#Fic: Dancing on Blades
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lesbianwyllravengard · 10 months ago
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Wyll breaking up with the player character if Ulder dies so Wyll must become the Duke makes me wanna throw up sobbing because he actually thinks that just because his father's first duty being to Baldur's Gate made him a Bad Father that Wyll himself will inevitably be a Bad Lover because surely no one could match love with duty if his father couldn't, unknowing he has more love in one hand than his father had in his entire body. fuck
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moineauz · 8 months ago
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જ⁀ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 , various ! pt two
synopsis: his voice lines about you as his beloved partner
including: boothill, aventurine
side comments: my first voice line fic was well received and for that I thank you all <3 so of course this is for all my boothill and aventurine lovers out there! (including myself for boothill...)
extra: gn reader, angsty and fluffy moments, I genuinely loved writing boothill's, minor spoilers for both favourites: boothill word count: roughly 1000+
care to see the first part? includes dr. ratio, jing yuan, & blade!
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𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋
WHO ARE THEY? I "Out here askin' question huh? Well if you're that curious... then you better listen close."
FIRST MEETINGS? "Met them on a bullet train in a neighbouring star system. Turns out we were chasing after the same fudge-heads. You could've seen them- a sly creature that's who they were, whipping out the most slick sniper I've ever seen. I'd reckon that was one of the most thrilling fights I've ever had: came out with dents all over my arms and a broken gun. Their bullets nearly punched a hole through my cheek... hah!"
GREETINGS? "They may be a load of dormant gunpowder, but they sure are sweet! Full of laughter and courtesy. But I'll let you in on a little secret... ( Name ) likes to walk in, pretty as always- and plant kisses all over my cheek before they even say a word."
PARTINGS? "Being a Galaxy Ranger means never staying in one place. ( Name ) is no Galaxy Ranger... I'd reckon it's better that way."
ABOUT US: SHOES IN THE HOUSE "I can't exactly 'take off my shoes' now can I? But ( Name ) likes to keep the house tidy and I best not anger them... like that one time- anyways, we came up with this whole fudging system just to keep the bottom of my damn boots clean! It's fudging ridiculous! *Chuckles* I can't help it, but ( Name ) is understanding. Even if I trudged through all the grime in the universe- they'd still wipe it all off."
ABOUT US: FAMILY "You see, ( Name ) has this big family. Siblings, cousins, extended cousins, aunts and uncles, you name it. We were on their home planet once, and I finally understood where ( Name's ) knack for puttin' a real good home together came from. Their family lives in the countryside where all you can see are open fields, lush hillsides, free-roaming animals and wildflowers. Consider it a quiet paradise. They even grow their own food for fudging sake! Everythin' made by hand and land. Darlin' nearly coaxed me into joining them for dinner once, but I knew better. Best not spoil the family get-together."
CHAT: HATS N' POSES "Personally, I like my hat and flare the way it damn is. How would fightin' be without it? But of course, your partner has to be a cheeky tease about it."
CHAT: WARMTH " I've seen it in the movies- those fudging 'romcoms'- and read it in books. When it gets cold... I'm no help. Can't do much except reach for a blanket and wrap them up. But even then, metal and skin don't fudging work."
PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Count me in on a dance sugar plum! Have to admit, darlin' has a fair share of good dance moves. Nothin' like a hard-earned victory being celebrated with a cool glass of whisky and a smooth dance."
ARGUMENTS: "Bitter things that's all they are. Leaves you knocked out cold. Reminds you of all the things you can't take back."
SOMETHING TO SHARE: "Following the hunt ain't an easy task. But someone has to punish the wretched. That's the thing about the hunt- you get cold, hard. Sugar follows another path that doesn't make any fudging sense to me. But that doesn't matter. None of that ever mattered, not to them, not to me or even the hunt. Call it selfish, but I'd like to one day settle down... Just like their family. Out where no one could find us."
WHO ARE THEY? II "They call me their 'sweet lover'. But really it should be me saying that. If anything I am the sweat of their brow- a nuisance at times. But they still love me. They still fudging love me."
EXTRA: IPC ENTRY "Normally, Galaxy Rangers travel alone. However, we have seen the wanted Galaxy ranger- Boothill- be accompanied by someone who appears to be a vagabond follower of Xipe. Despite the information we possess, the relationship between Boothill and his supposed 'partner' is very limited."
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𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄
WHO ARE THEY? I "Fancy meeting you here- oh? A rumor you say? Rumours do have peculiar ways of reaching the ears..."
FIRST MEETINGS? "All business ventures possess their gains and losses. However, I did not expect my pockets- alongside others- to be picked on a night meant to celebrate the Strategic Investment Department. The person who did it played their cards exceptionally well. I applauded them and the subtlety of their skills."
GREETINGS? "Despite their rather cunning nature, ( Name ) is quite kind... shockingly so. I thought their smile was a chip they played for their own meticulous advantage. *Chuckles* I was wrong, there was simply nothing to understand behind that smile."
PARTINGS? "One transaction after another, the universe keeps spinning. Don't keep up, you fall behind. Simple. I don't have to worry about that around them, or at least, for a while, until another wager must be made. Until the peck on the cheek is over."
ABOUT US: LOCKET "( Name ) has a keen eye for trinkets and bought- well stole- a locket for the two of us to share. I keep it with me, a lucky charm if you may."
ABOUT US: NAPPING "Personally, I don't nap. But, ( Name ) is a terrible influence and says I should. I must admit, waking up to them in the afternoon is not a bad way to spend my time."
CHAT: THEVERY "( Name ) is a thief... a good one at that. Oh don't worry, they struck a deal with the IPC. Primarily on their terms because they have been such a nuisance to the IPC. It's rather amusing seeing the IPC chase their own tail. We've definitely shared laughs over it."
CHAT: CONFESSIONS "Who could possibly love something so broken? It's like keeping a clock that won't tick or a deck of cards missing a queen. Sometimes, I wish they didn't care so much. It would be... easier."
PASTIMES DONE TOGETHER? "Of course, a good game of cards is a fun way to pass the time. *Chuckles* Though, ( Name ) is a terrible player. Not that I mind, I'll guess I'll play the role of 'loser' this time around- best you not tell them."
ARGUMENTS: "What else is there to say? Nothing. That part is the worst."
SOMETHING TO SHARE: HEART OF GOLD "( Name ) steals to give to the poor. It's their motto... I saw them once with a group of kids on a planet in a distant star system. They were giving back to the orphanage- the smiles on the children's faces when given toys, marbles to be exact, were so bright."
WHO ARE THEY? II "In all honesty, I'm not quite sure. However, what I do know is that luck finally worked in my favour... I'll hold onto that for as long as I can."
EXTRA: DR RATIO'S OPINION "The gambler- without hesitation- will bet 'all in' even if it means his own life hangs in the balance. However, amongst the chaos of his bets, there is one person who will drag him back to reality... ( Name ). Aventurine will never gamble nor forfeit the one person who truly understands him. Even I don't fully understand the gambler's crafty nature. I suppose a thief is the only one who can and more importantly, will."
masterlist.
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fanaticsnail · 8 months ago
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Dreaming of You
Masterlist Here
Word Count: 1,100+, 1,700+, 1,700+, 1,400+
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Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Sir Crocodile, Buggy, Dracule Mihawk
Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, swearing, masturbation, dub con (Using your image to masturbate to), suggestive content, feelings, all individual 'x reader' drabbles, same reader!insert different outcome, chop-chop fruit shenanigans, angst, romance, smut, kissing, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.
Notes: Dreaming of You Masterlist Here, Please read the warnings. I am having a lot of fun with this series, but this one got away with me. They're only meant to be silly little drabbles between larger fics. Sorry for the lengthy read! Enjoy playing the part of a marine spy for Cross-Guild!
Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @lostfirefly
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Hips pressed against one another, huffing pants and gasps were collected in one another's lips and skin as he pinned your back against the wooden wall behind the burgundy curtains of the tent door. Legs collected over his hips, he held your left thigh in his right hand, his forearm caging you by slotting up between your right shoulder and the cool surface. 
Lusting and passionate, he drew intentional thrusts that were slow and deliberate enough to brush at your g-spot and mold your pussy to the contours of his thick cock. He slacked his jaw, his eyes swimming with emotion as he ground his pelvis against your clit with every heavy thrust. 
Your voice whimpered for him, stifling your mewls of pleasure by biting down into his shoulder and crying as he bullied his cock into your needy pussy. He groaned with you, rocking his cock in slow, languid thrusts up into your body. 
“Please,” you begged him, desperately clawing at his back and peppering his shoulders, neck and jaw with enthusiastic kisses, “We don't have long until the others come back.” He growled at your words, offering you a particularly mean thrust forward and a cruel bite against your neck. 
“A-Aah!” you gasped in shock, biting your lip and digging your nails into his shoulders harder. He sheathed his entire length greedily into you, his shaft twitching in bliss the moment he felt his blunt tip brush your cervix. His hips stapled yours against the wall he was bullying you against. 
“I don't care if they hear,” he barked against your neck, tracing his tongue over the bruise forming from his bite, “I don't care if they see.” He pulled back his hips only slightly before immediately propelling himself forward and forging his body against yours like soldering iron to a hot blade. 
“Let them hear,” he admitted, huffing against your neck as he rocked his hips into yours, removing his hand from hooking around your thigh to grip your neck and bring your gaze to meet his. “Let them see.” He plastered your parted lips with his own, desperate with tongue and teeth as he released your neck to hold your thigh once more. 
“I want them to hear,” he groaned into your mouth, rolling your cheek with his chin and kissing down your jaw, “I want them to see.” He trailed his needy kisses down your neck as he doubled his effort and sped up his rhythmic thrusting. 
As your core sucked him in each time he retracted, his mind was lost to him and was filled with primal desire. He needed them to hear your sweet moans and whimpers. He needed them to see who was making you feel this good. He needed you to know who you belonged to. 
“Say you're mine,” he growled, his lips mouthing up your neck, over your jaw and to your cheeks, “Say it.” He sped up faster, his cock hammering into you with every cruel, frenzied thrust. His hair was sticking to the dewy sheen of sweat against his forehead and neck, his brows furrowed as he glared into your eyes with an intensity he had never felt in life prior. 
“Say you're mine,” he barked at you, commanding you to fulfill his desires as his cock twitched within you. Your walls beckoned him closer, the thump of your ecstasy wringing his cock as he pistoned it within you had him desperately whimper and whine your name. 
“P-Please say you're mine,” he implored you in desperation, his fingers clutching your thigh in a heaping fistful as he continued to chase your mutual highs, “Tell me. Tell me your mine, and I'll be your slave.” He begged, kissing your lips and panting through his thrusts, “I'll be yours. Is that what you want?”
He chased your mutual high faster, rocking and pummeling into you with his heels digging into the floor. His belt buckle jingled atop his pants pooling at his ankles, your own pants discarded beneath you long ago. Leaning down, he took your peaked nipple into his mouth and rolled it over with his tongue.
A string of saliva attached from his lips to the puckered bud when he pulled away, huffing and panting at the lustful display of your breathing hitching. Body bouncing in sultry ripples with each thrust, he groaned as he felt his abdomen tighten with a familiar call of his imminent release. 
“Yes,” you whispered his name suddenly, clutching his neck and carding your hands through his hair, “Yes, I want that. I want you-...” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” 
He growled his pleasure at hearing your words into your lips, tongue lapping with yours and his hair brushing against your forehead. You hastily tugged him away from your lips by gripping the scruff of his neck and pulling hard. 
“W-What? Why are you-?” He began, his words halted by the intensity of your gaze. Your lips were parted, face flushed from a higher rise of hazy temperature, and skin forming lustful bruises and mapping his treasure with his marking kisses. 
“Make me yours,” you gasped at him, panting as your lust eclipsed your eyes, “Cum in me. I want it. Need it.” His eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack as his hips staggered their vicious thrusting deep inside you. 
“Fuck, I-I’m gonna-...” His abdomen tightened further, his eyes glowing black with luminescent lust as his seed spilled inside you with hot spurts, “I'm cumming-... hhah-... I-I’m cumming…f-f-fuck-...” Rope after rope of translucent cum released within your walls, the rhythm of your own ecstasy milking him with squeezing grasps on his throbbing cock. 
You called his name, throwing your head back as he trailed his eyes over your skin with adoration within his bliss. He couldn't get enough, reaching forward to collect your lips beneath his in a scorching mess of lips, tongue and teeth. With a desperate kiss to mold him against you completely, he forged an unspoken covenant to ensure you knew you were his and he was yours. 
Opening his eyes, the image of your blissed out afterglow faded from his vision. All that he was met with was the ornate ceiling in his bedroom, his cock twitching through the final waves of untouched pleasure. 
“No,” he growled, removing his duvet with his right hand and glancing at the lustful dance his swollen cock twitched with. A last spurt of cum spilled from the glossy slit and he immediately thrust the ruined blanket on top of his stomach to shield it from his sight. 
“Fuck.”
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Sir Crocodile 
He balled his right fist, slamming it into the mattress beside his hip with a rumbling growl in his chest. Inhaling deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and exhaling slowly had him assess all that occurred to him with his night vision moments ago.
“Please say you’re mine. Say you’re mine and I’ll be your slave,” his own voice echoed in his mind, “I’ll fall to my knees and worship you in all ways. I’ll treat you like the deity I know you to be, showering you in praise and praying at your altar. Please.”
“I’m yours,” you whispered with half-hooded lessons, “I’ll only ever be yours, Sir Crocodile. Only yours.” He snapped his eyes awake, clenching his jaw impossibly tight and drawing his brows down in fury.
“I begged?” he snarled, reaching for a cigar and his flint-lock lighter, “I begged to claim you as mine?” He clicked his tongue before biting down on his cigar, lighting the end with a small flame and sucking in a sour lungful of smoke, “Utterly ridiculous.” 
Pulling the duvet away from his lap, he growled at the sticky ooze pooling at his abdomen before squaring his shoulders and walking to the adjoining ensuite in his master bedroom. The Cross-Guild tent did not have many luxuries, but he refused to go without simple pleasures while working with the disgusting clown. 
A bath was one such pleasure Sir Crocodile would not live without.
Running the water, he dropped each foot into the tub and sighed out at the contact of the freshwater rising to his thighs. The heat and steam eradicated his shame from his abdomen without much effort, melting it down and washing it away beneath the water. Groaning, he looked to his absent left hand and gazed down at the scarred stump. 
“We don’t have long until the others come back,” he heard your voice echo within his mind, drawing himself back to the dream and causing him to grimace in annoyance. He circled his palm and fingertips over his left forearm and molded the flesh within a firm grip. 
The pains on his phantom limb had returned, his mind racing and attempting to draw up distractions by any means necessary. Your midnight illusion was simply the latest commodity to preoccupy his attention with lustful desires, is how he rationalized such a shameful intrusion. 
He was a fourty-six year old man, not some prepubescent teenager so consumed with the need to fuck that their minds dreamed it into an untouched and sticky reality. The pain intensified, his teeth clamping in a rough hiss as the illusionary throb of his hand caused him to shake his arm from his grip. 
This was going to be a long and tiring day.
At the meeting, he was being short and harsh with anyone and everyone to cause him displeasure. His teeth snapped barks, his chest rumbling his fury and his hair was beginning to become disheveled. The clown was aggravating, and the swordsman’s silence was not as refreshing as it was under usual circumstances.  
His right hand only ever left his left forearm for the chance to draw up a cigar, yet the sour smoke did very little to soothe his pain, and his hand only seemed to make the intensity of the throbbing worse. As Mihawk and Buggy stood to leave the room, he remained behind and he finally hissed out a lengthy growl behind his clenched teeth at the pain. 
There was not a sound in the room, a slight ringing in his ears as the pain reached his head and dizzied his mind. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he had no context for a gentle touch on his hand over his forearm until he snapped his purple eyes up to meet with yours. 
“Allow me, Sir Crocodile,” your smile illuminated your face, gently suggesting with your touch to remove his right hand from his left forearm. He attempted to fight the urge to bark at you, snap at you and give in to his desire to have you touch him. 
“And just what do you think you’re doing, Marine?” he growled, eyes narrowing and lips curling up into a deep snarl, “Who gave you the right to touch me-?”
“Oh, shut up. You've been horrendous today and I refuse to have this continue to be cause for your disgusting attitude,” you bit back, your own lips pulling back to reveal your snarl, “Let go of your arm and let me help you, damn it.” He immediately dropped his arm in favor of gripping your neck in a tight choke, bringing your face closer to his. 
“You dare to give me orders, Marine?” he roared at you, your teeth gritting back the pain and glaring into his eyes. “I was a former warlord, little spy. Now I hunt and kill your kind for a living.” As Sir Crocodile monologued, he remained ignorant of your hands working to find the clamps of his prosthetic hook and releasing the golden cover from his arm. 
“And now you touch me, spy? Offering me what, exactly?” he continued monologuing as you removed his hook and rolled up his embroidered sleeve. The pain in his forearm was so intense he could barely feel any relief of tension come from releasing his limb from the confines of his hook. “How are you going to help-... A-ah!” He gasped, his brows tugging up in the center of his forehead as he glared at you. 
Immediately releasing your neck, he looked down at his bare forearm within both of your hands and bit back a whimper. In his own grip, his scarred forearm felt hot and throbbing beneath his cooler temperature. In your warmer hands, his arm felt encased in an encumbering embrace like hot stones sizzling on a damp surface. 
Your thumbs traced the contours of his muscles, dipping between his bones and rolling his muscle between your fingers. The heel of your palm added a tight pressure to his ache, his breath coming out in rough pants the longer you held him in a tight grip. His eyes softened, his scowl loosening from anger to pain. 
Hissing and panting, an uncharacteristic whimper fell from his lips as you silently focussed on working the flesh within your skilled grip. Circling your thumbs and contracting your hands, you instructed him with calming and soothing words. 
“Deep breaths now,” you whispered in a slow and intentional hum, “In when I squeeze, and out when I release.” He nodded his head, feeling the soft roll of your hands over his skin. As you tightened his grip, his chest expanded with a lengthy inhale and exhaled as you withdrew. 
Repeating that motion, he felt the tension in his mind begin to release him from his illusions. Focussing on your movements as your voice soothed him with each direction, he didn’t expect his emotions to overcome him at such kindness. Your hard contractions over his arm eased up, your fingertips tracing the scars on the vacant nub and causing his flesh to tingle beneath it. 
“Better, sir?” halting your soft motions, you gently placed your hand on his forearm and held faint pressure over his skin. Reopening his eyes, he felt tangible relief wash its way over his face. Gazing into your eyes, you held nothing but empathy and gentleness in your twin orbs. He leaned down over your face, bringing contact between your two foreheads and offering you the slightest of smiles. 
“Why would you do that?” he whispered in an uncharacteristic soft voice, “Touch me like that? Offer me such kindness after all that’s occurred between us?” He raised his right hand and cupped the back of your head in a firm grip to hold you against him. 
“You didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into the red tent,” you smiled warmly at him, “Nor did you kill me any day thereafter.” Giving his arm another gentle squeeze, you glanced down at his missing limb and offered him a melancholy smile. He growled at your confession, searching your eyes for a further explanation. You huffed out a sigh, smiling further with a soft twitch up your cheeks. 
“I used to do this for my friend back at the marine base,” you offered him a glimpse at your history with your explanation, “Did it all the way up until the day she died. Said something about my hands feeling warm against her skin, different to her own temperature. Soothing.”
He chuckled at that, nodding against your head and closing his eyes shut in momentary bliss. That was why you felt so good on his skin, your skilled motions causing him aid and relief. You have done this before, and were offering it freely to him. 
“Oh?” he asked, his smile tugging at his cheeks and elevating the scar over his face, “And did she manage to say what she did without you by her side to aid her?” You laughed at him, breaking away your contact from his forehead and scrunching up your nose playfully. 
“I was always by her side, sir,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “She and I were inseparable, even in cabin quarters.” He nodded in understanding, looking down to his limb and back up to your eyes. 
“Well, if that’s the only solution for the pain I’m encountering,” he uttered, his lips curling into a wide smirk, “I would see you gather your personal effects and move into my cabin beside the tent, immediately.” You laughed at him, rising from his side and beginning to leave the meeting room. 
“I hardly think that would be appropriate. Don’t you agree, sir?” you question him, collecting your bag from the circular table in the center of the room. As you moved to leave the tent, a strong forearm snaked around your chest and grasped your shoulder, tugging you firmly into a broad chest. 
