#and the last one is his skeleton burning

[sea-jello]

!!tw vague description of a body burning!!

what if morro could feel his body burning a second time?

[oblivionscrolls]

With all this talk about the Necrom dlc and what Miraak night look like under the mask, I'm willing to bet he's got a bit of an Amygdala [bloodborne] situation under there.

As in, had more eyes than might be considered normal.

It's reasonable, given his patron Herma Mora. I know quite a few people jump to tentacles first, but the abundance of eyes are a far more prominent feature.

Take the mask off Miraak and you find at least half a dozen eyes of various sizes and possibly colours staring back at you

[heartpiratedrabbles]

Indifference

Prompt: Sanji starts treating you differently from normal and it's taking a toll. It all comes to a head when you get hurt.

~~ Part 2

Sanji X Fem Reader

You’d been on board the Sunny for a while now. Enough to know all your crew mates’ personalities. Enough to brace for impact when you hear your captain yell your name, strike a pose when the shipwright yells super, even joining the helmsmen to meditate every now and then. Reading a book just to discuss it with Robin or discussing fashion with Nami. Eagerly sitting and listening to Usopp’s stories, or waking the swordsman up for dinner, even along to music played by a Skeleton were common days for you. Chopper loving your company in the med bay when you sneak him more Candy than the chef would like.

         And then there was the chef. The curly browed, blonde-haired chef. You had heard warnings of him before joining the crew, how his nose bleeds came from his perverted thoughts. How he doted on any female in his sights. Even Nami had pulled you to the side to tell you how to kick or slap him away if you felt it got to much. Robin giving the advice to just ignore it.

         The first couple of weeks you had proven those rumors true. Sanji would go out of his way to make sure you felt comfortable, making you snacks and drinks constantly and praising the very land you stood on. At first you were taken aback by it, but quickly realized that it was just who he was. He treated you the same as Nami and Robin and it brought you comfort that, while a little strange, it wasn’t different from others.

         You’d even join him to help prep the food or wash the dishes, he protested at first, but never truly tried to stop you. The gentle humming you’d hear as you peeled the vegetables or set the table would sometimes make your heart skip a beat. He’d always turn around to have you taste his food prematurely, his cooing as you gladly took the spoonful.

         Maybe that was your problem. Maybe you had fallen too hard for the stupid chef. Going out of your way to wake up earlier to help him with breakfast, or staying up late at night to see him prepare a snack for your gluttonous captain. Making sure you could spend as much of your precious time with him while attempting to make it seem like a coincidence.

         But now here you were, staring at the man cooking with his back turned to you. It started about 2 months ago. His indifference to your presence. The way he’d barely glance at you, sharing only the bare minimum of words needed to not ignore you completely. The silence in the kitchen hung on your heart as you stared at the back of the chef in front of you. It started slow, but now it was hard to avoid. Sanji had just asked you to stop coming to his kitchen. His voice had been low, and he hadn’t even turned his head to talk to you, You swallowed the lump in your throat, deciding not to speak as you listen to his words.

         Deciding to go to the aquarium instead. It’d be quiet there around this time of day, with the rest of the crew distracted in their own daily routines. Holding your breath as to not let a single cry out as your chest burned. You sat against one of the couches, staring at the fish swimming buy thinking about what happened.

You noticed right away when he stopped fawning over you, the praising tones towards Robin and Nami seemingly falling flat as he would turn to you. And you noticed how the dishes and drinks you got no longer were presented with perfection, often getting a closer presentation to Luffy or Zoro. The sing-song voice slowly turning mono-tone towards you over the weeks. Last week he had stopped talking to you in the kitchen, opting instead to just place your task on the opposite end of the kitchen from him but still saying thanks as you finished.

You brought your knees to your chest, biting your lip hard to remain quiet as his last words to you echo in your mind. The dry tone telling you to leave. You could feel your nails starting to break the skin on your palm and the subtle taste of copper on your tongue. Maybe you weren’t welcomed. Maybe everything had been an illusion and Sanji was just the first one to give up the act.

You were quickly snapped out of your mind with the sudden jerk of the ship, falling at the unmistakable feeling of a cannon ball hitting. Your mind going into action mode, forgetting all about your feelings as you go to the deck. The captain and his wings were already on the attack as Franky was switching the ships mode for battle, and you join the line-up to help the fight.

At one-point Marines had started to board the ship. You fought them off as quickly as the came aboard, slashing and dodging as fast as you could. At one point you had been surrounded, a marine attempting to disarm you by grabbing your wrist, forcing you to turn away from most of the enemies before you fell to the ground. You broke free from the grasp quickly enough, slashing at their ankles as you stand back up. The blood in your veins burning as the fight raged on.

         By the end of it, everyone was exhausted. 5 marine ships surrounding the Sunny in hopes to sink it. The adrenaline had kicked in quickly for you with the shaking of the ship and the movement of fighting. You breathe out a huge sigh of relief as Zoro and Sanji take care of the stragglers, throwing them overboard as you slump against the mast, sinking into the grass beneath. Now that the fight was over it was harder to breathe.

         Franky and Usopp going to fix the ship right away, as Jimbei jumped in the water to see if there was damage to the hull. Chopper complained about the smell of blood but chocked it up to the marines Zoro took care of as Nami and Robin whisked him away to clean up in the bathhouse. You glance up as Zoro heads to the crows’ nest to keep watch for a bit while Brook follows Luffy and Sanji into the dining hall, the captain yelling for food.

         Standing up, you notice a stain of red on the mast and grass from where you sat. You felt the shreds of your shirt on your back when you fell but now you could feel the warm liquid dripping down your back and legs. The stinging pain hitting you as you try to straighten your back a bit more, before quickly heading to the med-bay.

         You could hear through the walls Sanji yelling at Luffy to not eat raw meat as you grabbed some bandages and anti-septic. You didn’t want to bother Chopper, Robin had probably made a bubble bath for the cotton-candy lover. It took longer than you would have thought to find the bottle that was sure to sting, and grabbed a clean cloth, wetting it with the liquid. The cheerful laughter in the other room ringing around you as you prepare yourself to clean the wound you couldn’t see.

