#reading the empty grave for the first time btw

[true-bluesargent]

HOLLY MUNRO. IS A LESBIAN?!?@? AND SHE HAD A CRUSH ON LUCY WHEN SHE FIRST JOINED LOCKWOOD AND CO????? I AM LOSING MY MIND RIGHT NOW

[damagedintellect]

💌 Reading into the palms of isekai bullshit:

Chapter 8 💌  

Summary: You were no stranger to isekai bullshit. It’s not like you had a problem with it. The genre took over the anime scene for years now but you try to stay away from thinking about how you would handle the situation. The last time you thought about inserting yourself into your favorite show you wrote a 100k word xReader fic for your favorite characters and you didn’t want to spend all your time consumed by the brainrot again. Never again, you promised yourself that was the last time you’d let the devil on your shoulder win. You clicked on chapter 1 to start the adventure over again but when you opened your eyes and saw Dazai O-FUCKING-samu getting choked by Kunikida you honestly hoped it was a dream.  

Notes: Oh boi first I wanted to thank everyone for being patient with me I'm sure if you read my other works you're in the know, and probably sick of hearing about how the last half of 2023 I was pretty much in and out of the hospital but I'm fine now! ...BTW 🍋 in this one

 ★ Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [You Are Here] ★

💌 Word count: 3,392 💌 <= Previous Chapter | Next Chapter =>

Three hours, you have been running around for three hours trying to find Dazai. You were hunched over panting, clutching the wall of a building to brace yourself. If only you hadn’t lied to Chuuya then you could get his help. Although if Dazai doesn’t want to be found, maybe Chuuya wouldn’t be able to find him either. The roof, Dazai’s room, Oda’s grave, Lupin, rivers, bridges? You were running out of places to go and places that you knew of. You grit your teeth, Ranpo won’t help you either. Not unless you beg and he feels sorry for you. At this point you were pulling on your hair at your wits end. Where would he go? Or rather maybe you should be asking a different question. Where would be the last place you would look?

You coughed before running back to the dorms. There was no way right? The last place you would expect Dazai to be, would be in your room. It was fairly sound logic. With the kind of person he knows you to be, you probably wouldn’t go back to your room until you either found Dazai or gave up. Sometimes the best hiding spot was in plain sight. Your lungs were burning since before you rounded the corner let alone when you tripped up the stairs. This had been the most cardio you’ve gotten in a long time and this was including the week Q’s ability was let loose. You fumbled with the key and stumbled inside heaving as you fell to your knees trying to close the door behind you. The clattering of bottles could be heard from the entryway. You managed to pull yourself to the main room to see the damage. It looked just as cluttered as Dazai’s room to the point where you were concerned for his liver. It was a mixture of empty sake and whiskey bottles. You might have to get Yosano to pump his stomach. Dazai was curled up into a ball in the corner of the room. He still had half a bottle of whiskey in his hands and his head was in his knees.

You tried your best to catch your breath before trying to navigate through the wreckage that you’re going to have to clean up later. To be completely honest you half expected him to drop off the face of existence for a week. You’re surprised you even found the brunette. You looked around whistling to yourself. People always say something, something Chuuya’s the alcoholic but you're convinced otherwise. You don’t think Dazai even registered your presence when you sat next to him. Gently you pried the bottle from his hands, taking a swig for yourself. It wasn’t your go to hard liquor but after everything you needed a drink. Your head had too many thoughts that needed to be quieted down.

You put the cap back on the bottle and leaned your head on his shoulder putting his hand that once held the whiskey in your own while interlacing your fingers to deter him from running. Although you highly doubt he could in this state, but you never know with anime logic. For all you know he could have just moved all the bottles from his room to make it look like he was far gone. The only real clue you had was the fact he smelled like alcohol and sweat but you weren't much better either.

“You still conscious Dazai?” You take a glance in his direction seeing if he turned his head towards you or anything. He didn’t.

“How’d you know I was here?” His voice was cold and smooth. If you didn’t know any better you would probably think he was sober. It takes roughly thirty minutes for alcohol to take an effect on your body. Although you didn’t know when he started drinking and how much he had. Trying to deduce the situation was harder than you thought. There were too many variables you needed to take in account and nothing could have prepared you for this if it was a trap. You would just have to trust your gut and with all the empty bottles laying around, assuming he did drink them then he had no chance to be sober. It kind of worried you.

“I didn’t. I ran out of places to look and hoped you’d be in the last place I searched.”

Dazai only nodded at your explanation. You sighed leaning over him to use your other hand to grab his face. “Look, I’m not like you, or Ranpo,” you paused briefly grasping at straws “Or even Fyodor. I'm not a genius. I have, one, very specific party trick, for everything else I’ve been taking shots in the dark. I’m not actually eloquent with my words and can’t pull these, “Everything will be okay” monologues out of my ass. So tell me what's actually bothering you so I can fix it and we can move on.”

“No” He had absolutely no hesitation in his answer and it caught you off guard.

“No? What do you mean no?” You studied his eyes but he blankly stared back at you before his eyebrows knit together with uncertainty. Dazai huffed “I don't know.” The tone of his voice made your heart clench.

Dazai looked down at the hand that was still holding his. He slowly tugged his fingers free as he changed the grip you had on him. He sucked in a shaky breath melting into the hand you had on his cheek “It hurts,” Dazai turned, pulling you as close as he could before placing your other hand on his chest, directly over where his heart was “Right here.” Your eyes widen at the gesture, your mind going completely blank. You watched as his expression faltered showing just how uncomfortable he was. Dazai was shaking like a cornered animal.

He was trying his best not to push you away or intentionally say something to hurt you even though he could feel the venomous words dancing on his tongue. He didn't know how to sit with the vulnerability. It didn't even occur to Dazai that he was trembling until you pulled him into a tight hug. He latched onto you like you could disappear at any moment. You honestly didn’t know what to make of this either so you did the same, shifting closer. You closed your eyes listening to his breathing as you rubbed his back. Neither of you had anything else to add for a while and you don’t think you could, even if you did.

The only signal that time had even passed you by was the light from outside. It had faded from its original brightness leaving you two huddled in the dark. At this point you were both gross and sticky with sweat, you should probably take a bath or at least start cleaning up so you can lay your futon out. You carefully pulled away just enough to look at the rest of the room. “I’m not letting you leave but we need to at least move everything out of the way if we plan on sleeping tonight. Do you want to bathe first or?”

Dazai mumbled out his response but you couldn’t understand a word or at least you hoped that you heard him wrong because you could have sworn he said “together?”

When you didn’t answer, he finally turned to look at you, reaffirming your assumption. “Can we bathe together?”

You blushed at the sudden request. He was being serious. “I-uh” you were torn. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind but you were adults and maybe he just didn’t want to be alone right now? It’s hard to say really when he’s studying you like a hawk, waiting for an answer. You swallowed your embarrassment, worst case scenario you could bathe in your underwear. “We can bathe together,” You stood up to start clearing away the bottles knowing you wouldn’t want to do it after your bath. “But only if the bandages come off because I swear I’m not bathing with a heathen.”

You bolted upright, nearly dropping a bottle when you felt something grab your arm. Dazai was peering down at you with an emotion you couldn’t place “Only if you’re naked too.” It was said firmly and with no room for negotiations. Biting your lip you weigh out your options but given your current circumstance, what did you have to lose? You matched his gaze.

“Okay.” You smiled.

If this is what it took to bring Dazai back to his usual self then so be it. After all, it was only fair. Dazai had done his fair share of laying himself bare. Now it was time to return the favor, albeit in a completely different sense. It didn’t take long to push all the bottles aside and set up your futon. You were amazed Dazai was even standing on his feet. As you grabbed some towels, it occurred to you that Dazai would have nothing to change into afterwards but you didn’t want to leave him to grab something from next door. You guess you would just have to wash his clothes so he had something to sleep in. You turned away to disrobe and surprisingly Dazai did the same. Neither of you said anything as you gathered up his clothes and walked out of the room to put them in the wash. He had a lot of bandages to unravel anyways. You should probably see if you had any for him to use later.

When you walked back in you tried not to look him over but you could feel his eyes roaming your body freely. It was making you self conscious until he said “You’re beautiful.” You nearly got whiplash from how fast your head snapped in his direction. It was jarring to see him without the bandages, numerous scars were scattered on his skin but your eyes were drawn to the faded scar across his chest. The one he acquired while fighting alongside Chuuya at fifteen.

“You're one to talk.” You moved to start the shower. “Don’t you know girls find scars hot.” As you were adjusting the temperature you felt arms wrap around your center. Dazai rested his head on your shoulder. “Hmmm girls maybe but what about beautiful women?”

You turned the shower head to splash him. “Oh, now you're really dripping with good looks.” You laughed teasing him. Dazai looked like a wet cat as you tousled his hair under the warm stream. “Of course I find them hot, silly, I wouldn't have said so otherwise.” You were glad he couldn't see your face that well from his spot on your shoulder. It was one thing to flirt with him in jest, another when you were alone but right now you were both naked in the shower. It kinda made your head spin with how odd the day has been.

As you tried to grab for the soap to start scrubbing off the grime Dazai intercepted your hand. “Allow me.” He said in a low voice. His breath was tickling the shell of your ear. The demand left you frozen as you felt Dazai start feeling up your body with his hands ignoring the luffa hanging from the caddy. Reflexively you squirmed backwards pressing Dazai against you further. You swallowed, there was nowhere to run. Blood rushed to your face. His hands glided over your breasts, brushing your nipples ever so slightly. Dazai made sure they were extra clean before giving them a playful squeeze. You let out a small mewl biting your lip before his hands moved down the rest of your body.

Dazai was intrigued with how far you would let him go, entertained by the soft noises you were making. He kissed your neck as he let one hand drift between your legs. His goal was to clean and tease, but if you begged for it he wouldn't complain. He was thrilled that you didn’t push him away. You had every right to be furious with him but you weren’t. You must really trust him. It makes him feel warm inside.

Dazai was touching you everywhere but the one place you wanted and it was killing you. He never passed through the crease of your folds. It made you take a sharp inhale. This was all so intimate and it was driving you crazy. You were torn, it felt good and you wanted it to go further but you were so tired and dead awake at the same time. The feelings swimming around in your head were all over the place. You decided he’s had enough, it was your turn. Gently you stopped his hands turning around to do the same. Lazily massaging the soap around his body.

Dazai smiled softly as you took the time to kiss every scar within your reach. Your hands stopped on his pelvis. Right now you had so much power. It really depended on what you wanted. Do you get him hard? Maybe suck him off a little and leave him wanting more? Or should you just ignore the area altogether since you’re not sure if you could finish what you start. It was a hard decision but if you wanted to soak in the tub at anypoint tonight you should probably move this along. Instead you forgo the area, handing Dazai the soap as you start washing your hair. If you touched him you probably wouldn’t be able to stop yourself.

When you do finally get the bath running you try not to stare at the brunette but the missed opportunity is all you can think about as you step inside the hot water. Dazai was leaning into your chest because you wanted to make up for what you should have done earlier. You had your arms snaked around his torso holding him to your chest. The job of every big spoon is to make sure their little spoon can feel their love and affection. While the gesture was genuinely supposed to be innocent your thoughts were anything but. You both soak like that for a while letting the hot water relax your sore muscles trying to set those thoughts aside.

As the water started cooling down you started kissing the crook of his neck. The events from earlier were getting the better of you. It wasn't long before your hands traveled downwards, once again resting on his pelvis drawing little circles on the area. Decisions, decisions all of them wrong but you didn’t want to stop. Maybe it was because you were both touch starved and emotionally drained. Dazai hummed tilting his head back over your shoulder giving you more room to kiss his neck. Fuck it you’ve already come this far. You started palming at his member with one hand as the other lazily stroked his chest.

Nothing is hotter than being able to feel Dazai grow hard under your touch. It was hard to pump his length under the water in a meaningful way but you continued to fondle him until he was fully erect, marveling at the thickness in your hands. It was hard to tell how much prep you'd need since you were already turned on but the water was also warping your view of his size. Dazai groaned in your ear gripping your thigh. In this position he was at your mercy and right now your hand was giving him way too much friction. If you stroked him any faster it would be an uncomfortable amount. “C-can I help you?” he practically hissed.

“Be a good boy and dry off while I put your clothes in the dryer.” You gave him a kiss on the lips as you were getting up to grab your towel. You didn't have to look back to see that he was excitedly following orders. You could hear the water start to drain when he pulled the plug. Your heart was racing as you quickly filled the dryer. This was happening, you were doing this. Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself mentally.

The room was still dark. It seemed Dazai didn’t bother turning on any of the lights. You could vaguely see Dazai was already splayed out on the futon waiting for you. “Like what you see?” He gestured to himself slowly trying to entice you further.

“I do,” you giggled “But I think I need a closer look.”

You gracefully crawled next to him, giving him another kiss on the lips. “Oops my eyes were closed” You teased playfully, melting into his lips a second time. Dazai smiled, happily invading your personal space. Hesitantly you let your hands wander bringing him closer to you. Each kiss was making you breathless but you didn’t want to pull away. Not when you could feel Dazai’s hands caressing your sides. The brunette shifted on top of you, nibbling your bottom lip. You gasped letting him deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to make your headspin. You were so captivated by his lips you didn’t realize Dazai was spreading your legs until he slipped a finger inside you, causing you to moan out unexpectedly at the sensation.

It went in so easy you almost didn’t notice until Dazai’s slender finger brushed just the right area to send a wave of pleasure down your spine. He was quick to add another grinning “Someone must be enjoying themselves. It’s very wet down here, bella.~” Dazai kissed around your jaw and down your neck, lazily fingering your entrance.

You squirm a little at how slow he was moving. If he didn’t get you all worked up in the shower you would be a bit more patient but it’s consumed your thoughts for the entirety of your bath. “Dazai please, I want you.”

He peppered a few more kisses to your chest before pulling back to look at you lovingly. “Already? I haven’t even gotten a taste of you yet.” He mused before swiping his thumb at your clit, causing your breath to hitch. Having Dazai go down on you would feel amazing but you want to feel amazing together.

“Another time, I want you now.”

