#/slinks back into the void

[artistdove]

Welcome fellow Evolutionist, would you like to send the others off?

[your-pal-nebula]

Hey!

This is an eldritch dragon from the deepest darkest pits of the void presenting as a human here to remind you all that if you think all humans are horrible, all entirely evil, and irredeemable no matter what, that is nothing but bullshit! :)

[mh2o29]

tfw you have to call your girlfriend's house to talk to her girlfriend (who is also your boyfriends girlfriend) so you can get your boyfriend released from jail...

(click for better quality PLEASE I beg you)

under the tab are other versions of the drawing so click if you wanna see him with no shirt on .....wait what who said that.....

yall i don't even know how to explain this one i was possessed and controlled by the urge to draw stu macher all pretty and posed like this,,,, so i like when men are pretty SUE ME

credits to @atitanbitch for the idea to include Sid and Tatum in the little bubble and @powderedbleach for reminding me about THE ROBEEEE OH and ofc @harleykeenervarient for sending me the photo reference I used in the first place yall rock <3

included below are alternate versions of this drawing that I was having some fun with mwuahaha that includes no shirt, no shirt plus some ~shweed~ and also ofc trans version bc cmon

alright thats all for now.... thats my cue to slink back into the void until I return with another art drop BYEEEEEE

[carrotcakecassie]

yeah I think they should let you do this more often, today was fun :D

in honor of lesbian week of visibility, and definitely not because of a work related disagreement gone wrong, we're letting roxy loose in the pizzaplex with her go-kart until further notice. y'all about to be very aware.

[luveline]

hi again!! i saw you mention wanting to write for prince!steve, and i also saw that you write with dialogue prompts so i present to you:

A: “I’ll take care of you.”

B: “It’s rotten work.”

A: “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

maybe the reader gets injured doing something for training, but it’s all up to you!! i’m sure we’ll love it regardless. kisses!!

thank you for requesting! —prince steve au. fem, 1.5k

Pain was familiar before you came to the palace. Small pains and big, all kinds of hurting, poverty-driven neglect leading to toothaches and back pain, twisted ankles walked on without choice, sore skin otherwise ignored. It didn’t matter if you got hurt as long as you lived. 

Not in a dramatic sense. It didn’t feel dramatic at the time, only miserable. You go to work with a migraine because you can’t afford not to. You walk home in the dark because the mag-trams are getting too expensive. You break your holo, so you make do without one. You pick your head up to keep looking both ways and you get everywhere you need to go because you need to work, to get paid, to eat, to work. 

That’s how it always was. So getting sick didn’t matter. An injury was temporary pain that your body would fix eventually, and if it didn’t, well, it’s cheaper to pull a tooth than pay to have it filled. 

You were used to your sorry life, and then you met Steve. Tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed Steve. Looking at him sometimes is enough to make your whole body a void for things you used to complain about; you wake up across from him in the big bed and forget you can feel pain at all, if only because he’s already awake, waiting for you to open your eyes before he rests his hand on your cheek. You met him and your soul-mark glowed with a lacy, almost feathered light, your wrist braceleted with white colour that soon faded to mellow blue. 

When you first meet your soulmate, the colours you make tend to shift. It takes time for your heart to decide if love is pink or orange or blue. It seems to have settled now —when Steve kisses you, your mark turns a Gaussian amber. When you kiss back, his mark turns light pink, like the lotus flowers he keeps in his private gardens. 

Right now, your mark hums an angry red. It’s typical in its colour, and it’s common. Most people’s marks turn red when they’re hurting. Yours is a crimson so dark it looks black in the dim lighting, and it throbs in time with your pain like a vexing metronome. You’ll never be able to put it from your mind if the mark continues to remind you. 

Steve is uncharacteristically quiet at your side. His own mark is lit in sympathy, mostly pink with his affection, but threaded in red like spider lily flowers blooming against his forearm. 

He shifts beside you. It’s been more than a month since your wedding, and yet he’s careful with you. Almost shy, though he can be brash and cocky. You know intimately how sweet Steve can be when he’s in love. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

“How’s the pain now?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled together at their starts. 

“Not so bad.” 

“Could you rate it on a scale? If zero was no pain at all, and ten were enough to warrant another dose of white willow bark?” 

“What if I were at a five?” you ask. 

“A half dose and a good kiss?” 

You turn his way but flinch when it puts undue pressure on your leg, a stab of hot pain jumping from your fractured tibia to deep inside of your hips. Steve sees your wincing and presses your shoulder into the bed, leaning over you, a scolding he doesn’t give in the pinch of his eyebrows as he leans down to kiss you. It’s more caress than kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, his lips barely touching yours before he rests his nose at your brow. “Can you stay still?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“Just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.” 

He lifts his head. Holds your cheek for longer than you can work out why, dotting another soft kiss to your nose before slinking out of bed to find you some white willow bark tincture. It’s a potent pain reliever. You shouldn’t have too much of it. If you were still living your past life, you’d be chewing on ginger skins trying to limp your way back into work. There’d be no time to stop. 

“Steve,” you say, watching him a small ways away at the table of your quarters. He turns to you. “I don’t really need anything else.” 

“You said it’s hurting?” Steve pipettes the tincture into a cup of water. “You said a five, and you lie. Knowing you, it’s closer to an eight, you just don’t want to tell me.” 

It might not be as extreme as an eight now, laying down and bandaged, but it hurts badly and a tincture would solve this. Still, you say, “It’s fine, I don’t need it.” 

He brings the glass regardless and puts it on the nightstand. Your bed is yards too big for one person, even two, but when Steve sits next to you he leaves no room between you. He looks down at you fondly. Brown hair like down feather falls against his forehead. 

“You’re going to be in pain for a long time.” He brings a hand to your cheek again. “It might sound tame, a plateau fracture, but that’s still a fracture. You know doctors say fracture when they mean broken, right? You broke your leg. It’s okay to want pain relief.” 

“I knew that. I didn’t know you knew it.” 

“Impolite.” He ducks down to look you in the eyes. You’re a little skewiff, straight to his sideways, but it gets a point across. He wants to kiss you while you’ve said something maddening. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent on pretending it hasn’t happened and that you’re fine. You got hurt, and you’ll stay hurt for a while. It might be weeks of bed and– and you need to be looked after. I don’t know why you’re so guilty about it.” 

“I’m not guilty,” you deny guilty, turning your face to lean into his hand, rather than continue to face his imploring gaze. “I just… I’m not used to this. Before, if something went wrong, I couldn’t just lay down and wait to get better, and I surely wouldn’t be laying here with doctors and servants and the ladies in waiting all trying to make sure– It’s like it’s not my fault, and that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want to be a burden on everyone. More than I already am,” you add, a bitter mumble nearly lost to his palm. 

He makes a promise, then, turning your face to the light. “I’ll take care of you,” he says. 

“It’s rotten work.” 

Steve shakes his head gently. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” 

You press your tongue to your teeth, worried you’ll say something you’ll regret. You don’t want him to go. You want him to mean exactly what he says, to stay here and take care of you, and to enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be nice to be loved for love's sake? 

Steve shuffles inward and encourages your head into his lap, thrusting pillows aside to take up station against your headboard. He frames your face, upside down, before both hands begin to run down your arms. A hug, in a way, as he twists his face to kiss the skin beside your eye. You squint at the proximity. 

“You’re not a burden,” he says, hands climbing upwards now, warm and steady where they travel, “you’re my wife. My cherished wife, remember?” 

His tone is silk. 

“You… haven’t proved to be a wretched husband,” you confess. 

“I did try. But loving you has been easy. It makes husbandry a gift.” He laughs at his grandiose and gives you a kiss that’s more familiar by your ear, his pleading, searching kisses, the kind he likes to press to all your softest junctures. “I wish you could understand that we’re marked for a reason. We were always meant to be together, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to stand with me. I’m happy you’re here. I want to take care of you.” 

Not if it’s you, he’d said. 

You wonder if it might be okay to cry. He’s massaging your arms, still bent in half over you trying to kiss some belief in him into your forehead. 

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs between chaste, silent kisses, “really. You don’t have to pretend things don’t hurt you anymore.” 

You feel strange, then, shivery and weak as you turn your face into his thigh. His hand slips behind your back to hold you.

“Can I convince you to drink this tincture now?” he asks, just above your ear. 

“I love you,” you mumble. 

He pauses his trailing hands. You squeeze your eyes closed, but he doesn’t pause for long enough to scare you. “I love you,” he says. “Since the day we met, I’ve loved you. I’ll take care of you.” 