         You tried turning your head to look in the mirror but only felt light-headed when you saw how much blood was coming out, your flayed skin curling back from the center of the cuts. Seeing the glimpse of how bad it was seemed to also fully awaken your body to how much it hurt as all of your muscles tensed, every movement now seemingly shooting unbearable pain through your body. You can’t seem to fully move yourself anymore as your throat tightens enough to stop your breathing.

~~~

         Sanji left the kitchen after feeding his wild animal of a Captain. Opting for a smoke after the battle was over. It was tougher than he’d like to admit and he was in a foul mood as Zoro had defeated 3 more marines than him. Walking around a bit to lean on a railing while staring at the half-sunken ships now far behind them.

         Everyone should be in their normal post-battle routines, Food on the table for those who needed the energy, some fixing anything that needed it or cleaning any messes about. And of course, the women and Chopper taking an extra bath to rid themselves of any sprayed blood, dirt, or gunpowder.

Dinner would be soon but Sanji still had a good amount of time before he had to truly start any prep. Especially recently with your help, what would normally take him an hour had been cut down to half that… Smoke blew out past his lips as he remembers how he told you to stop helping just earlier that day. How you hadn’t even responded to him, the silence hanging heavily in the air before he heard your soft footsteps and the door opening and closing. It was for the best that you stayed away, after all he-

         “Hey Sanji, have you seen Y/N? She didn’t join us for a bath.” Nami walked by with slightly damp hair, distracting Sanji from his current thought. He turns around offering her his full attention, shaking his head to her question as he fawned over her new outfit.

Robin holding Chopper who seemed to have fallen asleep, “Perhaps she was too tired to join us. She hasn’t been sleeping well.” The suggestion seemed plausible, at this point everyone knew how you’d walk the ship for hours at night to try and wade your insomnia away. Chopper had even tried giving you some medicine for it, but was woefully out of the primary ingredient needed. Even Sanji had altered your meals to have no caffeine or ingredients that would promote sleep. Not that he’d ever tell you. It came naturally to shift dietary needs to the person no other reason to it.

Nami and Robin starts walking away just as Nami steps in a puddle, “Ew, Sanji didn’t you guys clean the deck? There’s still blood everywhere.”

“I’ll get right on it Nami-swan~” The reaction was immediate and they continued to walk away. But Sanji looks down, he could have sworn he saw Usopp cleaning the deck earlier. Frowning a bit as he sees it’s a trail. A stupid Marine must be hiding on board. Badly at that. The least they could do is hide the fact that they’re bleeding.

Following the trail of still wet drops of blood, some larger pools and some streaks until he’s in front of the med-bay door. Kicking the door open to find their apparent intruder, his foot catching a flame as he peered inside. But instead of seeing a badly injured marine, he saw you. Your frozen stare into the mirror behind you, your arms in the air as your pale face turned towards the startling noise. His cigarette falling from his lips as his leg falters.  He sees a cloth and a fallen bottle of anti-septic, pooling around your feet mixing with blood that was a shade to dark. Glancing back up to the mirror to see the horrific scene on your back as you let out two anguished gasps before falling.

Sanji lunges forward, barely catching you from falling on the floor as he calls for help. Quickly placing you face down on the bed, grabbing anything to apply pressure to the gushing gashes, quick footsteps getting closer as his mind started to race.

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

one time, on a trip into town, you buy a hammock from the camping supplies store.

it’s a quick trip, insignificant. but, you’d argue that any time you get to spend with logan is significant.

you ride into town on his motorcycle, your front pressed into his back, your head resting against his shoulder, wind whipping your hair. he tells you to stay put while he runs into the general store— being two of the older residents of the x-mansion, you often go into town and buy a stash of stuff for your rooms.

logan gets beer, cigars, beef jerky, crossword puzzles, cards, razors, and a new pair of aviators.

you get pencils, oranges, iced teas, rolling papers, batteries, sunscreen, and lavender body wash.

you also get condoms, bandages, painkillers, and whatever else the mansion’s infirmary might need.

and one day, you get a hammock.

logan finds you leaning against his motorcycle, a small brown bag in your grasp. he nods to it, asking what it is silently.

you’re fluent in his language.

“it’s a hammock,” you beam, “it’s supposed to be 90 degrees tomorrow. i figured i can set it up on the edge of the woods and relax.”

he just smirks and shakes his head at you.

“cmon. we’ll be late to supper.”

the next day, he finds you just where you said you’d be. you’re dressed in shorts and a tanktop, lounging with one of your iced teas and your sketch book.

logan throws a sandwich at you, startling you.

“lounging about, spitfire?” he wonders and you roll your eyes.

“you’re just jealous that you don’t let yourself relax.”

he scoffs, defensively.

“of course i do.” he grumbles, and you shake your head.

“okay, prove it. come sit.” you say, moving to sit up, patting the area on your hammock where he can sit.

he saunters over, letting himself sit down, and—

immediately, the straps that are wrapped around two parallel trees snap, causing both of you to fall down, right onto the ground.

right. his skeleton alone weighs 200 pounds.

both of you sit there for a minute before you’re laughing at how silly it, leaning against him as you laugh your ass off.

your hammock was nice while it lasted.

but, you wind up laying on the hammock’s fabric, the sun shining just a bit through the shade of the trees. you wind up sketching him as he naps, focusing on the curve of his nose, his side burns, and his hands.

your sketchbook is full of drawings of his hands.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twelve —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: *hint at sexual assault. please be cautious!* death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Dense mud packs onto the soles of your boots. You shift the near-empty backpack on your shoulder and slip back a few sweat-laced strands of hair from your face. Never before were you a morning person. In fact, you used to purposely sign up for all the afternoon lectures in uni. But now, time and sunlight are precious. You set out to search for the camp this morning with only a sliver of sunrise as your companion. 

You hope Ghost was right.

He suspected that their camp would be situated in a location with easy access to the military base, river, and nearby village so they could draw resources from all three. So that's the direction you're headed in, squinting at nearby landmarks and interstate signs to help guide you. It's quite the hike: grueling, hilly terrain and moist air that you can't distinguish from your own sweat. You've stepped over some interesting sights along the way. An old forest station with CAMP FEES and LEAVE NO TRACE posters still outside. A small skeleton tucked in a bush with only child-sized rainboots left on it. For a moment, you saw Joseph. Toddling around in the puddles outside your sister’s house. You had to force yourself not to look at it for too long; you wiped your eyes, gritted your teeth, and prayed it had been painless for them.

You come to a narrow creek, crossing over a stone bridge that spits you out among dense evergreens. Finally, a faint column of smoke comes into view just above the forest's canopy. 

That must be it.

It's certainly a sign, so you suck in a shaky breath, ignore the rush of blood in your veins, and do what Ghost suggested: climb a tree to get a better look. 

There was a time not long ago when climbing trees was your only means of survival. This time, it feels so much easier to hoist yourself up and grip the bark as your muscles flex to steady yourself on a high branch. Luckily, there wasn't much to bring in the backpack Ghost gave you. For now, there's nothing in it other than your lighter, a roll of gauze, that romance book, and a small piece of dry wood. 

Squinting your gaze, you make out the silhouette of triangular, orange tents and uneven fencing. Definitely a camp. The fence doesn't appear barbed from here, but it's at least a meter higher than the one that surrounds Ghost's place. You're close enough to see a few blue crates in the center that look like those ones from the military medical site. Is that what they're keeping the supplies in? It seems like the only obvious place based on the layout.

What you really want to know is how many people. Soundlessly, you shift your boots to get a different angle and finally spot movement coming out of one of the tents— a sizeable male wearing a leather jacket.

One.

Is that it?

Your eyes stay locked on the stranger for a minute, tracking his movement as he cooks something over the fire. He gives out a long whistle, the high-pitched sound audible even from where you stand nestled in the treetop. Panic seizes your breath: did he somehow see you and is alerting someone else? But no— you're much too far, and his eyes never shifted in your direction. 

Instead, there's more movement, the faint shuffling of paws on the ground, and then a large dog appears at the man's side. He tosses something in front of it, what must be a slab of meat, because the dog is quick to start chowing down with the enthusiasm of a mindless Grey.

"Fuck me," you whisper to yourself, fingertips splintering against the bark. "Couldn't prepare me for that, huh, Ghost?"

The plan he instructed you with is fairly simple and straightforward— you'll just have to stick to it and be mindful of the additional obstacle. You've survived much worse even just a few days ago, so with that in mind, you slip down the column of the tree and purposefully backtrack your steps, gaining a bit more distance between you and the camp. 

You need a ruse, something to draw the man out for enough time for you to grab the ammo. Ghost told you to bring the book to help get a fire started since the twigs and leaves here are damp after the storm, so you find a good spot and start ripping out the pages, crumpling them up. You arrange the piece of wood and paper in such a way that you have a minute or two before the smoke really gets going. You pull out your lighter from the pocket of your jeans, start it, and then head back towards the camp, this time going around so you can approach it from the side. 

You keep your footsteps as light as possible while moving quickly. Once the man notices the smoke and leaves to scout it out, your timer starts. There's another whistle followed by a gravelly bark from the dog. You sneak close to the side of the fence, pausing behind a tree, just when you catch a glance of the stranger shucking a rifle over his shoulder and exiting out the gate. He shuts it behind him with a series of padlocks.

It won't take him long to find the source of the smoke and realize it's nothing, so you muster all your strength and begin climbing the fence, rusty links digging into your palms. You try to do it without making much noise, but the moment you jump down with a thud, the dog's head snaps in your direction. It begins to growl, flashing thick canines under its bloodied muzzle. You break out into a sprint toward the blue crates, but it crosses the span of the camp in mere seconds, clamping down on your forearm before you can even begin to look for the ammo.

The pain is white hot. You silently cry out as the dog shakes its head, tearing through the fabric of your coat and the tissue of your muscle. 

"Fuck."

You tug at your arm, but it doesn't let go. Remembering the piece of squirrel meat you brought as a snack, you dig it from your pocket and wag it in front of the dog's face.

"Come on, let go— please."

It's enough to catch his attention, the bite on your arm loosening once you toss the meat a few meters away and he follows it. You clutch your arm with a ragged breath, ignoring the blood and pain that radiates from it.

The squirrel can only distract him for so long, so you urgently flip open the lid of the first crate. Staring back at you is a mix of what appears to be severed limbs and various animal parts. The pungent smell floods up your nose. You instantly clamp the lid back down, fighting the urge to vomit, and move on to the next one. 

Ammo.

Plenty of it.

Without a second to waste, you sling off the backpack and begin stuffing it with the cardboard packs of cartridges, hoping it's the kind Ghost needs. When you tug the zipper closed, a decision pops into your brain: to keep looking through the other crates for medicine, or to get the fuck out of there. You take a millisecond too long to think about it because suddenly, you notice the dog from the corner of your eye, done with the meat and moving towards you with another throaty growl. 

You tug the heavy backpack on and make a beeline for the closest side of the fence. In the panic, you fail to notice the creak of the gate opening until you are stumbling into a hard chest. A strong hand wraps around your bicep.

Fuck.

He's back.

This is it, then.

"Rocky— sit."

The growling behind you ceases. A whole new fear washes over you as you blink up at a rugged face. The stranger uses his other hand to take hold of your jaw, hard enough that your teeth are forced to grind together. In a heart-pounding silence, he inspects you, bluntly looking you up and down. Then, he takes out a knife and presses it to your neck. Your throat bobs against the icy metal. 

"Fucking bitch," he mutters. "Start a fire to try and steal from me?"

"N-no!" Your brain reels for a lie. "No— I don't know what you're talking about. I-I came here looking for help."

"Try a better lie, sweetheart." 

"I mean it," you stammer, holding onto the fact that he hasn't slit your throat yet. Raw desperation speaks for you. "My… my friends are gone. Someone attacked us a few days ago and killed them. I've been alone ever since and then I found your camp, hoping someone would be here to help me."

This seems to grab his attention. Dark eyes narrow. It's now you realize he's quite young, maybe in his thirties.

"Someone attacked you, huh? Who?"

"Um, some guy. I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him because he was… he was wearing a mask."

"So some guy killed all your friends by himself?" When you slowly nod, cringing at your terrible story, his jaw flexes. "I've lost my friends, too. They went out on a hunting trip three days ago and haven't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you lie, swallowing. "So you… so you believe me?"

"I believe your friends are dead. I don't believe you didn't start that fire to distract me."

His words make your heart race. Again, his eyes trail down, and the knife follows, lowering to the floral fabric of your blouse and popping open one of the buttons. 

"Take it off," he suddenly orders. 

"W-what?"

"The shirt. Take it off. Let me decide if I should kill you or keep you."

You put on a brave face and do as he says, not given much room to protest despite the sick feeling that twists your gut. You drop the backpack, half-inclined to swing it at him, but then what? There is no way you can take him in a fight, especially since he's armed with a knife and gun, and there is no Grey this time to help you out. 

The coat falls to the ground at your feet before you shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, wincing from the movement of your bitten arm. Crisp air greets your bare skin. Your nipples tighten uncomfortably and his gaze darts right to them, intensifying the churn in your stomach. 

He gives a low whistle. "Lucky me."

Your nails jab crescents into the palms of your hands. "Am I… am I worth keeping, then?"

He bears a sick, toothy smile. "Pretty for a thief," he confirms. "Haven't seen someone so pretty in a few years now." His eyes flash to your arm and he reaches to grab it, making you choke. "Hell, Rocky. You gave her an ugly bite, though. Might get in the way of what I have in mind for you."

Half-naked, you are dragged by the arm to one of the blue crates. He slips the knife into his pocket in order to search through it. You notice pills, liquids, and a single glass bottle of what appears to be clear alcohol, which he pulls out along with a cloth.

"Tell me your name," he says, forcing you to sit down on a folding chair. "Before I enjoy you.”

You tell him quietly.

With an eery gentleness, he sits across from you and dabs the bite with some alcohol. The sting is immeasurable, but you roll your eyes to the sky and silence yourself. The feel of his cold, calloused fingers makes you imagine how they would feel touching other parts of your body. You need to think of something quick before he gets the chance to. He still has the gun on him, and the only knife you brought is in the jacket on the ground. Your eyes flicker to the bottle, which he set down by the leg of his chair.

"What's your name?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Leo."

"So, um, Leo— how did you end up here?"

"I was a new recruit in the military when shit started five years ago," he explains idly, fixated on your arm. "Stationed at the base nearby."

"I saw medical tents there," you mutter, clearing your throat. "Did you help with that?"

He chuckles. "For all of a day until some buddies and I decided to take what we could and leave. There was no point in trying to help people. We figured that out pretty quick."

"Oh. Were those the buddies who haven't come back?" 

He nods. "I'm sure they're dead by now. But, one good thing is," he reaches for the gauze, sniggering lowly, "—that means I don't have to share you."

As he begins to unwrap the gauze, you decide he’s distracted enough. It happens in one, urgent motion. You clasp the alcohol bottle by the neck, arch it above his head, and thrust it down. The glass shatters, drenching him with alcohol and blood as a piece slices open his forehead. He immediately drops the gauze and hisses in pain.

"Bitch," he snarls. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He leaps to his feet and pulls the knife out again. As he does, you dig the lighter out of your pocket and ignite a flame, bringing it to his soaked shoulder. Instantly, fire flashes up his neck and face in hues of orange and blue, even catching your wet fingertips. It renders him blind as he howls and tries to swing at you, but you immediately run away, rubbing your burned hand against your jeans.

You grab your discarded clothes and backpack before flinging open the crate with medicine in it. You begin stuffing as many bottles into the side pockets of the backpack as you can, breathing frantically.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethes again, and the firing of a bullet somewhere behind you means he must have grabbed his rifle.

But he still can't see, his eyes blistered by the flames that continue to lick his face. Each shot bites the ground as you heave the backpack on your shoulders and take off toward the fence.

The dog barks, louder and louder as he runs after you. You don't look back. You wad your clothes up in a ball and toss them over the fence to free up your hands. Then, you quickly climb up, the muscles in your face tightly clenched as the full backpack weighs you down. 

You're too slow. 

Teeth grab hold of your boot.

You're pulled back down, hands spreading out to break the fall. 

In the mud, you wrestle beneath a snarling jaw, dirtying up your hair and exposed skin. This time, you don't hesitate to hurt the animal. You grab your lighter again and thrust the flame into the dog's eye, making it leap back with a pained squeal. 

Freed, you scramble back up the fence.

You leap down. Grab your clothes

You can still hear him shouting as you run away, weaving through the thicket of trees. Only when the sound fades do you stop to catch your breath, sinking down against a tree and putting your clothes back on.

"Here."