He was awestruck that someone could want him so badly. Pride swelled in his chest. He really had panicked for nothing. It took Dazai a moment to pull his fingers out and slick himself with what lingered of you, on his skin. He wasn’t joking when he said you were very wet. It was extremely inviting so much so that he was drooling at the thought. Dazai wanted to savor this moment, ogling you as he let himself plunge deeper than his fingers could reach.

You both share a shaky breath. There was no discomfort, only the pleasurable thought of feeling full. Dazai was so warm within your walls it was taking a lot of self control to move, lest he cum prematurely. That would be embarrassing. Dazai shuddered as he pulled out just enough to dive back in. It felt too good to be true and that's saying something. With every thrust you were seeing stars. At this rate you wouldn’t last very long either. You don’t even know when you started moaning his name.

Dazai dipped his lips to your ear and panted “Osamu, call me Osamu.”

Your eyes had been previously wired shut with the intense ecstasy but they snapped open at the request. “O-Osamu~” It felt so foreign on your tongue. You started choking on your words as Dazai rammed into you harder. You were turning into putty, gripping on to whatever you could to ground yourself when Dazai intertwined your fingers with his. It wasn’t long before you both hit your limits.

Dazai slumped on top of you as you both tried to catch your breath. The hot breath on your skin and the post climax bliss had the words falling out of your mouth before your brain registered them. “I love you Osamu. Don't forget that.”

It took a moment for Dazai to respond. The post nut clarity settled his anxieties just enough to come to a conclusion. He was so tired of running away he just might make the mistake of indulging in the moment, disregarding the concern his mind once had.

“I love you too.”

[xruiiii-blog]

Hi I’m literally obsessed with this au

I have a couple questions I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you but I’ve been analyzing this comic for way too long

Who is leading mountain to be killed? Who is getting crowned? Why is mountain being killed? Are the rest of the knights/other portraits other ghouls? Who is helping phantom unbury him? Is phantom unveiling him at the end?

I’m so sorry I’m obsessed, your art is amazing and thank you for your time

Thanks for the time and energy you invested into this!!! Wow! I might disappoint you after this haha. But u know! Always analyze and believe in whatever you think it’s the best explanation! I love when ppl have their own understanding of a piece :) that’s why there’s no dialogue

Anyway about the comic…

It supposed to be a simple “once upon a time” kinda thing. A bedtime tell, someone’s small piece of memory, a casual story that’s melancholy. Nobody’s really important, except the little prince and his knight. There’s no deeper meaning other than the lonely prince lost the only person he cares about to a war.

Something about the titan knights is that they don’t care about their identity. Their powers and skills are the things that matters. That’s their identity instead of who that person is under that mask. They are weapons and they like to keep it that way. Meaning that if any one of them dies during the war, a weapon has served its purpose. The others will move on and there’s no sorrow. I don’t want to talk too much about different species lore here it’s a lot…maybe next time :)

However, the two anonymous knights are rather closer to Mountain and Phantom than everyone else. They are also more human-like. They are more sentimental than some others on the team. It’s not anyone’s fault that the titans are this way btw, it’s just how things is. These two knights care about phantom more than the others does spiritually, they kinda understand how close their captain was to the prince and what Mountain meant to him. So they take him to Mount. Usually titans don’t even take the dead body back with them. It’s not like they don’t care, they do, but to them dead body it’s meaningless. No longer serve any purpose. Titans don’t ever grieve, mourn, or anything.

Phantom does. Be glad that he’s even able to contact with the corpse one last time cuz a lot of times soldier’s grave is just an empty tomb. That’s also why he digs. He needs to see it himself in order to let go. He places the veil back to place and sees what he’s familiar with for his whole life. The mere illusion that Mount is still with him.

…

Honestly this whole thing came to me at 2am and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I feel like its more of a vibe, very vague story and fear of death I didn’t executed it the way I wish I could (skill issue…) anyway my first actual try at drawing comics and it took me 2 miserable weeks(it was okay). I shared this before I have concentrate issue my attention span is short💀…ngl the process it’s challenging and I wasn’t expecting ppl to understand what’s happening or even read it. I didn’t expect myself to finish the whole thing even lol. Glad you like it and look at it with these much appreciation AND letting me know!!! :)) that’s what I was tryna say. 🖤🖤🫶🫶🫶

[flaxensmile]

Neglected

OOOOOOOOKAY, before you guys read this, I have some things to say. This is my first time posting on Tumblr, and I'm absolutely sobbing. I usually keep my fanfics stored away to collect dust, and FOR ONCE I'm publishing SOMETHING. BTW this IS smut. So y'all are in for a ride. PS. Graves is so hot oml.

Also, this is around: 2100 words :)

MINORS DON'T READ, PLEASE. <33

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Smut warnings here: Masturbation, keeping quiet, Y/N getting caught, and fingering. (Tell me if I ever need to add any more. I'm not really sure what to put here when you guys know it's smut.)

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Graves had been your boyfriend for a couple of years. He was often off on missions, coming back stone cold before you fled to his arms. Maybe it was your dependency on him like a fresh fawn that didn't know your right from your left. A poor girl that needed him, and he could so easily have you in bed within minutes. This last time he returned, he didn't spring back as usual. He had been cold and distant, staying inside his office and working on paperwork you couldn't see. Some document or another that was not intended for your civilian eyes to witness what your country may be doing behind closed doors.

Of course, you gave him his space, but it was starting to get to the point where you were left in an empty bed while he was in his office. You had been in cold sheets before, but, this time, he had the option to sleep, and yet he waited till the morning. You haven't seen him in the span of months, and yet not a single hand was placed upon your body. Restlessness became common in your nightly routine. You were left with your devices when you had a random surge of heat between your legs. You were being ignored, neglected, and you couldn't stop them from heating the sheets around you. 

At first, you were distracting yourself. It was anything that you could. Cleaning, working out, going out with friends, and nothing kept the heat from reappearing in your downtime. Of course, when you needed Graves, he was working on something you couldn't even see. Locked away behind the door of his office. That seemed to only mock you as you would steal glances from it.

Now, you were in the shower, trying this so-called distraction method you had been doing, hoping that the water would wash away any impure thoughts that had formed. The water ran down your body. The heated liquid created steam within the confined walls of your bathroom. Moisture swirled in your lungs, causing your breath to labor, and that's when you felt it again. 

The ache.

The pain.

It was starting to get to the point where you couldn't deny it. Distractions could only bring so much solace to your nerves, and now you were paying the price.

The God-awful price.

Somehow every touch from the rain of the shower water caused small sparks, causing you to lightly twitch. It was embarrassing to have such a pain when your boyfriend of two years was sitting in his damn office. Your first mistake was to think about him. His glasses hung on the lower part of his nose as he mindlessly chewed on his lower lip. The tap of his pen as he held it firmly with his fingers.

His fingers.

Goddamnit. You were setting yourself up for failure as you thought about him. The ache had just become too much for you. You need something. Anything. The pads of your fingers snaked down your stomach, teasing the shocking sensation between your legs. You could almost taste the sense of victory to finally find release, yet you couldn't help but wish it was Graves’.

His hand would appear from behind your vision as he took his sweet time teasing every spot he had learned from his times with you. The thought of his possessive whispers that soaked into the skin of your neck. They had become unspoken rules–prophecies that you couldn't deny or rebel against as the god himself held you down. 

You were under his rule–his command as he took what he wanted. Everything swirled within your brain as your fingers danced across your cunt. Embarrassment hit your cheeks as you already felt the slick between the folds. You were like a goddamn animal–a fiend that should be shamed for being so utterly helpless to a simple temptation. 

Teeth clamped down onto the soft skin of your lower lip as you held down whimpers and soft moans from the exploration of your fingers. The neglect allowed your body to become more sensitive– more accessible to the sheet-gripping pleasure that had surged up your legs and sent it straight to your brain.

It was mind-numbing as one hand flattened against the shower wall to keep yourself upright. Steam seemed to flood from your mouth as you inhaled it with shallow breaths. 

Fuck. You shouldn't have been the one doing this to yourself when your boyfriend was in the other room. This was his job– his expertise and yet, here you were letting your fingers slip within your own folds and doing his job. Your eyebrows furrowed as the damp air collected on your skin. Half of you wanted to barge into his office and demand him of something he had neglected for so long. You deserved it, didn't you? Being the faithful, cute, innocent girlfriend as he got to sit there owning you like a damn trophy.

The hand that held you up in the shower turned into a fist. Anger was your attempt to rebel against his martial law as your fingers increased their speed. It made you clamp your jaw knowing that Graves would hear you from the thin walls between his office and the bathroom.

Of course, an evil, twisted part of you wanted to be loud. Show him that you were pleasuring yourself without him even near you, but part of your throat tightened, causing you to keep quiet. You were just a small, frail fawn living with a wolf that would tear you limb for limb if you didn't stay within your line.

Your fate had been sealed since the day you met him.

Water dripped down your body as your fingers found the right pressure, causing small tremors down your legs. It was hard to keep yourself up with the pleasure your hand was aiding you. Shallow breaths left you before they ceased once the sound of a rolling chair slid across the wood flooring with force. The sudden sound made you stop as heavy footsteps followed.

You fell in the same line within seconds as you tried to act as if you weren't on the edge of climaxing off your own fingers. Those same fingers gathered soap onto them and acted as if you were still cleaning yourself as the footsteps stopped at the bathroom door.

Shit, did you forget to lock it?

The door creaked open as you heard the ruffle of clothes.

Fuck. You are so fucking screwed.

Graves' light grunts of him taking off the clothing filled the bathroom. He was going to walk into the damn shower.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You chanted the same word as you added in a prayer that God existed and saved you from this man, yet he let you down right as the curtain for the shower opened behind you. Not once had you ever had chills in the shower before Graves stepped in.

"Sorry, darlin'. I heard you takin’ a shower, and I just couldn't help myself.” He said with a low tone, avoiding most of the humor as his hand went to your waist. The touch sent a small shiver down your spine. Each nerve lit with a hint of fear and embarrassment.

Fuck, were you loud? No way, you hadn't made a sound, right?

Your thoughts swirled as his fingers on your waist brought you to his chest. A light smack of their skin hitting filled the bathroom as your breath hitched. Graves leaned down to your ear as his breath lightly tickled the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Maybe I haven't been paying enough attention to you.” 

He heard you.

The thick swallow down your throat was enough evidence to him. Your rebellion had been caught, and now you had to pay the fucking price.

Graves’ hands went down to your hip, tracing small patterns into the skin as you couldn't make eye contact with him. “Maybe I need to make you learn how to look at me when I'm talking to you.” He murmured against your neck before lightly kissing it. This was his calm before the storm. The fact he hadn't pushed you against a wall by now was surprising.

You didn't know what to do. His grasp on you wasn't something you could just slip out of and forget like it never happened. Graves’ claws were sunk into your flesh, creating a well of possession down your veins. It was like a poison that made your knees weak and your breath shamelessly shallow.

Every word of protest you had earlier was gone. It disappeared into the misty air around the bathroom and you had furiously turned into the weak prey. Nothing about this made you completely upset, he was giving you more attention than he had the entire week he had been home. “Mm, you seem to know exactly what I'm talking about, dontcha?” 

A shiver ran down your spine once again. “You're not exactly the most quiet.” Graves murmured as his fingers slowly inched to your cunt. You were fighting the feeling of helplessness as you watched his two fingers slowly inch down to your needy flesh. His fingers teased the folds, causing you to lightly gasp.

“You just can’t keep it in ya, can you? ” He said as a dark smirk came across his face. His fingers delved deeper, and it somehow made you furious at how he so easily took control. Graves wasn't learning a thing, only coming in and taking you as if he hadn't been neglecting you for a week. “Did it feel good? Teasing me like that while I tried to work on my paperwork?” Graves teased as his fingers worked in circles.

Your hand went back onto the shower wall as his fingers worked so much better than your own. Graves knew the right amount of pressure and consistency. It made your head lighten and fall like how your knees wanted to sweep from under you. 

“And you're fuckin’ wet, Jesus sweetheart.” Somehow through the haze, you got your anger back. It bit the sides of your cheeks as you gritted your teeth.

“We’re in the shower. Of course, I'm gonna be wet.” You bit back in a surge of confidence. There was no way you were going to let it go to waste. It didn't matter if your teeth didn't stick in, but it made you feel as if you weren't giving up.

Graves only laughed with pure amusement. His fingers continued to roll the sensitive skin of your clit as you tried to fight off his motions. “Don't try to lie to me, sweetheart. I know the difference between your slick and water.” He said before letting his fingers go down to your entrance. 

Fuck. You're a fucking gonner. Maybe surrendering was the better option.

The guttural moan that left you as his fingers curled within you made your eyes slightly roll back. It was borderline embarrassing to see how much damage he could do to you with just his fingers. You wanted to bite back. Sneer at him with bared teeth, but you knew his white pears were sharper, more profound as he had ripped into you before.

How could a prey fight against her predator? The monster that seeks out her torture?

Your legs were shaking and your body kept close to his as you used him as a pillar to keep you up. The water from the shower became needles into your back. Their pricks reminded you of your place as Graves started to thrust his fingers in and out of you. He knew how to make you kneel, and it had become your ultimate flaw. The fact you couldn't sink your teeth down anywhere made you embarrassed, yet you had the thrill of being preyed upon.

As sick as that reality was, it was the one you were in. A cycle of being hunted as Graves kept hitting your G-spot over and over again with his fingers. It wasn't long until you climaxed, letting out a whiny whimper and a shudder. Graves silently chuckled against your collarbone as his hand retreated from you. The slick washed away from his fingers as he lightly kissed your neck.

“Atta girl.” He praised before leaning back and watching you from behind as you shuddered and shook from the intense pressure of your climax. “But I ain't done yet. I need you in the bedroom in ten minutes.” Graves said before leaving the shower and heading out of the bathroom door.

You were fucked.

[bruciemilf]

brain go brrrrRRR buuut... BRUCE being forgotten on the day of his birth <33

Bruce tired from patrol, sore and aching forgetting HIS own day because he has been used to never celebrating it until his children show up.

Granted, Alfred has tried before. Greeting him on the occassion but never pushing, too scared that one day the flighty bat would break once again and he is left with oueces he can't fix.

