filters through a basket of different vials in search of something specific, tight curls wrapped in a low ponytail, a beige cardigan swaying when she moves.

Something happens when she turns around, and Conrad’s only warning is the subtly sharp look Davin has levelled at her. She lets out a small gasp when her gaze locks with Conrad’s.

“Oh, dear,” she breathes.

From Renee’s side, Shaun reaches out as if to stop her, but she has already crossed the room, crouching down in front of Conrad. He catches the silent grimace on Shaun’s face when he closes his hand around empty air.

“I didn’t know we had someone else coming in,” the woman murmurs. Conrad stiffens when she brushes a curl from his forehead, taking in the injuries to his face. “You poor thing, you look so sad. What h—”

When she takes his hand, he instinctively reels back a little, and it makes her look. He follows her gaze to nail beds that have calloused in the absence, and the scar on the back of his hand that dips in. Half hidden by his sleeve are the abrasions on his wrists, scabs formed across the thin skin. Weeks of metal wearing it down.

“Imani,” Shaun says gently.

Conrad mirrors the woman’s wide eyes, the same uncertainty. She looks up, and this time, she tilts his head to get a better look at the side of his face that isn’t bruised and swollen. Lips parted, she takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Shaun, this is the boy they’ve been talking about.”

Picking dirt from his nails, Davin glances up without raising his head. “Who?”

Imani braces a hand on the mattress to look over her shoulder. “How is he here?” she asks. “Why in the world would he be with you?”

Davin narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Are you toying with me?” She lets out an incredulous breath. With a light squeeze to Conrad’s hand, she gets to her feet to face Davin, crossing her arms. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He snorts. “What happened to client discretion, hm?”

“You’re more than a client and you know it,” she says, voice low, but there’s a hint of frustration in it now.

Maybe Conrad is reading too much into it, but she stands between him and Davin with her feet apart, like a barrier, a shield, and it makes his throat tighten.

“Don’t you dare act like I’m being unreasonable, Kit. Answer my question.”

“Imani,” Shaun says again.

“No, look at him!” she hisses. “Look at him, Shaun, look at his hands. Don’t tell me you can’t see what that is.”

Through a vision rapidly blurring, Conrad can discern the accusatory note not just in her voice, but in the way she gestures – pointing, feet apart, chin up.

“Was he here the last time? Did you know?”

Shaun winces. “Imani, we can’t.”

Shaking her head, Imani rubs her shoulder. She nods at Renee’s bed. “Is he involved in it, too?”

As the first trace of wetness rolls down Conrad’s face, he shudders. He can barely breathe, let alone squeeze words out without his voice breaking. It’s barely audible, even to himself. “H-he—”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Davin speaks up evenly, catching Imani’s gaze as her attention snaps back to him.

“That I’m not just a client, I mean. If that’s the case, all I can ask is for you to trust me to the same extent I trusted you and your husband by coming here. Twice, in his case. You share some risk simply by us being here, and I’m sorry to have put you in this situation, but my partner was dying, and I had nowhere else to go.” His eyes drift toward Conrad, as if by chance, before his focus returns to Imani and his tone drops. “This is just not the sort of thing you want to insert yourself into.”

As Conrad grits his teeth to suppress a whine, Imani shakes her head again, slower this time. “Are you behind this? Did you…?”

“I’m not going to answer your questions, Imani.”

Shaun clears his throat, carefully putting his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe it’s a good idea if you and I talked in private,” he mutters low.

She takes a deep breath, still looking at Davin. “I can’t just leave him with you if I don’t know...”

“I understand your concern,” Davin says. “I do, trust me. If it’s any consolation, his torturer is currently incapacitated.”

Imani’s shoulders drop. She looks at Renee’s bed again. Hesitates, perhaps having the same trouble visualizing his unconscious body as anything but wounded, in the same way Conrad just did.

He’s struggling to stay present again, fighting the draw of feeling nothing. The room slips in and out of focus.

“C’mon, honey, he’s upset. We’ll talk, alright?”

As Shaun gently guides his wife toward the door, the word wait tries to push its way past Conrad’s throat, but all that comes out is a low huff. He uncoils himself, leaning toward them, hands clawing at the bedsheets.

Imani says something, but he doesn’t hear it.

“Please, wait—”

The door is already closing when he finally manages to breathe the words out, and the only person who hears it is Davin.

Despite his captor’s lack of expression, when their eyes meet across the room, the meaning is clear.

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (the wing spiral)

(~5,2 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

this comes right after the hot spring bath, still the same setting. and once again this is based on our discord rp so most of it is going to be a lengthy back and forth for a scene that could be summed up much shorter <3 hopefully you’ll enjoy!

