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luxaofhesperides · 4 months

Note

For ghostlights: baby Ellie + tired Danny + Duke the baby whisperer?

He has no idea how his parents did it.

Babies are exhausting. Toddlers more so. Any infants in the strange stage in-between? Doubly so.

Ellie is wonderful and sweet and cute and such a terror that Danny genuinely has no idea how his parents managed to raise not one, but two kids. For all their eccentricities and absent-mindedness, he and Jazz turned out pretty well. Ignoring the whole halfa thing because that’s more his fault than theirs even if Jazz says they shouldn’t have created the dangerous environment in the first place.

That environment is exactly why Danny refuses to let Ellie go to his house in Amity Park. His parents say they’ve disabled all the weapons and ecto-sensors since he’s had to reveal himself as Phantom, but he knows that things slip their minds and if they can’t guarantee that the house is safe, then Ellie isn’t going in there. Simple as that.

This means that they live somewhere else now. Danny had thought about it, during the hours Ellie was asleep and he was awake, exhausted and worn down to his bones, and took Jazz’s advice to accept Vlad’s offer of buying a house for him. Except he argued Vlad down to an apartment in a city of his choosing where he wouldn’t stand out too much and he would be safe, or as safe as he can be, from anyone trying to hunt down ghosts.

So here they are. Standing in the empty living room of their new apartment in Gotham.

Gotham may not be very safe as a city, but it’s good for two ghosts trying to pass as normal.

Danny sighs yet again, and looks at the space he’ll need to fill. At least Vlad is footing the bill. It’s the least he can do for creating Ellie. Frostbite was the one who was able to stabilize her, though it was almost too late and resulted in her reforming as a baby, just one and a half years old. Jazz is the one who’s choosing most of the furniture, thankfully, so it’s something that Danny doesn’t need to worry about it.

It’s a new start to their lives and it feels so empty. So overwhelming. How did his parents do it? How do any parents do it?

Ellie smacks a small palm against his cheek and babbles lightly.

“I know, Ellie,” Danny says, giving her a tired smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll have this place looking good in no time.”

He adjusts her in his arms, then heads towards the bedroom. It’s the only room that has any furniture, and all that’s there is a bed, a crib, and a bookcase. There are a few boxes on the floor, labeled ‘bedroom’ and ‘clothing’ and ‘books’. Most of it came from his bedroom in Amity Park, but he’s pretty sure he caught Jazz sneaking a few things in before they closed the boxes and loaded them up into the car.

“Can you be good for five minutes?” he asks Ellie.

She babbles again and smacks his shoulder.

“I’m taking that as an agreement. Just let me open these boxes and start unpacking before you start causing trouble, okay?”

Ellie makes another sound, but it seems agreeable so Danny carefully lays her down in the crib and gets to peeling off the tape on the boxes. The opens the one labeled ‘bedroom’ first, finding blankets and sheets folded and stacked in vacuum sealed bags. One of them is his old childhood blanket, the one he carried around everywhere that was faded with age, barely blue, with white bunnies decorating it.

He was so small when he had this. It makes him oddly emotional to unpack it and pass it on to Ellie, draping it over her so her pudgy little hands can grab at it.

This is no time to cry, though! He forces himself to focus and makes his own bed, shaking out the sheets and fluffing up the pillows. He’ll worry about washing everything later; Vlad made sure to get an apartment with an in-unit washer and dryer, which means he was actually sensible while apartment hunting for Danny.

He doesn’t mean to flop onto the bed once it’s made, but he ends up there anyways. He’s barely gotten a full six hours of uninterrupted sleep since Frostbite deemed Ellie healthy enough to leave his care. The drive up to Gotham was long and wore him down to his bones.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he does, drifting off as he wonders, distantly, when Jazz will be back from getting them dinner.

Ellie wakes him up at dawn with a loud cry. Danny jolts awake, heart pounding in his chest as he panics because Ellie isn’t here, she’s supposed to be in his arms, where is she? And then he sees the crib, where Ellie is staring at him through the bars, and he nearly collapses with relief.

“Morning, El,” he says, voice rough from sleep, as he picks her up. She just stares up at him, then leans forward and rests her head against his shoulder.

It’s quiet moments like these that make his heart melt. Ellie’s had a hard life already; he wants to give her a better one, this time around.

A quick check of the time on his nearly dead phone shows that it’s barely past six in the morning, and Jazz texted him a few times. All about furniture, saying that she didn’t want to wake them and that food is in the fridge.

It’s only the mention of food that makes him realize how ravenous he’s feeling. Danny makes a beeline for the kitchen, ignoring everything else, and pulls out the boxes of take-out Jazz left stacked in the fridge. He devours it like he’s been starving for weeks, then gives Ellie her Ecto-Jello, the only food she’s allowed to eat until Frostbite gives the okay for solid, human food.

Once he’s got her burped and cleaned up, Danny looks out of the kitchen and realizes that Jazz was very productive while he was asleep. The living room isn’t empty anymore; a dark green couch is against the wall, a low, rectangular coffee table made of dark wood in front of it. Two armchairs are on both sides of the couch, and a television has been installed, fixed into the wall.

Jazz is asleep on the couch. Her legs hang off an armrest and she’s drooling slightly.

Her phone is charging on the floor, so Danny takes it and snaps a picture of her for later teasing, then sends it to himself and writes a note to her that he’s going out with Ellie to explore the neighborhood.

He’s finally feeling more settled, energized from sleep and food.

In the warm dawn light spilling in through the windows, Danny looks down at Ellie and thinks that they’ll be just fine after all.

. . .

Four months ago, Danny had hope. He was optimistic.

Gotham was a fresh start, a new lease of life for Ellie. It is Danny’s attempt to be a single parent, sacrificing college for Ellie, and he’s planning to go out and beat the gangs black and blue if they start anymore shootouts in the next year.

He had just gotten Ellie to sleep. She was actually peacefully taking a nap.

And then a drive by shooter raced down the street, gunshots echoing down the road, and Ellie work up crying. She still hasn’t stopped, despite how Danny rocked her, soothing her as best he could.

They had been outside when Ellie fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. He had been catching up with Sam and Tucker when the car drove by, people ducking and crying out to avoid the bullets. Danny instinctively covered Ellie and made them both intangible, saving them from any stray bullets, but they ruined her nap and he needs to make them pay for that.

“Shh,” he soothes, “You’re okay. We’re both fine. It’s okay, El, it’s okay.”

Her little hands clutch at his back, twisting the fabric of his shirt, and she lets out a heartbreaking wail. He pats her back, hurrying down the street to get back to his apartment building, ignoring the looks people were giving them as they passed by.