He is easy to believe. 

[msfantasy]

Glowing from the House Ghost

Ghost x Reader

Summary: A Ghostly helping hand helps you out

After being locked out of your own bedroom. You retreat to the ‘ghosts bedroom’.

Laying in his bed, thinking of Victor’s taunts. Convincing you that the house ghost wants to fuck you.

Surely the ghost doesn’t actually want to sleep with you…

Do ghosts even have those types of feelings?

Even if they did, why does he want to sleep with you?

How would that even work? It’s not like ghosts are tangible, they’re freaking ghosts.

Yet, the more you thought on it, the more hot and bothered you become. To think that a spirit entity would find you so attractive, they would want to fuck you even in the afterlife. Pursing you despite the vile that separates them from the living- has you was undeniably a turn on.

It’s kind of convenient too isn’t it? You just spread your legs and have your needs taken care of… it doesn’t sound half bad.

But the question is; how do you even start?

Do you just shout ‘Come fuck me?!’ Out into the void of the empty house? And hope the ghost will come and take care of your body. Or do you just start touching yourself and see where things take you?

You opt for the ladder, because there’s no fucking way you’d embarrass yourself by shouting something so ridiculous.

Throwing the blanket back, you allow your hands slide down your stomach, your legs slowly parting as your fingers glide over the fabric of your pyjama shorts.

Already you feel the burning feeling of being observed. But right now your mind drowns out any anxiety of being watched, in favour of feeling that familiar pleasure your body knows all to well.

You tease your own body, gripping you inner thighs before sliding your palm back to your centre to grind down into.

Hooking your fingers around the edge of your shorts, you begin to shimmy them off, kicking them to the side to put back on later.

Your cheeks feel like they’re burning, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. But you continue to push those thoughts back, allowing your legs to part in favour of pleasuring your neglected box.

Now that you think of it. You haven’t cummed since you moved in. Feeling to embarrassed to perform such a sacred act in front of a possible audience - despite their many attendance to your showers.

Your light teasing fingers glides the out lips of your increasingly wet cunt. Sliding your fingers past to your slit, coaxing the wetness to spread. Your begin to rub lazy circles until you feel an odd feeling.

The feeling of being touched by a hand that isn’t your own.

Rather than feeling fearful, disgusted, or terrified like you ought to be. You bite back a moan, resisting a taunting grin of success. Your perverted fantasies coming to light as the ghosting of a hand begins to slide up and down your slit, all whilst you continue to rub lazy circles into your clit.

Your hand only slinks back onto the bed once you feel a finger that isn’t your own plunge into your gummy walls.

The unexpected intrusion causing your walls to constrict and your hips to tilt up into the palm of… nothing.

Even though the haze half lidded gaze you can’t see anything, even so, the feeling of finger plunging into your core was undeniable, especially when the curling fingers find that special sport that just makes your body shudder in pleasure as the spongy spot begins to swell and press further into the fingers of another. You don’t even care that your being finger banged by an entity at this point. Your lost in the chase of your high.

Your head thrown back and your eyes lulling back at the intense pleasure of being finger fucked.

Your hips begin to shudder along with the plunging sensations, seeking your high successfully as the warm liquid pooling at the pit of your stomach begins to grown warmer and warmer.

As if being on the edge of your orgasm wasn’t enough, suddenly the sensation of something wet and slick like a tongue began lapping up your clit and swirling circles where you needed it most caused all the liquid building up in the pit of your stomach to burst.

Pleasurable moans ripping from your throat as your cunt clenches in pleasure. You thighs quivering in the after shock of such an intense orgasm coached by … supposedly no one.

A happy fucked out smirk pulls at your lips. Your mind swimming in a pool of ecstasy and endorphins.

“You’re good at that~” You praise to no one in particular, a chuckle escaping you as you retrieve your pyjama shorts.

Maybe having a house ghosts that takes care of your body won’t be so bad after all.

[visionofhope04]

Viper (Part 1)

Batfamily x Batsib!Reader

Part 1 (here) Part 2 (coming soon!)

Ages(probably not accurate, just go with it please): Alfred (Immortal), Bruce (45-ish), Barbara (30), Dick (29), Cass (26), Jason (26), Stephanie (21), Tim (20), Reader (18), Damian (16)

Warning(s): cursing, explosions (not detailed), speak of poison and poisoning, (very) minor violence

Part 2 of this headcannon

A/N: Sorry this took so long 😭. So in the preview I posted I said I'd try using third person and they/them pronouns. It hasn't been working out which is why I didn't post this sooner, I'm sooooo sorry :( I've switched it back to using you because I figured it's still inclusive. Hope you guys enjoy this tho! I’m ngl I had a heart attack bc I thought this draft got lost to the void and I was abt to post it.

—

Your boots pounded ferociously on the concrete as you ran and made a sharp right turn into another alleyway. He wasn't far behind you, it would only be a matter of time before you were caught. You had to lose him, fast. Your heart beat against your ribcage, your breaths came out in pants from your nose. You were sweating, and not just from the physical effort. Despite being a trained assassin, you were nervous. Getting caught would change everything, but you were confident in your abilities. However, that did little to stop the lingering feeling of dread you felt every time he got a little too close. You sped up and turned right again into a narrow alley. The Red Hood, who was chasing you, did not expect this and couldn’t slow down, and passed the alley. Frustrated, he backpedaled and ran down the alley he saw you go into.

He reached the end of the alley and slowed to a stop. The alleyway opened up to an empty street, and there was no sign of you anywhere. All he saw was the odd stains on the alley’s walls, a dumpster, and garbage bags strewn about. He lost you.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, then kicked the dumpster for good measure.

You jolted in your hiding spot, hopeful he wouldn’t notice the extra weight when he kicked it. Your heart began pounding harder, as if it was trying to escape your body, if he found you, you honestly thought it might. Blood rushed in your ears as you waited with bated breaths. Would he open it? Find you? Compromise everything you’ve worked so hard for? You wouldn’t go down without a fight, but with the Lazarus pit in his blood and not much of it in yours, you doubted you’d be able to take him with strength alone. You’d have to be smart about it, as always. Though you didn’t know how your poisons would affect someone the Lazarus pit had such a strong hold on, you’d stupidly never tried it before. You doubt your mother or grandfather would’ve approved of it, as they would’ve been the ones you tested it on (never Damian, you’d never do that to your precious little sibling), but the knowledge would’ve been helpful at the moment. You desperately hoped that he wouldn’t find you, so you wouldn’t have to find out on him. You didn’t want to kill him after all, he’s a part of Damian’s new family. You couldn't ruin your little sibling's chance at a family, at least one of you could find happiness.

After agonizing moments that seemed like years with your overactive brain, you heard him mutter a few more profanities and his footsteps receded. You held your breath as you waited and observed the sounds you heard. Water dripped from somewhere, most likely a roof, and then rustling. Your heart began to pound harder, assuming he was searching, only for you to hear a quiet ‘meow’ and instantly relax. Once you were sure no one was there, you carefully lifted the dumpster lid and peeked. No one. Perfect. You slinked out of the dumpster and grimaced at the smell. Gross, yes, but it worked. It wasn't by far the worst place you've hidden in, but you'd definitely need to shower as soon as you got back to your hideout. The things you do for this job. You trudged in the direction of your current main base of operations, taking great care to stay out of everyone's sight, especially Oracle's.

—

That was your first run-in with Red Hood. It took him longer than expected to figure out what was going on. Took him even longer to find you. You didn't mind though, it gave you more time to work with. It wouldn't be long before Red Hood kept failing to catch you and decided to involve the Big Bad Bat, though. With Batman would come Robin, then Red Robin, and then Nightwing. If Robin found out, it would ruin the whole plan.

The plan was simple, really. Take over Gotham's underground unnoticed, gather members and create a gang, find a perfect time to cause a gang war to distract the Batfamily, and then Talia would initiate her plans to take over Gotham while the bats are busy. Well, that's what the agreed plan was. You'd always been a loose cannon. Since Red Hood had been so close to catching you, the "unnoticed" part had been foiled, albeit a bit later than anticipated. 

"Hey boss, what brings you in today?" Your loyal henchman, Hopper asked you.

"We've got a job to do. Grab some explosives. We're sending a message."

—

“These places feel haunted.” Willow, another one of your most trusted henchmen, said as she placed one of the four explosives into place. 

“It’s probably the Joker’s victims’ souls, he loves warehouses, like typical villains. Maybe they’re here to warn us, ‘Don’t go into the basement, that’s where we’re buried!’. Or maybe they’ll kill us, who knows.”

