#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

[logaenhowlett]

NO END TO THIS ROAD - L.H.

Summary: Desperate and on edge after escaping from Alkali Lake, Logan seeks shelter in your barn, fighting to repress his primal urges. [Set during X-Men Origins: Wolverine]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+ only, Angst, Feral Logan

A/N: I love all versions of this man equally, but Origins!Logan just triggers something special within me. Also, it’s my first time writing smut, please be nice!

MASTERLIST

Crimson seeps out between his knuckles. The once-untarnished skin now pried open by silver metal. For a brief second, he catches his reflection on the claws and fear tears through his body. He's unsure how his legs had been carrying him all this while, pain ripping into his flesh with each stride. His muscles seethe in agony, aching to bear the pressure of his newly-dense skeleton.

He's never been a stranger to suffering or trauma. There were several times in his endless, Herculean life where his own fists struck down countless others, ones that deserved his wrath. But this, he would never wish upon anyone.

The neurons in his brain seem to be on fire, every tendril underneath his skin shooting a flood of sensations through his veins. In this moment, he's no longer Logan. Instead, a man surviving on pure instincts.

Despite the warmth of sunlight caressing him, every breath leaves him trembling as he's exposed to nature's unwavering forces. Across the miles and miles he'd sprinted, there was nothing but mountains of lush forest overlooking glades. He had no destination in particular. Just somewhere far, far away from the horrors of what he'd endured.

His lungs feel like deadweight, crumbling within as he pushes his body to extremes never been explored. The thudding beat of his heart doesn't slow him down either, inching ever so close to a state he'd probably never recover from.

He prays for the first time in a century. An unspoken plea to whoever was unfortunate enough to witness such dread. He doesn't even register it at first - everything being a blur for so long. Soon enough, he locates a barn in the distance.

The thought of being discreet doesn't cross his mind when he slams the wooden door behind him. He staggers onto a pile of sacks, calves burning in relief as his chest heaves. There's no chance for him to process the events that occurred earlier, the whole world closing in on him. God, he just wants it all to stop.

“Fuck! What the hell are you doing?”

Lost in all that noise inside his head, he doesn't notice you creep into the barn, inspecting the sudden commotion. Light-headed is what he feels, vision clouding, meeting your fearful stance. The sledgehammer you're tightly clutching would've painted a threatening image to anyone else, yet it's the last thing on his mind.

“It’s cold.” He stammers out, resting his hands on the ground to find some semblance of reality.

“You’re naked.”

He grumbles in response, spitting out something close to a yes. The energy in the air shifts a little, and past your barrier of adrenaline and unease, he catches an inkling of arousal fighting to peek through. All his senses drift to one idea. He curses under his breath.

“Are you on drugs?” The tone of your voice strays from alarm to one of well-earned skepticism.

“No,” He groans, shutting his eyes as his body reacts to your subconscious desire, “I’m sorry... I just had to find a place.”

At that moment, he doesn't know if it's a good thing you're warming up to his being here. Though, he appreciates you lowering the sledgehammer, wincing at the thought of his bones ringing at any contact with the tool.

“Looks like you had a shitty night.”

“Something like that."

All the blood within him rushes down. He drowns the urge to unsheathe the claws, diverting his instincts to focus on anything but your sweet, sweet pheromones tainting the air around him. And as if it's deathly poison, he stops breathing, unwilling to let such a venom infect his very being. Fuck, he wants to taste your cunt so bad.

A rag hits him in the chest and he's thankful for the short-lived interruption. He immediately drapes it over his throbbing cock, his posture only doing so much to help all this time.

“I made dinner and - " He finds your eyes as they study him, "You look like you could use a shower.”

When you lead him to the cabin, he tries to maintain a respectable distance, trailing behind as if the ground beneath is a minefield yearning to explode. At least, the confines of the bathroom provide some solace - far from your radiating presence that teases him in all the right ways. Jesus, get a fucking grip.

Scalding hot water hits his body, easing his tightly-wound muscles. As he lathers himself, he's reminded of a faint whiff of the very same body wash he noted on you, now soaking into his own skin. His scent entangles with yours. And he makes the mistake of entertaining that thought. Steadying himself, he releases a shuddering breath, the hairs on his arms mimicking the movement of his cock. After a while, he's not sure if it's the steam or the result of his actions that fog up the room.

Fastening the buttons of the flannel you'd generously given him, he stares at himself in the mirror. The remnants of your touch linger on the soft fabric and he wants to smash his face against the wall when his dick impulsively twitches. Instead, the claws fly out, slicing the porcelain sink in half. He mumbles a string of curses, jerking his head to snap out of whatever hold you seem to have on him.

He enters the kitchen warily, clutching the remainder of the sink and what would normally require the combined strength of his pinkie feels like a meteor between his hands. He thinks of Atlas, condemned to carry the sheer burden of heaven on his bare shoulders. The energy around you once again gleams at his entrance, your attraction to him not a secret. Yet, he refuses to desecrate an innocent soul with whatever ferocity he's got boiling within.

“I swear I’m gonna pay for this.” He grumbles out, placing it on the countertop.

Your expression contorts to one of confusion and speechlessness as he takes a seat at the table. Despite unsuccessfully quelling the thirst within him, the sign of delicious food overtakes his needs.

“Thank you for everything.” A genuine manifestation of gratitude spills out of him. The polite smile you return doing a funny thing to his heart.

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t a coyote or something.”

The conversation lulls into short, simple exchanges, delving into nothing below surface-level. Rather than following the rational part of his brain, he insists on washing the dishes, having to brave the dangers of being in close proximity to you. Only shallow exhales and the racing beat of your heart reach his ears as he ponders the pros and cons of the ability to read minds.

He glances at the dusty frames loosely hanging near the kitchen shelves, “That your family?”

“Yeah… This was my grandparents’ cabin. I’ve been here since they -” As you trail off, grabbing the clean plate, his fingertips brush against yours.

He clears his throat, “And the chopper in the barn?”

“Grandpa’s - He used to take me along for rides when I was young. It was our favourite thing to do together… Nothing ever came close to that feeling.”

“I know what you mean.”

He clenches his jaw, the tension in the room obvious to anyone with eyes. Honing onto the growing pool of heat barrelling down to your core, he swallows harshly. He can't seem to tear his eyes off you, hands quivering at a frequency that should surely shatter the glass he's holding onto for dear life.

When the last of the dishes are put away, you sheepishly guide him to the couch. His gaze drops to your ass, shamelessly peering as you retreat to your bedroom and return moments later with a heap of blankets, muttering about how he must be sensitive to the cold.

Moonlight weaves through the swaying curtains, it glistens against the stainless steel of his dog tags, drawing your attention to his only belonging. The space between you disappears, your fingers gently reaching for the chain.

“Are you in the army?”

Now that you're this close, every little sensation is amplified in his perspective. He calms himself, begging whatever deity that's responsible for his decaying resolve. It works in his favour until he clocks the wetness of your pussy. Dripping pretty all just for him.

“No.” He says, imperceptibly quiet. The tempting mix of hunger and desire in your eyes pushes him closer to the brink, the rapid beat of your heart mirrors his own and it only rouses the flame scorching the walls within him.

He growls, lips smashing against yours in a possessive, ravenous kiss. Breath hot on your skin, grabbing your hips and pressing his body firmly to yours. It's your whimpers, your honeyed admissions of pleasure that send a burning need through him. As you tilt your neck, offering him more access, his teeth sink into the supple flesh that holds your life, nipping and sucking to a rhythm he carelessly demands. Your fingers curl around the loops of his jeans, tugging him even closer. He grunts, hands roaming all over your body.

Biting your lower lip, he draws his head back lightly. "Feel what you do to me, pretty girl," He murmurs, thrusting his hips to press his obvious bulge against you.

A low moan escapes you, your nails digging into his shoulders to release some of the rising pressure, an anchor to this untamed craving simmering inside. His eyes darken at the sound, jolts of pure, uninterrupted rapture travelling straight to his core.

He lifts you effortlessly, hands squeezing your fleshy thighs when your legs wrap around his waist. The promise of you bending so easily to his will sets off a wildfire underneath his skin. Without breaking any contact with your lips, he strides to the bedroom, roughly shoving your body onto the mattress. He drinks in the sight of you, splayed out all needy in front of him, and it drives him to near madness. The flannel and jeans are ripped off his aching body in fluid motions, leaving him in all his glory - one step towards finally satiating these sinful urges.

He lowers himself down, arms caging you beneath him. It's torturous - excruciating even - when the weight of his body crushing yours ignites a fiery heat within you, tingling his limits. While you nip his jaw, he lets out a deep, appreciative growl, toes curling in anticipation as if every fragment of the adamantium infused to his bones has been electrified by your touch.

Pupils blown wide with lust, he curses, breathing ragged against your skin. His hand rakes up your shirt and gently kneads your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple. Your body immediately reacts to the sensation, arching towards him with an intensity that nearly sends him over the edge. "So fuckin' needy for me, princess?"

His teeth graze your damp flesh, lips trailing a path down your body. He thinks he's finally defeated death when your fingers grasp his hair, drawing him on a ride to ecstasy he never wants to escape. The shiver, the burning wave of passion coursing through your veins make his claws twitch within, desperate to emerge.

