#promptober 2023

[yabee-tea]

Promptober #2: Schhlump...

Oughhh boy I can already tell I'm not gonna be able to do as many prompts as I wanted to do... Oh well it took long enough but prompt 2 yippee!!

[tinysupervicki]

“Meet me at midnight…”

Day 21: Midnight for @bittykimmy13 ‘s Promptober!

[bittykimmy13]

🍂PROMPTOBER 2023 🍂

Autumn is my favorite season creatively. October is my special girl. 🍄

Any and all are welcome to participate with art, writing, etc.

No rules, no pressure, just vibes 🍁🍂📚☕️🌥

[entomolog-t]

Bite Me - Chapter 8

Aedes struggles with conflicting feelings. Right on time for the Promptober prompts Quiver and Regret.

Taglist: @smallsday @ratcatcher0325 @not-a-space-alien @bittykimmy13 @naive-bias @soapysoap69

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 7

Next Chapter: Chapter 9

Word count: 2113

CW: Mentions of blood, Adult language, Dehumanization, Minor injuries, Whump, Panic (onset panic attack), Conflicting feelings of consent

No. 

No. No. No.

Why had he said that? He was in her hand for fuck’s sake. The thought of her fingers closing around him pushed itself into his mind. Despite him no longer being restrained, in her hands he was still just as helpless, no matter the position. He needed out. He needed to get away. The space was far too small- and yet far too open. He felt exposed in front of her… No, he had been- laid out on her palm, shaking and crying- he winced, pushing the thought from his mind. Pathetic. This was all so humiliating; His fear, his powerlessness, but above all it was the bitter and undeniable truth that he had enjoyed it that sickened him the most. The way it felt to be overwhelmed… overpow- he refused to finish his thought. 

She did this to him

Made him like this

Made him like this

No. His mind winced at the thought, bucking against a reality he so desperately needed to deny. He did not like this. He refused.

Somewhere far above him, she spoke. Her voice a muffled rumble amidst the pounding of his heart and the frantic thoughts ringing in his ears. 

How could he have liked any of this? He was in danger. She was dangerous- and what had he done? Provoke her?? She had him sat in the palm of her hand and he chose to insult her? Throat tightened. She could do whatever she wanted- she had made that clear.

You’d like that though, wouldn’t you? 

His face twists, contorting with revulsion at the unwelcome thought. This was wrong. So very wrong. A sickening feeling of dread pours over him, mixing with every other agonized emotion that had bled into him- fear, anger, shame, disgust. The festering concoction wells up within him, filling him- overflowing. It clouds his vision, spilling forth as tears stream down his face. His hands shake. His legs shake. His voice shakes. Like a spool unraveled- he comes apart. 

“Please.” 

That fucking word. 

That pitiful fucking word seemed to live on his tongue. 

He chokes on it. Stifling another sob- and again- and again. He can’t stop himself-  his throat tightening, his chest heaving. Each sob felt as though it was being pulled from him against his will, as if this woman was pulling on a thread and it was he himself coming undone at her fingertips. 

A pressure, soft and light, traces slow circles at his side.

Aedes stiffens under her touch - the soft pad of her thumb grazing against his arm. Her touch was gentle, her skin warm against his own. There was a sickening temptation to lean into the touch- a yearning to let her pull at that thread, to come undone in her grasp. His gaze casts up to meet hers and he immediately wishes it hadn’t. His stomach drops. She stares at him, mossy green doe eyes brimming with concern- no. 

Pity. 

He loathes that look- the softness in her stare, the worry knit between her brows. He hates the sight of her gaze looking down at him…seeing him like… like this.

Undone.

Unraveled.

Small. 

Pathetic. 

Fuck this was so humiliating. His brain conjured up glimpses of the pitiful sight she must see- some small, frail, tear-stained creature trembling in her hand. God, why couldn’t he stop shaking?

"I-I... I'm so - I don't know why- I didn't mean to..." She can barely articulate herself. He winces as she coos to him, hushing him, apologizing. Her words strung as if they were salt in his wounded pride. Was he so frail- so fucking fragile- that he needed this? To be treated like some sort of scared animal?? He grit his teeth. 

The look of pity on her face was almost worse than her teeth on his skin- at least then he could take some twisted pleasure in the act. He resented how she looked at him… like something needing to be coddled and comforted. Even more, he hated that he understood why she would think that. 

He drew in a breath. 

Everything felt numb. There was so much noise- so much emotion buzzing around in his head that the cacophony had just become a baseline. White noise that could be shoved away to the back of his mind. He needed quiet. He needed to pull himself together.

He needed to get away.

"Put me down." Aedes voice is cold and stern- a command. As strange as it is, looking at her crying face he has no doubt she’ll follow his demand. 

A choked sound escapes her- but nonetheless, she nods, her cupped hands shaking as she lowers them. 

The moment the ground is within a safe distance, he jumps. 

There's something deeply cathartic about the sensation of his feet hitting solid ground- true to the word- it’s grounding. Stable. Certain. Predictable. 

The feeling of solid ground under his boots alone makes him feel so much more in control- That is, until he looks back towards her. 

When she’d held him at eye level she’d been big.

But now as he stood beneath her, she was utterly colossal.

Aedes watches as the human wipes tears from her eyes. There was something truly horrific about seeing emotions at that magnitude. Sadness had always seemed to shrink others- the emotion seemingly making others smaller in its wake. Yet, the sadness he witnessed at that scale felt volatile- desperate. 

“Aedes, I-” 

He runs. 

The sound of her startled inhale only makes his legs pump faster as he races past her. 

“Please.” She croaks, her hand reaching- not to grab, but instead to block his path. 

Fuck.

Aedes doesn’t slow, instead he jumps, vaulting over her hand and continuing his sprint toward- what? Where could he run to? There was no time to scale back up toward the window. Could he fit under her door? If so, then what? He couldn’t out run her- he had to hide. 

Her other hand comes down in an attempt to corral him back towards her. Aedes plants his right foot down, driving into a sharp left as he swerved to avoid colliding with her palm.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” Each word is harsh and sharp, spoken in staccato. 

She freezes, and Aedes finds himself met with silence- nothing to be heard save the pounding of his feet and the pounding of his heart. After a brief pause, she speaks.

“I’m sorry.” 

Though she had uttered countless apologies, this one felt poignant- weighing heavy in the air. There was no cooing, no hushing. Just… remorse. Before his mind can make sense in the tonal shift he hears the sound of her colossal form shifting as she stands. The sound makes his heart leap in his chest. The ground shudders with her steps, but to his shock not in pursuit. Instead the rumble of her footfalls grow farther away. 

Against all better judgment, he looks back. 

He’d taken for granted how much easier it was to look at her while she had been kneeling. The sight of her standing sent a chill through him so powerful it could nearly freeze him in place. She towered above him, the sheer difference in scale staging to behold. But no, it wasn’t her stature that made him falter- it was her actions. The woman walked away- back to her bed. Aedes watched as she sat on the edge of her bed, her head falling into her hands. Head bowed, she stared at the floor. She didn’t move, didn’t look at him, didn’t utter a word. 

Not risking his chance at escape, Aedes head swivels, looking for an apt spot to hide until he can slip out the window once more. His eyes fall on her dresser-it's wooden legs holding it a couple inches off the ground. 

He darts towards it, bending at the waist to scramble beneath it. Once under, Aedes doesn't relent, pushing further and further back until he's pressed against the wall. He wills his breathing steady as his ears adjust to the quiet. 

He hears her in the distance- Her breaths, soft and shaky, and the faint beating of her heart. Aedes frowns. He hadn’t drank enough. The pulsating call was nowhere near as compelling, but it was there nonetheless. He knew he’d have to feed again soon. Aedes rubs his hands over his face, as if he could rub away the mounting stress he was facing. 

A peculiar sound pulls him from his frustrated thoughts. Ears twitching, he listens -  sharp, almost like tapping, repeated at sporadic intervals. The sound was vaguely familiar- like the first few drops of…rain…

His lips pull into a frown as realization settles upon him. Realization turns to annoyance, and annoyance to anger. Oh, sure. SHE was upset. I’m sure SHE felt awful. He sneered. What did SHE have to cry about?

He lets his back hit the wall and his body goes limp, knees nearly tucked against his chest as he slumps down, burdened with an exhaustion that only just barely began to rear its head. 

Drip.

He stifles a groan. After this, after all of this, he had to wait for her to stop sniveling before he could make his escape? Just how long was she going to sit there and cry?

Drip.

He found his hands tracing the fearsome outline of where her teeth had been- the sting of raw skin burned under his touch.She was really crying? After all he had been through, she had the gaul to sit there and cry for - For what?? Herself?? Aedes let his head fall into his hands. He was tired. So very tired. 

Drip.

With his head hung low, out of the corner of his eye, he can see it- the purple and red speckled bruises peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. The lines from where her teeth had dragged along his skin trailing outward. Even where his shirt hid them from his view, he felt them. The dull throb of swollen tissue, the sharp sting of raw skin- he felt her touch as if he was haunted by even the memory of her. Heat rose to his face- cheeks growing hot.

Drip.

Thoughts of her filled his mind. Her soft lips softly caressing the bare skin of his midsection- the tingle the touch had left. Her eyes- hungry and half lidded- boring into him as if she could devore him with her stare alone. Her gaze flickering about him as if to savor every detail.  The way her breath hitched when he spoke - how she’d grown speechless at his words. The ghost of her touch teased him- aching in a way he most certainly shouldn’t.   

Drip.

No- He did not fucking like this. The feeling of warmth pooling in his cheeks made him sick. Despite his revulsion, despite his anger there was no willing away the sickening manner in which his heart fluttered. His claws dug into the meat of his palms, and for the life of him he wished he had something he could throw. What was wrong with him? Why.. why did he feel… like this? Why couldn’t he rid himself of the thoughts of her mouth on him, or the taste of her blood on his lips. The sight of her flushed cheeks… He drew in a shaky breath, mind drawing back to the sight of her plump lips wrapping around his torso. The feeling of pain, warmth, and excitement. His heart beating wild in his chest, her breath rolling over him, washing him in the sweet scent of her. 

