#no beta sorry

[piratec0ve]

(His Poison Lips) With The Metal Grip

The title makes it sound way angstier than it actually is, I promise this is almost pure fluff I just suck at coming up with titles. And I was listening to music and those lyrics just kinda made me think of the bit with the hook, and idk titles are hard man.

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: After losing power in the middle of your shift, you find yourself fleeing for your life as Foxy pursues you through the halls. But perhaps there's more to this encounter than you first realized.

Story under the cut! Also on AO3!

The posters on the walls were an incomprehensible blur as you raced through the halls, skidding on the checkered floor and nearly crashing into a wall as you slid down a corner.

You wanted to pause and catch your breath, but the faint click-clack of nails skittering not far behind had a thrill of fear skittering along your spine. Whimpering, you scrambled down the hall, turned around and unsure where you were going, just desperate to get away.

Usually when the power ran out in the middle of your shift, it was Freddy you had to worry about, the glowing eyes in the dim corridor to the side of your office eerie and haunting. You weren’t sure why tonight was different – but instead of the uncanny melody of Freddy’s familiar jingle, you heard running footsteps pattering down your hallway. Uneasy about the change, you stood from your office chair and faced the door the sound was coming from, heart racing and flashlight gripped in clammy hands.

Foxy appeared in the doorway with a screech and you yelped in alarm. You’d fumbled and almost dropped the flashlight in your panic when he lunged at you, but you just barely managed to shine the light in his eye sockets. The animatronic stumbled and seemed disoriented, joints whirring as it missed its lunge and landed a few steps short of you.

Panicked, unsure how much time that had bought you, you’d scrambled out the opposite door at your back and took off down the hallway. If you could just evade Foxy until 6 a.m., his free-roaming protocols would end and you just might survive the night.

Hearing his pattering steps rapidly gaining on you, the chances of that were looking slimmer by the second.

You skidded around another corner and froze.

A dead end.

Fuck!!

You whirled around and almost sobbed when you saw Foxy’s one glowing eye at the end of the hall, staring you down. The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, you panting and Foxy unnervingly silent. He glanced slowly down at the flashlight gripped in your trembling hand, then back to you.

Shivering with nerves, you kept eye contact with him as you slowly raised the flashlight.

Your movement seemed to shatter the spell of stillness that had come over him, and he sprinted down the hallway. You were used to seeing the action on your cameras, but it was so much more harrowing when there was no door to safely hide behind.

Before you could manage to flick the button on your flashlight, Foxy was on you, batting it out of your hand harshly with his hook. You heard the plastic hit the floor and slide across the linoleum, vanishing into the dark of the hallway as the pirate loomed over you. Your stomach twisted like it was full of writhing snakes as you met his eye, his frame towering over you easily.

You saw the flash of his hook coming at you and screamed, stumbling back a step and tripping over your own feet in your panic. You scrambled away on your hands and knees, elbows banging painfully against the hard linoleum floor, but you didn’t get far before Foxy was on you.

His 6’2” frame caged you in, legs locked over your hips and arms on either side of your torso. His gaping maw was right in front of your face, giving you a horrific close up of his ragged fur and the jagged teeth in his mouth. Choking out a sob, you tried to turn away but the cool metal of his hook caught under your chin, freezing you in place.

You saw his head leaning in, coming closer to your face. Unable to turn away with his hook holding you in place, you squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to watch your impending doom come closer.

“Yer not s’posed to be here~” the gruff, pirate-accented voice of the fox crooned in a menacing sing-song right by your ear. The curved top of his hook pressed against your throat, cutting off your air and forcing you back until you collapsed underneath him. Breath hitching on another sob, you felt a few tears squeeze out from beneath your shut lids, trickling down your temples into your hair. Still, the pressure of the hook didn’t abate, and you were struggling to gasp in breaths now.

“Please—” you wheezed desperately. Forcing your eyes open, the figure hovering over you was a blur through the hazy tears clouding your vision. “Foxy please, please d-don’t—” You weren’t sure if begging would have any effect on the animatronic, but you were officially out of options.

Slowly, Foxy’s head tilted to one side as he stared down at you. The gesture brought to mind a puppy, and would almost be endearing if he weren’t pinning you to the floor, choking off your air supply. You slowly blinked the tears from your eyes as you and Foxy stared at each other, you struggling to draw in ragged gasps and shivering beneath him, and Foxy just.

Looking. Watching you.

You had no idea what was going on in his processors, no idea if he was drawing this out just to torture you or if he was genuinely hesitating to hurt you.

“Please,” you whispered again, voice cracking. His ears twitched slightly but he didn’t otherwise acknowledge you.

Suddenly, you felt furry fingers sliding through your hair, sharp claws scraping over your scalp and making you gasp, before that hand came down to rest at the back of your neck, pulling your head up slightly, forcing you to arch up off the floor towards him. At the same time, Foxy’s body bore down on yours, rough raggedy fur pressing against your arms where your uniform shirt’s short sleeve left the skin exposed. The weight of his endoskeleton did you no favors as you struggled to breathe, and you thought he’d decided to finish you off after all.

Hiccupping out a weak sob, your eyes shot back to his one visible eye, wide and unsure. Foxy leaned in again and you winced, waiting for the agony of his hook slicing you open, the sharp pain of his teeth crushing your delicate bones. The lack of oxygen was making you dizzy, spots dancing across your vision and making you woozy.

It made you wonder if you were hallucinating when the first touch of his muzzle came.

Rather than the pain you’d braced for, it was a gentle brush of his cold metal nose against your cheek, skimming along the side of your face. The fur on his cheek brushed against your face, rough but not too uncomfortable; you shivered at the cold as his nose touched just under your ear.

He was……snuffling? Impossible, since he didn’t breathe, but that’s what it sounded like. Like he was sniffing you, taking in your scent and puffing softly.

You didn’t understand, and you were worrying that you were going to pass out when Foxy abruptly jerked back, hook leaving your throat and dropping the hand that had been supporting the back of your neck. Your head cracked against the floor as you gasped for air, half-sitting up as Foxy sat back on his haunches, glowing yellow eye never leaving you.

As you slowly caught your breath, you carefully eased away from him until your back hit the wall. You wondered what had stopped him, but the answer came in the beeping of your watch.

Salvation.

You glanced at your watch to confirm – it was 6 a.m.

Your shift was over. Somehow, miraculously, you were alive.

Slowly, you looked up at Foxy again. In the moments you’d been preoccupied, he’d gotten to his feet and was standing at the end of the hall, about to disappear around the corner. You watched him go, wondering what the hell all that had been about as your heart finally began to slow down and you caught your breath.

The lights in the hall flickered on overhead as the building came back online after losing power, and you caught sight of where your flashlight had rolled to. Shakily, you grabbed it and clambered slowly to your feet, not entirely trusting your legs to hold your weight after everything that had just happened. You carefully made your way through the halls to collect your belongings from your office, dazed and uneasy.

It was 6 a.m., so in theory you were safe, but after the night you’d had the silence of the building wasn’t very comforting. The sooner you could get out of here and be around people, the sooner you’d stop feeling like you were trapped in a dream.

As you picked your bag up from the floor where it sat against your desk, you noticed something glinting on the floor, standing out against the dirty carpet of the office.

A single silver hoop earring.

Didn’t Foxy wear silver hoops in his ears? You kept your distance from the animatronics as much as you could, but you felt sure you’d seen silver glinting in his ears through the cameras once or twice when he started to peek his head out of Pirate Cove’s curtains.

Slowly, unsure why you were doing so but unable to help yourself, you closed your fingers around the earring. The cool metal against your palm reminded you of his hook bearing down on your throat, and you shuddered, snatching your bag and shooting to your feet.

You made your way quickly out of the building, barely acknowledging the incoming day shift workers.

The silver earring tucked in your pocket seemed to carry extra weight as you made your way home, never allowing you to forget your encounter.

~**~**~**~

As always, you were back the next night. You swore to yourself that this time you’d be more careful about your power usage, not wanting another incident.

Still, you couldn’t help quickly checking all the cameras first thing, checking where everyone was. The band was still on stage – not roaming around just yet. You breathed a silent sigh of relief.

You apprehensively clicked over to the camera that would show you Pirate Cove. Chills raced up your spine when you saw the curtains already open, Foxy absent from the stage.

Heart racing, you skipped to your hallway’s camera frantically muttering, “No no no, not again….come on, please,” but you barely got a glimpse of Foxy sprinting down the hall before he was at your door with that ear-piercing cry.

Yelping, you spun to face him so quickly your chair almost tipped over. Barely righting yourself before you got dumped on the floor again, you stared at Foxy with wide eyes.