But anyway, the kids celebrate for him in little ways when they were young. Maybe treats with dick, reading with jason, info dump with tim, art with damian (dami says he sucks btw but is glad for the activity), steph conjures a waffle contest (she wins), just yea spending time as a birthday present is enough just for him and the greetings "Happy Birthday B" or "Your birth old man" even the silent approach of cass's kiss on the cheek. So, he never forgot his day.

Yet lately, everything has been his fault. His relationship with the kids are strained. Everyone else is out of town or offworld or busy for days, weeks or months. Then his day comes, no greeting just a ping on his phone calendar. BIRTHDAY it said, knowing no ither notification will settle on his screen.

So he sits in the cave. Tired and aching, not unusual but the hollow ache of his soul hits him harder than the rough patrol. He finds himself alone, for the first time in a while and he accepts it. Welcomes the dark of his mind telling him what he always secretly believed in growing up from the boy in the alley to a man in a suit.

" YOU make yourself lonely B, WE deserve it but it's okay. Gotham needs the bat more than anyone will ever need YOU."

It aches but it's okay. Everyone forgot, they should eventually. Unable to sleep off the ache of the last minutes of his day he goes back to the grave and it's been so long since he'd done this but-

"Happy birthday" he sings, quiet and low to mama and dad and leaves quiet and empty parting with the words he thought he had long forgotten before-

"just- just another year, so please take me home soon"

*** ANYWAY i needed to brainrot because bruce having thoughts of awe that he lived past the age he thought that it would be the end feels so good, thank ü 😔

When Bruce steps back in the manor, he almost jumps out of his skin.

Jason's much bigger than him now, but he still jumps in Bruce's arms, mirroring his 10 year old self. "Finally! Thought you'd never come back."

Bruce blinks, "Wha..."

Alfred tuts. " Come now, sir. We mustn't let Master Grayson's baking go to waste."

"It's cake mix from Batmart, Baba. I'd rather eat a corpse."

"Come on, Damian! How would you feel if I told B you've been bringing stray cats home for a week?"

"They're my birthday gift. Baba and I will find them good homes, like this one." And bruce just wants to cry. He does. In Jason's shoulder. Even if Jay tells him only suckers cry (he cries in Bruce's shoulder, too)

[craacked-splatters]

"I know"

"Do u want to see what I added today?"

"Sure buddy"

(insane rambling below!)

Scrapbooks! Scrapbooks! Hell yeah!!

Hello to the 5 ppl seeing this👋 Ima be real Im running on 7 hours of sleep after 5day grind brain mushy rn and I scribbled everything maniacally by memory at 3am after having one of those revelation moments so I have no idea what I'm missing lmao. This is actually the first time drawing them like this 2. Really proud of it

and B4 u ask anything hear me out.

So like tmnt2012 mutant apocalypse am I right?

Yeah it's flawed and pacings off and stuff BUT! The implications it left behind are haunting and it has been stuck in my brain for years. One of the things that stuck with me was the fact that Raph and Don had stuff like April's tessen, Mikey's stuffed bear head, The Creeps containment jar, and Casey's skull(horrifying btw) with them and that it's like :((

I fully believe it was Donnie who collected and carried them everywhere in their car. Not only for Raph(to help with this memory)but also for himself.

Why? Well maybe I'm reading 2 much into it and it's also partly a HC of mine but also bc canonically Donnie has a bit of a hoarding habit collecting trinkets and pictures and stuff. He likes to keep things around that hold a lot of significant value to him.

We see this in The Creeping Doom during the intro

AND I swear he's got a literal wall of family photos in his lab somewhere I can't for the life of me find it but I know he did! He even took some to the farmhouse with him when they escaped during the invasion.

They're memories yk? Reminders..

Ok im having difficulty expressing this shit rn words r failing so like give me ur brain 4 a sec.

Imagine ur donbot.

You're stuck in a cold metal limbo for the rest of ur last remaining family members life. Everything and everyone you knew and cared about is dead and gone. Over thousands of species and ecosystems that made ur world unique wiped out. No more animals no more wild things no more blue clear skys. Death can't come for you. Not in a way that matters anymore.

And no matter where u go you are haunted by shadows of what once was. There are so many echoes and ghosts and cultures and stories and lives that were buried & left to rot by the gaping maws of fear & the desperate need to survive. No one cares for the past and the only other person around you can't remember it. Time will claim its domain again and there will be nothing left except empty metal husks to show sentience even existed in the first place.

Like holy shit he was just a kid bro and he never got the chance to even reach full adulthood!!! I can't possibly imagine the grief and guilt he must've carried with him all those years. He lost EVERYTHING

His family. His home. His world.

Did Donnie even get the chance to mourn??? Do u think his new body allowed it? Do u think he even ALLOWED himself to mourn? He had a hurt amnesiac brother who still needed to eat, who could still starve and bleed and die if they weren't careful enough.

So between his habits and the ✨Angst✨ and human pollution, him hoarding random ass things Wall-E style and making these shitty little scrapbooks or keepsakes didn't seem so far fetched to me. I also highly doubt there was enough time or resources to build shrines or graves in the middle of apocalypse. But yk honoring/preserving the memories of the things and ppl we love is natural for us so like SORRY if its a bit cringe of me wanting him to have SOMETHING to comfort him during the really bad days.

Even if its more bitter than sweet

Bonus doodads cuz I was indecisive:

The 1st was purple tinted cuz of donbot vision get it hehehe

[psalmsofpsychosis]

(still the same anon from all those Batman/Joker asks)

Be ready with those empty walls, pal, I'm on my way!! I've already thrown my suitcase in the car and filled up the gas-

You blew every expectation I had with that answer of yours and I don't know if I'll ever recover. I will absolutely respond to your answer but first I need to put my brain back together from being rearranged like a jigzaw puzzle. I'm definitely looking forward to reading that Jesus/side wound meta whenever you post it.

Until then I have a different question. I don't remember who said it but it was along these lines: "There are only three people in the world who find the Joker funny. Joker himself, sometimes Harley and lastly Bruce. And he feels so fucking guilty for it."

They pointed out how Batman does a lot of bad puns, same as the Joker, except he does it with a straight face and serious tone. For example: Bat-terry, Bat-bucket, Bat-arang, saying "hang in there Alfred" while Alfred is dangling off a metal beam. (Those are my rushed examples, not something the original poster brought up, so if they're unaccurate, that's my fault). Bruce will also just say the craziest shit and nobody is sure if he's serious or not. (Happens all the time)

I have a vague suspicion who it was but I'm not sure enough to @ them.

Joker and Batman's sense of humour and how they are somewhat opposed but still similar will drive me into an early grave I swear. Like that post that's still circulating somwhere that mentions how Bruce "lives and dies by the fact that nobody can ever tell when he's pulling their chain" and how Joker "craves to have his comedic genius acknowledged [but he's just not funny]".

I don't know about Joker wanting to be acknowledged as funny because I don't think he considers himself to be in the clown business. He definitely ranted about this to a captured Damian in a comic once. But he does make a lot of bad jokes. Maybe he doesn't think himself funny, either?

Any thoughts?

(Btw I'm not done pestering you yet, be ready to receive an ask about the Batman: I Am Suicide comic and about Martha and Thomas Wayne in the next few days. I still have to gather my thoughts though.)

(Can I just say that every single one of your answers has made my brain release a huge amount of serotonin? Or is that too much? Eh, whatever, it's the truth anyway. You've brightened my week considerably, thank you so much!!)

❤️❤️ hi friend, i adore receiving your asks and getting to exchange interpretations with you, and i can only hope that my superturbonexus unhinged answers have brought half as much joy to you as your questions have brought me 🥰

I kinda took my time with this ask (sorry!) because it's a rather big bite out of an intricate can of bat worms for me, can included. I also found and reread this particular post by @distort-opia , which put more a dozen more interesting worms in my metaphorical can— i'm not sure though if it was the post you were initially referring to.

So! The concept of jokes and generally being a funnyman is a subjective talk, and my personal preferences regarding where Joker and Batman place on the funnyman scale deviate considerably from what the general consensus in batman fandom seems to be (or the lot i have seen of it), so i guess i'll just take this opportunity to do personal talk, probably more than usual 😂 take it all with a grain of salt! (an ingradient that you'll find this answer contains a fair bit of actually—)

I dont think Joker is funny one bit, and i dont think he's particularly trying to be in the general sense of the word; to imply that he's "funny" both in-world and on a meta level would mean that being funny is his core motivation and the heart of his actions, that it's the foundational component, and to me it's not. A bit more a matter of personal taste on my part, but i actually feel lowkey irritated with Joker portrayals that lean too heavily on the "HE MAKES JOKES HE'S SO FUNNY!!!!!" act at the expect of every other significant characteristic he has, because like, funny is not who he is, it's just one of the 500 things he does. Sure he started as a fun character meant to bring in a dash of psychopathic delight to the early Batman works, but he has evolved to become so much more than that, which i like better than the more simplistic "he's a funny fun guy!!!!" characterizations. To me Joker is not funny, he is not supposed to be the way you pour salt on your dish but it's not supposed to taste salty, it's supposed to taste /right/. His jokes aren't the main dish, they're an added flavour meant to bring home a certain act: the performance. He's a showman, he's here to put on a good show, and that show doesn't have the end goal of being "fun", it has the goal of being iconoclastic and real and raw. But he can't exactly do raw, raw and sincere scares him, in a way he's a slave to his fear and tries to cage it and tame it and understand it the way Batman is scared of bats and everything they represent and he made them his very persona. Joker tries to be true and geniune and sincere but he can't, so he infuses his actions with jokes to soften the blow, shift the taste a bit. He also has the genius' disease; he wants to be seen through, interpreted, understood and reimagined, mirrored, and it's an itch only a certain fellow fucked up intellectual can scratch for him.

Batman deeply understands the value of a good performance and a viciously planned persona, he is a performer both as Bruce Wayne and as Batman after all. And he has the expertise to dissect and bring out all the nuance in Joker's performance, it's probably why he finds him funny. He understands the theatre piece, both when it's executed in a stellar fashion and when it falls flat on its face. noone else can bring this level of discernment to interpreting Joker like Batman does because what other villains do is actually less performance and more.... outright insanity. I think this is also the reason why Batman enjoys saying the most insane shit and making weird jokes at weird times and have everyone be confused by him, it's part of the performance. There are these little almost invisible acts that Batman and Joker catch of each other, that they want to catch of each other, "i'm shaking the persona a bit", like when an actor improvises a moment to keep the role fresh, but only the people in on the script catch it, to others it feels in accordance, not off enough to catch attention. It's one of their core points of connection and similarity actually, they both have their performances and they both wiggle in its frame, sometimes threatening to break through the confines.

[helpyourselfwithcherrywine]

Haytham's Journal Entry

A/N: This is just something I wrote to help me get this brain fog out of my head to finish the other WIPs I have sitting in Word. This is loosely based off the idea prompt list I posted a couple of days ago. Btw I'm am terrible with titles.

Love Letters to My beloved

Haytham x reader

April 1795

My Love,

I wish you could see me now, I wish you were here. Your flowers are in full bloom, the roses shine their red and pink hues. The apple tree as well is at full bloom as well as the tulips and marigolds . The sun as warm as the love you had very little time to show me. I made sure to put some of them at your grave. I miss you, the bed is too cold for me, the kitchen is too empty, the living room and your study is too quiet for my liking. I think back to the short time we spent together, one of my many regrets in this life. Not spending enough time with you and putting the order first strained us. We drifted apart and I found love with another. It wasn't until we were almost done with life that I found you again. Training Connor no less, finding out you had been raising him since his mother's death. In all reality, I was lost at the time. Realizing my whole life had been a lie, that the Order I followed was responsible for the many misfortunes in life. When you found me again, I had little care for myself and no care for any other. Then when everyone was slowing dying, you offered the suggestion to leave the order and disappear into the night. I took it, simply because I was too tired to fight back. That and I know, fighting you and Connor were things I simply did not have the strength to do. I know I didn't have enough time to show you how much I loved you, but I could not see you die by my hand, nor Connor for that manner. Then the 5 years we spent together were grand, but very short. The day you died, I cried until I had no tears left to cry. You promised me would not leave me again and you lied. You promised. You would scold me if you saw me now. I wanted more time with you, needed more time with you- I love you, you were too good for a man like me. Your outer beauty complimented your inner beauty. The tenderness you gave to me makes me miss you and yearn for you more each passing day I dream of you often, hoping I see you soon. Connor comes by when he can, he brings my granddaughters by and they get bigger and bigger. You would have love them. My heart will forever be yours, no matter what. My biggest hope is to be united with you in the afterlife and spend the eternity of time loving you the way you should've been loved from the start.

I hope to see you soon, my love

- Haytham

[inactivegaz]

romance is not dead (if you keep it just yours)

pairing: kyle “gaz” garrick/oc (vaughn ballinger) fandom: call of duty wc: 997 note: this is set almost immediately after ghost’s face reveal in ghost team and before the actual mission. also i did say that cowboy and gaz are very paris by taylor swift abt a week ago

“I fell out of a helicopter.”

“Christ. Again?” She cracked a smile, her hand drifting the side of his face as she looked into his eyes.

or Agent Ballinger helps Gaz put on his paint before they get the Los Vaqueros base back.

READ ON AO3 [✰]

btw there is a vaughn/gaz playlist, it’s linked on ao3

The tension was still apparent in the room as people spread out to do their own things to prepare for the mission the newly merged Ghost Team was about to embark on.

Agent Ballinger sat by herself on a bench, a large bandage peeking out from under the left sleeve of her t-shirt, a permanent souvenir from her time in Las Almas beneath.

Kyle approached slowly, pulling at the black mask as he sat down next to the agent. “How you doing?”

Vaughn was pulled from her thoughts, smiling up at the man standing next to her, “Been better.” She patted the empty space to her right, “Sit with me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, he sat down and watched as she went back to pulling at the laces on her very scuffed boots. It reminded him of the first op they worked together just over a year ago, well the day after; she put on boots that were more beat up than the ones now and shrugged saying they were lucky.

“Could you help with the paint?”

“Sure.” She twisted her body and sat on her knees beside Gaz, letting their fingertips brush against one another as she took the paint from his grasp.