[cws self-destructive tendencies, like seriously, a LOT. this is all kind of just that. and trauma. and going nonverbal.]

~~~

It’s once Grian’s wings become properly waterlogged and start sinking him that Scar pulls Grian back to the shore and wakes him up. And he worries, for many good reasons, that the moment of peace will be gone as soon as Grian’s feathers dry up. 

He doesn’t expect the end to come much sooner. 

Grian’s body feels like mush after sleeping in the warm water, relaxed for the first time in forever. He feels weak, heavy. His wings are leaden. He isn’t sure he can actually walk. With trembling legs, he slumps down, instantly getting his damp skin dirty. The air brushes his damp body and sends him shivering.

Even though it’s winter, the ground outside frost-painted and frozen, the cave is somewhat warmed by the pool of hot water. It’s something, but it's still far from ideal. The walls provide them enough shielding though, and they’re relatively hidden… So Scar gingerly dares to set up a fire for the night.

Sitting down on the spread out cloak, Grian hunches up while Scar works.

Grian’s feeling Bad. Frustrated with his wings. He can’t lift them up and spread them over the fire; they’re too wet, too heavy. Everything itches So Much Worse now that the debris got dislodged from the spots he's learned to ignore. He's swarmed by an overwhelming pile of awful sensations that make him hyperaware and overstimulated in the worst ways, and he wants it to Stop. 

He needs his wings dry now, or—

Or he needs them gone.

His hands hover over his feathers, expression drawn. He considers squeezing them to get the water out, but that’s only bound to damage them—and he isn’t entirely sure if he could stop himself from yanking at them right now if he so much as touches them.

Scar watches him, uneasy, trying to figure out how to help. Tentatively, he offers to help spread Grian’s wings out close to the fire. He could cover his hands with fabric! It wouldn’t even be skin-on-feather contact! And he won’t move unless Grian moves him, and and—

He’s just rambling nervously. He doesn't actually know what to do.

Grian’s a shivering mess at this point. His nerve-endings are firing and flaring up and he’s quickly growing so tense again and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

He begs Scar to help, but at the same time he doesn’t want his wings to be touched. (He can only comprehend painful touches. If Scar’d grab and pull instead of be gentle, maybe that’d be something Grian’s mind could comprehend.)

Scar tries to soothe him. “Hey, hey, we’ve got plenty of time to let them dry! It’s fine. It’s fine! I’ll help however you let me!”

But Grian’s mind is already spiralling, overtaken by the sensations that don’t let him calm down. There’s an encroaching feeling, something sharp and unpleasantly familiar. His hands curl. He whines and cries that his wings are heavy and they feel wrong.

Self destruction brushes against the nape of his neck, ghosts over his feathers. He can’t help but misguidedly crave pain against his feathers, because maybe that would feel right. Maybe that would make sense. Maybe they deserve to be punished. Maybe— Maybe they should be cut off.

Just— Please. Please make it stop feeling like this.

He needs Scar to do something, but he doesn’t know what. Can’t articulate it either to release them from this stalemate of an awful moment.

Not for the first time in this world, Scar is convinced he completely messed up for suggesting the bath at all. It was a bad idea, clearly. Why was he so eager? Why did he have to insist, even though Grian was clearly hesitant? Why did he have to go ahead and drag Grian into it, only for it all to end up like this?

He’s a bit frantic, but he’s trying to keep his suggestions level and calm. He offers Grian to lie down so he doesn’t need to keep his wings up too much in his attempts to reach the warmth of the crackling fire.

With a weak whimper, Grian curls up on the cloak. With a sharp flinch, he nudges his wing a bit too close to the fire. (He doesn’t care; he’s so upset with them. He watches blankly, sees it happen, but doesn’t move away.) (His wing is so heavy.) (What has it ever done for him—and Scar—in this world but bring suffering?) (Maybe it'd be better if it burned.) (Maybe it should.) (It deserves whatever happens to it, he thinks dazedly.) 

Scar’s stunned, locked in place at the sight. What is he meant to do here?? He can’t move Grian’s wings. He— Does he move the fire? Or— Or he could scoot all of Grian, maybe. But now he’s convinced all of his ideas are garbage now. He doesn’t want to make things worse, and he’s aware that he tends to inadvertently do that far too often.

Grian’s mind continues spiralling, untethered, in free fall. He’s blankly looking at his feathers near the fire; the sparks fly nearby. The glow illuminates the damp mess of his feathers. 

In the quietest voice, barely audible, he asks: “... Scar, do you want to cut them off?”

Scar’s lungs seize up. Surely he heard that wrong? “What?”

Grian purses his lips, a small frown settling between his eyebrows. He’s still staring in the direction of the feathers and the flame, not turning to look at Scar.

Something in Scar shifts then, so adamantly. Where he was trying to work with Grian’s spiralling before, now he just has outright refusal flowing through him. “Grian, no.” His voice is stern instead of that squeaky, panicked gentleness from before. “Listen to me, you are fine, we are safe, they will dry. I told you I’d watch your back, okay? I told you it was okay to relax, so let me figure this out.”

Grian doesn’t move. He stays lying quietly, not looking at Scar, fingers slightly curled but left with nothing to hold onto. Scar’s words swirl through him, but they refuse to take hold.

“Scar.” It’s quiet, so incredibly quiet. Wobbly and blank, somber and so horribly factual. “I don’t need them.”

“Yeah I don’t need my hair either but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna shave it,” Scar grumbles. His voice isn’t angry exactly, but he is not playing this game. “I can make another fire if you want. We have enough fuel, we’ll just have to gather more soon. And then we either wait or you let me help.” He’s gone full diplomatic, spending all his energy on remaining calm and certain.

Grian squeezes his eyes shut, pulling himself tighter into a ball. Scar’s voice is flatter than usual, not the coaxing gentleness he usually uses, and Grian silently blames himself for that tonal shift, further unease blooming under his skin.

His wing twitches, feathers moving just the slightest bit towards the fire. It’s not an intended motion, and with his eyes tightly closed and mind fuzzy, Grian isn’t even fully aware of it. (He wouldn’t correct it anyway.) 

The wings are wet and heavy and cold, and everything in them feels dislodged and damaging, and he wants to tear at them—

He curls his fingers tighter, nails digging into his palm as a whimper breaks past his lips.