His tall frame took up the entire doorway, furred fingers clutching the wall of the doorframe on one side, hook biting into the wall and tearing through the paint, leaving a gouge as he stood there. He stared at you, and even though his expression was fixed in place, you swear there was a deeper intensity in that glowing yellow eye as it fixated on you. His entire body leaned forward like he was caught mid-lunge, straining towards you.

You weren’t sure what was stopping him from completing that lunge, and like a bird caught in the gaze of a rattlesnake you found yourself unable to move as you and Foxy stared at each other, spellbound.

Slowly, his head tilted to one side again as he watched you, unblinking.

Tension was thick in the air as you waited to see what he’d do, his presence bringing back memories of last night and even without his hook restricting your airways you found yourself struggling to draw breath.

Jerkily, like he was fighting against his programming, he suddenly took a single step into the room, towards you.

Without thinking you flinched backwards, the wheels on your chair sliding across the carpet until the back slammed against your desk.

In the time it took you to blink, Foxy had closed the distance, his arms shooting to land on the desk on either side of you with a heavy-sounding clunk, once again caging you in. You stared up at him with wide eyes, nearly hyperventilating as he hovered above you, staring down at you with an intensity that made you tremble.

You could scarcely believe your eyes when Foxy slowly – jerkily and unevenly like each movement was a battle – sank to his knees in front of you. Given how big he was, it didn’t do much to lessen his height. But now instead of hovering above you, his snout was about level with your face, barely inches away. You could see the individual coarse hairs on the fur of his face, the thin scratches on the metal of his nose. You could see the slight variations of the lights in his eyes, lines of slightly darker gold in the gleaming yellow.

You were so caught up in staring at Foxy, you didn’t notice his paw coming up from where he’d planted it on the desk. You sucked in a breath, startled, when his claw slid through your hair, but he was careful. Gentle, tender almost, as he brushed the strands back, away from your ear.

You felt heat sear your cheeks as you realized what he was seeing.

His silver hoop earring, dangling from your ear. You cringed and looked away from his hypnotic gaze, pressing your lips together in embarrassment. Foxy’s hook came up under your ear, in a barely-there caress that caused goosebumps to prickle along your skin, gently touching the earring where it hooked into your ear.

thump, thump, thump, thump

Puzzled, you glanced at Foxy through your lashes despite your embarrassment, wondering what that sound was. Faint movement behind the pirate clued you in.

Was…..was his tail wagging?

No matter how nervous you felt with him so close, or how badly he’d scared you last night, you couldn’t help finding that adorable.

Nervous, but not as terrified now, you took a deep breath and straightened your spine before meeting his gaze head-on again. You lightly touched your ear, just above where his hook still hovered. “Do you want this back?” you asked him, voice coming out slightly hoarse. You chalked that up to anxiousness at his proximity, trying not to think too hard about your rapidly fluttering heart.

Foxy just stared at you, that quiet thump of his tail continuing. You felt your lips twitch in a hint of a smile and bit down on your lower lip, trying to contain it. Foxy’s head tilted the other way, reminding you again of a curious puppy, and you couldn’t help being endeared by the action.

Suddenly, Foxy leaned in and pressed his snout against you, cold nose nudging against your jaw and you shivered as he traced his way down. Slowly, carefully that muzzle went from your jaw down the column of your throat, pausing under your chin where his hook had pressed in.

His ears drooped slightly, the thump of his tail going still, as he took in the bruising he’d left on your skin. Facial expression or no, he looked positively dejected, clearly guilty about hurting you. It made your heart melt, wanting to soothe him; without thinking you reached out, resting your hands on either side of his head. Gently, you pulled him back up until he was looking at you again, though he seemed reluctant now to meet your gaze.

You ducked down and met his eye, a faint smile tugging your lips. “It’s okay, Foxy, I’m not mad at you,” you assured him. That bright yellow eye flitted back up to yours, ears pricking towards you, and your smile widened a bit. “That’s right,” you cooed, “no need to feel bad. It’s okay.” You emphasized the assurance with a couple of pets along his cheek, sliding your fingers through his fur.

The arrhythmic thumping of his tail started up again, and you couldn’t help laughing a bit as he leaned in and pressed his torso lightly against yours, rickety frame leaning into you and resting his muzzle on your shoulder. Without thinking about it, one of your hands came up behind his head and sank into his fur, lightly scratching behind his ears.

His tail began to wag faster, and he pressed harder into you, making you chuckle. So, he likes skritches. Good to know.

Charmed, you pulled back, sliding one hand down to his chest and lightly pushing. He was heavy, you had no chance of making him move on your own, but as soon as you pushed he sat back and looked at your face, tilting his head.

“I have to keep an eye on the rest of the building,” you told him. His ears drooped, head dipping slightly, and you would almost say he was pouting. Suppressing another smile, you stroked your fingers through the fur on the one of his cheeks again, giving a light skritch, and he pressed hard into the touch as he looked at you. Laughing, you dropped both hands. “Really, Foxy, I have to work,” you insisted, carefully sliding to the side so you could twist your chair around to face your desk. “But,” you added as he drooped again, “you can stay and keep me company tonight. If—if you want to, that is.” You faltered a bit on that last sentence, suddenly remembering this was an animatronic and feeling a bit silly.

But he perked right back up as soon as you said it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to regret or recant the offer.

Foxy made himself right at home in your space, staying knelt on the floor and dropping his head onto your lap. As you worked through the night, flipping cameras and closing the doors as needed, you would occasionally stroke the fur on top of his head or give light skritches behind his ears, which always made his tail swish wildly and press harder against you, like he couldn’t get close enough.

You found yourself smiling more than usual during your shifts, the company making the time pass easier, and before you knew it 6 a.m. was approaching.

Foxy was reluctant to part from you, that was obvious as he jerkily rose to his feet. Tentatively, he lifted his paw and lightly set it on top of your head, stroking in much the same manner you’d gently pet his fur over the course of the night. It made you feel warm all over, your cheeks flushing under his steady regard.

Clearing your throat, you reached up to your ear and pulled off the earring, holding it out in your palm and offering it back to him silently.

Foxy stared at the earring. Then at your face. His yellow eye flickered back and forth a few time before he dropped his paw from your head to take your hand and curl your fingers closed over your earring, giving a light squeeze before he let go and turned for the door right as your watch beeped, marking 6 a.m. and the end of another shift.

You stared at the doorway for a long minute, face red and wondering if it had all been a fever dream. Then you looked down at your hand, uncurling your fingers and studying the earring glinting in your palm. Pursing your lips, you put it back in your ear and stretched, groaning as your spine crackled and popped. Sitting in one position all night hadn’t done any favors for your back, but Foxy had seemed so content, you couldn’t bring yourself to make him move.

Maybe he’d come to visit you for your next shift again. Touching the silver at your ear with a faint smile, you found yourself really hoping you would.

Yes, it was strange, but Foxy seemed to just. Want affection, and it was cute. Sweet, even, and you didn’t mind his presence now that he was no longer chasing and scaring you. Shaking your head at yourself with a wry smile, you grabbed your bag and made your way out of the building. As you passed through the main area you couldn’t help glancing towards Pirate Cove – and saw a single yellow eye peeking at you through a crack in the curtains.

Breaking into a grin you just couldn’t help, you offered a wave before making your way out the main entrance, a slight bounce in your step.

Foxy didn’t need to worry. You’d be back before long.

[thestars-eternal]

Get in the Water: One-Shot

Pairing: Elain x Graysen (? sorta lol)

Rating: Mature

Summary: Elain kidnaps Graysen from his family home and forces him into the cauldron so he understands how she feels and what happened to her, and so they can be together forever.

Content Warning: violence, loss of a child, angst, PAIN

Note: This work was inspired by the lovely @bookishlyaries on tiktok! She kindly gave me permission to write this and anyone who reads this should watch the tiktok that inspired it! I guarantee it's a million times better haha

tiktok linked here! :)

Elain didn’t think there was such a thing as quiet in this new life. She sat silently on the bed in the room given to Nesta and her in the mortal manor, no effort left in her body to rinse the blood from her face and from the clothing given to her by the pale, white haired woman. Vivianne, she reminded herself, and she wasn’t a woman, she was a female. Just like Elain. Her hands were curled into fists in her lap, and the short nails bit into the skin of her palm as she clenched them. The coppery, metallic taste, still left in her mouth, stung with reminders of earlier in the day. What she had done. She wished she felt something, anything, about it. The only thing left in her heart was a dull ache, there was no room for remorse about who she had killed.