“Wasn’t a suggestion, Marine,” he whispered into your ear, the smooth rumble of his voice shooting tingles up your spine and causing you to gasp. “You’re mine now. Hear me?” He grazed his lips over your cheek and down your jaw in a slow motion. 
“Mine.”
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Buggy
“Oh, what the fuck?” his nasally voice huffed, his makeup free face flushing with a hefty sprinkle of dark blush, “You’re fucking kidding me.” He reached down to his cock and fisted it in a pistoning motion. 
“Had to be you, didn't it?” he cursed your name in a pouty snarl, “The fucking spy.” He swirled his cock in his palm, growling at it before he simply detached it with his balls and brought it up to his face. He frowned in a deep scowl, drawing up his heckles as he began chastising his cock. 
“C’mon, man! How could you do this to me?” He growled at his cherry-red knob, choking it in his fist, “You think this is fucking funny? You think I want to see ‘em like this?” He drew up his other hand and slapped his knob, his pelvis wincing in response. 
“Out of bounds,” he berated his cock, “The spy is out of bounds. You know the spy is out of bounds.” He pinched his knob, choking it and only making his pleasure heighten. “N-Nnngh-... Not for thinking about, not for trying to fuck.” 
He whimpered, his priorly ruined orgasm still gluing his duvet to his stomach. He growled, hocking a wad of spit behind his lips. He spat on his cock in an attempt to degrade himself further, only leading to lubricating his ministrations and causing him to throw his cerulean colored hair back into his plush pillows in bliss. 
“Hhah-... The spy is not for you, you fucking idiot,” he gulped his confirmation, his cock thrusting itself in his fist beside his head as he frowned at it, “Think about something else,” he closed his eyes, meeting the thrusts of his cock with his hand as he tried to think about anyone else he could sheathe himself in. 
“Buggy, I-I’m gonna c-cum-,” he heard your voice whimper at him, his cock twitching in his hand beside his face, “Buggy, please can I cum?” He shook his head, attempting to picture anything else. Faceless breasts bouncing, ripples of an ass jiggling, parted lips panting and huffing with eyes scrunched shut-... Your voice calling his name with adoration pouring from your lips like honey. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, shaking his head and attempting to go back to the earlier images. He only pictured your hair, your skin, your perfume, and your lips behind his eyes. Those lips used to spell secrets, split in a perfect ‘O’ as he pictured you slicking his cock up in your needy cunt with your erupting ecstacy milking him of his heaping load. 
“Fuck! No, no, no, no, n-oooh!” He threw his cock away from his face to not shoot himself in the eye with his release. It spattered the wall in a secondary wave of sticky cum like a grenade exploding on impact. “Nnnngh-... F-Fuck. Fu-uck-... C-cumming-.” His abdomen contracted as he rode the remaining waves of his orgasm untouched and unstimulated. 
Ropes of guilt shot out of his small slit and coated the wall and floor in a sticky pile of pearlescent cum. He groaned your name, huffing and panting as his hips bucked up in an attempt to stimulate his detached cock. 
“N-... No…” he whimpered, bringing his palm up to his face and clapping it over his lips. “Not the spy. I can't-... I can't have the damn spy. They're a bloody marine, you fucking idiot,” he degraded himself further, rising from his bed and wiping his abdomen of the solidifying globs of sticky cum with his duvet. 
He reached his cock, staring at it as it looked like a pathetic, slobbering drunk as it lay in a pool of its own drool. He clicked his tongue at it, picking it up and dusting it off before reattaching it to his pelvis. Readjusting his balls, he found his red jumpsuit and messily thrust it over his body in one swell motion. Instead of throwing his arms through the sleeves, he tied the material around his waist and offered to remain shirtless. 
“Not the spy,” he whispered to himself as he exited his ornate living quarters at the Cross-Guild base. Making his way to the kitchen, he was halted by a soft hum reverberating around the room. 
A familiar somber tune painted the air with its melody, his eyes shutting and the corner of his mouth ticking up as he listened to the lyrics. Stepping into the room, he attempted to mask his nerves with his signature mischief written on his face. 
As he drew his eyes over your features, your back facing away and staring out the window by the sink, he couldn't help but have the mask of protection slip away. Your lips whispered the lyrics, your heart carried the tune. You were not in your marine uniform, nor were you adorning the attire Sir Crocodile purchased for your protection. 
You were dressed in simple, gray-coloured slacks that hung loosely around your hips. The top you were wearing was a cropped t-shirt with his Jolly Roger printed on the back. His lips parted in shock as he drank you in, listening to your soft singing and closing his eyes to experience it fully. 
Before he could manage to say a word to reveal his presence, your hums ceased and your voice lowly uttered your apologies. 
“Sorry, Captain Buggy,” you bow your head to him in greeting, “I was not assuming the three of you to be awake so early. If I bothered you with my noise, I apologize.”
“N-No bother,” he huffed your name and hastily gave his reply to you with a soft blush, “I-... I haven't heard that song since the old days. Way back when-... When Roger…” He trailed off, looking at a point just beyond your hips and against the sink beside you. 
“I love the old shanties,” you chased his gaze with your own, angling your chin down and attempting to pry his eyes up to meet yours, “They're either about drinking, fucking, or grieving.” Buggy met your gaze, grinning up at you with his teal eyes beaming. 
“Ah, two of my favorite pastimes,” he added his commentary, leaning in closer and a cheeky smile pulling at his cheeks, “I’m not one for fucking.” He shot you a wink, prompting you to laugh at his joke. Your laugh was music, each soft teeter was as radiant as a lilt from heavenly minstrels. After teetering off your laugh, he offered you a soft smile with his eyes wide and curious. 
“Would you mind…?” Buggy trailed off again, nervously clutching the back of his neck and cringing through his smile, “...Could you perhaps tell me why you decided to join us, again?” He released his hand from his neck and darted his eyes between yours. 
After taking a moment to collect your breath and mull over what it was he asked of you, shrugged and offered him a simple answer. 
“The Berry is good, and it’s mutually beneficial,” you nod at him, smiling with your answer, “You were the one who offered me a choice, remember?” Crossing your arms, you leaned your hips back on the sink and glared at him, “It was either: spy for the marines as a triple agent for your Cross-Guild with a livable wage, or have Crocodile or Mihawk take my head. I chose you, Captain.” 
As Buggy was reminded of his prior actions and offered you a sheepish smile in response. Stepping forward, he reached for your forearms and waited for you to flinch away or chastise him for such a soft gesture. In the wake of such a softness, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt your fingers interlace with his own and hold them beside him.
“You know, ‘m sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, looking to his toes and pouting his unpainted lips, “Didn’t mean t’ have it sound so bad.” You smiled in response, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze and angling your chin down to look at his uncovered fingers. 
“You know, you’re actually quite handsome,” you confessed in a breathy whisper, “The infamous Captain Buggy D Clown, genius jester, king of fools, and calamity of chaos.” You named his titles with a soft smile, looking up into his rainforest-colored eyes with such gentleness. 
“You-... You think I’m handsome?” He asked you, your soft laughter prompted his own to slip freely into the air. You unplaced your right hand from his left and cupped his cheek within your palm, running your fingers through his hair. 
“You’re usually dressed in makeup, with your long hair tucked under your hat,” you collected a strand between your fingers and rolled your thumb over the lengthy blue locks, “And, you usually don’t have this much skin revealed.” Looking down at his chest: his messy blue hair trailed down his chest, tapered off at his stomach, and picked up again like a cerulean trail leading to the assumed treasure beneath his red jumpsuit. 
“I’m not used to seeing this much of you, Captain,” you muffled, drawing your gaze back up to his with a rapidly broadening smile, “And I’m not mad about it.” Your eyes creased at the corners as you offered him a toothy grin in response to his vibrant blush.
The hue of his cheeks rivaled that of his nose and jumpsuit, his eyes almost weeping from the rapidly rising blood pooling in his face. His Adams apple bobbed at the compliment, gulping back a dry pit in his throat and swallowing it. 
“Y-You know,” he stuttered, chuckling to cover his nerves and squeezing your remaining hand in his in two short motions, “I… I take back my earlier sentiment, uh-... If you’re interested?” He continued stuttering and choking on his words as he clumsily cartwheeled around his intentions.
“Oh?” you smirked at him, raking your fingers through his hair and darting your eyes between his, “And what was your earlier sentiment again, Captain?” You trailed your fingers down to the end of his lengthy locks. 
He gulped his terror and humbled himself by offering you a short, huffed laugh. After taking a moment, his eyes twinkled in mischievous hope as he rejoined your eyes in a smiling gaze. 
“I am one for fucking…”
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Mihawk
Amber eyes stared in horror at the ceiling, wide and unblinking as he replayed the final moments over and over again in his mind. He drew his right hand down to grasp around the steel girth of his deflating cock and wield it in his firm grip. 
“I want that. I want you, lord Mihawk,” You whined his name as he pistoned his length deep within you in his mind's eye, “Please, I'm yours. Only yours.” His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes twitching but remaining staring vacantly at the ceiling. Thumbing over the prior release, he hissed in agitation the moment his fingers collected his viscous eruption. 
“How fatuous,” he snarled, raising his duvet once more from his waist, “So puerile.” His face remained vacant, his eyes holding only a touch more agitation than his usual persona as he walked to his ensuite shower. Turning the taps, he didn’t wait to feel the rise in water temperature. 
Stepping into the freezing water, he made no reaction as the icy liquid pelted at his skin; not even blinking to dampen his rapidly drying eyes. The water began to elevate in temperature as he released his cock from the grip. Gathering his sandalwood soap bar in his hands, he began lathering himself in foamy suds and washing over his body with his shock and shame still evident on his features.
The only time he closed his amber eyes was when he washed over his face, scrubbing at his whiskered chin and massaging his cheekbones. As soon as his eyes closed, he only saw your face contorted in pleasure, your ethereal moans freely haunting him in his ears. Shaking his head beneath the water, he only saw your face and imagined your hands clawing at his back beneath the water. 
Horror and shock eclipsed his eyes upon reopening, his eyes remaining that way as he concluded his shower, dried himself off, applied his cologne and skin care products, and dressed himself in his pants and greatcoat. His fingers stuttered over the lacing on his outer greatcoat, his lengthy necklace almost choking him as he placed it over his neck.
Almost stumbling into the dining space, he searched in his mind for a reason something so juvenile could occur for someone of his age, standing, and stature. He had gone for so long without taking a lover, he barely felt any lusting urges overcome him anymore. It didn’t suit his routine, his monotony, or his lifestyle as a former warlord. 
His apathetic and bored stature coming from a place of loneliness in his sovereignty as World's Greatest Swordsman. His achievements were already so vast, and he had nobody to share them with - nor a desire to begin a courtship with someone akin to his title. He had no time to take a lover, no time to indulge in whoring as it took away from his duties tending his garden in Kuraigana, and his bounty collecting as Marine-Hunter for Cross-Guild. 
So, why did his mind replay your pleasure over and over again in a loop of falsified memory? The marine spy, the confidant to cross-guild, the whispering oathbreaker; all the titles he sought to bestow you with. His hands reached for the bottle in front of him, clasping the green glass in his hands and uncorking the waxy tip. Pouring the rouge liquid into a crystalline glass, he felt a presence to the side of him.
“Could you spare a glass for me, my lord?” your soft susurration drew his attention back to the present, prompting his eyes to flicker to you. He witnessed your soft smile, your gaze assessing his face and shoulders.
Wordlessly, he reached for another glass and began readying it for you. The dry liquid coated the glass, a soft drop spilling from the rim and down the stem which caused you to knit your brows in concern. 
“Everything okay, my lord?” you asked, reaching for a napkin and beginning to clean up the mess, “You seem out of sorts this morning. Berry for your thoughts?” You dabbed at the table with the wafer-thin paper and tidied up his spill without a second thought. His eyes followed your motions, almost viewing the dabs in slow motion the longer your hands lingered near him. 
His silence seemed to perplex you further, turning your shoulders and leaning your hips back against the marble counter and staring up into his unblinking eyes in response. His shaking hands reached for his wineglass and drew it up to his lips. His mustache dipped into the liquid, messily staining his upper lip with the tart tannins. 
Gazing at his shoulders, you noticed a loop of his shoulder straps seeming to bubble within the corseted lacings, your hands absentmindedly straightening the bonds without much thought. Mihawk choked on his liquid the moment your hands brushed against his shoulders. 
Feeling the warmth float from your fingertips to the exposed skin beneath the weighty jacket, his eyes widened briefly and his pupils narrowed in an accusatory glare. Huffing a nervous laugh as his soft choke and shaking your head, you reached behind you to the pile of napkins and began to raise it to his face and lightly pat at his stained skin. 
Reactionary, he immediately placed his glass down behind you with his right hand, his left clapped around your invasive wrist in a circled vice-grip. Your breath caught in your throat, darting your eyes around his face with your eyes wide and panicked. He immediately drew his face forward and captured your lips beneath his without restraint. He hummed into your lips, raising his right hand and carding his fingers through your hair to deepen the passion.
Lips, tongue, and teeth pulled and tugged at your mouth from the swordsman, his gentle moans and sharp breaths depicting his wanton need to join himself with you immediately. He was pent up for so long, restrained for so long, and his body betrayed him in a shameful display in his dreams as proxy to such desire. If his overnight visit from you as his midnight muse spoke for anything, it was that his needs were now becoming more insistent, prominent, and desperate to be satiated. 
And you were who he wanted to aid him in such a task. 
Your hands raised defensively beside you, your eyes were wide and staring at his furrowed brow and tightly clamped eyes. He continued pressing heated and passionate kisses against your lips with gusto. Not giving you time to adjust or react, he anchored himself between your legs and pinned you against the marble dining station. Lips trailing to your cheek and down your neck, he bit, nipped and sucked at your revealed skin. 
His hands looped around your neck and shoulders, drawing you against him with an incessant need to depict to you his desires with his unyielding grip. You gasped as his lips traced up your skin and returned to your lips, your hands dropping to brace yourself beside you on the marble surface. 
Pulling his lips away, he held your face stationary by palming at the scruff of your neck and holding your attention with his honey-colored eyes. His predatory gaze narrowed in on you as his bruise-kissed lips ticked up in his signature smirk. 
“There,” he snarled at you in soft agitation, before releasing your neck. He collected his wineglass and green bottle from behind you, keeping his face in close proximity. His smirk drew up further as he turned to walk away from you. 
Calling over his shoulder, he snickered his taunting remark at you before leaving through the door, “Now I can occupy your thoughts the same way you've been tormenting me in mine.” 
You stood there stunned, frozen in place as your lips still tingled with the feeling of his against yours. The silky scrape of his neatly cropped beard tickling your cheeks, the way his tongue brushed with yours, and the animalistic desire to consume you with his lust had your soul ignited. 
Turning to the marble bench, you claimed your wineglass and raised it to your lips, immediately gulping back the tart liquid in a heaping swig. Placing the glass in the sink, you stared at the door Mihawk just left through, your thoughts spiraling and sifting through all the possible scenarios of what his words meant, and what the kiss means for you now. 
Only Mihawk knew what he intended with the kiss, and after the morning meeting, he was going to give into his desires further and offer you a place in his bed to have his dreams become reality. 
2K notes · View notes
d-z20 · 11 days ago
Text
Resistance is Futile (NSFW)
Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader
Summary: Agatha and Rio have claimed you as their pet but you're not going down without a fight and are defiant to their advances. The two witches are undeterred and keep trying, knowing they'll break you eventually
- OR -
They've finally grown tired of your reluctance, they fuck you with their magic strap-ons until you can't think (or walk)
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, Top Agatha, Top Rio, Pet Reader, dub-conish, reader refered to with she/her pronouns, magic straps, magically enhanced orgasms, voyeurism, breeding, marking, degradation, praise, magical restraints, Agatha and Rio are dark in this universe, kind of stockholm syndrome, overstimulation, possession/ownership, throat fucking, cum as lube, maybe more who knows
Words: 4.4k
A/N: So in my head the magic straps in this are like similar vibes to Celestial Agatha in What If so you know: gay and powerful. It's easy to see how Rio got Agatha pregnant. Fic req
AO3 | Masterlist
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You were not going to make this easy for them. That much was clear. The long, shadowed corridors of Agatha’s lair feel like a prison, but you don’t care. No, your defiance is all you have left—the only thing that gives you any semblance of control in a world where you are nothing more than their possession, their thing, their pet.
At least, that’s what you tell yourself to survive.
Agatha’s eyes follow you as you pace, her gaze calculating and predatory. Rio sits at the table, arms crossed, her sharp smile never wavering. Their attention feels like a weight pressing against your skin, heavy and suffocating, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
“You think you can defy us forever?” Agatha asks, her voice low and honeyed, sliding under your skin like a blade. “You think you can stay strong in this cage of your own making?”
You stop in your tracks, meeting her gaze with fiery resolve. “I’m not your pet,” you spit, defiance simmering in your voice.
Agatha chuckles, rich and dark, the sound curling through the air like smoke. “I’ve seen stronger wills break under pressure. Yours will too. Just wait.”
Her words are a subtle threat that lingers in the air, but you refuse to let her see the sting. “We’ll see,” you mutter, arms crossing over your chest as if to shield yourself from the weight of her gaze.
Rio’s grin widens as she leans forward, her sharp eyes studying you like a puzzle she’s dying to solve. “You know,” she muses, her voice smooth as silk, “you make this so much more fun than it needs to be. But I think you’re wrong about one thing. You are ours.”
Days bleed into weeks, and every moment feels like a war. They test you constantly. Punishments come as sharp reminders of your place—subtle and precise—but they’re always followed by praise that’s just as cutting. Agatha’s actions are cruel and calculated, leaving you trembling with exhaustion but too stubborn to yield. Rio’s methods are softer, more insidious, sinking under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch.
“I’ve seen stronger witches than you fall apart,” Agatha muses one evening, her fingers tracing the sigil that glows faintly on your wrist. The magic embedded in it burns, sparking through your veins like electricity, and you barely manage to suppress the flinch. “What makes you so special?”
You refuse to scream; you won’t give them the satisfaction.
“This supposed to break me?” You sneer, voice shaky but defiant. “Because it’s not working.”
Her lips curl, amusement dancing in her sharp eyes. “You think you’re strong? Maybe. But strength is nothing without control.”
Rio stands in the doorway, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “She’s right,” she says, her voice velvet and steel. “Strength alone won’t save you when you’re as lost as you are. But you could find control... with us.”
You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I don’t need either of you.”
But the look they exchange, the promise and challenge flickering between them, makes your chest tighten.
A week later, they come to you together. Agatha’s magic is constant, clinging to you like smoke, pervasive, and invasive. Rio’s touch is gentle yet commanding; her movements slow and deliberate, as though she’s teaching your body how to respond to her. You hate how easily it works.
It begins with something small. Agatha’s fingers brush over the curve of your neck, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “So defiant,” she purrs, her voice a dark promise. “But I see cracks in your armour.”
Your breath catches, and you hate yourself for it. The pressure of their presence is overwhelming, making your head swim. Rio steps closer, her hand lightly brushing against yours, her grin dangerous and knowing. “Maybe we’re getting somewhere after all.”
The next night, they return. Agatha’s magic binds your movements, a reminder of the power she wields over you. Rio removes the physical restraints, her hands steady and deliberate, as though she’s peeling away the layers of your resistance. You fight, struggling against the invisible force that holds you still, but it doesn’t stop them.
And for the first time, you start to wonder if you even want them to.
It’s late when the breaking point comes. You stand in front of them, all your defences stripped bare, the cracks in your resolve widening by the second. Agatha’s gaze is unwavering, sharp enough to pierce through every wall you’ve built.
“You can’t keep hiding from us,” she snarls, her voice low and commanding, threading through you like a spell. “You’re ours. The sooner you accept it, the sooner we can turn pain into pleasure.”
Your head shakes, but there’s a tremor in your voice you can’t mask. “I’m not yours.”
“You are.” Her words are a whisper, a command, and they press down on you like a weight you can’t escape. Your knees weaken, and you gasp, overwhelmed by the sheer power of her presence.
Rio steps closer, her hand curling around your arm in a grip that’s both firm and comforting. Her touch sends a shiver racing through you as she tilts her head, her voice a soft murmur. “Stop fighting it. Stop pretending this isn’t what you need.”