Her hands went to his face and started swiping and tapping away around his left eye.

It took everything in him to not lean into her gentle touch or to lay a comforting hand on her thigh as she painted his face. They’ve been seeing each other for about ten months, but never talked about telling either of their direct superiors, Laswell and Price, or any type of coworkers really, deciding that whatever they were was better just between them.

He watched as she worked away, swiping the paint on, and the feeling he got as he realized it was her coming up the rope at the prison crept back up on him: concern and worry. Worry that was surely misplaced, she was a capable agent but she wasn’t even meant to be in Las Almas.

Vaughn was supposed to be at his flat in London. Gaz wasn’t meant to be there either, he should’ve been on his way home from Amsterdam, on his way home to collapse into her arms and sleep the mission off for a day.

The silence didn’t go unnoticed by Vaughn, although it was certainly welcome as she still hadn’t wrapped her mind around the last 36 hours. She was lucky to be alive, lucky that Graves believed her when she said that she didn’t know anything about 141.

“I fell out of a helicopter.”

“Christ. Again?” She cracked a nervous smile, her hand drifting to the side of his face as she looked into his eyes, rubbing a scar that was on his cheek from a previous mission.

“Yeah, it was— I hated it.” Kyle took a moment to lean into her touch, almost like a cat demanding scratches between the ears.

“We need to put your ass on a no-fly list or something, Gaz.” The agent laughed, taking her hand away dipping her finger into the grease paint.

Kyle took a moment to just watch her before responding, “That’d be kinda hard in this line of work.”

“Unfortunately.” Vaughn lamented, continuing her work on his right eye.

“Is it bad that I really want to kiss you right now?” He whispered up at her, watching as her hair curtained their faces from the doorway that Captain Price went into a few minutes ago to talk to Laswell.

“Kinda. Only because I really want to kiss you too.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

Her face went straight, trying to hide a smile as she shook her head, “Don’t even start, Sergeant.”

He smiled as he leaned back into the hand that was now on his right cheek. It was almost as if they were alone, no one was paying them any mind, it was just them in this little base.

Looking back up at Vaughn, he noticed she was checking over her shoulder then she turned and looked over the shoulder. “What are you—”

“Come here.” She smiled now cupping his face with both hands, she leaned in and their lips met, melting into each other.

She hummed as she pulled away, resting her forehead on his before whispering to him, “I’ve missed you.” She went in for a quick peck.

“Missed you too.” He replied, trying to follow Vaughn as she pulled before pushing him back against the bench, hand on his chest.

“Are you crazy, Gaz?” She let out a light laugh, “There’s so many people here.”

“Maybe it’s the helicopter crash. Coulda knocked a screw loose.” He shrugged as she went back to work, finishing up around his eyes.

“Oh shut up.”

Gaz laughed, watching her try to contain her expression as she rolled her eyes. It really felt like just them at this moment. He kept a hand on her knee as she checked over her work.

Finally deciding to take himself out of the moment, he felt off. Vaughn started messily smearing the paint over her own face, only a small compact to see what she was doing. He looked past her shoulder and saw a pair of eyes looking in their direction, almost through them it seemed. Ghost.

His eyes widened and he drew in a breath, looking back to the agent who was still oblivious to what he just saw.

“What’s up?”

Gaz swallowed, “Look behind you.”

“Fuck,” she mumbled, setting the compact down, “Is it Price?”

Closing his eyes, cringing at the thought, he shook his head, “Worse.”

“No.” She drew out.

Time moved in slow-motion as she turned her head to see who Gaz saw, chills running up her spine as she locked eyes with the Lieutenant. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in as she turned back to Kyle, who still had his eyes shut.

“He wouldn’t say anything, would he?” 

[artisticmenace]

some writing. this is a story ive just had tucked away. might as well give it a beginning am i right? pretty short for what i want it to be but its whatever. this was based on a dream i had btw. it didnt go exactly like this but very close.

The Creation Mall

My mother used to tell me stories about my father. How he went into The Creation Mall, an impossible building, looking to climb to the heavens. I used to think that was her way of telling me he died. Letting little Evan Moors down easy. Then she died. And among her belongings was a map. A map of the floors of a mall. The Creation Mall. And attached was a note that read "Find Lucas". I didn't know who that was, but obviously I had to find out. Next step was to find it. The instructions to get there were ridiculously easy. Go out into the forest. Leave a peach ring and a seed on the ground. Say a prayer. Then boom! Creepy, abandoned, and impossibly tall building. I went inside. This first floor had lots of shops. Also lots of vines. I collected some supplies from the shops, whatever I could find. All empty of people. No dust, though. Products in perfect order. Florescent lights, to hurt the eyes. I knew I had to reach the top. Reach the heavens. I knew that's where I would find, well, Lucas. And maybe my father. So I began to climb the vines to the second floor. They hurt my hands to grasp, but I had to reach the top. It was instinct. This next floor was dark. So very dark. But on the back wall was a door, shining the rooms light from beneath it. I opened the door. The first thing that graced my eyes was a big ass piranha plant. I knew venus flytraps didnt usually care for human meat, but this wasn't a normal venus flytrap. You bet I shut that door as silently as possible. This was a road block. I opened the door again. The carnivorous plant was unresponsive. I prayed that it stayed that way. To my right were more living plants, and to the left, another doorway. A tall dinosaur eating some leaves took a look at me. I knew there would be trouble if there were carnivores. Suddenly, the venus flytrap began to nudge me, poking my skin with its oddly sharp teeth things. I hid under its display. I had made a grave mistake in doing so. The tiniest velociraptors I've ever seen came through the doorway. They stopped. They blinked at me. Then they pounced. I felt every moment of them tearing through my flesh. Every tooth sinking into me, every drop of blood leaving my body. But then I was alive again, standing outside the door. A man walked up to me. Older and grayer than me.

"You should go back to hell, kid."

"I need to find Lucas. To get to the heavens. I don't want to go back to my life just yet. I can’t give up."

"Fine, fine. Then I'll help you through this floor. There's still plenty that wants you dead up there, though. Next time you may not be so lucky."

The man linked arms with me and rushed me through the door. The venus flytrap snapped at us. We jumped over the tiny velociraptors. He was spry old man. We rushed past several other dinosaurs and living plants before they could react and flew through an open door on the other end. He shut it tight behind us, locking it with a key.

"Good luck kid."

"Hey, what's your..."

My voice trailed off. He had vanished. I continued through the dark. I walked up a broken escalator. There was a long hallway with several rooms. I peered into them, each a small empty office. At the end of the hall was a much larger office. I went inside. It was also very much empty, just like the others. I went on the computer. It was opened to a spreadsheet of some kind. I went to the homescreen. It was a picture of two men and a young girl with red hair. Did people work here? Human people? As luck would have it, the longer haired man from the picture walked into the room. He had a glaring expression, but it wasn't done with quite the precision of an actual human being. Two amorphous white creatures came out from under the desk and started waving around. He waved them away.

"What are you doing in here?"

The way he spoke wasn't quite right. It was clear english wasn't his first language. Not to mention his TEETH. Pearly white and pointy.

"Uhhh. I, uh..."

Something seemed to click. His eyes widened a little, looking closer to a human expression than they had before.

"You're human."

"Yeah."

"You're Lucas's son."

"I'm what?"

"Why did you come here?"

"To look for Lucas! I didn’t know I was his son!"

He made a face, as though trying to seem sympathetic. The result was offputting.

"I'm Lester. I am not human. No one has been human here since your father came through. We are called Andramboros."

"Wait, so... the guy I saw earlier? Downstairs?"

"Looks like you already found him, then."

I couldn't believe it. I was the idiot of idiots. Clown of clowns. Fool of Fools. Whatever you wanna call me.

"I sympathize. Also... Your stay on this floor may be extended. The elevator is broken."

"Do you not have like... a stairwell?"

"No. Stairs were not a priority."

"That's a fire hazard."

"Nothing in this mall can be damaged without permission."

"Permission from who?"

"You were thoroughly unprepared, then. The Director. She is what awaits those who seek the heavens of this mall."

"Oh."

I was a little surprised and a little ashamed.

"You will have to stay here. I will alert the others. You will be safe."

The way he said that last line was not reassuring. He started showing me pictures of his family. He pointed to a short haired man with dark, sunken eyes and a gaunt face.

"That is my husband, Victor."

He pointed to a short, red haired girl. She was very pretty.

"That one is mine. Her name is Alice."

His wording was strange. I assumed he meant that she was his daughter. He continued to point through the photos in his wallet until someone walked in. It was the man from the photos, Victor. He was wearing a suit. Much more formal than his husband. They began speaking a language I didn’t recognize. Lester gave him an unnatural smile. It wasn't so much that the smile itself was unnatural, but that it didn't look right on his face. Every part of it seemed manual. Then Victor turned to me. His face distorted into a wide eyed expression.

"Oh. Oh dear...."

"Yes... It is quite concerning."

thats all i have written. whats at the top is very interesting haha.

things that were different in the dream:

-none of them had names

-lester walked into his office to find me looking at his roblox avatar(what was actually open in the dream on his desktop)

- the elevator wasnt broken i just needed it for narrative reasons

i will say that in the dream lester legitimately did tell me his species were called andramboros and that they were kind of like shapeshifters. the things under his desk were his guards in their normal form. they took to appearing human because its more useful to them to have limbs and teeth and eyes and ears and all that jazz.

tell me if its interesting.

[heliads]

hi! can i request a peter maximoff x reader who’s hanks sister and is living in the mansion with xavier and him and so she joins them on the mission to break erik out (could her powers be that she can breathe fire so she calls herself dragon?) and she and peter get to know eachother and stuff and develop a linking for eachother

they don’t see eachother till the events of apocalypse and the tension between them is still there throughout and at the end when peter gets gravely injured they end up confessing their feelings?

thankyou!

love your writing btw!

thank you so much for requesting this, i haven't written for my boy peter maximoff in FOREVER and that is a crime

masterlist

Three utterly fascinating things are happening in Xavier’s School right now. Seeing as the place has practically been a mausoleum as of late, what with the complete and utter lack of gifted youngsters necessary to make the school function, you are delighted to see that events of note are finally occurring again.

The three utterly fascinating things are as follows: one, a mysterious stranger arrives at the school and lets himself in, two, your brother turns into a blue furry rage monster (as you would so kindly refer to him), and three, Charles Xavier himself has stepped out of his office for the first time in what feels like weeks to see what all the fuss is about. The former professor is carrying a half empty glass bottle, so he’s at least partially staying true to form, but still. Changes, people. You’ve got to love them.

You have taken up a strategic position halfway hidden in the shadows of dust-covered mahogany bookshelves, which gives you the perfect vantage point to see whatever the hell is going on now. Your brother and the new guy have been brawling, or they were up until Charles decided to come down and ruin your show.

It seems like the typical dispute, where someone wants Charles to do some sort of mutant-related thing, the kind of thing he’s sworn off for many years now. You’re just about to retreat upstairs, entertainment over, when New Guy reveals that he’s been sent here from the future.

You aren’t quite able to stow your surprised laugh in time, and Charles, Hank, and New Guy turn to look at you in expressions ranging from annoyance to impassivity.

There’s no chance that you’ll be able to hide anymore, so you shrug and head downstairs. “Look, sorry for listening, but the guy just said he’s here from the future. Can you blame me for wanting to see what that’s about?”

New Guy narrows his eyes at you. “Funny, I didn’t know you were living here around this time, Y/N.”

You glare at him in unison with Hank. “How did you know my name?”

New Guy spreads his hands. “Like I said, I’m from the future. Are you going to believe me now?”

As it turns out, you are. New Guy, or Logan, is able to come up with a few more details on Charles’ life, and just like that, you’ve got a verified time traveler pacing back and forth in front of you. It would be fantastic, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s asking you to break into the Pentagon to rescue the one person Charles wants to see the least.

You’ve managed to insert yourself into this scheme, partially because your group is down a functioning mutant due to Charles’ current inability to read minds. Right now, you’re stuck in a car with the three of them, headed to pick up one more potential ally.

Logan stops the car outside the Maximoff residence, then turns to the rest of you to issue a warning.

“Look, judging by what I know about Peter in my time, he’s going to be a bit of a handful. Just stick with what we have to do, got it?”

You arch a brow. “What, is he a serial killer? How bad can he be?”

Logan grimaces. “If anyone, you’ll get along with him best. You certainly do in my time.”

His mouth turns down slightly as he says this, like he’s realizing that he may have revealed something about the future that he wasn’t supposed to share with you.

His hesitation, however, isn’t enough to dissuade your newfound curiosity. “Do I know Peter Maximoff well, then? Are we close?”

Hank shoves you lightly on the shoulder. “Stop bothering the guy with bone claws coming out of his hands and get out of the car.”

You make a face at your brother, but get out anyway. You’ve got a mission to do, and none of you can afford to waste much time on complaining.

The Maximoff household is nothing like what you were expecting. Ms. Maximoff initially thinks that you’re cops, and that you’re there solely because Peter stole something. This only adds to your fascination about the mutant you’re here to see- just who is this guy, at any rate?

You get your answer soon enough, once the four of you descend into the basement. Peter Maximoff is a silver-haired blur, scarcely stopping his whirlwind of motion long enough to hurl questions at you. Charles seems exasperated already, Logan is grimly aware that this is exactly what he’s been afraid of seeing, Hank is seconds from turning into the Beast again, and you, you are delighted by the whole thing.

You take your role of bothering Charles and Hank very seriously, and it’s wonderful to see that you’ll have a partner in this going forward. Peter’s also quite funny, and you get plenty of chances to notice this as he seems to keep making one-liners for your benefit. Peter’s attention, albeit extraordinarily scattered, drifted quickly from the three men to you and stayed there for the rest of the meeting. It takes Charles bringing up the fact that Peter will be able to break into the Pentagon to distract the speedster from his restless flirting.

To be fair, offering up the Pentagon as a potential robbery site would thrill just about anybody. Peter looks between the four of you, suddenly intrigued.

“The Pentagon? What are we taking out, weapons? Murderers?”

Charles furrows his brow in consternation, muttering something that sounds like ‘all of the above’ under his breath. Peter is bored by this answer, and appears by your side in a second.