Murdered.

Stabbed in the back, fitting, Elain surmised.

In theory, she understood none of the people involved owed her any loyalty. They only owed their loyalty to Feyre, but didn’t that apply to her by association? The priestess, the man Feyre died for, her red-haired friend. Elain’s mate. They all owed Feyre some inkling of loyalty. At least the priestess was dead, and neither man would ever have what they wanted. She couldn’t bring herself to care. That man, male, she corrected, owed her nothing. No loyalty, no protection, nothing. She owed him nothing. Not forgiveness, or love, or her heart. She would give him nothing. She would never forgive him for what he took from her, what he tried to replace in her heart.

She was to be married, to a man who never even spared her a glance once all the fighting was done. He was supposed to love her, to care for her, to protect her. He promised, as good as made those vows to her. She had given him everything. Her maidenhood, her heart, her chance at any respectable match if he decided to cast her aside and anyone found out what they had done. She had done it for love. They had done it for love. Love that was supposed to overcome everything, love that would never change. It wasn’t supposed to change. She loved him with her whole heart and he promised her he felt the same. She knew he still did.

She twisted the iron band around her finger, enjoying the cool touch of it against her burning skin. It was still had the splattering of red crusted around it, and would have stained her fingers had they not still been covered in the blood of the man who ruined her life. They weren’t far from the fortress that would have once been her home, in a different life. In this life, if the fae thought about anything outside of themselves. She could hear everything. The slither of a snake in the grass, the clang of metal outside, amongst tents housing celebrating mortals and fae, drinking themselves into a stupor. Elain couldn’t recall a time she had ever been drunk. She had drank, of course. A glass of sparkling mortal wine, maybe two if she was feeling bold enough to endure the stares of mothers sniffing down their noses at her.

She had taken it all for granted, then. The happiness, the dancing, the demur looks shot at the most handsome lord attending that night. She was a princess in that world, and this one too, she supposed. The sister of the first High Lady of Prythian. A poor recreation of how her life should have been. A princess, dancing the night away with her knight on her arm.

She could still feel the perfectly respectful glide of his hand against her arm, her waist, their hands barely touching as they danced. He had filled her dance card all night, a not perfectly respectful thing to do, but she didn’t mind. She felt an instant connection to him, fated, to dance together all night. She remembered smiling up at him through lashes, his eyes like pools of glistening water, crinkled at the edges with the smile on his full lips. He was so handsome, her knight. Tall, with dark hair that reminded her of the warmed chocolate drink her father had once brought her from a ship when she was a child. They complimented each other, dancing together. Her own honey colored hair shining under the lights of the ballroom, almost brushing the hand he held at her waist.

They had glided around the room, her satin skirts twirling around her legs. She had been beautiful, and Elain knew he had agreed. She didn’t care that the face she didn’t recognize in the mirror was now somehow more beautiful than she had been. She had, she had been beautiful and Graysen knew it. He instantly started courting her, calling on her, leaving her gifts to showcase his affection. He was going to marry her, and her heart ached at the thought of what happened after. The night they spent, tangled together and underneath the blanket covering them. The love that had poured from her heart as he kissed her, and then kissed the ring on her hand, whispering his vows into her ear like it was something sensual. It had been. Those promises of love, and care, and providing. She knew he had meant them. Meant them in that moment they shared, and forever.

She could still feel the whispered caress of his breath against the shell of her ear as he promised, “I’ll love you forever Elain, no matter what. No matter what happens. You are mine, and I am yours. Mind, body and soul.”

It had felt like a prayer, and she the goddess he was worshipping. Everything had gone wrong after. The fae, and the creatures in the night stealing her from her bed. Somehow, they were different, those men with wings who came with her sister with warnings of war. They had vowed to protect Nesta and her, but she was coming to the conclusion that all fae were liars, unlike the stories said. The opposite of what the stories said, actually.

After days of false promises, they came in the night. Those creatures that ripped her from her bed in nothing but her nightgown, barefooted as she fell unconscious and woke in a small cell that stunk of urine and vomit, Nesta holding her protectively to her side, barring her teeth and snarling at anyone who looked too close at Elain. Already more fae then human, Elain realized, looking back. She could still feel like bite of their claws in her arm as they tugged her up and away from her sister, dragging her into the mockery of a throne room by her hair as she had cried out. There had been so many people in that room. Her sisters, those fae who had vowed to protect them, the beautiful blonde who she would later learn was the priestess who betrayed them. The red-headed male and the male Feyre had died to protect were there too, as well as what was left of the mortal queens, and the fae king. Some laugh, and some cried, as the king ordered she be put into that dark abyss they called the cauldron.

The first thing she remembered was the bite of cold, and the darkness. She felt like she lived in there for an eternity, twisting and turning in the water feeling something slithering against her skin but never turning fast enough to catch a glimpse of it. She could breathe normally there, somehow. Some kind of magic, most likely. It had felt like days before the cool caress against her body gripped her arms, holding her still, as it finally spoke to her.

“What do you desire, Elain Archeron?” it had hissed into her ear.

“I wish for nothing,” She whispered back, keeping her eyes ahead even as her body trembled under it’s grasp.

A mockery of laughter echo’d around her at her answer.

“I don’t believe you,” it had purred, the grip tightening, curling further around her.

“I swear I wish for nothing,” her voice was still terrified, her eyes still fixed on nothing in the murky darkness, “All I want is to go home,”

It seemed to study her for a moment, that essence of the cauldron surrounding her.

“You have something we wish for Elain Archeron, in exchange, we will let you escape with your life,” She startled, once again trying to twist in it’s arms to look at it, to demand what it wanted from her face to face.

“I don’t understand,” She whimpered, the tears starting to race down her cheeks, “I have nothing I can offer you.”

It laughed at her again, distorted and cruel, something she couldn’t see brushing away the tear that dripped to her jaw.

“You do,” it whispered, cold hands gripping her hips, fingers curling around her lower stomach.

They didn’t feel right. The fingers too long, too thin, too sharp to be human. Horror rushed through Elain’s body as the realization hit her, fighting in the grip it held on her, her tears pouring hotter and faster, her legs kicking. She was screaming, she realized, screaming for what it wanted to take from her. Something she didn’t even realize she had.

“No, no, no,” She begged, the word a prayer on her lips even though she had no gods to pray to, “please, no.”

“We will take this from you,” it murmured, a cruel mockery of a lovers whisper, “and in exchange, we will give you a gift. A pretty gift, of equal value."

She didn’t stop fighting, or screaming, or pleading, not as she felt the beginning of the change. She was changing. It hurt. Gods it hurt. She was screaming from the pain now, the pain of something being ripped from her, and the pain of feeling herself be remade. Her body like clay in the hands of the creature that held her, pulling and tugging and reshaping her in it’s image. She screamed for hours, the pain unbearable. She screaming until she was sure she had torn her vocal cords and she could make nothing but a sort of pathetic whining sound. She pleaded for it to just kill her, in that broken whisper she was sure it understood. She never stopped crying, not until the grip on her lessened and she rapidly approached some kind it light above her heard, and it left her with a whisper echoing in her mind as she breached the surface and was washed onto the cold stone, her nightgown sheer and even the leering laughter couldn’t clear the last thing the creature said to her, cruel humor in it’s tone,

“We give you our gift, Elain Archeron, and thank you for ours.”

The days and weeks after that passed in a blur. She had lived a lifetime in the cauldron, had  died in the cauldron, and everything else felt like borrowed time. She wasn’t allowed out of at least one person’s sight. Normally Nesta. Nesta was scared she would try to jump out of one of the airy windows with no glass, and Elain couldn’t entirely fault her for that. She had lost everything. Her fiancé was on the other side of the wall, and what the cauldron had taken from her, what she had lost. She couldn’t even think the word. The mere thought of her brought her to tears.

Then, Feyre had returned, and the humans, gods, the humans. She had felt the wall fall, and she knew who could help them. Who was true of heart. Who would do the right thing. She went to him with her sisters and she had begged him to help them, and deep in her heart to help her, to accept her as she was, glamoured or not, and he had cast her aside. Like she was nothing, like he didn’t love her the way she knew he did. He had whispered his love in her ear like a prayer days before she was taken from him and when she returned, she was nothing better than trash in his eyes. He had even demanded his ring back, the ring she still wore for comfort, twisting around her finger when she was nervous.

She knew he was just scared. Scared of the war, of the fae converging on his home, of her. She could make it better, she knew she could make it better. She could make him see her again. Show him her heart was still the same no matter was skin she wore, what torture she endured. She just needed him to understand. To see her again. To be like her again.