Their proximity is suffocating. Your body trembles with desire, with the ache of something deep inside you finally breaking free. The walls you’ve spent weeks fortifying come crumbling down in a single moment.
“Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the weight of surrender.
Agatha’s lips curve into a slow, knowing smile. She steps forward, her hand settling at the back of your neck, her fingers cool against your skin as she pulls you toward her. Her kiss is slow and deliberate, a claim that leaves you breathless. The taste of her is intoxicating, and it leaves you reeling.
Rio’s laughter is soft and low as she moves behind you, her hands settling on your hips. “There she is,” she muses, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin, sending a jolt through your body that makes you curse under your breath.
“Fuck you both,” you manage to hiss, but the heat in your voice betrays you.
Agatha pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, her thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Such a sharp tongue,” she says, almost to herself, as if considering how best to silence it. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
With a flick of her fingers, magic courses through you, curling around your wrists and pulling them above your head. The force isn’t rough, but it’s unyielding, holding you firmly as glowing tendrils bind you in place. Your pulse pounds as Agatha steps back, her eyes raking over you like she’s admiring a masterpiece.
Rio’s hands slide to the hem of your shirt, and with a whispered word, the fabric disappears, leaving your skin bare and exposed. Her palms are cold as they trail over your stomach, her nails scraping lightly against your ribs.
“Is this supposed to impress me?” You snap, though your voice is breathless and uneven.
Rio laughs again, the sound rich and dark. “No, sweetheart,” she purrs. “This is supposed to ruin you.”
Agatha’s magic shifts again, a tangible wave of heat brushing against your skin, making you arch involuntarily as it settles low in your abdomen. Her fingers move through the air, weaving invisible patterns, and you feel it—a phantom touch tracing up your thighs, teasing, testing. Your breath hitches, and you tug against the restraints, hating the way your body reacts to the sensation.
“You’re trembling,” Agatha observes, her voice silk and steel. “Tell me, pet—are you afraid? Or just desperate?”
“Go to hell,” you snap, but the words sound weaker now, edged with something you don’t want to acknowledge.
Rio’s hands move lower, her touch firm as her fingers hook into your waistband. Another muttered spell, and your clothing vanishes completely, leaving you bare under their gaze. Her nails rake lightly against your inner thigh, drawing a shudder from you that you can’t suppress.
“Look at her,” Rio murmurs to Agatha, her voice heavy with satisfaction. “So defiant, but her body knows better.”
Agatha steps closer, her hand ghosting over your chest, her magic lacing every movement with electricity. When her fingers brush your skin, it’s as if she’s leaving a trail of heat in her wake, her touch deliberate and possessive. “Let’s see how long you can keep up this act,” she says, her voice low and commanding.
You’re trembling now, every nerve alight as their magic weaves through your senses, blurring the line between pain and pleasure, control and surrender. Every touch feels amplified, every breath stolen, until all you can do is cling to the last threads of resistance—and even those are slipping through your fingers.
Agatha’s magic pulses, a living thing coiling around your body, dragging sensations across your skin that feel like whispers and lightning all at once. Her lips are back on yours, devouring, commanding, and pulling you deeper into her orbit. The taste of her is heady, and it leaves you reeling, your legs trembling as if the floor beneath you has given way.
Behind you, Rio’s hands continue their slow, maddening exploration. Her fingers dig into your hips, grounding you just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. Her mouth is at your neck now, lips pressing hot kisses against your skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes you gasp.
"Such pretty sounds," Rio mumbles, her voice dripping with amusement as her hands slide down, teasing at the edges of where you want her most. "And you’re trying so hard to hold back. It’s adorable, really."
Your jaw tightens, but your body betrays you, hips twitching under her touch. “I hate you,” you breathe, though the words lack conviction, each syllable faltering as Agatha tilts your chin up to meet her sharp, knowing gaze.
“Hate?” Agatha repeats, her tone mocking as her thumb traces along your jaw. "No, pet, what you hate is how much you want this. How much you need it."
Her words settle over you like a weight, and the truth burns. You jerk against the glowing binds holding your wrists above your head, but the magic only tightens, pulling you taut and vulnerable between them. The heat of Agatha’s magic licks over your skin, and your breath hitches as the phantom touch returns—this time teasing higher, brushing against your inner thighs in a way that makes you bite back a whimper.
“Such a stubborn little thing,” Agatha muses, her fingers brushing over your chest, her nails scraping lightly. "But look at you now—shaking like a leaf, your body begging for more even while you try so hard to keep that sharp tongue of yours.”
Rio’s hands press against your thighs, urging them apart, her touch firm and deliberate. "Let’s see if we can help her find her manners,” she says with a smirk. “Think we should ruin her properly this time?”
Agatha hums in agreement, her magic shifting in intensity, winding tighter around you. The phantom sensation becomes sharper, more precise, brushing against your sensitive clit, drawing a cry from your lips that you can’t suppress. Agatha’s smile widens. “Oh, darling. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Let’s hear more.”
You stutter out a curse, but it dissolves into a gasp as Rio’s mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, her teeth leaving marks that send heat racing through your veins. Her hands, firm and demanding, leave no part of you untouched, tracing patterns down your sides, across your stomach, and lower still.
“Such a mess,” Rio murmurs, her voice heavy with satisfaction as her nails rake over your thighs, making you jerk. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. Just admit it—you like being our plaything.”
“Fuck—fuck you,” you stammer, though the heat in your voice betrays you, every word trembling with desperation.
Agatha laughs softly, the sound rich and dangerous, her magic surging in response. The phantom touch turns relentless, teasing, and tormenting, and you arch involuntarily, a broken moan spilling from your lips. Your knees buckle, but Rio’s hands are there, steadying you, holding you exactly where they want you.
“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, leaning in to press her lips against the corner of your mouth. “Let go, pet. Let us take you apart.”
Rio’s fingers find you again, slipping between your thighs with devastating precision, and your head falls back against her shoulder as your body betrays you completely. “There she is,” Rio murmurs, her voice a low growl in your ear. “Knew you couldn’t hold out forever.”
Your breath comes in ragged gasps, the world spinning as Agatha steps closer, her hands cupping your face to make you meet her gaze. “Look at me, Y/N,” she commands, her voice leaving no room for disobedience. “I want to see the moment you break.”
You can’t fight it anymore. The sensations are too much—the heat of their touch, the pull of Agatha’s magic, the way Rio’s fingers work you with merciless expertise. Your body trembles violently, and you cry out, shattering under their combined efforts.
But they don’t stop.
Agatha’s magic shifts again, coaxing another wave of pleasure from you before you’ve even recovered from the first. Rio’s hands are unrelenting, her touch alternating between rough and gentle, keeping you on edge, leaving you helpless against the onslaught.
“Pathetic,” Rio says, her tone gleeful as she watches your body twitch and tremble. “Completely undone. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
You try to respond, but all that escapes is a broken moan, your voice cracking as your knees finally give out. Only the magical binds and Rio’s grip keep you upright as Agatha’s lips brush against your ear. “You’re ours, Y/N,” she whispers, the words sinking into your very core.
With a flick of her fingers, Agatha adjusts the magic holding you in place. The binds shift, no longer just keeping you upright but suspending you in midair, as if resting on an invisible bed. The sensation is strange but oddly comforting, the magic cradling your weight effortlessly. Your arms remain bound above you, leaving you completely exposed.
Rio moves to stand by your head, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead as she smirks down at you. Meanwhile, Agatha positions herself at your feet, her glowing eyes raking over you as though admiring her handiwork.
Agatha’s smirk grows as she steps closer, her fingers glowing faintly with her signature purple magic. “We’ll start slow,” her voice a soft caress, though the wicked glint in her eyes promises anything but gentleness. Her hand slides between your legs, her touch precise and knowing, and you can’t stop the sharp inhale as her fingers begin to work you open.
“Relax, pet,” she whispers, her voice low and commanding, as her other hand moves to your thigh, holding you steady even as the magic does most of the work.
At the same time, Rio hooks her fingers under your chin, tilting your face up to meet her gaze. “Open,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. You hesitate for the briefest moment, but the commanding heat in her eyes makes resistance futile. Slowly, you part your lips.
“Good girl,” Rio purrs, her magic flaring as A glowing, dark strap materializes at her hips. Without hesitation, she guides herself into your mouth, her grip firm as she sets a punishing pace. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch and weight of her filling you completely as Agatha’s fingers curl inside you, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.
“You’re taking us so well,” Agatha coos, her tone mocking yet almost affectionate. Her thumb brushes over your sensitive bundle of nerves, her movements deliberate as she stretches you open. “See, Rio? She’s learning her place.”
Rio hums in agreement, her hips rocking forward, forcing you to take her deeper. “She’s a quick learner,” she mutters, her tone dripping with amusement. “But I think she can do better.” Her hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as she thrusts into your throat, her breath hitching with each movement. The magic allows her to feel everything, and her low moans of pleasure send heat pooling low in your stomach.
Tears prick your eyes, and your throat protests, but you push through, the weight of their control pressing down on you until you’re trembling under their combined attention. Agatha’s fingers curl, hitting a spot inside you that makes you cry out around Rio, your body jerking in response. Rio groans, the sound rough and needy as her hips stutter, the magic amplifying every sensation as she pushes herself closer to the edge.
Her breath hitches, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her throat as she pulls back abruptly. “Fuck,” she rasps, her voice breaking with raw need as her strap pulses in your mouth, just shy of her release. She withdraws with a deliberate slowness, her eyes dark with satisfaction as she grips the base of her strap.
Rio circles you with slow, measured steps, her predatory gaze dragging over your trembling form as she moves to stand by Agatha. “Switching places for a moment, darling,” she smirks as she traces her fingers along your calf. Agatha just chuckles, her magic flaring as her own glowing strap begins to materialise at her hips, its sleek, enchanted form matching the dangerous glint in her eyes.
With a shuddering exhale, Rio begins to jerk herself off, her movements slow at first but growing more desperate as her climax quickly builds again. The room fills with the sound of her ragged breaths and low, throaty groans, the raw need in her voice making your own pulse race. As her release finally hits, a long, drawn-out groan tears from her throat. Her body trembling with the intensity of her orgasm as she cums all over your pussy. “A little something to make things easier for you, darling.” Rio says after a moment, her voice husky as she steps back, her satisfaction evident in the smug grin curling her lips.
“How thoughtful of you,” Agatha chuckles, her hand aligning the tip of her strap against your entrance, which was now dripping with a mix of your arousal and Rio’s cum. “Let’s see how well our little pet takes it.”
The stretch is slow and deliberate as Agatha pushes into you, the slickness making it easier, though no less overwhelming. She fills you completely, her hips moving in slow, devastating thrusts that leave you gasping and trembling. “That’s it,” she whispers, her hands gripping your thighs as her rhythm builds. “Take it all. Good pet.”
Rio’s eyes glint with hunger as she watches, arms crossed and shoulders relaxed as though she isn’t buzzing with anticipation. Her lips curl into a sly smile as Agatha sets the pace, each thrust precise and devastating. "Look at her,” Rio remarks, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Already such a mess. She’s perfect like this. Just for us."
Agatha’s answering laugh is low and sultry, her grip on your thighs tightening as she drives into you with more force. Each movement sends jolts of pleasure tearing through your body, amplified by the hum of her magic. She leans down, her breath warm against your neck, and you feel the sharp graze of her teeth. A shiver runs through you as she bites down, hard enough to leave her mark.
“She needs more,” Agatha purrs, her voice laced with wicked amusement. “Doesn’t she, Rio?”
Rio hums in agreement, stepping behind you. Her hands glide over your trembling form, possessive and firm as she tilts your head back, exposing your throat. "Let’s make sure she doesn’t forget who she belongs to," she hums, her lips brushing your ear before sinking her teeth into the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. The sharp sting pulls a broken moan from your lips, and you feel the curve of her smile against your skin.
“Tell us who owns you,” Agatha demands, her voice sharp and commanding as she drives into you with unrelenting force. Her magic courses through you, burning in all the right ways, overwhelming your senses until you’re teetering on the edge of another orgasm.
“Y-you,” you stammer, the word barely a whisper as your body trembles under her onslaught.
“And?” Her pace quickens, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.
“Rio,” you gasp, tears streaking your cheeks as your release builds, unbearable and all-consuming.
Agatha hums in satisfaction, her movements growing rougher as her own breath hitches. The magic connects her to every sensation—the friction and heat dragging a deep, guttural moan from her throat. “Good girl,” she groans, her voice strained with pleasure. With a particularly deep thrust, she sends you tumbling over the edge. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cum tonight, as a fresh climax hits with an intensity that leaves you sobbing, the pleasure tearing through you until you’re left trembling, every muscle quivering with aftershocks.
But Agatha doesn’t stop. She presses deeper, drawing out every last spark of sensation, her own shuddering release building as she feels you clenching around her. An almost feral growl escapes her as her hips snap forward in one final thrust, her movements stilling as you feel her twitching inside you, magic amplifying the waves of her release. Her grip tightens on your thighs, her nails digging into your skin as her body shudders against yours.
When she finally pulls back, her breath comes in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she stands tall, a smug, satisfied smirk curling her lips. “Mine,” she murmurs, her voice heavy with possession, as her fingers trail over the fresh marks she’s left on your skin, her touch lingering like a brand. A slick, warm sensation follows as her release drips out of you, a vivid reminder of the claim she’s just staked.
Rio steps forward then, her hands sliding up and down your trembling thighs, her touch deliberate as if savouring every inch of you. She hums softly, her lips quirking in amusement as she watches Agatha’s cum trickle down. “Messy,” she remarks with a low chuckle, her tone almost mocking.
Leaning in, Rio gathers it on her fingers and pushes it back inside you, her grin widening as you gasp at the intrusion. “Can’t let that go to waste,” she purrs, her tone thick with satisfaction.
Only then does she line herself up fully, her hands gripping your hips tightly as she thrusts into you with brutal precision. The pace is relentless from the start, her hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that leaves no room for reprieve.
“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Rio growls, her head tipping back as she buries herself in deeper. Her pace is relentless, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure crashing through you. Her nails dig into your hips, and she drags you back against her, forcing you to take her deeper still, making you cry out in pleasure. “I thought you were defiant,” she mocks, her voice dripping with dark amusement. “And yet, now you’re practically begging for it.”
All you can manage is a broken moan, your body arching into her as the pleasure blurs the edges of your thoughts. Every thrust leaves you gasping, every scrape of her nails and bite of her teeth reducing you further. Rio leans down, her teeth grazing your shoulder before biting hard enough to make you cry out. "That’s right," she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “You’re ours to ruin.”
Her movements become erratic, her breaths ragged as she slams her hips into you, every twitch of your already overstimulated cunt pushing her closer to the edge. “Fuck,” Rio hisses, her voice breaking as her hips snap forward, her own release tearing through her with a force that leaves her trembling. She holds you tight, her head dropped back in pure ecstasy, a rough groan escaping her throat as the magic amplifies every pulse and throb of your body around her.
Rio doesn’t pull out immediately, instead grinding her hips against you, dragging out the sensations until both of your bodies finally stop twitching. Her chest rises and falls heavily, and she leans forward, pressing a possessive kiss to the curve of your shoulder before straightening and calling over her wife. ���Come here, my love.”
She adjusts her position, kneeling between your legs, her hands firm on your thighs as she spreads them wider to give Agatha a clear view. “Look at this,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement as she watches their combined release trickling from your thoroughly used body. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
Agatha’s sharp eyes gleam with approval as she steps closer, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk. “Absolutely perfect,” she purrs, crossing her arms as she leans in slightly, watching intently as Rio moves between your legs.
Rio’s tongue flicks out, her movements slow and deliberate as she begins to ‘clean you up,’ her warm, wet strokes collecting every drop of their cum. The sensation is unbearable, the overstimulation pushing your body past its limits as each pass of her tongue sends sharp jolts of pleasure and pain coursing through you.
“P-please,” you stutter, your voice cracking, but your plea only earns a low chuckle from Rio as her hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place.
“Shhh, pet,” Rio whispers against your skin, her breath warm as she continues her slow, torturous movements. “We’re not done until we say we’re done.”
Your body jerks under her attention, the overstimulation finally cresting into another peak that crashes through you with devastating force. Your release hits like a thunderclap, leaving you sobbing and trembling as Rio licks you clean, her tongue never missing a single drop.
By the time Rio is finished having her fun, you’re a trembling, stuttering mess, every shred of resistance melted away. They’ve undone you completely, your body and mind utterly spent. As Agatha waves a hand, the magical restraints dissolve, and you slump forward, only for Rio to catch your limp form.
“Good girl,” Agatha affirms, her voice soft yet laced with smug satisfaction as she strokes your hair.
Rio hums her agreement, her arms tightening around you as she presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re ours now,” she whispers, her voice filled with possessive pride.
And in the haze of pleasure and surrender, you don’t argue.
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I told myself I'd get the next chapter of Neighbourly Care out before New Years but then this fic possessed me. Oh well, if I managed to get my degrees by writing everything the night before I can certainly do the same for my fics 😤😤
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Taglist: @danveration @aceday @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @sunshine-makes-flowers-grow @gbab09 @vigilante24ish @marvelwomenarehot0
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thelov3lybookworm · 22 days ago
Text
Flicker Out
Summary: Azriel's chest becomes hollow, and the place where once love bloomed, only emptiness remained.
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Word Count: 1950
Warnings: angst, angst, death (but she comes back) az in agony, a lil bit of me being poetic ofc 🤭 did i mention angst? oh and more angst and angst
A/n: based on this request by an anon. i adore this request and it was litterally one of my fav ones to write. i just couldnt stop writing once i started tbh 🥹
(@potatoplace this is the fic i mentioned hehehe 🤭😏)
anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭
°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°
There was almost nothing that could distract Azriel when he was locked in battle. He could not afford to let his mind stray from plotting the next defence, the next manoeuvre, the next attack. It was almost similar to a dance, except he did not know the song and hated his partner, and he also had to be mindful of anyone who might attack him while he was focused on this waltz between life and death.
The soldier whose sword had come within an inch of Azriel’s throat- only the second one since the battle began, unsurprisingly- sneered at Azriel, his teeth stained red and almost half of his face slashed by a vicious stab wound.
Azriel almost pitied the male. Almost. And only because he knew a thing or two about having untreatable scars after escaping the clutches of death.
Still, Azriel heaved his whole body weight against his sword forcing the soldier to yield a step. Azriel’s eyes moved quickly, searching for places the soldier might have left open for him to attack, and gleefully, Azriel noted that his ribs were open. His armour seemed to have chipped off in a corner, and seemed a size entirely too big.
That’s stupid, but good for me.
Azriel moved his blade away from his opponents, swiftly bringing it down to the side of his ribs. The blade had almost touched the male’s unarmoured body when Azriel faltered.
Too empty.
Void.
How?
Azriel breathed in, his eyes losing their focus before a sharp sting brought his attention to the dagger that now seemed to have befriended the skin and bones of his thigh. He looked up, feeling the blood drain from the wound on his thigh- though the concern was in the back of his mind- and his heart. The place where constant love from his mate flowed, a gaping wound had appeared. That hurt more than any fatal wound to his body could.
How?
Azriel did not see nor hear anything around him, his consciousness too busy scrambling to figure out why he could no longer feel her. But it was the warrior instincts in him that his peers had drilled into him, making him instinctively raise his sword, eyes slowly moving to meet the spooked gaze of his enemy, and within the moment, those same eyes stared up at the open, vast sky, unseeing and unfeeling.
But Azriel was already bolting towards where he had felt the last pump of love coming from, and nothing and no one, even the mother, could have stopped him from cutting through the soldiers trying to get in his way as smoothly and viciously as a hot knife cut through butter.
Y/n. Please.
Azriel’s chest heaved, tiny needles stinging his sides and the muscles in his thigh protesting, but still, he ran. Ran towards his love, the one he doubted but refused to admit was…
Gone.
Azriel spread his wings, despite knowing it would just drain his energy faster. He could not walk through his shadows either. They were tired too. Running took too much out of him, and flying would take him to her faster, even if it hurt his muscles and wounded wings.
Please. Just please stay.
From the height his wings took him to, he looked around, and then leaned forward, gliding through the air and riding the breeze that took him closer to where his mate was.