“So, why are you here? Are you a murderer as well? You’re certainly killer, if that’s any compensation.”

He winks as he says this, and you grin, partially at the pickup line and also because Hank’s look of revulsion is absolutely hilarious.

“We have a friend here from the future, and he says that we’re get along well a couple years from now.”

Peter raises his eyebrows, donning the grin of a madman. You love it. “We’re close? What kind of close?”

Hank takes it upon himself to intervene. “You’re on the same continent. That’s all you have to know.”

You and Peter give Hank cross looks in unison. Charles takes advantage of the sudden lapse in conversation to try and twist the knife a little further.

“Look, are you going to come with us or not? We’re mutants, we can help you. Or, if you don’t want help, you can at least get out of your mother’s basement for a couple of hours.”

Peter nods sagely. “You know what, I’ll do it. What are your mutations, then? I feel like I should know. It’s good to be informed.”

Hank mumbles something about turning into a monster, which you note is likely some form of his guilt eating away at his consciousness yet again, Charles mentions that he can read minds when he’s not trying to pretend that he doesn’t have a gift, and Logan extends the bone claws from his hands, to Peter’s both disgust and awe.

The silver-haired boy then turns to you. “Well? I’m expecting a good show. You haven’t disappointed on any other levels.”

You match his wolf’s grin measure for measure. “I’d hate to let you down on this point.”

You roll your shoulders as if to prepare for what you’re about to do, then take a deep breath. When you exhale, what spills out from your jaws is not carbon dioxide but fire, tongues of flame that twist through the air until they flicker into nothingness just before hitting the walls and ceiling.

Peter whistles slightly. “Wow. Can I assume they call you Dragon or something else cool like that?”

You smirk. “Exactly right. Maybe Charles isn’t the only mind reader.”

Truth be told, you’re glad Peter took the news of your powers so well. A lot of people are afraid, somewhat understandably, of someone who could light their entire house ablaze with a sigh. The two of you also have plenty of time to get each other better over the long car ride, as well as the trip into the Pentagon.

You have to admit that you’re fond of him. Was there ever a question of that? You’ve never met a boy who knew every facet of you so well, yet was still so dedicated to making you smile at a moment’s notice. Certainly nobody has ever offered you a baseball cap stolen from an FBI agent before.

Needless to say, you’re quite enjoying his company. So, when the six of you, including Erik Lehnsherr newly liberated from an all-plastic prison, arrive at Charles’ private jet to take you away to your next destination, you assume that you’ll be able to chat with Peter during the trip.

However, he hangs back by the car, as if he isn’t going. The others have started up ahead, but you jog back to him when you notice that he isn’t moving.

“Hey, aren’t you coming? I’m not saying that Logan’s going to try and take up several of the best seats for him and his unnecessarily long legs, but it might happen. We should go get a place before it’s too late.”

Peter chuckles, although his smile seems forced. “I don’t think I’m coming on this part of the trip, angel.”

The happy expression on your face drops as quickly as a sudden rain. “What do you mean, you’re not coming? We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Peter reaches forward to absentmindedly fix the collar of your jacket, but judging by the fact that he’s actually making the creases worse instead of straightening it out, he’s just looking for an excuse to stay close to you for at least a second longer.

“I’m not the one making the choice. I don’t have enough experience in the field, and they don’t want to mess this up.”

You grasp his hands from where they’re still worrying your collar, and they freeze instantly beneath your touch. “That’s absurd. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Peter gives you his best attempt at a lopsided smile. “Hey, I think you could take out all of us if you tried. This is probably what’s best, anyway. I haven’t been one of your X-People for long enough, and you have.”

You’ve said your share of goodbyes before, but you don’t think any of them has hurt as much as this one. “Peter, please. If we argued now we could probably convince them to let you come with us. It’s not like you’d slow us down.”

Peter chuckles at the joke, but you can tell that his mind’s been made up. “I’ll see you on the other side, alright? I can visit sometime soon.”

You haven’t known Peter that long, but you’ve learned enough about him to know that this is a lie. You let him have it, though. It makes for a quieter goodbye than accusing him of not caring.

“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

Charles calls to you, and you walk away without another word. Every step away hurts, but you don’t dare let yourself look back. You think Peter might have meant to say something, because there’s a slight scuffle of footsteps behind you as if he’s about to run to you, but he stops himself just in time.

You’re in a frightful mood by the time you get on the plane, and throw yourself into the copilot’s seat without another word.

Hank gives you a surprised look. “What, are you that sad about leaving your future boyfriend of two days?”

You give him a glare over your shoulder, and although he’s the one who can turn into the blue-furred Beast, your expression must have been monstrous enough that Hank shuts up immediately. “Alright, alright. My bad.”

You don’t say another word for the whole fight, even when Charles, Erik, and Logan get into a fight bad enough that Erik causes the plane to start taking a nosedive. They manage to apologize, after all, and you’re still breathing when the aircraft lands.

It doesn’t mean you’ve healed, though. Even after the mission ends somewhat successfully and Logan goes back to his future body, you still find yourself stuck on the one boy you left behind. Does Peter think about you, from time to time, when he lights a candle or laughs at someone else’s joke? You know you think of him on measures of equal unimportance.

You don’t see him, though, not for years. As expected, Peter does not show up at Xavier’s School, even when it opens up again for real and students start pouring in. There are no late-night telephone calls, no letter addressed to you in hesitantly scrawled ink. It’s as if the tie that had bound the two of you together has been abruptly cut short.

Or, you don’t see him until the world starts to end. Apocalypse himself, some primordial god who has recently awoken seemingly for the sole task of ruining your lives, appears out of the blue in Xavier’s School, taking Charles with him. Alex Summers, angered, lets out a blast of energy that destroys the whole school. You fully expect to die when the explosions start going off, but for some reason, you don’t.

You blink, and when you open your eyes, you’re standing out in the lawn, watching the mansion blow itself to hell. You’re not alone, either; to your side is the person responsible for the fact that you’re still alive, and it is Peter Maximoff.

You stare at him, unable to speak. You’ve thought about this moment many times before, so you should have at least some idea of what to say, but nothing comes to mind.

Peter manages to control himself a little faster than you. “Y/N. It’s good to see you again.”

You nod, and in this moment you remember what you’ve been thinking about all this time. “You left. You never tried to even talk to me.”

Peter grimaces. “I tried, but-”

You cut him off. “No, you didn’t. You never gave me your number, but I gave you mine. You could have done this at any time, and don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we’re not all dead, but it’s been ten years. Don’t start up a conversation like nothing’s ever happened, because plenty has happened, and you weren’t here for any of it.”

You can’t deal with this, not now, so you stride briskly away to find Hank. You need to figure out what’s going on and how to deal with the dozens of young mutants suddenly without a home or mentor, and you can’t do that while you’re thinking about the boy who broke your heart a decade ago.

You do your best to not think about it at all, actually. This grows more difficult as time progresses, but you manage to keep up a stony silence. You speak to Peter as you must, but you refuse to let yourself become captivated by his smile again, or get to a point where you’ll miss him when he goes, because there is no chance that this story ends without him leaving again.

The only caveat to your plan, then, is what happens in the final battle between Apocalypse and the X-Men. You and the rest are hiding from the vengeful mutant, trying to figure out how to get a newly hairless Charles away despite the fact that he seems inches from death. Then, in the clearing below, you see Peter taking on Apocalypse alone.

He seems to be winning at first, and then Apocalypse catches on to what he’s doing and traps him in the earth, breaking his leg. You think you cry out, but Hank managed to clap a hand over your mouth just in time so you don’t give away your position. You watch, frozen by fear, as Psylocke approaches, ready to slit his throat.

She doesn’t, though, because this is not Psylocke but Mystique. Still, the fact that Peter nearly died and is now gravely injured doesn’t escape you. Even after you and your friends manage to incinerate Apocalypse once and for all, you’re still terrified that Peter might die out here on this battlefield. The second you can, you race to his side, reaching for a hand that you’re only half certain will take yours.

His fingers close around you, and you let out a slow breath of relief. Somewhere behind you, Charles is calling for someone to get medical help, but you can’t leave, not yet.

Peter speaks, his voice raspy. “I’m sorry. I should have come to you sooner.”

You shake your head. “Don’t. We can’t change the past, not anymore. I just need you to be alright.”

He smiles, that same crooked smile you’ve loved and then despised and are now loving again, over and over in cycles. “Of course you need me, sweetheart. We’re wonderful together.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, and pull him closer to you. “You’re such an idiot, Peter Maximoff.”

He grins. “Ah, but I’m your idiot.”

This time, your laugh is real. “Yeah, you are. I love you for that.”

“I love you too,” he says, and you think you’ve never heard any collection of words sound sweeter. The battle is over, the world is saved, and you have the boy you love right here in front of you. Nothing could be better.

xmen tag list: @enchantedcruelsummer, @awaywiththe, @amourtentiaa, @elaineygrace, @rogueanschel, @caswinchester2000

[talesofsonicasura]

LMK Sun Wukong and Macaque with MK's Parent: First Week Revelations

Here's the next part of this. Like the title suggests this will focus on Sun Wukong and Macaque first week in the peerage. I won't that I put a gut punch in this one. Consequences of your actions after all. Also for people bashing Sun Wukong for the whole LBD thing, give the poor guy a break.

Miscommunication is very common especially for a character like him. Someone who had to carry the world on his shoulders but never gotten the proper chance to learn he can't do everything alone. This is a bit wordy btw. Anyway... Can be read gender neutral or preferred gender. Enjoy.

If someone told Sun Wukong or Macaque that they'll be joining a vampiric peerage with their archenemy, both would laugh. Now, not so much as today they would be working under their former student's inhuman parent.

Neither monkey were ignorant about the chance of becoming errand boys under you. They hurt your kid thus you'll make them pay in some way is an all time high. Best to face it head on as they were required to come early in the morning.

It had been a bit awkward walking into the estate. For Sun Wukong, full on uncomfortable as you brought him alongside Macaque to stand before all your workers. A group introduction for new members.

The biggest surprise had been when their former apprentice walked in. The MK both yaoguai were used to wasn't like the one approaching his much larger parent. What stood before them isn't the kind hearted delivery boy they knew.

This is a young man who not only meant business but apparently isn't fully human. A person whose ears were brown and pink rabbit ones similar to hands, three little brown horns poking from underneath the hair on the crown on his head and pink markings strewn across his body with a now peaceful almost angelic aura. Next to him was a little brown rabbit with similar traits.

You must've read their minds as you spoke. "I found out my son had a severe heart condition that would one day take his life similar to a phantom. Digimon don't exactly have hearts but we have something better: a Digicore. Medi, his Lopmon partner, shared her Digicore with MK to save his life."

Ah. Both monkeys guess that would explain the young man's rabbit traits. It didn't stop the severe concern upon realizing MK once had a heart condition. Neither monkey bothered to check his health records or even ask before they toss him into training.

If Macaque had a twinge of guilt from this information, he wouldn't admit it. He may be an asshole but even he has standards. A thought to delve on later once you announced their roles for the first week.

They were right about being put in a maid position but you made it a whole lot worse. How? Macaque and Sun Wukong were forced to watch MK train under his new mentor alongside you.

A huge punch to their pride seeing the brunette excel much better than when they trained him. MK sparring on his own Somersault Cloud against his Gokuwmon teacher. Both almost equally matched. Your words made these sessions hurt more.

"MK holds a lot of potential. You two have seen it. The reason he struggled before is simple. None of you fully trusted him. Teacher and Student must properly convey their thoughts or worries. Measure their opinions. Most importantly trust in each other's capabilities."

Sun Wukong and Macaque knew you were right. The Monkey King truly didn't take his former student as seriously as he should. A lot of problems could've been dealt with better or even avoided completely.

To the Six Eared Macaque, he had ignore the best student that could ever fall into his lap. Willingly toss it away to spite his former 'associate'. It stung further when MK requested their presence.

"You do know that both of you hurt me with your actions? Macaque, I don't give shit about whatever you have against the Monkey King. Keep it to yourself or you'll drag the wrong person into it. It's pathetic cause you'll just be an empty husk afterwards, one with an innocent body in the grave." What was said to Sun Wukong is just heartbreaking.

"You know I believed in you right? The few books I could find about the Journey To The West in my parent's library gave me hope. YOU had been one of the few things to keep me going against the dangers of the Dark Area. Guess the saying 'Never meet your heroes' held some truth after all."

If both monkeys (unhealthily) coped over those words, neither of them would tell anyone. Macaque tore apart training dummies until he couldn't move. Sun Wukong breaking out the stash of ancient peach wine.

The two completely unaware that you were watching through the Mark of Evil branded on their skin. Empathy brimming from your form as you started to make a few calls.

"I believe it's time for these old yaoguai to get proper help. Best to start out small so both can grow with least possible retaliation. I have a feeling actual therapy should be saved later."

You uploaded something from the laptop that sat by your desk. Neither Sun Wukong and Macaque notice their respective marks softly began to glow nor what would come from it.

It looks our GranDracmon!reader is up to something sneaky. In my personal opinion, Sun Wukong has a stash of very old peach flavored liquor that he indulges on his days. The Monkey King is canonically a lightweight in the original Journey To The West too. His monkeys take care of him once the alcohol takes effect. They are very worried about him if you are wondering.

As for what got sent to them, you'll find out in the next headcanon. Now for MK, he is half Digimon but this is a side effect from his surgery.

I'll be talking about this in full length on a separate page but Digicore Sharing is going to be uncommon in any Digimon related stuff from me. I choose Lopmon to be the donor than Reader for a special reason.

Until next time folks, here's Lopmon!

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter twenty-two

I’m liking this two updates a week schedule because I hate leaving you guys hanging like that!! I hope this chapter makes it all better xx.

Oh btw the title of this chapter and last chapter are lyrics from “Hold On” by Chord Overstreet! (Also I know the gif is irrelevant but the ~emotion~ of it is relevant)

ALSO (wow I have a lot I keep forgetting to add) I meant to @ her last chapter, but all of these medical scenes and things were 100% done with the help of @thedumpsterqueen​ because I know next to nothing about all this stuff and she was an angel and let me ask all the crazy questions <333 (P.S. she has a Hotch fic called Standards of Performance on her blog that you guys should alllll read if you haven’t already!! It’s SO good it’s one of my favorites)

Warnings: angst and sadness, but that’s pretty much it

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Two: I can’t imagine a world with you gone

Everything is a blur in Hotch’s mind before and after the first gunshot rings through the air. He didn’t need to hear the buzzing in his ear to know it had hit you.