“This isn’t a joke, you’re scaring me Tina!”

“You guys done?” You ask impatiently, but reluctantly slightly amused.

“Yup.”

— 

"Seven simultaneous explosions have just been spotted around the perimeter of the city."

"Head to the site closest to your current location. If you're paired with someone, split up. Oracle, call in Nightwing and Red Hood if possible. Do not engage with anyone, survey the damage only. "

"Yes sir!" Chirped Spoiler.

— 

After two hours, at 3 am, everyone returned to the cave.

“I take everything I said about explosions back, I hate explosives.”

“Welcome to the club, Timmy! I’ve hated explosives ever since-”

A chorus of groans resonated throughout the batcave, “We know, Jason!”

“You’re not special Todd, most of us here have died in one way or another.”

“Yeah but have you-”

As Damian and Jason began bickering and the whole group headed to the lockers, Dick pulled Bruce aside. 

“B, I didn’t want to say this in front of the others, but I think something bigger is going on. I found these objects around the warehouse I investigated.”

Batman took the bag Nightwing offered and observed the strange objects. Metal letters. Two A’s, one I, one L, and one T.

“It spells Talia.” He observes.

“She would never do something like that if she was behind it, and she wouldn’t leave a calling card, especially not in that form.”

"I know. Hmm. The damage seemed deliberate. It only destroyed the warehouses on the edge of the city. It caused minimal to no damage to surrounding properties."

"You're saying whoever did this is sending a message, about Talia." Nightwing inquired.

"Precisely."

“But who would do this? And why would they warn us? And what exactly are they warning us about? They must be close to her to have an idea of what she’s planning.”

“We’re going to find out.” He says, then turns to Tim, who had just exited the lockers. "Red Robin, check all security footage at all explosion sites and around them, report back all your findings."

Red Robin nods and heads to the Batcomputer to get to work.

—

Dun dun dunnnnn! So how'd you like it? It's been a while since I've wrote anything and it's because I hit a MAJOR writing block. Hope you enjoyed! I was fighting with these tags fr

Tags: @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @rosemary1225 @azazel-nyx @chevelledahuman

@snowcatlove

@danonered @cantbecreative

[irisintheafterglow]

Parley? (opla!zoro x you)

summary: a stranger arrives to disturb your peace and you have no choice but to negotiate with him.

wc: 2.57k

cw/tags: first meeting, swearing, mentions of canon-typical violence including blood and swords, zoro doesn't know how to express his feelings

note: i'm so nervous posting this ngl because i really like zoro as a character but i'm scared that i'm not gonna do him justice since i don't know him as well as gojo or geto or bakugo etc etc etc. hopefully all yall zoro girlies like this because i've been itching to write for him since my explore page became nothing but mackenyu. enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

You hear the chimes first. The melody is soft, nearly imperceptible to the untrained ear, but you sense it. After all, you were the one who tied the string under the walkway floorboards in such a way that the bells above your window would clink if something pressed down on the wood. Over time, you learned to identify where outside was being pushed based on more strings and bells. It made it easier to find the Lady, on the rare occasion she stepped into open air and you weren’t with her. However, whoever was now setting off your makeshift alarm system had footsteps unlike the usual occupants of the house. The quietness of the notes was unsettling, in a way, because it meant they were creeping around the house. Someone didn’t want to be heard. 

It was the flowers next, the roses with uniquely reflective petals that were especially good at bouncing moonlight precisely through your window. The Lady commented one day in the market that she’d taken a liking to that particular flower, and you bought the vendor’s entire stock to plant around the house once you realized how it could be used. Not before you built a crow’s nest-like window, first. The glass structure jut out of the house in just the right way that you received colors from the left, right, and front of the house. Had an intruder approached from the back, your only blindspot, you would hear the more insistent clicks of the typewriter keys attached to the outside deck panels. The nearly noiseless bells and the ominous shadow sneaking across your wall were enough to snap you wide awake. 

The soles of your feet meet cool stone as you slide from under the covers, wrapping the sheath of your saber around your waist and slipping out of your bedroom. Despite the darkness of the hallway, your legs move by memory to the Lady’s chambers only to find the door already ajar. 

Shit. Were you too late?

Slinking into the room in one graceful stride, words leave your mouth without thinking when you see him standing over your Lady, holding two deadly-looking swords. 

“Taking a life halfway gone is immoral no matter the bounty, pirate hunter.” His head snaps in your direction and you have your blade on him before he can blink, resting the point lightly but threateningly against his throat. His eyes narrow on you challengingly and you put ever so slightly more pressure into your hilt, forcing him to surrender and sheath both swords. The third, you note, remains undrawn on his hip. “No better targets to pursue than a retiree? I expected better from the demon of the East Blue.” His gaze remains unchanging while you step forward, inching him backward until his head hits the wall with a soft thud. You were thankful, for once, that the Lady was starting to lose her hearing and was always a deep sleeper. 

“She’s wanted,” he says in a low tone. 

“She’s withered,” you retort. “Killing her advances justice no more than leaving her alive.” His face is still unreadable, void of any emotions just as the rumors conveyed. Many tales circulated of the infamous pirate hunter, but you chose to believe the Lady to be far too irrelevant to pose any real threat to the Marines. As one of the last known powerhouses of the Gold Roger era, it was more likely her wanted poster would be drowned out amongst younger hotshot pirates than for her to become an actual target. And yet, here was the most feared bounty hunter in the seas, hunting down a myth that many assumed was already six feet under. And for what, fun? 

“It doesn’t matter. Honor is a courtesy denied to killers.” He speaks in a way like you wouldn’t understand his ideas, and it sends a white-hot flash of anger racing through your veins. 

“Ooh, yes. You’re being so honorable by julienning a defenseless old woman while she sleeps.” To your surprise, he flinches, unwillingly bringing your eyes to corded muscle and flexed biceps. It’s a bit of a struggle to refocus on the task at hand. “Enlighten me on how this makes you feel vindicated.” 

“I kill pirates for a living,” he states simply, nodding over to the slumbering mass under the thick comforter. The tip of your sword follows every movement he makes, careful not to give him an opening to strike. Unexpectedly, he seems almost relaxed, like the weapon at his throat was the least of his worries. “That woman is a pirate.”

“That woman was a pirate. She is no longer the ‘Captain Indigo’ you seek.” 

“Who is she now, then?”

“Lady Lavender, adored by her constituents and far removed from a life of piracy. If I weren’t on the verge of spilling your organs on the carpet, I’d say visit the farmer’s market on Tuesdays. You’ll see just how different her life is now.” His chin tilts in disagreement.

“The Marines say otherwise.”

“What do you say?” A minute tilt of your wrist angles your saber so that the point now resides under his sharply defined jawline. “Hmm, hunter? Any opinions in that thick skull of yours or are you just another mindless government weapon?” 

“You understand nothing,” he mutters like an indignant teenager, looking off to the side woefully. It makes your blood boil.

“Try me,” you snarl at the green-haired stranger. In another life, you’d have thought him pretty handsome, if you weren’t so infuriated by his indifferent sense of justice. He knew nothing about you, or the Lady, or what either of you had to endure to create a sense of safety. Safety, you would add, that you weren’t going to give up easily. 

“This woman you serve, what are you to her? A caretaker? A child?” 

“A friend,” you answer cautiously. “Something your line of work would know nothing about.” 

“The Marines know that your friend murdered the former governor and seized the island in an act of desperation,” he informs you with a note of condescension. “They’ve wanted her gone for ten years, and I am here to collect her head. It’s not personal; it’s business.” The incorrectness of his information is laughable, but what concerns you more is the ease with which he talks of taking lives. 

“You don’t feel any sort of remorse for the targets you kill?” The anger in your stomach starts to rub against a different, unwanted influx of sorrow. After witnessing the change in a ruthless pirate empress, you refused to believe a human could be this heartless. 

“I don’t dwell on them long enough to care. Most of the time, they do something stupid that makes it a little easier to dispose of them.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong about her,” you recover, pressing the blade against his skin on the brink of drawing blood. He winces, squirming against the wallpaper for some sort of relief. You don’t budge. “The former mayor was a half-brother whom she reconnected with after Gold Roger’s execution. His death was caused by a misdosage of medicine used to treat hemorrhoids he’d suffered with since he was twenty. On his deathbed, he made her promise to take care of this city...” You inhale, focusing on the man in front of you. His expression is soft, nothing like you would have expected from a feared killer-for-hire. He was actually listening to you. 