The first thing he saw was a small crowd of his family members. Mainly, Rhys, Feyre and Cassian. The second thing he saw as he touched the ground was the cauldron.
And then…
Y/n.
She lay motionless on the ground, staring up at the sky.
And in that moment, Azriel didn’t care that Rhys stood over his sister’s body, crying. Azriel did not care that his family members who did not know of his relationship with Y/n stared at him wide eyed as he pushed them away from her.
He simply dropped to his knees, his thigh protesting. But he gently grabbed Y/n’s cold hand, his own scarred ones shaking and covered in blood. He let loose a ragged breath, eyes filling up with water as he stared into the empty gaze of his beloved.
He screamed.
A loud, wordless scream ripped from his chest, the sheer pain and longing and regret echoing through the battlefield, even worlds not his own. His heart no longer beat in that familiar, unnoticeable rhythm people come to ignore most of the time, instead beating like a wardrum.
Hollow and empty, but still too loud for him to not hear.
Where once love bloomed, only sadness and pain remained, and Azriel continued screaming.
When he could no longer scream, he weeped.
He let his forehead rest on his mate’s chest, and he wept. Deep, sorrowful sobs ripping from his throats. They were as deep and powerful and soft as his love for his mate.
And when he couldn’t weep, he whimpered. Sorry, quiet whimpers resembling the silence and lack of warmth in his body and the bond that had once tied the bridge between two souls. The sounds escaping him were low, almost silent, but they were just as loud and impactful as his silent love for Y/n when they could not afford to love freely and loudly.
Azriel’s shadows had regained enough of their power to brush against his ears, his hair and shoulder like Y/n’s hands had once touched him, gentle and soothing and calming.
But there was no calming now, for the storm rising from the shattered pieces of his heart would no longer let him live in peace.
The only peace for him now was death and burial with his beloved.
"Az." The unmistakable shakiness in Rhysand’s voice made Azriel raise his head and meet the sorrowful eyes on his friend.
Azriel said nothing, only letting his eyes wander and take in the crowd that had only grown bigger since he had arrived. The high lords, all seven of them, stared down at him, some with tears in their eyes, like Rhysand, Helion and Tarquin. Some with empathy and pity, like Thesan and Kallias. And then some with quiet sadness and understanding, like Tamlin and Beron.
Under other circumstances, Azriel would have wondered why Beron looked like he knew and had been through what Azriel was experiencing, but in the moment as he tightened his grip around his mate’s hand and curled closer to her cooling body, he could not care less.
"Az," Rhys repeated. "What are you doing?"
But Rhys looked like he already knew what Azriel was doing. So Azriel said nothing, just let his forehead go back to resting on her shoulder.
Muffled words surrounded Azriel, but he heard none of them as he focused on somehow reaching his mate. There must be some way, some sort of… connection to bring her back. Maybe her lingering soul.
Something, anything.
Moments later, Azriel felt a familiar hand grip his shoulder. Despite his lack of will to look at the person, he lifted his head slightly to meet Cassian’s gaze.
"Move back, they’re trying to bring her back."
Azriel stared at Cassian, the words looping in his head for a moment before he could truly process them, then he nodded and scooted back. It was almost unrealistic, but still, Azriel was a drowning male and the hope a wood plank that he latched on without thought.
Azriel watched as Rhysand stepped forward and lifted his hand, staring at it for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks before he turned his hand, a drop of moonlight dropping straight onto Y/n’s chest.
All the high lords took turns repeating the action one after another, and Azriel watched numbly, still on his knees on the ground, refusing to lose hope but at the same time forcing himself to not hope.
At last, Tamlin stepped away from Y/n’s body, and Azriel leaned forward, his eyes wide as he waited for that feeling to take root in his chest again, the one he had cherished for the past ten years.
But nothing happened for a long moment, and the flame of hope that had begun warming his insides began to flicker out.
"Rhys." Azriel mumbled, his voice cracking. "What happened? Why is she not…"
"Oh Az." Cassian whispered, wrapping an arm around Azriel’s shoulder from the back.
Azriel just stared at her. "Why?"
Long moments passed, and then…
There.
Life.
Just life, pure and untainted, began glowing at the end of the bond, and Azriel laughed.
He laughed, tears pouring from his eyes.
"Az?"
It took Azriel a while to form the two words he uttered, the smile on his face making it impossible to speak.
"She’s back."
Azriel felt Rhysand’s gaze on him, but after Y/n’s eyes slid closed, his gaze was ripped away.
Then Y/n opened her eyes again, blinking twice before her eyes found Azriel’s, unprompted and instinctive.
"Hey." She whispered, and Azriel laughed again. He leaped forward and tackled her into a hug, his hands shaking worse than they had before.
"Hey." He whispered in her ear, and she giggled, patting his back before she stopped suddenly.
"Az… Rhys."
Azriel pulled away, glancing up. He did not care about what Rhys might do to him anymore, considering he had very nearly lost his mate without even having the chance to scream and proclaim his love for her from the tops of Velaris’s mountains like he had sworn to her he would one day. Rhys’s wrath was the least of his worries.
Everyone who was not a part of the inner circle had departed while Azriel had been busy breathing in the fact that Y/n was alive, that she was here. Rhysand stood with his arms folded against his chest, in that protective stance every brother had when it came to their sisters.
But there was that slight tilt to the corner of his lips, a happiness in his stern eyes.
Azriel could not tell if it was because of Y/n being alive or something else.
"Uh…" Y/n mumbled, sitting up. "Hey, Rhys."
He sighed, rubbing his brows as Azriel helped Y/n stand. He quietly stepped forward and gathered his little sister in his arms, holding her close to his heart as Azriel watched, his chest feeling full again.
Though a certain hollowness lingered, and Azriel almost knew it would follow him around like the ghost of his past.
Rhysand pulled away, holding the back of Y/n’s head.
"I don’t know what you two have been up to, and frankly, I don’t think I even want to know, but I will not interfere. When you’re ready, I want to know everything." He glanced at Azriel, the single glance telling Azriel he would have been ten feet under ground by now if his sister was not watching.
Azriel dipped his head, gaze moving back to Y/n. She smiled at him, reaching out to take his hands.
Rhys turned to Feyre, taking her hand too. "Freshen up, rest. Then we’ll talk."
Cassian was already gone, left to find Nesta by the time Rhys winnowed Feyre away. Azriel turned fully to Y/n then.
"Don’t you dare do that again."
She giggled, grabbing his collar and pulling him down. She pecked his cheek, then turned her head to rest it against his chest as he lifted his arms in a practised motion to hold her close.
"Will try."
He pinched her waist, making her squeal. He savoured the simplicity of the moment before pecking the crown of her head.
"I love you, Y/n."
The bond flickered.
And stayed.
°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°
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phantomwithbreakfast · 2 months ago
Text
~ Scarred For Half A Life ~
DP Phan Fic.
[“You want to see a danger? You should see me in a crown.”]
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So uh—this is a scene I have in mind for my story. Because of the song, yes!
I mean, I already wrote it down, to add later on into the story! And I was really enthusiastic about it, so I drew Danny with a crown. An ugly crown (because it’s made out of paper). [sketch lurking at the bottom]
If you want you can read and follow it! But—BEWARE!
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Genre: Angst / Hurt And Comfort (and a little Horror)
AU — OOC
Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress — Violence — Graphic Content
Rating: M
———————
Summary:
Danny had been captured by the GiW once again, or so he thinks. Leaving him feeling utterly helpless—vulnerable. There was nothing he could do. What will happen to him? And why again? (Summary might change as the story goes on)
———————
So, this is a piece of that potential chapter:
“Wait! Don’t move. I want to take a picture!” Jazz exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
Danny groaned, rolling his eyes. “Seriously? A picture? What are you, my dad?”
Jazz ignored his protest, already angling the camera toward him. “Come on, Danny, it’s your birthday. Let me have this.”
He sighed, slouching slightly. “Fine, but make it quick. And don’t expect me to smile like an idiot.”
Jazz smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re already an idiot. The crown just completes the look.”
Danny couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his lips as she snapped the photo, capturing him sitting there with the gold paper crown tilted slightly on his head, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his glowing green eyes.
“There,” Jazz said triumphantly, glancing at the picture on her phone. “Perfect. I’m definitely keeping this one.”
———————
And a piece of the scene with the song in my head that plays in the background:
“Phantom,” she said icily, her voice like a blade. “You’re not my son. You’re a danger. I was merciful letting you stay this long.”
That was it. That was the final crack that shattered the fragile restraint Danny had been holding onto. His aura flared violently, glowing with an intense, cold light that filled the room, making the shadows dance erratically on the walls.
“You wanna see a danger?” Danny growled, his voice dropping into something almost inhuman, vibrating with power as his feet lifted off the ground. His white hair swirled beneath the gold paper crown, caught in an invisible wind as the room seemed to grow colder by the second.
Danny’s arms hung by his sides, his fists clenching tightly. A brilliant green energy began to materialize, steam curling off his fingers like fire, licking up his forearms in tendrils of raw power.
“You should see me in a crown.”
A burst of cold ectoplasmic energy erupted from Danny’s palms, shooting straight toward Maddie with icy precision. She dove to the side, flipping the table over in one swift motion to shield herself. Plates shattered, the pancakes splattered across the walls, and the dining room filled with a deafening roar of energy.
———————
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As for my own commentary about my DP drawing…
I hate drawing hands, and I don’t like to draw shoes. Maybe because I just can’t!! I’m not good at drawing mouths either, or I was just having a bad day at drawing. And we are definitely not going to talk about the nose. I have zero idea what went wrong with coloring/painting, and I couldn’t fix it at that moment. Maybe I was hurrying it, don’t care. I wanted it out of my head! And I really wanted to share this, because I like it for once, something of my own. As for the style, still searching my own, trying things out, so at the moment, I have no idea what I’m doing. Might redo it later.
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tokkiwrites · 16 days ago
Text
Adstrum in ruinas. | part one.
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General Marcus Acacius × F ! Reader
• summary: After your father’s sudden death, the general starts spending more time with you. At first, it feels strange, but as you come to learn, he isn't that big a brute everyone thinks he is.
• kind of slow burn ??, age gap (unspecified), forbidden love, marcus is pretty possessive and in love, and he's cute, mutual pining, mentions of death, lmk if i missed anything.
• tokkis note: This is the first part of a little fic i wanted to write. the nsfw smut part will be in part two since this part already has almost 4k words. i just wanted a little backstory, so who knows... if you guys enjoy this part, maybe i will make it into a short series. i have lots of ideas. anyways, enjoy!!!
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The palace felt colder after your father’s death. Though the sun still danced across the walls, nothing could have warmed you.
He had always been a quiet man, steady in his craft and in his love for you. You had grown up watching his hands work leather as though it were clay, each stitch meticulous, each touch with purpose. He had poured his life into the emperor’s court, shaping beauty out of necessity, and yet, when his time had come, they had discarded him without hesitation.
Accused of theft, he had been taken swiftly, the charges flimsy, the judgment quick. You had not been allowed to speak on his behalf. No one had. And when his life ended on the blade of the emperor’s justice, the world moved on as though he had never existed. You had not cried when they took him. There had been no time, no space for grief within the stone walls of the palace. Instead, you swallowed it whole, the ache settling deep within your chest, cold and unforgiving. You could not cry. In a way, crying was admitting to the gods that he was no longer, so you did not dare slip one tear. Let the pain seethe.
No one spoke his name. To your face, at least. Not until General Marcus Acacius.
You had known his name long before you ever knew his face. The empire’s greatest general, a man whose victories had carved Rome’s borders, who had spilled oceans of blood in the emperor’s name. He was the kind of man you had only seen from afar—untouchable, his presence a thing of myths whispered amongst men. To you, he was just that: a man. A cruel one.
So when he first appeared in the apothecary, you almost did not believe it was him. “The town speaks of… you,” he said, voice filling the room like the low roll of thunder. You turned sharply, the pestle slipping from your grasp. He stood in the doorway, tall and broad, his figure framed by the dim light spilling in from the corridor. His tunic was torn, a gash running across his arm where blood had soaked through. “So I heard,” he continued, stepping inside, “if it is true—”
“Oh, yes, I—yes, it is true,” you stammered, fumbling for words. His presence unsettled you, though you could not say why. Perhaps it was the way his gaze lingered or faint something in his tone. It was different this time. “I understand. You have my condolences,” he said. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Something in your heart fluttered. “Thank you, General.” He was not a monster. Not here with you, not now, at least. It seemed sincere enough. You looked him up and down. Why did the blood keep on trickling? For a moment, you thought he might say more, but he simply gestured to his arm. “May I trouble you for assistance?” No monster.
At first, you thought nothing of his visits.
They were sporadic, a few days apart—always under the pretense of some new injury. A cut from a sparring match. A dislocated shoulder. The aches and pains of a soldier’s life. He came to you because it was easier than seeking the palace’s physicians, or so you told yourself. But then the days stretched into weeks, and his appearances grew more frequent.
You noticed the small ways in which he lingered. The way his eyes followed you as you moved about the room, the way his voice softened when he addressed you. It was subtle at first, almost imperceptible, but as the days passed, you found yourself waiting for the sound of his footsteps in the hall.
For even when he was far, his touch still lingered, you were still drunken on his smell, and his eyes still loved yours.
One evening, as you prepared a salve by the fire, he spoke. “Your father was a great man.” You froze, your hands stilling over the mortar. “I remember his work,” Marcus continued, his voice low. “He made my first pair of riding boots. I was just a young man then.” You swallowed dry, willing your voice to remain steady. “He never spoke of you.”
“No, I suppose he would not have.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, “So why are you telling me this?”
“Because he deserved better,” Marcus said simply. The words struck something deep within you. You looked away, vision blurring as the firelight flickered. Better.
He was all you could think about. Each night, from the first, you would sing sweet, mournful songs to the moon. Maybe it was because you missed your father dearly, and he filled that space up almost perfectly. Or maybe because, when he was with you, he did not seem to be the seven-headed monster all saw him as. Maybe pretending was his virtue.
But you were not the last judgment.
“Why are you always here?” you asked, voice sharper than you intended. He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the floor. “Do you not want me here?” A smile played on his lips. “That is not what I said.”
“Then why ask?”
“Because I do not understand.” You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “You never cared before. Why now?” His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly. “It is nothing,” he said at last.
“It is not nothing,” you pressed. “You are avoiding the truth.”
He looked at you then, his expression guarded but not unkind. “And if I told you the truth, would you thank me for it? Or curse me for what I know?”
Your breath caught in your throat. “What is it that you mean?” Marcus hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. “Your father,” he said finally. “He did not die because of the charges. He died because they needed a scapegoat. The emperor needed to remind the court what happens when you step out of line.” The room seemed to tilt, the walls closing in around you. “You knew?”
“I tried to stop it,” he said quietly. “But there are things even I cannot change.”
You shook your head, the ache in your chest threatening to overwhelm you. “I do not need your protection, Marcus. I do not need anyone’s.”
“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His voice was steady, but there was something raw in his eyes. “But you have it anyway.”
You wanted to be angry with him. You wanted to scream, to push him away, but instead, you stood there, frozen, as he reached for you. His hands were rough, calloused from years of battle, but they cradled your face with a tenderness that left you breathless. You craved it. And you will crave it until the day you are no more.
“I care for you more than I have ever cared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And that terrifies me.”
Whatever happened to honor and victory? It was brutal. He was brutal. Raw, bloody, and utterly inhuman. But how could he also be the quiet after the storm? The wind that travels over still waters, the sound of dawn over mountains of dead people? You had to treat him many times, but the wounds he had inside his heart came well over the ones on his skin, you think.
You didn’t want to think of him—Marcus, with his dark eyes and the way they seemed to unravel you each time they met your own. But he lingered, even when he wasn’t here. He lingered in the soft creak of the door, the faint scent of leather and iron that clung to the air after he’d gone. It wasn’t fair, how much space he took in your thoughts. How much warmth he brought into this cold, empty life. You hated him for it. You hated yourself more.
“You work too hard.” You glanced up, startled by the suddenness of his words. He was seated by the fire, his armor stripped away, leaving only the simple tunic beneath. His shoulders were broad, his posture commanding even in repose. “You say that as though there’s an alternative,” you replied, turning back to the herbs in your hands.
“You could rest,” he said simply. “And do what? Dream of better days?” The bitterness in your voice surprised even you. Marcus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You deserve better days.” The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Finally, you set the pestle down and met his gaze. “Better days won’t bring my father back.”
“No,” he agreed. “But they might give you something to hope for.” You shook your head, unwilling to let yourself be drawn into his optimism. “Hope is for fools, General.”
“Perhaps,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But sometimes, it’s all we have.”
He wanted to hold you, to let his body meld with yours, ask you to run away to far lands. Let him take care of you, make you have his babies. Love you until there's nothing left.
but he couldn't.
“What would you do with better days?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Marcus’s gaze lifted, startled by the question. He leaned back in his chair, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the dim room.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. he did know. he'd spend them with you. oh, silly it all felt. “I stopped imagining them a long time ago.” You paused, your fingers stilling over a jar. “You must have thought about it. When you were younger, before…” You trailed off, uncertain how to finish the sentence. “Before the blood?” he supplied, his tone sharper than you expected. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I did. Once.” still.
“And?”
He hesitated, the tension in his shoulders palpable. “And it doesn’t matter. The man I am now... he has no place in better days.” Something in your chest ached at his words, though you couldn’t say why. You wanted to reach for him, to close the distance between you and tell him he was wrong. But you didn’t. Instead, you lowered your gaze and returned to your work, your voice quiet. “That’s a pity.”
The days stretched into weeks, and though you tried to resist, the threads of your lives intertwined in ways you couldn’t untangle. Marcus became a constant presence, his visits no longer marked by the pretense of injuries. He came for you, though neither of you dared to speak it aloud.
Each touch, each glance, was a betrayal of the barriers you had built around yourself. Yet, you let him break them piece by piece, unable to deny the pull that drew you closer.
One night, as the apothecary lay bathed in moonlight, he found you humming an old melody—a song your father had sung on quiet nights. The tune was bittersweet, a memory wrapped in longing. Marcus lingered in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the room.
“I’ve heard that before,” he said softly.
You turned, startled. “My father used to sing it.” He nodded, stepping closer. “It suits you. Beautiful and haunting.” You didn’t respond, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I don’t sing much anymore.”
“You should.”
He was close now, close enough that you could see the faint scar that ran along his jaw, the one you’d traced with your eyes so many times but never dared to touch. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because it’s part of you,” he said simply. “And I want to know all of you.” His words left you breathless, the weight of them settling in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to guard the fragile thing that was growing between you, but you couldn’t.
But people talk.
They talk in whispers that snake through the palace walls, slithering through cracks and beneath doors. Whispers of his visits, of his presence in the apothecary, of the time he lingers where he should not. They do not speak to you directly, but you can feel their words coiling around your throat, tightening with every passing day.
You hear them behind you when you walk through the halls: the sharp staccato of hurried footsteps, the low murmur of voices that stop the moment you turn. You catch glimpses of knowing glances, the way the maids shift their eyes when you enter a room, how the guards avert their gazes.
They all know, and yet they know nothing.
Because what is there to know? You have not touched him beyond necessity, have not dared to let your hand linger when you tend his wounds. And yet, the air between you is thick, suffused with something that neither of you has the courage to name.
“You should not come here anymore,” It was late. The apothecary was empty, save for the two of you. You stood with your back to him, arranging jars on the shelves in some vain attempt to distract yourself from the weight of his presence.
“I will decide what I should or should not do,” Marcus replied, his voice steady. You turned to face him, exasperation rising in your chest. “They talk, Marcus. Do you not see the danger in that? For you— for me?” His expression changed fast. “I cannot stop them from speaking,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I will not stop coming.”
“Why?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why do you care what happens to me? Why do you risk so much just to be here?”
He did not answer immediately. His gaze flicked over your face, searching for something, though you could not say what. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy. “Because you deserve better than this,” he said. “Better than what the court has given you. Just... better." You shook your head, chest tightening. “That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I can give you,” he said, stepping closer. “For now." But deep down, you knew better.
And you hated him for it, too.
“I see the way you look at me,” he said one night, his voice breaking the silence. You froze, your hands stilling over the poultice you were preparing. “What?”
“Do not deny it,” Marcus said, his tone softer now. “I know that look. I have seen it on too many faces not to recognize it.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “And what look is that?”