Drip.

It was as through his insides writhed against him- his stomach in knots, his heart in his throat. He didn’t want to think about any of this- Fuck, he just wanted to leave- to move, to do anything but sit here and listen to her cry. How could he push all these fucking thoughts away if he had to just sit here and listen to her sobbing. He had liked it- he had fucking liked it. Her words echo in his mind- some strange little creature. He grits his teeth. Why couldn’t he just hate everything she had done? She called him a pest - a mosquito! She didn’t see him as a person. Even clothed it had felt like he’s been laid bare before her- stripped to something so disgustingly fragile. Her eyes had devoured him- taken in every little detail- and yet he was still just some strange little creature. His cheeks feel slick as his frustration boils over- the sound of his own tears mingling in with her own. 

For the second time that night, Aedes unravels.

[kendsleyauthor]

🌊 Solitude + Discover + Quiver 🌊

Promptober 2023

Demigod Universe (Andreas and Dion)

~1500 words

A prequel to The Vineyard! Here is the exact moment that Dion realizes that his mysterious ex-lover, Andreas, is more than just a pretty face 😉

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Dion hadn’t worked in nearly two weeks. His fellow artists and craftspeople were growing more concerned by the day, but he couldn’t bring himself to go to the workshop. Couldn’t bring himself to face the inevitable questions of “Where is that handsome model that was tailing after you? What was his name? Andreas?”

With how swiftly Dion was falling behind on his tasks, he was lucky that his last few commissions had paid well. Anytime he sat at his home workbench with the intent of carving an amulet stone, his fingers wouldn’t respond. His mind would drift.

How could Andreas leave so abruptly? So coldly? Why wouldn’t he share what was sending him away?

Worry crowded Dion’s mind day and night. But his fretting was beginning to morph into bitterness. Perhaps Andreas had simply grown bored of him. 

He wandered daily. He was pitied at home, and he would be pitied in the workshops, so he secluded himself in the areas that he and Andreas used to escape to. Empty temples and rocky shorelines, mostly. Andreas seemed to favor the Dionysus temple near the beach at the edge of the island. 

“Of course it’s my favorite,” Andreas had said. “A temple honoring your namesake? How can I resist?”

That painfully charming smile and voice haunted him like infection in an open wound. He eyed the temple glumly. Although they had never done anything illicit in the temple itself, Dion had still worried they were being disrespectful, stealing away behind it.

“The god of wine and debauchery, offended?” Andreas scoffed. “Don’t you know anything?”

The temple sat lonely this evening. Visitors left offerings during the daytime—he caught glimpses of ripe grapes and bottles of wine. Dion wondered if his namesake ever got sick of being offered the same gifts. There was no one at his side to muse the idea with. Andreas probably would have laughed at the question.

Unable to look at the pillared structure for long, Dion ambled further and made his way along the shore. The waves roared, rushing in and out with more fervor than usual. The din wouldn’t silence his wounded thoughts.

He was being foolish, and he knew it. After all, it made sense that Andreas would leave his life as abruptly as he entered it. Someone as arrogant as him probably couldn’t stand to have only one admirer. He must have seen that Dion was getting too attached.

No matter how he tried to rationalize it, Andreas’ departure stung.

The island had weathered a storm just the other night. Clouds still gathered thickly over the beach, but the worst of it seemed to have passed. Drawing a deep breath, Dion tried to take the weather as a sign: the storm was over, and it was time to move on.

And yet, he swore every time he turned around that he would find Andreas watching him.

The water lapped aggressively at his heels. Perhaps remnants of the storm were still churning the ocean further away, creating an angry high tide. Lightning flashed in the distance, red in the dying light of the day. Too distant to worry about—yet.

A sound came from behind.

A wet dragging sound.

Dion froze and peeked over his shoulder. A choked noise caught in his throat as he staggered all the way around to face the source of the sound. 

He couldn’t comprehend exactly what he was seeing.

A grotesque creature was pulling itself from the waves—nearly twice his size. Its upper body was the bluish-green hue of a waterlogged man, but the bottom half seemed to shift between different forms, like it couldn’t decide whether to have the scales of a fish or sleek fur of a seal. 

Finally, it consolidated its form into fully humanoid to stand on the shore.

“Gods…” Dion swore, blood draining from his face.

There were more creatures, at least half a dozen, dragging themselves up to stand and locking eyes on him. He shuffled back as they spoke to each other in a strange language he couldn’t comprehend. But as they advanced, their intention was clear: they wanted him.

Telkhines. Shapeshifting creatures from the sea. He had never heard of these creatures on his island before, and he had little clue what he had done to invoke their ire.

He turned on his heel and started running clumsily on the wet sand.

He didn’t make it far before one of the telkhines seized him. Webbed hands locked around his arms, amphibious skin slick but brutal. At once, he fell face fist in the sand. Even one of the towering creatures could overpower him, but before long, three of them were dragging him into the water. 

“H-help!” His voice was raw as he coughed on sea water. He let out a guttural scream, but no one was around.

The world shook. It might have been the storm, miraculously approaching from a distance.

Water churned violently around him as the telkhines were torn away. Heaving, Dion scrambled in the rocky water. His eyes stung with salt as he struggled to make sense of the massive new addition to his surroundings.

High overhead, there was a shadow. He suddenly felt so foolish thinking the telkhines were huge. This new figure was perfectly humanoid in shape. Except it must have towered nearly as a high as the temple.

A fresh wave of fear gripped Dion. He clawed his way behind one of the rocks, gasping and coughing. 

When he’d screamed for help, he certainly hadn’t expected a giant to answer the call.

It had to be a god or demigod. Perhaps he’d gotten caught in the middle of some altercation. He couldn’t imagine that the giant was intervening with the intent to save him. He peeked out in time to see a pair of monstrously tremendous hands rip apart one of the telkhines. Rather than gore, the unfortunate creature’s corpse rained down as seafoam.

The other monsters fled, diving into the water and rushing straight past Dion without taking notice of him. He ducked anyway, quivering in his hiding place. His fingers dug painfully into the rock as he fought to keep himself grounded against the vicious current.

Other than the lapping water, there was silence.

Leave, Dion willed the giant. Leave me alone.

There was no movement.

Gods and demigods had the ability to vanish into thin air, he had heard. Perhaps the giant had already left. Trembling and breathing shallowly, Dion peeked around the rock. His heart dropped when he saw the giant knelt directly on the other side, leaning closer as though to take a curious look at the cowering mortal.

The giant flinched, apparently just as startled. His eyes were a rich, maddening shade of purple. His skin was sun-bronzed and smooth. His full lips parted with a small intake of air as they regarded each other.

And Dion knew he had gone absolutely crazy, because the giant looked like Andreas. 

The giant was Andreas.

For a second, they merely gaped. Then Andreas broke into a familiar, charming smile. His chuckle made Dion shrink away. The smile became tense, uncertain.

“I thought that might be you,” Andreas said, his voice achingly familiar but terrifyingly big.

Dion didn’t answer, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

“Alright, I knew it was you,” Andreas admitted. 

The water shifted. One of the monstrous hands that had ripped apart the telkhine was fast approaching, filling Dion’s vision.

With what little air he had, Dion released a choked scream and lunged backward. His footing scrambled for purchase on the sharp rocks of the sea floor. He didn’t care if the current pulled him straight into the jaws of Charybdis. He could not allow that hand to touch him.

But true to himself as ever, Andreas got what he wanted. 

“Come now, you’d rather drown than see me? That’s rude of you.” Andreas pushed forward, blocking Dion’s escape and locking his fingers around his waist. 

“Let go,” Dion croaked out as he was lifted from the water. He squirmed, inspiring Andreas to grip him tighter. His vision swam as his senses were overwhelmed. He fought the urge to black out—vulnerable as he was now, he couldn’t afford to be unconscious around this monster. “Let go!”

“I’d rather not,” Andreas said as he rose to his full height. 

Gods, Dion was so far off the ground. 

Tearing his eyes away from the deadly fall, he made the mistake of meeting Andreas’ gaze. Even when held at chest level with the giant, Dion had to crane his neck. A frown creased Andreas’ brow as he regarded him. His eyes drifted away to the distance, then lit up as if he had a brilliant idea.

“The temple,” he said in that excited way of his when his words couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. “We’ll go to the temple. It’s a much more pleasant place to talk, I can assure you.”

Dion didn’t have the energy to protest—not that he would have been listened to, anyway. He faded in and out of consciousness as he was whisked away from the beach and carried high above the scraggly field that led up to the temple.

He gave up on fighting and buried his face in his hands, severely regretting the day he had laid eyes on Andreas.

[5ecardaday]

Yokaitober, Days 1–4

Like many people, each October I participate in my own version of the Promptober trend. But instead of art, I spend the month creating new homebrew for D&D; a full 31 days worth of it. I try to change it up each year, and in 2022 I did Arcanatober, with 31 days of magic items, spells, and monsters themed around the major aracan of the taro deck. This year, I'm going all-in on monsters, with Yokaitober, a celebration of yokai from Japanese folklore and mythology.

Yoaki are something I've had an interest in for many, many years, and I thought it might be fun to put that knowledge to use, as well as give myself an excuse to research even more of them. So while I'm making a post every day over on Patreon, every 3 or 4 days I'll gather the results and post an update here, free for everyone to read and use in their own 5e adventures at home.

The first four days, I wrote about the hahikigami, a living broom made from a tool for cleaning shrines; the amabiko, a three-legged monkey creature who likes to give medical advice; the hanzaki, a real-life giant salamander who just happens to have a yokai counterpart; and the mikoshi nyudo, a priest who's infinitely growing neck is designed to make you just dizzy enough that it can try to eat yours.

[tippenfunkaport]

For the Sheratober prompt leaves and the Promptober Prompt coffee, please enjoy Bow as The Onion's Mr. Autumn Man because he seems like the type to get very into seasonal beverages.