A moan of relief escapes your lips the moment you shrug off the backpack and drop it at Ghost's feet. He crouches down, swearing under his breath when he unzips it and the ammo practically spills out. He grabs a few boxes, opening and inspecting them under the violet light of sunset. The walk back took you hours longer. You were almost tempted to sleep in a tree for the night, but the threat of Greys or any more strangers kept you going. 

"Good. This is good, Twix." There's a hint of disbelief in his voice before he clears it away, zipping the backpack up. He stands and offers a lengthy look from your head to your boots. "How many were there?"

"Just one."

"Just one," he repeats, brow lifting. "And you look this roughed up. What happened?"

"There was a dog," you say dully, lifting your arm up to show him the bitemark in your sleeve. Beneath it, you already bandaged the wound, not wanting to draw attention to its scent. “Just a dog and a cannibal rapist guy."

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep."

Before you can take a step past him, warm fingers latch onto your wrist. So warm. You inhale a breath, a burn of moisture lining your eyes.

“Please don’t touch me," you request in a harsher whisper than you intend.

You can no longer see the details of him with how bleary your eyes are, but you feel his touch disappear.

"What happened?" he asks again, voice lowering.

"Nothing. I got your ammo and I handled it. When can we leave?"

There is a pause before he responds as if he is debating whether or not to drop the subject. For now, he does.

"Tomorrow, hopefully."

"Good." The back of your hand smooths over your eyes. "Don't— don't forget our deal, Ghost. Promise me."

A firm nod. "I don't back out on my word."

As if to prove it, he shucks off the jacket and hands it over.

[spacedace]

Had a dc x dp brain worm, feel free to use as a prompt <3

Sidenote, I decided to get fancy with the Ancients titles because of course I did lol

Shifting Where = Space (Danny)

Eternal When = Time (Clockwork)

Ever Onward = Speedforce (Ellie)

---

Bruce watched the footage again.

And again.

Again.

It didn’t make sense.

A week ago every television, radio, computer, phone - even the LED billboards - had been taken over to deliver a message. Across the United States. In every territory it held. Every military base. Down in the depths of the oceans where American submarines tried to creep past Atlantian patrols. In the endless cold white of Antarctica. Even far above in the International Space Station. Any place the United States Government had control over, any place one of its citizens found themselves. There was the message.

The face of an entity, human in shape but not in form. Hair as gleaming white as starlight, eyes bright as the twisting dance of the Aurora Borealis, skin as cold and blue as the tail of a comet. The entity wore armor as black as the depths of space with a crown to match, the later glinting and shifting with the twisting birth and death of galaxies. A cloak of nebulae danced down his shoulders, eclipsing the world beyond the entity entirely.

He named himself, jaw tight, expression serious.

High King Phantom of the Infinite Realms.

The Shifting Where. Son of the Eternal When. Father of the Ever Onward. His Epitaphs many and ever growing. The True Balance. The Bridge Between. The Devourer of Dark. The Last Child of Between. The Great One.

King of the Dead. King of the Infinite Worlds. King of so much more than Bruce had ever even known was possible.

King who had declared war. Who marshaled his endless armies. Who spoke of warnings, of efforts to reach a peace, of trying again and again and again to find a way to not plunge into violence and bloodshed. All things living come to call him King in time, he had no want or need to go out and hurry that along. But there were no options left to him now. He had tried for peace. He had been denied.

He would not see his people suffer any longer. Would not see those he’d sworn to lead and protect imprisoned by fools who had sworn themselves enemies to all the afterlives. Would no longer permit the vicious cruelty to continue.

The message was a final warning.

A final offer.

Three days, Phantom said. The United States government would have three days to release their prisoners, to begin the process of dismantling the laws that made death itself an illegal act.

If they refused, he would lead his endless armies personally in the war to come.

It had not been an idle threat.

Three days after the message, after Bruce and the rest of the Justice League scrambled to try and figure out just what it was it was all about, after Justice League Dark’s members shakily took turns explaining just how powerful the being that had gave that message was and how much danger the world was in should he and his armies march upon their world, war came.

Of all places, it began in a town in Illinois.

The sky shattered like broken glass above, Lazarus Green beyond, and the Dead poured out.

It started in Illinois.

It did not end there.

Bruce watched the footage of it all, eyes burning as he watched every second of CCTV footage, every shaky phone camera video, every news broadcast.

Most of them looked human enough. Changed in death, but recognizably human once. A pair of glowing teenagers on a motorcycle, a writhing shadow twisting about at their command sweeping chaos upon the battlefield. A young woman dressed to perform with hair a literal flame, burning bright blue and snapping furiously as she played devastation upon her enemies with her guitar. A child with corpse gray skin and luminescent green hair, flickering in and out of Bruce’s ability to see as if fighting against a law of existence to be visible, screaming orders to a skeleton crew from his place on deck of a 1700s ship that sailed through the sky, disappearing into clouds before raining down attacks from above.

There was more. Glowing skeletons dressed in the fashions of war spanning every culture going back millennia. Robots with weapons far beyond the technology they had even in the League. Creatures of myth and legend. Things of nightmares.

Leading them all, as he had promised, was Phantom.

He looked younger, smaller. Just a boy, really, a gangly teenager that hadn’t quite finished growing into himself. One holding power beyond anything Bruce could ever imagine, but still just a child as far as he could see, no older than Tim who’d just graduated high school. Frantic research found Phantom appearing as far back as human history, but those sightings had to have been after his death. Bruce can’t help but wonder how young the boy had been when he died, how much of that youth still clung to him through all these eons.

It wasn’t something he’d let him self consider normally, not with something like this.

A dangerous unknown appearing without warning and attacking with unimaginable power and seemingly endless forces. It was something that would normally eclipse everything else. Something that would make Bruce put aside the ache at seeing a face so young twisted in rage.

But.

He watched all the footage.

Civilians were put in the crossfire. Were shot at and endangered. Were left terrified and scrambling for safety in buildings that were rapidly being torn away by stray artillery.

But never by Phantom or his armies.

The dead, in fact, went very far out of their way to ensure civilians weren’t harmed. Sweeping people up out of the way of falling debris. Shielding them from attacks that would have most certainly killed a normal human. Some dead even helped evacuate, ushering a frightened and panicked populous to safety as gently as they were capable of. Some of the less human creatures - giant bear-like beings with horns and fangs and ice edging their burly frames - even rushed forward to offer medical aid.

When the sky shattered open and the armies of the dead swept in, they ignored the town below. They focused instead on what was discovered later to be the base of a secretive government agency. The dead’s fight focused on those individuals in sharp white suits, bearing weapons capable of actually injuring King Phantom’s people.

It was these agents that brought the fight to the streets to Amity Park. That fired recklessly and without thought or care to the casualties they could inflict. That didn’t seem to care if they killed a hundred civilians if it meant hurting just one of Phantom’s soldiers.

Bruce watched all the footage.

And again.

Again.

Phantom had declared war.

Phantom spoke in his message of being out of options, of attempting peace. Phantom gave three days time for the release of captives. Phantom lead armies who fought viciously but never once willingly harmed civilians.

Phantom declared war, but he didn’t want it.

���Amanda Waller has reached out.”

Bruce didn’t turn his attention from the screens before him, eyes burning as he followed Phantom as the King dove away from the middle of locked combat to shield a child from a pulse of green energy from something like a grenade another agent in white had carelessly thrown. The child was crying but unharmed. The left pauldron of Phantom’s armor cracked and shattered from a direct shot from the enemy he’d just been fighting that he’d turned his back on, a glowing green liquid uncomfortably like Lazarus Water dripped down from a smoldering wound.

Clark stepped up to stand beside him as he watched, face worn and tired. The League had missed the first battle, but they’d been quick to appear at the rest. Phantom and his army ignored them unless they put themselves purposefully in the way of the fight. They were, as Justice League Dark had warned, vastly out powered by the entities fighting. A hulking giant knight made of shadow riding a nightmarish steed had driven Clark six feet down into the dirt when he’d attempted to make his way to Phantom directly to try and talk to the king.

The depth Clark had ended up felt like a warning of what would happen if he tried to get close to the king again.

It probably was.

“She said they have intel for us.” A faint twitch of fingers, jaw clenching, voice flat in that way that told Bruce his old friend was fighting back anger with everything he had. “That she has options for how to deal with the insurgence.”

Bruce shut off the monitors.

He’d seen enough.

Now was time to get answers to just what, exactly, Amanda Waller and the US government had done to cause the Dead to rise and rage.

---

Part Two Part Three Part Four

[makethatelevenrings]

Day 4: Breeding Kink w/ Dick Grayson

survived work, here's some smut

Kinktober Masterlist

“Yeah, I think the dancing skeleton might have been too much. Dude, are you even listening?” Tim’s voice carried over the shrieks and giggles of kids as they filled the grounds of Wayne Manor. It was their annual Halloween celebration for the children of Gotham’s foster care and while Dick thought it was a fun event, his attention was focused on something entirely other than the crowd of kids.

You were standing next to Stephanie and chatting about something, but it was the toddler currently fast asleep in your arms that caught his eye. The kid was in some kind of Sesame Street costume or whatever the fuck kids watched these days and you were dressed up as a classic witch. Steph held your big pointed hat so it wouldn’t slump over and bump the sleeping kid. The little Cookie Monster had hid behind the legs of one of the older kids the second they stepped off the busses, but she had emerged out of her hiding place once you offered her a smile and asked her about her costume.

Now she was fast asleep in your arms as you cradled her, looking both incredibly comfortable and intensely protective over a kid you just met.

And holy shit, Dick felt his heart skip a beat. The blood in his veins was rushing so hard that he swore he could hear the roar. There was just something about how naturally you reacted to the situation that…

“Holy shit,” you gasped against Dick’s mouth as he pushed you back against the door. His lips moved down your jaw and then to your neck and then he was latching on and leaving a hickey that was sure to last. You fisted your hand in his soft black hair and moaned at his constant attention.

“Baby, what’s this all about?” you whined as his kisses dipped lower on your chest. You were changing into pajamas when he pounced on you like a panther after its prey. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your hips and he ground his clothed cock against your leg.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you added. “But you’re acting like you will die if you don’t fuck me. Did you get hit with sex pollen?”

“No,” he grunted. His fingers fumbled with the drawstrings of your sweats and you giggled before helping him untie them and push them down.

“Then what’s going on?”

He raised his head and you met his eyes, dark with lust and burning with desire. Your breath caught in your throat as Dick leaned forward and inhaled your sweet scent before he settled his lips against the soft skin just above your pulse.

“I wanna fuck a baby into you,” he sighed. “I want to see you and know that I put a baby in you. Wanna see you all round and want to touch you and know that you’re mine. I want every person that looks at you know that I fucked a baby into you.”

Your legs pressed together as want built in your veins. You grabbed the back of Dick’s hair and forced his head up so he could meet your eyes. “Don’t hide from me, Dick. You want to fuck me raw? You want to knock me up?”

He nodded, his eyes hazy with desire and his lips parted with labored pants. “God, I want it so bad.”

You shoved him back and made your way to the bed. Lying down on your back, you spread your arms out and sighed. “Well, Grayson, aren’t you going to fill me up? It might take a few tries to stick.”

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones Ch. 2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: All your life you’d listened to your friend, Usopp spin wild tales about pirates and adventure. Pirates weren’t a thing that came often to Syrup Village, but one straw hat pirate and his crew changed all that the day they arrived. Now, you aren’t so sure if your sleepy little village was always pirate-free or if no one had been paying attention. 

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: friends to lovers, frenemies to lovers, slow burn (I hope y’all like aching) eventual smut

Words: 6k+

A/N: For this chapter, I played with the idea of having Zoro’s POV. It felt necessary for the story progression that I had in mind. This chapter was a tad fun to write, and I hope that translated well into the story. Originally it was going to be longer, but I realized I wanted to save the dinner to go with all the action to end the Episode 3-4 story arc. Thank you guys so much for the love you’ve given this little story. I hope it continues to be one you enjoy 🖤 Much Love, Jenn

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This place is a maze. 

That thought rang true with every hallway you entered and the endless number of rooms within. With every step you took inside Kaya’s large estate, those words kept echoing through your head. How many guest suites could one house possibly hold? But also, why would you ever need so many?

You’d been wandering the halls for what felt like an eternity. Your head poked into each room after a brief knock. Yes, a brief knock before plunging head-first into someone’s private space wasn’t much of a warning but at least you were knocking. 

And all of this just to find Zoro who may or may not help you expose whatever metaphorical skeletons this butler had stuffed in his metaphorical closet. Or an actual closet. The possibilities felt endless. 

You weren’t even sure how you were going to explain to him exactly why you were searching for him without sounding like a creep. You would just have to cross that bridge when you came to it. 

You were about to give up trying to locate him because you were pretty sure you’d just passed that same exact clock for the second time in a row. You let out a raspberry as you placed your hands on your hips. Was it plausible you were lost? Inside a ginormous house like this? Yes, it sure as shit was. Maybe you should’ve been dropping breadcrumbs to find your way back to your own room when this was over. 

Rolling your tongue around your mouth, you looked down to your right and realized there were only two more doors left. What could it hurt just to look? You were already down here anyway. 

With a shrug, you moved towards the second to last door near the end of the hall. You weren’t in a rush to check what was behind either one, but you were also not leaving any stone unturned and all that. If your earlier dozen room checks were any indication of what to expect, you were willing to bet that you were going to find absolutely nothing waiting for you. The joy of joys. 

You were just a few feet from the door when you heard the lock click. The sound caused you to stop dead center, facing the door like an absolutely terrified rabbit caught in the headlights. What were the chances that whoever opened that door was going to be Zoro? And what were the chances that he would be willing to listen to what you had to say? 

The possibility of your questions being answered ebbed the panic in your chest down just a tad. Enough that when the door finally opened and Zoro was, in fact, standing before you, you silently thanked the universe for your suddenly award-winning luck. 

That was until you realized he was just standing there. In a robe. A silk robe with his swords slung over his shoulder and because of his current hold on his swords, said robe in question was flashing a peak of his chest. You immediately wanted to take back your previous thank you letter to the universe. 

This should be illegal. 

The worst part? You were pretty positive from the way Zoro was staring at you - his eyes taking you in from top to bottom lord HELP you - he did not seem as impressed with you as you were of him. Why in the hell couldn’t you say a word? Yes, he was attractive - stupidly so - but he was also just another guy. 

A guy in a thin silk robe and hair still damp from a bath. 

You watched as Zoro’s body began to relax, or relax as much as someone like him could. It was when he let out a sigh as if your very presence was keeping him from something important, that you felt your feet remove themselves from their spot in the carpet and spring you forward. 

There was a split second when Zoro’s eyes registered your movement. His eyebrows raised up in surprise as the almond shape of his eyes widened just a tad before he braced for whatever you were about to do. Zoro was planning on an attack and his body was primed to force you back. Instead of violence, he was met with your hands shoving him back inside his room with your foot kicking the door swiftly closed behind you. 

Once you knew you were both securely back inside the room, you stopped shoving him. You waited for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the room before you looked around. It would be embarrassing if you’d done this and someone else - Nami or Luffy or anyone else really - had been inside with him. The only thing you noticed, however, was his previous clothes strewn across the room. 

When your eyes ventured back to Zoro you found his earlier shock replaced by what you could only guess was his usual stonewall expression. 

“Look,” he began the timber of his voice causing you to jump. “You seem nice and all, if not a little disturbed, but I’m not interested.” 

You looked up at him with your confusion knitting your brow together. 

“Not interested?”

You weren’t sure why it took you that long to realize what he meant, but it was dawning on you at warp speed and your confusion was quickly replaced with horror. 

“Oh my god! No, no! I was not trying to like, do anything to you like that.”

The disbelief in his eyes told you plainly he didn’t believe you, and by the tick in his jaw something was bothering him about your statement. 

Shit! He thinks I’m a perv 

You wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and die there. You followed his eyes as they trailed down his chest to find your hands were very much still attached to him, practically groping him. 

“Then why are your hands still on my chest?”

A small squeak of surprise left you as you dropped your hands down to your sides and shook them like it would be enough to get rid of the feeling of cupping his very pronounced…chest. You took a step back from him in hopes that giving him space would save the entire interaction. 