A feral grin flashes on his face as you whine, growing more restless the longer he takes. His hands dig mercilessly into your hips, the faint markings of bruises colouring your skin. He rumbles a muffled noise, lips tenderly pressing against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your slick entrance. It triggers something animalistic he's been trying so hard to overpower. In one quick motion, he rips your panties with his teeth.

"Look at you... Already a fuckin' mess and I haven't even fucked you." He rasps, positioning himself, the tip of his cock barely brushing against your soaking cunt.

In any other situation, he would've taken his time worshipping your body, preparing you to take him with a delicacy you would never associate with a man like him. Right now, his thoughts are filthy and downright profane. And not a single shred of his being cares about how painful this might be for you.

His hips ram forward, filling your warm insides with his length. A growl rolls through him, the sound dripping with pleasure as your walls tighten around his dick. His mouth finds your nipple, dragging his tongue impatiently over the soft skin before he begins to suck. Every thrust elicits gasps from you, moans that spur him on even more. "Fuck, sweet girl, can smell how badly you want me."

His cock grinds against the golden spot inside you, your head digging into the mattress with each push. He senses your longing to chase those highs, to control the movement of your bodies. A devilish snarl leaves him at that realisation, "I'm in charge here, princess. Wanted to ruin that pretty pussy since I saw you." He spits out, fingers pressing against your chin, forcing you to make eye contact.

As the climax approaches for both of you, he throws one of your legs over his shoulder, angling his body to thrust into you even further. He wonders whether you're the one with claws when your scratches tear into his back as you release that sugary ambrosia he'd grown an appetite for. Moves becoming sloppy, the unbearable threat of his cum spilling out sends his mind reeling. He shifts to pull out when your hand darts forward, stilling him.

"Inside, please."

The whispered plea makes his body strain with thrill. His load drips out your cunt, soaking the already-sullied sheets. Neither of you seem to mind the mess as he falls onto his back, out of breath and soothed to a state of newfound bliss.

As you rest softly against his chest, he allows himself the privilege to revel in your comforting presence. All the energy and adrenaline he'd built up comes crashing down. And he doesn't have the power to fight against his instincts, the ones that were screaming at him to run away. Soon enough, he succumbs to the enchanting spell of slumber.

He wakes up abruptly a couple hours later, momentarily startled by the warmth radiating from your body on his. The moonlight seems to fondly embrace your features, echoing his own expression. The feeling of guilt begins to rise within. He knows he has to leave, for your own sake, because those monsters will find him sooner or later. And he doesn't know what terrors he might commit if your blood is on his hands. He slips out of your grasp, refusing to glance at your relaxed form, feet transforming into cinder blocks as he walks towards the door.

“Where’re you going?”

His breath hitches, head ducking into his chest. “Listen... I can't thank you enough, but -" And despite every part of him indicating otherwise, he turns around. "You don’t want me here. It’s not safe for you... Trust me.”

Your sympathetic gaze almost shatters his resolve, he clenches his fist as your soft whisper reaches his ears, "Will you stay a little longer?"

Seconds later, he finds himself back in your arms, unable to deny the influence you have over him. He caves into your wish, savouring every last taste of the tenderness you carry just for him. By the time you stir awake, sunshine blinding your sight, the side of the bed he'd occupied is cold beneath your fingertips.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [10] - Storm

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: A sudden storm can be overwhelming.

Word Count: 3670

CW: Explicit language, blood, injuries, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

Getting too caught up in a relationship hadn’t been an issue since you’d had Theo, but before him, there was a reason why all your friends accused you of being a romantic. When you fell in love, you didn’t even think about the possibility of a break up but—

You really should have.

“Logan?”

Logan looked down at you, running his fingertips over your spine while you played with the dog tags around his neck.

“Yeah?”

“I have a question but you need to promise me you’ll be honest.”

A rumble of a chuckle vibrated in his chest, making you bite back a smile as you looked up at him, resting your chin on his chest.

“The last time you made me promise that, you ended up asking me what animal I thought I could beat in a fight.”

“That was for science.”

“How?”

“In case one day we decide to go on a safari and end up getting stranded in there.”

“That’s a possibility?”

“You can’t be too careful,” you said. “I’m used to thinking about every scenario—anyway, this is another question.”

“I’m listening.”

“So you have the super strength and all that…”

“Yeah.”

“What supernatural creature do you think you could take down in a fight?”

Logan blinked a couple of times. “That’s the question you want me to answer honestly?”

“Could you take down a werewolf?”

“We’re actually talking about this,” Logan muttered to himself. “Okay.”

“A werewolf,” you insisted. “Could you take down a werewolf?”

 He took a deep breath, then shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t think it’d be that difficult to take down a werewolf,” he stated and you hummed.

“A little cocky, but I’ll let it slide,” you said, laying your head on his chest again. “A vampire.”

“Please, vampires are lame,” he said with a grimace. “I could definitely take down a vampire, are you kidding?”

“You sound so sure of yourself that I’m half-tempted to ask if you’ve ever taken down a vampire.”

He let out a chuckle. “I’m not going to be beaten by a creature that can’t survive in the sunlight even if it’s hypothetical.”

“They are pretty powerful.”

“To repeat, they burn in sunlight. Doesn’t sound powerful to me.”

You clicked your tongue.

“How about a zombie?” you asked. “Could you take down a zombie?”

“Those things fall apart anyway, shouldn’t be difficult.”

“What if it’s a herd?”

“Same logic.”

“You’re telling me you could take down one hundred zombies?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

You hid your yawn behind your hand. “Um, mermaids.”

“Mermaids aren’t even scary.”

“No, not that type of—like those in Pirates of the Caribbean, have you watched that?”

“No.”

“I’ll put that on the list. It’s like—it’s like sirens, they lure you to the sea and then drown you.”

He paused for a moment, then hummed.

“Yeah, I think a mermaid could take me down.”  

“Really?”

“I’m not good with water.”

“Can you swim?”

“I can swim but if I try to stay still in the water I sink,” he said slowly. “Because of the skeleton. And like I said, I’m not good with water.”

Something in his voice sounded distant so you decided not to push him. You were way too sleepy for a big conversation anyway, and you didn’t want to force him to talk about anything he didn’t want to talk about. Heaving a sigh, you nuzzled closer to him and he dipped his head to press a kiss on top of your head.

“How about you?” he asked. “What supernatural creature could you take down in a fight?”

“Do you know any creatures you can disarm with the power of speech?” you asked, making him let out a laugh.

“Not really.”

“I mean I think I’d have a better chance surviving a vampire than a werewolf,” you murmured, your voice already drowsy. “Werewolves have fewer weaknesses I think, and yes vampires can hunt you down but only in night time. Well, werewolves can only hunt you down during the full moon, there’s that but I feel like as far as supernatural creatures go…”

You didn’t even realize you were falling asleep.

Until a soaring pain pulled you out of it.

A scream left your lips as your eyes snapped open, your hand shooting to your other arm to grab at it. You sat up straighter in the bed, now realizing Logan was also awake and upright in bed, breathing hard and unsheathing his claws. Your name spilled from his lips in a whisper as you looked down at your arm, the blood pouring from the open wound, coating your hand and the sheets in red.

“I’m fine—” you managed to say breathlessly while Logan stared at you, complete terror in his eyes. “I’m fine it’s just…um—”

“Let me see,” he said in a low voice and you tried to blink back the tears with a grimace. Logan carefully lifted your arm, letting you see the three gashes through all the blood under the dim light of the moon coming from the window.

Shit.

“You need stitches,” Logan muttered as he grabbed his jeans to put them on. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“Stitches?” you repeated, looking down at your arm. “Are you sure?”

“Those are deep cuts,” his voice sounded a little distant again and you couldn’t tell it was because of the blood loss you were currently suffering from. He bunched up his white shirt to press it against the wound, making you hiss in a breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he swallowed thickly. “I’m so sorry.”

“What—no, it’s fine!” you said in a haste, trying to focus through the fire burning your arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is.”

“Logan—” you started but he went to grab your sweater off the chair at the corner of the room, then made his way back to you. He helped you get into it, then into your jeans while you held onto his shoulder trying to move your arm as little as possible.

“I can carry you—”

“Logan, it’s just my arm,” you assured him with a huff of a laughter. “I can walk. It’s totally fine.”

A shadow crossed his eyes, his jaw clenching tight.

“Right,” he muttered through his teeth. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

                                               *

You really, really hated hospitals. As a child, you were quite the troublemaker so you’d had your fair share of hospital visits, and each and every time was quite painful. Even now, as a grown up, you couldn’t help but feel tense whenever you had to go to hospitals.

And Theo’s very scary birth hadn’t helped the situation.

But if anything, this really wasn’t a big deal. A couple of stitches and you would be fine, but Logan looked much more tense than you were. He was completely quiet and withdrawn, standing in the corner of the hospital room like a guard dog while the doctor worked on your arm.

“So how did you get this, exactly?” she asked and you tried to smile at her.

“Oh, uh…I work in a diner,” you said. “And as it turns out, night shift and sharp objects aren’t a good combo.”