[sexy-opium-ravioli]

Gentle Tides- Oct 1

Media: Resident Evil

Prompt: Cozy/Stay in night

Rating: NSFW

Pairing: Leon s. Kennedy/Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: On the night of your fifth anniversary, Leon suddenly feels like he's not up to the task to be a proper husband. You show him that anniversaries aren't really about the time or place.

Warnings: penetrative sex, reader is gender neutral, anxiety, hurt/comfort, 18+!!!!

✭ᐧ֯ 𐩑❍ᐧ֯𐩑✧ ⚬ᐧ֯☆ᐧ֯ 𐩑⚬𐩑 ᐧ֯✧ᐧ֯𐩑★

To say that Leon S. Kennedy possessed a unique and deeply rooted relationship with anxiety was a statement not even worth mentioning. Chronologically, when Leon was young and fresh and so, so tenderhearted, panic always felt like a slick knife in the chest. Over and over and over, but as time wound tighter- as he aged, and things started getting less scary in some ways and worse in others, Leon started to realize that his anxiety was starting to change with him. 

It was your fifth anniversary, deciding to stick with him, and this year’s October was birthed in cold, damp, dark conditions. Wind howled against the windows of the apartment, accompanied by the steady rhythm of heavy rain. You both were planning to go to Oiseau de Nuit, because you both had loved it every time there was a reason for going. Every once in a while, Leon would spring a getaway or a unique date on you, but sometimes, planned events were just as nice as well. 

Leon dabbed your favorite cologne on his wrists and neck, trying to get the feeling in his chest to ebb away. Frankly, though, Leon immediately knew that even putting on the cologne was a mistake. His heart wouldn’t stop beating and his throat was closing, he always got tense around this time of year goddamn it, he felt like he was drowning-

“Honey?” 

Leon’s entire body jerked in the direction of the door, heart relieved to see that it was only you there. And then came the guilt sliding down his organs like heavy smoke, slow and dense, at the expression on your face- none of the anticipation and joy from even a few seconds ago, but deep-set worry. And that's never really what your husband wants to see, especially not on the anniversary of your relationship. So even though he’s the one suffering, he walks towards you and tries to comfort you and finally just get a fucking handle on things-

But then you hug him, and it doesn’t nearly get all the fear out of his system but it does slow his heartbeat a bit, and all he can feel is thankfulness. And burning shame that he can feel manifesting as a heated blush all over his face. “I called your name four times, Leon,”

“I’m sorry,” His response was quick and his apology was sincere. 

“Stop it, you don’t need to be,” Your words were comforting and your voice was filled with a type of warmth reserved for him. You pulled away from the embrace to look at your lover, and when he inevitably avoided your gaze, you placed your fingers on his cheek, spreading out and traveling to rest on his jaw. “We don't have to go to Oiseau tonight, baby,”

“No, absolutely not, please don’t let me ruin our-”

“Hey,” Your voice came quicker from your throat and your intonation much sharper, which caught Leon’s attention immediately. “You’re not ruining anything if we don’t go, alright? It's not the point of an anniversary to go to a restaurant, baby,” while you were speaking you were inching closer to Leon as his breathing started to even. He felt the embarrassed heat flow from his face as your warm, gentle, dry fingers smoothed over his rough skin. “The point is to spend time together,” You slowly lean up, letting your eyes fall into the shape of glittering crescents in the low light of your bedroom, and you kiss your husband softly. 

You look up at him and smile with so much love in your eyes that it makes the foundation of Leon’s chest crack like a tectonic plate, sand swirling in the cove of his ribcage. There was a part of him, burning in the back of his throat, that wanted to cry a bit. “What would you like to do?” you asked him, and it snapped him out of his love-fueled haze. Of course his mind started off racing a thousand miles a minute, but honestly, he was so tired out from his anxiety at this point that Leon couldn’t help but be honest with you. “A bath, maybe. I can cook a nice dinner for you afterward if you want,” You giggled and took his hand while leading him to the bathroom. There was your Leon, always so eager and trying to please. 

“We can cook dinner together. Would you want me to get in the bath with you too or do you need some time alone?” Leon shook his head and gave you the first half-stable smile of the night. He looked at himself in the mirror when you switched the bathroom light on, and a part of him instantly understood the concerned look you gave him earlier. He was pale, and honestly, he looked like hell. 

“I’d like you in the bath with me, please,” And that was all he needed to say for the next few minutes. There was that same guilt eating away inside of Leon when he saw you running circles around him to prepare for an impromptu bath, setting two towels and some epsom salt on the counter. He tried to set the faucet on hot but you smacked his hand away, did it yourself, and closed the drain before he could even think of sneaking it. The troublesome little smile you gave him told him you knew all this too, and it pulled the first genuine chuckle of the night out of him. 

But, eventually, the stage was set for a comforting bath. The salt was mixed with eucalyptus oil, which released a nice scent as Leon slowly lowered himself into the water. Finishing up with the last of the tea candles and turning off the light, you join in after him and snuggle up to his chest. Leon looks around the bathroom you two have shared for a while now. “You really pulled out all the stops for me, huh?” Your husband’s tone was teasing, but you could hear the current of vulnerability underneath. 

You lift one of your hands to cup his cheek before resting on his neck, and when your eyes meet his, you find his unreadable gaze already boring into you. “I like taking care of you, Leon,” Your words are gentle, and earnest. They were barely louder than the drip of water falling from the faucet and into the tub, but they made Leon break the stare and look away. He tries not to let the sting of tears form when he feels your lips gently press into the corner of his mouth. 

Languidly, you brace one of your hands on the lip of the tub before sitting up and leaning on your haunches in between Leon’s legs. It doesn’t last for too long, because you then climb into his lap, his waiting hands immediately embracing your hips and holding there firmly. Leon takes a deep, steadying breath as his eyes trail down your figure, his stare becoming more and more heated as it progresses. Both of your eyes meet. 

“You sure you want this?” You ask him. You wiggle on his lap to get comfortable, accidentally feeling the hardness you’ve been politely ignoring for the past few minutes spent situating yourselves. 

“I always want this,” Leon answered, but there was something that just didn’t fully convince you.

“You don’t have to say yes, Lee,” You reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving a kiss on his cheek. The man gently guides your face to look at him with his fingers at your chin. He kisses you on the lips with a bit more force than the previous ones you’ve shared tonight. 

“I want this, please,” His words are barely louder than a whisper, but it’s all you need to begin. In the dark, you rise from laying your chest on top of Leon’s to sitting up on his lap. In the dim of the candles, the beaded water on your skin sparkled golden light and the steam from the water warped and weaved around your figure, and Leon wondered to himself how he ever managed to find someone as beautiful as you. 

You take one of Leon’s hands and kiss the knuckles, a small noise leaving your mouth at the feeling of his fingertips finding your hole with ease. A look into your husband's eyes says that his anxiousness is gone to the point where he can properly enjoy the moment, so you decide to let yourself do the same. 

You moan at the feeling of Leon’s warm fingers sliding up and into your walls, curling right at the spot where he always bullies into you to make you shake. This time, however, Leon’s slow circling around that spot of nerves has you craving something much more filling than his fingers.

Leaning into his space to kiss him again, you grasp Leon’s wrist and slowly remove his hand out from under you. Taking a gentle hold of his cock, you line the fat head to your entrance and revel in the familiar, heavenly feeling of sinking onto your lover’s cock. Veiny and just big enough and with the slightest of curves that presses against your stomach, you feel him slowly spread you apart. Eventually, after a bit of coaxing, you sit snugly on Leon’s lap, breathing a bit heavily at the embers of pleasure crackling at the feeling of him inside you, unmoving. 

You open your eyes to see that Leon isn’t faring much better, a red blush spread from the top of his head down all of his neck, even managing to paint the tips of his ears, his chest taking very deep breaths. You can tell that the hold he has on the meat of your hips and ass might bruise later, but all its doing right now is heightening the feeling of your muscles squeezing hard around Leon’s cock. 

You brace your legs and tense your knees and thighs, rise, and then you inch your way back down, squirming your hips as Leon’s hands make you hold your pace. Once again you lean forward, hands resting on your lover's chest. As you lift again, his hips fall deeper into the water of the tub, before both sinking back into each other. Your face is now stuffed in the crook of Leon’s neck while his was resting on your shoulder. One of his hands snaked up your back to grasp desperately at your shoulder, careful not to dig his nails into your skin. The other slowly made its way to wrap around your waist, and after Leon tightened his hold on your body, he started to thrust into you more roughly. 

Not given the most warning other than your husband's ever-growing whimpers and moans, you let out your own squeak before starting to moan a lot louder. The easy, sensual pleasure you were feeling at the beginning of this bath amounted nowhere near the fire in your belly now. It felt like every nerve you had was firing at once, almost suffocating against Leon’s moist skin, listening to your husband’s moans and hushed pleas work their way into your flesh. It got to the point where you could think of nothing but his cock slipping in and out of you, over and over again, making you feel so good like it almost always does. So much water has sloshed out of the tub that some of the tea lights have extinguished, sputtering before their lights burn out.

The pleasure for the both of you mounts to a peak, and Leon’s thrusts get a lot sloppier as your hips jerk, and then all the nerves down to your fingertips tingle as your vision nearly whites out from the pleasure. You're sure your moaning has reached its height, too, but Leon couldn’t complain, with how much vibration you felt in your chest from him meeting his climax with you.��

You feel your husband soften within your walls, and you both stay there for a few moments, catching your breath and letting your bodies relax. After a couple of minutes of silence broken by heavy breathing, you start to give Leon small, gentle kisses starting from the end of his shoulder, working your way through his collarbone and up his neck. Eventually, when you get to his jaw, Leon gets impatient and tilts your head so he can kiss you properly. 

“I love you,” He whispers. You look into his eyes and smile at him, and he smiles back. There's a shimmer in his eyes that lets you know he’s sharing everything he can in his heart, at this moment. You weave your hands in his hair and kiss him again. 

“Happy fifth anniversary,” At your words, Leon gives a lighthearted, carefree laugh. He suddenly pulls you in his arms. 