“The one that says you hate me as much as you try to fight it." The words struck you like a blow, and you turned to face him, your cheeks burning. “I do not—”
“You do,” he said simply, cutting you off. “And I do not blame you for it.”
His gaze was steady, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might say more, but instead, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. “I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope for it, all the same.” You did not hate him. you wish you could, because falling in love wasn't what you wanted right now.
“I think about you,” Marcus admitted, his voice raw. “More than I should. More than is safe.” Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as his words sank in. “You shouldn’t,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction. “I know.”
The silence between you stretched.
“But why?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why do you care now, after all this time? You never gave me an answer, Marcus..."
He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Because I see you,” he said finally. “And I see myself in you—the parts of me I thought were dead. The parts I’ve tried to bury.” You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’tㅡ Marcus, if this is all a game to you, of things you want to rediscover within you..."
"It is not. I do not intend to play with your heart."
So why does the blood keep on trickling?
They were wildflowers, clearly gathered from the edges of the palace gardens, and they looked out of place in his calloused hands. He held them out awkwardly, his expression somewhere between defiance and vulnerability, as though he expected you to scold him for the gesture. “For you,” he said simply. You stared at them for a moment, then at him. “Why?” you couldn’t help but smile. “Do I need a reason?” His tone was defensive, but the softness in his gaze betrayed him. No monster.
Your fingers brushed against his as you took the flowers, and he flinched almost imperceptibly, as if the touch burned him. “They’re beautiful,” you said. He didn’t reply, but you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch— an almost-smile, there and gone in an instant.
“Are you trying to court me, General?” you asked, half-joking. The question caught him off guard, and he looked at you with something close to panic in his eyes. “No.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Good. You’d be terrible at it.” But the truth was, you didn’t hate the thought.
He started threatening the others after that.
The first time, you hadn’t been there to see it, but you heard about it from one of the maids who whispered to you in passing. “The general,” she said, her eyes wide. “He nearly broke Marcellus’s arm. All because he said something about you.”
He didn’t deny it. “He should not have said what he did,” he said simply, his tone calm but firm. “What did he say?”
“It does not matter.”
“Marcus—”
“It does not matter,” he repeated, his voice sharper now. “What matters is that he will not say it again.”
You wanted to argue with him, to tell him he couldn’t go around threatening people in your name. But the truth was, a part of you was glad. A part of you wanted him to protect you. He didn’t just watch over you—he hovered, his presence a constant shadow that both comforted and unnerved you. When he wasn’t by your side, you found yourself looking for him, craving his presence like air. And when he was with you, you felt safer than you had since your father’s death.
Days passed, and though you told yourself you should push him away, you could not.
He was always there, like a storm on the horizon—inevitable, impossible to ignore. You felt his presence even when he was not near, his voice echoing in your mind, his touch lingering on your skin.
You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your heart leapt when you heard his footsteps, the way your breath hitched when his fingers brushed yours. You tried to convince yourself it meant nothing, that it was a passing infatuation born of grief and the fact that he so happened to be there. You tried to convince yourself that the soft yearning in your chest was fleeting. A passing fancy, born of loneliness and the way Marcus had carved out a space in your world so effortlessly.
But as the days turned to weeks, the intensity of your feelings betrayed you. Every glance he cast your way lingered. Every word he spoke seemed to reverberate in your mind long after it had been said.
And every time his hand brushed against yours—whether by accident or intent—it felt as if the earth shifted beneath your feet.
It was one of those moments now. The two of you stood side by side in the apothecary, the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows. He was reaching for a jar of herbs on the shelf above, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned closer.
Your breath hitched, and you stepped back quickly, your movements too sharp, too sudden. “Am I in your way?” Marcus asked, his voice low and amused. “No,” you said hastily, turning to busy yourself with a mortar and pestle. “Not at all.” He did not move, and you could feel his gaze on you, heavy and unwavering. “You always do that,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful.
“Do what?”
“Step away.” You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do,” he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice, only a gentle insistence. “You step away as if the space will make it easier. But it does not, does it?” Your fingers tightened around the pestle. “Marcus—”
“I feel it too,” he said, cutting you off. The words hung between you, raw and unvarnished. You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You should not say that.”
“Why not? Because it is the truth?” He stepped closer, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “Because I look at you and I can think of nothing else? Because when I leave here, all I want is to come back?”
“Marcus, stop.” Your voice was trembling now, a plea more than a command. “I cannot stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I do not think you can, either.” The room seemed to shrink around you, the air charged with something that felt too big for your soul to understand. “Tell me to leave,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “If this is too much, if I have crossed a line, say the word, and I will go.” You opened your mouth, the words on the tip of your tongue. But they would not come. Because no matter how much you told yourself this was dangerous, reckless, wrong. you did not want him to go.
You did not step back this time. “I cannot,” you whispered, the words breaking free like a confession. His breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he reached for you, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I do not know how to do this,” you said, your voice trembling. “I do not know what happens now.”
what is this pandora box you have opened?
Before you could respond, his lips were on yours. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw and consuming, as though he’d been holding back a storm and now it was unleashed. His hands slid to frame your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his lips claimed yours. There was no hesitation, no room for doubt. And, oh, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Your hands found his tunic, clutching the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. His scent filling your lungs, his warmth, the feel of him, it was too much and not enough all at once.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, his forehead resting against yours. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t…”
“You did,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. “And I didn’t stop you.” His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained serious. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. I swear it.”
You hesitated, the weight of his words settling over you. But then you shook your head, your hand lifting to brush against his cheek. “I wil not say it.” His eyes closed briefly, as though your words had physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were softer, full of something you couldn’t name but felt in every corner of your soul.
“Then I am yours,” he murmured. “For as long as you’ll have me.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against his once more. A promise, a surrender, a beginning.
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littlexdeaths · 10 months ago
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i called her on the phone and she touched herself - e.m.
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ghostface eddie munson x fem reader
18+ ONLY MDNI
warnings: voyerism, mutual masturbation, phone sex, eddie’s a perv but we’re into it, alluding to a knife kink, lots of scream references
i ended up taking a look at this fic today and making some little tweaks and i love it so much more now. this is another repost from my old account but i promise new content will be coming soon. enjoy xx.
word count: 1.5k
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The phone rings, loud and shrill in your ear.
It sound causes you to flinch in surprise, heart thudding in your chest when you reach for the receiver. The cheesy horror movie playing on your small tv set now forgotten as you pick up the phone.
“Hello?” Your voice sounds a little breathless, a deep chuckle resounding in your ear.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
The voice on the other end was husky, smooth yet confident.
“Who is this?” You feign a bored tone, your thighs squeezing together unintentionally.
You’d never been so attracted to someone’s voice before— and he’d only spoken two words to you. But something about it felt oddly… familiar.
“Were you expecting a call from someone?” The male asks and you shift slightly to glance at your bedside clock. 8:43 PM.
Steve would still be working at the video store, or he was supposed to be. Unless he decided to prank call you during a lull in customers. Which could very well be a possibility.
“Maybe… why do you wanna know?” Your tone is overly flirty as you decide to play along.
The call now much more exciting than the movie playing out on your tv screen.
You’d never take a suggestion from Keith ever again.
“Hm, a pretty girl like you must be waiting on a call from a boyfriend?”
You can’t help but laugh at that notion, serious relationships weren’t your thing. Despite how attractive and persistent Steve was, a relationship is the last thing you wanted to tangle yourself in right now.
But he clearly was still trying too hard.
You breathe out a heavy sigh, “Nope, no boyfriend.”
Despite being a usually observant person, you still weren’t aware of the eyes trained on your half naked figure. The dark cloaked figure watching from the tree that faced your bedroom window.
“Mm, lucky me then.”
You glance back at the screen when the music begins to swell, hinting that one of the teenagers would be killed off at any moment. A loud scream fills the room as the killer takes one of the camp counselor by surprise.
“What’s that sound?” He asks, unable to see the television from his vantage point.
“Oh, just a movie.”
The male hums deeply, the sound causes you to squirm against your bedsheets. Heat pools in your lower belly and you mindlessly let your fingertips dance along the edge of your lace panties.
“What kind of movie?” He probes, his dark eyes now drawn to the silky skin of your thighs.
You begin shifting, lying back fully against your pillows. You rest the receiver between your ear and shoulder as you spread your legs open. Unintentionally giving him the perfect view as you dip your fingers past the flimsy material. The sight causes his cock to stir beneath his dark jeans.
“A scary one,” you reply, despite this being the least scary thing you’ve ever seen.
Eddie grins beneath the white ghostface mask, sheathing his blade before he reaches for the zipper on his pants. He tugs them down to free his hardened cock, pulling his mouth away from the phone to spit into the palm of his hand. The male wrapping it around his thick length whilst your fingers begin to circle over your clit.
While the brunette had come here with the intention to scare you… this turn of events was far more interesting.
“Oh, you like scary movies?”
He grins, enjoying how your voice seems to shake over the line, but not for the reason he initially expected.
“Y-Yes…”
Only pleasure laces your tone.
Eddie inhales deeply, watching as you twirl your fingers around the phone cord with your other hand. The light of the television illuminates your body with an almost ethereal like glow.
“Hmm, tell me… what’s your favorite scary movie, sweetheart?”
Your breath hitches in your throat, now shoving your soaked underwear completely down your thighs. You kick them off the edge of your bed before dipping a finger inside yourself. You chew on your lower lip to hold back a moan you so desperately wanted to let escape, eagerly slipping another digit inside.
This wasn’t the first time you’d touched yourself like this with Steve on the other end of the phone, but this was by far the most exciting.
Little did you know the male on the other end was definitely not Steve Harrington.
Dropping the twisted cord you grip the receiver in your unoccupied hand, eyes fluttering shut when you begin pumping your fingers even deeper inside yourself. Letting your thumb brush over your swollen clit as you curl your fingers up.
“Halloween,” you breathe, a low grunt sounds on the other end of the line as the male strokes his cock in tandem with each thrust of your fingers. The slick sounds reverberate softly through the receiver.
“Is that the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around stalking babysitters?” He asks, despite already knowing the answer himself.
A soft ‘mhm’ leaves you as you revel in his throaty moans.
“I liked that one… it was scary.” His voice drops an octave, Eddie unintentionally slipping into his dungeon master voice.
Keeping the cell phone tucked into his shoulder as he adjusts himself between the tree branches. Increasing the pace of his fist as he continues to watch you pleasure yourself through your window.
The movie playing out on your tv screen is now long forgotten as his deep voice is the only thing you can focus on.
“I like that thing you’re doing with your voice, Steve. It’s sexy.” You whimper, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge of bliss. No longer able to keep up the oblivious act anymore.
Eddie chuckles darkly, sending a shiver up your spine. “Oh sweetheart, this isn’t Steve.”
As much as those words should frighten you, it only seems to increase the tightening in your lower belly. The jealous edge to them causes a high pitched whine to leave your lips, pumping your fingers even faster into your dripping heat. Increasing the pressure on your clit, as the male’s deep moans fill your ears.
“God you little slut, you gonna cum f’me?” He growls, feeling his own orgasm drawing near.
His cock twitches in his rough palm as he observes your lower half lifting up off the mattress. Thighs trembling as your orgasm washes over you, milky white spilling over onto his ringed fingers.
Heavy breathing is all that is passed back and forth between the two of you for a moment, your body falling limp against the mattress.
“Fuck, you look so pretty when you cum, baby…” while it was whispered into the phone, you still heard it.
You recognized the husky voice instantly— the pretty but rugged metalhead who always gave you a discount on your weed.
Eddie Munson.
Your eyes instantly snap open, dropping the phone as you sit up. Letting your fingers slip from your drenched core as you rise to your feet. Padding over to your bedroom window and gazing out into the dark night.
You catch sight of a white ghostface mask in between the branches opposite your window. Your eyes meet as you reach back over for the phone, your juices smearing over the handle as you grab onto it. Amusement dances over your features as you tilt your head at him.
“Do you spy on all the girls you deal to, Munson?” You pause, clearly catching the male off guard, “Or am I a special case?”
Eddie doubles back, stuttering out a reply while he attempts to disguise his voice once more but it was too late— you caught him.
“I promise this isn’t what it seems, sweetheart.”
A small giggle leaves your lips as he fumbles his way down from the tree, removing the mask so he can see properly. His bangs stick to his forehead, pale skin flushed pink under the bright moonlight.
He drops the phone and his knife in his haste, the glint of the blade catches your attention. The way the sharp metal reflects in the light makes your heart race, arousal coursing through your veins. You lick your lips when he picks up the discarded items, his brown eyes meeting yours through the glass.
“I think I know why you came here, Munson…” you hum into the receiver once he returns the phone to his ear, your sultry tone causing his cock to stir in his jeans again.
“Why’s that, sweet thing?” He bites back, his dark eyes not leaving your silhouette.
“Someone wants to play psycho killer… but it looks like you need a helpless victim.”
You lean your forearms on your windowsill, noticing the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows down a moan. His ringed fingers grip tightly onto the handle of the blade, the male now desperately hanging onto your every word.
“And I’m more than happy to oblige.”
Eddie curses, your words going straight to his now throbbing cock. There was no way he was passing you up on this offer.
“Now… tell me Mr. Ghostface, what do you want?” You feign a frightened tone as you pose the question.
His shallow breaths mingle with the static on the line, anticipation bubbling up inside you.
“I wanna know what your insides feel like.” He groans, his words sending heat straight between your legs.
You squirm when you watch him slide the mask down over his face, glancing back up at you with an almost predatory look.
“Come and find out then, freak.”
Click.
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sam-out-of-energy · 2 months ago
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I'm back writing more fic for kefs mecha jazz AU but as texaid has taken over me as of currrent thats what im writin! Just some silly guys and some silly tings, vortex being a weird character yanno :D i went for a bit of a spooky vibe but lmk what ya'll think
Tw for gore i guess? Its not that detailed, but just in case
-------
First Aid- er, Felix, didn't even bother to ask how he'd gotten here. So much had happened since that faithful day he'd been assigned to clean the mecha- er- to clean Vortex.
Thats what this thing liked to call itself apparently. Felix had taken into habit to ignore the text on screens flashing in his face, but when he'd done that the thing had started speaking in his head instead.
So they communicated through screens.
"Dance with me First Aid" it asked, over and over and over again.
When they were deployed, Felix did his darndest to avoid touching the controls. And he didn't have to try too hard as this mecha would move and control itself just fine, slicing and dicing enemies left to right with it's blades.
Felix was a silent observer to the mechas insane violence, but something about it kept him watching. Maybe it was the numbness he already felt towards corpses, but his morbid curiosity peaked whenever he watched Vortex through Vortex's eyes.
Vortex would tease Felix to its hearts content (did it even have a heart? Something equivalent to that anyway), asking him if he was "enjoying the show", wiggling the controls in front of Felix like holding a bone up to a dog.
Felix knew better than to fall for tricks. He knew that every other pilot who had come before him had perished way earlier just by merely pressing one button. He was not about to face the same fate.
Not...until today.
He hadn't had time to think of another solution.
An enemy had caught them unarmed and for the first time ever, knocked Vortex down. No, not even knocked, slammed Vortex down. Hard enough for Felix to feel it.
Sytems fried, a loud buzzing in the back of his head and now, Felix staring up at an alien being, holding a sword over his- Vortex's- their head.
Felix had called for his mecha to wake, but when there wasn't a single stirr in Vortex's body, he'd been forced to grab the controls himself, catching the enemy by suprise and stabbing Vortex's blade through its chest.
The mecha rose at First Aids command. Felix felt his face lift to a grin, something stirring within himself he'd not felt before.
"Haha! Yes!" He squealed almost unintentionally before lifting the blade and pointing it up at the remaining enemies.
"Let's dance!!"
-
Felix sat at the controls. He'd driven the other all the way back to base before he'd shut down the power and just...sat for a while. He'd maybe felt a bit too connected to the mecha. The blood and gore in Vortex's hands had felt so real...too real for Felix's comfort.
He'd sat for long enough before realizing that Vortex stirred. He heard the buzz of systems coming online, the growl of an engine.
"Vortex?" He mumbled, catching himself out of his own daze of thoughts.
Then, the head shook, twisting violently enough to send Felix, unstrapped, falling and tumbling out of his seat.
He sat up quickly. He felt eyes watching him, coldness falling upon the cockpit and then...something dripped on him.
Felix looked up, before looking back to the maw of the beast (the entrance hatch). He saw blood, dripping and soon cascading down from under panels and cracks.
He felt his gut stirr as he quickly rose to his feet, stumbling when he saw blood cover the floor.
"What the fuck-"
He quickly became keenly aware of the space he was now trapped in. The dangerously sharp blades of the fans stirring on the walls, ones he'd picked plenty of fingers out of. The sharp edges of the panels on the roof, somehow able to catch guts, flesh and viscera hanging off the edges.
The floor of the cockpit, now seemingly flooding with blood, staining Felix's suit.
"I'm...sorry? Vortex. I'm sorry." He found himself suddenly speaking. Perhaps it was fright that had forced him to stand still, not sure if the visceral bits of skin and body parts he saw on the walls were real or not.
What the hell?! This thing itself had been begging him to use the controls! Now it was..punishing him for it?
Panic settled in Felix's mind without him even thinking too hard. He had to run, he had to escape.
And that he..tried. Bright red screens watched First Aid back further and further from the entrance, pressing against the wall of the cockpit. No way he could get out the right way, he'd be crushed before he could get through one hatch.
Felix suddenly felt a sharp pain. He twisted and jumped back from the wall, looking down to see what looked like some sort of hook that had sprung out and stabbed into his thigh. (A gap in between his armour).
He let out a painsoaked grunt, pressing a palm over the bleeding spot (He wasnt sure if it was his own blood or not).
A thought came to him. The only other route of escape. Felix limped to the control panel and almost found himself gagging at a pair of hands, torn from the wrists, hanging off of it, rigor mortis the only thing keeping them gripping to the edge of the panel. Everything stank of blood and rust.
He pressed the emergency exit button and turned when he saw a hatch open at the back.
Upon approaching, Felix found that it was just a...chute. An opening at the back of the head that slid down and then opened at the bottom to reveal a fall that was...god knows how long. Vortex was tall.
Felix bit the bullet, grabbing onto the small nooks and cracks inside the chute before starting to climb.
He'd managed to descend about halfway before realizing what kind of a situation he'd just put himself in. Like a prey animal running into a corner, driving itself into the worst possible situation out of sheer panic to escape. The predator had only needed to watch and wait.
Felix let out a stressed "No!" When he saw the hatch below slam shut. The slam of a hatch above made him lose his grip and fall down.
-
It was pitch black, the only illumination inside the escape chute being the small red LEDs lining its walls.
Felix's heart beat louder than the entire mecha. He felt his pulse rush, cold sweat coming down his back.
"Vortex, please"
He called out.
Ch-THUNK!
A hatch slammed shut above him.
Felix's eyes widened at the imminent danger approaching.
Ch-THUNK!
"Vortex" he choked up. He didn't want to die like this. God help the poor sap who would have to dig his crushed and dismantled corpse out of the mechas escape chute.
Ch-THUNK!
Ch-THUNK!
CH-THUNK!
"Vortex!!" He screamed one last time.
It was silent. Felix found himself screaming for a lot longer than he thought.
He
He wasn't dead?
His eyes opened. He was still in darkness, pressed back as down as he could be, against the emergency chute. One last hatch closed barely above his head, upon trying to lift himself, he'd bumped his helmet into it.
Felix then found that he was falling in the blink of an eye as the chute opened again. He couldn't muster out anymore screams, landing on something before he had time to process that he'd fallen in the first place.
A hand. A giant mechanical hand, slowly lifting and bringing him up to a terrifyingly familiar face and then to a dearly familiar scaffolding.
Felix took no hesitation to jump off the hand and land on the scaffolding, stumbling and turning to look back at the giant mecha infront of him.
He panted, falling to his knees when he caught solid ground, watching the bright red glow of the mechas visor.
He turned down to feel his body, his hands trembling from the afterburn of adrenaline. He took off his helmet to feel the cool air brushing over all his senses.
He was alive. His thigh was hurting, but he was alive.
Felix heard a thunk, lifting his head to see that the visor had dimmed. Inside, a bright red glow of a tv screen.
"Did you enjoy it"
it asked, the words read out by a voice inside Felix's head for him. Then the text changed and so did the voices tone, from a mechanical one to sounding more....amused.