“I know it was scary, but you’re alright. You’re always safe with me, El.”

Ellie’s cries down down a little, but they don’t stop. She whimpers, burying her face against his shoulder as he finally reaches their apartment building.

The door’s locked, which wouldn’t be a problem except Danny can’t get his keys from his pocket. He knows he has them! But his pocket refuses to relinquish them and he has to stop every few seconds to pat Ellie’s back, trying in vain to calm her down.

“We’ll be inside in a second,” he tells her, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, “as soon as I can get these freaking keys!”

“Hey, you alright?”

Danny startles, whirling around so fast it makes Ellie go quiet, clinging to him so she doesn’t get flung into the air. There’s a guy standing before him in a gray hoodie, looking at him with clear concern. It speaks to Danny’s level of constant exhaustion that he hadn’t clocked someone sneaking up behind him.

The guy offers an awkward smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you or anything. Um, do you need me to open to door? I live here too.”

Danny wonders for a moment if this someone dangerous, someone hoping to hurt Ellie, but she starts to cry again and he steps to the side. “Please. I can’t get my keys.”

“I’m Duke, by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

“Danny,” he replies, watching as Duke pulls out a large key ring, jangling with the amount of keychains on it, and easily opens the door. “I’ve been here a few months, but I’m usually inside. Or walking around in the mornings with this little monster.”

“That would explain it,” Duke says as he holds the door open, letting Danny in first. “I’m usually in classes at GCU, but I decided to take a mental health day after my lab, so here I am.”

Danny walks in and waits for Duke to follow, making sure the door closes properly behind them. “Thanks. How is GCU? What do you study? I was thinking of going there myself once she gets a little older and can go to school.”

“Oh, I’m majoring in English and Human Services.” He goes to say more, but Ellie wails again and Danny winces.

“I’m so sorry. That drive by woke her up and it’s really rattled her.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I get it, Gotham is rough to kids.”

Danny tries rocking her back and forth, but it doesn’t help. He resigns himself to another hour of her crying before she exhausts herself, and makes for the stairs, going up to the fourth floor. Duke holds open the door again, then follows after them. It makes Danny wonder if Duke is planning to do something to them, then decides he can beat Duke in a fight, so it’s fine.

Duke doesn’t try to hurt them or steal Ellie away. He opens the door to their floor and stops before they do. “I’m in here,” he says, “If you ever need me to open more doors.”

“Thanks. Um, actually, I might need help opening mine?”

Duke just smiles and makes his way back to them, following them farther into the hall until Danny stops in front of his apartment.

“If I could just get my keys,” he starts.

“Here, let me hold her for a second so you can get them,” Duke offers. Danny wants to insist that it’s fine, but Ellie cries directly into his ear and Danny, at the end of his rope, passes her over.

Like magic, Ellie settles as soon as she’s in Duke’s arms. She sniffles and hides her face away, clutching to Duke’s hoodie, but she stops crying. They both go still, surprised, and stare down at her.

“Seriously?” Danny says as he finally pulls out his keys, “Are you trying to say that I’m the problem?”

Ellie babbles lightly, and Duke turns his head to futilely hide his grin.

He grumbles as he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Ellie is acting as if she’s never been upset before a day in her life, making herself at home in Duke’s arms.

“I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own blood.”

Duke laughs as he follows Danny into his apartment, lightly patting Ellie’s back. “It’s always the smallest, cutest ones that do this.”

“Yeah? Do you work with a lot of kids or something? Used to being betrayed by the little ones?”

“I don’t work with kids per se,” Duke says, “But my foster family is a hot mess and the youngest of them likes to keep us all on our toes.”

“Family,” Danny says in a tired, fond tone.

“Family,” Duke agrees.

With his door open and Ellie calm, Danny’s ready to just lay face down on the floor for the rest of the day and not deal with anything else. He moves to take Ellie back, holding his arms out, and Duke tries to pass her over.

The key word being tries.

Ellie tightens her grip and kicks at Danny. She refuses to be taken away from Duke, making him awkwardly try to pry her off his hoodie. Danny really hopes Duke doesn’t notice how she goes slightly intangible to make his hands fall through her arms and legs. It shouldn’t be noticeable, but it’s hard to focus on anything but a kid that clings to you, so Danny holds out for Duke’s goodwill and silence.

“As nice as it is to meet you, you need to go back to your… parent?” Danny nods when Duke looks at him in askance. “You need to go back to your parent. Okay? Come on, kid, he’s waiting for you.”

Ellie shakes her head, makes a frustrated noise, and then turns and reaches out a grabby hand towards Danny.

She still refuses to be taken from Duke when Danny tries to pick her up again, so he settles with just letting her hold two of his fingers.

“I’m so sorry about this,” he says to Duke, face burning. This is why he hasn’t been going out and being social since he moved in; Ellie is a handful even on the best days, and Danny doesn’t want someone to judge him as unfit to parent her and have her taken away.

Duke shakes his head, stepping closer. “It’s all good, man. I don’t mind. It’s not like I had any plans today. I’m already skipping my classes, might as well spend it with you two than sleep all day.”

“Are you sure? I’d be happy to invite you in, but I know Ellie can be a lot and not everyone wants to spend their day off with a baby.”

“I’m sure. Besides, I’d just be down the hall anyways. It’s no skin off my back, man.”

“Well,” Danny says, stepping to the side to give Duke full access to his open doorway, “Come on in, then.”

Ellie keeps them connected, one hand in Duke’s hoodie and the other holding Danny’s fingers, and though her cheeks are still red from how hard she had been crying, she’s calm now with her eyes shining with mischief.

As the door closes behind them, Danny realizes that this is the first time someone he’s not related to has been inside his apartment. Not even Vlad has come in, always choosing to invite Danny and Ellie out for lunch instead.

It should make him nervous, but Duke is calm and easy going and kind.

He’s making silly faces at Ellie to make her laugh, completely at ease with her in his arms, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

Gotham is a second chance at life for Ellie. It’s a sacrifice for Danny, to be alone and without friends or family around. He’d been ready to give up everything for Ellie, to focus solely on raising her, but with Duke filling his apartment with laughter, he thinks that he can make a life here too.

All he needs to do is take that first step, reach his hand out, ask Duke to stick around.