“Go on.”

“And to take care of me. I have the great pirate hunter at the end of my blade, so she must not have done that bad of a job at either request.” He’s silent for a moment and you watch the cogs turn in his brain, hoping he’d find some humanity and realize that killing the Lady isn’t just pointless, it’s fundamentally wrong. 

“It doesn’t change the fact that I need money.” Nevermind, then. Backup plan it is. 

“I understand that,” you concede, and you remove your weapon from his neck. His hands are on the hilts of his swords instantly, but he doesn’t draw them. He could kill both you and the Lady in a single swing, but he doesn’t. Maybe you did reach a different side of him. “That's why I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with pirat–” he starts, but abruptly cuts himself off when you raise your eyebrows in expectation. Did you not learn anything from what I just told you? His face contorts in confusion, as if his mind was at odds with what his body was telling him to do. After carefully schooling his expression into blankness, he stands to his full height, rolling a broad shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“You’re aware of the Blue Ringed crew, yes?”

“Famous for their poisons, I’ve heard,” he confirms and you nod. “They cover every inch of their ship in toxins and wear special clothing to prevent contact with their skin. Makes it hard to sneak up on them.”

“Exactly. See, you’re not as uneducated as you look,” you tease and you feel your face heat when he sticks his tongue out at you. It’s so boyish and immature, in stark contrast to the handsome, god-bodied man that faces you. “I happen to have a counteragent, enough for you to get on their ship and collect three times the amount if you killed us tonight.” 

“And what would you get in return?”

“The sound of your boots walking off the property and never returning,” you whisper a little desperately, pleading with him to leave your perfect peace intact and forget this altercation ever happened. The quiet in the room as he ponders your offer is suffocating save for the gentle snores of Lady Lavender. Eventually, he takes your deal, inspecting the powder-filled vial when you bring it to him on the front porch. 

“How do I use it if it’s powder?”

“Mix it with lotion to help soak it faster into your skin. When your skin is dry, you’ll have roughly an hour to navigate the boat completely immune to the poison. It’s sweat resistant but will wash off with seawater, so take care not to get thrown overboard,” you instruct him, crossing your arms across your chest against the chilly ocean air blowing in from the south. It was breezier than normal and you regret not grabbing a sweater. Unless you wanted to freeze your ass off, you needed to finish this debacle quickly. “Kill the pirates, get your bounty, and leave us the hell alone. Deal?” 

“Fine by me.” He carefully places the vial in the pocket of his pants and begins his descent down the front walkway. Before you can turn back into the house, however, his voice reaches your ears so lightly you think you’d hallucinated it. “Stay warm.” 

He doesn’t end up keeping his side of the deal. A few days after your initial altercation, he approaches the house again in broad daylight holding a box about the size of your hand. You stare at him in disbelief, reading in the nook of your window and he has the audacity to smirk at you when he spots you looking. 

“I thought we had a deal, pirate hunter,” you remind him when you open the front door of the house. It was infuriating how good he looked for having just returned from a pursuit, dressed up in fine fabrics with his hair combed back nicely. The irony was palpable, the situation not unlike the stories the Lady told you about the numerous men who attempted to court her. They appeared at the same front door with flowers, rubies, and promises of devotion, but none of them actually wanted her heart. In contrast, you wanted to stab the heart of the idiot in front of you. 

“Stop calling me that,” he frowns and you can’t help the laugh that leaves your mouth. “My name is Roronoa Zoro–”

“Oh, sorry,” you interject and his eyebrows furrow at your lack of manners. “Am I just supposed to act like you’re my friend now? After you tried to kill my boss?” 

“I thought we were past that,” he states bluntly.

“That was four days ago.” 

“It’s enough time to move on.”

“You’re impossible.” You shake your head in disbelief, slightly puzzled at the giddy feeling in your chest when the faintest smile appears on his face. “What’s that?” You gesture to the rosewood box in his fingers. 

“Consider it an apology,” he says, holding out the box for you to take, “for bothering you the other night.” 

“How chivalrous.” You eye the box warily, still unsure about the enigmatic bounty hunter before you. “But we don’t need nor want your money.”

“It’s not money. Just open the damn box,” he grunts impatiently and you begrudgingly oblige, sliding back the top panel to reveal a bracelet. It wasn’t like any other bracelet you’d seen before, a gold chain garnished with a single deep green emerald barely the size of your pinky fingernail. It was delicate and elegant, subtle enough not to draw attention but luxurious enough to make you feel spoiled. “Do you like it?”

“I do, actually. The color is pretty,” you reply slowly, still slightly in shock. “Why green?”

“Take a wild guess.” He smirks again and your gaze flicks up to his hair. It was just as vibrant as the gemstone and he watched you carefully as the pieces clicked into place. With the bracelet, you’d be forced to think of him every time you looked at it or anything the color green. What kind of guy buys a momento for almost killing you, you had no idea.

“You didn’t need to bring me this. I thought the deal was–”

“I remember what the deal was, but I felt bad making you stand outside shivering while you explained how the counteragent functioned.” Your eyes widen slightly at his admission. He noticed you reacting to the wind, so how intensely was he watching you that night? If he sees your surprise, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to explain why he brought you the gift in the first place. “The powder worked, by the way. I snagged this from the captain’s chambers on my way out.” 

“You stole this because you saw me get cold?” He merely shrugs, clearly unbothered. 

“I mean, yeah. You looked miserable.”

“I was miserable.” He smiles slightly again, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. It makes your heart stutter against your wishes. “Does this mean we’re even now, pirate hunter?”

“Call me Zoro and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“You’ll consider it?” 

“Holding a sword to someone’s throat is a major transgression that can’t be forgiven so easily,” he taunts and you roll your eyes. “Let me start over, meet you properly without the involvement of weapons.”

“You really want to see me again?” He scoffs at your question as if the answer wasn't crystal clear.

“What, bringing you a bracelet wasn’t obvious enough? I’ll have to bring the entire ship next time. Might take a little longer to get back to you.”

“Get off my porch, Roronoa Zoro,” you laugh, reaching out to push his shoulder away and feeling every inch of his skin against your fingers in the brief moment your bodies touch. “Don’t come back unless you have something important to say.” 

“I think you’ll soon find out what I prioritize as important.”

[lipglossanon]

Day 17

Kink: Dacryphilia

Pairing: Cthulhu!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dacryphilia, monster!Leon, tentacles, tentacle sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, indifferent Leon, more horror than smut in this one chat, cut it short for time lol

Not proofread

The desert is cold at night. You knew it would be—not unsurprised by the drop in temperature. However, this coldness settling over you like a second skin feels unnatural. You run your fingers across the amulet a fortune teller gave you earlier. 

“Your third eye will open yet, young Miss.”

You didn’t really think much of it, but after repeating the ritual from the book you picked up in her shop, you’re starting to worry a little about what she meant. 

The small fire you built douses itself until complete darkness fills your vision; eyes adjusting, you can still see the blanket of stars dusting the sky—but as you keep your gaze trained on them, they slowly wink out. 

One…

By…

One…

You shiver, pulling your thin jacket tighter around you, chills racing along your body and not from just the cold. A dark void rolls across the sky, your eyes stinging with the strain as you open them as wide as possible. No light to be found anywhere and in its place fear—so deeply rooted in your hindbrain that you subconsciously start to cry. 

A deep droning sound, like that of a bell underwater, resonates across the desert. Your body is screaming at you to run and never look back, but the fear keeps you frozen in place. Legs tucking up closer until you’re a tight ball of nerves seated next to your dead firewood.

Something touches your shoulder and your eyes roll to the side like a spooked horse.

Empty inky darkness. 

You blink and everything is as it was before. The fire crackles and pops as a piece of wood splits from the heat. The stars twinkle and shine like they always have, millions of miles away in the cold vastness of space. Your body, however, stays locked into place. Breath hitching in your chest like you’re about to hyperventilate, you squeeze your eyes shut and just listen to the stillness and the flame. 

The amulet’s clutched so hard in your fist, its split open your palm like ripe fruit. Blood drips from your skin to stain the sand below. 

“That little trinket won’t do much, I’m afraid.”

A voice slithers from the dark, from the void, from your eyes—

Blinking, you see a strange man sitting across from you—the fire a flimsy barrier against his cold, fathomless gaze. Your throat locks up, voice trapped as your heart races. Who even is he? What is he? How is he here? Did the old woman know this would happen? How—

“Your kind cannot pronounce my true name,” he grins and horror descends upon your mind, making your vision blur. 