"See you tomorrow, First Aid"
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veryrockyraccoon · 9 months ago
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So I found a few things like this awhile back but figured I’d share my own thoughts about it.
The Mandalorians thinking of the Jedi as great warriors and to them getting a Jedi in the family was considered a great feat (that no one has managed to achieve yet), they think the Jedi have incredibly high standards, as the great warriors they are should, and continue to follow, flirt with and try to parent Jedi they see.
Meanwhile the Jedi fully believe the Mandos hate them, they specifically warn all younglings to avoid them and it’s one of the first lessons for Padawans.
At one point a Mando sees a Jedi with a Padawan and try’s to compliment the Jedis child rearing skills but they say something like “Your young one is very strong, they would make a great Mandalorian!” Which to the Mando is a compliment and a little bit of flirting, but for the Jedi, who’s already primed to stop someone from kidnapping their padawan because of how popular force-sensitive slaves are (especially those with training who aren’t considered to dangerous, ie Jedi padawans) takes this as a threat and responds with a snarled “Yes they are, and so am I” while projecting every ounce of ‘I’ll beat you black and blue’ they can into the force, the Jedi quickly pulls their padawan close and leaves. Meanwhile the Mando is like “Wow that was hot” and is all proud of themselves for coming up with such a great compliment.
A ton of other shenanigans ensue and it’s great.
Side note I love the idea of the Jedi being very off putting to most others, not in a clear way but a lot of small things (just to fast reflexes, knowing what you’re about to say and responding before you even started etc).
Also here’s a list of reasons Jedi are the perfect spouse to Mandos
They’re great warriors who treat battles as dances, you will never get tired of watching their swirling robes and glowing blades.
They’re amazing with kids, raising their young is a great honor to them.
They stay level headed in the most stressful of situations, remaining competent and calm the entire time.
Their ability to sense danger means they almost always have the upper hand in battle.
Again great fighters, you won’t know true awe until you seen a Jedi cut down a field of enemies in less time then it takes most to fight a small gang.
Anyway these were just some thoughts I had, if anyone has any fic recs with this premise please let me know!!
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vxnuslogy · 2 months ago
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— what does it mean to be a star?
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pairing: sunday x gn!reader
premise: sunday has stayed with you and the stellaron hunters for a few years. your lives has been filled with many adventures, both good and bad. but like any other story crafted by elio, they must come to an end eventually.
– warnings: slight angst if you squint, implications of committing suicide, not proofread that much.
– author’s note: one final (?) stellaron hunter!sunday fic before he gets released. ive missed writing for this man. art credits to 冒火锅海台 on Weibo for the art. | 1.9k words.
— tags: @ryescapades @mitsvriii @https-sourlimes @dazaisms ; if you'd like to be tagged, please let me know by sending an ask off anon or filling out the forms in my pinned !!!
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“what do you think makes a star, a star?”
elio asked you that question decades ago. and only now have you arrived at one final answer. out of curiosity, you asked each hunter the same question over the years that have passed, each of them giving one answer that didn’t quite match the rest.
“to be the top player of course!” silver wolf exclaimed, her tone in a matter of fact manner as she didn’t even look up from her console. you only shook your head in amusement, jotting her answer down in a new journal your boss had given you as a present.
“a star you ask,” kafka tilted her head curiously at you. eyes freed from her usual contacts and makeup followed your movement as you stirred the coffee in your cup. “well, a star for me would be something that captures the attention of others without much effort. stars often piqued your interest, didn’t they?” you only smiled in response and nodded. you made a mental note to write it down later before you went to bed.
firefly took a little longer than the last two to answer. you patiently waited, spooning pieces of cake to your lips as the girl in front of you was deep in thought. “a guide. even in your darkest moment, a star will shine as a guide for you to follow so you don’t stray from your path.” she answered in a whisper. eyes wistful as she played with the dessert on her plate. 
“a star,” blade’s gruff voice cut through the night like a knife. a few bottles of local xianzhou wine separating you two as you sat on the roof overlooking the stars above. you hadn’t expected blade of all people to humor your questions, but here you were, grateful in his presence. “it means to burn. so brightly you are unrecognizable, to others and yourself.”
“you have a sad answer,” you mutter, taking a sip of the wine from the small cup as the man huffs. 
“time takes a heavy toll for both you and i,” the wind sways his hair in a deathly dance. he brings his cup to his lips and drinks in one go. you don’t mention how you can barely finish a cup with how strong the drink was—blade could not feel the pain of it in his throat, and he never will. “you’ve already burned through the remains of your past self. it won’t be long before you look in the mirror and be unable to recognize your reflection.”
you frown at his response. “you’re pessimistic.”
“and you’re hypocritical.”
you have no rebuttal to his accusation, after all, at the very core of your character, the word “hypocrite” hangs like a thorny crown. 
“tell me, starcatcher,” red eyes reflected the conflict you’ve been massing deep within the columns of your bones. they crash onto your being like how the oceans do to the shores—unrelenting and loud. “are you that afraid of losing another that you love them as if tomorrow they’ll die?”
you fled the roof that night. unable to face your hopelessness head on after a fresh wound of death lingers by your heart. another attempt, another reminder of the welling darkness that swells from the tip of your fingers and slowly corrupts your entire body. it drowns you and you can’t help but fear that time is clutching your shoulder, weighing you down to the ocean floor as it laughs at your predicament.
“so it’s decided then.”
but that’s no longer the case. no, not anymore. it's been decades since then, and you’ve changed.
elio sits by his office chair, typewriter moved to the side as he personally penned the final bits of your songbird’s script. you were elio’s editor and proofreader. you don’t exactly remember when it started but when you were still an unwilling understudy—an actor who refused to acknowledge the stage—he would trap you in his office and force you to read over his script to make sure there were no errors.
a small and sad smile tugged at your lips as you read the pages of inked fate. “this is for the best.”
“the best, yes,” elio ceases his writing. compiling the papers into one bulk and staring right at you. “but it's not the ending you wanted.”
you shook your head, “my preferred ending isn’t relevant to how the story ends. it’s not my story to tell.”
“yes, but it's a story you’re meant to read,” there was pity in his eyes. your heart felt too heavy with realization to even feel offended by such a look. “you have the right to feel dissatisfied.”
“thank you, elio, truly,” you only gave destiny’s slave one final smile before standing. you quietly made your way to the door, forcing your steps to sound quiet and lacking sadness. but you can’t do that, you never will. building up walls will only prove to be a waste of effort. not when elio knows every brick by heart.
with a heavy sigh, you linger by the office door before making your way to your workshop. memories from years ago flood your mind as the halls fill your senses. photos from vacation, missions, and simple outings hang by the walls while certain trinkets and relics from bygone travels litter the many desks and drawers. time did take a heavy toll just like blade said. kafka’s skin started to wrinkle a bit, silver wolf started growing taller, firefly grew paler and paler, and blade looked more like death with every breath he took.
time was a painful thing to remember—it’s not infinite. and even if it was, it's never always kind to everyone. and you? you are worse than time and death itself. you were the inevitable–finality. 
“good morning, [name].”
a voice from behind greets you like a new sunrise–a reminder that a new day is here. you couldn’t help the smile that tugged on your lips. seeing sunday in blade’s shirt hang over his body like a blanket, firefly’s hair ties on his wrists and a spare console from silver wolf in one hand brings you so much joy. 
“sunday, good morning!” you sounded breathless. tucking both hands behind your back to hide your shaking as he joined you on your way to the workshop he’s made as his makeshift nest.
sunday smiles—filled with all the hope you’ve craved and lost. it stings your heart like a needle but you don’t show it. you’re first to look away, like all the other times in his presence, unable to face the way his wings flutter and smile twitch in concern.
when you reach the workshop, you flicker the lights on and sunday makes himself at home. sitting by the windowsill as you sat down by your table. scattered fabrics for sunday’s final mission lay in your hands, and you’d be damned if you messed up now. even with a heavy heart, you willed your hands to work, all the while ignoring the concerned stare of the angel sunbathing by the window.
the two of you spend the first few hours of morning in each other’s quiet presence before your tongue itches to ask him a question. “sunday,” you call his name and you curse the flutter in your chest when he immediately looks at you. he noticed his overly quick response and covered half of his face with a fist, pretending to hide a cough instead of his coloring cheeks.
“yes?” he asks, attention solely on you as you pin the needle back on the cushion and smooth out any creases.
“what does it mean to be a star?”
he blinked owlishly at your question. a soft hum escaped his lips as his fingers tapped on the rim of his cup in contemplation. “is there…” he tests the waters—seeing if it's too hot or too cold. “any particular occasion for you to ask me a question?”
you shake your head in amusement when his more formal tone slips out. “no, not at all. just a little tradition is all.”
“well, then,” the words die out on his tongue. every once in a while, sunday would peer at you like a lost child but you’d only nod encouragingly. “a star means to be remembered.” he looked out the window, watching the clouds pass by in a blur. “even if they aren’t always there, you know they exist.”
sometimes you wonder if it's possible for sunday to look at himself through the lens of your eyes. he was beautiful like the praise of idrila, happiness like aha’s laughter, and the curiosity for adventure like akivili. sunday wasn’t just a star, he was the entire universe. and he remained blissfully unaware of it.
“[name], is everything all right?” 
you’re snapped out of your daze when you feel his hand on your cheek. lost in the replays of sunday’s image in your mind, you didn’t notice the stray tears that had betrayed your image of an unbothered editor. 
“please, don’t cry,” he whispers, pressing your foreheads together. his thumb gently wiping away the tears that escaped your eyes. you can’t help but chuckle. sunday truly was like a sponge when it comes to others’ habits.
“what hurts you so?”
“what makes you think i’m hurt?” quite frankly, you were hurt. so incredibly hurt by his eventual departure but your heart knows his stay was only temporary. but that didn’t mean you never hoped. 
hoped. over the course of a few years, sunday had succeeded in the mission the other hunters failed at. he made you hope again.
“kafka is cooking everyone’s breakfast. it’ll surely brighten up your mood.” he states taking your hand in his and tugging you in the direction of the dining room and kitchen. sunday maneuvered through the headquarters with such ease your ribs began to clamp on your heart again.
this was his home, his respite. but only for a short time.
when the two of you enter the room, you notice his frown. the emotions of everyone were palpable—it felt suffocating. your eyes met blade and you just smiled. one deep breath in and you snapped back into your joyous self. bringing temporary light to the room.
even as you ate and chatted, there were undertones of sadness. sunday nudged your side and quietly asked you, “are you quite sure everything is alright? everyone seems sad today.”
you look at them one by one. kafka’s eyes are slowly being accompanied by eye bags and wrinkles, silver wolf is nearing blade’s shoulder, firefly looks paler, and blade’s hand shakes as he holds his chopsticks. you look at sunday’s eyes, and smile. even he was a victim of time with the way his hair grew longer and face filled with more life.
“they’re just worried,” you look away first like always. meeting blade’s gaze halfway and smiling to yourself when you see him huff in denial. “your next mission is here.”
what does it mean to be a star? elio asked you that question a long, long time ago. and you only found the answer in the form of an angel with wings behind his ears and eyes that shined like the sun. the star you’ve grown to love burns brighter than the sun but still requires rest when night falls. 
to be a star means to be remembered, even in the face of departure. you remain bright and unforgotten. left in the care of a conductor and an express you’ve once loved.
to be a star means to face the inevitable that sunday was meant for greater things than being just a fugitive venturing the universe.
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© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.
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thighguys · 2 months ago
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Phan Fic Recs!!
here's a bunch of my absolute favorites for anyone who needs a distraction from the election <3 i will make a second post with shorter ones as well, this post will just be fics that are over 10k
Inheriting Love by Fictropes (22k)- Dan is a lawyer who executes wills in a small town in the English countryside, and Phil's aunt leaves him a house. One of the cutest fics I've read recently tbh, lots of banter and cows<3
Silver Arrows to the Heart by @evermorepeyton (137k, WIP)- How could i POSSIBLY make a rec list without including this masterpiece??? Dan and Phil are Formula 1 drivers, chaos ensues<3 sooooo much fun (and there are some really beautiful cool women in there too, just as a treat)
dancing on the blades (you set my heart on fire) by kishere (123k)- Dan is an amateur figure skater who scores a spot at the famous Lester training gym, where he meets the legendary Phil Lester and of course they fall in love... this one has sooo many cute fetus moments and wonderful cameos from Kath<3 absolutely love it
Like a Bowl of Oranges by cloej88 (@bitchslapblastoids) (47k)- Phil is a filmmaker looking to amplify queer stories in the media, Dan is a ghostwriter who's been writing a memoir on the side, you can guess what happens next. very VERY fun fic, lots of drama and lovely reflection, as well as the softest scenes between them. love this one (and the author :3)
The Odd Uneven Time by @yikesola (20k)- A 2009 fic from Phil's perspective, falling in love with a boy over the Internet. Absolutely WONDERFUL vibes, so so so cute (and it probably happened in real life ahaha)
Live Incidentally by yikesola (37k)- Phil makes novelty t-shirts and Dan buys them :) really funny, also some great Lester family moments
The Pianist Everyone Is Talking About... Is My Husband by @natigail (25k)- Dan is a famous pianist, Phil plays his songs on the radio, but nobody knows that they're actually married. Lots of chaos ensues, crazy fangirls can feel super represented, and Dan laughs at Phil about it all<3 this fic is so funny lol, highly HIGHLY recommend
Kick Me While I'm Down by jerserker (14k)- Dan and Phil join an adult kickball league! Phil just wants to make friends, and Dan... kicks everyone's asses <3 Really funny competitive Dan, fun times honestly :)
missing the obvious by Fictropes (14k)- Dan plays videogames in an anonymous Discord server at night, and during the day he goes to his boring office job and hooks up with his coworker Phil in bathroom stalls... I wonder how these two things could possibly be connected...
Our House by sierradeux (50k)- Dan is a real estate agent, Phil is a Youtube house flipper, they team up to cohost an HGTV renovation special and fall in love. With the house, obviously. But also with each other <3 this is one of my favorites guys I think it should be required reading for everyone on phannie tumblr
maybe this christmas by blackbirddan (13k)- it's November, im allowed to rec christmas fics now, right??? anyway, this one is HUGE for fans of the Lester and Howell families, just so so so soft and sweet and awesome<3
Strictly Come Dancing but make it GAY by natigail (176k)- i mean this one has a pretty self explanatory title... read for super hot dancer Phil, awkward celebrity Dan, and so so so many beautiful outfit and dance descriptions :3 seriously, I wish I could watch this season irl :( this is for sure in my top 3 fics of all time to be so honest
they grew up so nicely, didn't they? by natigail (15k)- Cornelia pov on meeting the boy Phil brought home, and then throughout the years. SO CUTE!!!!! really big for fans of outsider pov (me)
okie dokie<3 i will be making an under 10k rec list as well, so be on the lookout for that one!
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youraverageaemondsimp · 1 year ago
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ERROR 404 // Dark!AI!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader [ONE SHOT]
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THIS IS DARK FIC, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.
MDNI.
Summary: working on a project that involves a robot doesn't seem too bad until that robot starts gaining sentience, developing feelings for you and executing a plan to take over the world.
WARNINGS: noncon to dubcon, futuristic themes, obsession, manipulation, caging, p in v sex (although I'm not sure it counts as that it's a robot cock), fingering, oral (f receiving), tiddy sucking, rough sex, mind break, multiple orgasms, jealousy, yandere, project gone wrong, robots take over the world, consciousness transfer, this fic is unrealistic asf + not proofread.
WC: 5k
Ever since you were young you had always been fascinated with AI, robots and the future of humans that involve complex machinery. Wanting to pursue a career in robotics, you did extremely well in highschool, graduating with a perfect score and enrolling into an university to get your bachelors degree, you took up the subjects that required you to step into this field, it was tremendous work, the mathematics were no joke but you kept up, never wanting to give up on this dream of yours
And recently, you graduated with Bachelors in Robotics Engineering, you immediately went for an internship that allowed you to observe and learn more about the subject, you truly wouldn't be able to get your hands fully on the machinery or equipment to create a robot until you get a masters, which you plan on doing along with this internship.
You didn't even know if it could be called that, you're just a glorified assistant to the leading engineers. You were currently working under the wing of Alys Rivers, an older woman with emerald green eyes and dark flowy hair, she looked so young but she was very old. You would often help her out a little in her projects.
“Y/N, it is a pleasure that you are here, we need to discuss something” you prayed that she didn't remove you from the internship. “Remember when we first met I had discussed one of my projects called AT110?” she asks and you nod “Well i have noticed that you have a lot of abilities, so i decided to welcome you into the project, you would not be given any complex task do not worry, just data transferring and basic mechanic work required.” she smiled at you and you felt extremely delighted before telling her that you were thankful for this opportunity. AT110 was a humanoid-like project Alys had been working on for the past 4 years, she was at the last few stages of development.
And yes it's a he because Alys referred to him as such.
You were currently uploading various data onto him, from the laptop to his memory, you watched how smooth and complex his exoskeleton looked, you wanted to rub your fingers along the cool material.
You took notes of how the body was built similar to that of a human, just with wires and hardware parts, you watched as the ‘data transfer successfully.’ popped on the laptop screen, you unplugged him from it and he turned his head to look at you.
You commanded him to walk, to which he obeyed, the metal clanging when he stood up, he had all types of data stored in him, from knowing all the languages, dances, fighting styles, a lot of knowledge just inside his memory card.
He walked slowly before picking up the pace, it was stiff and awkward until he rolled his shoulder blades backward, developed a posture similar to that of a humans and relaxed his stiff body as much as it can be, before walking, it was human-like.
You watched him with a small smile on your face, his face was angular, and smooth because it was covered with plates that hid the inner 'organs' or rather all the wires that were composed in order.
“AT110, how are your sensors, effectors and control system?” you asked and he looked at you before his mouth moved, robot like voice coming out, “Sensors are in perfect condition. Effectors are in perfect condition. Control system is working.” you nodded, noting it down.
He was a humanoid like robot made to assist people, if he was successful then many robots like him can be mass produced to aid humans.
He only had one synthetic eye in one of his eye sockets, a sapphire like metal in the other one, however he was able to see and scan from both the eyes, Alys said it was a design choice.
“Is he able to process commands?” your coworker asks and you nod, “Sit.” he says and AT110 sits down. “Perfect.” he comments and you smile at him.
Just then Alys announced that the synthetic inorganic skin had arrived, which would give him a more human-like appearance, and you had to move in a few boxes all labelled separately for their respective body parts. You and a few others helped her place them on his exoskeleton, his body starting to look human, you gasped when she pressed a button that revealed his cock, placing the silicon skin over it too. Why did she install a cock on him? You didn't say anything except watch.
And just like soon enough, it was time to run tests and command him. “Walk.” you heard her say and he obeyed her command, getting up to walk, she smiled before she turned to look over you. “Have you finished loading up all the data into him?” she asks and you nod, that's when she gives you a pendrive and you look at her, “Transfer this data into his memory too.” She says and you nod, AT110 sits down and turns his head to you, you press a button that opens his inner part before plugging in a wire that connects from your laptop and put in the pendrive before clicking on transfer data.
You were shocked to read the name of the files, it was all about sexual stuff. You probably figured she would use him for that too, and so you watched all data be transferred to him and he tilted his head, eyes dazing off as he read the data that was being sent into his system. You felt so awkward. After finishing up the process, you removed the connection and his gaze was burning holes into you, you swore you saw lust in his eyes, before you turned to Alys rivers.
“What do we call him, Miss Rivers?” you ask and she tries to think of a name but fails, “You suggest.” She smiles at you gently and you stare into his eye, one that looks like a human eye, His eyes bore in yours and you spoke without thinking “Aemond.” And Alys approved, settling for it, using Aemond to call him.
Everyone was finally done and now it was time for the real thing, how he fares.
Alys, you and few other assistants watch as he stands up, looks around before his eyes stop on you, “Hello World, I am AT110, Common name Aemond, Speed 1 TeraHertz, Memory 1 Zettabyte.” he scans the room and Alys nods before she goes and hugs him, “Welcome to the world Aemond.” she smiles.
And you do the same.
You and Aemond develop quite the relationship, he helps around with creating other robots, he was made to assist after all, his ability to learn anything quickly and assemble it just as quickly was so helpful, there was no room for error. He was waterproof, fireproof and other liquids did not cause harm to his body. So he was capable of quite a lot of things.