Even if Scar is upset with him. Even if Grian is feeling and saying wrong things. (Things that scare him but sink into him like daggers anyway.) Even then, he still wants Scar to help. He— He needs Scar’s help, because he isn’t sure he’s going to win this fight with himself. 

Grian sniffles and looks to him, all wretched and pathetic. “Help.”

 The tension tugging at Scar’s features as he racks his brain eases slightly when he meets Grian’s eyes. His expression immediately softens, utterly weak to it. 

“Okay,” Scar says softly, even if he’s not sure what that promised help entails quite yet. He scoots a little closer, purposely putting his foot in between the fire and Grian’s encroaching feathers. “Another fire or do you want me to help you dry off?”

Notably, Grian’s feathers don’t shy from the barrier of Scar’s foot. They’d usually flinch back, maintaining distance, but Grian can’t muster up enough will to care right now. He’s willing to get them hurt.

The way Scar’s voice softens chips at something in Grian. Abruptly, his eyes flood with tears and his fists loosen, hands twitching up. (To cover his face or to reach for Scar, he isn’t sure.) “I just want— I just want them dry. Scar, please.” 

It’s not an answer to a preferred method, but it is an answer to the scale of urgency. (And that’s not even it. Grian wants more. He wants them clean but without being bright. He wants all the things lodged in them to be pulled out without them being touched. He wants them to stop feeling so awful all the time. He wants them to stop being beacons. He wants them to stop being such an incessant burden. He wants people to stop so hungrily wanting them, as if they were an object to take. He wants to stop being afraid of the day when they will inevitably be hacked off his back while he screams and can't fight back. He wants them to feel like a part of him again instead of just something unwieldy and wounded he carries along. He wants them to stop feeling so inflamed and scratched up, so tense, so big and visible, so untouchable, like a dead space around his back that has to forever be navigated around. He wants— He wants it all to stop. He wants them gone, now, on his own terms.) 

“Okay,” Scar says again. His voice is steady but his hands, notably, are not. 

Aside from the fire, every suggestion he has involves touching Grian’s wings— which as far as he’s concerned, is something he is never allowed to do. 

“Okay, just… let them down? Um, droop?” Scar slides his leg firmly between them and fire, though. “… And not too close to the fire.” He’s no longer beating around the bush with that. He knows what Grian is thinking about. He can sense the self destructiveness.

Grian tries to follow what Scar wants from him while wading through the endless suggestions his own mind spews at him. He shifts, a bit clumsy, and his wings sweep across the floor. They’re so heavy to move. To adjust. To redirect. It’s ungraceful, fumbly.

Despite Scar banning the proximity to the fire, the feathers lightly crash against Scar’s legs anyway, a small pressure leaving nothing but a despondent suggestion of Scar moving out of the way as Grian sobs quietly while his mind spins. (Tear rip destroy cut get rid of them get rid of them make them GONE pluck them out claw them off anything just gone gone gONE) (Make it stOP—)

While—as Scar presumes, anyway—Grian’s mind is preoccupied dealing with the task of moving his wings, Scar goes ahead and tears the other band-aid off. “…Grian, I’m— I’m going to have to touch your wings to make this work.” Again he’s fighting down his nerves, forcing his voice to remain even, but he struggles. 

He hates this.

Grian blinks, not looking quite at Scar. His vision is blurry and something in his chest tingles, plunging him into uncertainty. He doesn’t know how he feels. His ears ring. “Okay…” he says, a bit too quiet, a bit too flat. 

His brain fumbles through nonsensical half-sentences. He considers asking Scar to yank the feathers. He considers asking him to make it hurt? He thinks maybe he should tell him again to cut them off, get rid of the problem at the root. 

What he ends up saying instead is something else entirely, and his voice is small and incredibly off while he delivers the line.

“... Do you want them?”

“... What?” Scar says again, entirely thrown off by that nonsensical question. But he quickly decides he doesn’t want Grian to explain that, actually, and keeps talking. “No, Grian, I want you. All of you. I just—“ The gravity of those statements weighs on Scar after a moment and he stutters slightly over his words, but still powers through. “I just want you to be okay. This was supposed to be relaxing.”

It takes a second for Scar to realize Grian did provide consent for the idea of his wings being touched, which is wild, and it sets off a whole bunch of other questions he doesn’t want answered flying around his brain. “So I’ll be as fast as I can, okay? And then we can enjoy some nice warm clothes and a lovely campfire.”

Grian grows both more sheepish and more numb, quieter. It feels like surrendering. To what exactly, he isn’t sure yet. He’s just done fighting. Whatever happens, happens.

His voice is tiny and hollow, but he gives Scar another nudge, another confirmation that he’s listening and Scar is allowed to carry on. “Okay.”

“… Okay,” Scar repeats, somewhat terrified. He’s never known Grian to give in so easily to anything, even when it’s good for him. “I won’t hurt you, you know that?” It’s meant to be a statement, but it comes out far too close to a question. 

The words are out there and— Grian knows Scar wouldn’t hurt him, but his brain is screaming at him anyway, and he thinks he’d welcome it if Scar did something horrible to him. (He’s verging on doing it himself—) Instead of answering, he just closes his eyes.

Scar fumbles his hands about, looking for his clothes that he set out to get warm, taking his vest for starters because it’s the thickest. He wraps the fabric over and around his hand, taking this time to steel his nerves. He really shouldn’t build up to this whole thing, even if he wants to preface it with about a dozen apologies. 

Grian can sense Scar getting ready. It sets his nerves alight, and he wants to retreat, back into that numbness, even as the anticipation builds up under his skin. He takes a shaky breath, brings his arms up and ducks his face in them, hiding himself.

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay let it happen—

Scar really doesn’t want to prolong this any more than necessary, so he gets right to it, placing his wrapped-up hand on the wing closest to him and moving it in line with the feathers, trying to place as little pressure as possible for this first pass.

Grian’s wing barely twitches, startled as Scar starts touching it. Grian’s biting into his lip, trying not to tremble, trying not to— He isn’t sure what. (He wishes Scar’d pull his claws out and dug in.) (The lightness of the touch is driving him insane.)