“I’d bet,” she said as she pulled back to look at the stitches, then took off her latex gloves. “Well the good news is, it’s a very clean cut so it’ll be much easier to heal. Keep it dry the first day, and after tomorrow you can wash around it with clean water twice a day.”

“Okay.”

“Take the antibiotics, apply the cream I prescribed and…well, be careful around knives?” she said with an assuring smile and you let out a small laugh.

“Noted. Thank you so much, doctor.”

“Have a nice night,” she said and walked past the cubicle curtain. You let out a breath, feeling around the gauze before lifting your head to smile at Logan.

“Hey,” you said. “You okay?”

For some reason, Logan couldn’t hold your gaze like he usually would, so instead he stole a look at you before fixing his gaze on the floor and nodded.

“Sure.”

“You don’t like hospitals either huh?” you asked, “I mean if I hate the smell, I can’t imagine how you feel with those enhanced senses of yours.”

Logan didn’t answer, instead he rushed to help you when you grabbed your coat so that you could put it on.

“Thanks,” you said and he pulled his hands back as if he could burn you if he kept them on you a second longer than he needed to. You pulled your brows together, but didn’t comment on it as you started walking beside him to get out of the building.

You didn’t really do well with quiet so the music coming from the radio and your nonsense chatter were the only things filling the silence in the car. Logan met your questions with occasional grunts to signal that he was listening and at best you got curt, one-word answers.

It was only when you walked into your apartment and Logan followed you like a quiet guardian that you turned to him, putting your hand on your hip.

“Logan.”

He closed the door behind him. “Hm?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I can talk until the sunrise but this is becoming a one-way street,” you told him. “Are you okay?”

He blinked a couple of times as if he couldn’t believe you were asking him that.

“Are you?” he asked back after a beat and you shrugged your shoulder.

“It’s not the first time I’m getting stitches,” you said. “And to be completely honest with you, after childbirth everything else they do to you in a hospital kind of pales in comparison. I’m fine.”

He snorted, then clicked her tongue. “Sure.”

“No seriously, it’s just stitches,” you said, walking to the kitchen to fill yourself a glass of water. “And you heard what the doctor said, it’ll heal pretty easily.”

You popped the painkillers in your mouth, then downed them with water before putting the glass back on the counter, then walked back to the hallway.

“If I go to sleep right now, I think I can survive on three cups of coffee instead of four tomorrow,” you joked with a grin, but he couldn’t even smile back, he just followed you to the bedroom. After helping you get into a comfortable oversized shirt, he took a step back as you sat down on the bed. You frowned, tilting your head.

“Are you coming?” you asked, motioning at the bed and Logan shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice deep. Your frown deepened.

“What?”

“I should uh—” he motioned at the living room. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I’d still hear if you needed anything at night and it’d be safer.”

“Safer?” you repeated. “Logan, come on.”

“I can’t risk another nightmare and you ending up with…” he nodded at your arm and you scoffed a laugh.

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Alright, this was strange.

Logan was never this curt with you. He wasn’t the most open person in the world, yes, but whenever he spoke to you, his voice would always be warm, melting your insides. Now he sounded way too distant, way too controlled.

You might as well have been speaking to a robot.

“Why are you punishing yourself right now?” you asked, looking him in the eye and something in his gaze shifted before his jaw clenched again, then he shook his head.

“Call my name if you need anything,” he said, walking out of the bedroom and you blinked a couple of times in confusion. A sigh left your lips and you rubbed at your eyes, then slowly lay down on the bed, grimacing when a sudden spark of pain shot through your arm. You put your pillow under your arm, then grabbed Logan’s pillow to bury your face into it, the pleasant smell of his cologne soothing your senses before sleep creeped up on you, pulling you into its warmth.

                                                 *

 When you woke up, you were still groggy and your arm was throbbing. A grimace twisted your face and you took a deep breath, then pulled yourself up to sit up in the bed, and looked down at your arm, feeling around the gauze. It wasn’t extremely painful, but it still made sure to let you know it was there so you had a feeling you were going to have to be extra careful carrying plates at the diner, at least for a while. The delicious smell coming from the kitchen made you turn your head and you nibbled on your lip, then slowly pushed the covers off of you and got up from the bed to make your way to the kitchen.

“Hi stranger,” you said with a grin and Logan looked over his shoulder, then put the grilled cheese sandwich right next to scrambled eggs on the plate.

“Morning.”

“If breakfast is your way of apologizing for not sleeping next to me last night,” you said as he poured you coffee, then placed the cup on the small table next to the plate. “It’s the right path.”

A forced smile twitched the corners of his lips upwards before you sat down, then grabbed the sandwich to take a huge bite.

“Aren’t you eating?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Not really hungry.”

You blinked a couple of times; that was new.

“Logan,” you said, clearing your throat before putting the sandwich down. “I think we should talk about what happened.”

“I agree, but after breakfast.”

You pulled your brows together in confusion, then shrugged with one shoulder before grabbing your coffee cup to take a big sip. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave you as if he was trying to take in the sight of you as much as he could, as if he was trying to burn this- you, this moment- into his mind. The look in his eyes wasn’t distant anymore but worse; it was just haunted. You could feel your stomach doing an unpleasant flip before you tried to shake off the chill running down your spine, then chewed your bite and cleared your throat.

“What time did you wake up?”

Logan shook his head slightly.

“Didn’t sleep.”

“At all?” you asked, gawking at him and he shrugged his shoulder almost nonchalantly.

“It’s fine.”

“Well it’s actually—” you started but were cut off when your phone started ringing in the bedroom.

“One moment,” you said and rushed to the bedroom to grab it off the nightstand, then answered it.

“Hello?”

“Hey love,” Stacey’s voice reached you. “Did I wake you up?”

“No no, I was already up,” you said and sat down on the bed. “What’s up?”

“Okay so, the boss is going to kill me, but…”

“Don’t say it.”

“I’ll be late again.”

You let out a small laugh. “Stace.”

“Okay I know what you’re gonna say but this time it’s totally not my fault.”

“No?”

“Well, my body decided to have a hangover after last night, so technically it’s not my fault.”

You hummed. “How much did you drink?”

“Well it was my friend’s birthday and Paul and his friends were at this bar and we decided to go have fun, and then my friend hooked up with Paul so I had to drink a lot to stop myself from visualizing what was going on in the bathroom.”

“I can imagine,” you said. “It’s fine. I’ll cover for you, no worries.”

“Ugh, you’re an angel and I love you.”

“Love you too Stace,” you said with a laugh, then hung up the phone and shook your head before making your way back to the kitchen.

“Sorry about that,” you told Logan and sat down. “It’s Stacey, you’ve met her.”

“You’re going to work today?” Logan asked. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Oh yeah, it’s totally fine,” you said. “I barely feel it to be honest, and I’ll be careful.”

“But…”

“Besides, I need to cover for Stace,” you said. “Apparently her friend hooked up with Paul—you remember our line cook Paul? He’s kind of a womanizer, I’m kind of surprised she and Paul never had a thing—they sure do flirt a lot but anyway, Stacey’s friend and he hooked up last night and knowing Stacey, she probably drank everyone under the table, and now she has a hangover. Shocking, isn’t it?”

Logan nodded slowly without pulling his gaze off of you.

“Did I tell you about how when Stacey and I first met, I ended up getting black out drunk?” you asked, biting into the grilled cheese sandwich. “It was my first day at the diner, and she convinced me to have a night out with her, and I swear to you, that girl is a goddamn sponge when it comes to alcohol. I was out a couple cocktails in, and she still had numerous shots and cocktails after. Julie was taking care of Theo that night, so I ended up sneaking into my own apartment so that he wouldn’t wake up, and rambled to Julie for like two hours straight about kittens, and then fell asleep watching cat videos.”

A small, sad smile curled Logan’s lips and you smiled back at him, then took another sip of your coffee and put your empty plate into the sink.

“Compliments to the chef,” you said with a grin despite the strange tension almost palpable in the kitchen. “If you ever get tired of going on missions and stuff, you could go into culinary world I feel like.”

He scoffed a laugh and you took a deep breath, then cleared your throat.

“So,” you said. “Can we talk?”

Logan swallowed thickly and nodded his head, his jaw clenching.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t blame you for what happened, at all,” you said. “It was an accident. You…you had a nightmare right?”

Logan paused for a moment, then shook his head. “That’s not an excuse.”

“Logan, that’s an accident,” you insisted. “You really shouldn’t blame yourself. I don’t.”

“You should.”

“Well then sucks to be you because I’m not gonna,” you said. “And unless you want to get separate beds like those weird couples in the 1950s, I don’t see how you’re planning on—”

“I think we should break up.”

That managed to shut you up mid-rant. Your eyes snapped up to his and for a couple of seconds, you could only gawk at him in complete silence, your throat getting tighter.

“…What?” you managed to rasp out, your voice lost somewhere in your throat and Logan crossed his arms, leaning his back to the wall.

“It’s going to be safer for you—”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Do you realize what could’ve happened?” he asked back, his voice tense. “We got lucky, if you can even call last night that.”

“Logan, it’s a goddamn scratch!”

“Yeah, this time!” he insisted. “This time it was only a scratch on your arm, what about the next time? What if it wasn’t your arm?”   