Her fingers curled into the blanket underneath her as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. That was the issue, wasn’t it? They were different now. He couldn’t understand, he couldn’t be like her. Even if he did, she would stay like this, she thought with disgust, a sneer curling it’s way across her lips, forever. Young and beautiful, and doomed to watch her beloved grow old without her, die without her.

She would be alone for eternity, because she could never make Graysen understand.

***

There was whispering outside her door, too low for ever Elain’s fae hearing to truly pickup. She gently tossed the soft blankets off of her recently cleaned body and changed clothes, glancing quickly at Nesta, sleeping soundly beside her. She must have washed the blood away, Elain surmised. She placed her feet on the ground, near silent, as she inched closer to the door to hear what was being discussed. She pressed a pointed ear to the crack, and waited.

“… Worried about her,” The voice of her sister murmured, and she heard the inhale of breath from her sister’s mate.

“I understand, Feyre darling, truly,” His voice murmured back, and she could imagine him grabbing her sister and pulling her close, by the sounds of their scuffling feet.

She heard the sharp intake of breath her sister took, “She killed someone Rhys, that’s not something someone just gets over,” Her sister breathed back to her mate.

Elain could picture Rhys nodding his head, holding her sister lovingly, all the things Graysen would have done for her, as he replied, “One thing at a time, Miryam and Drakon will take the cauldron tomorrow, and then we can worry about your sisters.”

She listened to their feet shuffle off, obviously trying to be quiet as to not wake anyone. The Cauldron, gone. That looming presence over her life. Always calling to her, it’s song on the wind like a siren. She took the moment to briefly wonder if she would still hear it’s call to her in that hidden city across the sea. That final link to her past life, what was stolen from her life, gone. She couldn’t bear the thought.

All links to Graysen gone, tied up with a neat little bow to keep her family happy. He hadn’t even looked at her, for her, in that final stand. She needed to know he still cared for her, outside the watchful eye of his father and the fae that eyed her carefully, like she was a porcelain doll set on the corner of the table, centimeters away from tumbling off the edge. She listened closer for a moment, trying to hear any more scuffled feet or hushed voices, but all she heard was silence. That’s when she made her choice.

***

Elain paid no mind the branches scraping at her face or arms, the twigs catching in her hair, or the unsteady ground underfoot. A determination had settled in her bones as she made her way to the Nolan Fortress. She hadn’t shared with Feyre she knew a way in, around the guards where no one would ever see her. A way shone to her by a boy in love. A man in love. Her fae footsteps were near silent as she finally made it into the fortress. It was practically a compound, with all the human soldiers and civilians housed within. She didn’t think she could ever forget the steps to get to Graysen’s chambers no matter how much her body had changed or when her human memories began to fade from her mind and her heart. This walk would stay burned in her subconscious forever.

She silently pushed the door open, stepping inside and inhaling the familiar scent of pine and brandy. It was so much stronger to her fae senses, intoxicating as she breathed in deeply. She could see him sleeping, sprawled across his bed, through the open doorway from the sitting room to the bedroom. He looked no older than a boy like this, the worries that plagued his waking thoughts and creased his brow smoothed over in the world he walked in his dreams. Elain hoped she was in it, something he still yearned for, if not in his waking moments, then perhaps in his subconscious.

She carefully moved towards him, keeping an eye on her steps as she stood next to his bed and took him in. He was so heartbreakingly handsome, she mused, sweeping the hair from his brow. He stirred slightly in his sleep, his brow furrowing, and she leaned forward to press her lips to it, to smooth the worry of whatever was plaguing him. She watched his eyes flutter open, and she took the moment to enjoy his sleep muddled gaze on her face as he took in who, exactly, had kissed his brow before he shot straight up in his bed, moving as far from her as he possibly could.

“Gray,” Elain murmured, careful to keep her voice quiet but loud enough for him to hear, worry coursing through her veins as she just looked at him, “it’s just me, it’s okay.”

He looked bewildered, taking her in, still in her nightgown, barefooted and hair down, loose leaves caught in the long tresses.

“You need to get out,” he whispered harshly, still leaning as far as he could from her.

“Gray, I love you,” She pleaded, feeling the tears bite at her eyes as she held a slim hand to her breast, “Gray, please.”

“You disgust me,” he snarled, looking more fae than she did in that moment. Elain felt something in her break as she recoiled as if he had hit her. She wished he had hit her. The undiluted hatred for her on his face made her chest burn. She felt the salty burn in her eyes as she just started at him.

“I haven’t changed,” She whispered, begging the man in front of her to see her, “I’m still the woman you fell in love with.”

He laughed, and it tasted bitter in the air, polluting the room they occupied, “You’re not a woman Elain, you’re not even human.”

She heard it then, that song on the wind, calling to her, letting her know it was there for her, it wanted to care for her, help her. She felt it in her bones, if she called to it, it would answer. She inched closer to Graysen, and as he moved to push her away, she gripped his arm and they disappeared from the stone fortress.

Once Elain’s vision cleared, she took in room they were standing in. All of it was wooden, and the creaking and swaying gave away what they were on, a boat. One of Miryam and Drakon’s, if she had to guess from what Feyre had whispered to her mate earlier. She noticed it then, that purr that filled the small, dark, and damp room they were standing. That purr the cauldron released in her presence. It remembered her, remembered the gift she had given it, Elain realized with nauseating clarity. She turned, quiet and trancelike, to the man she had brought here who has huddled in a corner as far away from her as he could get. She tilted her head, taking him in.

“This is what made me, Gray,” Her voice was no higher than a whisper, but it filled the whole room, “this is what I was forced into, turned against my will, and I disgust you?”

Something seemed to stutter from his lips, but Elain cocked her head to the side, letting the ache in her heart be replaced with resentment and anger, his snarled words a brand on the muscle.

“I would have given anything for you Graysen, I gave you everything,” there was a calm to her voice, a resignation even with her eyes lined with silver, “you vowed to protect me, and where were you when I was stolen from my bed?”

“Elain, I-“ He started but she snarled, stopping him.

“Don’t talk over me,” His eyes were glued to her face, distinctly avoid what was so obviously taking up most of the space in the room, “You made me vows, Graysen, and you never upheld them. You turned your back on me, you left me to ROT!” She was screaming now, she didn’t know when she started to raise her voice, but by the end he was shaking, that self-righteous disgust in his eyes replaced by fear.

“I love you, Gray,” She pleaded, reaching a hand for his face, but the sting of him still turning away from her pulled her heart further in two, “and I know how we can be together forever.”  

“Elain no,” He moved, trying his hardest to back further against the wall, “Elain, please, don’t do this-“

She cut him off with a shake of her head, nodding towards the cauldron bubbling in the center of the room, like it expected it’s new gift any moment.

“Get in the water,” Her voice was calm, but the tilt of her head and the silver rimming her eyes betrayed her desperation.

He shook his head at her, not even standing, and she repeated herself, “get in the water,” She watched as she started to shake his head again, and she held up her hand to stop him, “or I’ll release this on the humans and you can tell your family goodbye.”

She could smell his fear, his stumbling steps as he pushed himself to stand, but made no further movement, “get in the water,” she ordered, a bead of silver leaking from her eye. She didn’t want him to be afraid, she wanted him to understand. He’d never understand unless he’d been through what she had.

“Wait,” He tried to plead with her, but she shook her head, more tears leaking from her eyes as she took a deep breath and looked up before meeting his eyes again.

“Get in the water,” She ordered again, nodding her head towards the cauldron which just seemed to bubble more in anticipation.

He stepped closer to her, begging as he said, “Stop this, please,” but she stepped further away, shaking her head at him.

She felt the pain blooming in her head, her tears running fast down her checks, “I would drown for you! I did drown for you!” her voice broke on that memory, that pain she refused to speak about, “Your wife and your son drowned and you won’t do the same for us?” She didn’t even know if he could understand the words pushing through her sobs as she took him in, as her heart broke, “We DIED!” She cried, the rage bubbling in her gut exploding.

“No!” Graysen’s voice broke, stepping closer to grip her arms.

“Get in the water!” Her voice was still raised, her soul still pouring out through the tears flowing furiously from her eyes.

“A Son?” He wept, stepping close enough to grasp her upper arms, and placing his back to the cauldron.

She pressed against his shoulders, forcing him against the lip of the cauldron, “GET IN THE WATER!” she screamed, pain and heartbreak written across her face. The life she would have had with her child lost in the same depths she lost her humanity in. Then, she pushed, her fae strength overpowering him as he lost his balance and tumbled backwards into the inky, bubbling depths.