He can do this.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #prompt fill #my writing #i really love writing about characters struggling to be parents v suddenly and thru unconventional means #so here's danny a year out of high school living on his own for the first time w baby ellie #and duke who needed some space and independence while he's in college. bruce pays for the apartment while duke works part time for grocerie #and ellie who had been fully developed but unstable is now a halfa baby who remembers stuff but is also. yknow. a baby.#she absolutely latched onto duke to force danny to have a life outside of her. but also she can sense that hes kind and calm #which danny needs bc he is Stressed (tm)#this leads to duke bringing over food for them and looking after ellie while danny goes shopping or naps #both of them ignoring how duke has to leave suddenly for Hero Related Reasons and how danny and ellie have Powers #it's a v delicate balance they keep for the sake of keeping ellie safe #yeah they're gonna co-parent and realize they're basically dating after MONTHS of pining #the bats have bets on who gives bruce a grandkid first and literally no one bet on duke but here he is lol :)#thanks for the prompt!!

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tcfactory · 2 months

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Broken System

I love it when the System breaks and gets shut down permanently, but what if it left its marks on its main user? Shang Qinghua won't be able to get out of explaining this even if he really, really wanted to.

#svsss #shang qinghua #I may or may not have a fic idea with this premise #one I'm holding onto for later TM #I need to finish some of my other ideas first #but anyway the idea was that one eye turns into something like cracked glass #if you have ever seen a fried marble it's kinda like that #he can still see out of it fine it's just weird #the cracks extending over his skin will eventually heal but not the eye #also the hairstick was just randomly stuck in his hair as a 'do not eat me' marker #because wouldn't it be funny if he was in the demon realm when the system died on him and left him with this mess #let's give MBJ something to fuss over #mun art

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nastylittleghouls · 4 months

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Aether: How do you like it this morning? Dewdrop: Against the wall. Rough and hard. Pull my hair. Make me bleed Aether: I....meant the coffee Dewdrop: *shrugs and smirks while unbuttoning Aether's pants*

#Aether ghoul #Dewdrop ghoul #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #dewther #ghost bc #ghost ghouls #Aether/Dewdrop #Ghoul Shenanigans (TM)#it‘s my birthday so have some very light Dewther spice #Since I didn‘t get to finish any fic WIP in time

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anya-draws-stuff · 11 months

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Here's no. 3 of 4 drawings for @tm-writes SanSan fanfic "Power Play"

Sorry for being m.i.a. the last two weeks. I caught a cold that knocked me right out. But I'm good now and I'm back with some new art. :)

Anyway, I will never tire of praising this fanfic, so go check it out if you haven't already.

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muzzlemouths · 8 days

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[CW: Death/implication of death]

The clock reads a quarter to midnight when Sun powers on. Too early. He isn’t meant to come online for another six hours, and the daycare itself won’t open for another hour after that. He promptly runs a scan to determine the reasoning behind his premature entrance and when it returns inconclusive he turns to Moon. It is his metaphorical toes he is stepping on by encroaching on the night as he is, after all.

It’s quiet. The kind of quiet that settles like dust. A quiet that makes one aware of the breath that stirs within their lungs or, in Sun’s case, the gentle whir of an internal fan that perpetually keeps his system from running itself into the ground. A quiet so frequently interrupted by the welcomed voice of his other half…and yet, nothing. His question goes unanswered, left to gather with the dust, and he is forced to proceed as though these strange happenings haven’t disrupted his entire morning routine.

A routine further disturbed upon having to remind himself for the second time already that it isn’t morning, he isn’t meant to be going through the start-up procedure to begin with, and he can’t be blamed for the corrupted sense of awareness he feels as a result. Sure, the lights are on, and his systems, too, return with normal results after a precautionary scan, but there is a discomfort to all of this scratching at the inner plating of his frame. Something is wrong wrong wrong.

“…Moon?”

His second attempt at communication yields no better results than the first, only a vague static answering the call, murmur-soft background noise, as though someone had plucked a phone from its receiver and then walked away. Frustrating is what it was. To ignore him was childish at best, but at worst, it was concerning. His relationship with Moon was reasonably amicable even on the longest of days, he worked better with Moon than without, so the absence was unusual as much as it was alarming.

Alone with his thoughts for the foreseeable future, Sun decides there is little point to sitting around in the midst of this confusion when he could be using the time to busy himself with more important tasks, such as tidying up all the apparent dust around here. Better yet, he can get a head-start in preparation for that day’s activities. Something to keep his mind from wandering into worrywart territory, at the very least.

An ache stemming at the tail of his exoskeleton twinges with particularly horrendous vengeance upon finally convincing his legs to move. He buries the vocalization of a wince and carries on across the carpeted room with little more than a brief mental note to mention the pain to a mechanic if it worsens by tomorrow. No use in wasting company time for what he’s sure is only the result of one or both of them landing wrong after receiving a hug from one of the daycare’s more excitable children (or several).

Still, it makes the process of retrieving a stray toy from the floor that much harder when he sees it lying in wait by the slide. If anything, bending down to reclaim the doll only exacerbates the ache until it grows into a proper sting, now difficult to ignore. Yet ignore it he does, to the best of his ability. There are things to do and he isn’t about to let a pinch of soreness slow him down now. No, sirree! He has play equipment to wipe down, craft supplies to ready, and–

and…

His hand stops just short of reaching the doll, long yellow fingers curling inward, against his palm which is painted with splotches of salt and pepper, as though a bottle of dully colored glitter glue had exploded across his fingers and hand. He straightens again and lifts his other hand, noting a similar stretch of television static, one that carries beyond his wrist up the length of his forearm in smeared blotches and specks like splattered paint in dirty snow hues.

Messy messy messy. What could Moon have gotten up to that resulted in such a mess? He’d have made a face, had he a nose to wrinkle in the first place.

Instead he allows for one small tut of disgust to escape his voice box before turning his attention back to the doll, taking note of the static that stains the carpet beside its head, and just beyond it, too; a trail made up of one scattered drop after another.

Ever curious, he knows not what to do besides follow it, hoping for an answer to the many questions burning through his system. Each continuous speck leads him in the direction of the exit, every patch of static more plentiful than the last, and as he allows the strange color to guide him forward he begins to question not only its existence, but why it all seems so familiar, as though he’s seen it somewhere before.

There is little time to mull it over. He arrives at the service desk where the trail ends abruptly, and Sun pauses with the toe of his slippers stood just an inch before a stray, black shoe that might have sent him stumbling face first into carpet had he not already been looking down. A shoe isn’t the most bizarre thing to lose in a daycare of all places, and he decides right away that it isn’t anything to worry over, just another item to drop into lost and found, but where there is a shoe there is bound to be someone missing it and, well…

Sun finds the answer he’s looking for just a few inches behind the service desk.

Face down and tucked in on themselves as they are, cloaked in the desk’s shadow, it’s impossible to tell anything about the person beyond their age, and even that is somewhat uncertain — though the size 9 shoe left behind offers a decent clue. This discovery does wonders to quell the anxiety in Sun’s chest. An adult was much easier to escort from the daycare, given the lack of parental contribution it necessitated, and it looked like this one was just sleeping! An odd place to go about it, sure — against the rules, most certainly — but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a purposeful tap to the ankle.