“Happy fifth anniversary, baby,"

[kittttycakes]

white blank page

Summary: Hob Gadling isn’t obsessed. He isn’t. Not with his flat mate, and not with his flat mate’s…girlfriend? lover? either.

Contents: Morpheus/Hob Gadling/Original Female Character (Grace Talbot), university student AU, past/referenced Morpheus/others, POV Hob Gadling, 2.2k

Notes: Written for “dark academia” for Promptober 2023.

She wasn’t even supposed to be there, Hob told himself. That was why she had crept under his skin and made something of a home for herself there. She wasn’t quite the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last before he went to sleep, but it was a near thing. No other reason, surely, for her to be on his mind quite so much.

Of course, strictly speaking, he shouldn’t necessarily have been there, either. The university, small, private, and highly exclusive, wouldn’t have opened its doors to the likes of him had he not managed, with no small amount of cunning, to impress the admissions board and secure one of only two scholarships available. That she was the other scholarship student grated on him; that she had gained acceptance to the highly selective history concentration stung, when he had had to fight for his own place. She should have, more properly, been thrown in with the rest of the literature scholars. Instead, she had managed to impress the head of the department and been drawn into the fold at his express request.

He could sit through another interminable lecture, could listen to the sound of her voice when she joined a discussion, all of this, he thought, he could bear. What he could not bear was her presence, unexpected and unannounced, in the rented flat he shared with Morpheus. Morpheus, a fellow student of history, albeit more concerned with the ancient than the modern; Morpheus, whom he had met and fell into an instant connection with, even as they each held such wildly different worldviews and experiences; Morpheus, for whom, he was growing to realize, there was little he would not do.

She was there, in his flat, their flat, making herself tea. Her back was to him as she waited for the kettle, rummaging through the cabinets, finding first a mug and then the teabags. She was wearing the same sweater he had seen Morpheus in the day before.

This was not the first overnight guest that Hob had run into the morning after. For reasons Hob could only guess at, Morpheus appeared to be working his way through the entire cohort, small as it was. He could be patient, he told himself. He would come around. There had been Ian, first, with that smile that never quite reached his eyes. Johanna, who had stolen half of a pack of cigarettes—Hob’s cigarettes, mind—on her way out the door. Jessamy, Lucienne, Matthew, had all stayed for breakfast. And Hob waited, wanted, and watched them all.

He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought this would extend to Grace. Perhaps some part of himself had thought that Morpheus would choose him first, and then…Grace turned, and saw him, and barely even flinched.

“Tea?” she asked, as if she had every right to be there, barefoot and bare legged in his flat, their flat, the sleeves of Morpheus’s sweater dwarfing her hands. She smiled at him, as if they were sharing some sort of joke.

Hob was saved from having to answer—the indignity of accepting, the intentional snub of rejecting—by the appearance of Morpheus, his ink blot hair even wilder than usual, tying the belt of his robe as he made his way into the kitchen.

Grace turned towards him, still smiling, and in doing so, the neck of the sweater shifted just enough to reveal the imprint of teeth, low on her neck, just where it met her shoulder. For a moment, it was all Hob could see: the gentle bruising already rising to the surface of her skin, which would undoubtedly turn livid in mere days, but was for the moment beautiful in a way he didn’t care to name. He wanted the same mark on his own neck, made by the same teeth. He wanted to cover that mark with his own, overlapping, a second bruise deeper than the first.

“Hob?” Morpheus was looking at him in that way of his, his head tilted just slightly, a cross between avian and feline. He realized, abruptly, that he had been staring, and in that time, he had been spoken to. Asked a question.

“Sorry, long night. Revising,” he said vaguely, tearing his eyes away. “What was that?”

“I asked if you cared to join us for breakfast.”

Us. There had been no us, no we with the others. Summoning an approximation of a regret he didn’t feel, Hob made what he hoped was a convincing face and said, “Can’t, I need to run to the library to check a source before my first lecture, but I’ll see you there.”

Without waiting for an answer, he retreated to his room to dress for the day, hastily packing his bag and leaving without saying a second goodbye.

-

The earring caught Hob’s eye, not only because there was something familiar about it, but because it contrasted in a way that should have clashed terribly with her hair. The ruby nearest to him, a miniature teardrop, not unlike a drop of blood, dangled from her left ear. It swayed slightly when she turned her head, and seemed to almost trap the light it caught, rather than releasing it. He had seen Morpheus wearing it a week ago, and now there it was, in her ear, with a twin to match in her right.

Hob was struck, suddenly, by the sheer amount of rubies he had seen, of late. Ian’s ludicrous pinky ring, Johanna’s rosary, Lucienne’s pocketwatch chain. And Morpheus’s, of course. Earrings and cuff links and tie pins, all studded with little red stones. He had told Hob once that all of his siblings had been assigned a precious stone and given the matching bits of jewelry from the family collection. To ensure fairness, he had said with a slight curl of the lip. It was hard to see anything fair about his eldest brother’s diamonds and his youngest sister’s topaz.

His mind was wandering. There was no reason to think that these were in any way related. None at all. He could ask, after all. It didn’t have to be Grace.

He caught up to her as she left the lecture hall. “Can I ask you something?”

For a moment, she looked at him, slightly puzzled: had he truly never spoken to her outside of the confines of the classroom, and, once, in the kitchen of the flat? Her expression smoothed into something that was not quite a smile, but that could have very easily been coaxed into one.

“You can ask,” she replied, still walking, but more slowly than she had been before. Something caught her attention, and she looked away. It was easier, when those eyes weren’t on him.

“Those earrings. Where did you get them?”

Hob almost thought he saw her step falter, just for a moment. When she looked back at him, there was something inscrutable behind her eyes, something he could not name but was relieved to find was not pity.

“They were a gift,” she said, one hand reaching up to roll the stone between her fingers. “Not quite my usual style, but I like them so much that I had to make an exception.”

“They’re beautiful,” Hob said with a tight smile, and turned to walk down a diversion in the path. He had no destination in mind, but perhaps a walk would clear his head. Something he desperately needed, if something so small, that name unsaid but hanging between them, bothered him so deeply.

Her hand was on his arm, a warm, soft pressure. She had never touched him before. “Why don’t you come have lunch with me?” she asked. “I was supposed to—well, it doesn’t matter now, but I’d like the company, and maybe you could tell me some more about your paper. It sounded fascinating, from your proposal.”

In spite of himself, he found himself saying yes.

-

Hob wasn’t as drunk as he could have excusably been. He hadn’t drunk quite enough to laugh it off as some kind of joke, or a mistake, the fumbling of hands pulling the nearest warm body close, a mistaken glimpse of someone else. No, he wasn’t drunk enough at all.

Hob, Morpheus, and Grace were walking back to the flat from Jessamy and Lucienne’s, their hosts for the evening. It was an unexpected party; the full moon, Jessamy said, while Lucienne countered with the end of term. The entire group was there, squeezed into their flat, with the lights dim and the music loud. They had come together, the three of them, as they so often did now. Ever since that lunch with Grace, he had been pulled into their orbit, and unwilling to let go. She truly was rather lovely, and it only caused the slightest of pangs when he saw Morpheus kiss her. He had ended, it seemed, with Grace; no others had graced the flat since then, and he was only slightly jealous of it, really, although he wouldn’t have been able to say of whom, if he were honest with himself.

Grace had come to spend more and more time at the flat, and it was assumed that she would spend the night then, her own room too far away and the dormitory curfew long since past. Morpheus let them in, holding the door as they both brushed past him, and Grace immediately set herself to attempting to remove her boots. The combination of the drinks and her cold fingers seemed to conspire against her as she propped herself against the wall.

“Let me,” Hob said, kneeling down before he could think better of it, undoing the laces of her boots with only the slightest amount of fumbling. Morpheus had busied himself with shutting and locking the door, a business which seemed to take somewhat longer than usual. He drew her boots off, allowing her to rest her hand on his shoulder for balance, and when both had been removed and she stood in her stocking feet before him, still half bent with one hand on his shoulder, he smiled up at her, intending, he would later tell himself, to make a joke of it. But her face was so close to his, and all he could see was the gleam of her eyes and the shine of the rubies in her ears, and all he could smell was the sweet scent of her perfume, and all he could feel was the growing warmth of her as the chill seeped away.

Hob cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her. She let out a soft, surprised sound against his lips but did not pull away; instead, she leaned more heavily into him, her hand fisted in his sweater, keeping him where he was. She tasted like wine, dark and red, with an almost metallic sharpness underneath, something familiar that he could not place, but that was not unpleasant. One moment, his lips were on hers, and the next, she had loosened her grip, straightened, letting the light back in.

Morpheus pulled him up, a strength well disguised by his slender frame, and for a moment, he scrambled for the words of an apology that died on his tongue when Morpheus brought his lips to his. All protest died in favor of gripping his arm, likely too hard, although he did not seem to mind, to hold him there. It was everything he had wanted since he’d met him. Did he taste like her, or did she taste like him? It hardly mattered. Morpheus’s lips were still ever so slightly chilled from the air outside, and this was enough to bring him ever closer to sobriety. He truly hadn’t had that much to drink. Not enough to excuse how he needed no persuasion to follow them both into Morpheus’s room, into his bed.

He lost himself, to the press of hands, of lips, of tongues, of teeth.

-

Hob woke the morning after with not even the slightest hint of a hangover. He was sandwiched between them, Grace to his right, Morpheus to his left, and they were both asleep, or feigning it well. He stared at the ceiling, contemplating whether he should stay or go.

“Stay,” Morpheus said, his voice low, near Hob’s ear. “Stay with me. Stay with us.” He shifted back, hand reached for the nightstand, rifling through the contents of the drawer before finding what he wanted. He held it, the weak winter light glinting off of the gold of the band. A ring, and a very old one at that, the ruby barely shaped but somehow all the more fascinating for it.

“I’ve been keeping this for you,” he continued. “A gift, for you, if you will accept it.”

A gift, Hob thought. Like Grace’s earrings. He was surprised to find an utter lack of jealousy when he thought of the others’ gifts. They couldn’t have meant half as much as this. It wasn’t a promise, not exactly, but it had weight behind it, a meaning that he could not know and would not guess.