He took off at a sprint, as did the rest of the team.

His ears are ringing. His thoughts are racing. He’s never been a man who talks frequently to God, but he’s praying. Hoping you’re alive. Begging you to not be dead.

Aaron would never forgive himself if you died. As it stands, though, he won’t ever forgive himself for this.

Prentiss, Reid, and Rossi take off in one direction. Hotch and Morgan take the other. Police officers fill the gaps and follow behind, everyone searching for you and Savannah.

Morgan is the first to stumble on the room. His throat aches when he screams for Hotch, keeping his weapon aimed at Savannah.

“Put the gun down!” Morgan yells.

Hotch comes skidding to a stop in the doorway a second later, weapon raised, but his eyes are focused on you. Savannah’s boot is pressing into your thigh, blood oozing from your wound, soaking your pants, spilling onto the concrete. Hotch’s heart drops at the sight. He’s seen enough bullet wounds to know how much blood should come from them. That is too much.

The bullet must’ve hit the major artery. And the thought terrifies him.

Morgan takes the shot when Savannah refuses to move. It hits her stomach and she stumbles for a moment before falling. Morgan yells for the paramedics again, distantly thinking they should be in here by now.

Hotch falls to the ground beside you, his hands cupping your face, not caring who sees. His thumbs tap your cheeks, willing you to open your eyes. You have a pulse, but it’s weak. Weaker than what it should be.

He presses hard over your wound, hoping to slow the bleeding, but there’s more surrounding your leg than he wants to see.

“Y/N?” He says, his eyes watching your eyelids for any movement. He lets out a momentary sigh of relief when your eyes open. “Y/N, please, can you hear me?”

You stare back at him, no signs of his words registering in your eyes. They’re empty. Haunted, again, but for a different reason this time. This time it’s different. “Aaron…”

“I’m here,” Hotch says gently, pressing his hand harder, his heart breaking when you groan in pain. “I know,” he says, shushing you.

Your eyes travel around the room then, and Aaron follows. Morgan is pressing his hand over Savannah’s wound, speaking into his wrist, asking the others where the hell the paramedics are at.

But Aaron doesn’t want you to see that, so he cups your jaw again, turning your eyes back on him. He smiles as best he can, the tears beginning to spill from his eyes as he takes in your face.

“There’s my girl,” he says softly. “Keep holding on. They’re almost here.”

“Aaron,” you try to say, your voice low and strained, and Aaron shakes his head, trying to get you to stop talking. “Aaron...I don’t wanna go without-- I need to tell you that I--”

“Shhh,” he tries again, not wanting you to waste any energy. “You don’t need to.”

“I love you,” you finally get it out. And he’s stunned to complete silence and tears. “I love you so...so much. It hurts.”

“Y/N,” he says, panicked. Your eyes are closing. “Y/N! Come back, Y/N, come back to me. Y/N. Y/N, please.”

Hotch is too caught up in holding your face and keeping pressure on your wound to notice the paramedics have arrived. One team goes to Savannah, relieving Morgan, while the other comes to you, trying to usher Hotch away, but he doesn’t budge.  

“Hotch,” Morgan tugs on the unit chief, grabbing at his arms, his heart breaking for the both of you. “Hotch, you need to let them get to her.”

Reluctantly, Hotch backs up, clenching his bloodied fist, grimacing at the way your blood sticks his skin together.

Everything else is a blur.

What does it need to be clear for, anyway? If you’re not here?

+++

You’re still in surgery.

It’s been an hour. But it feels longer. It feels like it’s been an entire twenty-four hours.

The entire team has taken up camp in a waiting room at the hospital.

Reid is reading and rereading every magazine he can get his hands on to distract himself, never mind the fact that he reads them so fast that he rips a page on one from turning it so quickly. Morgan has Garcia on the phone and has left to get coffee at least three times, the first time returning with a tray of steaming cups and the next two times returning with only one, but two tearful eyes. Emily has been pacing and will wear a hole into the tile at this rate if she walks for another hour. JJ has been staring at the wall, chewing so hard on the inside of her cheek that she flinches when she draws blood.

Rossi has been staring at the wall, too, but mostly he’s been worrying about and watching Hotch.

Aaron has been biting his nails, tugging at his hair, angrily wiping away tears, and left once to go on a walk before returning two minutes later, asking if they had heard anything. Those two minutes had felt like two hours and he was worried sick for all 120 seconds that he missed something.

Dave hasn’t tried to say anything to Aaron, though he wants to. It’s heartbreaking to watch Aaron like this.

You’re going to pull through. Dave — and the rest of the team — can’t afford to think otherwise. And they refuse to think otherwise, unable to imagine what it would be like if you weren’t here.

But it seems like Aaron is thinking otherwise.

Truthfully, he is. But he’s thinking about so much more.

You love him. You love him. You love him.

And he was too stunned to say it back. The one chance he had, and it might be gone now. Ripped away. Forever.

He sent you in there. He did this to you. He had his reservations, but the call had already been made. You seemed so sure. You wanted to do this so badly. He didn’t want another fight about him not trusting you because it’s not about his trust for you, it’s about how terrified he was for you.

He’ll never forgive himself for this now. Not ever.

It’s a world he can’t even bear to imagine. One without you in it.

Yet here he is, grappling with the fact that he might not have to imagine it soon. He sent you in there. He knowingly put your life in danger. And now he’ll have to live with the consequences.

+++

Aaron is shaken from his trance by the doctor and a nurse coming in to inform the team that you’re out of surgery and that it went well.

But you’re in the ICU.

“She lost a great deal of blood,” the doctor says gravely. “But we think she’ll pull through. She just needs to be watched closely for the time being.”

Everyone nods silently, not sure of what else to say, other than feeling relief that you’re alive.

“Visiting hours are long over, so I recommend you all get some rest,” the nurse says. “She’s in good hands here.”

“Thank you,” Rossi replies.

The doctor excused himself, but the nurse stayed, offering to answer any extra questions. “Visiting hours start at seven a.m.,” she says first. “And in the ICU, only two visitors are allowed in her room at a time.” She doesn’t voice an apology, but one is in her tone as she glances between the six team members.

“Can I stay?” Hotch blurts out of nowhere. The team member’s heads all turn to look at him in surprise. “Can anyone stay the night, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah,” the nurse nods. “One person can.” Her eyebrows furrow sincerely. “Are you her dad?”

Morgan internalizes a snort.

“No,” Hotch replies kindly. “I’m not, but I’d like to stay. I’m her boss.”

Still the nurse looks skeptical. “Would she be okay with—”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Emily blurts out, tired of waiting. And when Hotch sends her a look, she says, “What? It would’ve taken you hours to say it.”

“Oh,” the nurse chuckles, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. Yes, of course you can stay.”

Hotch lets a tiny smile shine through, but it’s not much. Truth is, he’s terrified to see you. But leaving you here alone – even if this is a hospital – terrifies him more.

The rest of the team says goodbye to head back to the hotel for some much-needed rest, if they can sleep at all. They know they’ll wake every couple hours to worry about you before sleep consumes them once more.

In the meantime, Hotch will be here to look after you for all of them. You’re like a little sister to the rest of them, even though Morgan is the only one to have voiced that. You’re loved here. Loved more than you’ll ever be able to comprehend.

You’re loved by Aaron much more than he’ll ever be able to articulate to you. But he’ll try. He’ll try to help you see.

+++

Hotch is finally walking to your room in the ICU after another half hour of waiting. The nurse said they had to get everything settled in your room before he could come back, which only made Hotch’s worry spike even more.

But eventually, he’s in your room with you. A pillow and blanket is in the chair by the window, but he’s not paying attention to it.

You. You’re asleep, of course, and probably will be for a few more hours. The nurse said you had already woken up once, but because of the pain medicine and the overall stress your body has been under in the past few hours, you fell back to sleep almost instantly.

Tears well in his eyes at the sight of you, laid up in the hospital bed, IVs and wires all over you. The beeping of the heart monitor is the only real sign to him that you’re even alive. Your chest is rising and falling, but it’s barely visible underneath the gown and blankets and wires.

You have one regular IV placed on the top of your left hand. Some other line is in your upper arm, and another in your wrist. He has no idea what they’re all for, he just knows he hates seeing you connected to so much.

Aaron wipes at his eyes angrily. Does he have a right to be this upset when he’s the one who sent you in there?

He turns and sets the pillow and blankets in the other chair, knowing he won’t sleep tonight even if he wanted to. Instead, he pulls the chair closer to your bed, where he can place his hand next to yours.

And, if you happen to wake up, you can reach for him if you need to.

+++

Three hours pass and you still haven’t woken up. Aaron knows. He’s been watching you the entire time.

The nurses have come to check on you a few times, assuring Aaron that it’s normal for you to be sleeping like this. But he just nods silently.

He wants you to wake up. Just for a minute. He needs you to just open your eyes and look at him, just once. That’s all he needs.

But it’s wishful thinking as the sky begins to lighten, showing the first signs of dawn.

Aaron links his pinky with yours, afraid to do much else and risk messing up your IV. Holding pinky fingers is enough right now. Or at least, it’ll have to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, to you, or really to no one at all, because he’s not even sure you can hear him. “I’m just so...sorry, Y/N.”

Stupid tears gather in his eyes again, clogging his throat, stopping his words.

But he keeps going.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “And I know you’ll try to convince me that it’s not, but Y/N, it is and I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

He leans his head into the palm of his free hand, tightening his pinky finger’s grip on yours.

“I love you,” he blurts it out, tears warming his palm as they cascade down his cheeks. “I love you and I need you to wake up because I need you to hear it. I love you. I don’t think there’s ever been a day that I’ve known you that I haven’t loved you.”

He sniffles, loud and body-rattling, glad he’s alone in this room with you because he’d never let anyone else see him like this. No one but you.

“I tried to get it out before, but you were already gone, and I— You need to wake up. I need you to wake up. Please.”

Aaron keeps his eyes closed and head down for a few minutes longer. He doesn’t even see that you’ve opened your eyes.

Until your pinky finger gently squeezes his.

He lifts his head quickly, eyes wide and wild when he sees you’re looking back at him, eyes glassy with tears and exhaustion.

And just like that, just seeing your eyes open and looking right at him, the dam breaks once more. He’s a mess of tears when he leans his head down onto the bed. You lift your hand and thread your fingers through his hair, closing your eyes as more tears slip down your cheeks.

You scratch a soothing pattern on the base of his skull, moving your other hand over your body to hold onto his arm. He senses the movement and lifts his head, grabbing your hand and pressing it to his lips.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, all he knows is his back aches when he straightens up again, and you’ve fallen back asleep.

Next chapter

[celestialgaea]

1. I LOVE your writing! You're amazing! 2. If it's not too much trouble, could I request something for brotherhood Ezio - either fluff or smut (maybe a hybrid if such a thing exists?)

These requests really make my heart soft :,) It’s definitly not troublesome at all, darling! a smut/fluff is coming your way :)) enjoy reading! 

btw, I always had the concept in mind of Ezio being a nude model for a painter/paintress so I used it as inspiration for this request, I hope you like it!

Pairings: Brotherhood!Ezio x Reader

warnings: smut, fluff, mature content

summary: Ezio convinces you of using his nude body as reference for your painting and that’s where things start to get heated.

A sound of raging growls left your throat as it was the sixth time you scratched away the slender torso that was sketched upon the parchment. It was slender, too slender for it to be still considered human. Ironic. The Greek gods were inhuman, but you were unable to project the divine muscles that roamed in your thoughts onto the piece of dried lamb skin. You missed Florence, dearly, and since the first week that you had left the vivid city to live in the unknown town of Monteriggioni you thought that the quiet farms, where trees of oranges grew, would help revive the inspiration to paint a Magnum Opus but it only dried the river of colour in your head. You couldn’t compare Florence to a third rate town as Monteriggioni. You could still recall the smell of paint and the dusty marmer that stained the Florentin air of the market, and the sight of novices carrying their painting supplies as they were on their way to class. You missed how you used to visit churches, not to pray, but rather to admire the fresco’s. Now it was all gone. No inspiration and the few churches that existed in this village were sober and only consisted of a giant crucifix and a statue of Madonna holding her child.

bang bang. Someone knocked on the door of your atelier. With a dissatisfied grunt you threw the charcoal pencil on the ground and shoved your seat back with a strong force, causing an abrasive sound to be heard from outside the small building.

‘Who is there?’ You asked sharply as you walked towards the wooden door. You tried to regain your patience and freshened your cheeks, which was red of annoyment, by pressing your abnormally cold palms against them. 

‘It’s me, Ezio.’ His voice was unclear due to the door that seperated you, but it did not spoil the low rumble that was always present in his speech. You pressed your eyelids together rather harshly and groaned in regret. How shameful musn’t it be to shoot invisible daggers towards Ezio as just the thought of his intimidting gaze locked on your face after your scene of lost temper made you wish you hid instead of confronting him. You weren’t scared of him, you were scared of embaressment.

You opened the door to the sight of Ezio leaning against the doorframe, one eyebrow arched in question. 

‘I came to check up on you, ragazza. It sounded as if you were fighting off pirates in there.’ You felt how your face heated up against your will and you tried to laugh it of with a breathless snicker. ‘The only thing I was fighting with were my sketches,’ You stepped aside, exposing a part of your artist studio. It was not big, as it was perfect to fit in a few tables and art easels with canvasses of variating sizes, but it was practical enough to be able to craft in peace. But it seems that the serene peace wasn’t present anymore these past weeks.

‘Where are my manners, come in.’ With a faint smile he swiftly entered and closed the door. 

‘Lack of inspiration?’ He asked. You nodded. ‘Not only that, It is impossible to find any references to bodies as muscled as those of the Greek Gods. Monteriggioni isn’t filled with art as in Firenze, thus making it difficult for me to find those references.’ As you looked at him from the side, you saw how perfect his body posture was to be used as reference; It was flexible and broad, yet it was intimidating and yet not graceful enough to be that of a dancer. 