“You cannot be serious,” you said, blinking back the tears as you shook your head. “You can’t.”

“I’m not going to have your blood on my hands,” he said, his eyes locked in yours. “I can’t hurt you. Not…not you. I was so wrapped up in this that I forgot how dangerous I could be for you—”

You let out a breath, running a hand over your face. “Don’t give me that speech again.”

“I’m not talking about some silly heartbreak,” Logan told you through his teeth. “I’m talking about life and death. You might see it as nothing, but we both know that it’s not nothing.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm and sniffled, blinking back the tears again.

“I told you, I’m going to be the one who decides whether this relationship is dangerous or not.”

A dry laugh climbed up his throat.

“Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I…” he couldn’t even finish the sentence as if the mere thought was way too painful. “I can’t put you in danger.”

“You’re not putting me in danger,” you insisted. “You can hear my heartbeat, can’t you? You can smell it when I’m scared, when I’m—when I’m nervous. So tell me; last night, was there even a second that I was scared of you? Or this morning? Have I ever been nervous around you because I thought I was in danger?”

That made him pause for a moment before he shook his head. “No.”

“There you go. There’s your answer to your moral predicament.”

“That makes it even worse,” he rasped out and you frowned.

“How?”

“Because now it falls on me to do it,” he said. “And I can’t even fucking convince myself that you want it.”

You sniffled, shaking your head.

“Don’t do this,” your voice was a low whisper. “Please don’t do this.”

He stared at you, the look in his eyes so painful that for a moment it made you think you were somehow tormenting him with mere words before he clenched his teeth and stepped closer to you so that he could carefully wrap his arm around your waist. He moved slow as if he was terrified that he could somehow hurt you just by touching you and he dipped his head to press a kiss on top of your head as you sniffled, making his grip around your waist tighter for only a moment. You could feel him nuzzle into your hair and stay there completely frozen for a couple of seconds, as if he couldn’t bring himself to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say after a beat and pulled back, then walked out of the kitchen. You heard the front door open before it closed, and as if on cue you fell on your knees, burying your face in your hands.

Then the sobs started.

[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.

[creamflix]

suguru x female reader; dark and 18+ content, minors or ageless blogs do not interact. unestablished relationship. barista!reader, customer!suguru. use of sex doll. unethical and unhealthy obsession. highkey pervert suguru. inspired by my perv, onahole using satoru ramble. — masterlist here ☆ extended fic here. dark content, reader discretion is highly advised.

suguru insists he’s no pervert.

he’s just a god-fearing, woman-respecting man who can’t help that he fell headfirst for the café's prettiest barista — you.

the one who makes his coffee just right, adding that little extra smile at the end. he might’ve told himself, at first, that it was a harmless crush. but it’s so easy to let that slip when he’s already got money to burn and his mind…preoccupied.

so he made a quick little purchase — a sex doll.

but not just any doll, oh no.

he found himself scrolling, one page after another, until he landed on a custom silicone model that could be shaped and molded into an eerily perfect replica of you. the doll arrived with realistic features, down to the soft skin and delicate curves molded just after you. suguru’s fingers skimmed over the doll’s "face," tilting its head this way and that with a dark, possessive fascination.

it’s just for fun, he reasoned, flexing the doll’s joints to make sure the metal skeleton could hold you — the doll, he corrects himself — firm in whatever position he liked best.

but the thrill wore off sooner than he anticipated. the coldness, the quiet — it wasn’t enough.

so, naturally, he upgraded it.

this new model was, in his eyes, a step up to something more perfect. this one came with a full-body heating system, warm to the touch, programmable so he could dial up just the right amount of heat — warm enough to imagine you’re there with him. it made him shudder, setting the control panel with a kind of reverence, feeling every bit like he was crafting his own illusion of you.

and the upgrades kept coming.

on days when he didn’t see you at the café — those mornings when you weren’t there, with no smile, no light laugh, and not even a hint of your voice drifting through the air — he had another fix in place. this time, he added a custom voice feature, programmed with phrases. the voice was robotic, yes, but it was close enough to play with his imagination. it was your voice, lifted from voice recordings he’d carefully taken, just samples of phrases he’d remembered hearing you say, woven together.

"welcome back, suguru," it said, in that sweet imitation of you. "how can i make your day better?" sometimes, he’d press another button to hear it say, "did you miss me?" the doll’s voice, soft but teasing, filled his dim room.

and then he would, with that calm satisfaction, spend his nights hearing just enough to keep him wanting more.

but none of this stopped suguru from showing up at the café, same as ever, leaning against the counter as if nothing happened. as you prepared his order, he'd watch you, hiding his grin behind the rim of his cup. every now and then, you’d catch his eye, and he’d give you that dashing smile, all charm and innocence, with not a hint that just last night, he’d spent hours tangled up with a doll that looked and sounded exactly like you.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[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

[satorusugurugurl]

Give Me a Trick

Summary: After you scare the living shit out of your boyfriend, he gives you a choice; trick or treat.

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Warning: language, edging, dom/sub, orgasm denial, oral sex (male receiving), sex toys, brat taming

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: Kinktober day Twenty-Two: Aphrodisiac chocolate! Dom!Suguru, orgasm denial, edging!! 💦💦💦 😩 omgggg

The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as Suguru walked through the door to the house. It was dark, and none of the lights were on. At first, he thought maybe you were out doing some last-minute Halloween shopping with the girls.

Until there was a creek from somewhere in the kitchen, Suguru swallowed at the lump that had suddenly lodged itself into his throat before he took a step further inside. Another creek sounded this one closer, and the hair along Suguru’s back was filled with fear. So many possibilities hit him. He thought that maybe something had happened to you when the girls or someone had broken into the house.

He trod cautiously, his violet eyes looking around as he ran his fingers over the wall. The tips grazed over the paint before coming in contact with the light switch. Suguru, his nerves twitching, flipped the switch, and when he did, a masked skeleton was right in front of his face.

A choked yelp sounded from the back of his throat, causing him to fall back, hitting the ground with a heavy thud. A chill settled over his skin like he had been doused with ice water. Suguru lifted his hand, gripping the front of his shirt. The skeleton suddenly began laughing out loud, clapping its hands as they jumped up and down.

Suguru knew that laugh better than anyone else. “You little shit!!” he lying down on the ground, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“You should have seen your face!” you called out, giggling madly as you pulled the mask off. “Oh my God, that was so good.”

“I’m glad you think so, but just remember that karma is a bitch.”

You shrugged his words before reaching down to offer your boyfriend your hand. “Oooh, I'm so sorry.” Suguru took your hand, pushing himself up with the other.

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not!”

Suguru stepped forward, towering over his arms folded over his chest. “But you will be.” he reached down, picking up the bag he had in his fear. You hide it before slowly smirking

“Oh, is that so?”

Suguru’s I never left you as his hand reached into the bag, pulling out a package of chocolate. You saw a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. Something deep in those eyes had you swallowing. As you stepped back, your heart slammed against your rib cage with excitement and fear.

“Yeah.” You swallowed hard as you backed up against the wall. Your boyfriend grinned, opening the chocolate he had pulled out. “Then let me ask you one question: trick—” he pressed the chocolate against your lips, pushing it gently, “or treat?” The chocolate pressed past your lips and into your mouth.

“Treat,” you muttered as you chew down on the candy. The bitter chocolate makes you shiver at the almost unpleasant taste. “Eew!” You stuck your tongue out and disgusted. “I think there’s something wrong with the chocolate. It doesn’t taste right, Sugu.”

There was an almost mischievous chuckle from your boyfriend as he opened his hand, offering you this discarded wrapper. You stared at it. Your stomach flipped. The bright red lips were a sharp contrast to the wrapper's black. That might be more of a clue as to what you had consumed, but to ensure you knew what you had eaten, the word ‘aphrodisiac chocolate’ burned into your retina.

“O-Oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck,.” Suguru’s fingers cut your chin, lifting it to force you to look up at him. “Is right.”

Eating that trick had been the worst mistake of your entire life. You struggled against your bones, eyes watering as the vibrator was pushed deep. Inside of your pussy shook violently. You gagged, eyes watering as Suguru huffed above you. His cock was sliding in and out of your hot wet mouth. He looked so handsome, cheeks flushed, head tilted back. He was grunting under his breath.

“Mmhm!” You cried out eyebrows, throwing as Suguru leaned down, squeezing your throat as he pushed further down, fucking your throat almost in time with the pulsing buzzing deep within your cunt.

“Hm?” Suguru asked, licking his lips as he darted his gaze at you. “Oh, are you getting close again?” You shut your eyes as your orgasm continued, leaving you a shaking mess. “Awe, that’s so cute. Are you gonna cum all over that toy?”

“Mhm!”

“You gonna pretend that it’s my cock fucking into you?”

“Mhmm~! Mm!”

“Ooh, sweet girl.” The toy buzzing suddenly died as Suguru held the remote in his free hand. He gave you a grin that was full of nothing but malicious intent. “Too fucking bad.”

While the toy stopped buzzing inside of you—Suguru didn’t stop. He pulled nearly out before shoving himself back down your throat as you cried out in frustration and pleasure, which was torture. The aphrodisiac had you hunting more. Your pussy was so wet, leaving a pool of arousal on the sheets underneath. Any little movement threatened to push you over the edge. And that your boyfriend kept denying you! That was the fifth orgasm he had denied you. Which, granted, had been deserved. But your pussy was beginning to grow sore with oversensitivity.