Restless with mounting tension, Grian shifts a little, moving to curl on his other side, effectively turning his back to Scar. It seems practical: it helps the angle, gives Scar easier access to the wing. But more than that, it also means relinquishing even more control—something Grian usually never does. (The idea of someone behind his  back usually spirals him into panic. He never really allows it. Not anymore.) (And yet.)

Scar’s surprised he isn’t given much resistance for doing this. He feels like he ought to be slapped, or in the very least shouted at for causing this whole mess. He’s miserable, not at all enjoying this disaster of a preening session, if you could even call it that.

Grian’s chest feels horribly constricted and his hands shake. Turned away from Scar, he presses his hand against his bare, damp chest, nails clawing at his skin, clutching at the pain he can’t quite get to. 

Scar presses down a little more with each pass, letting the cloth soak up as much water as it can, and after a few successful strokes down the entire length, Scar lifts ever so slightly to let it drip off the bottom, testing if he can get away with drying there as well. He doesn’t exactly want to, but it would get this done faster if he could.

The firmer pressure on Grian’s wings, oddly enough, feels better than the light touch. Grian doesn’t want Scar to be gentle. (He doesn’t know how to make him understand that.) (He thinks maybe Scar knows and just doesn’t want to understand.) Nonsensically, he wishes it’d all be worse.

 He doesn’t react to Scar manipulating his wings in any way, doesn’t twitch or flinch them away. The wing isn’t relaxed, not in the slightest, but it obliges and obeys, surrendered just like Grian. (Please please please make it hurt—)

As he works, Scar takes a breath to speak. It’s shaky, just like his hands, but he pushes past it. “I was—“ His voice catches in his throat, and he quietly curses himself for failing on his one strength here— his words. But he tries again, pushes past the wobble in his voice. “… I was gonna build a castle this season. I know I’m always on about how I hate big castle builds, but I had a block palette ready and everything.”

When Scar starts talking, voice faltering, Grian feels an abrupt rise of emotions clog his throat. It’s the first time since the start that his wing really twitches, threatening awareness on him. He fights down the uprise of panic, breathes through his mouth, a long and steady exhale.

“Wh— What palette did you— have in mind?” he manages to say in bits and pieces, voice hoarse and thick, sounding like he’s been crying. He can barely comprehend what he’s saying, half of him switched on autopilot.

Scar is so relieved to hear Grian speak, even if his voice is more pained than his own. It just feels like something more manageable than the task at hand, however, so he clings to it, continues on. 

“I was gonna use blue ice for the roof. Maybe a little impractical but—“ he almost chuckles, trying to ease into the easy conversation. “I think the worst part of castles is everyone goes for the medieval look. They suck the soul right out of the build with it. There’s no magic!” 

He scrubs more methodically, even offering the occasional squeeze to get the water out. He still hates it. The enthusiasm of his words rings false to his own ears. To make up for his frustration, he frees a small twig that had been driving him crazy before back in the hot spring. “I would go for a more pastel color palette— sandstone, terracotta, no deepslate allowed.”

Grian presses his forehead against the cloak that’s underneath him, just trying to hold himself together. (He still wants to grab the wing and do bad bad bad things—) (The freed twig sends a toppling sense of relief through him that he can’t quite decipher or understand.) He tries so hard to follow Scar’s words, instead of the unending scalding avalanche of things his mind keeps suggesting and burying him under.

He wants to tell Scar to rake his claws through his feathers.

He wants to tell him to just tear at the joint, right where Grian’s exposed back lies defenceless.

He wants to tell him to bite and tear and take—

He swallows thickly and says, instead: “A fairytale castle.”

“Exactly!” Scar says, the excitement partially real this time. “A proper castle isn’t just a build, it’s an experience!” 

It feels like this might take an eternity, but Scar does recognize progress. He continues taking out anything he sees stuck in the wings, deciding he’s at least going to make Grian’s wings feel better if he has to do this to him.

Grian's curling up tighter, shivering despite himself, but his wing is still and willing in Scar's hands, nothing but an object to be manipulated. (To be taken.) He still wants this all to get worse. He also wants it to be over. He can't stand this in-between.

With effort, Grian drags his other wing—the one Scar isn't currently working on—across himself. He hasn't purposefully touched his wings in so long, but with a stutter of his breath and mind burning, his fingers find the feathers now.

“Careful,” Scar warns, like he’s the one that should be offering wing advice somehow. “I’m almost done with this one, I think?” He lifts his hand, seeing the vest is properly soaked already.

“Mm.” Grian doesn’t really process what Scar means by saying careful. Doesn’t catch the warning. His wing tucks around him, fingers curling into the feathers without care. He’s playing with the idea of yanking as if he was playing with fire, but somehow it seems like the option that will burn him is the safe one. The letting go. Like he should pick this destructive option instead to make it all better.

His earwings shield his face, even as all of him is turned away from Scar’s sight anyway. 

They muffle the quietest, choked sob. 

Grian’s fingers pull.

Just at that moment, Scar turns to grab his undershirt, figuring he may as well. The clothes’ll dry easier than the feathers, clearly. 

When he looks back, he sees the slight pull Grian’s fingers make and he narrows his eyes, wanting to be wrong about what he just saw. He decides against bringing attention to it, instead grabbing Grian’s hand and unthreading his fingers altogether. “Let me,” he says, though he leaves little room for argument.

There’s no fighting back; Grian’s self destructive, but entirely given up otherwise, still surrendered to Scar fully. (His mind is a tangled mess of contradictions and warnings and pleas.) He lets Scar do what he wants, a sense of blank numbness descending back over him. (He wants to keep it. It’s easier. He wants to tuck himself in it and never emerge.)

Scar doesn’t bring up what he thinks he just saw, not now. He’s not so sure Grian is fully with it, something he’s become more familiar with than he’d like to be. 

He gets to work on that wing, leaving the drier one spread out near the fire. (Though he keeps a close eye on that.) The undershirt is a tad worse at collecting water, but it’s longer and still does the job. And he wants that job done as soon as possible. “How did you ever bathe back home…” he mumbles, not expecting an answer.