She didn’t know how long to leave him in it, how long she had been in the cauldron. She couldn’t take it much longer, the ache of being alone in the room with this thing, no one to comfort her or to care for her, and after a few minutes she pushed the lip to dump it over, and in a torrent of waves crashing against the walls of the small room, Graysen fell out with it. She breathed a sigh of relief, rushing to his side. She gripped him in her arms, smiling as she called him name, but he was cold, and his eyes didn’t flutter open as she shook his shoulder. She shook him again, harder, and then again, calling his name over and over with a more frantic need each time. He never responded, and he stayed cold.

That was when Elain let loose a gut wrenching, heart piercing scream.

Note: Sorry if it starts getting a bit loopy towards the end, I wrote this all in one sitting and finished at 1 in the morning haha. I hope whoever reads this thoroughly enjoyed my take! Also I couldn't for the life of my figure out if the cauldron fell over on it's own or if it was pushed over and I didn't want to go grab my ACOMAF book so sorry for inconstancies if there is any! Also can't remember if Ianthe is in the throne room when the sisters get turned so if that's wrong too I'm sorry!

Thank you so much for reading!!

[bimo8tf]

First meeting between D-16 and Pax in my au.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Continuation to This Post :]

------

It was always so strange to hear adults argue.

Grown up fights never seemed quite the same as the trivial spats her and Dipper sometimes had. They were similar in some aspects, yes; Adults and children weren't as different as people liked to think. Mabel had seen adults verbally lash at one another with vicious words just as low hanging and petty as the ones she'd sometimes see kids the same age as her use. Adults arguing was essentially just a louder, angrier version of children fights.

And yet, there was somehow... more to it. Grown up arguments always seemed to weigh so much heavier in the air, and for so much longer than she'd ever thought possible.

Sometimes, the weight would leave quick and early, practically gone by the next morning. However, occasionally, the weight would stay; and grow heavier, and heavier over the years. Until it came to a point when the weight was nothing but a choking, stifling presence that seemed to fill every room in the house and buzz deafeningly in your ears like an unpleasant static that made your head pound.

Then, one day, the pressure would burst with a loud yell, a slam, and a bang, and start building up all over again. It was a cycle Mabel was much familiar with.

Her Grunkle Ford's "Mystery Shack" didn't have that air.

The shack's air smelled like burnt out candles and cheap discount Halloween fake blood, with a hint of real blood underneath the stinging scent of old wood and aged parchment. It wasn't necessarily a very nice air, certainly not in any way the fresh, crisp, clean air of the streets of Piedmont, but it smelled more like home than she'd ever felt back in California. It just smelled like... Grunkle Ford.

She liked her Grunkle Ford. He was super weird; with an even weirder Uncle as his roommate. He checked her and Dipper's arms and legs every morning "just in case someone broke in at night to steal a sample of their bloods"; he despised overly sweet foods (baffling, truly); and he had exactly 27 locks installed on the front and back door respectively that he could unlock all in under a minute with his really fast extra fingers. He reminded her a little of Dipper on some occasions, no matter how much the latter liked to deny the similarities (although, bar the demonic obssession).

However, last night, the air suddenly grew heavy.

Grunkle Ford had a fight.

Mabel hadn't heard it, and she hadn't seen it, but she knew there had been one. She was an expert recognizing the signs; she could always tell.

When she had awoken that late morning, the stuffy summer air had taken an even more sour note than usual, and had become a touch heavier than it should have been. Either that meant Grunkle Ford had just recently finished up a ritual, or a particularly rowdy argument had taken place; and Mabel knew that Grunkle Ford only performed his rituals between 2 to 4 AM, when he thought the twins were well asleep.

It was strange, to feel that same heavy air push down upon her temples and pound that same painful rhythm of a mounting headache as it used to do so often back when Mabel was in California. It had already happened a few times at the shack, but this one felt... heavier, than usual. She didn't think she would have to encounter the discomforting weight again this summer, away from her parents. Yet here she was. Aching.

She knew Gunkle Ford and Uncle Bill fought and bantered. With Bill being a permanent resident trapped within her Grunkle's mind, she couldn't imagine how they wouldn't. She didn't think even she could keep her cool if she had Uncle Bill as her brain roommate 24/7.

In any case, their interactions in front of the twins were mostly a mixture of exasperated resignation, or irritated tolerance, mostly from Grunkle Ford. Their occasional volleying exchanges of vitriol doused insults and words were short lived, and brief most of the time, especially when in front of the kids. They were nothing like the long, loud ones that could go on for hours back at her house in Piedmont.

Even so, there were some times when Mabel would see Grunkle Ford late in the evening, red faced and tight fisted, stomping down to the basement and disappearing into his lab there with a deafening slam of the rickety wooden door. She recognized that slam. He didn't want the twins to hear the argument.

Even if they could hear anything, what little they could glean always seemed to be only side of the argument, with Grunkle Ford yelling curses at Uncle Bill inside his head. She always did wonder what happened inside Grunkle Ford's head. Although, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the answer. She couldn't imagine the state of the mind of someone who sometimes forgot to eat or sleep for almost a full week until someone reminded him.

The entire day passed with that same, tense air choking the atmosphere. Dipper had dragged Mabel and himself to some adventure in the forest, but it seemed to her that he was just trying to find excuses to stay out of the shack for the time being. Even he seemed to feel the unnerving heaviness of the air.

That night, underneath her sheets, Mabel pulled out the worn and well used wooden art mannequins Dipper and Grunkle Ford seemed to keen on using to summon Bill rather than their own shadows. With her trusty golden glitter pen (that she knew Uncle Bill loved despite what he claimed), she gently drew a closed eye upon the blank wooden face of the little model.

The eye opened, and she spoke:

[cream1111]

🍎 phone call. . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.6k, incest, somno, dubcon, mutual masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping. @rukii-afterdark , order up! ! part 1

ring ring . . .

you jolt up, eyes popping open before they settle onto your phone, with a groan you pull it closer. squinting  your  sleepy  eyes  at  the  bright  screen, you see the caller's name. caleb. you sigh, it's  1am,  much  later  than  he  usually  calls. you answer and let the phone fall next to your head.

“gege,  why  are  you  calling  so  late?”  you  whine, fighting back a yawn.

“aw,  did  i  wake  you? you sound like you're half asleep”  caleb  sounds teasing but sympathetic, and  slightly  out  of  breath...  maybe  he's  settling  into  bed  himself.

“yeah  a  bit,"  you groan a bit, your annoyed tone remaining playful "but  it's  ok…  what's  up?”  you  ask,  closing  your  eyes,  and  snuggling  back  into  your  bed.  letting  your  phone  rest  on  the  pillow  next  to  your head. 

“it's nothing serious,  i just missed  you,  l⎯”  his  breath  hitches. you  peek  your  eyes  open and  glance  at  your  phone, wondering if the call dropped. you don't have the volume very high, so you're not sure. you  pull  it  closer,  it looks like the call is still going. you press it against your ear.  it's not entirely silent, there's  a  shuffling  sound,  but it's  faint.

“are  you  ok?”  you  murmur,  confused. the shuffling seems to stop, but it's hard to tell under the barely audible droning static his mic is picking up. you let your eyes drift shut again.

“sorry,  yeah,  just,  long  day.”  he  replies  quickly,  his  voice  sounding  more  strained.  “what  about  you?  miss  me?” 

“of  course,  everyday,  you  know  that.” you'd roll your eyes if they weren't already closed. as much as you love talking to caleb, you really are tired. "listen, it's late⎯"

"i know, pipsqueak. i'm sorry for waking you. i just wanted to hear your voice." there's a tinge of urgency to his voice. you would've hurried to hang up if you didn't notice it. it makes you feel a bit guilty. he pauses, you wait to see if he'll say more. "how about this, how about you just go back to sleep but keep me on call. hearing your sleepy breathing always puts me at ease"

is that all?

"you're so cheesy," you tease. then you hum, pretending to think about it. but you're just as bad as he is, you can't ever say no to him. "yeah, fine, but i'm really going to bed, you better not keep talking to me. i won't even answer, i'll just snore"

he let's out a soft chuckle. "that's fine, snore all you like" he replies. "sleep well" he whispers, honey sweet. he's always been so sweet with you.

"goodnight" you mumble, already feeling the drowsiness washing over you. you try to quell the small excitement that caleb even wants to do something so lovey dovey with you. it warms your heart a bit, not that you'd admit it out loud. even though it's not that much of a leap, you've fallen asleep together so many times, something about it feels a little more intimate. that he misses you enough to try and pretend you're both sharing a bed. it makes it easier to pretend he is here, he's home and he's with you, keeping you warm.

your breathing evens out, you almost forget you're on the phone.