It fit his finger perfectly, as if it had been meant to sit there all his life. When Grace stirred, she noticed it immediately, taking his hand in hers, turning it this way and that, admiring it, before placing a kiss squarely on it, her eyes looking up at him.

There was so little he would not do for them, he thought. They had him, body and soul.

[lipglossanon]

hello and welcome to my first ever promptober! 💜

as stated above, all of the stories feature Leon and a theme I’ve chosen. it’s a mix of SFW and NSFW; I’ll make sure to state the warnings clearly above each smut filled one 😉

🎃 Oct 1st

Pumpkin Patch | | Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 2nd

Apple Picking | | Sweet Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 3rd

Pumpkin Carving | | Subby stepbro!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 4th

Baking Treats | | Sweet stepdad!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 5th

Trick or Treating | | Dark stepdad!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 6th

Scary Movie Marathon | | Corrupt Cop!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 7th

Decorating for Halloween | | Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 8th

Corn Maze | | Dark Stepdad!Leon x f!reader- NSFW

🎃 Oct 9th

Sweater Sharing | | Sweet stepdad!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 10th

Road Trip | | Puppy!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 11th

Carnival/Fall Festival | | Dogman!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 12th

Sleeping In/Cozy/Rainy Day | | Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 13th

Haunted House | | Corrupt Cop!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 14th

Bonfire | | Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 15th

Hot Chocolate | | Subby Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 16th

Raking Leaves/Pile | | Puppy!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 17th

Hay Ride | | Las Plagas!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 18th

Forest Walk | | Subby Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 19th

Walking Through A Graveyard | | Sweet Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 20th

Telling Ghost Stories | | Stepbro!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 21st

Apple Cider | | Sweet Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 22nd

Urban Legend | | Shape Shifter/Wendigo!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 23rd

Mythical/Supernatural Being | | Vampire!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 24th

The Full Moon | | Werewolf!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 25th

Making Candy Apples | | Dogman!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 26th

Handing Out Candy | | Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - SFW

🎃 Oct 27th

Halloween Pranks | | Corrupt Cop!Leon x f!reader x Chris - NSFW

🎃 Oct 28th

Antique Shopping | | Sweet Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 29th

Power Outage/Candles | | Las Plagas!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 30th

Costumes! | | Dark Stepdad!Leon x f!reader - NSFW

🎃 Oct 31st

Halloween Sleepover | | Stepbro!Leon x f!reader x Krauser - NSFW

Divider from @firefly-graphics

[yabee-tea]

My first 2023 "Prompt-tober" piece– "The Bridge" ^ ^ going for more of a metaphorical bridge between worlds than an actual physical bridge haha

My friend (hi Rook) put together a list of prompts for each day, so I'll be yoinking from their list and spending at most 2 days per prompt :))

I'll hopefully be doing different characters per prompt from fandoms I'm in... with maybe a few OCs of mine I'll throw in there every now and then– it'll be fun!!

Cya sometime... soon!!

[tinysupervicki]

Day 12: Nuzzle 💖

For @bittykimmy13 ‘s Promptober!

[lorichu]

The Spice of Life

I don't usually do anything with prompt lists, or post any full chapters here, but even so, here we are! I've seen some works based off bittykimmy13's Promptober list, and decided to pick a word (Spice in this case) to write something with. If you're interested in more with these characters, you can check out their gallery over on my dA account. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!

------

The late afternoon rain storm had brought the steady flow of business into the coffee shop to a dead stop. Lyra had been out on the counter for a while now, but as the final hour dragged on, she was ready to exchange the colder, professional comfort of the coffee shop for the warmth and intimacy of their home upstairs. Though he was more immune to the disconnect between the spaces after having grown up in them, John was very much of the same mind.

Keeping his hand loosely draped around the tiny woman, John grabbed his phone and stared blanky at the time displayed on the screen. He chuckled to himself and immediately caught Lyra's eye when he looked back at her. "What do you say to one last drink before we start shutting down?"

"Oh, sure," Lyra answered automatically, "but..." She glanced off to the side and did a quick sweep of the shop. "Do you think this time I could make it for you?"

John snapped to attention and rapidly blinked his eyes. "Um, I mean, I guess...? But why would you want to?"

Now that his hand had pulled away the only source of heat warming Lyra was the blush streaking across her face. "Pam's been teaching me," she confessed. "I know how all the machines work, but I'd never tried to use them on my own, so she helped me figure it out." Lowering her gaze, the Mintran woman shuffled her feet. "It's stupid, but since I can't really do much else for you, I... I at least wanted to be able to make you a cup of coffee."

His heart a puddle on the floor, John's smile lit up the room. "How can I refuse an offer like that?" Leaning in closer to kiss the top of her head, he knelt down to look her in the eye. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

Lyra lifted her head slowly as she wrung her hands. "Just pick whatever mug you want to use and put it right there." She gestured down the counter, over to the space right in front of the towering carafes.

While John did as she asked, Lyra rushed back over to the birdhouse, maintaining her momentum as she leapt up to the entrance. She was only inside for a couple of seconds, then reappeared with her tool bag slung over her shoulder and her apron already on. Not wanting to be in her way, John backed up and watched in awed curiosity as she finished putting herself together.

'You know what you're doing,' Lyra told herself as she started marching towards the mug. 'Just like you practiced. You got this.'

As she reached the carafes, Lyra slowed to a stop by the corner of the coffee machine. It still irked her that she couldn't use the massive piece of machinery, but she and Pam had come up with a good enough alternative. Reaching into her bag for her normal climbing rope, she pulled something else out with it that John had to squint to make out. It was a small, rounded magnet, which she secured to the hook on the end. She swung the weighted end back and forth a few times before tossing it up over her head. There was a thunk as the magnet hit its mark, and after getting a running start, Lyra climbed up the side of the machine without missing a beat.

A flick of her wrist detached the hook from the magnet, and Lyra looped the rope over her shoulder as she got situated on top of the Dark Roast carafe. The mug John had chosen wasn't exactly in position under the pump, but she had a solution for that as well. Planting her feet as best she could, Lyra lowered the hooked end of the rope and began gently swinging it like a pendulum. Once its arc was big enough to reach the mug's handle she flicked the rope, twisting the hook so it caught the ceramic. All her strength was needed to pull the mug into the right spot, and with another expertly precise flick the hook came free.

Lyra dared to glance up at John, and almost immediately she wished she hadn't. His jaw was hanging slack, and his bright blue eyes were wider than she'd ever seen them. The blush creeping over her face made her heart skip a beat, and despite her strong stance she felt her knees wobble. 'Focus,' she scolded herself. 'You're not done yet.'

The carafe's pump needed nothing less than her full weight to press, and while she didn't need to jump on it, Lyra took great care while using it. Once the mug was mostly filled she took a step back, using the brief pause to catch her breath. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John start to move closer with his hand raised. Firing a sharp glare his way, Lyra quickly shook her head. He arched an eyebrow, then slowly backed up to his previous spot by the other counter. She sent him a quick smile before returning to task.

After hooking the magnet again, Lyra was back on the countertop. Her gaze had followed John and was now locked on the flavored syrups lining the counter behind him. This was always her least favorite part, but she knew she could do it. A deep breath didn't quite fully steel her nerves, and she tightened her grip on the rope. Now she was twirling the hooked end in a tight, vertical circle beside her, picking up speed with each rotation. When she eventually let it go, it flew across the chasm and latched securely onto the topmost drawer's handle, just like she'd planned.

She'd expected John's started gasp when she took a running jump off the counter, but it was honestly astonishing that he didn't try to grab her out of the air. He watched transfixed as she climbed the rope while she fell, which adjusted her trajectory at the same time. When she reached the opposite side, she was most of the way to the handle, and hadn't smacked into the drawers like John had feared. His heart was still pounding as she clambered up to the countertop. She ducked behind the syrups' shelves to grab a small, lidded vessel, then continued her ascent between the glass bottles. He was too busy watching Lyra's graceful movements to pay close enough attention to which flavors she was getting, but in the end he didn't really care. Whatever she ended up making, he was going to drink it.

Unbeknownst to either of them, someone else was in the shop. Bret had been upstairs helping Pam move some furniture and had wanted to check in with his friends to lend a hand closing up for the day. However, as he watched Lyra move about the much larger space, he'd become just as entranced.

In all the years he'd known Lyra, and all the things he'd watched her do, Bret had never seen her like this.

'Everything she used to do was out of necessity,' he mumbled. 'Every move she made was calculated just so to be precisely what she needed, and nothing more. Anything extra would just been wasting energy she needed to survive the night...' Bret's heart lurched. 'We all would've punished any kind of expression. It'd have been more fuel, something else to twist and use against her to get what we wanted.'

But right now, in this moment, the smaller woman truly looked alive. She carried her freedom in her shoulders as much as she wore it in her smile. By simply being given the opportunity to exist, she'd found a place to thrive.

Hollowness settled deep in Bret's stomach. 'It's amazing there was anything left of her when John got there,' he muttered bitterly. 'We were killing her in every other way, but he still found something to resuscitate. He's a stronger person than I could ever hope to be. They both are.'

Lyra screwed the lid back on to her container before carefully maneuvering her way down the final bottle. Gathering up her rope again, she repeated her trip back to the main counter. She set the container next to the mug and strolled away with purpose. With a mixing spoon braced against her shoulder, Lyra attached her hook onto the grating of the coffee machine's drip tray and used the rope to repel down to the small fridge built into the cabinet. Once again, she needed her entire body to open the door, creating a gap just big enough for her to slip through.

Curiosity finally got the better of John. He crouched down and opened the fridge's door the rest of the way so he could see inside. Somehow Lyra had pried the lid off the container of extra whipping cream and was now wielding a generous spoonful of it. She replaced the lid and climbed back out with the spoon carefully balanced between her arms. Instead of making her struggle through closing the fridge on her own, John pushed the door shut once her rope was clear. A silent look passed between them, but there was a glimmer of appreciation in that small pair of gray eyes.