Grian’s completely resigned, his wing fully in Scar’s control. He’s staring blankly ahead at the darker part of the cave, not really seeing anything. His soul feels like a warzone, littered with exploded landmines. 

He isn’t sure if there’s anything left to explode. (There probably is.) (He doesn’t want to think about it.)

He hears Scar asking something, but he doesn’t quite catch and process it. The word home makes it through to his awareness though and, quietly, without a word, his eyes flood with fresh tears.

Despite not expecting an answer, it still hurts Scar not to receive one. He feels like he’s talking to the void when Grian gets like this. Like his heart is about to tip forward and fall into it. 

“Is there like… a hair dryer for wings?” His attempt at a joke doesn’t make him feel any better. Again he moves the wing to work on the underside, carefully pinching when he needs to squeeze the water out.

Numbness tingles through Grian, but contradictory, the tears continue to overflow and silently drip down his face. He doesn't know what he's feeling. Is it emptiness? Is it pain? Is it fear? He thinks of the campfire and feathers. He thinks of blood and screaming, arms and blades and being pinned down. He thinks of Scar's soft voice and of his hands massaging Grian's scalp.

He can't untangle himself.

He continues staying quiet, not reacting.

“I guess you… could just use a normal hair dryer.” Scar’s heart aches. His vision is getting blurry with tears as well. He’s still doing well drying the wings, but his chest feel likes it’s splintering. With a small sniffle, he adds on, far too quiet: “Grian, I’m so sorry.”

The apology, barely audible, elicits a small twitch of Grian’s wing in Scar’s hold.

He doesn’t understand. Why is Scar sorry? Why is Scar hurting?

He can’t get through the fog that surrounds him. (He thinks it shields him; he isn’t sure he wants to venture out.) He thinks, disorientingly, of warm beds and tight cuddles.

He wants to ask if this is over yet. He wants to ask if Scar is okay. He wants to—

(He wants to discard his wings and—)

His eyes close, eyelashes wet. His hand weakly paws at the cloak that’s still underneath him, a feeble layer shielding him from the coldness of rough ground.

“Maybe not— not one of my better ideas, the whole bath thing.” Releasing his inner conflict is comforting to Scar in some way. It makes his tears feel like less of a waste. It helps him keep going somehow. 

He might rush somewhat, but only because he can barely take it anymore. 

Softly, he croaks out: “It was nice to hear you laugh…”

A shaky breath leaves Grian. He itches to reassure Scar. To tell him the bath was absolutely wonderful. To thank him, for letting him laugh. To press a kiss to his cheek and genuinely thank him for it, for that moment of reprieve.

But he can’t.

He can’t, not now, not now, because if he does try, everything will fall apart and the carefully held back dam of panic will break and he’d suffocate.

So he just silently waits for it to be over, even as the heartache builds and builds and builds through the numbness in his heart, a desperate aching leading straight back to Scar, yelling at Grian to fix it.

Scar continues in silence after that, words entirely failing him either way— whether he opts for sentimentality or distraction. 

After a while longer, he feels like he stops making progress, like the rest will simply have to be air dried.

The wings are let go and there’s a lull, an empty moment, and Grian hazily realises he doesn’t remember most of the wing drying. Something in him skipped over it and buried it deep down, the sensation of harmless pressure over his wings lost to some void.

Scar slowly shifts to be in front of Grian as he wrings out his shirt. “Is it—“ His voice breaks painfully and he has to pause to clear his throat. “Is it okay?” He sets the shirt down near the fire and offers his empty palms, his usual placating gesture. “I could help you up?”

Grian hears Scar shift to the front of him, and it draws a small questioning sound out of him. He opens his eyes, finding Scar’s, noticing the rawness of his expression, the wetness of his eyelashes and cheeks that mirrors Grian’s own.

Scar is checking up on him, but he sounds so wounded, and it’s absolutely destroying Grian’s heart. His breath hitches, and his vision blurs anew. (Fix it fix it fix it fix it—) He still can’t quite find words. He still can’t quite find himself.

But he wants to give Scar something, and Scar didn’t take his wings, and—

Timidly, he reaches for Scar’s offered palms, but remains pressed to the ground, not attempting to get up. “Scar.” It’s hoarse and small, pleading and broken. There’s an edge of fragmentation to it, a cracked glass too sharp to not get cut on accident.

Scar’s breath hitches again at the sound of his name— god, how he loves hearing Grian say his name— and he chokes out a small sniffle, bordering on a sob. “Hi,” he says lamely, meeting Grian’s outstretched hand and taking it. His other hand immediately finds Grian’s cheek, brushing aside a few stray tears and cradling his head gently.

“Hi,” Grian echoes back so, so weakly. (He wants to give more more more more more—) His hand squeezes against Scar’s, but it’s feeble. He feels taken apart into pieces, unsure how to put himself back together.

But he looks at Scar and he thinks that Scar also needs someone to put a scrap of cloth over the wounds scattered across his heart. (They don’t have bandages. They don’t have stitches. They have hands and words, tears and prayers, and some scraps.) 

So Grian does his best to pull through the thick fog, to attempt a tiny, tiniest, weakest smile. “The bath felt nice.” It’s hoarse and precarious, but it rings sincere.

Scar coughs, choking on a small bark of laughter that’s hardly even joyful. It’s still pained. But it’s something. 

“I’m glad,” he replies softly, eyes flicking downward. “Your sweater should be all warm by now.”

Scar’s small laughter is more than just something. Grian holds onto it, wraps it up in his mind, protects it from the tingling fog as if it was the most precious thing.

“Mm.” His sweater might be warm, and gosh, what a tantalising though that is. But it isn’t within his reach.

Scar is.

Lightly, questioningly, he tugs at Scar’s hand. “C’mere?”

This time the laughter is a touch more sincere. Scar can’t help it. That simple word warms his heart enough to melt away a bit of the ice he was letting freeze over him. 

He slides his legs down, ignoring the cold ground, and adjusts himself so he can lie down in front of Grian, leaning his head close. “I’m here.”

Without hesitation, Grian shifts towards him, yearning. There’s that string between them, a bond that tugs, dictating that there’s only one direction for Grian to go to reach safety. 