. . .

through your sleep you hear something, softly, distant. you focus, waking just a bit. you're alone. but you remember you fell asleep on the phone with caleb. is he talking? something woke you, you're pretty sure. you rouse yourself, focusing, listening.

nothing. it might've been in your dream. though you figure you'll scold him anyways, tell him to keep quiet or you'll mute him. but then you hear it again, clearer now.

"h-hah..."

no way. there's no way, is he⎯

"ah⎯ fuck"

you freeze. a blush heating up your face. you shift closer, turning up the volume as quietly as you can. just to be sure. you hear the sound of something moving, fast, wet. he's...

he's jacking off. it sounds so obvious now. the soft panting, the rhythmic sound of his hand on his well lubricated cock. a heat surrounds you, you feel like you're suffocating at the implication. there's also a gnawing unease, that you're misinterpreting this and there's some reasonable explanation that you are blind to. maybe you're just hearing what you want to hear.

you've always wanted him, more than a sister should. you rationalize it sometimes, you're not siblings, not really. it's not hard to want him, it seems just about every girl at his school would agree with you. but the shame helps you weigh those thoughts down, tuck them away in a deep corner of your mind. your relationship is unconventional, but you're just close, you just love each other, would do anything for each other, there's nothing wrong with it. you've held onto this justification for a long time.

but maybe it's a lot simpler than that.

you're not entirely sure about what's happening, if he's doing what you think he's doing. but… it couldn't hurt to pretend.

your rationalizations fade, you push the shame to the side, and you dip your fingers, along your chest, slowly, savoring the feeling. focusing on the panting, the faint sound of his hand.

your fingers dance along your skin, you're teasing yourself, until you slip them past your pajamas, over your panties. you palm yourself, rubbing, imagining the sweet friction was against him, anywhere — his hand, his thigh, his face. you realize, rather quickly, a wet spot has already formed, and you flush, feeling embarrassed with yourself.

did just the thought of him, the sound of him, do this to you?

when did you become so dirty.

you can't help the soft noise that leaves your lips at your discovery, and you realize suddenly that caleb quiets on the other the line.

you pause as well. holding your breath. for a second you can't hear anything. does he think you're awake? does he think you're doing the same thing? does he want to end the call?

"f-fuck..." he moans out, the sounds from before continue, faster, more enthusiastic. you're not sure what he thinks, but whatever it is, he's keeping it to himself.

the idea of him getting more excited, it lights a fire in you. you rub yourself faster. you try to be quiet, you really do, but you can't help the huffs and sighs that leave your lips. it's not that obvious, you think. but caleb seems to get more eager with every tiny sound you make. it's good incentive.

you can't help but think about the situation, both of you touching yourselves while on the phone, not acknowledging it, leaving room for plausible deniability. the idea that you're reading this wrong sends a shiver down your spine.

“ngh.. please” he whispers, barely there. and you don’t know what he’s begging for but you want to give it to him. you rub harder, then sigh in frustration. it's not enough. you flip, shifting onto your stomach, trying your hardest to stay quiet. you place a pillow between your legs, and waste no time before grinding against it.

you huff, loving the feeling. even if you're misunderstanding this, you like pretending. that it was his warm body heating you up, making you feel good. with your phone placed next to your ear, you imagine he was there, groaning behind you, just out of sight, touching himself for you.

you let out a whimper at the thought, a little louder. his response is immediate, a low groan. to your surprise, he speaks.

"you⎯ mm... you must be having a nice dream, pipsqueak."

you bite your lip and keep still at his words. does he want you to respond? does he really think you're still sleeping? you don't want to acknowledge it. you continue, quieter, a little shy. you don't want the illusion shattered. grinding your hips into the mattress, desperate.

you imagine his body, and it's not hard. you've memorized the feeling of his frame against yours. he's pressing into you, in time with his groans, you move at the same pace, whimpering when you buck back against the empty air. but you pull yourself back into your fantasy, he's there, his soft sounds are for you, only you.

"fuck," he hisses out, seeming to bite back the sound.

it's becoming too much, your mind is getting so cloudy, reason and shame seem like distant concepts. in this moment, it’s just the pleasure between you two, his touch, his kiss, his body, him.

"i'm— i'm gonna-" his whispers spur you over the edge.

you can barely hear his grunts as he releases with you. your mind goes blank. you don't bother with being quiet, couldn't if you wanted to. you rut helplessly, greedily, panting and whimpering all the while. as satisfaction washing over you. he hums, before letting out a satisfied sigh himself, and you smile sleepily into your pillow.

but as your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, and your face cools down, you're left with a pit in your stomach. the room feels colder, the call is quiet, the guilt comes rushing back all at once with nothing to keep it at bay. did you two really just do that? were you really that reckless?

what are you going to do in the morning?

"shit, i made a mess." he mumbles, but he doesn't sound too upset about it. in fact he sounds a little smug. you don't reply, but it calms you a bit, brings you comfort. a vague acknowledgement at this new game you two are playing. with all it's plausible deniability. you decide you'll follow his lead.

so when he yawns, you let the sound soothe you, you let sleep surround you. you leave your shame to him. he's always been the source, he can shoulder it for you.

it's only fair anyways, you were just sleeping, and he's the one who called you.

he made the mess, he can decide if he wants to clean it up.

[villainbait]

Exclusive Favors

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: PG-13 Tags: who did this to you, hurt, comfort, hurt/comfort, injury, implied violence, brief violence mentions, angst, canon sylus behavior, blood mentions, kissing if you squint Summary: You barely survived a night on your own in the N109 Zone without the watchful gaze of certain Onychinus leader, but at what cost? Word Count: 1.5k

The dull sound of your door closing was like the snap of a final curtain call falling into place and you slumped against it, relieved to be safely in your own apartment. You had survived a night in the N109 Zone on your own, but it had been a near miss. One you wouldn’t be repeating, especially since the intel you wanted had been a bust, anyway. 

You touched your side, your breathing uneven, and you wince. You definitely have a cracked rib. You try to take a deep breath and pain radiates from your chest into your stomach, making you a little nauseous. Okay, maybe two.

You were trying to psych yourself up to move and trudge into your apartment to give yourself much needed medical attention when the reverberating shock of someone's forceful knock bounced you against your door-frame. You consider not answering the insistent caller on the other side, but a muffled, familiar baritone floats through the door.

"Open the door, sweetie."

A sigh left your lips at the demand and you tried to stifle the pathetic, painful whimper that your exasperation cost you. Of all the people on the other side of that door, Sylus was the most unexpected. Or maybe not, considering he boasted that he knew everything that went on in his territory. Maybe that’s why he was here and if it was, he wouldn’t leave until his curiosity was satisfied.

The door cracks open and you stare up at him through the hole you made, reluctant to allow him entrance and to partially block his view of the damage those thugs had caused when they mugged you in the alleyway earlier tonight. However, Sylus’s easy smile is nowhere to be found and the frown lines on his forehead are the deepest you've ever seen them. His large hand wraps around the door-frame so you can’t close it again and he pushes gently against it, but you don’t budge. 

"Who did this to you?" His tone is dangerously low.

You ignore his question, instead poking your head out to look down the deserted hallway of your apartment building. "Why are you here? It's dangerous." It was risky for Sylus to wander around Linkon City normally, even if he claimed many people didn't know what he actually looked like. However, the Hunter’s Association did and your building was crawling with employees at all hours of the day and night.

"You didn't answer your phone, so I got worried."

Oh right, you had forgotten they had taken that too. You sighed again, the pain of having to replace everything beginning to give you a headache. That key charm Zayne had given you for your birthday was perhaps the worst thing to have lost, maybe more than the phone itself.

"Let me in, kitten." Sylus’s voice is gently cajoling and you concede because you're too tired to argue with him tonight. So you open the door and  try to act normal, but your voice is far too lighthearted for how heavy your legs feel as you trudge into the apartment. 

“You know, if you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles and people really will think you’re an old man.” 

He follows you in with a small chuckle, his eyes bouncing around the room as if the perpetrators could be hiding in the shadows. When you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down to tend to your injuries, Sylus was suddenly there, kneeling in front of you. His hands push yours out of the way and he silently takes over the job of nurse, and you think about fighting him as you watch him roll up his shirtsleeves but realize you were just too exhausted to care. 

“What happened?” He asks eventually and you realize you will have to tell him something. Lying won’t work, he’ll find out if he didn’t already know. 