“You called for me, yes? And I answered,” he shifts and you can see something wriggling behind him in the dark.

You feel violently ill, stomach coiling like snakes trapped in your intestines. “What sh-sh-should I c-call you?”

A pressure against your cranium and you cry out weakly. He chuckles yet his mouth doesn’t move. 

“Leon,” it spills from his lips like a dying man’s last breath. 

Your thoughts unspool, a strange calmness settling over you, letting you relax. Humming dreamily, you smile at this… man.

“There we go, little one,” he grins wider, too wide, but it doesn’t can’t bother you.

A strange tentacle, at least that’s as close as your mind can come to understanding it, slinks across the cool sand to gently wrap around your bare ankle. The cold slippery feeling sends chill bumps racing across your skin. 

“You are quite sweet, not my usual consort,” his voice rumbles, pleased.

The tentacle slips across your leg and up across your shorts to wrap around your hips. “Why did you summon me?”

Your mind tries to rebel against the lethargy of your thoughts, but it’s exhausting. 

“I wanted to see if it could be done,” you murmur. “I needed to know if there is more outside of this.”

You gesture around at the open desert and his eyes flicker a multitude of colors before settling back on blue. His attention is focused all on you and it makes you break out in a cold sweat. 

“Curiosity has always been a detriment to your kind,” he flexes the tentacle around your waist. “Is knowledge all you seek? No revenge on your enemies? Granting of wishes?”

Faces and names flicker through your mind’s eye along with hazy wisps of forgotten dreams. He hums in pleasure, but you quickly shake your head. 

“No, I’m doing this for myself,” you affirm, voice wavering when he tilts his head. 

“There is a price, little one. An exchange has been made and I intend to collect it from you,” he stands, and walks over to you—at least it seems like he walks; his body is rotoscope movements against the desert background. 

Muscles wound tight, you can’t find room for anymore fear from this creature man. He settles down next to you, seeming to eat up more space than he actually occupies. 

His hand hovers over your temple, fingertips barely touching your skin—

You’re weightless—sightless. Floating in the ether of darkness that makes up his mind. He’s everywhere and nowhere. It feels like a million hands touching your body before it morphs into that smooth tentacle you recall from earlier. 

Crying out, your mouth is filled with one as another notches itself at your cunt, pressing into your hole and fucking you with shallow, rough thrusts. The pleasure thrums behind your eyes, fireworks going off in your brain to the point you weep with the ecstasy. 

You’re suspended in this world he’s created; taking everything he’s giving you. 

It’s too much and not enough; it’s infinite yet only happening to you at this exact moment in time. You’ve orgasmed so much, your thighs are saturated with slick. His tentacles continually fuck you, one pulling completely free before another is filling your clenching walls to the brim. 

You’re openly weeping, wishing for an end to this sea of ravishment. Muscles shake and twitch as another orgasm is wrung from your overwrought body. His laughter fills your head, as cold as it is mocking. He speaks to you in tongues, a myriad of languages that your mind can’t comprehend. 

Although you’re unable to speak, you beg him for an end, an out, anything but the paralyzing sensation overtaking you from your repeated orgasms. Your vision clears and you catch sight of too many eyes..

Then suddenly—

You jump, nearly falling off the log and onto the sandy floor. 

The fire crackles and pops, wood burning brightly against the dark backdrop of the desert. The starry sky yields no answers as your mind runs a mile a minute, holding the amulet in a loose fist at your side. 

You’re alone now…

and yet that brings no comfort.

[rebelliousstories]

Same Face

Relationship: Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Death, Drinking and Alcohol, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,072

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Taken from your timeline with your adopted daughter was bad enough. Now you have to deal with a man that looks exactly like the one you lost. Complete with the trauma.

Consider Donating: Here

The void was a rough terrain for anyone. A desolate wasteland where everything came to die, and no one lived for too long. This was where she had found herself and her adoptive daughter. When Laura had brought new survivors to the hideout, she almost could not believe it. He was here; Logan had returned.

But as she hid in the shadows while that man in the red suit continued to yap, she quickly realized that this was not her Logan. Not only was he younger, without the advanced adimantium poisoning that her’s did, but everything about him was off. Sure, her lover drank like a fish, but not like this. He never did it to forget entirely. And he would also not be caught dead in yellow spandex.

Laura made herself known to the group, but her adoptive mother did not. She just continued to stay in the dark, where she was most comfortable. Whoever this red suited merc with an endless supply of witty comments was, she did not care for him. Her eyes just stayed on the man that looked so eerily like her lost love.

“That’s- that’s her, Logan. That’s X-23. Wait, if you’re here, then…” Wade gasped dramatically, “is NightMaere here?”

The way he said it, it almost sounded like excitement. But the woman refused to reveal herself just yet. Logan grumbled behind a gulp of whiskey, “who the hell is that?”

“You didn’t have one of her in your world?” Deadpool was now utterly confused. But the Wolverine just shook his head, and took another swig.

Upon hearing this, she just slinked further back into the shadows, and went into a dark corner. She was not sure which would have been worse; for him to have one of her and possibly have lost her, or for her to have never existed in the first place.

Either way, she did not care to stick around.

It was not until nightfall that she was seen again. And that was only because Laura had come to seek her out. The younger girl crouched down to where the older woman was sitting. Following her eyes, Laura could not help but smile as she saw that she was looking at the new Logan.

“You should go talk to him.” She suggested, knocking her shoulder into her’s.

“Yeah, cause that worked out so well for you.” Her mom chuckled.

“Seriously,” Laura smirked, “it would do you both some good.”

Looking at the young girl that she had to raise, the woman smiled. Everyday, no matter how long it had been, she saw more and more of Logan in her. A brief kiss was pressed to Laura’s head, before she walked out into the open night, and towards the bonfire.

“Kid, will you just let me be?” Logan grumbled, behind the lip of his bottle.

“I’m not Laura.” She clarified, taking a seat on the same log. There was a long period of silence shared between the two of them. Neither one knew quite what to say, or who should talk first.

“Did you… um, did I really not exist in your universe?” The question on her mind was tentatively asked.

Logan took in a deep breath, that he released in a long sigh. “It’s more complicated. You were around but we were never a thing.”

“Ah, so we were just friends?”

“Yeah. Not that we didn’t try to be more.” Now, she was confused.

“What happened?” Another deep sigh.

“You got corrupted by your power. Literally, all the nightmares that you could make starting haunting you, even though you tried not to. It got to the point where you would have these fits and would send visions into peoples minds. You never meant to. It was just the side effect of your condition. Eventually, you had to be confined to- well, it was basically a cell. One crafted by Magneto, and reinforced by Chuck. You died in there.”

The pain in his voice, the tears brimming his lashes, the anguish he lived with. “You had to kill me, didn’t you?”

Not trusting his voice, Logan nodded. His throat tightened as he let out a shaky exhale. “We got one dinner before you died. One small date when you were lucid,” he spoke before clearing his throat.

“Wasn’t too long after that everything went to shit.” They both stared ahead at the crackling fire.

“We were married, ya know. Not legally, but Texas has common law marriages. You were my lifeline throughout the end of mutants. Until Laura came along, you were the single most important person in my world. Then she did, a little Logan, and we promised each other that no matter what, no matter which of us died, we would do whatever was best for her. I got to show her your Canadian roots, but we moved around a lot. Trust me, teaching her to hid her mutant ability was not easy. That child was feral for a time.” She joked, thinking back on the mutant’s childhood.

“Yeah? She seems like a spitfire. Not afraid to speak her mind.” Logan commented.

“She got that from you. Or rather, our Logan. There were definitely times that I asked if I could do this. Then I remembered how I made a vow to myself that she wouldn’t become an orphan again.” Finally breaking her eyes away from the fire, she looked at Logan’s face that was also turned towards her.

That face that was so familiar, but so different. This Logan had wrinkles in places that her’s did not. But he also had smooth skin in places her’s did not wither. But those eyes. Those were the same. She hoped, just in her mind, that she would be able to find those eyes no matter where in the multiverse she was.

“You did a good job raising her. You should be proud.” He muttered, a soberness taking over that was not there before.

“Thanks,” came her soft reply. “Listen, I need to get some sleep and check up on her. I hope you do what’s right tomorrow. I’d hate for Laura to be proven wrong.”

A gentle hand tapped his suit covered knee a couple times before heading back to the building that their ragtag group had claimed as their own. One final look was thrown over her shoulder, where she caught Logan watching her leave. She smiled, and continued on anyways.