“Sorry about all the ugh…touching,” you mumbled. “But I did come here to speak to you about something.” 

“This is going to be good. Is it to convince me you weren’t trying to grope me?”

“God, you aren’t going to let it go, are you?” 

Closing your eyes you took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. When you finished, you opened your eyes again and gave him the best smile you could muster. 

“Okay, let’s start this again. I,” you motioned towards yourself, “have come to ask you if you noticed anything weird.” 

Zoro cocked an eyebrow at you. His arms moved to lock his arms across his chest somehow exposing the peek of flesh from the robe even more. 

“You mean weirder than right now?”

You purse your lips together tightly as you try to exhale all the annoyance from gathering in your body. 

“Let’s just move on from this moment, ok,” you began. “I came to talk to you about the butler.”

Without warning, Zoro rolled his eyes and dropped his arms from his chest. His swords clanging against his leg reminding you that he wasn’t making any move to set them down anytime soon. 

“Here we go again about the butler,” he groaned, and the very sound shouldn’t have sounded as enticing as it did.

Focus! 

“Oh, save it!” You snapped. “I saw you, okay? The way you looked at Klahadore before you followed your friends inside. You looked at him like you recognized him. Like you’d seen him before somewhere.” 

Zoro regarded you coolly. The hardness that had disappeared while he’d teased you earlier slid back into place until he was as unreadable as stone. 

“I’ve never seen that butler before in my entire life.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

You couldn’t keep the exasperation from your voice or how your desperation was starting to creep back in. Could you have been wrong about Zoro this whole time? Did you just see what you wanted to see?

No. You know what you saw and you were not going to be called crazy. You took a step towards him and weren’t surprised when he didn’t move back. Instead, he tilted his chin, his full pouty lips still very much pouting, as his eyes carefully watched you. 

“You know, that I know, that you looked at that guy and went, ‘hmph, something’s not right there’.” 

Yeah, that felt like a solid argument. 

You waited under Zoro’s cool gaze for him to reply. For him to show any sign of anything, really. He was literally the most unmoving person you’d ever meet, and you were starting to wonder if he was even real. The shitty part about waiting in silence, besides the uneasy commentary your brain was beginning to make, was the smell of the vanilla and sandalwood that wafted off him in mini waves that assaulted your senses. 

You were so intently transfixed by trying to match his unblinking gaze that when he finally moved his head down to be eye level with you, you’d almost jumped out of your skin. 

“Is everything okay with you? Do you suffer from any brain damage?” 

You wish you could say you handled the next few seconds with grace and poise. Things that all upstanding future doctors did when faced with adversity. However, that was most definitely not you, and you weren’t able to keep an exacerbated yell of frustration from cairning past your lips. 

“Oh! You are literally the most infuriating man I have ever met!”

“And you are the most perverted woman I have ever met,” Zoro shot back, this time taking a step towards you. 

If he was trying to intimidate you, he should’ve tried back when you weren’t ready to tear him limb from limb. 

“I beg your pardon?!”

“Who just pushes a semi-naked man into a room so they can grope him?”

“I wasn’t trying to grope you! I was trying to interrogate you for information!”

God, that sounded so much worse. 

“That sounds a lot worse, actually.”

Of course, Zoro would state the obvious, and was he - was he smirking? Your eyes rapidly blinked as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing because as fast as you’d noticed it, that devilish smirk had disappeared. Now Zoro once again looked as serious as before. You began to move back towards the door with your hands up in mock surrender. 

“You know what - fine! If you don’t want to help me, that’s your choice, but you know I’m right. And I’m going to prove that something is wrong here with or without your help.”

You shot one last look in his direction before turning on your heel and giving him your back. You were at the door, your hand on the doorknob when Zoro surprised you with a question of his own. 

“Why ask me to help you?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you expected to see that smug smirk on his face or to get the cold shoulder. What you found instead were eyes so intent on you - waiting for your response - that it caused your lungs to collapse. A million replies played over through your mind, but only one of them mattered. 

“Because out of everyone here, I thought you would believe me the most.” 

It didn’t matter if it was the answer he’d been looking for or the one you thought would win him over. You meant what you said and you hoped he’d felt your admission genuinely. If Usopp didn’t want to believe you, and if Zoro, who you still believed knew or at least felt something was off here, wasn’t going to be able to help you, you would just have to do it yourself. 

Did you know what that entailed? Hell no, but Naan didn’t raise a quitter, and you weren’t going to roll over and just give up just because it was hard. Not when someone’s very life depended on you. 

——————

After your incredible failure of finding a co-conspirator to help you on your quest for answers failed with flying colors, you weren’t exactly sure what to do with yourself. Usopp no doubt must have snuck in by now to see Kaya - sans your “gift” - and the others were probably in the ridiculous closet looking for dinner attire. While you could’ve gone just to socialize with everyone else, Kaya had sent a dress to your room. 

Sham had looked absolutely miserable dropping it off and that was a joy all on its own. 

You considered heading to the closet just to see Luffy again. Luffy radiated optimism like sunshine; at the moment, that sort of unyielding optimism was the mood booster you needed. 

Unfortunately, you knew Zoro must have made his way there by now and you weren’t necessarily ready to face him again. The disappointment was clinging to you and that’s what you hated the most. You didn’t understand why you’d seemingly put all your eggs inside the Zoro basket. Just because he’d looked at Klahadore weird didn't mean he’d sensed something off. 

Shit, Klahadore was weird and deserved every side-eye glance he got. 

All it meant for you was going back to the drawing board for a new plan. One that was going to be able to get you next to Kaya. At least long enough so you could perform some kind of assessment. 

You rounded the corner to what you hoped was the hallway your room was down. The earlier thought you’d had about getting lost turned into an accurate one. You’d spent just as much time trying to get back to your room to get ready for dinner as you had searching for Zoro. 

Zoro.

Even just thinking about him made your jaw clench with fresh irritation. What was more infuriating than your most recent conversation was the fact you could still feel the strength of him in the hollows of your palms. The sharpness of his jaw and the high sculpt of his cheeks- 

No! Absolutely not, you chastised yourself. 

It was maddening how little he believed you - mocked you - and yet, here you were acting like some lovestruck teenager. He wasn’t that handsome. 

You were lost in your thoughts to the point you weren’t aware of your body's attempt to warn you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end and a sickening feeling began to rot in your gut and made sure all the imaginary - very imaginary - butterflies disappeared. 

The goosebumps that rose along your exposed skin informed you that the grand hallway, filled with all its riches and fine cherry woods was as ice cold as the dead. Has it always been this cold and you just never noticed? Or the eerie silence that made the manor feel more haunted than alive. 

Your feet involuntarily came to a halt in the middle of the hall. You couldn’t explain the panic that was building in your chest, but it felt like you were being watched. Your heart rate sped up until you could practically feel it thundering against your ribs. 

“You are being silly,” you whispered to yourself. “It’s just an old house.” 

“Old houses do have their quirks, don’t they?”

You wish you could say that when Klahadore spoke from behind you, you’d reacted with grace. With dignity. What actually happened was you screamed sharp enough it could raise the dead. 

The whiplash you gave yourself as you turned to face him was dizzying. You wanted to kill the fear that widened your eyes and pressed your brow into your hairline. Your mouth was painfully dry as you took in his presence and the absolute shit-eating grin he wore. 

He enjoyed seeing you afraid. 

“Oh dear, Doc, did I give you a fright?”

Klahadore gently tipped the frame of his glasses with the edge of his palm. You wanted to smack them off his smug face. 

“What do you want, Klahadore?”

You struggled to regain your composure. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you afraid. It was what he wanted after all and didn’t take much to notice. He was already trying to close the few inches your retreat had given you. 

“I was simply wondering why you were wandering around the manor. You’ve been showing highly suspicious behavior ever since you and your friends arrived.” 

Your eyes narrowed in on him and as you held your head high. 

“Have you been following me?”

“Oh, come now, don't be silly. To have someone followed means you’re worried about what they’ll find, and you? You are the last thing I would be worried about.” 

Klahadore dropped his head down until he was eye level with you, but somehow used his size to remain imposing. A thinly veiled threat to remind you exactly what he thought of you; nothing. 

The first time you’d ever received an insult from Klahadore had been just like this. Alone and away from anywhere Kaya could hear him. He’d made sure that Usopp and you were together just so he wouldn’t have to repeat the insult twice. 

“I know you two must feel exceedingly special having Miss Kaya ask for you to come keep her company, but I’m afraid this will be the last time you ever come over unannounced or not. We can’t allow her image to be tarnished from being seen with unwanted children.” “Unwanted?” Usopp had been so confused - he knew he was wanted; wanted by Kaya and you. Klahadore saw in that confusion an opportunity to place doubt in his mind and completely tear him apart.  “Yes - unwanted. So unwanted that your father never returned, and your mother chose death as a final way to be rid of you.” “You son of a bitch!” You’d snarled and snapped. You were only kids.  The world had taught you early on about hardships and fairness; how the world and the people in it could lack kindness. But Naan always made you look for the good in the world, and in the people who sometimes allowed the ugliness of others to warp them into someone they weren’t.  It was a concept child you never understood. Teenage you were barely beginning to grasp it, but when Klahadore spoke those words so full of hate and venom at your best friend: there weren’t enough flames left in hell to cover up your rage.

The memory of that day left a black mark on your soul and you find it replaying at the most inconvenient of times. A harsh reminder of the first time you’d ever considered murder as a means of healing. The world would have to be a better place if someone like Klahadore wasn’t in it. Right? 

Naan, as always, talked you down from doing something rash. From allowing someone like Klahadore to have the last laugh and ruin all the plans you had for your life. 

But Naan wasn’t here to talk you off that ledge or to remind you who she knew you were. Your rage shouldn’t define you. Looking at Klahadore’s retreating back, you weren’t all too sure if it wasn’t you because if he ever showed up needing any form of medical attention, you weren’t so sure if he’d leave on his own two feet. 

A body bag would suit him nicely. 

You watched him until he completely disappeared leaving you alone once more inside the hallway. It felt weird to take those first steps back towards your room. To go inside and see the dress Kaya had sent to your room and know you were going to put it on and share dinner with that man standing in the same room. 

There had to be a way to show everyone here exactly who Klahadore was, and you would spend the whole dinner trying to do just that. 

———————

He’d been searching for a drink since his interaction with you back in his room. Zoro wanted to call you crazy - hell you acted crazy enough, but you’d done something he hadn’t expected. 

You’d surprised him.

He didn’t want to admit it then but he did get a weird vibe from the butler. The minute his eyes landed on Klahadore it had sparked a nagging feeling of a memory he just couldn’t quite place. 

And you’d noticed. 

After you’d left his room, he couldn’t shake the conversation you’d forced him to be a part of. Teasing you had been easy. He’d expected you to be a bleeding heart, but as you’d turned to leave, stomping your feet and spitting back words that stung for just a second, it had been Zoro’s turn to notice something about you. 

It was the fire of your determination that piqued his interest.  

While Zoro wasn’t sure why you held such a stick up your ass exactly about the butler, he was positive you had a reason. Besides the fact he couldn’t seem to pull up a clear memory of why the same butler piqued his own interest, and that was beginning to piss him off. 

What was even more annoying was the fact you’d brought it up enough that he’d asked Nami and Luffy if the butler seemed familiar. He didn’t know why he’d asked. If it had been more for him or for you. 

That pissed him off more. 

You seemed to be good at that. Pissing him off and getting under his skin. 

When he came downstairs, Zoro expected you to be there already. A quick glance around the room informed him you weren’t there, but a row of flutes filled with what he hoped was alcohol most certainly was. 

He carefully set down his strap of swords and moved closer to the drinks. No one else made a move towards them and, for a split second, Zoro was worried maybe the flutes were nonalcoholic. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the delicate crystal and quickly brought it to his lips. 

The smell of the liquor hit him first and his muscles relaxed instantaneously. 

God. This was exactly what he needed. 

“Zoro! You gotta try this!”

Zoro didn’t bother looking because he’d seen the appetizers being served when he came down the stairs. He wasn’t impressed. Plus, if he was going to make it through this evening, he was going to need way more booze than what was inside these little Crystal flutes. 

“I got all I need right here,” he replied and brought the glass up to his lips. 

The first sip erased all the tension that had been binding up his muscles. The next pull from the glass relaxed him completely, and he downed what was left in one giant gulp. He placed the now-empty flute back down on the tray and swiftly grabbed another. 

Zoro was vaguely aware of all the chatting going on around him. The sound of Usopp and Luffy sharing stories and Nami doing whatever it was Nami did during fancy dinner parties. He meant what he said - he did have everything he needed to make it through this dinner inside these glasses. At least, that’s what he thought until the sound of a heel echoing off the step brought his attention to the top of the stairs. 

He was sure the new flute with his latest drink was at his lips. Zoro inhaled the sharp scent of liqueur with every breath he took. He just couldn’t seem to make his elbow bend enough to drop it from his face. 

You were making your way down the staircase, oblivious to the world around you as you came down with a hand carefully placed on the railing. 

The dress you wore was covered in article flowers; all of their small bold colors were bright against the backdrop of black chiffon. The top of the dress left your shoulders exposed, and the style you’d chosen to wear your hair, with beads of pearls intricately placed within each strand, made you seem ethereal. 

You looked like moonlight inside a garden; soft and wild and for the first time Zoro forgot that breathing was important. 

Once you reached the last step, your eyes finally moved up from the safety of your feet. Zoro was vaguely aware the rim of the glass was still resting on his bottom lip, and that he’d yet to take a drink. He felt frozen - helpless - until your eyes found his rooted frame - helplessly waiting - and the smile that curved your lips brightened up the room. 

It was in this second that he realized he was fucked, and the annoyance of that realization was enough for him to finally upend the glass in one large gulp. 

——————

Zoro had looked at you for less than a millisecond before he’d upended the contents of his glass in one large gulp. His disinterest was evident enough throughout his entire body. With one last glance in your direction, he turned back to the waiting tray of glasses. 

Well, that wasn’t the reaction you’d expected. 

The disappointment scraped raw across your chest as you watched Zoro take up another glass. His gaze was steadfast at the wall as he downed whatever was inside. What felt more disappointing was the fact you’d cared. 

For all intents and purposes, Zoro was an asshole. So, it begged the ever-present question: Why did it bother you so much? 

Yes, you’d painstakingly gotten ready around the dress Kaya left inside your suite. Was it your usual taste? You weren’t all that sure, to be honest. It’s not like you’d ever been invited to any fancy dinner parties before. You weren’t sure if this was the proper form of dress or if you’d gone overboard with your hair. 

At least Nami had a feather inside her hair and it looked as if she’d given her blood-orange hair some curls. She looked absolutely gorgeous and you made it your mission to tell her.

“Wow, Doc you look-“ Usopp began. 

You turned beaming towards your friend as you waited for him to acknowledge your hard work. Maybe at least Usopp, of all people, would say something nice. 

“Different.”

You could practically feel your smile deflate at the edges. 

“What did you put in your hair?” Luffy asked around a mouthful of meat. 

“Oh yeah, I was wondering what looked different. It’s the hair,” Usopp confirmed with Luffy. 

The both of them smiled and nodded at one another as if they just solved world hunger. Your tongue rolled around your cheek as you debated on what to say. Maybe you’d expected to much out of a bunch of men. 

“They’re pearls,” you huffed. 

“That’s silly,” Luffy chuckled. “Why would you ever put pearls in your hair?”

“It’s to look nice.”

“I never knew hair needed accessories,” Usopp offered before taking a bit of his appetizer.

“Nami put a feather in her hair,” Luffy offered before taking another bite. “Maybe you guys can talk about putting random stuff in your hair.” 

There was no way this conversation could be real, and yet…

Luffy was still wearing his genuine smile while he and Usopp continued to enjoy the appetizers Sham passed around. This evening was turning out to be the last time you’d ever consider wearing anything like this again. What was even worse was that out of the three of them, Zoro was the only one properly dressed. 

While Usopp went with his usual no shirt underneath his jacket, Luffy was wearing just a petty coat and miraculously found dress slacks that didn’t even reach his ankle. They looked like their usual selves, just dressed in black. 

But Zoro…

No! Absolutely not.

“I’ll go look for Nami so we can discuss…putting things in our hair.”

“That’s great! I’m sure it will make her happy. She seemed frustrated earlier when she asked for help.”

“I can’t imagine why,” you mumbled, as you turned to find Nami speaking to Merry. 

Well, it looked like that was going to be a bust too. Man, she really did look very pretty, though. You were considering what your options were. You weren’t comfortable just injecting yourself into whatever conversation Nami and Merry were having, especially not when she was rubbing his arm like that. 