So, that’s exactly what he does. Bending dramatically at the knee, head swiveling to one side, Sun’s fingers dance as though he intends on tickling the trespasser awake before extending his index finger and tapping twice in quick succession against the exposed skin between their pant leg and sock. “Rise and shine, friend!” He chirps, “It’s time to head home now.”

He’d have preferred the tried-and-true method of rousing someone (that is, a gentle rock of the shoulders), but given that their guest was currently resting in the one area that Sun was not permitted entry to, he was forced to resort to more…creative measures. Unfortunately, this action does not yield the results he is hoping for.

“Friend?” Sun calls again, allowing his voice to raise a decibel from the polite mumble it had been before. The laughter that cuts from his voicebox is nervous and too loud on its own, his anxiety returning tenfold. The points of logic he had used to reassure himself before were now quickly dwindling with each passing second in which he received no response.

With his steps now admittedly growing frantic, Sun tiptoes around the desk to the other side, hoping for a better view of their comatose companion. What happens instead is an almost comical flailing of limbs as his slipper takes to an unseen puddle of static like it were a banana peel, resulting in a scramble to keep himself upright that only comes to an end when he braces against the nearest wall for support. The distraction is agitating, but short lived. A commotion like that would surely have awoken anyone, no matter how deep in slumber they were, and the continued lack of response does nothing to relieve Sun of the stress threatening to fry his circuits.

“Friend, this is n-no time for jokes!” He asserts, speaking at full volume, now, every word drenched in tense frustration. His gaze falls to the puddle of static soaking into the bottoms of his slippers, that twinge of recognition rearing its head once more. “I’m not in the mood for games, right now, so if you’re only pretending to sleep—” his hand comes away from the wall feeling wrong, the familiar sensation of sticky static blanketing his palm and crusting in the grooves between his joints as it further dries. His fingers curl into a loose fist long enough to observe the way each digit smears against his palm and leaves behind a tacky residue that he can feel, but not see.

He looks up. There, on the wall, two handprints interrupt the static. The first is larger, an obvious testament to the humbling misstep he’d only just finished recovering from, but the other…it was far smaller, surely left behind by the same stranger currently snoozing away beneath the desk, and it ran from the lightswitch down down down to the floor, where the accusing hand now rested just outside the desk’s shadow.

How strange, Sun thinks, tilting his head to get a better look. The way the static paints their skin, it almost looks like—

“You’re doing so well, dewdrop, just a moment longer and you’ll be right as rain again!” Sun gives the small hand intertwined with his own an encouraging squeeze as the other, equipped with an antiseptic wipe, dutifully dabs away at a scuffed knee. His young patient, having tripped and burned her skin along the carpet, is nothing less than a trooper as he cleans the static from the shallow wound. Not even a sniffle!

He tucks the wipe into the flat of his palm and trades it out for ointment, smearing a healthy dollop of it along the reddened surface before wiping his finger along the striping of his pants and reaching for a bandaid; Chica pink with pizzas on one side and cupcakes on the other.

“There, now. I’m sure that feels better already!”

Blood. Viscous, cold, pooling at his feet. On the walls, the carpet. His hands. Cherry red like a lollipop and twice as sticky…or so he’s told. Nothing a robot of his nature is meant to see or understand. His censors make sure of it. Rather than allow him to see things are they are, the incarnadine color is suppressed behind a layer of static, as if he won’t care to acknowledge it at all beyond its existence on scraped knees and split lips. As if he is meant to ignore the way it feels in its abundance, caked against his palms and festering between his open joints.

Messy, messy, messy. He feels dirtied beyond repair, filthy in a way that even a deep cleaning won’t fix. The wires in his stomach feel twisted, begging to come undone, shorting like sparklers against their ports and threatening to make short work of bringing him down. His screens are flooded with alerts that warn of an inevitable shut-down if he can’t manage to pull himself back together, but moving feels impossible, an insurmountable task. He can not think past the sensation of someone else’s life soaking into the cotton of his slippers.

And what of their guest? Sun can hardly get himself to look again, pleading with the matter of logic itself as he is forced to reckon with the knowledge that this is a rest they may never wake from. But he does look. He has to.

He wishes he hadn’t.

The brief glimpse he endures before looking anywhere else is more than enough. From this angle, the static – the blood – paints a grim picture. In spite of this, Sun finds himself circling the desk a second time and preparing to draw the body – the visitor – out from under the desk. It is a daunting task, but a necessary one, by Sun’s account. If there is nothing to be done in such a hopeless situation then, at the very least, he owes this stranger the dignity of recognition and an attempt. He can claim to have looked for a pulse. Even so, he hesitates.

There is not one to be found; Sun knows this. He knows painfully well from the static lingering on his silicone that it is already too late. Oil is warmed by the processors it fuels, and similarly, blood is meant to be hot. The soles of his slippers are cold. The pads of his fingers, against even the raging inferno of his overworked circuitry, are cold.

The body is cold.

He perseveres, regardless, dragging the stranger out from under the desk by a shaky grip on their ankle one inch at a time, pausing every few tugs to look away and regather his confidence, trying so, so hard to tune out the ever-constant music as it merrily sings through the speakers.

He begs the underlying silence. “Please have a pulse.” Tug. “Please don’t be cold.” Tug. “I don’t know what to do.” Tug. “I can’t do this alone.” Tug. “You have to wake up.” Tug. “Please.” Tug. “Please!” Tug. “Please, please, please, pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseple—”

He knows this visitor. Not a friend, but not quite a stranger, either. His scanner attempts to process the identification of a man whose head is so thick with static that it returns as an error. His face is contorted grotesquely, mouth slightly agape and eyes wide with fear. They don’t look like they’re sleeping.

A security guard whose name fails to ping in his registry. Sun had spoken with him once, maybe twice before. He drank coffee by the mile and hardly stuck around long enough to do more than complain about the weather. Sun hadn’t been in a hurry to befriend the man, but he only wished the best for him. Squeezed a joke in where he could in an attempt to turn his frown upside-down. It had never worked before, but Sun was no quitter. Now he would never get the chance to try again.

“Focus, focus.” Sun carefully lowers the man’s foot back to the carpet again, choking on the sensation of bloodied clothes slipping through his fingers and resisting the urge to tear the rays straight out of his faceplate in response. He is inconsolably panicked and at a loss for what to do, two steps from outright laughing, the complete absurdity of the situation driving him to hysterics.