You were on your bounds twice, letting Suguru know you wanted to speak. Immediately he pulled out, chest heaving as his cock throbbed an inch above your face. You had to resist the urge to lick your tongue along the side of his cock to look at him with teary eyes.

“What is it, brat?”

“I’m sorry.” You said in between gasps, your legs trembling.

“Oh, you're sorry?” he repeated almost mockingly. “You sorry?

“Yeah.” you ping the tip of your tongue over the vein, running down his cock. “I’m so sorry.”

Suguru humped, tilting his head back with a groan. “Are you really that sorry, or do you just want to cum?”

“Both.”

The raven-haired man choked on a laugh, shaking his head. “At least you’re honest.” He moved, pressing the head of his cock back against your lips. “Suck me off, Princess.”

You do as he says, taking his cock back into your mouth, opening your throat wide enough to allow him entry. He shudders, hand finding Home back on your throat, each of his fingers slowly gripping your flash before pushing himself down. You choke on his cock, a combination of saliva and pre-cum out the corners of your mouth as you do your best to accommodate his size and length. As an apology for scaring him, you want to make him feel good.

Suguru huffs out a sigh from above you; his teeth clenched as he hissed out loud. “So good,” he grumbles, watching as his spit-slick cock slides in and out of your pretty mouth. But his gaze doesn’t just linger on his cock. He focuses on your face, watching how your skin is so pretty flushed with arousal and need. How your eyes roll into your head each time he pushes himself down slightly farther, knowing how much you can take. There isn’t a single doubt in his mind that you aren’t enjoying this. You’re getting off on this. And you're so fucking turned on; he knows that aphrodisiac has your entire body overly sensitive.

He can fucking smell your arousal that’s coding the inside of your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Suguru, your abdomen is coiling with an impending orgasm. The desperation in your eyes fuels his need to edge you. To get you so close to the edge before yanking it back, washing as you cry out and pure frustration. Seeing you cry and beg for more gets them off just as much as it does for you.

Seeing the effect on you, he pushes the power button on the remote, turning the vibrator back on and to the highest setting. He watches pure bliss as your eyes widen, your legs shake, and your hands clenched in the bounds that tie you to the mattress. You cried out, swallowing more of his cock, as you felt your orgasm blissfully close.

“Don’s cum.” Suguru warned as he huffed, balls clenching as he felt his orgasm coming close. “Don't you dare cum.”

Your eyes feel heavy as you think that coil tightening deep inside of you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of an orgasm that’s going to leave you feeling like jelly. Between the edging and the aphrodisiac, you're losing control. You can't help it; you feel it, need it so fucking wrong that it hurts.

“Ooh fuck, Princess.” You try to be good. “Fuck~ fuuuck, such a brat~ god, I love you.” You needed to be good. “I’m cumming.”

All grips of your control snap like a broken rubber band that's been stretched too far. As Suguru cums down your throat, his voice, the aphrodisiac, and vibrations have you arching as you cum alongside Suguru was a muffled gag. Your body convulsed as you squirt, soaking the sheets beneath you. You don't even care if you disobeyed him; it feels too good that you couldn't help it.

Suguru pulled out of your mouth, his still-hand cock dangling above your face. Droplets of cum and spit hit your cheek with a wet plop before. He looks flustered, eyes narrowed as he leans down, licking it off your cheek. You greedily gull down air like water on a hot summer day.

“Mmm,” Suguru hums, kissing your cheek before walking around the bed, not bothering to unfasten your bonds. “Princess~”

You shakily look up, whimpering as he twirls the remote to the still-humming vibrator in your cunt. “Y-Yeah?” He pressed the up button, watching in pure satisfaction as you screamed, jumping at the increase of please. “Fuck!” You yelp out, looking at him with watery eyes.

“You came without permission. And disobeying me doesn’t warrant a treat.” He gives you a look that’s full of sorrow. “Looks like you’re getting another track trick.” The speed of the vibrator increases again, making you cry out your boyfriend’s nameless as a curse and more like a prayer. “But I think I’m the one getting all the treats tonight. Unless you beg nicely.”

It was safe to say that after that night, where you were edged and fucked for hours on end, you made it a point to try to scare him every Halloween after that.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree @msniks @lana18918 @draculemon

Kinktober Tag List:

@candy-s72

[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

Previous Next

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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[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 19

Kinktober Masterlist aegri somnia - “troubled dreams” TF141 x f!reader Kinks > sex-pollen, gangbang, semipublic, corruption Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

You’re at a costume party on Halloween night on base with your team. The whole gang is there, and they sample something …strange… from the bar. The only cure for their fever? You.

Warning: drugged sex, dubcon, sex-pollen style scene, anal, vaginal, face fucking, some ghoap.

You were a kitty cat. Past tense. Now, you looked like a chimney sweep. This Halloween party had gotten way out of hand. The heating was cranked up to ninth-circle-of-Hell temperatures, and everyone was dancing, sweating, and getting completely fucking sloshed. 

Your whiskers and nose had long been rubbed away, and you’d lost the cat ears somewhere between the upstairs toilet and the sandpit volleyball game that the boys had set up in the basement. Two months of deadtime in the Urzikstani Green Zone had been great for morale but shit for discipline. Price was gonna be so pissed when he saw how Soap had painted the TAC-V like a big pumpkin. 

“You alright, love?” Gaz slurred, stumbling a bit before resting his arm around your shoulder, half-in and half-out of his own Paddington Bear getup. He still had the red hat, but the blue jacket was tied around his waist, and the matching shorts looked like little more than boxer briefs. 

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Parched. What’s that?” You pointed to his hand, jealous that he had a cold beverage. 

“Mm,” he took a sip and handed you the cup, “I dunno. Soap was passin’ it around. Orange, mysterious, probably lethal.”

“I’ll take my chances,” you laughed, downing the last sip.

“Speak of the devil…” Gaz nodded over to the makeshift bar.

There, on top of two stacks of crates, stood Soap, pouring his orange concoction right into Simon Riley’s open mouth. Soap was dressed in a little red devil outfit, complete with pitchfork, and Ghost was… well, he was just himself. The skeleton mask did the trick, you supposed. 

You shook your head, laughing at them, and Soap looked up to see you there. 

“Oy! C’mere, bonnie. Got somethin’ special for ya.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” you grumbled, walking over to the bar with Gaz in tow.

Soap was crouched over in his tight red onesie, digging through an ice chest. He emerged with a wide, mischievous smile on his face and a bottle of eerie, murky liquid.

“Pinched this from Ale and Rudy when they were in last night. Probably that killer tequila he’s been on about. Didnae wanna try it by meself.”

He started to pour out four cups, and you turned your nose up at it,

“Oh, Jesus, Johnny. This smells like piss.”

“Quit your whingin’, lass. You’ve had worse things in your mouth,” he winked, downing his shot and wearing a twisted face of immediate regret.

“Suppose that’s right,” you shrugged, drinking down your own. 

It rushed through you like burning fire, and it made you feel like you’d been punched right in the jaw. 

“Holy fuck,” Simon coughed, “The hell is this, Johnny? Fuckin’ petrol?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Gaz complained, trying to breathe slowly in through his nose and out through his mouth. 

“Ach! C’mon, it’s not that bad,” Johnny protested, going back for a second dose.

Suddenly, a husky voice came out of the darkness behind the crates, 

“What’s all this then?”

“Oh, hey, Cap’n,” Johnny tried to look normal. He failed, but at least he tried.

Price rolled his eyes, but he held out his cup and held it out to the sergeant,

“Go on, then. Give us a taste.”

You watched as Price took two big gulps, your own stomach turning from the memory, and gaped in amazement as he mostly controlled his expression. Show off.

You were already sweaty, but this tequila made you feel like you were going to burn right up. You wanted to move. The music was deafening, and even though you didn’t know this song, you begged Gaz for a dance. 

“C’mon! Just one.”

“Alright, love. But, you know I can never have just one,” he twirled you around, making you feel even drunker than you were, and led you out into the warehouse where Ghost had rigged his huge boombox to make a dance floor.

Everyone was dancing. Time was moving at an insane rate. Fast and slow, dilating in and out, and you were like a shadow, letting it pass right through you, drunk and high and everything in between. 

Soap and Ghost joined you, and Price watched on from the edge, smoking and looking a little red around his eyes. 

Suddenly, Gaz’s hands were on your hips, pulling you back into him, grinding you against his crotch.

“Hey,” you turned over your shoulder, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothin’, babes. Just dancin’. That alright?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, 

“Yeah, I guess so. Feels like this tequila went right to my head.”

“This fat arse is goin’ right to mine,” he said, staring down at your butt, squeezing it roughly.

You felt his cock through his shorts as he danced with you, rubbing himself against your leotard and fishnet combination, chasing his own high. 

Soap joined you, dancing in front of you, lacing his legs between yours, dancing even closer to you than Gaz. He looped one arm around your neck, and he threaded the other around your waist, moving his hips in time with the beat, drinking another cupful of tequila when he got the chance. 