His feathers are lighter. They tuck behind him loosely, still semi-sprawled, still siphoning the warmth of the fire to dry off the remaining bits. He feels a little bit silly for how violent he wanted to be with them. (He thinks he might end up wanting that again. But not now. Not now, when Scar’s lying in front of him after just laughing unsteadily, looking so vulnerable after trying his absolute best for Grian.) 

“Mm.” Grian reaches out his free hand and lightly brushes over Scar’s cheek. “You are,” he confirms in a whisper, and then he sniffles. “I’m— I—” He swallows down the apology, buries it deep within his heart as he tips forward, wanting to tuck himself against Scar. “Thank you.”

The returned gesture manages to get Scar to smile, however weak it may be. He leans into the touch, needing it desperately. “Mm, I— …Yeah.” He wants to say of course like he normally would, but it doesn’t feel right. “… Is it any better?”

Grian nuzzles himself under Scar’s jaw, searching for his spot at the crook of Scar’s neck. “It’s better,” he reassures, soft and quiet and unsteadily sincere.

Even if he's still hurting. (Even if Scar is as well.)

Even if his wings still feel off and he's still scared.

Even if he still feels exhausted and numb, a little bit volatile and a whole lot fractured. With a bruised heart behind his paper-thin ribs.

Even then, this one thing is a truth he can concede.

It's better.

It's better, because Scar was here to make it so.

And Scar is still here.

Abruptly, Grian shivers, because his skin is still exposed, and so is Scar’s, and—

Maybe rashly, on impulse, he swishes his wing up, where it falters.

“Scar.” He pulls away just enough to be able to look at him. There’s an edge of fear in his wide eyes, something so desperately shackled, and an endless pool of vulnerability. “Don’t— Don’t touch them anymore, not— Just—” He starts tripping over his words. He opts to duck back into the safety of his spot and— His wing slowly, so very slowly drapes across him and Scar, like a blanket. “Just. Is this—” He wants to ask if it’s okay, but the words don’t make it past his throat.

“I won’t,” Scar confirms immediately, and he’s glad he did, because those words would have definitely been broken up and choked out if he had waited for Grian’s wings to be draped over them. “I—“ he still stammers, hopelessly endeared and emotional by the touch. “… O–okay.”

“Okay,” Grian echoes a little breathlessly, and on nothing but instinct and yearning, the wing presses against Scar’s back in a gentle tug. And his feathers still flare up, overstimulated, but it feels different now. Like this might be something he can handle.

Like maybe this could help, too.

And it's him initiating this whole touch, perfectly aware of where his wings are and what they're pressed against. He's in control here, like walking on a tightrope, begging Scar not to unexpectedly shake it underneath him.

Being cocooned in feathers feels very natural and comforting to Grian, even though it’s something he’s been denying himself for the longest time. They shield them from the cold air, trap the warmth between them, quite like a literal blanket would, even as some of the feathers are still damp. (He hopes Scar doesn’t mind.)

Maybe clothes would be warmer, but this makes Scar feel so much lighter. His heart feels like it could spring out his chest, a mixture of relief and gratefulness stirring within him. Immensely glad that the awful part is now over, quite honestly struggling to catch up to this jump in development.

But he’ll take it.

He’ll take this over Grian asking him to cut off his wings any day.

[tatsumessy]

HELLOO HOW ARE YOUU I hope youre open with requests, im obsessed with your writing, could you please do the bllk boys(with sae preferably) finding their s/o in the kitchen baking for them, it was a huge mess (i mean like batter all over the counter, dishes everywhere, ingredients that was spilled) so he tries to help s/o but they refused and when he finally tastes it, it was suprisingly delicous.

Ive been thinking about this for a while now bc i often bake messy id love to see their reaction TvT

THANK YOUU LOVE U SM <3

a/n: I’m doing so great my love 💕 I’m so glad you like my writing, I know I can be self conscious sometimes soooo thank you ☺️

ft: sae itoshi::rin itoshi

if you have any request for just ask, I don’t bite I promise 🤭

sae itoshi

you and sae had been dating for a few years and he’s always treated you like a princess. thankfully his birthday was tomorrow and you wanted to bake some brownies for him. now your oldest sister got the cooking and baking genes but that didn’t mean you didn’t know anything. while sae was taking a shower you were in the kitchen mixing everything together, when you dipped your finger in to taste it, it was lacking flavor. A LOT OF FLAVOR. spitting out the batter in the sink you grabbed your trash bag and threw it away. rolling your eyes you looked at you phone staring at the recipe your sister sent you for the sixth time.

“whatcha doing kitten?” sae asked wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss on your neck. he glanced down at your phone seeing the recipes then finally took notice to the mess around the kitchen. broken egg shells, flour all over the counter tops, oil on the ground. the kitchen looked like a pigsty but the only thing he was worried about was why you were so upset. “I’m trying to make you some brownies but they just aren’t coming out right.” you whined setting the phone back down in it’s former position. “why?” he asked moving from behind you to grab the bag of flour, sugar, eggs and every other ingredient. “it’s your birthday tomorrow, I just wanted to do something special for you.” his frown disappeared and he stepped away from you and grabbed the bowl full of old batter and cleaned it out along with the other dishes you used.

“what are you doing?” you asked watching him finish with cleaning, “since this is so important to you then I’ll help you with it.” you immediately stopped him and forced him to go do something else while you redid the brownies one last time, if this came out horrible then you’d just give up. once you finished with the brownies you took them out the oven and cut them into squares. sae was sitting on the sofa watching a soccer game when you appeared right next to him with one brownie on a napkin. “here, try it.” he glanced down at the brownie then back up at me, “no.” he resumes the game, you grab the remote and turn the tv off shoving the brownie back in his face.

“please…” he sighed grabbed the napkin quickly taking a bite out of the brownie. sitting there anxious he took another bite and in that second you could see a light blush on his cheeks. “it’s good sweetheart.”

rin itoshi