Ezio hummed in understanding. He was slightly proud that he still had the ability to make you blush, even in his forties, when he caught your eyes wandering through his clothing.  ‘Why don’t you use models like Leonardo does? You could ask him to lend some to you,’ You grinned. ‘Ezio, my dear. The only references to human bodies that Leonardo uses are either dug up from their grave or strangers with the most inhuman facial complexion. Leonardo is fascinated by the misshapen, not the divine.’ 

‘Well, if the ancient Greeks believed that women were the misshapen copies of men, then I confirm myself as being fascinated by the misshapen. My dear.’ He mocked. His lips curled into a sly smirk and he winked at you, but you merely scoffed playfully as you shook your head and walked towards the chaotic scene that played upon your desk; Scattered parchment with incomplete sketches, charcoal pencils and quills thrown all over the table and, at the moment, irrelevant attributes such as a skull and a terracotta bust of Bacchus -A marmer bust was way too expensive for the meager loan you had to live with-

‘Charmed.’ You said, not impressed. Maybe slightly impressed.

‘As I thought you would be,’ 

The open space of the studio behind you felt enclosed as the soft touch of Ezio’s breath caressed the nape of your neck. His eyes roamed over the table, observing every object -he even squatted down and stared into the dead eyes of Bacchus-, and trailed alongside the lines of your sketches with his middle and index finger pressed together, the two fingers levitating above the charcoal lines.

‘Why did you scratch them? It is beautiful. Well, I am not going to lie, it looks a bit...how should I word it?’ He mumbled. ‘Bad?’  ‘A bit out of proportion,’ He trailed alongside the torso with the same two fingers. ‘See,’ Ezio said. ‘The torso is a bit too long, and the muscles are too muscled.’

You scoffed, a small laugh plastered on your face. ‘Too muscly,’ You mumbled to yourself. ‘Ezio, I don’t know if you have noticed but I do not have any male models nor have I seen a man naked before. No, I mean, not that I am a virgin. But I just haven’t seen a naked man with the right size.’ Good Lord. Ezio grinned, not ashamed for the innapropriate phrase that kept resonating in his head, and locked eyes with you as he raised one eyebrow. You shivered. It was that one raised eyebrow that made his face so intimidating, so intense. ‘Not the right size, huh?’

‘You know what I mean, old man.’ He scoffed. His hand covered his breast and he pretended to be in pain. ‘You wound me with your words, bella.’ 

Oh Ezio. He was so entertaining. He was probably one of the very few reasons your stay in Monteriggioni will last for a very long time. Leaving him would make you feel empty. Ezio had a way of pulling women (and also men) towards him, chaining them with such a scorching desire that it would feel injust and even sinful to break the invisible attraction He brought those small moments of thrills and excitement with him whenever he just walked by making you want his attention to be focused on you and solely you.

‘I could send an apprentice of mine to model, but only if you’d like?’ ‘Are they quite muscled? I need a body that represents the gods and not 17 year old boys who are only interested in horses and girls.’ ‘No, judging by the statues I have seen in Florence they wouldn’t be a very great choice. And besides, I don’t think that they can stand still, naked, for a few hours while a beautiful lady has a clear view of their cazzo without, you know, the visuals showing their excitement.’

Your facial expressions showed slight disgust as you were imagining their erect member and face, reddened with shame, while they were posing as one of the Greek deities. Well, to be fair, you couldn’t expect less. They were boys with raging hormones, and you were a young adolescent that was not able to conceil her raging hormones from experienced and charming men. Or shortly said; Ezio. 

Speak of the devil. 

Ezio noticed the disgust on your face and emitted a low and rumbling snicker as he patted your back, the impact of his force causing your shoulder to be shoved forwards. ‘Keep your sneaky little mind away from my apprentices private parts will you?’

‘Ezio!’ You hit his arm, your mouth open and pretending to be shocked by his remark, but you couldn’t help but curl your mouth into a smile. ‘Back to our previous topic,’ You said, recovering from what just had happened. ‘I really need to find a male model for my project, Ezio.’  Ezio happened to show empathy with you as he began taking off his boots. 

‘Ezio, what in heaven are you doing? Put those back on! Ezio what are you thinking?’ Nailed to the floor you looked at ezio who was only wearing his trousers and chemise, its string loosened and showing the flesh upon his chest, and had his hands on the sides of the edge of his pants, ready to take them of and show the world what momma gave him. ‘I am sacrificing my pride for the sake of your painting.’

Your eyes widened. ‘Would you do that for me? Really?’ ‘Bella, what does it look like I am doing?’ He grinned, taking off the rest of his clothing as you had turned around to reorganize your table and prepared the small podium on which Ezio had to model.

‘And besides, what did you mean with Sacrificing your pride?’ You heard Ezio sigh while you sharpened your charcoal pencils. ‘All these men on Classical paintings have a...well, you know, a small penis, so you will have to reduce mine...a lot.’ You laughed, placing the pencils on the table. ‘Oh, Ezio, I don’t really think it will be necessary.’ You said teasingly. You sat down behind the desk when you heard his voice floating around your ears as he walked towards the small podium, every inch of his skin exposed for you and only you. ‘Prego?’ 

It was difficult to keep your gaze off his private part. It was just...hanging there,  minding its bussiness. It was as if your insulting remark about his member just spat back at you with double as much spit. You managed to clear your throat in a subtle way without choking on your saliva. ‘You’ll have to lay down.’ You said. You stood up to grasp a few layers of cloth to cover the small stage to save Ezio’s behind a bit from the harsh ground. It felt weird to be so near him; He was naked and you were clothed. 

You quickly smoothened the cloth onto the stage, fixating your disorientated eyes on it, and walked, almost ran, with rapid speed back to your desk.

It still felt like a fever dream. You were able to get the most skilled murderer fully naked in front of you, without asking once. As it felt surreal, it simutaniously felt forbidden too. He was way older, a teacher of a kind, how many women wouldn’t have killed for this chance. For seeing Ezio naked, almost vulnurable without his armour. Vulnurable for attack as told by the white lining of the remaining scars on his body. 

‘Lay down and lean on your elbows,’ And so he did. ‘Put one knee up. No the other knee, Ezio. Not so high, go a bit lower. Not that low. Yes, stay like that!’ Ezio grinned softly. ‘You are very demanding, aren’t you bella?’ ‘You iniated on being my model, Ezio,  so do as I say.’  Ezio raised an eyebrow as he tilted his head, sucking air through his teeth, sounding similar to scorching metal in cold water. ‘My apologies, maestro.’ 

His body was beautiful. Not too brawny and not fat. Broad muscles showing through his skin and simultaneously a layer of soft fat hugged around his torso, but it didn’t hang nor did it seem loose, It was tight and gave Ezio’s body comfortable for burning cuddles. 

You gave a last look at Ezio’s position, observing it, but something felt wrong. It felt plain, flat. It didn’t have your desired dimentions. 

‘Ezio,’ He turned his head towards you. ‘Could you touch the ground with your left hand and move your torso towards your lifted knee. Let your right arm rest upon that raised knee, yes, just like that.’ It was better. More rounded than flat. And the most beautiful of all was how above his pubic hair, which was trimmed, small layers of skin bundled upon each other, giving more dimention to his body.

You picked up the stylus - a metal pen- with satisfaction and began carving lines onto the parchment. Those lines slowly became basic shapes until more shade and more complexity was added to them. Ezio’s eyes kept sailing from around the room to your concentrated face. It must be intimidating for him whenever it took only fractions of seconds before you raised your eyes to look at him every single time. And every time he wondered how many seconds it would last this time before you watched him again. 

‘Do you do this a lot? Using nude models?’ Ezio asked. You stood halt in your drawing to look up at him. ‘Well, No. Back in Firenze I was too ashamed to ask for one. If the word would spread about a women making a carreer out of brush strokes instead of a man stroking her to let her bear him a son, they’d burn my paintings. And they may burn my paintings, but i’ll still use the ashes to draw a big cazzo on the front door of their homes.’  You said, slightly flinching at the thought of your face being tortured by the sweltering flames that are devouring your art works. Ezio laughed. His wide-opened mouth created deep curving lines next to it, sparkling eyes squinting at you. 

How did he do it? How was he capable of making you desire him with just a smile. A smile of confidence. A smile of which hundreds of women fell for. Let alone how his body would call for company as melancholy and charm hung like a perfume around him. 

‘Eccezionale,’ He grinned in a breath. ‘And in Monteriggioni?’ ‘The average male in this village is almost expired. They’re at least fifthy.’ 

‘You don’t older men?’ He asked teasingly. Yes you did, especially him. ‘There is a difference between older and old. Old men are almost expired. Older men, on the other hand, are more matured and experienced.’ 

With a last look at the sketch you laid down the stylus and motioned for Ezio to move again. You quickly added some shadows around the sillhouette around the body as you felt Ezio stand behind you. 

‘And what is “older” to you?’  ‘You ask a lot of Questions, Ezio. Aren’t you  Il mentore?’ His broad shoulders casted a shadow on your cheek that was turned to his side. ‘I’m curious. Isn’t a man allowed to ask questions? Especially if he’s as expired as me?’ You scoffed.

‘Ezio, you are not expired. You aren’t old.’

‘I’ll be turning fifthy in five years.’

‘That’s still ages away from now.’

‘Time flies, bella.’

‘Well, mentore, I don’t perceive you as old. In fact, you are mature and very sharp.’ You stole a quick glance of his private part before letting your gaze wander towards the floor. How was he able to keep himself so tame when the tension was creating a heated knot in your lower stomach? The knot kept contracting with every breath from Ezio’s soft lips that brushed against your neck and the radiating heat from his naked body caused by the Florentine sun that tortured his skin underneath the layers of his heavy assassin robes. 

You turned around, trapped in between the wooden desk and Ezio’s nudeness, and placed a hand on his bicep. ‘How aren’t you burned yet underneath all those layers of clothing.’ Your eyes locked with his. ‘I have very thick skin,’ He palmed your hand in his and lead it down his muscular arm, rubbing against its hot skin, let it follow the curves of his muscles back up to his chest. You didn’t even need to glance down to see that his good old friend has “awakened”. 

Ezio’s hand caressed your collarbone and slid down, only to stop at the cleavage of your gown. With his index finger he easily pulled the piece of fabric away from your chest, exposing your breasts that were visible through the thin night gown. 

He hummed in satisfaction.

Ezio disposed you of your clothes in a slow and agonizing manner until your naked body was hugged by the warm air that filled the art studio. His eyes, filled with passionate lust, wandered over your whole body, absorbing every inch of naked skin.  Ezio pressed his body close to you and you felt how his manhood, swollen with blood, was pressed against your stomach. Ezio kissed your lips. His lips covering your upper lip as you softly nibbled on his bottom lip. His tongue wetted the entrance of your mouth before the warmth of his saliva got mixed with yours. Ezio’s hands roamed your whole body, he wanted to take all of you, touch all of you, feel every piece of your hot skin lingering against his. His hands trailed back to your upper thighs and rubbed them as his fingers curled to grip the soft flesh of it. His warm hands felt rough and experienced against your inner thighs, it felt like everything that desire is. 

Ezio pulled your legs around his waist and carried you the the small improvised podium of layered blankets as his one hand held the fold at the backside of your knee and the other was pressed against your lower back. 

You couldn’t describe how overwhelmed you where with all these sensory feelings. Your contracting stomach, heating core and tickling neck, caused by Ezio’s lips and teasing nips, made you close your eyes and press your legs tighter around his torso. You pressed yourself against Ezio while you yearned for his body engulfing yours in this passionate warmth as Ezio’s hot breaths left humid spots on your neck. 

His lips kissed your collarbone and so he went down with smouldering and slow kisses down to the curve in between the mounds of your breasts. His hand cupped your breast and massaged your nipple with his thumb as his mouth place kisses on the side of your other breast before tracing to your nipple and holding it between his lips. 

your breathing became irregular, some were sharp and some were pitched. Your hands took a grip on Ezio’s broad back and you couldn’t help but groan in a breath. His body slid down on yours until he stopped above your pubic bone, a trail of saliva covered your torso. Ezio placed your legs on his shoulders, holding onto your thighs, and he breathed so softly against your humid entrance. 

It felt tingly and increased your need for him to touch you. Ezio’s fingers caressed your labia as his hot and humid tongue slid up your crease. Your breath hitched. His lips covered your clit, his beard tickling your inner thighs, kissing it before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. You groaned. Your clit was pusling and you felt how your entrance was filled with so much ecstasy. Ezio kept licking, nibbling and just making you feel on cloud nine until you felt how tension was layering and building up in your core and you felt how it was almost going to explode in bright colours of the sweet relieve. But Ezio stopped before you could taste that pure sweetness and how much you disliked it, the builded up tension slowly died down.

‘Why did you stop?’ You asked defeatedly. Ezio smirked. ‘I want us to finish together,’ You were surprised. ‘Because I can’t wait any longer to be inside of you.’  Ezio slid back up so his lips could reach your mouth again. You enveloped your leg around his waist and Ezio gripped the fold of your knee, slowly pressing your thigh against your chest. 

He groaned as the tip of his manhood entered slowly. He stopped after a few inches of his manhood had entered so you’d adapt to his lenght and width and began pumping slowly before he’d let his whole penis enter inside of you inch by inch. He filled you so good.

Ezio began pumping in and out between your slick walls and went rougher. The sweetness and lust of the moment made both of your groan in synch. But the more he motioned inside of you, the more your groans became heartfelt moans. You grabbed ezio’s back as you bit on his shoulder. With every push and every thrust of his body against yours the sinful sounds of hitting skin was like background music for the hymn of your moans. Ezio grabbed your thigh and pushed himself deeper, which you doubt was still possible, and the poor man was lost in deep groans. He kept you close to him as he filled you until the building up layers made you speed up, shortening the silence between every clap of skin. ‘Ezio,’ You whispered in lost sweetness. The more tension that build up, the more the yearning for that sweet relieve became. ‘(Y/N),’ He groaned in your ear, huskily. 