Ghost was behind him, and he began peeling off the lycra onesie, revealing Soap’s broad chest to you, rubbing him down with his hands, playing with his nipples in front of the entire base.

Had you been in your right mind, you would’ve balked at such behavior. But, for some reason, it felt right. You wanted to touch him, too. So, you did. 

You reached out in front of you and ran your hands down his belly, lowering the zipper even further, feeling his heated skin.

“Mmf-fuck,” Ghost moaned, “Tha’s hot.”

Soap seemed to agree, his arching erection obvious through the thin, red outfit. 

Gaz’s hands moved from your ass to your tits, squeezing them as he pulled your body against him, thrusting himself against you to the rhythm of the drum and bass, letting you feel his incredible length across your backside. 

“Look at these, mate,” Gaz cooed in your ear, talking to the other boys, massaging your breasts and pulling at the fabric of your leotard until it almost let your heavy tits fall out. 

“Gaz… what’s…” You tried to clear your mind, “What’s gotten into you lads?”

Your lieutenant leaned forward across Soap’s shoulder and kissed you through his balaclava, moving his mouth into yours, letting you feel the outline of his full lips. You tried to kiss him back, using your hands to flip up the edge of his mask, finding his chin and cheek, moving over so you could taste him properly. 

He was full of that dark tequila, and a hint of his menthols, musky and manly in the most enticing way. When he pulled away, he went immediately to Soap’s neck, sucking on his flesh and making him moan aloud in the middle of the dance floor. 

Suddenly, a large, strong hand gripped your face and turned you towards him, kissing you full on the mouth. His beard and mustache were the only giveaways that it was your captain, feeding you his tongue and choking you with it greedily. 

What was happening? This was insane. Something was wrong. What was in that drink?

“Cap,” you whispered when he allowed you space for a breath, “What’s happening?”

“Need you, love. Need you right fuckin’ now.”

Gaz’s hands reached into your leotard, around your cotton cat tail, and tugged at the gusset. The button snaps popped, revealing your ass, covered only in fishnets. He dug his fingers into the large holes of the fishnet leggings and pulled, ripping them apart, making room for his fingers to sink themselves into your dripping hole. 

You fell forward, grabbing onto Johnny’s shoulders, loving the way Gaz’s hand felt as he moved it inside of you, each finger was like its own challenge, delving into you and reaching for your soft spots.

“Fuck, she’s wet,” Gaz revealed, and you felt your cheeks warm with shame.

Soap smiled down at you, reaching between your legs on his own accord,

“Oh? Is that so, bonnie girl?”

He touched you right beside Gaz, both of their hands vying for position, sometimes shoving their fingers into you at the same time As Gaz would pull away, Soap would bully his knuckles forward, swiping up into you like a greedy thief, reaching for more of your silky wetness. Then, Gaz would return, playing at your clit and then feeding two of his fingers inside of you again, stretching you to make room for both his and Johnny’s eager hands, not caring who was there first or whether or not you were enjoying yourself. 

You were enjoying yourself. But, that was beside the point. Weren’t you at a party? What were you doing before this? There were other people around, right?

But, they suddenly didn’t matter. Price tugged down your shoulder strap to reveal your breast. He marveled at the puffy nipple, pebbled and waiting for his mouth. He bent and began to suckle from you, feeding his other hand across your chest, groping you under the fabric of your outfit as he pulled you into his mouth.

Johnny’s ragged moan cut through the fog of your pleasure, and you looked up at him. He was nearly naked, his devil horns the only thing left from the waist up, and Ghost was kneeling behind him, his mask pushed up, eating his sergeant’s asshole and spreading his cheeks apart cruelly. 

You reached down to feel Soap’s cock, and it was leaking through the fabric, barely concealed anymore by the costume. You pulled him free, jerking him off, smearing his glossy precome all over his pulsing, pink head. 

Price grew tired of your clothing, and he began to rip your costume away from you. Gaz helped him, pulling and tugging and tearing at the fabric. You were left in your fishnets and heels, stumbling between the men surrounding you, feeling the tequila worm its way into your core, stirring your body and making you yearn to be fucked by their heavy pricks. 

Gaz was the first to press himself into you. You were shoved forward, your face smashed into Johnny’s furry belly, his sweat painting your cheek, and Gaz held you in place. He gripped your hips with a painful clutch of his hands, and he swiped his dick through your lips, back and forth, coating himself in your wet warmth. Then, that familiar, aching stretch, and he was inside of you, humping his cock into you deeper and deeper, filling the empty space within your core. 

“Holy fuck,” Price purred, grabbing you by your hair at the nape of your neck.

He pulled you toward him, his fat prick in his hands, and fed himself into your mouth, shoving your head down onto his shaft, choking you with his girth. 

Soap pulled you from him, giving you the same treatment, and you could taste the salty precome that he was leaking with, using the momentum of Gaz fucking you to find a rhythm with your mouth. 

They took turns using you, moving you back and forth, fucking your throat until it burned, pushing you further and further down until your nose was buried in their dense curls, tickling you with the matted fur at the root of their cocks. All you could do was swallow and try to breathe, but it was little use. You were drooling all over them, unable to control your body and its desperate attempt to prepare you for their huge pricks. 

Gaz had ripped an orgasm from you twice, making you scream around the base of Price’s cock, shoving his thumb into your twitching, tight asshole as his cock ruined your pussy. He was well and truly gone, at this point. His grunting was like that of a beast, and you could feel the sweat dripping off of him and onto your back. 

Ghost grew tired of tasting Johnny’s asshole, and now he was fucking him in shallow, huffing thrusts. Every time he would push himself further into his hole, Johnny would leak a little more, his come running down his shaft like sap from a huge trunk, sticky and sweet and endless. 

You were in the middle of tasting Johnny’s dripping head when you felt Gaz bottom out inside of you. Then, he shouted out a long, whining, rumble as he pumped you full of his come. You felt it spilling out of him, pouring into your cunt, spraying rope after rope of his seed into your walls, soaking your hole, desperate to seep into your womb.

Price all but shouldered Gaz out of the way, manhandling your body until you were wrapped in his arms, your legs slung over each giant bicep, and you were being lowered onto his impossible phallus. 

“I… I can’t…” You protested, unsure of whether or not you would survive whatever your captain had to give you.

“You will,” he purred darkly, his voice demonic in its timbre, “Oh, baby, you will.”

He slipped his head into your hole, but that was all that slipped. Everything else was an uphill battle. You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to take some of the weight off of your core, but it was no use, he was using his heavy hands to pull you down onto him, squeezing himself inside inch by agonizing inch. You said a prayer of thanks to whatever sick gods were watching your debasement that he was not as long as Kyle.

You hissed in a breath when he reached a new level of thickness that your body had never experienced before.

“Shh, shh,” he cooed in your ear, “Be a good girl, love. Relax for me.”

His hands readjusted, moving lower to pull your cheeks apart, and he used his middle finger to dip into your asshole, playing in Gaz’s dripping come, swirling it around the puckered rim, teasing you by prodding you with shallow thrusts of his finger.

It was enough to distract you from what he was doing to your poor pussy, and he shoved himself in to the base, shocking you enough that your blood ran cold. You held your breath, unable to even cry out. It was as if you were a machine that had been unplugged. You were gone. Your captain had fucked your mind right out of your head. 

“That’s it. There she is,” he smiled sinisterly, pumping himself in and out, using your own weight to fuck you on his heavy rod. 

Two, greedy hands reached around to grope your breasts, grabbing them roughly, pinching your nipples until you whimpered and squirmed. Johnny was behind you, being fucked hard by Ghost, teasing your heavy breasts and rubbing his cock against your ass. 

Price’s hands were in the way, but when he felt Johnny’s cock, he positioned you so that his sergeant could reach. Then, you felt Johnny’s slick cockhead writhe its way inside the very brink of your asshole. He was so close to coming, it didn’t take much depth to take him there. As Simon fucked him, he thrust himself up into you, stretching your hole, unable to fit inside as deep as he would’ve liked with Price in the way. There was just no room. 

Johnny came in you messily and with total abandon. He bit down on your shoulder, keening and groaning, spending himself inside your asshole and letting it drool out of you as he left you there, warring with Price and his weapon.

Ghost let Johnny sink to the floor, and he took his place behind you. He was as tall as the captain, and his cock was almost as large, but there was no gentle rubbing like what Johnny had given you. Simon spread you wide, making you cry out from the way you were being spread apart, your cunt desperately clenching around Price, trying to find a way to hold onto something, anything. Then, he fed his cock inside your asshole, wet already from Johnny’s greedy core, shoving and pushing and squeezing his way beside Price, not taking any sort of laws of physics too seriously.

He began to kiss your neck, staying perfectly still and buried in you to the hilt, letting Price do all the work. The captain kissed you on the other side, biting you and leaving huge red marks where his teeth were too mean on your tender flesh. 

“Too fuckin’ tight,” Ghost complained, moaning into your skin.

“Knew she could take it,” Price smiled, kissing your slack mouth.

“Needy slag,” your lieutenant growled, leaving marks of his own all across your throat. 

He was playing with your tits, pinching your nipples between his forefinger and thumb, holding them up and out, making you feel like you were trapped in his hands. Then, he would knead them, feeling the weighty softness, enjoying your vulnerability, revelling in your corruption. 