“why the hell are you destroying our kitchen?” rin spoke walking into the kitchen, and setting his bag on the ground and picking up a batter soaked napkin. “I was trying to make you a cake, and it didn’t turn out the way it’s supposed to look on the box.” you quickly responded accidentally wiping flour in your cheeks. rin unzipped his jacket and threw it on the couch while bunching up his sleeves. “what kind of cake?” he looked at the table then back at you waiting for your response. “Strawberry, your favorite.” rin’s cheeks started to heat up and he turned away covering his face and mumbling curses. “let me help you, you know baking is not your strong suit.” “you are an ass rin. we’ll see if I make you anything else, ass.” you responded throwing down the paper towel and starting to walk out the kitchen, but rin’s grip on your waist stopped you. “okay I’m sorry y/n. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. just forget about the cake.” you shook your head in agreement and the both of you left the kitchen to spend time with each other.

once rin was fast asleep you quietly got out of the bed to try the recipe once again. granted you messed up three more times but by the time rin woke up in the morning for workouts you just finished decorating the cake. “y/n what the hell. I thought we agree to forget the whole ca-” you shut him up by stuffing a small piece in his mouth. staring at him, you watched him chew and swallow then grab a cup of water to clear his throat. “so? do you like it rin?” he set the cup down then placed both his hands on your cheeks and pulled you in for a kiss, you could taste the remaining cake crumbs in his mouth.

“I love it.” he said pecking your cheek then bidding you goodbye before he left to go workout.

[thelovelylolly]

Hi love, i saw ur requests are open i was wondering if you could do a frank castle x teen reader where reader is basically a female peter parker. Maybe frank meets her as spider women and later finds out shes just a kid doing all this messed up shit. Only write if u want too ofcourse thank youu <3

Spidey

Summary : On his normal patrol of New York, Frank runs into a vigilante with spider powers. Warnings : mentions of violence (but its not a lot), teen reader, this is a platonic frank x reader!!!, not proof read Notes : frank being a father(ish) figure >> (also thank you for the request, its a rlly fun idea i love it! i had to write these over the course of three days bc ive been very stressed and tired but i hope you still enjoy it!)

Frank had heard talk about someone with spider-like powers swinging around New York City at night, taking out low level robbers and such. He didn't really believe that though. A person with spider powers? Yeah, right. He wouldn't believe it until he saw it.

On patrol one night, Frank was driving around the streets of New York City with his eyes peeled for any activity. As he turned a corner, he saw a group of robbers running out of a store with bags full of products. He quickly parked and got out of his car, only to hear the robbers grunt and yelled.

He looked over and saw two of the robbers wrapped up in a...spider web? The others were chasing something down into an alleyway. Frank sighed and ran after them.

In the alleyway, a figure was swinging around and landing kicks and hits on the robbers. There was spider person he had heard about. Whoever they were, they had a mask on to conceal their identity. "Oh, come on fellas! I thought this would be harder!"

Frank rolled his eyes at the remark as he grabbed a nearby brick and chucked it at one of the robbers. The fighting stopped as the robber fell to the ground, knocked out, and they all looked at Frank.

One of the robbers took the spider person's pause to punch them. The spider person stumbled back while Frank charged at the rest of the robbers, easily taking them out.

As he caught his breath, Frank walked over to the spider person who was catching their breath, too.

"I had it covered, you didn't need to step in," they spat.

"It was five to one-"

"Three to one once they got down here. I can handle myself. I don't need the big bad Punisher to come save me," they cut him off, brushing past him.

"You know about me?"

"Of course I do. And I know you know about me."

With that, they shot a web up and swung away.

--

You kept your head down and hood on when you walked to and from school. A black from the night before had bloomed around your eye and you didn't feel like making up an excuse. Your hands ran up and down the straps of your backpack as you watched your shoes on the pavement.

Your shoulder hit someone and you stumbled before glancing back at whoever it was. "Watch it!" You yelled.

Then you realized who it was. The Punisher.

Frank froze when you yelled at him. He recognized your voice from the spider person. You were glaring at him in attempt to hide your slight fear.

He looked around before pulling you into the opening of an alley.

"You're the spider person from last night," Frank said, low enough for you to hear and no one else.

"I'm not, you have me confused with someone else," you spat in reply. You tried to walk away but Frank grabbed your arm and kept you in place.

"You have a black eye, kid. I watched you get punched right there last night, and you're not a great liar without your mask."

"I...got into a fight at school-"

"Bullshit," Frank quickly cut you off. You glared up at him, crossing your arms in front of you.

"So, what are you going to do? Call the police on me? Tell my parents?"

Frank sighed. "I should. You're a kid going around and fighting crime at night. This vigilante shit is not a game-"

"I know it's not a game!" You said a bit louder than expected. You and Frank quickly looked at the people passing by, making sure no one had heard anything, then looked back at each other. "I know it's not a game. I want to protect my city. I want to help."

"There are already people helping, we don't need to worry about a kid trying to be hero."

"I'm not a kid! I'm 17!"

He sighed once again, already done with your attitude. "Fine, you wanna help? Swing around tonight and I'll find you, then you're staying by my side-"

"What? You wanna protect me or something?"

"Yes. I do. I don't need another kid hurt because they wanna pull some stupid shit."

"...okay, dad," you said teasingly. "See you around."

You turned and left. Frank watched as you disappeared into the crowd of people walking by on the sidewalk.

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

Heyy I've got a fic request- Avery randomly remembers her ancient pontiac and tells Jameson about how her mom gave it to her. So he gets it back somehow and fixes it and takes her on a ride and she starts crying <33 💔

OMG HELP I GOT THIS REQUEST LAST MONTH BUT IVE BEEN IN THE BIGGEST SLUMP EVERRR IM SO SORRY 😭😭

but here you go!! 💗