Hefting the spoon back onto her shoulder, Lyra marched down the counter to the still steaming mug. She set the spoon down for a moment and rushed over to the containers of dry seasonings to grab the cinnamon. Its unruly size made portioning a problem, but she was able to measure out what she wanted. That went into the coffee first, then the syrups, and finally the spoonful of whipping cream. Leaving the utensil submerged, Lyra stirred the cup like it was a cauldron, looking very much the part of a tired but pleased witch. Once the ingredients had been fully mixed she removed the spoon, tapped it on the mug's rim for good measure, and backed away to present the beverage.

John had completely forgotten that she was making something for him to drink and didn't actually return to reality until she nervously cleared her throat. Rushing over he scooped the mug up in both hands and happily took a sip.

He immediately straightened up, his eyebrows rising almost clean off his face. Subtle notes of spice blended beautifully with the soft cream and sharp cranberry to create a flavor unlike anything he'd ever tasted. "Lyra, this is good. Like, really good," John chuckled. "Did you come up with this on your own?"

Long strands of her blonde hair fell into a shielding curtain as she dropped her gaze, but it couldn't fully hide her blush. "Pam helped a little, but it was mostly me."

John took a longer drink, savoring the unique taste and letting the heat spread out to warm his entire body. On its own it was phenomenal, but the fact that Lyra crafted it herself made it taste that much sweeter. Lowering the mug, he gazed longingly at the woman still doing her best to avoid looking directly at him. "We should write this down," he said in a softer voice. "I'd hate to lose it."

"Your mom already took care of that." Lyra glanced up slowly, meeting John's eye without flinching away. "I-I... If you liked it, I wanted to say that you could sell it to customers too, i-if you thought it was good enough for that..." She shuffled her feet and brought her hands together. "I know all your specialty drinks have names, so I tried my best to think of one, a-and thought that maybe "All Nighter" would work, but you can name it something better if you don't like that."

The mug landed with a heavy clunk when John set it down on the counter. His freed hands were headed straight for Lyra. "No, it's all perfect. Just like you."

Instead of welcoming his very obvious affections, Lyra loudly cleared her throat and took a deliberate step backwards. Her eyes stayed locked on his, except to dart off to her left in a subtle play to direct his attention. Following the motion, John finally realized that they weren't as alone as he'd assumed.

"O-Oh, um, Bret. Hey..." he mumbled, pulling back from Lyra as well. They tried to keep their PDA minimal to the point of nonexistent around their former museum coworker more out of convenience than anything else. It wasn't likely that Bret would ever press either of them for more details about their relationship, but that didn't mean they would willingly hand that information over either.

Called out and fully embarrassed that he'd been watching for so long, Bret shifted backwards as well and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, um, hi. I'd finished helping your mom, so I came back to see if you wanted any help t-too." He inched along the wall slowly until he reached the corner. "I, um, could start on the bathroom..." Without needing to look behind him, Bret opened the door and ducked inside without a word.

John's hand was already mostly around Lyra milliseconds after they were alone again. Fingers curled to delicately support her weight as she was lifted off her feet. Waiting for her was a pair of blue eyes as deep as the ocean and twice as beautiful. They beheld her so tenderly as John leaned in to kiss her.

[itjammy]

🎃 Promptober 🎃

Cr: Me and @thefloralpeach 🍑🍑

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 3

The boys are back with two more Prompts down! Delight and Linger ! I love writing these boys so much- just the goofiest vibes.

How long before I make it angsty?

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Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Next Chapter: Chapter 4

Word count: 2332

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking)

Man, the food was great. Never in my life had I tasted anything like the weird paste Mark had made- and to put it on meat?? Some crazy part of my was compelled to howl with joy. While the glass bucket Mark had given me to use as a cup proved progressively harder to grip with more and more of the sauce covering my hands, I was plenty fine with the extra effort just for another sip of the cool golden drink- Beer went incredible with hawk wings. 

Leaning back, I groaned as I stretched out, stomach aching.

I’d more than eaten my fill, but it's not like it was everyday that I had such a mouthwatering feast to myself. My eyes flickered to Mark. Both in my own eager hunger and out of a slight unease, I’d been avoiding watching him eat. There was something both ridiculously impressive and deeply unsettling about watching another being consume many times more than my weight in food. Inarguably cool- but the spectacle left me feeling… less. 

My eyes met his own. Though, as soon as my gaze met his, he looked away- quickly focusing on taking another drink. I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth. Looks like I caught him staring. I wait until he puts the can to his lips before I speak, 

“See something you like, big man?” 

Mark chokes on his drink- a strangled sound escaping him as his hand shoots up to cover his mouth as he sputters. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of him desperately trying to hold in his drink - his sputtering turning to coughing. The mix of the panicked look on his face and the pitiful sounds are just too much, and I find myself wincing at a sharp pain biting at my sides from the laughter. 

Catching his breath, Mark chuckles. He waves a dismissive hand,

“Man, I’m just shocked at how much you ate.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Dude, you’re what? Ten times my size?” I gesture to the pile of bones on his plate, “How do you think I feel?”

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“Relatively.” He points to the section of meat I’d claimed for myself, “Like, holy shit dude. It looks like you ate one of your legs worth of meat.” 

I shrug. 

“You could have eaten more if you hadn’t filled up by drinking so much.”

He chuckles- but his laugh is cut short as he jerks. The flinch is all the warning I get before a massive hand is sent rocketing toward his opposite arm. A thunderous clap breaks through the evening air. I feel the blood drain from my face, and I can’t tell if it's the sound echoing in my ears or if it's my heart thrumming in my chest. I hadn’t even flinched- a thought that I wanted to be able to revel in- to tell myself it was because I wasn’t so easily cowed… but there was no lying to myself. 

I didn’t even have time to flinch. 

The thought sent a chill through me. 

Mark, unaware of my racing heart, sighed.

“Ugh, the mosquitoes are coming out.” He shot me a nervous smile, “You, uh, wanna head inside and have a few more drinks?” Pausing, he adds “And maybe put a shirt on?”

I chuckle, though it feels more forced than moments ago,

“And why would I do that?” As I say the words, sing songy and teasing, I feel the tension inside me ease. I stand, my body feeling sluggish- heavy with the weight of a good meal. Stretching, I meander over to his waiting hand, making sure he knows I’m turning down the suggestion to get dressed rather than the invitation for more beers. 

Mark rolls his eyes, 

“I mean, you’re wearing enough of the sauce that it might as well count as a shirt.”

I narrow my eyes at him for a moment before looking down. 

Eesh. He… Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

Stomach to chest, I was covered in splatterings and smears of the dark red sauce. My pants were decorated with various stains, some smaller, like where I’d wiped off my hands, and one particularly large spot of sauce where I’d rested the massive hunk of meat against my legs. 

Using my forearm, I haphazardly wiped across my chest, clearing off a decent volume of sauce. 

“DUDE!” I jump at his exclamation, frozen in place with my tongue still dragging along the sauce smeared skin of my arm. I furrow my brow. What was his problem now? 

“Wash off properly before you get in my hand” He scolds. I mimic his exasperated expression and roll my eyes. He tears off another piece of napkin and hands it to me in response. Taking it, I double back towards my drink-bucket. 

“What are you- SAL!” I tip the bucket over my head and feel a wash of cool liquid pour over me- a momentary respite from the overbearing heat of the day. The chill combined with the strange bubbles in the drink are a bit jarring, but in a way that’s invigorating- refreshing even. 

Above me, I can hear Mark sputtering- a mix of “Dudes” and “whys” and other half finished questions. I throw up my hands, confused and frustrated. This guy’s impossible! I cleaned off?? What did he want from me?? 

“Dude! Come on…” The exclamation is chastising in its tone. “Why would you-” Before he can continue I interject, 

“But you said-” An exasperated sigh interrupts my very valid point. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he speaks.

“You know what? It's fine.” His tone suggests it's anything but, yet the smile he gives me feels genuine- as if he’s the one being patient and I’m the one being unreasonable. In a slow and careful movement, Mark once again offers me his hand. 

There's a slight, but not unnoticed, chill that grips me- a little shot of adrenaline at the sight of his incoming hand. A faint tremor in my legs, and a pounding in my heart accompanying a stray thought at the back of my mind that wants me to hesitate- to back out. The thought reminds me almost of getting into cold water; that anticipation of shock making you move slower, as if your brain is trying to persuade you away from that unwanted discomfort.

I set my jaw.

Well, fuck that. 

If I didn’t feel comfortable, I would make myself comfortable. My thoughts are mine to control- not there to control me. 

As if his hand were a body of water, I dove in. His hands were soft as I landed, much more so than my own. It wasn’t the first time it had crossed my mind how comfortable it felt- how warm. 

I flopped to my back and patted the meat of his thumb, coaxing him to move. I don’t miss the way his fingers curl in, or how his other hand comes up to support the first. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Those subtle gestures leave me a bit conflicted- stuck in a middle ground between finding it endearing and finding it patronising. The care to use a delicate hand with me was… nice, yet the thought that I needed to be handled with a delicate hand was bordering on insulting. 

The warmth of his hand and the rhythmic rise and fall with his steps seemed to lull me away from my irritation. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax to the steady sway of his steps. I liked Mark. He was nice. He had good food. He was fun to rile up. I felt my cheeks burning from a goofy smile that wouldn’t seem to falter. This was real. After all these years, I had someone to talk to! Someone to spend time with! There was a giddiness in my chest that just seemed to build- a dizzying surge of wild energy that felt like the room was spinning-

Wait. Was the room spinning??

I felt my stomach lurch, a weird feeling of vertigo prompting me to open my eyes trying to ground myself. The spinning sensation eased to a stop as I sat up. Seemingly right on cue, Mark lowered his hand to the table. 

As soon as I dismount from his hand, Mark’s massive frame turns away from me, rushing toward the sink. I frown as he washes his hands. I’d washed off for him, and yet he was acting as if he’d just handled something foul. As he returns to the table he seems to catch my glare. 

He raises his hands as if surrendering, 

“Dude, you’re sticky.” 

I snort.

“I am not.” 