Luckily for you, the sound of Klahadore announcing Kaya’s entrance kept you from having to go with your final option, which was to get a drink. Next to Zoro. 

You all collectively turned to watch as Klahadore helped Kaya make her way down the stairs. You couldn’t help but smile up at her and her current choice of attire. While she’d made you look like a garden, you could only assume she was the sunshine that hovered above it. The only problem you had with the golden silk material was that it somehow made her sickly pale skin appear paler. 

She must have picked the color in hopes it wouldn’t do that, but all it did was raise the alarm bells in the back of your mind. You’d allowed a pretty dress and a fancy meal to cloud the real reason you’d come in the first place. Instead of being a doctor, you were playing dress-up. 

You were still scolding yourself when Kaya finally made it to the end of the staircase. Her smile was bright and happier than it had been in a long time, as she regarded Nami and the dress she’d chosen. It hadn’t even registered that any of the clothes you currently were wearing belonged to her deceased parents. You made a mental note to make sure to take extra special care not to ruin the dress with any droplets of food. 

“Oh, Doc, I’m so glad I picked this,” Kaya breathed. “You look absolutely magical.” 

You couldn’t help but look down at the dress again. It was an incredibly delicate dress. A work of art to be worn on the body. Maybe that was why you felt like such an imposter wearing it. 

When you looked back at her, you tried to give Kaya a convincing smile. One you could even make yourself believe you felt worthy to have it on. 

“Oh, Kaya you are too nice,” you replied, only for her to shoot you down with a wave of her hand. 

“Nonsense. Usopp is always telling me about all the good you do for everyone. It’s time you let yourself be appreciated.”

Your earlier response to Kaya’s welcoming smile was one of your own, but at the mention of your supposed good deeds, you felt it tighten into a grimace. 

It means nothing if I can’t even help you.

Up close, her color wasn’t pale - it was ashen. The whites of her eyes were devoured with a yellowish tint and - 

Like the parasite he was, Klahadore was there pulling Kaya gently by her elbow to lead her back to the conversation between herself and Merry. Your eyes followed him as he made sure to plant her a few feet in front of you; her back excluding you from following to join. 

Once he made sure she was safely away from you, Klahadore stationed himself a few feet away next to the penguin pillar at the base of the stairs. He thought he was sneaky and that he had stopped your trained eyes from being able to do a quick evaluation.

Unlucky for Klahadore you were quicker than he thought. 

You were getting ready to head over to him when you caught Zoro walking back over to the tray. He was doing his usual of placing down an empty glass only to grab a fresh one, except this time he was talking. To Klahadore. 

What a fucking liar!

You couldn’t think straight as you watched the exchange. The way Klahadore overplayed the flabbergasted victim. You didn’t have to be close to them to know what Zoro was asking him, because just like you’d suspected, he did seem familiar to Zoro. 

It felt like you could breathe fire, you were so pissed. 

At some point, Klahadore ended the conversation by interjecting himself into someone else’s conversation. You didn’t care what it was. They could’ve been discussing flying pigs for all you cared. Your eyes were still honed in on Zoro who regarded you for a split second before he sat back down in the parlor’s middle seat. 

You started making your way towards him when Klahadore called out it was time to eat. You suddenly weren’t hungry. 

Zoro must have sensed you coming for him because in one swift move, he was out of the seat and standing. The strap that held his katana’s back over his shoulder as he followed Sham behind the double doors.

“You son of a-“

“Doc!” Usopp whisper-shouted as he nervously took your hand in his. “Sit next to me. Please.” 

You were still seeing metaphorical red. Your brain firing rapidly on only one main thought and that was to get a hold of Zoro and throttle him. 

It wasn’t Usopp’s fault that Zoro was a dick, and he looked genuinely terrified. Stuffing your current bad mood as far down as you could muster (you were about to see said moss-haired reason for your fowl mood in t-minus two seconds), you planted on a smile and gently took Usopp’s hand. 

“What kind of wingman would I be if I didn’t?”

“Oh, thank god,” he laughed. 

The both of you followed closely behind Merry and the others as you were all escorted inside the dining room. Merry quickly took his seat at the end of the table, and you noticed rather quickly Zoro had claimed the seat closest to the door. 

Without thinking, you took the seat beside him and motioned for Usopp to take the last one. The one directly beside Kaya. For a moment, Usopp looked at you wide-eyed and uncertain. You did your best to make him comfortable. 

“You got this, Usopp,” you whispered. “Don’t overthink it.”

His response came in a small nod that did little to erase the terror that shined in his eyes. You gave his arm a light squeeze for reassurance before you straightened up in the chair. Glancing over, you watched as Zoro poured what looked like a freshly opened bottle of wine into a glass. 

You waited patiently for him to finish and when he went to set the bottle down you made your move. With a slight lean to your right, you swiped your hand out to grab a hold of the glass. Zoro caught the movement too late, but you now had his full attention. His nostrils flaring the only indication that he was irritated by your sudden drink stealing. 

Good. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” He questioned. 

His dark eyes never left your face as he waited for you to answer. 

“Being petty.”

To bring the point home, you tilted the glass in his direction in a silent salute. You made sure he watched as you brought it to your lips and took a sip of the blood-red wine within. 

Zoro’s jaw ticked in irritation as you gave him a devious smirk, and when Sham came by Zoro waved her over. 

“I need a new glass.”

Now the smile that graced your lips was genuine and you made sure Zoro was aware of it. It was time to have a little fun of your own and that included hogging as much of his alcohol as humanly possible. 

------------------------

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

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Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[ghostsstolemymoxie]

ִ ✮⋆˙ 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝

𝓛𝓸𝓰𝓪𝓷 𝔁 𝓕𝓮𝓶!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

"𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒾𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝑒'𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊."

Just a little drabble If you're interested, my requests are open so please feel free to send me any questions, ideas or headcanons you'd like me to explore (please just make sure you've read my pinned post first) TYSM for reading and hope you enjoy <3

Divider credit @cafekitsune Tags: No use of Y/n, Logan POV (ish), explicit content (18+, MDNI), p in v, f on top, biting/rough sex (mostly implied), please don't click read more unless you're over 18 and willing to see 18+ content WC: 413 words

There's always a hunger in his eyes. Desperate glances from across the corridor as you pass, with a heat burning in his hazel eyes you can't completely read. It's a red, burning need that sizzles in his gaze even if it lasts only for a second.

But when he lays beneath you, watching as your perfect, needy body fucks itself on his cock, he looks like he's burning from the inside out. It's more than just his eyes, it's the furrow of his brow, the flaring of his nostrils, and the baring of his teeth like a feral beast in a rut. His hands, large and veined and needy splay across your hips, guiding your movements just enough to keep you moving on him, to keep your breasts swaying in his face exactly how he wanted it.

He aches to buck upwards, to slam his hips into your own, to watch your eyes grow dull and glossy and fucked out every time he invaded you and feel satisfied in knowing that he could rob you of your mind so easily. Every molecule of him longs to flip you, until he is looming above you, pumping and pounding into your perfect, wet, needy cunt until he spills himself inside of you, claiming every inch of you with himself until it leaks out.

But he knows it'll hurt.

He has an adamantium skeleton, after all, and is the most muscled member of the X-men barring Doctor McCoy. Even at his gentlest, he could bruise you, and as much as he loves seeing you marked by him, he's well aware that a bruised ass is uncomfortable during the day-to-day.

Even as he longs to sink his fingernails into your hips and pound upwards until you're crying out his name, unsure if you're sobbing or moaning or cumming, he forces the urge down, simply grating his teeth and hissing out every breath as he makes himself hold back, simply trying to relish every movement of your hips atop his own.

He wants to be gentle. He wants you to feel good and enjoy sex just as much as he does. However, at times like these, when you give him that coy little smirk that lets him know that you know how hard it is for him to hold back, he can't help but give in, just a little. After all, you need to learn your lesson about poking bears - or wolverines, in this case.

Besides, what harm could one little bite do?

[tastefulstars]

Get in Line

Your words come back to haunt you and now Billy, Eddie and Steve are making it their personal mission in life to ruin you.

Billy Hargrove x Eddie Munson x F!Reader x Steve Harrington

word count: 5.6k

a/n: this uhh got away from me a little and ummm, im not sorry :))

taglist: @starkleila

content warnings: 18+ only, mdni, fxmxmxm, piv, pia, pim, degradation (lots of sl*t/wh*re), dirty talk, oral (f&m receiving), fingering (v&a), possessiveness, manhandling, very very unprotected sex, rough handling & choking, over-stimulation, multiple orgasms. lmk if anything is missed. masterlist next

You wake slowly, body heavy and sleepy. You're groaning and regretting being awake when oh no, no no no, your words from last night filter through your brain - why would I choose one when I could have all of them? Three dicks for three holes - and you're mortified. Shame and humiliation has your face burning and you sink into your bed, pulling the covers up and over the top of your head and wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

You know they heard you, heard you basically admit to fantasizing about the three of them tag-teaming and passing you between them and using you, and if you never had to look them in the eyes again, you would be absolutely fine with that.

You're content to stay in bed and simmer in your shame when there's a slamming on your door and you whimper because there's only one person who has the balls to bang on your door like that. You do your best to ignore it but the banging only gets louder and more insistent and annoying.

Stomping your way to the door, you yank it open, glaring at Billy.

"What?" You snap, he's standing there - one arm up and leaning against the door frame and looking stupid and handsome and does he not know how to button his damn shirts? You watch as his smirk grows more prominent as he rakes his eyes down your body, you're only wearing a pair of undies and an old smurfs shirt that really, really doesn't cover much. Your scowl deepens.

"We're going out" He finally says, jerking his chin over his shoulder and you spot Steve and Eddie, hanging out the windows of Steve's car and they're leering at you just as much as Billy had been.

"Have fun then" You say, moving to slam the door closed on him - he's quick though, shoving his way in just enough you can't close it. He smiles sweetly at you.

"Oh no - don't be like that" His voice is soft and syrupy and it makes you want to melt, "you're coming with us, sweetheart"

The way he says it is absolutely sinful and you feel the heat radiating off your cheeks and you don't know where to look. He's pushing at you, making you stumble backwards, and keeps his hands on your hips as he marches you to your room and pushes you inside.

"Get changed"

He waits outside your door, which you firmly shut because you don't know if you could take his comments, and quickly slide on a pair of fitted red striped pants and pull a fitted black tank depicting a skeleton riding on a motorbike over your head. You weren't trying to get dressed up but, well, if your clothes would make your boys not take their eyes off you, then even better.

You shake your head roughly, your hair is a lost cause and you don't have the energy for makeup. You slide a pair of socks on your feet before you're grabbing your backpack and jacket. You yank the door open and Billy is still there, leaning casually on the wall opposite.

"Very nice" He's commenting, lip curling at the corners and you huff, pushing at him. You slip your feet into your boots, hand holding onto Billy's shoulder and he reaches for your waist to steady you.

You push him out the door and pile into Steve's waiting car. Both Steve and Eddie turn and beam at you, greeting you warmly and you feel your eyes narrow, suspicion creeping up your spine.

"She's grumpy today" Billy says from the front, ignoring your 'am not!', "She might need some extra lovin'"

Eddie reaches across the seat and slips his fingers into your pants at your hip and you suck in a sharp breath as he pulls, sliding you across the backseat until you're flush against him. Your lungs are shuddering and you really don't know what to do, your face is going to combust, you know it.

"Aw, poor baby" He's laughing at you.

"We'll take care of you, don't worry" Steve is throwing a grin over his shoulder at you as he backs out your driveway.

You scowl at them all and fold your arms across your chest, face flushed and heart tapping out a quick beat.

"Why are you three even hanging out? You don't like each other" You're snapping at them and trying to will yourself into not being so damn turned on, you're embarrassed and horny and they know it.

"Ahh" Eddie waves his hand, "Those two ain't so bad"

"It helps we have a comment interest" Steve adds, and the feeling of wanting the ground to swallow you up comes rushing back.

Billy's eyes catch yours in the rear-vision mirror and you want to wipe that smug smirk off his stupid face, and maybe kiss his stupid face and then kiss Eddie's stupid face and then Steve's even stupider face. You turn away from the three of them and stare out the window, willing your face and heart and body to just calm down already!

You know they're doing this on purpose, riling you up and teasing with their words and touches, unfortunately for you - they are very, very good at it and it works very, very well.

They end up taking you to the arcade and they argue who was going to pay for your tokens and your drinks and your snacks, who would be taking care of you. You rub at your eyes, and sigh heavily.

"Enough!" You whine, "just, just cut it out - please? Billy buy my tokens, Steve you get my drinks and Eddie you can buy my snacks, alright? Settled?"

They're smiling at you and you just groan. It was going to be a long day.

By the time they drop you off home, your undies are soaked and they've reduced you to a blushing mess with their innuendos and causal touches that were anything but.

They all walk you to your door, which in itself is strange, normally they'd just sit in their cars and wait until you'd shut your house door behind you. You thank them for the day as you dig your keys out of your bag and when you look up at them from under your lashes, they're leering again. Starting at you with blatant want, and your flush deepens.

"Well, goodnight!" You squeak and fly into the safety of your home. You hear their laughter and muffled voices and you bury your face in your hands and whimper.

You had hoped that that would be the end of it, time would pass and they'd move on to other conquests and your poor heart would be given a break from the constant flirting and touching, but no, no you're not that lucky.

They're almost always together now when you're with them, If you ask one of them to hang, the others show up. Sometimes they just show up unannounced at your home and push their way into your room and make themselves comfortable.

You really don't know how much more of it you can take, it's starting to get too much and you always feel overwhelmed and horny and you're in danger of developing feelings, so you try to put some distance between the four of you. You're conveniently busy when they want to spend time with you, or you've got a headache or you're not feeling well, or your parents really need your help, and you're starting to run out of excuses as to why you're avoiding them.

There's a party this weekend, you know that your boys don't know the host so you're going - desperate for a chance to relax and maybe even pick up a stranger. You take your time, styling your hair and doing your makeup, and you dress up - wearing a pair of fitted, high waisted denim shorts that really don't have any business being called shorts and a little black, top that shows off way too much cleavage.

The music is loud and the heat of everyone pressed into the living room is making you clammy but you're enjoying yourself. Letting loose and sipping your drink. There's a guy in your space and he's asking you if you want to dance and you say yes, taking his hand because why not? He's cute and maybe he'll help you forget your dumb feelings about Billy, Eddie and Steve.

The guy, Kevin? Mark? You don't know but he has his hands low on your hips as you dance, the tips of his fingers almost resting on the curve of your ass. You've lazily draped your arms around his shoulders and tip your head back, closing your eyes and just enjoying the moment.

Well, you're enjoying it right up until you feel him, John? No Kevin - definitely Kevin, tense and still. You crack open your eyes and he's looking over your shoulder and then he blinks and tears himself away from you. You're left reeling and confused but there's a strong hand gripping your bicep and whirling you around and there's fucking Billy and Steve and Eddie.

They look angry and they're pulling at you, tugging you outside and ignoring your protests and attempts to yank your arms out of their grip. They're shoving you into Billy's car and he's tearing out of there, speeding down the road and away from the party.

"What the actual fuck?" You yell, anger bubbling to the surface. Billy is clenching his jaw and gripping the wheel tight and Steve has a stony expression on his face and Eddie, oh Eddie just looks disappointed, your heart is sinking and you feel tears burning in your eyes. You never wanted to hurt them. 

"Could ask you the same question" Steve says, clipped and short.

"We thought you didn't feel well" Eddie is saying, voice hard, "and yet, here you are"

You feel shame and guilt at lying to them well inside you and your face scrunches. You turn away, facing the door so they can't see the way your eyes water and you’re biting your lip and you try your hardest not to cry.

"You three don't own me" You're snapping out, redirecting your feelings into anger and Billy is snorting, "I'm allowed to spend time with who I want!"

"That's where you're wrong" Billy snarls, he's driving too fast and you don't even know where they're taking you. It's not until his pulling in behind Steve's car and you're eyeing the house, dark and silent, that you start to feel - not scared but well, almost scared, worried maybe? Apprehensive. You don't know what to expect and they all look so angry and disappointed and upset with you.

Billy is pulling open your door and leaning in, grabbing hold of your arms and pulling you out of his car. Steve's unlocking the house and Eddie is pushing your back and Billy is pulling your arm. You stumble in, and they're leading you to Steve's room. They only let go of you once you're inside the room, shut in with them and the rest of the world shut out.