Jameson laid back on the floor, letting the tools in his hand fall to the ground with a clatter. 2 months ago, Avery had told him about her ancient Pontiac, which her mother had given her before she passed, and it hadn’t left his mind. So, a week later he decided that for their 2 year anniversary, he was going to fix it and give it to her. It was difficult, of course, and Jameson wasn’t even sure if the car was still in one piece, or if it had been scrapped, but he was up for a challenge. Eventually, after tracking down every car dealer in New Castle, he found a run down garage which was owned by an old fella named Walter. Jameson was lucky he had came when he had, because Walter was about to sell the car for parts. He struck up a deal for a lot more than that car was worth, and brought it back to Hawthorne House to fix it. It took a month and a half of meticulously working every day, and somehow keeping it hidden from Avery, when today he finally finished. Jameson stood up, wiping the dust and grease from his hands onto his pants, and examined the car. Pontiacs weren’t exactly Jameson style, as he was sure it wasn’t Averys either, but it wasn’t about what the car looked like. It was about what the car meant to her. And if Avery wanted an almost falling apart car that seriously needed to be put down, then she was going to get one.

——————————————————————————

“A helicopter ride, archery, hot air balloons, watching the sunset on the beach…” Avery trailed off, her head on Jameson’s chest.

“Don’t forget the ice sculpting challenge.” He added, a smile playing on his lips. Avery huffed.

“I still think I won that. Your dolphin looked more like a whale.” She said. Jameson laughed.

“What’s the difference anyway?” Avery snickered, and although Jameson wanted her to keep lying on her chest as they watched the twinkling night sky, her big surprise had not yet been revealed.

“Avery…” He trailed off, sitting up. Avery sat up too, meeting his eyes. Jameson wanted to get lost in them and never come back. “I may have one last surprise.” She quirked a brow.

“Like what?” She said, a sly smile playing on her face. Jameson couldn’t help but smile back as he pulled her to her feet, and took her hand. He led her to the garage, although the car had been in the giant storage room before he took it out, and put his hands over her eyes.

“I’m going to see it anyway, Jameson.” She said, with a playful huff. Jamesons smile grew.

“I know. But I want the surprise to last longer. I’ll tell you when you can look.” If her eyes weren’t covered, I’m sure Avery would have rolled them, but instead she just nodded and followed him. He opened the garage door before leading her inside.

“Are you ready?” He asked her. There was only one moment of hesitation before she spoke.

“Yes.” Her voice was sure and confident, and just from that Jameson could feel himself falling in love with her a million times over again. He removed his hands from over her eyes and heard her physically gasp as she stared at the car in front of her. There was silence, as she slowly walked towards the car and let go of Jamesons hand, and Jameson didn’t have to see her face to know she was shocked.

“Jameson…” She said, trailing off as her hand brushed the cars surface. Jameson just stared at her as he waited for her to say something else. Anything else. “How did you find this?” Her voice was full of disbelief and awe. Jameson smiled.

“Well it was difficult, as I didn’t know if the car was even still in one piece, but I eventually found it.” He said. Avery turned around to look at him, and Jameson saw tears in her eyes. Immediately, his heart stopped. Had he done something wrong?

“Jameson.” She said, the tears now starting to slip down her cheek. Jameson immediately backtracked.

“Oh Avery, I’m so sorry. Did you not want to see it again because it reminded you of your mother? I’m seriously sorry Heiress, I didn’t know-“ He started apologizing, but Avery cut him off.

“No!” She said, putting her hands out. Jameson paused. She brought them back to her sides and smiled. “It’s just… this is the best gift that anyone’s ever given me. I always wondered what happened to this car, and now you fixed it for me? Jameson.” She said, her voice breaking on the last part as she rushed over to him and brought his lips to hers. Jameson felt the blood rush back into his face as he kissed her back, wondering how he got so lucky. Eventually they separated, and Avery held his face in her hands.

“Thank you.” She said, tears running down her cheeks. Jameson wiped them away individually with his thumb, before speaking.

“Of course. But, Heiress, how can you like the car when you haven’t even driven it yet?” He said, a smile playing on his face. Averys eyes widen.

“You mean, the cars not too old to drive it?” She asked, raising a brow as a grin overtook his face. Her smile made his stomach twist.

“Well, it was,” He said, grinning himself and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a pair of car keys. “Before I fixed it.” He held the keys out for Avery to take, and met her eyes. She stared into his eyes for 3 seconds before grabbing the keys and his hand, and speaking.

“Let’s do it.”

Avery drove the car out of the garage and onto the racing track, but slowly, in case the car couldn’t handle it.

“Oh, cmon,” Jameson said, once they were on the track. “Can’t you speed up?” Avery face was still full of disbelief, and when she laughed it was breathy.

“You sure?” She asks. Was he sure the car was safe? Well, yes, since he’d updated all of the gear and made sure everything was working fine. He gently took her chin in his hand.

“I’m sure.” He said, softly. She held his eyes, before nodding and putting her hands back on the wheel. Without a warning, Avery suddenly speeds up and starts driving faster than Jameson thought she would at first. A grin overtook his face as she drove faster and faster, as if testing the cars limits. She drove, again and again around the track without saying a word. Then, suddenly, a sob rattled her chest as she slowed down and pulled over on the side of the track. Jameson leaned closer to her too see if she was okay.

“Avery? What’s-“ He was about to finish, but she cut him off.

“Thank you.” She said, tears streaming down her face.

“You don’t know how much this means to me. It almost feels like my mom is still alive, and taking me out for a test drive in my brand new car.” She said, sniffing and laughing sadly. Jameson smiled back, and kissed her nose.

“You’re welcome, Heiress. But just for the record, I think I have to ask….” He said, taking her hands in his. “Was your mom a fan of fast cars?” Jameson placed her hands back on the wheel, and held his own over them. Avery stared at his hands on hers before turning to him, tears still in her eyes. She was luminous, absolutely beautiful and brilliant in every way, and then she was smiling. To make matters worse for Jamesons heart, she raised a brow, and that little movement made his heart race.

“Are you challenging me, mystery boy?” She asked. Jameson gave her one of his winning smirks, before bringing his face close to hers. It looked like he was about to kiss her, before he brings his mouth to her ear instead.

“Guess.”

——————————————————————————

SORRY THIS IS KIND OF LONG BUT HERE YOU GO!! 💗💗 (also again im rlly sorry that it took so long for me to make this, ive been lazy 😪)