“What often happens when you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time in the N109 Zone, Sylus.” You offer with a single shrug, doing your best to sit still while he cleans the wound on your arm. “You know that better than me.” 

“Were you wearing–” he was referring to the brooch that signified your status as protected. 

“They took that too.” His hands stilled on the bandage he was applying on your forearm. “Did they, now?” he murmured silkily and you saw a muscle in his jaw tick, though his expression was partially obscured by his unruly hair. “After all that trouble I went through, too.” You tried to make a joke to ease the tension which earned you a soft amused twitch of Sylus’s lips. He was too angry to truly smile and you could feel it radiating off of him in waves. Despite that, his hands were painstakingly gentle as he touched what was clearly a blossoming bruise around your wrist. Sylus’s tender touch lingers on your injuries and he checks each one with a thoroughness that feels as if he’s memorizing exactly where you were hurt. 

He orders some of your favorite food, helps you get cleaned up, and tucks you into your bed. He points to the notepad you kept by your bedside table that you sometimes scribble notes on when you took calls. “Make me a list of what they looked like, and then go to bed. I’ll take care of the rest.” Before you could protest, he left the room abruptly. You picked up the notepad and stared at the print of the cute little animals dancing around the top. You’d bought it on a whim after seeing how cute it looked in a stationary shop window near one of your mission sites. It seemed too obscene to write what would virtually be a hit list on such charming paper. 

Instead, you scribble all of the reasons you’re grateful for today. Right at the top was that you had survived all on your own in the N109 Zone and you were able to see the infamous Onychinus leader kneeling at your feet. The list grew as you included the tasty food you ate earlier, and the glimpse of a suspiciously familiar crow you saw on your way into work this morning. The page was halfway filled when the pain medication Sylus had convinced you to take started to kick in and you felt your eyelids drooping. 

Drowsily, you snuggle down underneath your covers and clutch the plushie Sylus and you had won at the arcade last weekend. When you hear the distant muffled click of your door opening, you try to rouse yourself but you felt so warm and your body felt so heavy that you couldn’t manage it. That doesn’t stop you from trying until a large hand gently smoothed back your mussed hair, and the sensation of soft knuckles trace the curve of your cheek. “It’s just me,” the familiar voice murmured and you tried to speak but he shushed you. “Sleep, kitten.” 

You swear you felt the ghost of his lips on yours before he was gone, but maybe it was just part of the hazy dream you had of crows, violence, and enchanting sanguine eyes. 

Sylus returns to the N109 Zone and finds himself staring at the “list,” a bemused smile on his face. He shakes his head and tucks the cutesy page into his pocket. You were far too adorable and it made what he was about to do that much more satisfying, sauntering into the abandoned warehouse where your phone had last pinged; deceptively calm. The screams and stench of death shuddered throughout the N109 Zone tonight, serving as a violent and bloody reminder to all that no one should dare to touch what was his lest they face the consequences. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, your fingers fumble for your buzzing phone and land on the familiar outline of the brooch, both in their normal places as if yesterday was just a bad dream. Through your sleepy daze, you realize your other hand is occupied–as is your bed. Turning, you’re surprised to find Sylus is fast asleep next to you, his hand intertwined tightly with yours. There’s deep circles under his eyes, but his normally furrowed brow is smoothed out in sleep. With a sleepy smile, you curl back up to let him rest a little while longer, tucking your joined hands against your chest, cuddling his arm.

You both doze off together, and you’ve never felt so safe.

[ruinix]

Quinn being all clingy after you came home from a business trip. Can I ask for...no smut...or not... idk

Hello, lovely. I don't mind writing no smut. 🫡🥹 I fear I have written this with slight angst… I don’t know why. I’m sorry if you don’t want that. [Anyway, there is a bonus content for this with your POV (it's the voices, i swear), but you don’t need to read it.] Hopefully, you’ll like this. 🧎🏻‍♀️

Blues and Ease

TW/CW: None, Fluff (cuddles and kisses), showering together (conserve water jk), a dash of separation anxiety Quinn so a bit of Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Count: 1483 words (+ 483) | Masterlist

You’re still not home. Quinn paces again and again. You still haven’t messaged him when he told you to text him if you landed. He wants to pick you up at the airport, but you refuse him. Now, he’s here stressing because you still haven’t messaged him.

He's not used to you going on a business trip. You go on vacation, sure, but he’s usually there with you. He’s not used to not seeing you next to him when he wakes up. Not used to the silence of his—and your—house anymore.

He can cope when it’s him on a road trip, because he is not here. He doesn’t see your clothes, your towels, your perfumes, your trinkets, your plants, and everything else in a hotel room. There are no hints and memories of you there. He calls you every time. He sees you doing your stuff—work or hobbies—with yourhome in the background. It eases his soul.

But not this. Not this house with your things and no you. No soft hums. No walking and pacing, just because. No you on lazing on the sofa with whatever show on one TV, reserving the other for him. No keyboard sounds of you typing. No you eating dinner with him. He hates it.

It's the worst. The worst week of his life.

Everything is not right when you’re not here.

His home is not a home without you. He needs you here.

His heart squeezes. Tears glaze his vision. You’re just gone for a week and he’s losing it. He’s usually gone for a couple for his road trips. You must be enduring this. You are so much stronger than him. You are patiently waiting for him while also cheering him on every time. Unlike him who is being all pathetic because you’re just gone for a week—

Quinn hears the front door open and close. He immediately turns and sees you with your suitcase and a huge bag of chocolates…and flowers? Whatever, because relief is flooding his body.

You’re here.

“Quinn, I’m home!” You dash towards him.

You’re home.

Quinncatches you in a tight embrace. He says, “Welcome back.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a big inhale. Roses, today.

He misses you so much. He misses this. Holding you. Feeling how perfect you feel in his arms. Basking in your warmth.

It doesn’t matter if you didn’t tell him your plane landed. You’re here. That’s enough.

“Quinn,” you giggle, pressing a kiss on his neck, your hands pushing him off.

It makes him swallow a whine. He doesn’t want to part from you. Even an inch distance is making him want to cry.

“I got you chocolates and flowers.” You push them to his arms. “I need to shower,” you say, kissing him on the lips, walking towards the bedroom.

He blinks at the gifts. He thought it was yours. It’s…for him? His heart speeds up. His spirit that was down in the depths of loneliness lifts. You brought him flowers. Him. Flowers. And chocolates.

He feels nothing else but giddy as he places them on the counter and hastily puts them in a vase. He needs to trim up the stems. Put water in it. Research what these flowers are. He has no clue. Later. He’ll do that later.

Now, Quinn wants to be with you. The smallest distance from you right now is making his head spin, his heart ache. He can’t not be with you right now. He’ll die.

He stands at the bathroom door that’s ajar. He can hear the shower running, can feel its steam, can see the trail of clothes on the floor which he knows you’ll put away after your shower. Just one of your silly quirks.

“Can I join you?” He asks, knocking on the doorframe.

“Yes please,” you reply.

He’s so quick to undress. He joins you in the unexplainably hot shower. It doesn’t matter to him even if it’s scalding to the point of burns—it’s not. It doesn’t matter. No hot water can come between him and you. He hugs you from behind, humming when you say you want to shampoo your hair. It can wait.

“Just wanna hug you.” He kisses your temple. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Quinny.” You turn your head and smile so lovingly. “But I really need to shower. I came from the airport. It was a long flight.”

He's so mesmerized with the water cascading your skin. With the lightest pout on your lips when he doesn’t let go. With your lips still stained by your lipstick. With how your wet lashes group together. With the curves of your eyebrows. Every feature he has memorized, dreamed about, and kissed. You’re marvelous.

Why did the week rob him of you? Why did it feel like you were gone for much longer? Why did it hurt so much this time?

“Quinn?” you call in worry, spinning to face him, hands on his cheeks. “Why are you crying, my Love?”

“Not crying,” he shakily says. “It’s just water.”

“Don’t lie to me, Quintin.”

He shudders, leaning against the wall, taking you with him. “You weren’t home.” It sounds so pathetic, his voice breaking. “I know it’s work. I know. I understand but you weren’t home. It was so quiet. I’m not used to quiet anymore.”

You turn off the water, hugging him. One hand around waist. One hand on his nape to hold him, forehead to forehead. You let him sob. Every tear feels like the release of every chain weighing him down. Every broken breath comes easier and better. All because of your touch, your warmth, your presence. God, he misses you.

“I don’t want you to think you can’t go on another trip, because of this, because of me. You can. I just…It hurts,” he admits.

Your lips capture his. A small, chaste kiss that eases his soul. You rub your hand over his chest where his heart slowly mends itself just by being with you.