Only a few strokes and you were there, both of you. Oh, sweet Lord, how you were losing your mind in a blurr of white light. Just those few last strokes and you’d explode. You were almost there...almost...and ‘Ezio!’ The ball of squeezed tension exploded into a firework of sweetness and fire. Ezio came inside of you with squeezed eyes and a groan before he let himself relax onto you. Your chests were elevating in an irregular rythm. 

‘Mio Dio,’ You whispered in amazement. Ezio slid out of you and took the excess length of the cloth to cover both of you.

‘So when are you free to come back? To finish the painting?’ 

‘Very soon, Bella, very soon.’

[hughiecampbelle]

You Remind Me Of My Own Unhappiness (Thomas Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: Thomas

Word Count: 1,587

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @death-of-a-mermaid @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @captivatedbycillianmurphy @theshelbyclan @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87 @babylooneytoonz @peakyxtommy @locke-writes @lucillethings @miahelen @valkyrie-2312

A/N: A lil writing before I start requested prompt fics, which are still open btw!!!! Ngl, I've had this is my head for a while, and it turned out better than I expected!!!!! I've been reading for my horror fiction class, so I guess this is kind of based off/inspired by all of it (lots of Poe, Jackson, King, etc.) so be warned my loveliest of loves!!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: You knew too much for his comfort 💕

Gif Credit: @peakycillianblinders :)

FIC MASTERLIST PARTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

The earth is soft in your palms, loose as your dig away, your fingers aching amidst the clumps and rocks. The maggots fall one by one off the bone, disturbed in their everlasting feast. Fresh in his mind, an open wound he leaves exposed, to bleed, to breath, to eat him alive. Shallow, as expected. Careless in execution. Impatient, your husband always in such a hurry. Even with this. Handful by handful, muddied, the morning dew undisturbed even as nightfall came. Smelling faintly of a sweet memory, that of the first time you kissed. The raindrops coming between you. Pulling away with a laugh, in awe, at how his beauty compared to that of a rainy day. Your shoes sinking deep, your hands clutching his arms as he pulls you from the muck, letting the slightest hint of a smile slip. The noise of that day, the plops from the pond, the quiet, yet powerful, taps of the leaves, the shudder of branches and bones alike cold from the breeze, the soft of his voice, low, teasing of all the things he'd do when you were alone. Lost, but not forgotten.

It doesn't exist here. The silence is heavy, deadly, respectful. Something he is not. Early, before the sun has her chance to even set and paint the sky. The in between, the dark not as inky as you remember, the stars fading in, resting for their show ahead. A creature of habit, your husban. Every night, at the same time, no matter what. Day by day, you grow less and less, and this becomes an ever harder task than before. Time staking, your movements slow, weary, all knowing of the journey ahead. There is an ache of gratefulness, a nod to the thoughtfulness you assumed he was lacking in, though it could have come out of selfishness none of the less. Not far from home. A quiet walk, that of seclusion. A quick pace, a tight jaw, he could have made the journey in no time. Your body was not as forgiving

No wooden box. Not eternal flame. A sheet, dirty now, and spotted in red, tangled around you. Wet and cold. The same sheets you used to wash, scrubbing clean, that thick soap smell no longer. One more thing you'd miss, the newness of this dying as each minute ticked by. That excitement, that joy, that want for anything more fades as all things do, decomposing with the rest of you. It's become a duty, an obligation, to him, to your marriage, as all things had been, or would become.

There is no where else to go. Nothing more to do. A broken routine was a broken man. Fight it, resist, and you might find him in the tub again, his spine kissing the porcelain, neck bent, waiting to sink until he finds the bottom. You might find him in the bed you shared, eyes open, never crossing that split down the middle, always faced away from your side. You might find him out, at the bar, a job, surrounded, your presence striking him, bloodying his lip. He stares, his balance off, truly shaken to his core. You are a guest he does not share, a secret he locks in his closet, a beating heartbeat under his floorboards.

So, you give up fighting, as you had the last time, and accept this battle lost. Wave your white flag, shaking yourself free of the sheets, standing uneasily on your own rotting skeketon. Step by step, your toes tearing, soles wasting, the entirety of you threatening to cave, making your way home. Tendons frayed, splitting apart. Your flesh bloated, runny, what's left is chewed away. You can feel it all. Your teeth chatter by the openings that were your cheeks, the cold passing right through you, whistling through your open ribcage. Dreadfully exposed. All of it is heavy. With nothing to hold, to cling to, you're stitched together by a single thread. You pull forward with all your strength, choking back a scream. It wasn't pain, not anymore, your nervous system long gone, but the memory of it bursts through your open chest the way it had in that moment, before everything seeped away in a puddle beneath you, and the warmth of your body grew into icy cold.

Your hair is all but gone, just like your middle. Innards spilling into your clothes, filling out, everything once protected inside catching their first taste of freedom. You give up making yourself anymore presentable. You could pass for sickly, at your best, even tired in the beginning. The bags under your eyes gone now, eaten away, the green tint to your demeanor disappeared, leaving nothing but a rotting smell. There was no hiding this, hiding the time that's passed. The flies buzz, bugs crawl freely. It's much their home as yours. You click, a tune you suspect is music to his ears, but it only leaves an ache in your hollow chest. There isn't much left of you, there isn't much more time.

How long does he want to do this?

How much longer can you?

The light streams through the windows, a welcomed warmth. You missed it. You missed that comfort, that knowledge of a place being yours. All you had left to your name was a hole in the ground, weak and muddy. Even then, few knew it was yours at all. The back door, the one only homeowners used. You could see it, your skeletal hand resting weakly on the heavy door. A night like every other. Pressing your ear to the door, listening, as if the pull from his want, his need to see you, hadn't tugged you the whole way here. This act, so small, so innocent, had lead to consequences he could never take back.

Listening, waiting, your own breath no longer a distraction, your own heartbeat no longer drumming through your veins, interrupting every word. It was the only way. Banished, shunned, turned away. Though you wrote his name, you did not share blood, a defining trait he could not look past. The business, family business, turned you away. Complicit, docile, that's what he expected, what you tried to be. Yes, Love. No, Love. For your own protection, Love, as if it hadn't been the barrel of his gun pointed at your chest.

Not everything, but enough, your first mistake was making it known. Invading his world one word at a time, overstepping boundaries with a bit of advice. That was all it took. You realized too late, none of it you could ever take back. Pleading, wide eyed, you promised not to say anything more, to keep your distance between the job, but the damage was done. He changed before your eyes. Tight, rigid, masking himself, crawling back into his shell. He trusted you, he did, but not after that. A man like him could trust no one, not even the person he married. If you knew, who else did? Even the smallest detail could be dangerous. It could coolapse his entire empire. He didn't want to, insisting there was another way, but they agreed as long as you lived, knowing what you did, none of them were safe. A family by name, hardly by choice.

So, by their insistence, he pulled the trigger.

He dragged the body.

He dug a shallow grave.

He made an elaborate story, one of belief, of half-truths, and throw away lines about your solemn departure seeking a new life, abandoning your husband for something else, each of them chipping pieces and plots to the story, anything to help them sleep a little easier.

And here you sat, the hard wood of your dining room chairs puncturing your back. There are two plates, and two sets of silverware. A candle is lit between you. Not always, but tonight it seems he's been missing you more. A napkin sits on your lap, waiting, covering the mangled mass that used to be your lower half. He sits across from you, the space between you large enough to seat the entire family. Only two, though. Everyone else has left, gone, suspecting what it is Mr. Shelby is up to, wondering why they are let go more frequently, always at the exact same time. He musters up a smile, that of pain, with horror in his eyes, finally realizing just how cruel this has all been for you. You smile back, pieces of you ripping open, your lips uncurling, splitting in two, revealing a mouth empty of teeth.

Thomas speaks lightly of the day passed. The endless dread of paperwork, the faint gnaw that someone has been following him lately, a special nod to the advice he took from you that had been successful. No thank you, though. No admittance of grief or wrongdoing, no apology, not even a word of what you were really doing here. He couldn't let go, move on, he couldn't shake the guilt that woke you each night and put you to bed hours later. You were dead, killed by his own hand, had been for quite some time. Yet, every night after the murder you joined him. For dinner, for drinks, to sleep beside him in the bed you shared since your wedding day. Step by step, decaying in your time of rest, the same thought in your mind over and over, never letting it escape your lips, you knew better from the last time: when would he let you rest in peace?

[elareine]

I am excited for your prompt-a-thon! Is it possible to get a continuation of that JayDick arranged marriage drabble you wrote a while ago?

Of course <3

This is the drabble in question, btw. It’s probably a good idea to read it first.

Jason had been married for two months, and he hated every minute of it.

After their shitshow of a wedding, which had ended with Dick openly expressing his disgust to Jason, they hadn’t spoken for a week. After, Jason had reluctantly begun talking to the other man again, if only because he’d noticed the servants gossiping.

“It’s important to convince them,” was all that Dick had said when Jason entered their rooms again. His face was doing that thing where he aimed at being friendly but just ended up being unreadable, at least to Jason. “I know you don’t want to be here, but…”

Jason had nodded, and that had been that. He was at the head of the House of Wayne, now, second only to his husband. There was a lot at stake here—the territorial integrity of Gotham, no less.

Also, he’d promised Bruce. That was the only reason he kept returning even when Dick drove him mad, when Jason wanted to shatter all that fine china and throw the golden statues out of the window. Bruce Wayne hadn’t done especially much to earn Jason’s loyalty, not by the end—but he had once saved Jason’s life. Gave him shelter when no-one else would.

For that, Jason would help keep his empire together.

His duties weren’t that bad once he got used to them. It wasn’t easy juggling them and his classes at the same time, so he dropped a few courses. Not like he was in any hurry to finish, now, seeing how his tuition was comprehensively taken care of. How Dick did it was beyond him. Not that he was surprised. Mr. Perfect probably looked down his nose at Jason for giving in even that little bit.

He knew Dick was still going out as Nightwing by night. How, exactly, his husband presumed he didn’t notice him leaving when they shared a bed was beyond him. Dick really must think him stupid.

He’d better not have left early tonight, though. If Dick left Jason to explain his absence at one of the most important social events of the year, there better be at least two orphanages burning.

Jason knocked on the door to Dick’s study for a second time. “Dick?”

When no answer came, he turned the doorknob, fully expecting to find the room empty.

It was not. Dick was sitting behind the desk, papers and laptop in front of him. He looked up. “Oh. Jason.”

“Hey,” Jason said, gentler than he’d meant to. Something about Dick’s posture was off—not that he cared. His next words came out in his usual rough tone: “The banquet is about to start. Why aren’t you ready yet?”

Dick blinked at him. “The banquet?” His voice was weirdly blank.

“Yes, the one with the Kyles and the—“

“…ah, yes. I… I—“

Slowly, inexorably. Dick slumped over and buried his face in his hands.

“Dick?” Jason hurried to his side. Did his husband just have a heart attack or something? Jesus, what if someone had poisoned him—

“I’m fine,” Dick said, but his shoulders were shaking, and he clearly wasn��t.

Jason stood next to him, undecided.

“Sorry, I just—I’m just not ready.“ Dick seemed to feel the need to explain himself. “There’s all this paperwork I’ve been meaning to finish, and the council meets tomorrow—Dent is going to want to talk about the social programs again, and I need to prepare because he’s wrong, but—And I have an economics paper due at noon. That I haven’t even started.”

“Dude. Breathe.”

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking this up, I’m—“

“You’re fucking tired,” Jason interrupted.

It was at least enough to get Dick out of his fugue. He looked up at Jason with red-rimmed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you need to take a break. When was the last time you even slept through the night?”

Jason looked around. Dick had two phones, one for normal life and one for his night activities. The latter tended to be nearby but hidden—ah, there. Beneath the book on tax law. How predictable.

He handed it to Dick and told him: “Text them. Two nights.”

When Dick opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, Jason held up a warning finger: “I could blow your operation in five seconds if I wanted. No arguments.”

It was a little mean, but it worked. Dick typed, and the phone chimed confirmation less than twenty seconds later. Whoever it was on the other side told Dick to make it three nights and not to think about coming back early.

That settled, Jason put his hand on Dick’s shoulder and bodily pulled him up. The docile way Dick followed him told Jason more than enough about other man’s state of mind. Jason didn’t show just how freaked-out he was by that; he just led Dick to the bedroom and gently pushed him toward the bed.

“C’mon. I can’t promise everything will be better tomorrow morning, but sleep sure as fuck won’t hurt.”

Dick took a few steps toward the bed before turning around. “Why’re you doing this?”

Good question. “Cause someone has to. If you keep going like that, you’re gonna work yourself into an early grave, and I’m gonna be the one under suspicion for murder. Again.”

Dick looked skeptical. As he might.

Jason just pointedly leaned back against the doorframe, though. “I’m gonna keep standing here until you’re settled, just so you know.”

Dick grimaced, but he did get into the bed. As Jason had suspected, it didn’t take the longer man long to forget his presence; Dick’s exhaustion caught up with him so rapidly, he fell asleep with Jason still watching.

Curled up around his pillow like that, Dick no longer looked like Golden Boy, the perfect heir to a powerful house, a respected vigilante, a top student. He looked like a scared young man who had lost his father less than six months ago.

Jesus. Had Dick even had time to grieve?

Jason closed the door and took a deep breath. Then went to give his instructions to the servants. Master Dick was sick—just the flu, but his loving husband was worried. All events canceled and no disturbances. If they could send up some food, that would be most appreciated, though he would come make something himself if that was too much work.

For the first time, he saw an approving smile on the head butler’s face.

Then he returned to the study.

Okay. What this city needed—what it was lacking—was a strategy. Jason had only seen fragments of what it took to rule. He suspected Dick was in the same boat: too deep in some areas, too superficial in others. So that would need to change.

Tonight, he would read up on Dick’s work, finish his paperwork for him. (Maybe even that paper, though he would e-mail the prof about an extension first.) Tomorrow, he and Dick would sit down and talk. There had to be a schedule, a division of duty that worked for both of them. Something that allowed them to juggle their duties and maybe—just maybe—do more than just survive. All they had to do was work together and figure it out.

To his surprise, Jason was actually looking forward to it.

(I’m taking prompts until the end of the year.)