I patted my skin. Sure, it was a little tacky to the touch, but that was hardly anything to wash up over. I’d just doused myself off in front of him- what more did he want?

While I had no clue what he wanted from me, I knew what I wanted- and that was another drink. 

Eyeing my glass bucket, I meandered over to wear he’d set his drink down. Each step was off- just a little, almost as if it was… Delayed? I took a long blink, trying to orient myself. Was I swaying?

I stumbled, catching myself on Mark’s arm. He flinched under my touch and my scowl returned. 

“Ew, dude, don’t touch me. You’re all sticky.” 

With a glare, I let my body collapse against his arm limply laying over it. He stiffens under my touch, and I feel the strangest sensation of goosebumps forming on his skin beneath me. I keep my head buried against his arm as my scowl is pulled up into a grin. This guy was really something else. Spiders, first aid, and slightly tacky skin?? I bet his own shadow could get a rise out of him. 

I chuckled at my own thought, laughing into his arm as he squirmed beneath me. Mark titled his arm in an attempt to push me back onto my feet, but rather than let him guide me back into a stand, I pulled myself up - stradling the width of his forearm. 

“Oh- Dude, come on. Get off.” He whines, twisting his arm, carefully trying to force me to dismount. His kindness is his own downfall, as the slow and gentle movements are easy to correct against- leaning my weight this way and that to compensate. Above me, he groans. Out of the corner of my eye I watch as his free hand reaches up, prompting me to spring up into a stand- feeling oddly dizzy at the sudden movement. 

He hesitates- hand hovering at my side - either waiting to catch me or unwilling to touch me. Before he can reconsider I spring into action. In one bound I’m at the crook of his elbow. Without pausing I leap, clearing the small gap between his arm and torso as I throw myself at the fabric of his shirt. 

Mark does nothing more than flinch- making a strangled noise as he jerks bolt upright in his seat, hands stiffly to each side of me yet making no move to touch me. I can’t stop laughing, My cheeks burn, my sides ache, yet my arms feel light as I pull myself up the length of his shirt. Mark leans back, craning his neck and tilting his chin away in the most futile attempt to distance himself from me. Stitches form in my sides as I nearly wheeze at the sight. 

Gripping the collar of his shirt I heave myself onto his shoulder, letting out a sigh as I try to quell my laughter. 

“Is something wrong, Big Guy?”  I tease,stifling a giggle while leaning my apparently sticky self onto his neck. The sensation of his warm skin shuddering under my touch is bizarre, “Afraid I’ll-” I pause. His skin is more than just warm, it's hot. I crane my neck, awkwardly trying to look at his face from the odd vantage point. 

His face is red- his mouth a thin line and his eyes are anywhere but on me. 

Oh.

This was too much, wasn’t it? 

I was too much.

I clear my throat, wracking my brain for anything to fill the now very noticeably awkward silence.

“You, um, mind refilling my drink?” 

A little puff of air escapes him, and I watch as a smile pulls at the edge of his lips. Slowly, he turns his head towards me, and all at once I’m reminded of just how massive he is. On his shoulder I’m eye level with him- Mark meeting my gaze out of the corner of his eye… and eye roughly the size of my head. I stagger back a half step, careful to mind my footing. Something about seeing an eye so closely was off-putting, the depth of the brown looking too deep- like something I could fall into; the colour like good healthy dirt.  

He raises an eyebrow.

“Mind getting off?” 

With an exaggerated hop, I let myself drop down the steep slope of his arm, half sliding half falling to his forearm. Mark lets out a yelp at the motion- as if a fall from that height was anything to worry about. 

I step down from his arm, my gait still feeling not quite right- each step somewhat unsteady, as if the table swayed beneath my feet. It wasn’t only my gait- my skin felt strange. Almost numb but not really? It was… buzzing?  Yet despite all the strangeness, there was a warmth in my chest that seemed to spread over into my mind. A light fuzziness that softens the edge of my thoughts. There was an ease- a comfort- that seemed to coat my mind, like a paradoxically warm blanket of snow. 

Maybe a little too warm? 

I knit my brow. 

I could fix that. 

I looked up, craning my neck to meet Marks gaze, 

“So, how about another drink?”

[elliethejellie]

Mirror - Promptober Day 14

A Collaborative Piece - Read Sun's Part (written by @scarfgremlin on Tumblr aka @/rollinginmud on Discord) on Tumblr or Google Docs

Read Moon's Part on Docs or Under the Cut! WC: 3.3k

Warnings for mentions of death, blood, panicking, anxiety, trauma, derealization, mild violence, and excessive amounts of fear. NOT A HAPPY ENDING.

**********

If anyone would have tried to convince you a few years ago that there would be calm evenings spent watching movies with the lunar animatronic you had grown attached to and had moved in with you, you wouldn't have believed them. 

Although, "moved in with you" was definitely up for interpretation. As far as Fazco was concerned, you had stolen him. But there was absolutely no way you were just going to leave him in the Pizzaplex after everything he was forced to go through.

Getting used to your apartment and the lack of noises that came with it took quite a long time. There were still days he would want nothing to do with being awake - opting instead for cozying up in your shared bed long after the sun had risen. When you would finally drag him out from under the covers, he would hide from the streaks of sunlight and stare a little too long through the windows at the outside world. He despised the color red - and loud, high pitched sounds would make him jump. But on the flip side, he couldn’t stand the silence. The first few nights, you didn't quite understand why he was so... distant. Sun wasn't... there anymore. He vanished along with whatever took hold of their shared system during their life in the Pizzaplex.

Realization dawned on you later that Moon had felt guilty for the events that took place in his old life. Although Sun wasn't there to torment him by constantly reminding him of the horrid things he did while under the influence of the virus, there were bits and pieces that would resurface in his mind and draw out complicated emotions he didn't want to deal with. He spent the majority of the time since his freedom started just trying to make sense of the silence that filled his mind. Between Sun's insistence that everything was his fault and the nagging voice from the virus - he was so used to everything always being so loud.

Music had become a rather large solution for him. You showed him everything you could think of - from your absolute favorites to the worst songs in existence. It was after you showed him how to play music on every device in your condo that things finally started to change for the better. It still took a long while after that to get to the progress he was at now, but it was worth it.

You shrieked, tucking your head behind your hands and into Moon's chest as he chuckled gently from above you. "Did it really scare you that bad?" he asked, wrapping his arms around you as if shielding you from the movie himself. You nodded into him as you peaked out from behind your fingers to peer at the screen again. Another jumpscare sent you leaning further into Moon as he just laughed. 

After a while, you gave up on watching - opting instead for playing with the ribbons tied to Moon's wrist. He mumbled about the main character walking into a room that would obviously get him killed - pointing out all the little details as to why it was a stupid idea and laughing again when he was right. Eventually, he seemed to realize that you were no longer watching and shuffled so you could better snuggle into him. One of his hands rested on your leg while the other rubbed soothing patterns on your arm - drawing a yawn from you.

The next thing you knew, Moon was gently shaking you awake as the credits rolled on the screen. "Oh god, I'm sorry," you mumbled sleepily. Moon immediately stopped you, sitting you up so he could look at you properly.

"Don't. I know horror movies aren't really your thing," he assured, reaching over and grabbing up one of your dinner dishes. "Besides, we ought to start cleaning up so you can get to bed."

A groan fell from your lips as you rubbed your eye. But you stood up and followed him to the kitchen anyways. Moon didn't hesitate to shuffle a random playlist of songs on the Alexa in the room - immediately filling the silence. 

After a few minutes, the two of you hummed and sang along to the music as you fell into the rhythm of cleaning the room. You brought in all the dirty dishes from around the condo while Moon began washing the ones that were already in the sink. Then he handed them to you so you could dry and put them away. 

Before you knew it, the two of you had the dishes finished, and Moon dried his hands on the hand towel hanging from the oven door.

"You," he said, poking your nose playfully. "Need to head upstairs and brush your teeth, Starlight." You opened your mouth to protest but as soon as your eyes caught his expectant gaze, you promptly shut it. He wasn't asking.

"Fiiiine," you sighed, handing him the towel you had been using to dry the dishes. "But hurry upstairs, okay?" He gave you a playful smirk, pinching your side so you hopped out of the kitchen giggling before running up the stairs.

After he was sure that you were in the bathroom, Moon exhaled. He turned the volume on the music up higher to dissipate any possibilities of the quiet space sending a shiver down his spine. The looming emptiness of the living room still hovered in his mind as he wiped the last of the crumbs from the counters.

With one last glance over the space, he finally flipped the lights off and stared at the Alexa - tuning in to the song that was playing. It was one of the first songs you had ever shown him. A warm feeling spread throughout Moon's body as he finally told the Alexa to stop playing the music.

And then he hurried up the stairs to join you in the bathroom.

"Moonie-!" you exclaimed, the two syllables disrupted from the toothbrush still lodged in your mouth - but happily nonetheless. Moon chuckled and slinked up behind you - wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his faceplate into the back of your head. You leaned into his embrace as a giggle bubbled up in your throat.

"Moonie, huh?"

The lunar animatronic finally brought his head up to look at you in the mirror, but his entire body tensed. You blinked at his reflection - confusion drawing your brows together as you pulled the toothbrush from your mouth. 

"Moon? Are you okay?" you asked. He unraveled his arms from around your waist, but never brought his gaze away from the mirror. You spun around to look at him and reached your free hand out to gently caress his face, but he flinched away from your touch.

"S-Starlight," he stuttered. He shook his head and brought his hand up to grab yours while letting off a strained chuckle. "I-I just- Thought I heard something, is all." He dropped your hand and backed another step away from you, retreating into himself suddenly. "Must've been the neighbors or something..." His voice was quiet like usual, but you knew him far too well to think nothing of the edge to his tone. Though, if he didn't want to talk about it, you weren't going to force him. So you nodded slowly and turned back to the sink to continue your nightly routine.

Moon tried to fight the urge to look back up at the mirror. Excuses ran through his brain. It was too quiet in here, that must be it. And his battery! It had to be low. Why else would he be shaking? He wasn't seeing anything in the mirror. It was just that his battery was low. All would fix itself after a long night of sleep. It was just his battery. But as Moon looked up into the mirror, he knew it wasn't true.