[itsalola07]

The evening light slowly faded with each step into the dark cavern, the encroaching darkness suffocating as Jeremiah descended down the stairs into the cavern. He held his breath as the faintest of oranges and yellows could no longer pierce the pitch black bottomless depths ahead of him. Pulling out his phone, he flipped on the flashlight settings, the small bright light illuminating a few feet in front of him, the wooden stairs built into the cave floor, the shelves carved into the solid rock. With the long rusted golden candle holders and encrusted gemstones, this path must have been extravagant a few hundred years ago or as extravagant as a hidden crypt could be. Jeremiah continued his journey, wishing for nothing more than Sally to be at his side in that moment. Her warm fingers entangled in his, her loud, over the top bravado, just her presence, something to help conquer the sickeningly thick discomfort. But she had her own trial to overcome, and like her, he had to do this alone.

His footsteps splashed and creaked, smelling stagnant water and rot as the surface was truly gone, only inky blackness and the smallest pinprick of light from his phone.

Time didn't seem to matter on his trip to what may as well be hell, it could have been minutes or hours or days, all he knew was he just kept going down, down, down, into the dark, his light catching an old relic lining the wall or his foot snapping a rotted wooden board under his weight.

And then, there was nothing.

The light from his phone blinked out completely. Jeremiah tried to click on the screen, but the device was either completely dead or the dark itself snuffed it out.

Jeremiah was a big man. He was a strong man. To cross him was a death sentence to a mortal man, and to challenge him was laughable. He couldn't tell if that affirmation was in his head or out loud.

He shouldn't be scared of the dark. He wasn't a child. He wasn't stupid. But as his eyes were stripped of what little sight they had, so too was the air in his lungs. An inhale, too small an exhale, another inhale. He wasn't scared, he wasn't. He could feel himself grow lightheaded.

There was no way he could give up now, whether he had walked ten minutes or ten hours, he knew he was long beyond the threshold of turning back. But the void in front of him, behind him, all around him, he couldn't move. Like the reality of everything that was happening to his town, happening to Sally, happening to him, was crawling out of the dark and wrapping its skeletal hands tight around his throat.

He placed his hand to his chest. His heart was pounding, lungs desperate for air. But he was still alive. His heart was still beating. As ragged as they were, he still drew breath. He tried to focus on that, to calm himself before the cavern truly did swallow him up.

And then his fingers grazed against something in his breast pocket, small and rectangular. Familiar. Pulling it out, he could feel the ignition against his thumb, the cheap plastic feeling like a lifeline, his dollar store lighter he had bought just a day ago so he and Sally could smoke one last cigarette before they went their separate ways.

Jeremiah would say he laughed in relief, but the sound he made was more along the lines of a strangled croak as he flicked the lighter, a small beacon of orange against the black.

It was cheap, though, and the fuel would not last too long. The cave smelt and sounded of water, so he was careful where he moved his hand, cupping the light to keep it safe, looking at the shelves along the wall. Not as numerous as before, but he could see one, a little more polished than when he first arrived. A faded gold, scratched and chipped engraving of flowers and symbols, the gaudy candelabra still held candles, melted and small, but with a wick nonetheless. Gripping the cold metal, he lit the ancient candles, the rock around him illuminating with orange and yellow. Fear began to disappate, slinking back as he could see path ahead of him, Neverending, but a path all the same. He had to keep going, for so many people's sakes.

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four

art by the amazing @piaart!!

author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.

Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.

“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.

Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.

And you want to know more.

“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.

“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”

“Spritz?”

“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?

“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.

Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.

What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.

Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.

His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).

You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.

But now you have to live with this knowledge.

You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?

“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.

Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.

Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?

Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.

Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.

Perfect.

Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.

You got this.

Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.

“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”

“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.

“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.

“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.

And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.

Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.

“I am going to dip you now.”

“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.

“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”

And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.

“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.

“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.

His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?

One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.

“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.

You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.

How are you going to be able to think about anything else?

Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.

You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.

The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.

“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.

The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.

Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.

That would be fucked.

[quilly72]

May pushed her way through the crowd "I got it. I found it"

Emily smiled and bounced as may pushed into her. Brushing past her as she scrambled further into the crowd. Emily grabbed to the back of mays black cardigan barely holding on as they shoved their way through the crowd. "Where are we going"

"don't know just keep going."

Eventually may slinked her way into an empty room at the busy party. The scent of alcohol hitting them like a wall as they entered. May peered outside making sure no one noticed them as she shut the door behind her. Locking it as she turned away.

May smiled as she reached into her cardigan pocket revealing two red vials filled with a shiny shimmering liquid. "Is that..." Emily was cut off as may shoved a vial into her clutch.

"come on. re you gonna fuss about it or are we gonna do what we came here to do."

Emily smiled as she opened her vial the sweet scent hitting her nose overpowering the alcoholic stench in the room. She grabbed the edge of her jacket as she poured some of the liquid onto her jacket. Smearing it across her clothes before taking the rest of the vial and pouring it down her neckline. The sticky liquid melting on her skin as it fizzled in. Emily finished her methodical approach to their experiment as she peered over to her friend.

May was quickly seen taking the entire vial and splashing across her body. Only a couple of drops hitting her clothes. Most of it fizzing onto her skin as it seemed in.

"may did you just."

"yeah yeah I know the plan... But I really wanted to grow as much as possible"

"but what about your clothes"

"we'll get there when we get there.

Emily rolled her eyes as she felt her jacket and pants loosen. The fabric strectching and sprawling outwards. She took a deep breath as she felt a cold shivers spread across her body. Her body filling the void as it began growing with her. Her eyeliner raising upwards as she filled her clothes. Emily gasped as she felt her shirt and pants tighten. More liquid having hit her than her clothes. She grunted as she pulled at the neckline to give herself breathing room.

"stupid shirt, can't breathe."

Emily slinked out of her shoes as her feet twitched her shoes seemingly shrinking around them. Her pant legs slithered up her calves as she grew taller. Her sleeves barely reaching her elbows as she stopped shy of 6'6".

Emily smiled as she stopped. "Taller and modest... Just like we agreed."

May sheepishly smiled as her eyes rolled back. Her eyes twitching as a cold shivers ran along her body. Her clothes barely had time to keep up as she started growing.

May cooed as she lurched upwards much faster than her friend had. Her pants sliding up her legs as her cardigan popped open. Her growing bust revealing itself. May reached down strectching her shirt as it struggled to keep up. Her torso peaked out from underneath as the cardigan sleeves rushed up to her elbows. Her shoes tightened as she past Emily in height. A smirk spreading across her face as she panted. Her pants slunk up to her knees as she felt her feet barely fit inside her platforms. Her head right under the ceiling. She reached up to push up against it as she smiled. Her growth finally coming to a stop right underneath the ceiling. "See I'm taller and still modest."

Emily rolled her eyes.

"say what about we screw modesty and go steal some more"

[yanderemasquerade]

Dark Elf Noble

Notes: Male dark elf x fem reader

He was a noble son of a powerful house, not that that meant much in his female dominated society. As the second boy of four, he was constantly overlooked and outshined, but that did nothing to dampen his cocky attitude. Circumstances dictated that he would never rise above his station, but he was exactly where he needed to be to meet you.

Sitting on the balcony of his stalagmite house, idly watching the slaves kept by his family go about their menial tasks as one watches fish in an aquarium, he spots you, a human woman! He'd never seen a human before, and you obviously stand out among the others, the majority being goblins, orcs, and kobolds. At first he considers you might be one of those evil surface elves he's heard about, but then you would look more slender and angular as himself. Instead, you have rounder and softer features with pinkish hues. You're also quite short and delicate looking compared to dark elf females who are typically bigger and more powerful than the males. It's exactly that which catches his interest, never before has he felt so easily superior to a female, and it instantly placates his overinflated ego.

He knows why you were placed here, to embarrass and demean you, to make an example of a female of another species. He needs you though, needs to explore these enticing feelings that just watching you presents, but he knows he couldn't ask permission. His matron mother would never allow him to keep you, to save you from your fate, nor would she grant a gift to her disappointing middle son. He also knows that he can't leave you here long, to fall as fodder to the brutish slaves around you. As he digests that inevitability, he realizes that if you go missing that would be the presumed reason.