You're breathing hard and you're almost enjoying this, being manhandled and the possessiveness. Almost. You just need them to communicate. They're standing, facing you with their arms crossed and blank faces. You shift, restless at their scrutiny and wanting them to just do something, say something.

"So?" It's Steve who breaks the silence, "care to explain why you have been blowing us off for weeks?"

And you know he doesn't mean it the way it sounds, but oh his words make you tremble and flush. You scrunch your nose up, looking anywhere but the three boys staring you down.

"You know why!" You crack, voice breaking. You can't keep ignoring what you've said - pretending you're okay with all the flirting and touching and not acknowledging how you feel about them. It's Eddie who sighs softly, moving to you and cupping your cheek.

"Yeah" He's keeping his voice soft, calm, "we know"

"Why do you think we've been spending so much time teasing you, flirting with you? All all of us, together?" Steve's saying, sighing and sitting on the edge of his bed. Eddie gently pushes you down, sandwiching you between him and Steve, and Billy is moving to kneel in front of you.

"Yeah, hell, after spending so much time with you three - I even kind of like these two loosers now" Billy confesses, resting his hands on your thighs, "And if any of you say anything to anyone, you'll regret it."

You laugh and the utter sweetness in his voice as he threatens you all, then it all becomes too much and you collapse, hunching in on yourself and trying to be as small as possible. Eddie holds your hand and Steve rubs your back and Billy is gently pressing his fingers into your thighs.

"What? You sayin' you don't want us anymore and we've put all this effort into wooing you for nothing?" Steve jokes, a hint of anxiety in his voice - they were worried you had changed your mind and that's why you were at the party, but you're shaking your head.

"No, I just-" Your voice is quiet, meek. "I guess I didn't think you three would be okay with it? Wouldn't be okay with sharing or being in that situation and it's not like this is normal"

You hiss out the word like you're ashamed of your desires, and a small part of you is.

"We wouldn't be here if we weren't" Billy says, Steve hums in agreement.

"We talked about it, almost as soon as you said it at that party. We've been talking about this for months, babe" Eddie assures you.

"Believe us?" Steve murmurs against your shoulder. Eddie's looking at you with his big brown eyes and Billy is watching from under his lashes and Steve's got his lips mouthing the skin of your shoulder and it's all too much for you and you hiccup a gasp and nod.

"Tell us what you want"

And you're so, so embarrassed, your cheeks burning, as you whisper that you want to be passed around from one of them to the other, as they compete to see who can fuck you the best, to hold you down and push their dicks into you and make you squirm and take it, that you want them to not stop using you until they're completely sated and satisfied, that you don't want them to stop even if you're begging them to - only to stop of you say your safe word that you whisper to them.

And oh.

Eddie is pressing his lips against yours in a downright filthy kiss. It's all tongue and teeth and you can feel your combined spit drooling down your chin. When you gasp for air you're being yanked away from Eddie, Billy pressing himself up and licking into your mouth.

"Not gonna be much of a competition" Billy is saying into your mouth, "We all know I'll fuck you the best"

And really, you should have known they would be taking this too seriously - like it was an actual competition and you were the prize.

Steve is snorting and muttering a 'not likely' and Eddie is huffing a 'yeah right'.

You're a mess before they've even gotten your clothes off, slick soaking right through your shorts and your cunt aching, all from the messy, sloppy kisses they've been pressing into your mouth. It's Billy who notices.

"Jesus fuck" He laughs, "She's fucking soaked and we haven't even touched her"

Steve's raising his eyebrows and pushing his fingers between your legs, shoving Billy’s hand away where it'd been cupping you. He groans when he feels your drenched shorts and you squirm, trying to get some pressure from his fingers. Eddie clamps his hands on your hips and stills you.

"God she's such a slut" Eddie laughs, "Absolutely desperate for it"

"I bet she's gotten off, thinking about taking our cocks" Steve says, "and she really thinks that pathetic little guy would have been able to satisfy her? Look at her, one cock is not enough for a whore like her"

Billy is laughing at his comment, you almost hate how much their words arouse you, your veins feel like they're on fire and you're whining, panting and trying to move to get your clothes off.

"What do you think you're doing?" Eddie asks, condescendingly, Steve chuckles.

"I think she wants her clothes off"

"Of course she does, she's a slut" Billy agrees, and he's reaching for your shirt and so is Steve and Eddie and they each have the fabric in their hands and they just, tear it. You moan at the display of strength and go limp, letting them rid you of the rest of your clothes and you're left laying on the bed naked while they're all still fully dressed. It's absolutely thrilling, you're gushing slick and almost desperate enough to start begging already.

"Who's going first?" Steve asks, the boys glance at each other and Billy shrugs.

"We'll all get a turn so it's not like it matters"

"You go then, Steve" Eddie says, sliding jacket off his shoulders and resting against the top of the bed. He shouldn't look so graceful and casual in his movements, especially when you can see how hard he is in his jeans, but he does.

Billy shoves at you until you're laying next to Eddie, head on a pillow and he's sitting beside you - mirroring Eddie. Eddie is resting his forearm on your shoulder, putting just enough of his weight to pin you there and trailing the fingers of his other hand along your nipple while Billy leans over you with his big hand squeezing your other tit and he's sucking on your neck.

Steve's nestling himself between your legs and pressing sloppy kisses on your hips and lower stomach. You can't stop whining and gasping, you couldn't think, couldn't do anything besides moan their names.

Your mind stutters and goes blank when Steve presses his mouth against your cunt, you don't even realize you've let out a high keen. Billy's laughing in your neck and Eddie pinches your nipple.

"God, she's a mess and we haven't even started" Billy chuckles.

"Hmm, just wait 'til we're done" Eddie replies, "she'll be so ruined that she wont be able to have anyone else"

The casual way they speak to each other about you sends little zings through you, your thighs shake around Steve's head where he is lazily eating at your pussy.

"How many times do you think we can make her come tonight?" Eddie asks and the others still, glancing at him then flicking their gazes to your red, flushed face.

"Six sounds good" Steve murmurs into your cunt, "two for each of us"

"I think she can give us more than six" Billy's commenting from where he's sucking hickies onto your breast.

"Lets find out"

Steve goes back to lapping at you and Billy is marking as much of your skin as he can reach and Eddie tweaks a nipple before leaning down and capturing your lips in a kiss.

The combined sensations of hands and lips all over your body has you overwhelmed already and you can't stop the sudden orgasm from washing over you. You shake against them, thighs tight around Steve's head and moaning into Eddie's mouth.

Steve doesn't give you a moment to catch your breath, he doesn't even bother to get undressed. He zips his jeans down and pulls out his cock and just shoves it inside you. You cry out and try to move but Billy and Eddie are just holding you down, pined to the bed, lazily kissing and sucking hickies into your skin.

Steve doesn't let you adjust to him and just starts fucking into you. You're so wet that every thrust is making an obscene squelching noise, you gasp little a little 'ah!" every time he's shoving back into you.

"Oh god, Steve" you whine, you can't move and all you want is to press your fingers against your clit and come all over his cock, "Steve, please - oh, ahh, ohhh - wanna, ah, wanna come"

"Again? Already?" Billy says, biting harshly on your collar bone, "Don't know if you deserve it. You're fucking her Steve - what do you think?"

"Hmm, I -" He's breathing heavily and his head hangs between his shoulders, his hips never faltering in their quick pace, "Fuck this pussy is so fuckin' tight"

"Bet it's drenched" Eddie murmurs, "We don't even need lube"

"You'll come all over my cock" Steve grunts at you, "Then I'll fill you up and make it even wetter for them"

You're keening softly and clench down on Steve's dick and Eddie presses his fingers on your clit and you're coming undone. Steve's grunting and gasping, thrusting a couple more times before he's shuddering his own release.

"Fuck" He pants, "Fuck, you've got to make her come on your cock, it's - fuck, so good"

Eddie shifts, shoving Steve out of the way and he's pulling your hips up and resting your ass on his thighs. Steve tucks himself away and lays on his side beside you, and latches his lips on your skin.

Billy is shoving his tongue in your mouth as Eddie thrusts inside you, you moan loudly around Billy's lips and bury a hand in his hair, using the other to grip Steve's bicep.

Eddie pounds into you, the angle is different this time and he's brushing against your g-spot on each rough thrust. His hands grip your hips and you just know you'll have finger print shaped bruises tomorrow. Your cunt is fluttering and you can't stop trembling, and you feel cock drunk already and you can't form any semblance of coherent thought.

Billy wraps a hand around your throat as he kisses you, his grip is firm but not tight and it goes straight to your cunt. Eddie moans softly and slams into you harder.

"Ah, hold her throat tighter" He gasps, "She just gushed all over me"

"Yeah?" Steve is speaking lowly, "You like being choked huh? You're so fucking dirty"

Billy moves, sitting beside you and holding you down by your throat and he shoves two fingers into your mouth. You gag on them and mindlessly start sucking, stroking the digits with your tongue.

"Bet you like that, huh? Whore" He's spitting at you and your eyes roll back.

Eddie is slamming into you and once he presses his fingers against your clit you climax for a third time, soft whimpers escaping your lips. He doesn't change pace, unrelenting and it only takes a few more hard brushes of his cock on your g-spot and you're squealing around Billy's fingers, your whole body shaking with a fourth orgasm.

Eddie slams into you a final time before he peaks, spilling inside you. He's moaning softly and rocking himself through his climax. Once he stills, he looks down at you.

"The fucking slut squirted all over me" He tells the others as he pulls out, his and Steve's combined fluids dripping out of you and spilling down your ass onto the mattress. He smacks Billy on the shoulder as he moves.

"Your turn, big boy" He quips.

You're mindlessly staring at them, brain fuzzy and whole body tingling. You feel so, so, good. Used and stretched and stuffed full of seed. Billy is grabbing your hips, lifting and spinning you - setting you on your knees and holding your ass in the air. He's behind you, pressing in, gripping your hips tight and you let yourself go limp, chest and shoulders pressed into the bed.

"Still so fucking tight" He's grunting and pounding into you, and it's all you can focus on is breathing between moans and how good your pussy feels and how amazing having cocks stuffed into you one after the other feels.

"God, the noises you make" Eddie groans.

"She's good huh?" Steve asks, casually, holding the back of your neck.

"So fucking good" Eddie agrees.

"This fuckin' tight, pretty pussy was made for this" Billy grunts out in time with his thrusts. You can feel the mess dripping down your thighs and you might be drooling onto the sheets and you're starting to feel overstimulated and sensitive and Billy just keeps going.

You're whining out a litany of please, please, oh god, Billy, please. You don't know exactly what you're begging for - to come, for him to come, for him to stop, for him to never ever stop. There’s a set of hands lifting your shoulders, holding you up, and a cock is being pressed against your lips.

You shudder and let your jaw go slack, sinking down onto it. You don’t even know who’s cock you’re sucking on and you’ve never, ever been so turned on.

“Fuck” Steve is saying above you, “Her fucking mouth”

“As good as her cunt?” Eddie asks, he’s got his hands underneath you and he’s playing with your tits, lips pressed against your back and biting.

“Nothin’ could be as good as this cunt” Billy chuckles, you moan around Steve’s cock at their words, loving how they could just speak the filthiest things about you so easily. Steve winds a hand in your hair and uses it as leverage it push and pull your head, using your mouth as a fuck hole.

“She’s loving this, being a little fucktoy and cumdump” Eddie says against your back, “She’s gonna cum any minute from it, aren’t you?”

You nod as best you can while being fucked in both your cunt and mouth and you can feel it building, a fifth orgasm creeping up on you. You clench around Billy’s cock and he stills, breathing heavily as he fills you.

He pulls out and shoves two fingers inside you, pushing all the fluid back inside your cunt. He’s rough and fast, fingering you and making you shake. The firm smack against your ass has you jerking and squeaking around Steve’s cock, there’s laughter above you and someone’s saying do it again. Billy smacks your ass, leaving red hand prints all over, each stinging smack makes you whine and jerk and you’re gagging on Steve’s dick, drool sliding down his cock, and your eyes roll and you orgasm.

They shove you, pushing you down on the bed and you pant, chest heaving, slick and fluid gushing out of your cunt. You’re so sweaty and hot and you can’t begin to express how good you feel, you can’t even think. You can hear them moving around and it takes all of your concentration and energy to roll your head and open your eyes. They’re stripping, and what a sight, they’re all so fucking hot and you can’t stop the whine leaving your lips.

Eddie’s all long and toned, tattoos littered over his body, and Steve’s tummy looks soft and his arms strong, and Billy is all lean muscle and tanned skin. You’ve already climaxed so many times but that doesn’t stop your cunt clenching and leaking even more slick. You’re wide eyed and slack jawed and flicker your gaze over all three of them, not really sure where to look but not wanting to take your eyes off them.

Eddie’s attaching his lips to your cunt, licking and sucking and cleaning you. Your back arches and you wail, sensitive and overstimulated. Billy grabs at your throat and slides his cock into your mouth and you do your best to take him, to suck and make him feel good. Steve is just stroking your chest and stomach, leaving trails of fire everywhere he trails his fingers.

“You’re such a good little slut” Steve murmurs, you whine and tremble, “Perfect pussy made just to take our cocks”

Billy takes it easy on you and rocks his hips gently, huffing quietly, and Eddie is pressing his thumb against your asshole and the pressure has you panting, tilting your hips down.  He pulls away from your cunt, just far enough to speak.

“Steve, you got some lube? As wet as she is, don’t want to risk hurtin’ her”

Your eyes slip closed and listen to the shuffling, a draw opening, a click of a bottle opening. You keen at the initial press of a finger into your ass and you can’t help yourself, rocking your hips and trying to feel more inside you. You can’t concentrate and your jaw slackens, Billy’s cock slipping out of your mouth.

“Fuck, who would have thought the innocent little princess would love it up her ass”

“I’m really not surprised - she’s a fuckin’ filthy whore”

“How many times you think she’s let some pathetic guy fuck her like this?”

“Oh, she’d beg for it every time”

“She’s never going to be satisfied now, no desperate guy like the one she was dancing with - what was his name?”

There’s a hand wrapping around your chin and jaw and squeezing, you open your eyes and make a sad little noise, eyes watering.

“What was his name, bitch?”

“Ke-Kevin” You gasp out, there’s too much happening all at once and you’re struggling to function, “Please”

“Right. Kevin would never be able to satisfy you”

There’s mean laughter and hands pressing everywhere and they don’t rush, taking you when they want. Eddie’s got his fingers buried in your ass and you need more, need to taste them, need them inside you. They’re dragging this out and you just break, and you start crying. You start begging between deep gasps and making little whining sounds on each exhale.

“Please, please - need more, please oh, I can’t, I can’t” 

They’re pushing you and moving, they’ve got you kneeling with an arm wrapped tight against you holding you against Eddie’s chest. Steve is slipping under you, legs resting either side of yours and Eddies, and Billy kneels just behind Steve’s head fisting his cock.

You’re being pushed down, kneeling over Steve who holds you up with strong hands on your waist, Eddie’s hands gripping your hips, and you’re being pushed down onto Steve’s cock, cunt clenching, and Eddie’s pressing into your ass. Billy reaches and grips your hair, feeding you his cock.

You’re completely full, your arms shaking with the strain of holding yourself up, you’ve never felt anything quite like this. Stretched and full and used, your brain buzzes softly and you just go blank - letting them use you ‘til they’re satisfied. 

There isn’t much talking once they start moving, Eddie and Steve rock in sync, in and out, out and in. Billy is shoving his cock as deep as you can take it, nose brushing on his coarse hair. It’s all too much, you’re too sensitive and you can’t take much more and you never ever ever want them to pull out. Tears flow freely down your cheeks and you let their grunts, groans and gasps wash over you, sending you into a blissfully, mindless state.

Your clit is brushing against Steve on every rock and you shudder as a sixth orgasm washes over you, making Steve and Eddie groan as you clench and flutter around them. You let out soft little gasps around Billy’s cock and on a particularly deep thrust, you gag around him.

Billy lets out a soft fuck and spills down your throat, you swallow as best you can but some dribbles past your lips and down your chin. It doesn’t take long for Eddie and Steve to both climax, pressing their cocks as deep as they can and groaning as they coat your insides.

There’s a moment of stillness, you all just hold yourselves, breathing heavily and basking in the pleasure.

Then Billy is pulling his cock out of your mouth and gently relaxing his hold on your hair, Eddie slips out of your ass and he helps Steve carefully roll you onto your side on the bed. There’s soft murmuring above you but you can’t comprehend anything outside of yourself, your mind blank and empty.

You feel a body pressed against your back and an arm around your waist, and someone’s running their fingers through your hair and stroking your face. After a few moments, your leg is being pushed, moved further up the bed and there’s a warm cloth being pressed against you. You whine quietly and flinch at the feeling of the rough fabric brushing against your swollen cunt and there’s a soft shushing noise.

You’re being rolled gently onto your back and there’s a body pressed against both your sides and someone is laying between your legs, resting their head on your stomach. They stroke your skin and hair and murmur words you don’t understand and the pressure of being surrounded by them grounds and relaxes you.

When you become aware of yourself and your surroundings, you let out a soft groan, alerting the boys to you.

“Hey baby” Steve’s murmuring against your cheek.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Billy asks softly from your other side. You risk a glance down and Eddie’s resting his chin on your tummy, staring up at you with doe eyes, he smiles lovingly when he notices you looking.