"Still lying to yourself with that one, are we, Moonie?"

If he had a heart it would have stopped.

If he had blood it would have run cold.

Sun.

The sound of you sputtering reached his ears. Did he say that out loud?

"M-Moon?" you said - suddenly right by his side. Worry was woven into your voice as you lifted your hand once again to touch him, but you paused midair as you remembered his earlier reaction. "Are you sure you're okay?" You could hear the sound of his internal fans kicking on, but he didn't turn when he responded to you.

"It's nothing, Starlight," he whispered. Static filled his voice as he forced himself to step forwards and place his hands on the edge of the wooden countertop. But his grip was too tight - the sound of splintering wood filled the silence within the small space. "I'm alright."

You knew he wasn't. He couldn't be.

Not with how intensely he stared at the mirror.

Not with how aggressively his body was being overcome with tremors.

But still, you gulped and nodded once more. "Okay," you said hesitantly, bringing the toothbrush back to your mouth. You stared at the tile floor as your mind raced with the possibilities of what could possibly be wrong. You had been making so much progress with him. Why was he shutting down suddenly?

"Aw, look at that. It's been how long, and you're still pushing everyone away~"

Sun's voice was characteristically cheery - sweet enough to be rotten. It made Moon's simulated breath hitch - his wires coming alive with anxiety and panic as his eyes flashed warnings of his systems overheating. He desperately clenched the edge of the countertop harder in a measly attempt to ground himself.

"Did you really think I would just forget?"

Moon let out a low growl, forcing his gaze from the mirror. He wasn't going to let his mind play tricks on him. Not again. 

Sun wasn't here. 

He was dead.

"Well that's no way to treat your brother, Moonie~"

A high pitched laugh reverberated through the lunar bot's mind - echoing and bouncing and haunting his every thought. But he tried his hardest to remember your words for these... episodes.

It wasn't real. None of it was real.

It was merely a ghost of his past. A trick of his coding. 

Sun wasn't here. This wasn't real.

He repeated the words in his head - slumping down until he rested his head on the edge of the sink. His fingers loosened their grip on the counter, and he finally let out a breath. He was just tired. The horror movie must have just put him on edge. A long charging session full of your sleepy cuddles would surely solve the issues. You always solved his issues.

"Don't you think that's a bit unfair of you?" Sun lilted. Moon slowly lifted his head back up as his solar opposite continued, entire body trembling with anger now. "You just dump all of your problems on them when they already have so much they have to deal with. Just like you did with me." The lunar bot growled again, shaking his head as he stared into Sun's hauntingly blank eyes. "I always had to clean up your messes. You were the one to ruin everything."

"That's not true," Moon whispered, fingers gripping at the splintering wood once more. His anger was slowly slipping - turning back into the sickening guilt he so loathed. Memories he tried to bury flashed in his vision until he was seeing red.

Red - and the ominous, taunting smile of his yellow reflection.

You stumbled towards Moon, trying to get his attention as panic clouded your expression. But your voice was distant - a whisper being drowned out by the loudness of terrified screams and the gut-wrenching sound of snapping bones. Your gentle touch was like fire on his arm - the flaming hot memory of a child's grip searing through his wires.

"And she doesn't even know what you did, does she?" Sun continued, head listing to the side and casting an eerie shadow upon his friendly features. "But I do, dearest brother. I remember every last smiling face you took from the daycare. Took from me." Moon backed away from the mirror, bringing his hands to his head as he saw the faces of children he'd hurt. 

No, he didn't hurt them. 

That wasn't him.

"But wasn't it?"

"It wasn't me," he repeated out loud. A question left your lips as you tried desperately to understand what Moon was talking about. But it was no use. He couldn't hear you.

"Emily." The smiling face of a young girl with blonde pigtails appeared before his eyes.

"N-No-"

"Jeremiah." A boy with red hair and freckles and glasses sat with a plush.

"It wasn't-"

"Addalyn." A loud troublemaker with a knack for screaming when she was excited.

"I-I didn't do it-"

"Or what about poor little Rosalie?" Moon's body froze. "You were her favorite, were you not? She trusted you. Even in her last moments, she looked up at you with a look of pure trust behind her fear-"

Moon's body was shaking now. His hands were clawing at his face as he tried with pure desperation to get the memories to stop. To get Sun to stop. Your voice was calling his name just as desperately now, fear wrapping its claws around your heart as you watched Moon speak nonsense to himself.

"You really haven't changed one bit, have you, Moonie?" Sun continued. Suddenly the safety of the bathroom disappeared from around him and he was back in the daycare - the normally cheery song playing endlessly from above slowed down to an unnerving pace. 

"Do you remember it, brother? Do you remember the feeling of their small arms between your hands?" He looked down at his fingers, reeling at the sight of the deep red covering every inch of his lower half. The state of his nails made his insides writhe - strands of dark hair and flaking blood stuck to them. He backed away, trying to put as much distance between himself and Sun as he could. He collided with something behind him and the sound of something hitting the tile floor and shattering reached his ears. 

But the floor wasn't tile. It was padded. Where was he? What had he hit?

"Fragile little humans - isn't that what you always called them? Rulebreakers are easy to break. That's what you told me, right?" Sun purred, gesturing to the red mess that soaked the padded floor and pulling the lunar bot back to the present. He then crossed his arms and looked back up at Moon - smile deepening as he spoke his next words in that same sickly sweet tone.

"You'll always be a monster, Moonie~"

"No-" Moon whispered, bringing his hands back to his head as it screamed with pain. "No, no, no-" His body was shaking as sobs overtook him. He didn't mean to hurt them. He didn't want to hurt them. It wasn't his fault. 

Arms encompassed his body in a hug. He didn't have the state of mind to push them away as he leaned into the embrace and cried. He cried and cried and cried. He didn't know how long he did - just that he couldn't stop. Not until the same cheery voice continued.

"How long do you think it will be before you hurt your little starlight, hm?"

"W-What?" 

"It'll only be a matter of time, don't you think?" Sun asked, ignoring Moon's confusion. "Eventually you'll snap. And then you'll destroy them, right?" Moon looked up into Sun's blank eyes in fear, before shoving him away. 

No, he wouldn't hurt them.

"But wouldn't you? I mean, you said the same thing about Rosalie, right?"

No, he would never hurt his starlight-

"Can't you hear the sound of their screams already? Where do you think you'd start? Their arms?"

No-

"Their legs?"

No!

"Or what about..." Sun listed his head to the side again, smile deepening. "Their heart?"

"NO!"

Moon lurched forwards, claws bared as a wild snarl left his voicebox. Static filled his voice as his hand connected with the glass of the mirror - back in the bathroom once again. His head buzzed painfully as his vision flickered from normal to red to normal again for several seconds. The sound of his internal fans whirring and his processors humming reached his ears. His body felt both cold and hot at the same time. But-

...

Sun wasn't talking anymore.

Moon looked up. The hint of a smile graced his lips.

But it was wiped clean the second his eyes settled on your form - cowering away in the farthest corner of the bathroom.

You were trembling. Arms raised protectively above your face to shield you from the fallen glass shards. Wait-

A strangled noise left his chest as he noticed the pieces of mirror lying around him. He caught your eyes, and felt his entire body go rigid.

You looked downright terrified.

Moon's hand reached out to console you. He wanted to help. He needed to. You were scared. He could soothe you.

But you flinched, eyes widening as you stared at the glitching color of Moon's irises change from blue to red and back to blue again.

Several seconds passed. You didn't dare shift a muscle. Your head ached from the blood curdling scream Moon let out a few moments prior. You shuddered at the memory.

"S-Star...?" Moon reached for you again, holding his hand out in a silent offer. 

No, it was a desperate plea for you to take it. 

You couldn't be afraid of him, right? You had to have seen Sun, too- Or maybe you were just scared because of the glass. It couldn't be him. He- He didn't do anything wrong. He was just- He-

Moon's hand dropped silently back to his side as you stood - ignoring him completely. Your legs were trembling from adrenaline as you held onto the bathtub to keep yourself steady. 

"I- I need a moment," you whispered, the gentle tone not nearly as present as you intended it to be. Instead, your voice trembled just as bad as your body. You attempted to flash Moon a reassuring smile as his eyes settled on yours, but you couldn't manage that either. "S-See you later," you then mumbled, trying to reach out to him to seal your reassurance, but he flinched away from your touch.

Without another word, you scurried past him and rushed away to your room.

That dreadful, deafening silence filled the bathroom as Moon stared at the shards of glass on the floor. He flinched again as the sound of the bedroom door closing reached him.

...

Anger filled Moon's body as he took in the mess surrounding him. His hands clenched into fists as the image of your fear seared into his memory. 

He reached up and tugged at his face again - digging his nails into his nightcap and then his neck and finally scratching at the wires at the back of his head.

He ruined it.

He ruined everything.

Just like he always did.

He terrified you. 

The one thing he told himself he would never do.

His body shuddered as old protocols flashed in an overlay across his vision.

"Naughty, naughty," he mumbled, taking in the sight of the glass shards. It was everywhere - littering the floor of the bathroom like the plastic balls from the daycare. A familiar twitch in his fingers made him stand slowly.

"Rulebreakers... Clean up, clean up..." 

With practiced ease, Moon walked to the small closet within the bathroom to pull out the broom. He began cleaning the shards, barely hearing the sound of them clinking together as he hummed to himself to fill the silence. Distant echoes of a life long abandoned sounded in his head. 

Only as he stood straight to dispose of the glass shards did he pause, forcing his gaze to reach the broken mirror before him. His shattered reflection stared back at him - the dark tear streaks trailing from eyes down his faceplate reminding him of the staffbots he used to destroy...

Sun was right, wasn't he?

Moon closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his sunny counterpart greeted him from the mirror. Shattered and reflected several more times than before - his unchanging, haunting smile staring back in silence. Moon turned away and slowly made his way back down to the silent kitchen, not bothering to fill the silence with anything.

In the end, fear was all he could elicit from people.