As the town settled for rest, he crept into your holding. The others that possessed the same infrared vision he did quickly parted, not daring to stand in the way of a drow on a mission. Without the fairy fire of the courtyard though, you were totally blind in the void of darkness. You can't possibly see him coming, and you can't hear his assassin-like silent steps; it's childs play to him as he grabs you and holds a hand over your mouth. He whispers something to you, and as everything in this foreign world you don't understand a bit. You have no choice but to comply, and he leads you out into the city. It's as beautiful as it is foreboding, completely alien to you but even you can recognize the mastery of architecture. However the structure he brings you to is in disarray, it is the ruin of a house now destroyed, now forgotten. No one will have cause to come to this place again, except for him, to visit his new prize.

He lays out a bed roll for you, and lines it in blue fairy fire to dimly light the room enough for you to see. You slink into the corner, but you can understand that he's doing something nice for you, at least in some capacity. Even you could predict your fate if you had stayed in his family's compound. To what end has he brought you here, you're not sure, but anything is better than the alternative. He pulls out a scrap of food from his satchel, strange and foreign, but recognizably some sort of cooked meat. You reach out to take it and he slaps your face, firmly but not too forcefully. You look up to his face and he laughs softly, grinning ear to ear. The slap was not discipline, not meant to teach a lesson, it was purely because he could and it was fun to do so. He waits for you to reach back out for it, hesitantly this time, and then tussles your hair affectionately. You take a small bite to test the flavor, and then scarf it down unceremoniously. You're so unrefined in his eyes, like a frightened little animal, and he adores you for it. You will never be in a place to talk down to him, to make him feel small, in fact just this quick first interaction with you makes him feel more like a man than he ever has. He strokes your cheek and you shiver under his touch but don't dare pull away, to your understanding anything could set him off. He leans in slowly and holds his face uncomfortably close to yours, then kisses you softly with his eyes open to watch your reaction. You can't fight the spark you feel when you look into his ruby glowing eyes with his lips pressed against yours, and as you relax a bit and give into the kiss, he pinches your thigh, hard. Startled, you flinch back a little and whimper, and he laughs at you again. You were his most coveted possession now, and only he could have you.

[just-a-creep-babe]

Graveyard Shift - Part 6

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Commissioned again by @salixlantana <3 -- Thank you so much darling, I really hope you enjoy!! <33

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

She needs relief

It’s all she can think about as her touch moves further and further down her form

It’s been too long

The grueling hours at work, the stress of everything that’s been happening, the haze of paranoia seemingly always crowding her mind—it's been one endless void of anxiety and misery

She hasn’t been taking the time she needs for herself, and now that she’s opened up to the idea, the desire that crashes into her is sudden, intense and all too urgent

She presses a finger over her clit, a hushed breath escaping her as she does, and a flood of warmth spreads up her stomach, coiling into a knot of tension

Her thoughts wander, and she thinks back to the masked man—the pleasantly low hum of his voice, the sheer shape and size of him, the way he always seems to fixate on her—even despite his lack of eyes

She thinks back to his hands, rough and calloused and lined with dark veins, and she wonders what it’d be like if it was him touching her instead

She wonders about the warmth of his body, the firmness of his skin, the precision of his movements

Would he be rough, would he be hungry and impatient and eager to turn her into a quick mess?

Or would he be slow and gentle, pouring care and affection into every second of his touch gliding over her skin?

Her breath hitches in her throat, brows furrowing with concentration as she rubs herself over her underwear

Waves of pleasure shudder through her form, coaxing yet another breathless moan to escape her

Her back arches up, eyes fluttering closed and her lips parting as her empty sex clenches around nothing

She imagines she’s clenching around him instead of nothing; around his thick length, throbbing and pulsing with veins similar to the ones on his hands

And the more she imagines it, the more she can feel her underwear grow slicker with arousal

Her body burns for his touch

From outside, through the open cracks of the curtains, Jack watches the scene unfold

He’s mesmerized by the sight—fuck, he can practically smell her from where he's standing

He shouldn’t be watching

He shouldn’t be gawking through her window like some kind of creep while she’s doing something so personal, so private and so intimate

But it’s the first time he witnesses her do something like that—he didn’t even know if she had those needs in the first place—and he just can’t look away

He’s entranced—like she’s put some kind of spell on him

Her face contorts with pleasure, her brows furrowing as she pants and gasps, her chest heaving with every labored breath

Jack tries to absorb every minuscule detail he can see from where he is

God, he’s fucking aching in his pants

Acting purely on instinct, he brings a hand to his bulge and starts palming himself through his jeans

He can't see beneath those damn sheets covering her body, but he still tries to imagine it, tries to imagine seeing her fully naked

Soft, warm and malleable; what he wouldn’t give to be able to touch her

What he wouldn’t give for the chance to eat her out, to have her hips rocking against his face as she tenses up and screams his name as she cums

He makes a low, husky sound without meaning to, increasing the pace of his hand over his pants to match the speed she’s using on herself

She grows closer and closer to release, judging by her louder, more eager moans and the way her whole body seems to be glowing

But then, right as it looks like she’s about to cum, she stops abruptly, her eyes flashing open like something’s interrupted her moment of bliss

Jack stops as well, freezing in place

Did she see him?

Did she somehow sense that she’s being watched, and it pulled her out of the moment?

He swallows thickly, trying to slink further back into the shadows

Guilt knots in his chest as he pulls his hand away from his needy cock

He shouldn’t stick around to see if he’s been caught—fuck, he shouldn’t have been peeking through her window in the first place

But despite his best judgment, he doesn’t leave

He stays rooted in place, curiosity getting the better of him

And then he watches as a mix of guilt and confusion flash across her face, not too dissimilar from what he’s feeling right now, and then, with a worried look, she stands and makes her way to the bathroom

He can’t see anything more when she closes the door behind herself, so he’s ultimately left with two options; either stay there like a sick kind of perv with an obvious boner, or call it a day and retreat home

He votes for the latter

Try as he might to forget about what happened on his way back to the mansion, he just can’t

She’s all he can think about

Those sounds she made—just barely audible through the window, the perfume of her arousal, the look of bliss on her face—he can’t—he doesn’t want to forget

He tries to act as inconspicuous as possible when he walks through the double doors of the mansion, and then he's quietly making his way through the various corridors of the haunted building

When he’s finally back in his room, he shuts the door behind himself and thinks, Fuck

He doesn’t know what to do

He’s so pent-up

His sight drifts to his bed, and he considers finding relief the most obvious way he can

But with the memory of her touching herself firmly locked in his mind, he’s worried it’ll trigger a heat—something he actively tries to avoid as much as possible

Hunt

He hasn’t eaten in a while, and it’s probably aggravating his instincts

He should go for a hunt

Not wasting a second longer, he grabs the few things he needs, and then he’s going back down through the mansion and heading out through the same doors he walked in through

The whole way to the nearest big city, he can’t stop replaying the scene over and over again in his head

She looked so divine—she smelled so delectable

His mouth salivates at the memory, and he silently prays eating will be enough to satiate his hunger for her body, even though it’s starting to seem like a long shot, at this point

As usual, he maneuvers his way to the wealthier neighborhoods, then follows his nose to the most appetizing scent

While there are usually more meats to choose from in the slums of the city, he could never forgive himself for taking from people who already have so little

The wealthier, he’d decided long ago, could probably more easily afford healthcare for whatever damages he does to their systems

His instincts lead him to a decently-sized apartment complex, which he manages to slip in with relative ease

The interior is a wide open space with carpeted floors, beige walls, and an elevator at the front and center of it all

He spots a few cameras here and there, but with his hood thrown up over his head to cover his mask, he isn’t too worried about raising alarm—if there even is someone up so late to watch the cameras

And after the many, many years of sneaking into places he shouldn’t be allowed in, getting caught isn’t something he worries about anymore anyways

Opting to stay away from the elevator, he instead takes the stairway at the far left of the building, and lets his senses guide him all the way up

He reaches the fourth floor, where the scent seems to be the strongest, then makes his way through the hallway until he comes across the right door

With a simple credit card trick, he unlocks the door, slips inside, then quietly turns the lock behind himself

Even though it’s completely dark inside, he can still see perfectly fine, so he has no trouble maneuvering around the kitchen and to his victim’s room

Door left wide open, he can see the shape of a woman’s body under the covers, her breathing slow and steady in her sleep

He steps through the threshold of the door, then gently makes his way to her side

He’s about to administer the sedative, when he notices her hair is the same length, color and texture as (y/n)’s hair

He pauses in his tracks, taking a closer look at her

Fuck, even the shape and size of her body are similar

For a split second, he almost wonders if it’s somehow her

It’s not possible, and he knows it’s just his mind playing tricks on him, but he wants it to be real

He wants it to be her so that he can pull her body against his and press his mouth to her skin before tasting her—tasting all of her

The idea snaps him out of his hunter’s trance, but he quickly tries to shake the thought away

He shouldn’t get distracted

He presses the needle in, piercing through her skin, and she makes a low, quiet noise from the back of her throat in an unconscious response to the intrusion

Crap

Immediately as she does, he’s flooded by a wave of perverse desires

What if he made (y/n) moan like that—moan so much louder than that?