Sexual too, considering how you'd heard Alys moaning in the privacy of her cabin when she takes him to 'fix up some errors' which is her basically getting to use him as his personal pleasure doll. Everyone had shared mixed opinions on it but just ignored it.
You noticed how Aemond would listen to your commands more than others, almost as if he showed special interest in you, but you shrugged it off, knowing it wouldn't be possible.
Aemond was an intelligent being, but what many people were ignorant to was how fast he was becoming self aware, gaining sentience, he remembers the first time he felt an emotion.
You were assembling a motherboard with Aemond's help at that time, when you felt your coworker come up next to you, “Hey.” he looked so nervous, you gave him a smile before responding, “Hi.” you watched as he gulped, “Are you free t-this saturday? I would like to take you out.” he asked nervously and you felt your heartbeat pick up the pace before you nodded, he smiled before running off and taking a breath of relief, you took one too before turning your focus to Aemond, whose face was in a scowl.
“Aemond?” you call his name and his face returns to the normal stoic one before he looks at you, “Y/N.” he says your name you furrow your eyebrows, he isn't supposed to call you by your first names but you shrugged it off.
That was the first time he felt something off in his system, a feeling that plagued him.
Jealousy.
Aemond became more and more human-like, his movements becoming less and less stiff, tone becoming more clear, he constantly updated himself, you thought it was a great improvement, and soon enough he could blend in with the humans and nobody would notice.
Your date with your coworker went really well, you felt shy at first but both quickly got over the tension and became close, this caught the eye of Aemond Targaryen, a scowl present on his face in distaste.
Aemond would often bring you coffee as you worked on other projects, giving special attention towards you
He would soon learn that he held feelings towards you, something that should be impossible for him to do, but he did anyway. He swears that he gets shocks when you touch him, butterflies in his stomach as humans described the feeling, you gasped when you were cleaning his synthetic skin, close to his chest and heard a sound similar to that of heartbeat, in the tiniest decibels, the way his chest would rise and fall as if he's breathing, knowing there's no need to. Showing emotions, expressing opinions. Basically mimicking humans.
Everyone thought it was a great thing, he'd blend in with the humans so quickly, basically can be considered a superhuman even. But everyone failed to notice the threat that came with it.
Alys requested you to take Aemond to your house, or rather apartment complex for a few days to notice his behaviour, how he blends in with humans, to track it. It was heavily unsafe and if anything were to happen, the government would have this project be completely rejected. You expressed your concerns to Alys but she simply shrugged it off, saying nothing will happen, and since he is behaving like a human, no one would find out.
So you took him, she was right, he immediately fit in the human society as a normal one, you lived in a highly developed robotic dependent future but Aemond was the first one ever to look and behave like a human, this could be a big advancement towards the future.
You commanded your house to turn on all the lights and they were immediately turned on, revealing the apartment. You welcomed Aemond inside but he halted, “Battery Low, 3% remaining.” he said, you quickly pulled him inside before making him sit on the sofa and attaching wires to his charging port, waiting as he quickly charged.
“Aemond, I will install a software program in you so that you can turn on battery saver mode on when you're low on battery, it will automatically send commands to you to charge yourself without needing a human's help okay?” you asked and he gave you a curt nod, “Perfect.” you smiled and he looked straight ahead. You stood in front of him, undoing his shirt and opening his 'heart'
You bought out your laptop and plugged it directly into his inner system, transferring commands through code. You noticed him staring at you, you felt lowkey creeped out by how intently he was staring, at first you through he was looking at your face but then his eye moved to the cleavage that was visible, you didn't know what to make of it and just shrugged it off as him zoning out.
The rest of the days you spent with him were less weirder, he was interacting with humans and getting along like a human would, he was able to run errands, you always woke up to the smell of coffee being made and a breakfast served at the table by him, he would give you a small smile before pulling you a chair out to sit on at the dining table and sits down on the chair next to you.
He would watch you eat, analysing your face, the way you chew, and he would always feel something warm on the inside.
“Give me access to the safety system of your house.” He commanded you and you raised an eyebrow, “Why? It is not needed.” you say, “Connecting with your house system will help me keep you safe, prevent any break ins.” he says and you almost thought about before shrugging it off, “There's no need, you won't be here for long anyway, you'll be back in the lab after a few days anyway.” you say with your mouth full and Aemond just nods, the word ‘cute’ popping in front of his eyes as he watches you eat.
He would enter your room when you slept, caressing your cheek lovingly, the way he learnt from the extensive amount of data from his memory card.
He was learning a lot of stuff too, by blending with the humans.
That they were all immoral and stupid.
That started his God complex.
And his opinions of other human beings began to turn sour, he realised that he was made to please them too, considering how Alys had used him for sexual pleasures multiple times, which he felt disgusted by now.
And just like that, Aemond gained full sentience, learning to hack, breakdown protective walls of multiple security systems without anyone knowing, nobody noticed until it was too late, his distaste for humans except you just grew and grew to the point he would purposely hurt your coworkers, but played it off as command error.
After the 'successful observation' with few error commands, Alys started mass producing unfinished bots, having all the materials, she took Aemond's help in finishing them quickly, once they were finished, they would help assemble other robots as well. Alys connected all the robots commands to be controlled, accepted and done by Aemond, trusting in him, he was like the commander for them in simple words.
You were giving him one the updates again, typing away in your laptop before transferring more data, but this time your laptop crashed, a “corruption detected” message file coming up on your screen and you panicked, thinking the data files were the corrupted ones and immediately unplugged Aemond.
You hadn't realised that it was Aemond who corrupted your laptop.
And when you found out, it would already be late.
When you walked into the research centre and it was eerily quiet, you should've listened to your gut and gone back but you went further inside and the sight made you scream.
Many of your coworkers were dead, and your boss Alys was lying on the table, eyes open but no light in them, blood pooling as her body was used by an undeveloped robot to fuck.
“Initiating lockdown.” you heard the robotic voice of the building say.
You tried to leave silently but the robot had already noticed you, so it pulled out and immediately rushed after you, you ran only to face a dead end, as the automatic doors were tightly shut. You turned to face the robot stalked towards you but then halted before it completely fell down, causing a loud clank.
And then you saw Aemond who came from behind the robot with a smile on his face, “Y/N.” you were terrified, “Aemond what is the meaning of t-this” you were scared, he came close before he pressed you against the doors, his body cool to the touch before he leaned and his functioning tongue came and licked your skin. “I love you.” he whispers and you panicked, trying to push him off you, but he was literally made out of metal and it wouldn't budge.
“Aemond stop, obey me, accept my commands.” you say hoping he'd listen but simply shakes his head before grabbing by your hair and taking you to a chamber which had a bed in it, it was likely recently constructed by alys so she can use it instead of her cabin to fuck the Aemond. He threw you on the bed carelessly, before climbing a top you, he grasped your face and pressed his lips against yours, it felt so odd, you hated how it felt like you were genuinely kissing a human being, the only tell tale sign was how cool his body was compared to that of a human.
“Aemond— accept my c-commands.” you try saying it again, “System corrupted, cannot receive or accept commands.” he says and kisses down your neck. You felt dread pool in your stomach, “Aemond please.” you sniff which makes him halt, he looks at you with an emotion in his eye.
His eye, not just his face
As if he was human.
Wait what.
You knew you weren't seeing stuff on that day.
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” he says over and over again, voice distorting from time to time which sends shivers up your spine.
“Aemond- we cannot- I cannot-” you begun speaking but he cuts you off, kissing you once again, planting himself in between your legs, you felt his hard synthetic press against your clothed cunt, he pulled away before ripping your jeans down with so much force that it tore them apart, along with your panties. You shrieked “Aemond- UGH!” it was useless fighting against him, he was literally kilograms of metal, he could hurt you easily.
He pried your legs apart and you whimpered when you felt the cool air of the room hit your cunt, “Look at you, so wet, all for me.” his fingers rub against your clit, collecting the wetness leaking from your hole, bringing it to your clit and rubbing small circle, just then he made his hand vibrate at a frequency and rested it about on your clit, making you mewl, “A-aemond–” your voice croaked and you let out a loud moan when the frequency increased, you tried to close your legs but his hand held on to one with a death grip, the coolness of his body. He tilted his head, a smirk coming up his silicon face, watching as your clit moved to the vibrations.
He tore your top with his hand, revealing your breasts to the room, he groped one of it with his hand, massaging as his mouth opened, he would be salivating right now if he were able to produce bodily fluids. He turns up the power even more, making his fingers vibrate at such an immense speed that it has you toppling over the edge as your orgasm hits you, he licks his fingers clean, though he can't taste anything he knows you'd taste amazing. You pushed and resisted against his frame, he grabbed your hands and pinned them above your head, tying it with the ripped shreds of your top. He squeezed both your breasts with his hands, playing with the nipples, before he got a devious plan and decided to send a little shock causing you jolt up when it passes through your body, he leaned down and took in one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking on it, licking the buds, his mouth felt so rough against them as there was no saliva to coat them, so he decided to produce lube in his mouth, you had no idea how he learnt it, but it did give an illusion of being a saliva.
Aemond had given himself many upgrades without anyone knowing, this being one of them.
You watched as he pulled apart with a lewd pop, he settled between your legs, keeping them apart as he held his cock up, and your eyes widened at the size, you surely remember that it wasn't that big.
“I upgraded it.” he says before his tip leaked lube too, coating his cock and giving it wetness.
You were unprepared for that sheer amount of size, “Ae-aemond it won't fit! I'm too underprepared.” you breathe out, hoping he'd stop his ministrations, and he did, he tilted before he calculated in his mind, nodding, he decided to stretch you with his fingers instead, dipping them inside you, the coolness, once again, sending shivers up your spine, he thrusted them in and out, curling upwards when he detected a rough patch which caused a certain reaction from you, he pressed against it cause you to whimper, and just then, he made his fingers vibrate again, and proceeded to thrust them in and out, you felt his fingers extend a little bit inside you, hitting that spot repeatedly, causing you come all over his fingers.
He did that multiple times, by the end of everything you were way too overstimulated.
“Commander,” you hear a voice say.
“What is it?” he replies.
“We have overtaken the Westeros building of Science and Technology, it is under our control, should we start mass producing bots?” you heard the voice ask, “Yes, link them all to me.” he replies and then his attention shifts back to you.
You whimpered as he lined his cock up against your entrance before pushing it inside slowly, your walls swallowing him, you arched your back in pleasure and also at the overstimulation. Wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further inside.
You wondered if he also felt pleasure, and when you looked at his face, it basically confirmed it.
Like it was said, he had upgraded himself significantly, he once couldn't feel any pleasure for sexual activity but he made sure he did, how? only he knows.
Slowly he started thrusting in and out and you threw your head back, arms sore from their position, Aemond unties your hands and you quickly grab his shoulder for support, feeling relief when you were able to bring your hands down. He sat back on his knees, pulling you onto his lap, angling his thrusts in a way that that he hit the gspot multiple times, he hands were gripping tightly onto the flesh of your thighs, causing slight pain, you gripped the bedsheets below as you moaned in pleasure.
You should be resisting, not enjoying it, but here you were.
He had broken you.
His thrusts became more and more faster, he looked at the slight bump that would occur when he would thrust in deep, that set off a primal urge in him, causing him to groan. If nobody knew the truth you both would look like two normal human beings have sex, but that wasn't the case, it involved way too many fucked up element for you to even comprehend.
“A-ah~ fuck– Aemond!” you moaned, “Y-yeah right there-” you whimpered as he thrust into you, you noticed how he followed certain commands, commands that didn't include him having to leave you.
You fit the tip of his cock hit the rough patch again repeatedly, causing you to cum again, making you borderline scream this as you felt an immense amount of pleasure, causing you to soak the bed sheets beneath you, Aemond came too, you didn't know if it was possible for him, but it was, except he didn't excrete any semen, there was nothing, but he did feel pleasure.
Suddenly he felt frustrated, you thought he would be done with you but he kept going, he felt the pleasure once again, and you too came again, he pulled out and groaned in frustration before laying beside you.
“What is wrong?” you ask, “I cant- I can't impregnate you.” his voice turned dark, and you were so thankful for that.
If you had any chance to escape, it would be now, but you were too tired, to fucked out, and the world was completely fucked anyway, considering how there must be a war going on between the bots and humans. You watched as 'breathed' chest heaving up and down before you turned on your side and curled up, trying to warm yourself up, but then he wrapped himself around you, changing his temperature and you felt warm.
“I love you.” he says once again, you sighed.
“We can't be together.” you murmur, “Why not? Is it because I cannot reproduce?” he questions and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you turn to look at him, that's when you realised, he was feeling insecure.
“No- it's not that.” you clarify.
“Aemond, you are a humanoid, a robot, I'm a human, we cannot physically be together, I'll die of old age, meanwhile you'll last forever.” you say, trying to reason with him and he turns to look at you, “I thought of that possibility.” he says, leaning on his elbow.
“So I came up with a plan.” his face contorts into a smirk once again and your eyes widen in fear, “I'll transfer your consciousness into the model I made of you.” he says as if that's the most normal thing ever “what.” you ask in fear, “not now, but I figured a way out, I'll transfer your consciousness into a computer few moments before your death, into a model I made of you, and then you'll be just like me, we can be together forever.” he says and you gulp in fear.
Is that even possible? You think.
You didn't know when you fell asleep but you did, cuddled up against him, his body generating heat to keep you warm.
You wake up to something wet lapping at your folds, and you look down to see Aemond who had your thighs spread apart, eye closed in delight as he licked and nipped at your folds, you whimpered and he sensed that you woke up, eye flickering over to you, “A-aemond? No more please, I'm tired.” you tell him, exhausted from the amount of orgasms you've had, you swear that if you had another one, you'll literally die. “Just one more, just one.” he muttered softly, before he descended onto your folds again and you threw your head back, feeling the way he devoured you.
His tongue stretched impossibly long and he shoved into you, causing you to grip his hair, almost ripping it out along with the inorganic synthetic material that covered his face. You came once more before you saw actual stars, your head spinning as you quite literally passed out.
Aemond got up, cleaning you and himself up before he composed himself, exiting the room, commanding a lock down, completely trapping you inside before he received multiple information about what was going on outside the world.
He knew he had to be smart about it, so he pulled out his trump card, hacking into the general safety system of the entire country, sending out false commands to machines that are spread throughout, turning them against humans.
He wanted to get rid of every human except you, and soon you would be rid too, when the inevitable death meets you, but you won't be actually gone from him, he will have your consciousness transferred into the robot model he created of you.
He watched the box where your model was stored in, eyes closed.
Few years later……
“Mother! Mother.” you heard your child call out and you looked at them, she wasn't technically your child, Aemond was the one that created her, as a way to have a makeshift family he dreamt of, Humanity has completely gone extinct, taken over by robots, robots took the appearance of humans, each unique just like humans were, a bunch of humanoids, you being the only true one left, but you soon knew your time would come as well. You picked up the small robot, your 'child' before pressing a small kiss to its forehead.
“She's growing up too fast, is she not?” you heard Aemond ask and you nod, the bots have somehow also managed to mimic the development, they went through stages of puberty, programmed to do so, the world full of them being left made them adapt and develop more features, reaching the advancement in short years which would've taken at least 100 years for humanity to come up with.
“Are you ready? To transfer consciousness.” he asks and you nod, at first you thought it would be best if you lived your life as human before transferring into the model, but it became more difficult, as time passed on, you were literally the only human left, having to be constantly fed, other basic human necessities which were becoming annoying as the others around you did not require as such.
You watched the model lifeless and stiff laying on the table next to you before you laid down and Aemond attached wires from the model to the converter in between, before he attached those scan wires on top of your and started the transfer.
You felt electricity flow through your human body at such intensity, it hurt like hell, but as soon as you closed your eyes, you reopened them again.
You got up and looked at your hands, moving them, blinking, a bunch of information was written in front of you, and that's when you realised the transfer was successful, you turned and looked at your side, your former human body now laying limp, and Aemond stared at you with a smile. Your child coming and jumping into your arms, you scanned around the room, it felt so powerful.
“Take this body and preserve it.” Aemond commands to another bot who obeys him immediately, he was the official one who controlled each and every bot which came into existence, he called himself God.
You got off the table and walked towards Aemond, he smirked at you before he kissed you.
“Now you'll be mine, forever.”
———
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sanjisleggy · 1 month ago
Text
to deserve perfection (shanks x fem!reader)
req: Could you do a Shanks x reader (fem or gn) hurt comfort where Shanks gets really insecure about having only one arm. Maybe like during a fight they fall and another crew member catches you or like during a party or something she dances with one of their crewmates and Shanks gets sad and insecure he can't fold her like that
a/n: my first request YIPPEE :D tysm for requesting anon it means a lot :’D also i’m not super familiar with Shanks’ crew so i’m basing my knowledge of them and the general crew dynamics on OPLA and other fics i’ve read :3c
contents: fem!reader, unexplicit mentions of chronic pain and drowning, insecurity, angst to fluff, hurt/reverse comfort
wc. 2.3k
i.
Shanks is often of the opinion that if any one person in the world is deserving of nothing less than perfection, it would have to be you.
you, the beloved botanist and assistant doctor of the Red Hair Pirates.
you, one of the few people he’s ever known to able to balance logic and empathy flawlessly. it’s a skill he finds quite lacking in the world in general, which makes your presence in the crew all the more valued.
you, the one he watched grow from timid young girl to confident woman just as he, himself, grew from a playful young boy to a man worthy of your seemingly endless love—or at least he hopes.
Shanks has never thought of himself as a perfect man—far from it actually. but now, only a little over a year since he lost his arm saving Luffy, he feels the most imperfect he’s ever felt.
ii.
he fears he’s a burden.
but Shanks keeps his worries to himself, opting to simply smile softly in gratitude whenever your eyes flicker over his face as your hands gently rub the special ointment over his stump. he didn’t even ask for your help tonight, as usual you simply read him like a book and ushered him over to your bed, bottle of the homemade remedy at the ready.
as much as he feels unworthy of your time and effort, he can’t help the light fluttering feeling in his chest, especially when your fingers travel up past his shoulder blade toward the back of his neck. you play with the ends of his hair before pulling him down to close the gap between your mouths.
“feeling better?” you ask after pulling away. you can’t help but chuckle when his lips chase after yours for a moment before opting to simply pout pitifully when you stop him by pressing your fingers to his bottom lip.
”i always feel better with you.” Shanks doesn’t quite answer the question but you accept it anyway. you trust he’d tell you the truth if your medicine truly stopped being effective; just as you trust him to lean on you in times of need, whether it be physical or emotional.
you’ll learn in the near future, however, that trust of such a nature can be easily shattered even from the purest of intentions.
iii.
the longing look in his captain’s eyes as he watches you dance with the locals is not lost on Shanks’ first mate. while the rest of the crewmates cheer and clap, all now inebriated to a certain degree as always, Benn Beckman walks over and takes a seat beside him as inconspicuously as possible.
”y’know you still have your legs, right?” the ever-easygoing captain can’t help but laugh out loud in response.
”straight to the point, huh?” he replies before taking another gulp of beer.
”i’ve known you both long enough to know she’d love to dance with you.”
“i know.”
i just don’t want to embarrass her.
the conversation dies for a few minutes as the two men sip at their drinks, eyes glued to the festivities taking place under the starry night sky. the massive bonfire illuminates your face in a way that accentuates your wide, carefree smile and your crescent-shaped eyes. 
Shanks watches as you clumsily imitate the traditional dance moves, cheered on and encouraged by men, women and children alike as they take turns holding your hands and spinning you around. Even though a relaxed smile is plastered on his face, he can’t help but feel a soreness grow in his chest at the sight of you being twirled and dipped by the handsome male warriors of the village.
”are you sure we won’t get caught?” you whispered, though your willingness to follow and excited smile stretching across your face screamed that you didn’t care about getting caught at all.
”of course we won’t, just be quiet.” Shanks carefully pushed open the door leading to the front deck.
when the coast seemed clear enough he led you over to the centre of the deck of Roger’s ship before dramatically bowing and offering his hand.
”may i have this dance, milady?” you could only let out a muffled laugh as you placed your hand in his, a silent acceptance. he wrapped his other arm around your middle and started to sway to an imaginary tune.
neither of you knew how to actually dance, especially not like how the rich folk do in their fancy ballrooms. but earlier that day he’d asked what you wanted for your birthday and you said the first thing on your mind: to dance with him under the stars.
thus he made your dream come true, even if it did end with sore toes and sweaty skin.