He needed to call security. He couldn’t call security. Security was–

Management. There were other employees that worked the night shift if Moon complaining about them making too much noise during naptime was anything to go by. If he sent out a general call for assistance surely someone would come and tell him what to do, even at this late hour. It was his best option. His only option.

“Don’t.”

The voice makes him jump clear out of his casings. He has half a mind to swear, but as it stands, Sun thinks the long divots he dragged into the service desk out of surprise are enough damage already. On top of everything else.

“Moon?” He whispers. “Nice of you to finally join us – and by us, I mean me and the deceased guest I discovered a moment ago. Do you have a clue what’s going on here?”

“Don’t?” Sun echoes, agitated, “Don’t what?”

“Don’t.”

If the tether keeping his sanity intact was fraying before, it’s now down to a single thread. “Why not?” He asks with great exhaustion, “Did you not hear me? This is an emergency! There is a dead body in the–”

“Call management.”

“I know.”

Silence answers. Despite having a hundred and one snarky retorts building in between each crackle and pop of his voice box, Sun has nothing to say to that. Nothing good, anyway. It takes nine steady ticks of the clock for him to recollect his thoughts.

“You…you know?” He stutters, “How could you…” but he doesn’t finish the question, and he doesn’t need to. Realization strikes him with an iron fist for the second time that day and it is no less kinder than the first. “Did… you do this?”

It’s Moon’s turn to go quiet.

That silence stretches on for what feels like hours to Sun, each passing second more agonizing than the last, until he starts to believe Moon had simply disappeared like before. He waits, and waits, and finally decides to interrupt the silence with a repeat of the question, despite already knowing the answer. Moon beats him to it.

The tired sigh that escapes Sun’s throat is thoroughly earned. “Well, it’s too late to figure something else out, I already sent out the emergency ping.”

“Not sure,” he says, and Sun can tell from his tone that it’s the truth. “Blurry. My head hurts.”

A sound like nothing he’s ever heard before tears itself from Moon’s voicebox. A growl, if he were to put a name to it.

“Get rid of it, then.” Moon insists through the noise, “Clean up, clean up.”

“It?” Sun gawks, “Moon, that – that’s a person. He has dignity, a family!”

“Had a family,” Moon corrects, “dead, now. No dignity. Who will they blame?”

The question gives him pause. Surely there was a better way to go about this, a solution that didn’t have his morals (and wires, for that matter) all up in a twist. Yet the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes Moon is right. Management hardly listens when he tries to explain that it was the children who broke a piece of playground equipment, not him! They aren’t likely to give his explanation of simply having found the body any mind, much less understanding. With his counterpart practically admitting to the heinous act, already, informing management of the body would sooner see them decommissioned.

“Running out of time,” Moon reminds him, “Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick–”

“Alright, alright!” He wails, “What should I do, then?”

“Clean up.”

“Where?” Sun looks around with the desperation of a teenager attempting to play hooky, rays practically nonexistent with how he’s tucked them away. His eyes search the room from top to bottom before landing determinedly on the ball pit.

“Good enough,” Moon tuts, a rather uninspired response to the happenings around him. Of course he isn’t panicking, it isn’t him who takes the body by its ankles and drags the dead weight across the carpet. It isn’t him who shoves aside enough plastic to carefully hide a corpse in. But it should be him worrying, it should be him panicking, because if management finds out about their secret, it’ll spell doom for both of them.

“You’ll get rid of it – him – properly once there’s no one around, right?” Sun finishes reshuffling the ball pit, mostly confident that the ill deed is successfully hidden from view. “I’m going to have to wash each and every one of these balls before the kids arrive in the morning.”

Right, the kids. When they arrive in just a few hours, will he have things tidied up? Will he be able to carry on as though nothing happened? He’s a brilliant actor – or he used to be, anyway, before the company decided he better fit the role of a nanny – but this is well beyond the scripts he is most familiar with.

“They’re close,” Moon warns him, “Don’t let them see–”

“I know, I know.” No time to dwell on it now, he makes quick work of crossing the distance between the ball pit and the exit, and manages to slide his head and torso through the gap between doors within seconds of it opening, scaring the living daylights of the poor employee sent to greet him in the process.

Unlike Sun, they do swear, clutching a hand over their chest and fitting him with a downright awful deadpanned stare. “Fuck, you couldn’t have waited a few seconds longer for me to come inside?” They hiss.

“Sorry, friend! Didn’t mean to spook you,” Sun chirps. He is careful to keep his bloodied hands safely tucked behind his back. “It’s just a mess in here, is all, and I’m rather embarrassed. There’s still equipment to clean, toys to organize, papers to fold–”

“Sure,” the employee interrupts, “It doesn’t really–” they pinch the bridge of their nose, exhaling with notably less exhaustion than Sun is feeling right about now, “I don’t particularly care. What’s the big issue that I was called down here for?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if the next shipment of wipes had come in, yet. Like I said before, much to do! Always busy, busy, busy!”

Their stare turns into an outright glower. “That’s why you called the emergency line? For cleaning supplies?”

Sun shrugs, feigning ignorance. “Well, that’s an emergency to me. Apparently our standards are not the same.” He watches them roll their eyes with more enthusiasm than necessary. ”Do you know how messy children can be? It’s practically a barnyard in here, every single day, and don’t even get me started on how much of a health code violation it would be if one of them were to pick their nose and then–”

“Fine, I get it,” they snap, “I’ll make sure your damn supplies are delivered before the daycare opens. Anything else?”

“Told you they were annoying,” Moon chimes in.

“That’s everything!” He replies, “thank you a mighty amount, friend!”

“Mhm,” they mutter, waving him off with nothing more than the noncommittal sound. When they do turn to leave, it’s not soon enough, and Sun just barely manages to close the door with a whisper instead of a slam.

His back rests against it a moment later, and he allows himself to collapse from there, sliding down the smooth wooden frame until his tailbone reaches the floor. His knees twinge as they tuck against his chest, and he folds both arms atop, resting his temple against them and taking one long, much needed moment to just breathe.

It had only been half of a lie. There was much to do, much to clean, and only so many hours remaining to get it done. The wires nestled deep in his chest had calmed, yet the tremor in his hands continued, as it likely would until the very last speck of blood was washed clean.

“…Moon?”

“Hm?”

Sun tucks his knees ever closer. “Why…why did you do it?”

“…”

“I w-won’t be mad, promise! I’m sure this is all just one big misunderstanding, after all – a one time event, no biggie! But…was it out of anger? Fear? I mean, did he hurt–”

“In my way,” Moon replies.

Sun’s head lifts from the dark haven his arms provide, noting with growing exhaustion that, for the very first time, the lights felt too bright even for him. “What do you mean by that?” He asks, “Did he keep you from doing something?”