Price’s thick cock was moving you both, shoving and bullying Simon’s dick through the thin flesh between your holes, making his masked officer harden like a stone inside of you. 

“M’gonna come in you,” Ghost promised, whispering against your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth. 

You could only cry out, your brain too fuck-drunk to make any words. Sluts didn’t need words. They just needed to come hard and clench their tight little holes around these two, huge cocks. You were nothing more than a hole to be filled. 

Simon thrust in opposite motions from Price, moving himself through your asshole at an absurd speed, fucking you into a shuddering orgasm, and blowing his load deep inside your belly. You could feel its creamy warmth, and as he pulled out of you, you felt it drip from your gaping hole, mixing with Johnny’s fallen seed on the floor. 

Price was still pounding away, brute that he was. Now that he was alone, he lay you on the crate beside him and held your knees open wide, splaying your thighs apart and staring at his cock as it thrust through your folds. 

You were moaning like a paid whore, coming in waves, your whole body feeling the effects of your pleasure, full of come and hungry for more. 

Suddenly, the music kicked off with a thud and you heard laughter coming from across the room.

“Déjame adivinar…” Alejandro’s rude tone came through loud and clear, “You filthy perritos got into my Damiana, verdad?”

Rudy reached behind the crates that Gaz and Soap were leaning against, panting, sweating, and covered in come. Then, he pulled out the bottle, half-empty. He let out a low, pitying whistle, watching as Price buried himself in you with loud, wet slapping noises filling the room, 

“No mames, güey,” he shook his head, showing Alejandro the bottle, “Mira. They’ll be hard until next week.”

“Mierda!” Alejandro cursed your group, all worn out in your pitiful states, “This was expensive stuff. I had it made by a bruja! Extra strong. You owe me, pendejos.”

Their crackling laughter made your head spin, and as you listened to the pounding of flesh on flesh, you knew you were in for a long fucking night.

Hope you enjoyed this year's Kinktober adventure! Thanks for sticking around. Happy Halloween, everyone!

If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving me a like or a comment to let me know. As always, reblogs are deeply appreciated. Want more from me? Check my AO3 profile. I have over 100 COD fics! (I know, crazy.) Discord: @californicationist

[tswwwit]

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.

[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.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Force in Nature | Platonic Yandere Trey Clover

Part 1

If Trey could explain what climbing out of the charred skeleton of his own body was like he’d say it was repulsive. Yes, there was no blood to dirty his hands and knees with but the small bits of ash and bone-crunching underneath his weight wasn’t comforting either. The hours spent sitting in the waste of his own remains as he pushed at the iron door of his furnace. In those hours that blurred into days, he’d thought back to the children who’d felt the same pain as he. On this cycle of self-incrimination, he’d thought back to the last faces he’d seen. That unruly red head he’d shooed out the furnace, the crying blue-haired boy in the cage, and the small toddler he’d put to bed minutes before his capture. In the days that agonizingly became weeks all he could think about were the only things that mattered. How he could have achieved his goals differently, revenge, and how hungry he was. He knew humans if they could resurrect from their ashes alone would have died of starvation by the time he’d begun to think coherently again.

But he was not human. 

He was a witch. 

Who died countless times because of something he didn’t need to do. 

Witches didn’t need to eat children. It was a preference. A tradition he continued from his family to maintain his age every 50 years. Children were easy to prey on, and known for their enriching souls. But it truly wasn’t necessary…adults with decent lives would have been just fine and Trey imagined if given the chance again he would have preferred to do that instead. If only because of his burning desire to have a family of his own still present. To think after dying at the hands of a child he thought of making his own he still wished nothing more than to have a life filled with child-rearing. His brain silencing his resentment with defense for the child responsible. He truly must be insane.

With the endless time in the darkness of the oven, Trey effectively strikes this hole within him for romantic attachment. He has had his fair share of partners that he often spared from being an ingredient for his desserts. He never felt the need to actively pursue anyone but if he ever got the chance to adjus this diet that’d had to change.

With no other thing occupying his time Trey only found his only interest to be scheming. Thoughts about what he’d do if he found the children responsible for his entrapment. What he’d do with another chance at life beyond the darkness of the oven. How he’d forget his taught aim for beauty when it’s done nothing but gotten in the way of what he’s always wanted. Thinking as though he’d never get the chance to enact it. His imagination filled his heart with a desire for this reality. But deep down he knew it’d be years before the iron lock would decay with rust enough for him to escape. By then the children he remembered would have moved on and become adults. It was best that his reality be kept with him in the confines of the oven; if only to spare the world of the monster he’d become. 

Creak.

“Hey look this place has an oven too!”

On second thought—the world was filled with monsters what was one more?

______________________________________________________________

A clog shoe bumped into a worn notebook sprawled on the floor. The owner of the clog sighed and bent down to lovingly hold the book. The blue-haired preteen knew exactly who this belonged to, gently collecting the bundle from the floor as he navigated his way over abandoned clothes and toys. Deuce already knew where the owner of the notebook was, looking out the window to see his siblings scampering near the edge of the woods. With their chores done, Ace and (Y/n) would spend the rest of their time enjoying their time together. Playing games and chasing one another was a past time the two of them partake in religiously. 

Deuce was just glad there was no one cruel enough to stop them. 

Not anymore. 

Since the harrowing escape from the child-eating witch, a new option for unruly adults had appeared. And his stepmother was the second lucky candidate. Of course, he and Ace agreed they’d never tell (Y/n) how that happened but the truth of the matter was that they had one parent now. That parent—their father was decent on his own. Between his civic duties, his socialite practices, and his job he was a nice father. Not as present as any of the other single parents in town but Deuce wouldn’t complain. After all they’d been through he was just happy they could still play without the looming dread about what happened. 

On an outing in town–something Deuce found himself doing more now that the woman was gone– he saw that many of the men previously sent to the militia littered the allies. Homeless, injured, and ignored as they mumbled about the horrors of the battle-field. While Deuce wouldn’t say he and his siblings survived a war they certainly could be considered survivors. Some nights he awoke to Ace calling out to him in his sleep. Pleading with the apparition in his nightmares to let his family go. 

It was heartbreaking. 

Deuce wouldn’t delude himself that he was grown up enough to pity his brother. He knew that he wasn’t spared from the effects that experience brought. Even their younger sibling now much older had an anxiety over being left alone. Over a span of two years, they refused to write out the entirety of their journey. Only giving bullet point on their experience. Ace confided in him that he thought it was because of guilt that they didn’t share more. Assuming their experience wasn’t as violent as theirs it’d make sense. But like Ace, Deuce couldn’t bring himself to mad at anyone but the witch themself. 

To think there was a being that kept the shoes and keepsakes from their past victims, forcing his victims to clean the very place those children probably begged before. It was an evil beyond words but it taught them all to be wary of people. Adults mostly. 

Sure, it shocked their father when they refused to go into town with him for the first time since their return.Thankfully their father didn’t think too much about it, in the same way he didn’t think much about the news of his missing wife. For all he knew, the children were happy being at home by themselves. Magically being more behaved on their own than with their step-mother. 

That was fine with Deuce. 

Perfect with Ace.

And what was best for (Y/n).

As long as the three of them stayed together, they’d be better off. Things were different now but that was okay. Because as far as Deuce was concerned they were better off than ever before. 

______________________________________________________________

“Why did he bring out these candles?”

The written question brought the brothers’ attention to their frantic father. Darting around the kitchen with a sweaty brow and dressed in something nicer than his pajamas. It was the question they all were asking. Ace and Deuce scrunched their faces in disgust at the last time they’d seen those dreaded candles out and about. The last time the twins had smelt the burning scent of macadamia nuts and vanilla their father had introduced a young chatty woman who’d turn into the nightmare that plagued their daily life. It eventually did lead to (Y/n) being born but that was beside the point. 

“Is he seriously getting into dating again?” Ace snickered. 

The redhead was already replaying the pranks that bothered his stepmother the most. Prepared to unleash a renewed sense of menace since their grand escape. (Y/n) recognized the look on his face, smiling to themself as they wrote their own plans into their notebook. Looking over their head Ace was already considering what to do being so close to dinner, it would have to be a minor prank. The two watched their father, trip over himself as he struggled to carry the extra chair to their dining table; scampering in silent giggles as they decided on one of their schemes. Deuce didn’t bother to follow, reassuming his role as the innocent bystander drawing the focus off the mischievous duo. Huffing to himself, he entered the kitchen offering to help with getting dinner together. 

“Aw Thank you Deucey! I was hoping you’d come help, you know ever since your mother went missing you’ve been such a big help.”

Deuce smiled as he finished seasoning the food on the stove,“Happy to help!” 

He really was, especially since their father would be cursing their existence by the end of the night. Deuce was aware that by the time a knock was at the door and Ace and (Y/n) returned all smiley, that they were prepared for the night ahead. When their father quickly smoothed back his gelled hair and opened the door revealing the unwitting victim for this evening all the children within that shack felt reasonably threatened.

“Hey Tania, happy you made it!”