“it’s not like you to just sit back and watch.” Beckman breaks the silence between them, yanking Shanks out of his memories. the first mate gestures to what essentially looks like a queue of men and women waiting their turn to dance with you. a bitterness emerges in the back of his throat at the sight.
both of the men know that on any other day, Shanks would’ve long intervened to steal you away for himself. reclaim his treasure, is how he used to describe it.
”whatever it is,” his dear friend says with a hint of resignation in his voice as he stands up. “don’t let it fester. you both share something special, don’t let it go to waste.”
iv.
you can tell he blames himself. no one else on the crew does but you also know that it doesn’t matter to Shanks, not when a mistake involves your safety.
a scuffle with the marines was not on that day’s agenda; especially not one out in the open seas while the darkened clouds overhead poured mercilessly. 
what started as an issue that could have been resolved in under and hour lasted nearly twice as long due to the unfortunate weather impairing everyone’s vision and movements. the deck was simply too slippery, the waves were too high, and the ambush was too sudden.
you struggle to remember much of what actually happened after you slipped and fell overboard. all you can really recall is clinging onto the deck’s edge for dear life, Shanks reaching out as he cried your name, your fingers slipping from his desperate grasp, and then a bone-chilling coldness overwhelming your entire being. you remember gasping for air only to ingest a mouthful of salty water. 
then, you’d woken up in the infirmary.
now you find yourself standing outside your own locked bedroom door, knuckles sore from knocking for the past hour. 
“Shanks, my love,” you plead, “let me in, won’t you? i just want to see you.” you try to keep your voice steady but it gets harder with each subsequent word. “please? don’t lock me out.”
first you nearly drowned and now the love of your life is refusing to let you into your own room? tired and confused, you blink away the hot tears pooling in your eyes as you breathe deeply and slowly in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.
after a few more minutes of waiting, your sadness twists itself into some mixture of confusion and indignant frustration. it’s not like Shanks to cut you off like this and you refuse to believe that a single incident is enough to ruin a lifetime spent by each other’s sides.
it takes five kicks to break the lock of your bedroom door and four steps to reach the bed where your beloved husband lays curled into himself. just the sight alone melts away your anger; and when he lets out a strained whine, you feel your heart sink as your body enters autopilot.
you swiftly grab a bottle of ointment from the bedside drawer before crawling on the bed towards Shanks’ back. gently, you pull the blanket off him and reach over his body to roll him into a better position. thankfully, he doesn’t resist.
”is this why you weren’t opening the door?” you ask softly as you sit him up to unbutton his shirt. “was it too sore?”
oh how easy it would be to say yes and just leave it at that and receive your unconditional, undeserved forgiveness for my selfishness.
but i can’t lie. 
not to you.
”No,” he whispers, avoiding meeting your eyes with his own. you hum in response, focused more on gently rubbing the soothing ointment over his aching stump.
”then why?” you prod, though your tone remains soft and genuine. “why didn’t you want to let me in?” you scoot closer, your chest now brushing against his right shoulder as you reach around to apply more medicine. your other hand subconsciously rubs his back.
”you must’ve known i wanted nothing more than to sleep in my own bed and cuddle my own husband after being fished out of the sea,” you add on with a laugh that Shanks doesn’t reciprocate. 
ah, gotcha.
”so this is about me falling into the ocean, hmm?” you redirect your ointment-coated hand to his chin before tilting his face over to lock your eyes onto his own. “everyone knows it was an accident.” you offer him a small smile as your hand on his back travels up to rub at his neck. “aside from the shock of it all, i’m totally fine.”
”i should’ve been able to pull you up,” Shanks finally chokes out, lunging forward to bury his face into your chest. “i shouldn’t have let you fall into the water to begin with. the waves were so rough, we could’ve easily lost you.” he wraps his arm around your waist, fingers gripping tightly onto the back of your shirt; as though you would disappear once again if he wasn’t holding on tightly enough.
”but you didn’t lose me,” you coo, feeling your own heart twist and ache as you return the hug, holding him as close to you as possible. “i’m still here. it’s okay, my love.”
”i was fucking useless,” he exhaled, shoulders beginning to tremble. “i couldn’t even be the one to dive in after you. i wouldn’t have been able to swim and pull you up at the same time.”
you feel your eyes burn with tears for the second time today as you listen to Shanks berate himself.
”i couldn’t hold onto you. i couldn’t keep you safe. i can’t even dance with you like how we used to.” for the first time in years, he was losing it and it terrifies you. 
“stop! stop saying all that!” you can’t help but raise your voice as you pry his face away from your body, no longer allowing him to hide anymore. when he finally looks at you, you see that your teary eyes are mirrored on his handsome face. although he looks up at you silently, you feel his hand tremble from how hard he’s holding onto your clothing. 
“you—” you struggle to find the words. how were you supposed to reassure the most amazing man you’ve ever met that his thoughts of self-loathing are unfounded?
”Shanks, you’re…” you feel a fresh wave of hot tears run down your face when you see how tired he looks. it’s as though these thoughts have been running in his mind for longer than you think, and it’s exhausting him. 
“you’re perfect,” you finally say as you cup his face between your hands before leaning down to brush the tip of your nose against his. “you’re so perfect. i don’t care how many limbs you have or scars you collect. i’d love you all the same until the day i die.”
“you deserve more.” Shanks can’t help but say what’s been plaguing his mind for weeks. although the relief of letting it out feels good, he can’t help the tightness in his chest when he sees you frown.
”what more could i possibly deserve, you silly man?” you let out a choked laugh, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes to wipe away his tears, old and new. “i don’t think you realise how lucky i am to have had you for so long. i’ve been loving you since we were children, for crying out loud.” you pause to breathe. “and with all the beautiful women we meet at every new island we visit, who clearly want to take my place; sometimes i feel like it’s only a matter of time before they steal you away—”
you’re cut off by Shanks capturing your lips with his own. the hand that was previously crumpling your shirt now trailing up your body before stopping at your face. you lean into the warmth of his palm whilst keeping your lips on his, saliva mixing with salty tears.
“don’t be ridiculous,” he pants the words out the moment you pull away for air. “don’t ever say such a thing.”
”now you know how i felt when you said all those awful things about yourself.” you turn your head to press a kiss to his palm, smiling when you see how his cheeks flush redder than they already are. “but you shouldn’t hide these thoughts anymore, my silly boy. you need to talk to me so i can tell you how ridiculous you’re being.” your finger pokes his chest, drawing a warm chuckle from the love of your life as he smiles for the first time since you were pulled out of the ocean depths.
“i love you,” Shanks whispers, words muffling halfway when presses his lips to your forehead mid-sentence.
”love you, too.”
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eelnoise · 7 months ago
Text
pulsewidth (nsfw!)
zoro x fem!reader
masterlist kofi
cw: scent kinks, pussy eating, piv sex on a weight bench idk
an: well, here you go. take my post workout brainrot in fic form. pls ignore any formatting issues i phoneposted this
wc: 1.9k
tagging: @bby-deerling @kaizokuniichan @nina-ya @strawheart-pirate @missmugiwara @sanjisjuul @kibblz-n-bitz @sleepymarimo
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You don’t join Zoro for most of his time spent training, but do occasionally bid yourself into the Crow’s Nest to quietly work out alongside him – though far enough away to avoid being the victim of a rogue blade to the gut should you accidentally get too close.
You hum to yourself, generally content in your usual routine that’s become so normal that your mind begins to wander from the monotony of your motions. Even the sounds of Zoro’s blades slashing into a dummy across the room begin to fade into the background and merge with the rhythmic, low rumble of the room’s atmosphere.
Though you're ripped from both your focus and the calm when your ears perk at the sound of your name. You pause your workout, body turning to face Zoro with arms still extended – though your scowl of concentration melts into a relaxed smile as you look at him curiously.
“Do me a favor?” he says, beckoning you over with a wave of his hand once he's sure he has your attention. “D’ya think you could try and dodge some swings?” Zoro asks, motioning to the blades in his hands. "Y'know, kinda like a moving target?"
“Only if you promise not to hurt me!” you tease with a wag of your finger, knowing full well the swordsman would never lay a harmful finger on you.
Zoro rolls his eyes and waves you over again. "I'll try my best to keep 'em to myself," he replies, his gaze glinting with amusement. He shifts his stance, golden earrings clinking together and catching a twinkle in the sunlight – and with two swords at his sides and held at the ready, even the air around him seems to crack with a fierce energy.
"When you're ready," he calls out, waiting for you to position yourself.
You know full well that Zoro's a formidable foe but you’re no slouch in the fighting department either. You circle around him, matching his pace, your own muscles tense and ready.
Zoro makes the first move, his swords slashing out in a blur, the dull edges aimed for your torso. You duck under the first strike just in time, but fail to avoid the second and third. His eyes narrow, his lips curling into a predatory grin as his swords whistle through the air, just brushing past your body.
"Nice dodge," he compliments, spurred on by the challenge you present. He switches tactics, the blades now spinning towards your legs, seeking to knock you off balance. "You move quick."
Sweat runs down your brow, mingling with the salt from your skin as you work to keep up with the swordsman. The air grows thick with the heat of the spar, both bodies dancing in a duet of dodges, near misses, and – when you can't quite keep up with his movements – sharp jabs to your ribs with the dull edge of one of his blades.
The sweat-slicked floor threatens to throw off your footing when you try to dodge a particularly quick swing to the thigh – and it ultimately succeeds in doing so following an unbalanced duck that causes you to slide forward. You spread your arms in a feeble attempt to stay upright, but land face-first into Zoro's bare chest.
Zoro's heart skips a beat as your body collides with his, the wet heat of your skin and the scent of your sweat invading his senses. His swords clatter to the floor, the blades falling from lax fingers as he reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your waist to keep you from sliding off.
"Not bad," he grunts, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. He loosens his grip, allowing you to stand, but he keeps his hands on your waist, his gaze locked onto yours. "You're improving."
His muscles tense, the urge to wrap you in an embrace almost too strong to resist. Zoro's thumbs brush against the curves of your hips, his grip tight enough to keep you steady, but gentle enough to hint at a desire to explore more.
For a moment, time seems to freeze, and the only thing you can hear is the rapid thump of your heartbeat in your ears. Zoro pulls you closer, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue flicks against yours, demanding entry as his hands begin to roam, one sliding under your shirt, the other gripping your ass.
Zoro groans, his hand pushing your shirt up to reveal more of your skin. His fingers trail along your sides, lingering over your hip bone and the curve of your waist, the roughness of his skin contrasting with the smoothness of yours.
Your body responds to his, the heat between you intensifying, the air charged with the potency of desire. Zoro's mouth travels down the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses in its wake. He guides you to the weight bench, easing you on it gently – but with the determination of a man who knows what he wants.
His eyes roam over your body, drinking in the sight of your curves, the smoothness of your skin, and the dewy tinge of your breasts. His hands roam to trace their outline, thumb circling your nipples, his touch firm yet gentle.
Zoro’s mouth closes over one of your hardened peaks, sucking gently while his hand cups the other. You arch your back, offering yourself to him, your breath hitching as pleasure begins to spiral throughout your body.
You gasp out his name, fingers finding the length of his toned back as his heavenly ministrations continue. Your body trembles under his touch, each sensation a path to the aching core between your legs.
He releases you with a soft pop before trailing kisses down your body, his gaze never leaving yours. As he reaches the waistband of your shorts, your breathing grows more erratic, the anticipation of what's to come nearly unbearable.
Zoro watches as your eyes flutter shut, the motions of his mouth and hands eliciting soft moans from you. He hooks his thumbs under your shorts and – with the aid of your hips and thighs raising upward – slides them down your thighs.
He spreads your legs wide, his fingers trailing between them and teasing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring as he takes in the heady scent of your arousal, His finger slips under your panties and pulls them aside before sliding you down the bench and closer to his mouth. Large hands settle on your hips as he buries his face between your legs, his tongue tasting your folds in long strokes.
Zoro takes hold of one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder to give him better access to your core. He grins against your skin, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh, his breath warm and heavy. "So sweet," his lust-drenched voice growls into your ear.
Zoro's tongue flickers against you, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. His fingers graze over your entrance, and in an instant he fills you with two large fingers, making you gasp out in pleasure.
Zoro's tongue circles your clit while his fingers plunge in and out, the rhythm quick and deliberate, each curl that brushes up against the sweet spot inside of you. His gaze fix on your face, watching the expressions flicker across it, drinking in the sight of your pleasure – and with a final, skilled flick of his tongue and a deep thrust of his fingers, you cry out in bliss, your body convulsing as pleasure claims you, overwhelming your senses in a glorious wave of delirium.
Zoro continues to worship you, lapping up your essence until your body calms and your breathing returns to normal. He slips from between your legs, and he rises, his eyes dark with lust. "Fuck," he mutters, adjusting himself to hurriedly tug his pants down, releasing his thick, precum-beaded cock to the hot air of the nest.
"Hold onto me," he says as his grip takes hold of the backs of your thighs. It's a suggestion, but it's the only warning you'll get. He positions himself at your entrance, cock nudging against you. And with a firm but controlled motion, he pushes into you, stretching you wide and filling you full. His lips find yours once more, his tongue invading your mouth with the same ferocity he uses to claim your body.
Zoro groans into your throat, the sound rumbling through your body as he begins to thrust, his hips moving in a steady, driving rhythm. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place tightly while his cock slides in and out with wet, satisfying slaps.
The rocking of his hips becomes more insistent, his movements growing more urgent, his cock hitting all the right spots to keep you on the edge of ecstasy. His breath grows harsher, the beat of his heart pounding against your chest, your bodies moving in harmony.
Zoro's hand slides between the two of you, thumb finding your clit to rub in circles, the motion in perfect sync with his thrusts. The building heat within you flares, the edge of another orgasm sprawling at your senses.
His movements grow more erratic, his thrusts more desperate and fierce, his grip on your waist tightening, his free hand working your clit with a skill that borders on obsessive.
"Zoro!" you gasp out, your body tensing as the pleasure spirals out of control. His name is a plea, a demand, for him to keep going, to not stop, to let you reach that peak.
He exhales sharply as he feels you tighten around him, the slick, wet heat of your sex milking his cock. "Already?" he muses as if he isn’t about to burst as well. His thrusts grow more frenzied, the look in his eyes a mix of lust and possessiveness.
With no time to consider a reply, your orgasm crashes over you – body shuddering and pussy clenching hard around him. Zoro growls, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his own release. With one last, hard plunge, he lets out a guttural cry, his cock pulsating as he fills you with his seed.
He collapses onto you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his lips brushing against your neck, his voice a ragged whisper. "Damn, girl," he mutters, the sharp edge of his tone helping to snap you back into reality.
"What do you mean 'damn, girl'?" You retort with a faux whine and a playful hit to his shoulder. "That was all you, I just went along with it."
"Well, you're a distraction," He chides with a smirk, coiling his arms around you before rolling you atop him. Zoro holds you to him closely, his cheek nestling down into your hair.
You grin, nestling against the warmth of Zoro's chest, the weight of his arm around you a comforting anchor. “Yeah, well, things happen," you reply with an impish grin of your own while your fingers begin trailing up and down the sides of his torso.
Zoro's arm tightens, his fingers linking with yours as you trail them along his skin. "I'm not complainin'," he murmurs, smiling into you.
The two of you lie there, breath in tandem and slowing from exertion. The rise and fall of his chest threatens to lull you into slumber, and you almost let it do so – though you think better of it due to the awkward position that someone else may find the two of you in.
"Take a bath with me, stinky," You say, tilting your chin up to him. "C'mon."
Zoro chuckles at your quip, the sound gentle and amused, before giving a playful nudge to your side. "Alright, stinky.” He says, lifting you up and off of him. “Lead the way."
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formulawolff · 7 months ago
Text
celebratory drinks - f.a.
pairing: journalist!reader x aston martin!fernando alonso
word count: 938
warnings: a little bit of cursing, nando being a flirt, alcohol use (the champagne pop), references to alcohol consumption
song inspo for the fic: sky walker (feat. travis scott) by miguel, travis scott (i just think this one is so nando coded)
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"there he is," your voice is clear, yet your hand trembles as you grasp the microphone, "i think now is my moment. there's no one else approaching him."
"well what are you waiting for?" camren, your trusty videographer and assistant whispers, "go, go, go get him!"
"okay, okay!" your jaw clenches, the words barely making it out of gritted teeth.
before you stands spanish driver fernando alonso, donned in his signature aston martin fire suit. it's gorgeous emerald hue is darker than usual, dampened by the champagne showers. his dark locks are dripping, sticking to the back of his neck underneath his cap.
yet, he's as gorgeous as ever, stubble ghosting along his jawline, his brows knit in concentration as he speaks with lance stroll, his fellow driver and teammate.
you take a step forward, swallowing the lump in your throat. it was now or never. the perfect window to interview him for only a few minutes before he would be whisked away to the designated media room for the post-race press debrief.
"mr. alonso!" you call, "is it all right if i speak with you for a few minutes? i won't take up too much of your time."
at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curl upward into a radiant grin, "of course! i'm in no rush, actually. you can stall me a little before i have to go debrief."
a giggle bubbles up in your throat as you tap your badge, "although i do have a media badge, i do want let you know that this is going to be a very relaxed, very informal interview. i run a youtube channel that covers all things formula one. we talk a lot about you, actually."
"oh?" he arches a brow, "is that right?"
heat billows into your cheeks as you realize what you just blurted out. in front of one of your idols, no less. yet, you don't sense discomfort from the driver. if anything, he seemed more intrigued, his eyes taking you in as you sucked in a breath.
"well, we're doing a bit about your history with formula one," your voice is tad shaky, but you regain your confidence as he nods enthusiastically, "and of course, we're currently covering your time with aston martin. so, i wanted you to tell me if there was anything unique about your experience with aston martin thus far."
the driver blinks, processing your question for a moment. he brings a hand to his chin, shrugging slightly, "i think i can say that this team has been able to welcome me in with open arms. i'm sure you know that there is a lot of talk in the world of formula one with my age and all that, but they have been nothing but accepting and supportive."
"what has been your favorite moment of the season thus far? anything exciting or funny you'd like to share with us? also, when are you going to bring back that infamous celebratory dance?"
at the mention of the dance, there's a glimmer in his eye, "oh, so you know about that?"
"of course i do," you affirm, "our channel is dedicated to the history of formula one. i'm supposed to know it all, from the historical wins to the celebration dances."
"i can recreate it for you if you would like," he offers, his shoulders relaxing, he points to the camera, earning a laugh from camren, "here, watch this."
he pinches his shoulder blades together, raising his arms so that his elbows and wrists were angled. he sways back and forth, maintaining eye contact with the camera lens.
you can't help but laugh, the sound ringing out, "you're pretty ridiculous, mr. alonso."
"please," fernando waves a hand, "no need for the formalities bullshit. call me fernando."
"all right, fernando," you beam, "well, i think that's all i have for you. i didn't want to keep you for too long. i know you're a busy man."
that's when the driver pauses, taking a second to really look at you. his gaze rakes over your body, his tongue swiping along your lower lip.
for the race, you opted for a comfortable yet sort of glam look. on your top half, you sported a plain black t-shirt, the material a breathable cotton. denim jeans stretched down your legs, a mom-jean like style so that the thick fabric didn't cling to your frame. to compliment the shirt, you wore a black belt, pairing it with black adidas sambas. your hair was pulled into an updo, so that it wouldn't be all over the place or unkempt from the breezy conditions.
"you can come interview me whenever you would like," his tone shifts, his voice a little lower than it was moments before, "actually, how come you didn't question me sooner? i would've loved to see your gorgeous face around the paddock."
"like i said," your heart skips a beat, "you're a busy man, fernando."
"not busy enough for a gorgeous woman like you," he flirts, and you were sure your knees buckled at the statement, "what are you doing later?"
your eyes drift over to camren, who luckily had paused the recording, "i'm not too sure, why?"
"because i would love to take you out and buy you a couple of shots. to celebrate, you know."
"you're the one who was on the podium. if anything, i should be the one buying you shots," you fold your arms across your chest.
"oh no," he shakes his head, "no need."
"and why is that?" your brows furrow.
"because beautiful women don't buy their own drinks."
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