“Hey” You sound absolutely wrecked, voice broken and rough. Your body is sore and aching a little, and you were going to cry if they make you leave any time soon, “‘m good, sore, but good”

“Want a shower?” Steve asks, voice soft and sweet. You shake your head, letting your eyes slip closed and sighing.

“Not yet” You whisper.

“Sleep baby girl” Eddie tells you, pressing a kiss on your tummy, “We’ll take care of you, okay?”

You let yourself relax again, slipping back into yourself and welcoming the blissful, restful sleep. Within minutes you’re breathing deeply and the boys soon follow you, lulled to sleep by your quiet, rhythmic breathing.

[dabisbratz]

DADDY’S HOME — gojo satoru x male reader

w.c: 4.3k

warning: light angst, daddy kink, bottom male reader, finger sucking, fingering, apology sex, dubcon (gojo’s a lil pushy but everything is consensual), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, biting, reader’s kinda bratty, possessiveness, established relationship, secret relationship, reader’s a regular civilian, anal sex, spit, mating press, sexualizing gojo’s thermographic xray vision, amab body terminology

a/n: the title to this is actually ‘kiss it better’ but i can’t give up ‘daddy’s home’….. s’too funny to changejsgshsgs

Tomorrow, like most days as of late, doesn’t come easy.

You don’t know exactly where Satoru is. Your last memory of him is rushed— it’s foggy and barely there, but you try to recollect how it went anyway. Over and over, you try to recall the curve of Satoru’s lips, his distinct scent, his words. It’s all a blur now, but you’re certain it wasn’t a goodbye. Not like how it feels now.

You’re tired, of that you’re certain, with your eyelids weighing more than the grief on your shoulders and your scleras burning a dark shade of red. Your bathroom mirror mocks you with your very own reflection, and as the bristles of your toothbrush are pushed to and fro, you catch yourself frowning at the dull depiction of, well, you. The distorted image of yourself stares back, tired eyes sunken in and rimmed in deep, dark circles. You try to put on a smile, eyes flickering up to meet your own heavy, mourning gaze.

But you know you’re being dramatic. It hasn’t even been a month yet (you still had eleven more days), just nineteen days of radio silence. Excruciating, lonely, isolating radio silence. The cordolium is almost too much to handle, heavy pangs in your chest as your heart twists and turns and squeezes itself. Like a washcloth wrung out to dry, you dampen and deflate as you make your way out the bathroom— but not before putting your things away and flickering the light off.

When you think about it, really think about it, you wonder if it’s all worth it. The waiting, the secrets, the silence, the mental gymnastics. The gangly limbs and unruly hair, pale and silky. The blotchy shade of pink that clashes with the rest of his face when you refer to him with a pet-name. Is Gojo worth it? If the ground opened up and swallowed you whole, would he be the first person you’d wish to see one last time? Satoru? No, it’s indubitable— he’s worth everything and more.

And to say you miss him would be an understatement.

Tomorrow, like most days as of late, doesn’t really come at all for Satoru.

In a way it does, of that he’s certain, but it doesn’t exactly feel like it. There’s no concept of time here, something a regular human wouldn’t be able to comprehend. If he were that— a regular human, that is— he’s sure his brain would’ve shut down the second he was sealed in the damned prison realm. Physically, he feels just fine. Almost akin to the moment he was originally sealed, as if the amount of time he’s actually spent here was a mere sliver of sixty seconds. Maybe like going to sleep, only with the visuals of the dream being dark skeletons and an inky black skyline, had it counted for one.

But it doesn’t last long— not for him at least— as he eventually finds himself fishing out unused, silver keys and standing in front of your apartment door. Should he. . . just walk in? As if nothing happened? It’s November ninth now, he was sealed in October— realistically, he’s been gone for nineteen days. But not for you, as he only had so often to find the time to actually be with you, he was lucky to see you throughout the entirety of the weekends.

Fuck. He misses you.

Your laugh, your smile, the boyish glint in your eyes. . . The way you frown when he makes an impossibly childish joke, as if you want to laugh but don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Your hands, so warm and gentle as they card through his opalescent strands of hair. Your throat, bruised and painted with fresh bites so everyone knows you belong to him.

That’s enough to get the door open.

Your apartment is dark, not dark enough that he can’t see, but it’s obvious you’re fast asleep. Gojo shuts the door behind him, turning the lock to warn a soft click in return, and immediately makes his way to your bedroom. He’ll be sentimental and sappy about the state of your house later— he just wants to see you.

And- ah, there you are. Facing away from him (or, the doorway) as you lay on your side. You look peaceful— the slow rise and fall of your bare chest as you hold onto your pillow like a lifeline. He’s missed those arms, warm and welcoming as they’re wrapped around his strong form. With your back turned to him, he watches your back expand and deflate, your face enveloped in the cool, soft fabric of your pillow. Your handsome face, something he’s missed more than you’ll ever know, completely covered. Gojo frowns, despite the light building in his chest as he makes his way to the bed.

You’re warm despite only sleeping in your boxers and— is that his t-shirt? He can feel the soothing heat of your body bouncing off your shoulders (your skin is entirely too bare for his liking, no longer littered in hickeys or indents of his teeth). It makes him want to curl up beside you, holding you until he’s stuck with his arms around your frame. Together.

“I’m home,” Satoru whispers, tracing the hill of your shoulder with delicate fingertips as he looks down at the side of your face. Peaceful, you’re unmoving, eyelashes resting against your cheek and pretty, soft lips relaxed. Your breaths come out in stifled, hushed chords, and Gojo finds himself enamored all over again. “Did y’miss me?”

You mumble something soft, not entirely there yet, as his big hands slowly part you from your pillow. He’s jealous of it, he’ll admit, seeing as it gets to press against your body every single night. A constant in your life, he supposes.

“C’mon,” His voice is a gentle purr, sweet in your ears as he coaxes you awake, “Wake up,” like a silent prayer drifting into the night, as he gently shakes you. He’s never been one for rude awakenings, after all. He’s missed your pretty eyes.

Almost on cue, your eyes slowly flutter awake with a groggy groan. Gojo watches the curve of your lips, the furrow of your brows, the way your fists clench around his shirt. Just as handsome as the day he left you, confusion fills your face until your jaw goes slack. The words die on your tongue, your brain slowly working to connect the dots as Gojo fondly watches questions mold your lips.

Nothing of Satoru has changed. His eyes are still so blue; and sparkling with shades that remain unrecognizable to this day. His hair’s still the cleanest twinge of white you’ve ever seen, brighter than the sun during early evening, quilting the rooftops and pavement. His glossy, rosy, lips curl into a small, genuine smile, chirping a quiet ‘good morning!’ and at this angle, shadows meet to frame him perfectly. The curve of his face, the slope of his adam’s apple, his silhouette blanketed by the yellow hue emitting from streetlights that peek through your desolate curtains.

His shoulders have never looked more broad, the expanse of his body large and big as he leans forward. He smells remnant of soap, and there’s something in his scent that makes you sleepier, gets your brain foggy as he looks at you.

With your lover hovering directly above you, an incredulous tremor racks your body. Your hands reach out to touch him, as if he’s not real, and once you’re met with the solid, silky skin of his collarbone you can’t help but gasp.

You watch dimples paint his cheeks as he leans in with his head, staring at your lips with darkening eyes.

“Satoru,” Cold shivers run down his spine, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth at the sound of his name leaving your lips. Like a broken record, you repeat yourself, completely at a loss for words. The love in your voice is audible, desperate, “Satoru.”

Curling your fingers into a fist, you bunch up the fabric of his— Jesus Christ, did he come here in a compression shirt?—shirt and pull him forward, shutting your eyes as your lips crash into his.

You can feel his teeth grazing your mouth, pearly fresh as he smiles. But you swallow it down, using your other hand to snake up the nape of his neck, bristles of his faded undercut prickling your fingertips. He tastes just like how you remember, sweet and soft, with his tongue as wet as it is sharp. He’s home, and he feels like it, too.

Gojo follows suit, snaking a large hand up your chest until it’s resting at the base of your neck, wrapping around the warm flesh. He can feel your heartbeat in your throat, rapid and sharp as he delivers a small squeeze. Frustration bubbles in your stomach, fast and sudden as you pull away, eyebrows knitting together the more you think about it.

“You left me,” It’s not a question, laced with anger as you keep him close with your fist in his shirt. He left you, and has the audacity to turn up in the middle of the night for what— to fuck? You try to ignore the slight fall of his lips, the flash of guilt that sparkles in his irises. “For two weeks. Now you just wanna fuck?”

No— that’s not it. Satoru has half the mind to paint his face with a smile, to block out the question like some kind of declaration against him. But it’s you, you’re saying it because you’re scared, because you care. Because you missed him just as much as he missed you, if not more. You’re not picking a fight, you’re worried. So Gojo lets himself visibly deflate, the smile on his face flickering as he squeezes your neck once more. Yeah, he wants to fuck you, but that’s not all.

“You know that’s not it,” And yeah, maybe he’s right, because you have yet to let go of him or push away his hand. You know he’s right, because you’re subconsciously leaning into the strong hand around your throat, the edges of your brain fogging up the longer he looks at you, “But you’d let me, wouldn’t you?” Gojo's gaze is dark, intense. He cocks his head to the side and smirks, showing off his sharp, shiny canines. Fuck. You’ve fallen right into his trap, letting him snake his hand up your jaw to make you nod, slow and steady, “You know I can’t help myself.”

Heat pools in your stomach, intense as he laughs at whatever pathetic face you must be making in response to his casual manhandling. Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, again and again, he takes initiative to gather your wrists in his warm palms, pressing your hands against his chest to feel his heart beat. The steady thump, thump, thump-ing is nothing compared to the vibration of your own, showing no signs of slowing as he lets go to lift your (well, his) shirt off your body.

“Feel that?” He breathes, immediately burying his face in your neck. He inhaled your scent, groaning low in his throat as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin. His eyelashes tickle your jaw, long as he closes his eyes and sucks along the skin. With short, stinging bursts, your neck is blemished with indents of his teeth and deep, blooming bruises.

“Mhm, yeah…” You whine, baring your neck as he reaches down to rub circles into your inner thighs. He's heavy lidded, following the curve of your cupid's bow and drinking in the way you bite down on your bottom lip between gasps- the plump flesh covered in a thin sheen of saliva that has his mind racing.

Pulling away, Satoru pushes you down on your back, spreading your thighs apart with two long, big hands. Sparks fly in your groin, legs instinctively coming to close around the pale hands holding you open until Gojo’s grunting, tightening his grip at your thighs to keep you still. “Don’t go runnin’ on me now.”

Sounds of protest bubble up before he can berate you, your body squirming under his strength as he moves a hand to tug at the fabric of your boxers.

He's watching your lips, pretending to listen to what you're saying: even playing the role well enough to add a low hum of response when it's required of him. You’ll never admit how hard it makes you, how your hole flutters around nothing in response to the intentional neglect— but he seems to get it anyway.

Satoru hums, offering a spare, stern glance as he frees your cock from the confines of your underwear. Springing to life, you feel yourself throbbing and achy as he lets out an involuntary moan. Hiking your knees up to your chest, Satoru doesn’t have to tell you to hold them there. You do it yourself, tilting your head to keep watch of his movements.

His biceps ripple and bulge against his shirt as he rids himself of his slim-fitting, matching black pants. He watches you the entire time, pausing to squeeze the base of his cock through his pants as if he’s impatient. There’s a wet patch adorning his underwear, ghosting over the head of his cock that you can make out through its long, thick indent. Saliva gathers in your mouth, threatening to spill as you watch him lift his shirt overhead.

“Gojo,” You hear yourself whine, holding your legs with one hand as the other claws at the sheets, pulling them forward. “Hurry up.”

“Tellin’ me what to do now?” His hair falls over his face, wisps of white disheveled enough to have him carding a hand through it. It falls back into place seamlessly. You’ll be damned if it doesn’t make your brain a little slow, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it because he’s grabbing you, pulling you down so your ass is flush against his bulge.

A small gasp leaves your lips, wet and watery as he ruts his hips against the swell of your ass, your thighs, your balls.

“Two weeks, Go’,” You’re rambling, wiggling your hips against his big, throbbing dick. Damned boxers, the most you get from him is the wetness of his pre-cum grinding against you. “Two weeks, nothing. Thought you left me. Could’ve fucked someone e—”

He cuts you off before you can finish, shoving his long fingers in your mouth to shut you up. His face is scarily calm, like the comment didn’t phase him at all. But you regret it before it even left your lips, your eyes widening as you gag on his fingers. Like he’s fucking your throat with them, wet squelches and drool slides down tithe seams of your lips. Then it’s there, a possessive fire in his eyes as he watches your pretty mouth wrap around his knuckles.

“Wanna try that again?” Narrowing his eyes, he presses his fingertips into your tongue. The weight of his fingers makes you short circuit, your brain blank as you blink up at him with glassy eyes. The cocky asshole has the audacity to look at you like you’ve grown another head. “What? Daddy's fingers fuckin’ your throat remind you who it belongs to? Make you stupid enough to drop the attitude?"

Oh.

He slowly slides out his fingers, giving you a chance to explain yourself. Glimmering and shiny with spit, Satoru inspects them before sucking the drool off with an expectant raise of his eyebrows.

“Be. . .” Quiet. He can sense the end of that sentence from a mile away, tutting as he shoves his fingers back in your mouth with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Where’d my good, sweet boy go?” With his ring and middle fingers fucking your mouth, he uses his thumb to smear your saliva along your lips. Fighting back the urge to spread your legs and whine, suckling on his fingers with a long, drawn out whine, it’s your turn to shake your head.

His good boy. . .

You gurgle around his fingers, sputtering something he can’t understand, as his free hand spreads the globes of your ass apart. He spits down, landing right along your perineum and slowly sliding down onto your cute, winking hole.

“Sorry! You’ll have to speak up!” He chirps, finally removing his fingers for good. But now you don’t have much to say, pursing your lips in defiance as his wet fingers trail down your shaft, balls, and crack. He finds your hole in an instant, rubbing the pads of his fingers in slow, tantalizing circles. “What was that? You know where he went? You sure?”

So deep, he pushes in one knuckle at a time, his fingertips sliding along your gummy, creamy hole, cursing out, “He does that too, grinds his pretty hole on my fingers.”

“Hate you,” Him and his stupidly skilled fingers. Him and his stupidly pretty dick. Him and his stupid, stupid mouth. You sniffle, vision blurry as you sit up on your elbows to watch Satoru’s long, skinny fingers push past the first band of muscle, slick and slow, “You….left me.”

“I know, I’m the worst,” He pouts, pink lips curving downward as he closely watches your velvety walls suck his fingers in deeper. So pretty, your rim stretching and fluttering along the digits as their own special greeting. He’s missed this. “Gonna let Daddy apologize?”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re shaking your head, pouty lips persistent as ever. It’s what he loves about you, though. Satoru can’t help but coo, high in his throat. You’re just so teary-eyed, he can’t take you seriously. But you nod, small and sweet as you avert your gaze. He’s sure you can see him from the corner of your pretty eyes, so he makes sure to keep his pride apparent.

“There he is,” He smiles, watching you clamp down on his fingers from the praise. His fingers hit your prostate, the special bundle of nerves sending electricity up your body until you’re wailing, back arched with tears spilling down your cheeks. “There’s my good boy.”

His cock grinds against your bedsheets, hard and throbbing. As torturous as it is for you— the slow drag of his fingers as he continuously spits into your hole— it’s tenfold for him. He’s nearly losing his head, eyes scanning over your body, then to your sobbing face.

You hiccup, wet and loud and pitiful, rocking your hips like some kind of slut, desperate to feel full again. Full of Satoru. But then you’re empty again, clenching around nothing but air and spit as he pulls away. He mumbles a few profanities, kicking off his boxers in a display that has your bed creaking and shaking— you along with it.

There’s a slick sound of his thick dick taptaptap-ing against your rim, wet and sticky as he grabs handfuls of your ass. Briefly admiring the skin that spills between his fingers, Satoru’s gaze lifts to meet yours. Your survey is lazy now, eyelids heavy as your drool-covered face contorts into a wobbly smile. He wants to fuck that stupid look off your face. He wants to make up for lost time.

“Ohh,” You sigh, melting into the mattress as he lifts your ankles over his shoulders and readjusts so he’s hovering over you in a squat, the head of his cock sliding along your sensitive hole and neglected cock. He’ll take care of you, he promises. “Daddy…”

He nearly shoots all over you.

What a pretty picture that would make, too. Your fucked out face blanketed in thick ropes of cum, your chest shiny with a thin layer of sweat and drool. But there’s somewhere else he’d rather shoot, somewhere deep and warm and mushy around his cock. Inside.

“Fuck,” It’s a sloppy, pathetic sound. The squelch of Satoru’s long, curved cock slipping past that tight band and into your messy hole. You’re not much help either, with your babbling and incoherencies and constant whining of ‘Daddy!’ and ‘please!’ Your hole is plush and tight, gripping his cock like a vice and refusing to let go. And with every drag of his dick comes more sounds, more sticky, clear precum (how cute, your cock is leaking down to your hole) that turns creamy and thick the more he pushes in and out. “Fuuck, don’t move. Sit there and take it.”

“Oh my—” You sob, thighs tightening and trembling at the stretch of his fat dick in your little hole. An intrusion really, because you’re struggling to take it— too big, too much, too good. If Satoru’s talking you don’t hear it, not over your own squeals and wailing, anyway. “. . .Please..!

“You even know what you’re begging for, baby?” Satoru keens, your tears spurring him up until he can’t do anything but mindlessly thrust, kissing away the fat, crystal tears rolling down your handsome face.