“…I don’t know.”

Again, Sun’s head falls against his arms in defeat, and again, not two seconds later, it lifts, determined not to lollygag any longer.

His legs creak with vocal effort as he gets back to his feet. “Well, no point in dwelling on it now, I suppose. I’m sure it’s nothing.” He takes in a wide view of the daycare – static trailing everywhere – and deflates with a sigh. “Guess I better get started. The sooner we get the place cleaned up, the sooner we can forget about all of this.”

He takes a step forward, and only that, swiveling on his heel when he catches last night’s roster from the corner of his eye. A single drop of static had landed and smeared across the name of a child meant to go home later in the evening.

Strangely enough, it appears they were never picked up.

Sun shrugs, gathering the paper in both hands and crumpling it into a ball to dispose of the smeared evidence. A simple mistake with the roster, that’s all it is. The parents often forget to sign their name after all. Accidents happen all the time!

The paper lands with a soft thunk in the nearest trash can and is just as quickly forgotten. Sun pivots towards the play area once more and heads for the supply closet, steadfast in his determination to be cleaned up on time, and feeling more confident than he ought to be about how things ended, all things considered.

More than anything, he is just happy to have all of this behind them.

#drabbles #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #no y/n #death cw #blood mention cw #can you believe it? tumblr user muzzlemouths posting a fic that ISN'T y/n related?#I needed an additional example for my app. lmao #anyway! if it isn't obvious this takes place at the very beginning of Moon's glitch #his First Kill(tm) even #hope it isn't too heartbreaking for all my fellow Moon enjoyers out there <3 stay strong

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precious-little-scoundrel · 6 months

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IM SORRY DID U SAY YOURE WORKING ON A FIC ABOUT “COP BIG DADDY ELVIS”?!?- please tell us more because this sounds like the greatest thing ever 😭

I did, Mon ami, I did indeed…welcome to the demented 2009, sweaty and non famous cop AU that @eliseinmemphis and myself cooked up in our feral yearnings one night.

Edit: it’s here

Allow me to lay a bit of the setting for us all, and maybe even throw in a few lines from the draft below.

Life is insular when you’ve been born and raised in a trailer park. A little El Paso suburb was never a thriving metropolis, what with its gas stations and dollar stores on the way to nothingness in the desert, but the recession didn’t help none. Your dreams of buying a car that might actually make it above 120 mph and not guzzle your wages in gas is a far off dream when you learn from officer Presley that your entrepreneuring father has been incarnated for racketeering across in Juarez. It’s a shame, a damn shame but it hardly throws a wrench in your life, you were already used to making it however you could. When workin’ at the trucker’s club turns into something a lil more illegal and Elvis has his morning waffle ruined by Joe Esposito yacking about the powers of your pink tongue…he feels a little responsible for leaving you without a father figure. He’s got top notch swamp coolers in his trailer, plenty of food and tiger figurines out front -and he’s got an interest in fast things, just like you.

You could do worse than shack up with such a fella; not that he’s offerin’ but you can tell by the flicker in his eye and the smirk of his lips that he’s as susceptible as the next guy watching you on the pole. Except this sweet, world weary cynic just might screw your gooey insides up worse than any threat or ogle from another man.

Snippet:

“Well, well officer Presley, finally got persnickety about laws, have ya?” you observed to yourself with a grin as you watched the handsome man swagger towards you along the white line in your side mirror, tugging at his pants as he neared, trying to shimmy the article of clothing a little higher but is impeded by his belt, stopped by his sizable belly, his holster and buckle sitting under the bulge of it.

Your mouth watered. It had been a year or two since you saw him last. He was always built, intimidating to all the stupid rascals he keeps in line along the border, but now he had become outright fat and his khaki shirt pulled apart between each button. Yet when he came up to your window, that little boy grin was still gracing one of the most exquisite faces known to man, and his voice was tender and playful when he greeted you, just as you once recalled. You could see his sweaty hair, matted on his chest and belly between the gaps, his underarms had massive pit stains, doubly apparent thanks to the light color of his police uniform.

Your smile had something of the she-wolf in it as you greeted him, sniffing the air in hopes of catching a whiff as he leaned on your window frame, nearly crowding you from outside. “Hey Miss Sweet Cheeks,” he greets, “you know why ya been pulled over?”

“Haven't got a clue, officer.” You stated the truth and enjoyed the way his title rolled off your tongue in a bantering way. It was easy.

Officer, officer. Somebody important and authoritative. No sir, yes sir, Officer.

His left eyebrow quirked and you wondered what he looked like at twenty five, how devastating that expression would have been before his wound and his meds and the water retention. Whatever power it may have once held, it holds nothing to this slightly bemused, slightly cynical world weariness that shows in his every expression now, that had a twitch of an eyebrow making you feel a fool. “You’re goin’ seventy in a forty five, Miss.” his tone was patient even as his face suggested he’d like to tan your hide for being so reckless. “Reckless endangerment of others, and yourself,” he quoted sternly, “it ain’t no small matter and I don’t countenance it on my highway.”

Gosh, you just loved it when he laid claim to government property like highways and interstates. It helped you smile meekly at him and nod.

“Sorry officer, I got lax.” You purred, batting your eyes and you could see the heavy flap of their coal coated weight in your periphery. “I’ve seen you lettin’ me flyby on the interstate. I guess I thought…”

#Elvis blurbs #trash magic #TM asks #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #blurbs #my blurbs #elvis fanfic #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley fic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presely smut

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snzinite · 3 months

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good news, @messysneezer--my girlfriend @aphrosnziac agreed with you and decided she had to draw Mud/rock according to my headcanon! look at it! it's beautiful! thanks again to her. she doesn't have a blog right now but i'll go back and tag her when she gets around to making one UPDATE: she's here!!! tagged up above. go follow her!!

there's actually more than just her, but i'll leave the rest for her to upload when she gets around to it. until then, enjoy the preview :]

#snz kink #sneeze kink #snzknights #snzblr #talky ghost #snz art #NOT my art i am just the peasant writer #god mud/rock's suit is so cool #also those fics are still coming soon tm #i can't believe how lucky i am #i love you

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prince-liest · 24 days

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Fic rec: this is a crack fic with an improbable premise (Alastor hires IMP because he wants to get Vox a birthday gift) but the way the author wrote Blitzø's POV on Alastor is *chef's kiss*/aldldk he doesn't know how lucky he is that Alastor can't read minds

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55015480

Fic link!

The only thing that makes this fic funnier than this particular author's profound talent at writing absolutely hysterical crack fic is the fact that I do not have the foggiest fucking idea what any of these Ikea items are, including the one that Alastor wanted IMP to get him.