You gently say, “I’ll always come home to you, Quinn.”

“Please do.” He tightens his hug. “Please.”

“I promise.” You grab his cheeks. “Do the same for me?”

“You’re my home.” Quinn presses a kiss on your palms, murmuring his promises and affirmations, capitalizing on your touch. “You complete me.”

Quinn knows you would retort that you two are complete pieces that perfectly fit together. But you didn’t today. You only smile as you repeat his words. Oh, his love for you just grows day by day. Moment by moment.

After a few more minutes of just hugging each other, you shower. Quinn just stands there, while you do your routine. He helps when you need to scrub your back and your legs—he doesn’t mind going on his knees to do so—or wash away the suds from your hair.

Even if he gets soapy, he remains there with a hand constantly touching you. Your hip. Arm. Back. Shoulder. Your finger. The tips of your hair. He can’t not touch you. You let him, perfectly understanding how to soothe his need.

He's happy just helping you shower. Then you turn on him and wash him. He already took a shower this morning, but shamelessly, he can’t turn you away. He’ll spoil right back…later. Now, he likes your attention. He relishes your touch, your stories about your trip, your new skincare finds, and most of all, your smiles. You’re so beautiful. So gentle when you condition his hair.

“There we go. Now both of us are clean.” You brush your nose against his. “Boop.”

He misses that. Your silliness. He’s not making it up when he says you complete him. It’s real. So real because you make him happy. You make him feel loved. That’s enough for Quinn. You’re enough.

Oh, he loves you so much.

When both of you are dry including your hair, you cuddle together on your bed, wearing matching sweatpants and sweatshirts. Both of your hands casually slide underneath your shirts, drawing circles on each other’s backs.

Quinn shares what he did during the week. He tells you about the white socks he mistakenly included with the colors which made it an ugly gray. About the media he’s done for the Canucks’ social media. About the potatoes he stupidly burned this morning because he was out of it. About the dinner with his teammates.

He tells you different things.

Simple things.

But you stare at him with sparks in your eyes. Your gentle voice resonates in his chest as you ask and share too.

It spurs him on to ramble.

On and on.

Until both of you are yawning and blinking slowly. Quinn swears he can hear your heartbeats seemingly in sync. Strong for one another. A little lullaby that pushes you two to slumber.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

You stare at Quinn. His hands are all wrapped up around your middle. His legs are tangled with yours. His soft exhales tickle your face, but you let it. You want to tug on his long eyelashes. No, you are going to tug on them when he suddenly murmurs your name. It stops you from pestering him, but it doesn’t stop you from slipping your arms beneath his so you can hug him. He does the same, pulling you further into him. All while still sleeping.

He’s so pretty when he sleeps. So adorable. Pressing a ghost of a kiss on his nose, you continue to silently gaze at him. 

You two slept from yesterday’s afternoon through today’s morning. Quinn is still sleeping, but you’ve been awake for an hour. It’s a long sleep but not surprising. It happened many times before. Just the two of you sleeping through everything. Too comfortable in your private bubble.

Your heart tugs. You’re so comfortable with him. So deeply in love with Quinn.

His cuddles are something you always miss whenever he’s on the road. Even more when you were on your trip. When he cried yesterday… your heart squeezes. It hurts to see him cry—hurts to think about it.

Although, Quinn being so clingy makes you warm all over. It’s his need for you. Not his pain. Never his pain. It’s the way he kept touching you even when you were showering. The way he melts into your touch. You like that. You love that, because you also cling to him. So. Much.

You bought him chocolates and flowers because he deserves them too. Deserves to know your love. He’s always been working so hard.

The shower with him is great, but you can top that. Stealthily, you slip from his hold, replacing yourself with a nearby pillow and a stuffed toy—a bear with a small Canucks jersey and a number 43��for good measure.

Quinn likes baths. He always joins you, so to spoil your beloved, you start a bath. Vanilla sounds great today—

“You were gone,” his panicked voice made you jump more than his sudden touch.

It hadn’t been five minutes. “Just preparing us a bath, Quinn.”

“I wanna do that with you. I’ll do it with you.”

Quinn doesn’t really need to panic or be desperate. You’ll do whatever he wants. You guess your Quinn is still needy and hurt. Good thing, you’re here to make him feel better. You hold his hands tightly, nodding before kissing him. The small shudders that wreck his body thrum your soul.

Well then, you need to call for a day-off tomorrow.

For your Love who needs reassurance that you will be with him forever.

For your Quinn who desperately yearns for your touch.

Well, you also feel the same way, so it’s no big deal. Not at all. Never at all.

[nmakii]

inspired by @kaislvves’s bastard post… ps: i acc love dior sauvage its my scent for when i go to school but its so strong HAHAHAHA

kaiser’s cologne has an overwhelming scent. not just in a way that two sprays could fill the entire bastard münchen cafeteria in his scent, but also in a way that lasts. his scent lasts on for a week before it finally wears off.

what’s his scent? dior sauvage, the scent of liars. kaiser likes the overwhelming presence of its’ scent; it’s as powerful as he is.

he loves to spray his cologne all over your closet and clothes, making sure that whatever you wear, and whatever perfume you try to wear to overpower it, you end up on the other side smelling of him.

it’s adorable how you spray on your 70 euro hermès perfume, checking out your outfit in the full-body mirror in your bedroom, before you’re coughing and choking on his overwhelming scent.

“mikka!” you shout out. “stop spraying your perfume on my clothes, it’s so strong!” you frown. his attention is finally raised away from his phone when he finally looks up to you, small circle-framed glasses starting to slide down his nose before he pushes it up with his middle finger.

“why should i? i like doing it.” he simply states. that’s just how he was; how he was raised— if he wants something, he must do everything to take it. likewise, if he wants to keep something, he has to make sure no one else steals it.

and with a job that forces him to almost always be out of country, he can’t help but worry about his rose. what if another piece of trash tries to flirt with you while you’re vulnerable? the overwhelming, almost sickly scent of citrus and pepper would be enough to tell them to back off; you’re already taken by another man.

“yeah; well, i don’t like it. it always lingers for too long.” you explain. and to kaiser, your explanation is moronic. “…that’s the point of a cologne; to linger.” he bluntly states. you roll your eyes at his smart-assed response, and scoff, “ugh— duh, but it stays on for days!”

kaiser only shrugs. “good. everyone knows you’re taken.” he’s quite adamant to telling the media what fragrance he uses. it’s odd, but he always encourages his interviewers to smell him in at least one point of the interview, giving him the chance to comment on his fragrance. it’s become a bit of a meme in his fandom that he wants to get sponsored by dior. but, no.

this isn’t about money.

it’s about everyone knowing his scent.

like a wolf marking his territory, kaiser leaves his scent on what he owns. and what he owns is you; your heart. it’s not enough that you love him with your heart as much as he cherishes you— he needs others to feel him spiritually when you’re nearby.

“this is stupid, mikka. none of my perfumes linger anymore cause of your dumb sauvage.” you scoff. and, kaiser stands up from his place in the bedroom, moving behind you. his overwhelming height makes for an awkward position when he rests his arms on your shoulders, and his jaw on your forehead. he stares at the reflection in the mirror, admiring of his and your beauty. the glint in his eyes is dangerous— as dangerous as the cheshire grin he proudly displays before he completely destroys an opponent in a match.

“would you want different kind of physical marking then?” he asks. his fingers delicately ghosting to touch the ticklish parts of your neck.

“…no.” you roll your eyes. kaiser sneers.

“then, you’ll have to stick with the cologne.”

[5weetmeat]

can i get a scrap of rosemary maybe

oh no they got turned into the hit 2010 Pierce The Veil album Selfish Machines

[dynamocha]

beta Skyla 🛩️

[cowabungacatharsis]

alpha kids lineup for a request that i may or may not have lost

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 80

just thought itd be fun to do a silly lil redraw of this doodle from year 1, but digitally and less wonky and small

i have a suspicion the dash is gonna make it look absolute dogshit so make sure to click thru for better quality

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Is that a reference to the Half Life 2 beta????

[goonlovesblog]

[skellyjingles]

miscellaneous drawings i've accumulated over a few magma sessions

featured AUs under the cut

Carnival AU (in pics 2, 3 & 8) and The Sibling Episode (pic 2) belongs to @sm-baby

Monster Labs AU (2 & 3) belongs to @etanow

Western AU (pic 11) belongs to @bananafire11

Angel & Demon Office AU is from an Anonymous fic series on AO3

[sorrelpaws]

a fully completed troll lineup where all the trolls are fully rendered and drawn all together