“Uh… Uh-huh,” You nod, fast and rushed as you lock your legs together. Your head luls to the side, as you’re much too weak to keep it upright as Satoru watches you. You just can’t help it, your lips parting as his cock bullies your prostate, poking and prodding and pounding. You’re sure you look stupid- utterly and completely fucked out on his dick, your tongue slipping from your mouth and panting like some sort of bitch in heat.

“Yeah? What is it, then?”

“Da—ddy,” You sob, blinking away tears as Gojo’s hips grind in slow circles, deeper and deeper and deeper. “S’so big, I can’t— How s’it even fit?”

Oh, fuck.

“I don’t know, baby,” It’s the genuine surprise that does it for him. Looking down, Satoru rests his forehead on yours as he watches his cock disappear inside you. In and out, in and out, sloppy and messy and— oh. He can see the warmth of your hole, the warmth of his dick, watches it leave and enter, fills you up and leaves you empty again over and over. The way your rim stretches special for his dick, then back to its tiny, winking state just to be split apart all over again. Fuck. “You’re just special like that. Perfect for my—fucking—cock.”

“Missed,” You hiccup, jolting up and down as Satoru pounds into you, relentless and desperate like he’s trying to get you there— trying to get himself there. He is, seeing as your cock feels just about ready to burst and your hole is sensitive it almost hurts. “Missed you, Daddy. . . N’… Missed your cock.”

“T’aww,” His cooing is genuine, not nearly as mocking as early, and heat prickles your body, even if you already felt on fire. “Really? Know something, I missed you too. And my cock— yeah, missed this pretty little hole too. All mine, isn’t it?”

That does it.

Your cock spurts against your stomach, your chest, with the help of a few short, shallow strokes on Satoru’s part. But it felt better, the twisting of his wrist that doesn’t stop even as you start to convulse, eyes rolling back until your vision goes white and cum ropes out your dick in quick, short, sensitive bursts.

You’re clamping down so hard, nearly spitting and pushing out Gojo’s cock the harder he pounds into you, murmuring into your neck until you feel warmth in your tummy. In thick, longer spurts that feel sticky and cling to your gummy walls. You’re full, whining and whimpering as Satoru slowly calms his feverish thrusts, fucking his cum in deeper and deeper, as if it’ll do anything.

“Daddy… too much…” You’re cut off by your own hiccups, feeling some of his cum seep out your sloppy hole and down your crack, globs pooling beneath your ass and sticking to Gojo’s heavy, spent balls. Despite your own protests, you make no movement to unlock your legs, your cock twitching pitifully as your lover’s thick cock nestles against that special spot deep inside you.

“I know,” Satoru doesn’t pull out, instead nuzzling his face into your neck and coaxing you into releasing your legs with small, languid circles to the back of your thighs. “I’m here. Daddy’s right here.”

You know what he’s trying to say, even in the cockdrunk state you’re currently stuck in. With foggy eyes and an equally foggy brain, you pepper tiny kisses along Gojo’s temple, smiling wide when he laughs into your sweaty neck. “Mhmm. . . Know you won’t leave me, ‘Toru.”

Never on purpose, anyway.

“Maaan, you’re always so honest after we fuck! I’m like some sort of elite sex therapist,” You don’t have the energy to grunt or roll your eyes, let alone push him. He continues anyway, teeth nipping at your sensitive neck. “I knew you didn’t mean it. You looooove me!”

Biting back the urge to take it back, you nuzzle your cheek against the silky, soft bundles of Gojo’s white hair, whispering a quiet declaration of love straight into his ear. You hope to stay like this for the rest of the night, limbs entangled as Satoru breathes you in, strong arms holding you in place— his cock inside you, slowly softening until you’re both asleep. Cleanup can wait— after you’ve talked about everything, after you’ve finally gotten a full night of uninterrupted sleep. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow? Yeah, tomorrow comes easy. Of that, you’re certain.

[cynthiav06]

The entire Fandom needs to listen to this:

Percy having a thing for Rachel was so absolutely deserved like he should have been head over heels for her. Here's why?

First meeting? Runs her through with Riptide, and where anyone would have spent the whole time yelling and arguing, Rachel quickly gauged the situation, helped Percy hide, deviated the skeletons from their orignal path all at the same time.

Percy is so awed and he should be and Rick Riordan doesn't do justice to the whole thing.

It ends on Percy saying he owes her one, almost an indication that they would meet again.

Yet Percy is terrified of running into Rachel again because he isn't sure if he could answer all her questions, most definitely because he doesn't want to drag her into the whole thing. So much so that when he sees her at Goode, he calls her "my redheaded nightmare " .

Not only has he thought of her since they last met, but he may or may not have dreamed about her, not to mention he remembered her full name after listening just once.

When he does meet her again she yet again warns him about monsters hence saving both of them.

The most important thing is Percy, who all his life has been judged blamed ridiculed, and mocked is for the very first time understood so instantaneously by Rachel. She who has been put in mortal danger every single time she meets him doesn't blame him, doesn't judge him for it, and openly takes the blame for the burning school. Even Annabeth's first response to seeing the smoke is blaming Percy despite being around him and knowing well enough for 3 years; she chooses to blame him as if she doesn't know that it's never Percy's fault. Yet Rachel, someone who he has met only twice and that too for meager few minutes, understands him and his situation so well.

All the people in the Fandom ask yourself this: Will Percy Jackson not for all that he is be absolutely head over heels and in awe of someone like that?

He can barely give her any answers at the moment, but she agrees to a death quest to help him save the world.

Throws a literal hairbrush at the Titan King and stands her ground.

Stays by him and comforts him through his depressive thoughts about dying due to the prophecy.

Falls in love with him despite knowing he has little time left.

Does her best to help him while still keeping his mind off from spiraling into dark thoughts.

Rides a literal helicopter mid-apocalypse to get to him just to warn him of the dangers?

Percy would be so absolutely over the moon in love with Rachel, were Uncle Rick not so fixated on Percabeth agenda.

The last bit is for toxic Annabeth stans:

Rachel is a genius too.

She is ambidextrous and can draw with both hands and legs; probably has exceptional memory, and her composure and quick thinking are on par with Percy himself.

I hate bringing this to looks, but I will if I get to shut up toxic fans. Annabeth is certainly beautiful, and her grey eyes are quite unique, but Rachel is the most underrated and definitely the most beautiful out of all Percy Jackson females.

The woman literally won genetic lottery with red hair and green eyes, and the only reason Uncle Rick doesn't rave about her beauty is to not make Annabeth insecure.

Also, for those overly concerned about the Oracle celibacy thing, I will address that in my next post and how it's not a problem at all. (Now posted link is here:

Expect more Pjo-centric posts along with Perachel headcanons and more.

[1800naveen]

Spoilers?? (Mentions of major character deaths)

Greenies can joke about Rhaenyra's death all they want but it's one of the coolest ways someone can die in a song of ice and fire and as a Targaryen.

If you aren't aware of how Rhaenyra dies, she is cut at her breast which alerts Sunfyre and he (she?) doses Rhaenyra in dragon fire before devouring her.

That is metal as fuck.

That's a dragon rider's death. That's a Targaryen death right there.

"Rhaenyra Targaryen had time to raise her head toward the sky and shriek out one last curse upon her half-brother before Sunfyre’s jaws closed round her, tearing off her arm and shoulder."

SHE WAS BEING BURNED ALIVE BUT SHE CURSED OUT AEGON ONE LAST TIME! SHE DIED NOT A COWARD BUT A QUEEN WITH HER HEAD HELD HIGH. I wonder what she said to him.

And you want to know how Aegon died?

He got poisoned.

"A cold wind was blowing. As the litter set off, the king closed the curtains against the chill. Inside, as always, was a flagon of sweet Arbor red, Aegon’s favorite wine. The king availed himself of a small cup as the litter crossed the yard."

"Ser Gyles and the litter bearers had no notion aught was amiss until they reached the sept, and the curtains did not open. “We are here, Your Grace,” the knight said. No answer came, but only silence. When a second query and a third produced the same, Ser Gyles Belgrave threw back the curtains, and found the king dead upon his cushions."

“There was blood upon his lips,” the knight said. “Elsewise he might have been sleeping.”

Poison is considered to be a woman's weapon. Aegon who usurped his sister's throne because she was a woman, died by a woman's weapon. Gotta love the irony. There are theories that Corlys or Larys poisoned him, what do you think? I think Corlys did it.

"Aegon was a good king!"

"Septon Eustace tells us that a “strange euphoria” took hold of King’s Landing; Mushroom simply says that “half the city was drunk.” The corpse of King Aegon II was consigned to the flames, in the hopes that all the ills and hatreds of his reign might be burned away with his remains. Thousands climbed Aegon’s High Hill to hear Prince Aegon proclaim that peace was at hand."

Mfs was getting turnt the fuck up when they found out that he died. They could finally be at peace after his reign. Yeah, don't say Aegon is a good king when this quote exists.

And Aegon and Sunfyre don't have the most powerful bond. A good example would be Daemon and Caraxes, Dany and her children too.

That answer was no answer, plainly. “Not Silverwing,” His Grace declared. “I will have a new Sunfyre, prouder and fiercer than the last.”

Sunfyre in the afterlife hearing that:

Your dragon died due to the shit you put them through and you want to get a new one? Damn, at least mourn or something. The dragons deserve so much better.

Everyone on team black died cool or interesting ass deaths. Rhaenys taking on two dragons and not even fleeing when she realized that she wouldn't win the battle, Jace and Luke dying alongside their dragons like a Targaryen and being buried in the sea like a Velaryon, Daemon leaping off Caraxes and driving Dark Sister into Aemond's eye; the eye that Luke took out.

Team green?

Otto got beheaded, Aemond looking up at terror when Daemon made him Dark Sister's place holder, Criston Cole getting arrows in him by the winter wolves who declared that no one will sing songs of him and his head was put on a spear, Daeron Tentsbane dying in a tent fire, and Alicent was driven mad after the dance, regretting her choices and hating the color green. Dark sister and Vhagar's skull were retrieved but they left Aemond's skeleton down there. They buried what was left of Rhaenyra but didn't do shit from him.

Helaena will not be mentioned because she didn't deserve any of this, the same for Jaehaerys, Maelor, and Jaehaera.

"Sunfyre ate!" Yes, Sunfyre did eat Rhaenyra. You want a cookie for reminding us?

"Sunfyre, it is said, did not seem at first to take any interest in the offering, until Broome pricked the queen’s breast with his dagger. The smell of blood roused the dragon, who sniffed at Her Grace, then bathed her in a blast of flame."

Sunfyre was nearing death, animals will stop eating when they near death (does it count for a dragon?).

Anyways, remember that Rhaenyra and Daemon's bloodline prevailed and gave us Daenerys, the current Baratheons, the current Martells, Brienne (through Duncan), Jon Snow (not yet to be confirmed in the books). And Aegon's line was brought to an end.

WHEN YOU USURP, YOUR LINE SHALL END! Maegor and Aegon: usurping the throne and having their line ended because of it.

"The choice is his, but he shall have no children. My sister’s line must end.”

Should've specified which sister.

Now enjoy some art of the rightful queen and her king (consort):

🎨: Jotasaraiva! So good, power couple.

🎨: Daewithmon! (Tried to make out the credits below but it's down there)

🎨: Chillyravenart!

@paparinka, give them a follow if you like the art!

DON'T TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY, I LIKE TO YAP🙏🏾

[princip1914]

This ficlet is based on the Good Omens meta I’ve seen floating around that suggests Aziraphale nearly says “I love you” and at the last minute cuts himself off and says “I forgive you.” Personally, I thought that would have been an even more devastating exchange, so naturally I had to write it.

A shock of heat, a bloom of want which arced down Aziraphale’s spine and fought to pull him closer to the long line of Crowley’s body. The pressure of Crowley’s lips; insistent and angry, hard as stone. 

Come work with me, Aziraphale had begged. I need you.

And Crowley–

Crowley had chosen earth over safety, over light, over–over Aziraphale. Over the only us that had a chance at eternity. And then, he had twisted his hands in Aziraphale’s lapels and twisted the knife deeper, his mouth on Aziraphale’s mouth, a mockery of what Aziraphale had wanted on that first day of freedom and each day afterwards. A mockery of what Crowley had never before offered. 

Once, while blessing a monastery in Russia, Aziraphale had gone swimming in a frozen lake. He had long since learned that such asceticism did not suit him. But now with Crowely’s mouth on his, he remembered the utter shock of the cold, remembered how he had fought the deadly instinct to gasp when he entered the water. 

Crowley’s lips shifted against his, gentled ever so slightly, enough that Aziraphale could have parted them with his tongue and licked into the heat of Crowely’s mouth. Instead, he pressed his own lips tighter together; he did not want to drown. 

But when Crowley pulled away, the truth still ripped itself out of Aziraphale’s mouth in a strangled stutter. 

“I…I love you.”

* * *

Crowley’s lips were numb. He felt light somehow, unpleasantly so, like an empty vessel.

Aziraphale looked as though he had been struck. He pressed a hand to his mouth, but it was too late. The words were already there between them. 

I love you. 

Perhaps Aziraphale was lying to get Crowley to agree with him. He had lied to God after all, but Crowely had known him for six thousand years and was harder to fool. Crowely’s cheeks were wet with the tears that had hung on Aziraphale’s lashes. Crowely did not think he was lying.

It didn’t matter. Aziraphale might love him; but it still wouldn’t be enough because he didn’t know him. If Aziraphale had known Crowley, he would have known that Heaven was the one place Crowely would never–could never–follow him. He would have known not to ask at all. 

Crowley ought to be angry, but all the anger had burned out. Just charcoal left, the skeleton of a tree in the desert after God had finished telling Moses and no one else the plan. 

“Don’t bother,” Crowely said, and walked out the door. 

[aka-indulgence]

screaming dying throwing up, do you have any more dr sans and mr horruer... literally anything, i don't care, so long as it's MORE

That’s the kind of reaction I strive for :D Ogey, since you asked so nicely heheheue

CW: descriptive transformation?

—————

A large, creepy man walks through the dark streets of Shudrow, away from the yellow streetlamps. He stands in front of the closed window of a large manor, tinkering with the shutters. After a couple of clicks and creaks, the wooden window doors open.

He steps through, his height making it easy to enter without having to maneuver much- though with his height he needs to duck under the top of the window. He quickly shutters the window doors as soon as he enters.

no one to see.

Horruer sighs and reaches for his pocket, picking up the handkerchief that you dropped earlier. You were in such a hurry to get away from him… if he wasn’t frozen, he would’ve given it back to you.

… He brings it to his face and sniffs it.

smells like her.

After a moment of daydreaming, he puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, and gets to work. He puts down his beaker on his table and looks through his drawers…

where are my chemical salts?

He growls quietly. He brought it up to his work room last time, which is upstairs.

i need to be more careful next time. don’t need to be sneaking through houses…

He presses his skull to the door, taking care not to press the side of his exploded skull. When he hears nothing, he takes a peek.

… someone’s coming.

He closes the door, leaving a crack for him to look through, but small enough for it to be unnoticeable at night.

Faun walks through the corridor with a lamp, perhaps having a quick look around before retiring to his quarters. The red eye watches as the deer monster disappears into the living room. When he can’t hear his hooves anymore, Horruer opens the door and relocks the lab, quickly making his way to the stairs- no need to be quiet here, he just has to be quick.

The stairs bend heavily under him as he runs up the wooden stairs, every step a stomp until he arrives at the landing. Quickly, he slips into his work room.

He clunks the beaker on his desk, its strange contents sloshing. The chemical salts layed there, out in the open.

hrmp, need to be more careful next time, Horruer thinks, tapping the salts into his concoction.

He lifts it up to his lamp and swirls it until it looks just right. Then, he chugs it like a glass of spirits.

His sockets squeeze shut. It leaves a burning sensation down his throat- not unlike alcohol, and the tastes after weren’t pleasant. But the worst is yet to come.

He slams the beaker back on the table as he chokes, groans turning into yells as pain splits his skull and electrifies his every bones, from his ribcage to the edges of his phalanges. The gruesome sound of bones cracking fills his hearing as they twist and distort, shrinking, the hole in his skull fusing back together, leaving only miniscule fissure in its wake.

The screaming only stops once the transformation is over, the skeleton now a fraction of his previous size. He stabilizes himself on his desk, gripping it close to splinters. His hat falls on the ground. The skull that looks out isn’t Horruer’s.

Sans gasps, drool dripping down his chin, colors shifting in the liquid. He coughs and spits and swallows, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. His sleeves dangle under his hands, his pants now pooling on the ground; Horruer’s clothes were too big on him now. He looks almost like how he used to when he wore his father’s clothes when he was a younger skeleton.

The transformation was always the worst part. But the results were worth it.

As he regains his breath, he reaches for your handkerchief again. They were so small in Horruer’s hand before. Unfolded, it fit barely covers his palm. Now, it looked more like a proper handkerchief to him.

… His soul was racing when he turned and saw you, looking at him from below. You looked so… small. Everything looked small when he was Horruer, but… you looked more vulnerable like that. You looked so pretty. You looked scared of him. Everything in his mind went quiet- all he could see was you. He’d swallow his spit, fisting his hands, it took all the strength in him not to just lunge and grab you.

Thankfully for the both of you, you left before his restraint broke. He was so close, too.

Sans gulped, still panting.

“... that could’ve been dangerous,” he summarizes with alarm.

He has to make sure not to run into you, as Horruer. His inhibitions as Sans were close to naught when he was Horruer. He becomes more impulsive, volatile, unpredictable. He doesn’t know how he’d act if he saw you again. He knows he wants you but… he isn’t even sure what he would’ve done to you. And you’re too precious to risk it.

Sans sits heavily in his work chair and looks at your handkerchief once more.

“huff… i need… to give this back to her. maybe tomorrow.”