10/10, I'm fucking cackling @soot-and-salt your works are LOVELY

#ask #personal #liulith #fic rec #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #soot-and-salt #sorry to tag you out of nowhere but I figured it was polite since I'm Talking About You (TM) kjlxfg #I had to google what Alastor asked for and laughed out loud #“Bitch he EATS PEOPLE” will live in my brain for a while

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iguessigotta · 9 months

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*shakes bag of kibble* COME GET Y'ALL'S FOOD Cahara x gn!reader warnings: injury mention other than that it's just some bittersweet fluff 💜

“S-sorry, I’m just…” you said softly, voice shaking as you let the sentence hang unfinished in the air.

Scared, Cahara knew. He understood why – these dungeons would be terrifying enough empty – too many sleepless nights (days? It was hard to tell now) spent running from hulking guards and things that looked human but refused to die even after their heads were cut off. It would wear anyone out.

You’d held out this entire time, moving ever forward using nothing but pure willpower to continue. It reminded him of the flowers he’d seen back home, growing through stone paths and buildings. A slow but unstoppable force from each flower, each leaf, adding to the pressure that would eventually crack those stones in half. You were strong – powerful – in your own quiet way, Cahara knew that. Admired it. Unfortunately….even as tough as you were, you weren’t built to endure this place. No one was.

“I know,” he said with a sad smile, extending his arm to you, “C’mere.”

Cahara barely had time to blink before you’d launched yourself into his lap, trembling arms wrapped around him as tight as they could go. He froze for a moment; startled by how quickly you’d moved (he sometimes forgot you could be so fast) his arms finally coming up to pull you in closer.

He hummed softly to you a while, a song from when he was young, lightly rocking the both of you as you tried to relax in what he hoped was a safe room. The two of you had gotten separated from Ragnvaldr and Enki one, no, two a few days ago and had been running since. You were visibly exhausted and Cahara worried you wouldn’t be able to run much longer.

With any luck, one of them would spot one of the markings Cahara had left around the dungeons, coded messages meant to guide them to one hiding place or another. Hopefully they’d find the right one. He huffed a quiet laugh into your hair as he pictured Enki angrily decoding each message they find, spurring Ragnvaldr onward so he could scold the two of you for getting so lost. That was one angry rant he’d be happy to listen to, he decided, as long as it meant you were all back together.

Cahara hugged you a little tighter, relieved that you seemed to be getting some rest. He tried - and failed - to stop his wince as he adjusted the bandages covering the mangled, bloody stump of his right wrist, one simple phrase repeating in his head.

“I’m scared too”

#cahara x reader #cahara fluff #fear and hunger x reader #funger x reader #i was legit in the bathroom when this scene popped into my head so i had to just try and remember all of it until I could write it #you can imagine my suffering #anyway *sprinkles fic on the ground like birdseed* come eat you #little funger gremlins!!!!!#no beta we die like men #idk where this was going #i just like writing my Little Scenes(tm)

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peonycats · 3 months

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just took a look at the aph greenland tag on ao3

#ill reserve the bulk of my complaints for another post #but anybody out there who plans on writing a fic about greenland being america and canadas relative and her/him playing a role in the two's #lives needs to get some new material and preferably one that actually makes historical sense #I been saying it since 2020!! stop making poc relevant only by their connections to white people!!! ESP INDIGENOUS PPL...#thoughts tm #hetalia #hws greenland #AND STOP MAKING GREENLAND A DEN/NOR BABY!!!!!!!!! I’LL [redacted] YOU!!!!!!!!!!!

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literallyjusttoa · 10 months

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I swear I'm trying to update stuff guys I'm sorry ahhhhhh

#apollart #sunny speaks #I love making fic #but also writing is so much more difficult for me than drawing #I get really hypercritical of my own writing so if it's not Perfect tm I feel like I can't post it #but I promise I am working on stuff! I'm not abandoning things I'm just slow :')

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tachimichishrine · 4 months

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Could I ask for a little Christmas special with Tachi x Fem!reader? With smut, the cherry on the cake could not be missing. Ñakañaka👀

"by the fireplace"

⫭◦⨝◦⫬

tachihara michizou x fem! reader {christmas special}

warnings: nsfw ; fingering ; cockwarming ; soft sex ; ooc tachihara bc i can ; playful cursing ; intended lowercase ; unedited as always

stupid. you are stupid.

stupid for getting so excited around the holidays. for using your day off to prepare your painfully small studio apartment with a bunch of decorations bought from the local store, anything that was cheap and shiny. you expertly coordinated the colours, the theme and the shapes, putting up zigzags of fluffy green boas on the walls of your kitchen and swirls of red streamers in your living room. you couldn't afford a christmas tree both financially and space-wise, so you took your local houseplants, covered them in random cut-out figures and makeshift ornaments, then allocated a small corner in their honour. it was cute, but there was no one to share it with.

stupid for getting your hopes up. you hadn't spoken to your boyfriend in so long, hadn't received a response to all your lovesick voice messages or texts, telling him how much you missed him and how badly you wanted him back home. chances are that the number you were contacting had gotten tossed, thrown in the garbage on a mission that was too high-risk for him to compromise your safety. it was worse when you thought about the fact that he was doing this for you; sometimes you wanted to track him down, show up to wherever he was spying and kiss him numb in front of whoever he was supposed to be infiltrating.

stupid for baking cookies. they were really good too— you picked whatever recipe online that you could find and made 2 dozen of them. you ate half, music playing on your speaker, sitting down on your sofa all alone. you wished you'd have someone to share them with.

the cold outside made this holiday season all the more unbearable, with the delicate snowflakes whisking around the frigid air outside. you were safe inside, snuggled up by the fireplace with a book and a blanket, but feeling incredibly lonely.

"you've probably tossed this burner phone by now..." you couldn't resist the temptation and pulled out your phone in order to leave him another voicemail, "but michi, baby, I miss you. I know I'm supposed to love all this me time or whatever, but... fuck, I made cookies and all I wanna do is stuff them in your beautiful face. man, I've gone crazy, haven't I? anyways... I miss you. I love you. I just hope you're safe and come home soon."

you had to get your mind off of things. you had to do something, anything to get out of your head. you were off work, but you didn't have the mind to concentrate on any activities at home by yourself, and all your friends were busy with family and loved ones.

you decided to go for a walk outside, in the freezing cold snow.

it did wonders for your head. you didn't even have your headphones in, which was odd, but instead listened to everything around. you snuggled further into your coat, told yourself that you should've worn more layers, been more prepared for the cold, but it was refreshing nonetheless. you didn't keep track of the time, instead visiting every corner of your neighborhood and just strolling around as you pleased. by the time your nose felt like it was going to freeze off, you were approaching the entrance of the building.

someone was at the door, in a familiar army-green coat with beige fur around the collar. you nearly tripped over yourself running over to the figure, excitement louder in your mind than the fear of accidentally trapping the wrong person in a bear hug.

to your surprise, you didn't hug a person at all. you were hugging a floating jacket that seemed to be carrying all its weight at four spots where small metal clips were positioned. you yanked the coat off of the clips, relishing in the faint smell of your lover, only pulled out of your happiness by a cold impact on your back.

you turned around to look at the son of a bitch who threw a snowball at you.

