#crow drabbles

[crow-aeris]

star gazing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...What?"

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

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

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

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

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

[5sospenguinqueen]

(Forbidden Forest)

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

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

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

[jazzythursday]

Wylan leaves in the morning.

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, really.

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

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

He knows it can’t last.

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

He’d woken up in Jesper Fahey’s arms.

He’d slept with Jesper Fahey.

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

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

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

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

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

They’d met in a tavern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's how he’d met Jesper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it was nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fbfh]

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

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

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

[devildomwriter]

Suspicious Behaviors | Short Story

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

He was feeding the new baby crows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rottindecay]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[crowandmousewritingco]

Late Nights

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Words: 673

Rating: G (mentions of anxiety spirals)

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

Author: Mod Mouse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

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

[petvampire]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tumbling-through-deepspace]

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mephisto."

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

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

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

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

The leader of Onychinus intended to unravel this mystery.

[ms-fade]

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

Tears.

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

YES! YES I WILL DARLING.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[screamingcrows]

Note: enjoy another 50 word shitpost that grew limbs and ran from me. Fem reader, domestic in a way I'd define as crack when involving this man. Suggestive, minors dni

Dottore strode up behind you, having forgone his boots meant you were wholly unprepared when his chin came to hover over your shoulder. Firm hands held you by your hips, minimising the damage your jolt could've caused.

"Jumpy as ever, I see. How your distrust wounds me, darling," his voice was low, whispered against the shell of your ear as he pulled you a little closer.

It was impossible to resist, his hands already squeezing the soft flesh. Reverence through inquiry, thumbs already mapping the curve of your spine, dedicated to commit every minute detail to memory.

"That's not fair, I was concentrating!"

A content smile grazed his features when your hand released the strainer, wet fingers tracing his jaw. The residue was icky, but he always found himself willing to endure, chapped lips wrapping around your finger and tasting the sweetness blooming on his tongue. He chuckled when you pulled your hand back, any attempt to flick his forehead easily dodged.

"You've been slaving away all morning, join me for a little relaxation hm? It was, after all, you who instisted I take a day away from my duties here and there," His eyes fell on the counter, inspecting the mess you'd made, sticky liquid having dripped everywhere as you poured from the large pot, various flowers submerged in the water.

It had been a strange request, having a kitchen fashioned in his private quarters, but who were the rest to deny him anything? And who would he have been to deny you, having asked so sweetly for tools to spoil him?

"Zandik, you're not exactly making this easier," your voice was much too gentle for his ears, intent on smothering your protest, he brought a hand to tug at your hair before connecting his lips to yours.

Grinding against you was all too easy, willingly drowning in your honeyed presence. All too soon did you push back a little too sharply against his groin, a groan escaping him, sharp teeth nipping at your lip in warning. Only when his breath was shaky did he pull away, looking fondly at your grin, the pad of his thumb tracing over your bottom lip, barely resisting the urge to push it in.

"How about you leave this little project for later, join me for something else instead?"

It was impossible to resist leaning down to nibble at the curvature of your neck, blood flowing steadily under the skin. How easy it would be to stop, the mere thought igniting a low fury in his gut, hand all the more gentle as it cupped your throat, keeping you steady as he mouthed at you.

"Can't, I'm in the middle of straining, we'll have lemonade for weeks once I'm done. Ah- and I have to get the pie in the oven or it'll be done too late..."

"Too late?" he took a deep breath before reluctantly parting from your skin, stepping back and cocking his head.

Had he forgotten something? Surely he'd have remembered if today was a special occasion. At the very least written it down somewhere he would notice?

"The ladies are coming over in half an hour, thought it was fitting now that everyone is back for a time,"

"The ladies? Surely you're not-"

"Columbina, Arlecchino, Signora, hell even Sandrone agreed," the way you beamed almost tempered his annoyance.

He caught himself grumbling under his breath, reluctantly stepping back. So the sweets weren't even intended for him, the realisation more bitter than it should've been. He couldn't always be the object of your affection. No way he was dealing with them.

"I'll be in the lab, tell The Marionette to," he gestured vaguely around the room, "keep her hands off my things. I'll know if anything is missing or tampered with."

Remaining disgruntled was impossible when you giggled so earnestly, the sound infectious enough that his heart swelled.

"I promise I'll make it up to you tonight, a little dessert perhaps?"

He wanted to scoff at the horrendous attempt at flirting, but it was difficult to properly bite back, not with how your words still managed to make his ears burn hot as he left. You'd be the death of him.

[reonnex]

Kaz is the first person Wylan tells about how he really ended up in the Barrel.

There's nothing special about that day. It was just an ordinary day as any in Ketterdam. The only thing different Wylan could think of was Jesper was visting Colm back in Novyi Zem.

Maybe thats why Wylan felt the urge to seek out the Bastard of the Barrel. The only one who could connect to Wylan in a way the others couldn't.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a councilman vist?" Kaz had said as Wylan entered his office. The man was hunched over his desk, flicking through papers.

"I need to tell you something- personal."

"Do I look like a therapist?" Kaz had grumbled, but sighed. "But fine, what do you want to tell me?"

"I didn't run away." The words felt heavy on his tounge as Wylan spoke. He felt frozen in place, not being to move from the spot in the doorway.

Kaz made no motion to look up to Wylan as he continued to write.

"How I ended up in the Barrel. I-I didn't run away from my father like everyone thought I did."