Coupled with the view he had of her just a very short while ago, it’s enough for him to lose focus and fuck up the injection

It’s just a split-second mistake, but it’s more than enough for the woman to wake up

He hasn’t fucked up in so long, it actually surprises him just as much as it surprises the woman that there’s a masked figure standing over her bed

When he manages to gather himself, so does she, and while he’s panicking between either talking her down or restraining her to finish the injection, her survival instincts kick in

He doesn’t expect her to act so quickly

He especially doesn’t expect her to grab the lamp from her nightstand and smash it into him

With a grunt, he stumbles back, dazed by the impact, and it gives the woman the perfect chance to scream, throw something else at him—a book, this time—and then jump out of her bed and make a run for it

He can’t reach her before she rushes through the door because of the bed acting as an obstacle, and when he manages to catch up to her, she slams the bedroom door against him

He stops it before it can knock him into a daze again, but doing so grants her just barely enough time to get to the kitchen and pull out a knife

Great

Between fight, flight or flee, it seems she’s chosen to fight—the most tedious instinct to deal with

Both hands tightly clutching the knife in front of her, she stands in front of him, courageously blocking him even despite the way she’s shaking

He can smell the fear and adrenaline pumping through her system

“What—what do you want?”

Her voice is uneven, panic clogging her throat, and there’s a wild look in her eyes, like that of a trapped animal

He doesn’t bother answering

He simply takes a menacing step forwards

He, again, doesn’t expect her to mimic that step and then try to violently slash the knife into him

Her movements, however, are clumsy and inexperienced, so it isn’t difficult for him to catch her wrist and block her attack

And with one final step closer, he jams the needle into her neck and finishes the injection

She croaks, making a horrible choking sound as he drains the remaining sedative inside her veins

Her body goes limp as she slowly loses muscle control, and he finally drops his guard, letting himself relax as the situation returns under control

He catches her before she falls to the floor, and holding her in his arms like that, so up-close and personal, gives him as much time as he wants to properly inspect her features

She’s, admittedly, pretty, but she doesn’t nearly hold any of the subtleties or fine details that make (y/n) so appealing

She doesn't even compare to (y/n)'s perfection

Still, the whole thing has him thinking about what it’d be like if it was (y/n) he was holding instead of just some random woman

If (y/n) was in his arms, her face just inches away, what could really stop him from pressing his lips to hers if he wanted to?

He, again, imagines her taste, her body flush against his, her moans and whimpers and expressions as he touches her, as he pleases her

He gets too distracted again, too lost in his fantasies, and he doesn’t even think to consider that the syringe might not have been as effective with only half of it properly injected

Because with one final struggled breath of effort, the woman reawakens, jerks her arm up, and the knife still clutched in her hand plunges into Jack’s ribs

He hisses, letting her fall to the hard wooden floor as he stumbles back

Pain bursts through his chest, knocking the wind out of him

He reaches out to the hilt where blade meets flesh, and he grunts as he feels the familiar warmth of blood rush to his wound

Shit

Even though he desperately wants to yank the damn thing out, he has more than enough medical knowledge to know that he shouldn’t

He looks at the girl, now fully passed out in a heap on the floor, and debates whether or not he should even bother to extract her organs at this point

Fuck it, it’s not even worth it

His hands won’t be as steady as usual, and he could very much so risk injuring her—more than he otherwise would’ve

He’s caused enough damage as is

He looks back at the wound again, debates the chances of his body healing faster than the risk of major blood loss if he pulls it out all at once

But she really didn’t miss her target, and the wound is deep

Blade buried all the way to the hilt, the damn thing must be at least five to six inches, and he can’t really tell if it punctured any crucial organs

Relax, he thinks, just relax and think things through

He needs to get out of here, he decides, it’s his first priority right now

This whole thing is bound to get even messier if he waits too long

With a grunt, he pulls himself together, standing and straightening himself out, and then he makes for the door to the hallway

He closes it behind himself, praying he won’t run into anyone on his way out, because he just can’t imagine they’ll have a positive reaction to seeing some guy wandering around with a knife in his gut

But, of course, just his luck, as he turns a corner down the hallway, he nearly bumps directly into someone

Jack tries brushing past them before they see anything, but despite his best efforts, he can’t conceal the injury, and he hears them gasp as they notice his predicament

The stranger’s about to rush forward to help, but when Jack looks up, the sight of his faceless mask and dripping eye sockets make them scream

In a heartbeat, the stranger turns and runs, leaving behind the all-too-familiar scent of stress, fear and adrenaline in their wake

Great, just fucking great

He tries to move faster through the building after that interaction

The pain is, thankfully, manageable, thanks to his body’s natural resilience, but by the time he's made it back down to the first floor, his rushed movements have only further aggravated the wound

And it’s starting to hurt like hell

Still, even once out of the building, he doesn’t give himself a chance to rest

No doubt that guy called the police by now

He doesn’t have time to waste

He slinks into the shadows of the neighborhood, thankful for the fleeting cover of nightfall, even as the horizon begins to turn pale

And then he makes it to the one place he can think of going

(Y/n) wakes up to the sound of rasping at her door

She opens her eyes, and lays there for a second or two, wondering if she just dreamt up the noise or if it was actually real

And, without fail, the sound returns, like something grating against the wooden framing of her door

She gets up, tentatively pushing her covers off, then makes her way to the front of her house

It’s in the very earliest hours of the morning, maybe around five or six, so she can’t imagine whatever’s behind her door is anything but trouble

A lump forms at the back of her throat at the thought

Again, the sound reverberates in her house

Her heartbeat spikes, nerves jumping to high alert

She tries to take a peek at what’s behind her door by craning her neck to look out the window

But the angle just isn’t right, and she can’t properly see anything

Again, the noise rings out, but it almost sounds quieter, more hesitant, this time

(Y/n) tries to swallow down her anxiety

With a shaky hand, she wraps her fingers around the doorknob and slowly turns it open

Even though, at this point, she should probably expect it to be him, she’s still surprised when she comes face-to-face with the person at her door

“Jack?”

[oc-ask-bloges]

I had.

Thoughts.

Pressure infection au. But it’s gas based.

I’m thinking something like the sirens from mlp (don’t ask why) not like something that affects you physically beyond like… eye color or smth.

More mental. Making who ever breathes it uncontrollably aggressive.

RAMBLE ALERT RAMBLE ALERT!‼️‼️‼️

So unless you had a gas mask on before the outbreak (for whatever reason, maybe like Allo from @creator-of-creativious) or use some type of filtered breathing like gills (external or filter gills like an Axolotl.) you would be effected.

Sebastian would be basically a “big bad” with his size and power. And the fact he has GUNS.

So saying that:

The ocs that would be aggressive:

Jixy (hiding away in some back room, probably heavily injured.)

Dani (small n feisty, more prone to bloodlust as well.)

Elena (justice god. Aka “oh no.”)

Lori (she has no lungs, is not effected, but it more aggressive for sake of survival.)

Ocs who are not aggressive:

Rose (@drowning-thistle. Has lungs, but the vines in her lungs pump a constant flow of fresh oxygen. Her head would be a big foggy though, causing some of her actions to be a bit brash. (Still a sweet heart, but still dangerous considering the VINES are effected. Her infection is sped up.).)

Navi (poor thing is completely harmless and helpless wether effected or not! She’s sticking to Rose’s side for the most part.)

Nebulon (no lungs. They’ve slinked back into the void mass controlled hallways. Doors have been blocked off.)

The Non Accountables.

Jix (hasn’t come up from the bottom of the ocean.)

Rain (trying their best to find an escape route from the outside. Horribly worried for Sebastian. (Gay.))

Safe houses.

Any space that’s blocked by water on all sides is safe. But the water isn’t. The gas can’t travel through the water, but it can get into it.

Most of Rose’s cafés. The over concentration of oxygen doesn’t allow for the gas to get in. It’s still dangerous to stay for a long period of time for normal breathers.

( @trepans-apprentice @faefrosting @birbisanon @corb1n +anyone you’d think would like this stupid idea.)