"aren't you cold?" you chuckled, seeing tachihara in only his v-neck long sleeved shirt you would tease him about and say looked like that of a school girl. "taking off your coat just 'cause you're dramatic as hell."

"you're spunky for someone who left me about a million sappy voicemails in the past week," he retorted in a sassy tone. despite the words exchanged, you dropped his jacket on the snow and ran over to him like you were a housewife waiting for him to come back from war, which you might as well have been. he caught you hurling your body at him and gave you a twirl around while you giggled and peppered his face in kisses.

when he finally set you down, you had your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, his on your hips, and you pulled him in to feel his lips on yours. "you really are dramatic as hell."

"and you love me." his gloved hand balanced your chin on his curled index finger and brought you back in for another kiss. "m'sorry I was gone for so long this time."

you shook your head, holding him tighter as if he would dissipate and float away if you let go. "you're here now. that's all I care about." your grip tightened and you hopped up so that you could wrap your legs around his hips. "now carry me inside and make it up to me."

"oh, she's demanding, ain't she?" he chuckled, holding you up by your thighs. "I haven't even been back more than two seconds and I'm getting ordered 'round."

"shut up, you know you love it," you giggled, trying to climb off of him so you could walk into your home but his grip was firm and he didn't seem intent on letting you go. "baby, I was joking, you can put me down now."

"hm? if ya say so."

and he tossed you onto the ground.

you weren't expecting that, but laughed in the snow as you processed what he'd just done. in retaliation, you kicked out his ankles and he collapsed right next to you. obviously, you both knew that he could've dodged it, but he let himself fall by your side and lay his arm across your waist. he shivered, his barely covered torso coming in direct contact with the cold snow while snowflakes fluttered onto his lashes and hair. he laughed again as he rolled onto you, trapping you under his weight while you looked up at him dreamily.

"I missed you," you whispered seriously, saying those words for the thousandth time today, "a lot. I'm glad you're back."

he struggled to formulate a response, blush almost as red as the tips of his frozen ears or his hair, instead letting his body drop onto you and kiss you on the forehead. "I missed you more than you could ever imagine. almost got caught daydreamin' about you a few times on the mission."

"is that so?" you perked up a brow, amused. tachihara finally got off of you, offering his hand to help you up while the other brushed off the melting wetness on his back and knees. "what kind of daydreams?"

he pulled you up once you took his hand, leading you inside the apartment building while he shook his head to loosen the water droplets at the tips of his hair— almost like a dog. he leaned into your ear and whispered, "the kind I can't say out loud."

"how 'bout a more visual description, then?" you offered innocently, and he chuckled. once you reached the front door, you'd completely forgotten all of the loneliness you'd been feeling when you'd initially left. you barely made it inside the entrance when he had your back pressed against your decorated walls, knee slotted in between your legs and lips back on yours.

you took off your jacket and other garments, trying to toss them in the closet without breaking the kiss. only, once you'd finally kicked off your boots, you remembered his jacket.

"fuck, it's still outside, my bad," you murmured against him, "should I go back down and get it?"

"no need, just open up a window."

you did as he asked while he got settled, warming up by the fireplace and munching on the now cooled-down baked goods. the place still smelled like the sugar cookies, so he commented on how incredibly festive it all seemed. you just shrugged and said you had free time, but quickly admitted you were a little lonely lately. he noticed your frown and unconsciously mimicked it.

"anyways, are you gonna tell me why I'm opening a window when it's freezing outside?" you asked, turning towards him.

"close your eyes," he instructed. you felt a twinge of excitement as you complied.

a few moments later, you heard some clattering outside. barely resisting the urge to peek, you stole a quick look outside and saw the floating jacket, again. you rolled your eyes, placed a hand on your hip and scolded him for acting so melodramatic again. he just chuckled, but his laugh was enough to get your heart thawing out. he brought it inside and you closed the window behind it, but told him to levitate it to the closet. meanwhile, you had to drag him to the bedroom to get him to change out of his soaking wet clothes.

you watched him pull his damp shirt over his head while you got yourself comfortable on the bed. with his torso bare, you stared just a little too long at him, shamelessly, and tsked when he reached for the drawer for a replacement.

"hey, I'm still fuckin' frozen," he explained himself, but you jumped up and grabbed his wrist to stop him from putting anything on.

"we have a fireplace for that reason, love," you retorted.

that was just an excuse to get him naked for you in any way you could, and he let it happen. you cuddled with him on the sofa, his head buried in between your tits with your hands roaming all over his skin. under the covers, you got greedy and began sliding your hands under his pants. he let you take them off, but took your shirt off as well. heavy breathing into his mouth distracted you from skilled fingertips tugging off your pants next.

"I... mmm..." you hummed softly against him as you let him pull you on top of him. you sat down on him, legs parted on both sides and throbbing in between them hard to control. "haven't felt you... in so long..."

it was a request, and he knew it. your fingers couldn't do the trick, not once you had gotten used to his own, skilled and rough and so knowledgeable in understanding every spot and nook that could have you sighing on his knuckles. and he was just that; knuckle-deep in your soaking pussy as you spasmed around his fingers and felt him curl them around inside your walls.

"someone missed me a lot," he remarks with a smug grin while he looked at your eyes tightened shut and jaw slacked open as you rode his hand. you placed your hand on his neck, both steadying yourself so you could fuck yourself harder on his hand and choking him lightly so he would shut the fuck up.

you lowered your chest so you could kiss him heatedly through the fingerfucking, and whispered sweet nothings in his lips while occasionally gasping and panting for air.

"still cold?" you asked cheekily in his ear, licking around the shell and biting down on his earlobe. "or d'you want me to sit on that pretty cock of yours?"

he really was frozen; you felt his frigid skin as you pulled down his boxers and his cock sprung free, familiar pulsating as he grunted through the sensation. you lowered yourself onto him, slow and relishing in his pleasurable whimpers, and rocked into him even slower. it was just the two of you, by the fireplace, gently fucking while you smothered him in kisses.

you couldn't have asked for a better christmas present this year.

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