Kaz had seemed to know where Wylan was going before he could even speak. He didn't look up to Wylan still, but his writing flattered, and Wylan could see a glint in the man's eyes as if he was silently telling Wylan to continue.

And Wylan did.

He admitted everything through shaky breaths. How he was so thrilled to be leaving for this music school, but also heartbroken that he was being sent away.

He told him how he watched the Barrel lights dance through the night on the boat.

How hands wrapped around his neck, and he just accepted his fate in that momment.

How Miggson and Prior got distracted, and Wylan jumped overboard into the water below.

How he swam for who knows how long back to the Barrel. The will to live being the only thing on his mind. He still wanted to live. He wanted to live.

And Wylan told him that he clung onto hope his father didn't know Wylan was almost killed. That his father still cared for him. That was until he opened the papers.

By the time Wylan was done, he was a sobbing mess. Tears caked his cheeks as his knuckles were white from gripping his pant legs.

"He tried to kill you because he replaced you already." Kaz had finally said after a few minutes of silence.

"Yes. He said he wanted the world to forget he had a son."

Kaz had nodded at that before standing up and walked closer to Wylan. He pulled out a hankerchief and handed it to Wylan, who glady took it to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.

"Do you believe in the eye for a eye? Or do you still cling onto your morals?"

Kaz had a deeper meaning to that. Wylan knew that immediately. "I believe it now...But it shouldn't end death." No matter what they did."

"I see." Kaz said. "Thank you for telling me this. If there is anything else you wish to talk about. My office is always open."

And Wylan had left.

The next day, news broke out that Van Ecks throat had been slashed in his cell. It wasn't deep enough to kill him and oddly seemed to be shallow enough to avoid all the major arteries. They had called a healer, but she had been held up helping a lost man with a limp who couldn't read directions know where he was and by the time she arrived, all she could do was stop the bleeding. She couldn't heal the scar it would leave.

He would still be able to talk, but it would be much limited then before.

When Wylan visted Kaz again that day, he had asked him about the attack.

"Despite Hellgates reputation Wylan, people in there have family's still. Sons and daughters they had to leave behind. Family means everything to them. They will do anything to protect those who hold a place in their lives." Was all Kaz has said before ordering Wylan to leave, and that he was busy with papers.

Even with his black gloves freshly clean, they could never get the stain of blood off of them. Wylan noticed the spot of red that was still left on. And knowing Kaz, he would never leave that on him unless he wanted it to be seen.

Sometimes water can wash away the history that has been around it forever. It can erode the stone, break apart land and have its sentiments sink onto the bottom. But it never forgets. The waters will never forget.

[5sospenguinqueen]

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

Kaz: Since when do you ask for permission?

[jazzythursday]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fbfh]

thinking about how whenever you kiss Eric you end up with black and white makeup smeared all over your face. you look like a crackhead juggalo. you look like jaden smith covered in kylie jenner's foundation after making out at the movies. you have all this black and white makeup blurring into a gray around your mouth and neck and he thinks it's hilarious. you forget to scrub your face and neck down with micellar water ONCE and sarah and albrecht will never ever let you live it down.

[g1rld1ary]

boys r dumb - monty x platonic!gn!reader

wc: 489

cw: none!

it's not often you see a teenage boy sitting alone in a playground at night. even rarer that he'd be crying. despite your instincts, you approach him.

"are you ok?" the boy looks up, and there is a profound sadness in his eyes. it strikes a chord with you, despite being total strangers. he hurries to wipe his eyes, too rough for the gentleness of his appearance.

"fine. sorry for worrying you." you feel your eyebrows crease, pity overtaking you. he reminds you somewhat of an injured bird, stuck to the ground because of a broken wing. you were always the type to go around saving poor woodland creatures when you were a kid, and you supposed a teenage boy couldn't be that different.

"you don't look ok," you say, standing tall above his seated position on a swing, "can i sit?" the boy hesitates for a second, then shrugs as if he couldn't care less. you don't think that's true.

you ask him what's wrong again, and you think he might ignore you, but then he speaks, and your heart starts to crack into two.

"i really thought he liked me," he says, "he read the books i gave him, offered for us to spend time together, then he tells me he has feelings for someone else after i kiss him!" he's crying now, and you're not sure what to do from the swing next to him. you don't really know who he's talking about, but you know how heartbreak feels. you put a hand on his leg to give it a comforting pat.

"i'm sorry about that. i'm sure he didn't mean to be cruel. boys give mixed messages all the time, they're not worth it." the boy looks up at you, something akin to hope in his eyes.

"they do?" you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you at his naivety. you nodded.

"have you met a boy before? the last boy i liked i thought was perfect. he held my hand, took me out, kissed me... then he told me he didn't want a relationship." the boy looked scandalised, distraught as you were when it happened.

"but that's so... mean!"

"sometimes people seem mean, but really they're just a bit dumb," you replied, pushing against the ground to swing. you both fell into silence, you reflecting on the failed romantic pursuit, the boy thinking about men, a topic he was so inexperienced in.

"hey," you were the one to break the silence, "who needs boys? what about we be friends instead." the boy nodded surprisingly quickly and you both smiled. you introduced yourself, sticking a hand out for him to shake and he took it gratefully.

"i'm monty," he replied, all but floating out of his seat on the swing. you followed him cheerfully, ready for wherever he was leading you.

"so do you like astrology? because i could give you a palm reading..."