“Thanks dear, I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Their latest enemy was a newcomer to the village, a librarian that was looking to settle down. With blocky glasses in front of golden eyes, black hair with a greenish tint, and a slim fitted dress of course the children’s father was taken with her. Far too young for a man his age, this woman made the children’s skin crawl. 

“You didn’t tell me what adorable children you have!”

Their father nervously chuckled, “Aye well they’re so independent they’re more like little adults.” 

Ace shared a look with Deuce, the latter lightly shaking his head vetoeing the chance for a snarky comment. Rolling his eyes he turned to their younger sibling who was already preparing for their first prank. Joining back into the conversation Deuce made sure the adults were occupied. 

“That’s not right. Children should be allowed to be children, it's important they have a childhood.”

The woman woefully tilted her head, making their father fumble with his words.

“Y-y-you’re absolutely right! I just hope they get all of that without their mother. Uhm Bread?”

Ace mimicked throwing up which made both of the children giggle from behind their plates. It earned them a glare from their father who covered that up with passing the plate of bread. Unknowingly setting the stage for their first prank.

The woman’s raised eyebrows indicated she noticed the unfortunate state of the bread before their father did. Lifting a slice all she found was the wet and drooping remains of the bread that everyone seemed to be enjoying. The children hid their smiles by stuffing their faces watching as she examined everyone’s plate and silently cringed at her own. 

“Is something wrong, Taina?”

Completely unaware their father brought her attention back to him. She shook her head bringing back her painted smile.

“No nothing at all.”

Deuce was surprised their previous step-mother was quite loud when they tried that prank; blaming her future husband for barely being able to make bread. They received an earful for that one. Embarrassing their father was off-limits, apparently. But if this woman didn’t mind keeping such things to herself; Deuce figured it’d be better in the long run. With a look to (Y/n), he knew what was next. 

They gathered everyone’s attention with three taps to the table. Once everyone’s eyes were on them they pointed to their cup which was previously filled with milk empty once more. Ace decided to heed their call.

“I’ll go get the pitcher for you (Y/n).”

Excusing himself from the table he made his way to their tiny ice box, grabbing a pitcher filled with the milk he’d squeezed that morning. Usually they’d feel bad if it was their father’s work but he hadn’t touched their cows in months so it wouldn’t be a big deal considering their plan for their next prank.

“Such dutiful children, Mister Diamond you must be proud.”

“That I am. As I said they are so incredibly independent!”

Acting as though he hadn’t heard a thing Ace returned, “Would you like me to pour it for you (Y/n)?”

The little child shook their head and reach their hands for the pitchers handle. When Ace finally pulled away (Y/n)’s hands momentarily held the pitcher before giving to it’s weight. The glass pitcher clashed down to the table spilling the white drink directly onto their guest’s plate and off the table trailing into her lap. There was the added bonus of the milk’s initial splash which coated the woman’s face, making for a hilarious scene to the children at the table. 

“Oh my goodness!”

“Oh Taina I’m so sorry!”

(Y/n) quickly adjusted their handle on the pitcher properly filling their cup and putting it away. Deuce silenced his giggles, offering to clean up. Grabbing a napkin he kept his laughter to himself as the woman voiced her discomfort their father fussing over her awkwardly as he tried to wipe her off. 

“I’m so sorry about them! The children can be so clumsy.”

“It’s…alright. Children who usually do things by themselves happen to learn the hard way.”

“Or in this case the wet way! Am I right?”

Taina stopped smiling as she looked their father with disgust. Looking around he found his children were doing the same. He pulled at his collar as though that would relieve the newly created tension. 

With an awkward cough he attempted to start again,”So is this something you’ve noticed with your own children or was it in a book you read?”

The question seemed to alleviate the atmosphere, everyone going back to cleaning the mess. 

“I have no children of my own. I’m always too busy traveling to have any children of my own but now that I’m settled maybe I’ll change that.”

Their father visibly swooned at that and Ace delivered a firm kick to the older man’s knee. Hiding his grunt of pain with another cough he went back to his seat, resuming his dinner. Everyone was eating once more and the children were more than prepared for their final prank. 

During the commotion of the spilt milk, Ace had swapped the bowl of noodles for something of his own concoction. Having planned for this from the start he waited for Taina to ask for the noodles to which he happily obliged. Their father kept her attention, eyes solely on her as she filled her plate with the dish he felt proudest of. The other children were struggling to hold in their laughter as they watched her mindlessly stab and curl her fork within the specially crafted noodles Ace had made. 

The noodles Ace had provided were from his very own collection of maggots and worms covered in the sauce their father had made–to an untrained eye it looked exactly the same. It seemed as though Taina was discovering this as she took her first bite, stopping any motion to chew as she realized that the noodles were wriggling within her mouth. In frantic realization and a mouth far too full she looked at the red-headed boy who smiled widely at her. Looking at the other children she realized they too were well aware of what she’d put in her mouth and were all eagerly waiting for her grand reaction.

“So what do you think?”

Their father looked at her expectantly, completely oblivious to the organisms pushing at her lips begging to be released. (Y/n) with a breathy giggle they couldn’t delay put their hands over their eyes, almost frightful of the blast that was meant to come. But alas it did not because instead of vomiting or opening her mouth to reveal the horrors inside, she chewed. She chewed, gnashing the creatures within to bits before swallowing heartily, making all the children drop their jaws in shock. 

Taina licked her lips and her teeth for good measure, sending a beaming smile as she took their father’s hand.

“It was delightful!”

______________________________________________________________

From then on Taina was a forced to be reckoned with. Without an utterance to their father about what she’d endured she took on whatever pranks the children had come up with. Dodging bags of manure, somersaulting over spills, and devouring the little creatures Ace relied on to make any other woman squirm. 

It was torture.

Taina had gone from an occasional guest, to one that stayed over night far too quickly. Suddenly taking over the kitchen to cook meals for everyone. Implementing her own traditions where she read to everyone before bed. Demanding the children take tests with her grading their work.

While she wasn’t actively wicked like their last step-mother, her will was no compromise. 

When she demanded their father do something he’d do it, even when he was so exhausted he could barely stand. When their father wished to join the neighborhood watch she refused demanding he prioritize the family and his rest. It was frightening how quickly their father had gone from an active socialite to a man dictated by Taina. 

That wasn’t all, so many things had changed and not just within their home. On one of his last trips to town Deuce noticed how many families were in mourning, apparently looking for their young adult sons and daughters. Ace noted that their kitchen had begun to change, filled with appliances they never would have gotten with their father’s salary. 

It was (Y/n) who offered an answer to all the strange occurrences as of late. One that terrified their brothers to no end but with no other explanation it seemed to be true.

“You’re the witch from the forest. The one that wanted to eat us, right?”

Ace was the one to confront her, cooking in the kitchen with a resolve to confirm their worst fears and face the witch head on. She tilted her head at him, turning from the oven to put her hands on her hips.

“Are you saying you’ve met a witch in the woods?”

Ace growled,”Don’t play dumb with me! I know what you are!”

Her curious smile fell and for a moment Ace thought she’d start to cry but that died when her painted lips curled into a devilish smile. The green tips of her hair seemed to climb to the roots fluttering in waves of magic that made her yellow eyes shine with malice. Her white teeth sharpened exactly the same as the witch who’d forced Ace to organize the shoes of victims from years before. For a second the red-head found himself right back in that basement staring desperately up at the witch who declared that he’d eat his brother in exchange for eating his candy house. 

“Glad we don’t have to lie to each other, anymore.”

The voice that came out of her mouth was exactly the one from the witch in the candy house–sultry, smooth, and a masculine sound. One Ace regretted to say he admired before his brother was threatened. 

“What do you want this time? To get revenge on me!? To eat me?!”

Taina or Trey made a mockery of his anger, jutting their painted lips out in a mock pout. With an offended hand on their chest, they pitched their voice to match Taina’s.

“Me? Never I’m a changed witch! I’m not here to eat you kids…” Trey couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled from within slipping back into their original voice. “No I’m here to eat your father.”

Ace growled charging his head into Trey’s stomach attempting to throw punches and scratch at the green haired witch whom held his head at an arms length keeping all his assaults inches away. 

“Hold on. You didn’t let me finish.” With a light push, Ace stumbled into the wall behind him, unprepared for the pain budding from his back. Trey, picking up on his pain, bent down on one knee to continue,”I will eat your father if you all don’t help me get what I want.”

Ace peeled himself from the wall, swatting at the hands that attempted to catch him when he stumbled forward. Shouldering his pain, he pushed on to ask the question that’s been plaguing his mind.

“What do you want?”

Trey’s wide and unsettling smile softened, reminding Ace of when they first met the witch. 

“A family.”

If Ace felt better he would have laughed. Instead he settled to scoff.

“You?! A family?! With the kids you tried to eat?!”

“I didn’t try to eat all of you.”

“You tried to eat my brother!”

“You locked me in an oven!”

“You were going to eat my brother!”

“...Fair.”

Trey sighed sitting down on both knees, in a attempt to level with the boy. Looking into the scared fiery eyes of Ace, he closed his own as he spoke. 

“I just want to try and see what life is like with a family. Once I’ve done that you can put me in an oven once again…just play along with me for a little while. Please?”

Ace floundered a little, those golden eyes for once looked honest, desperate, lonely. He felt like he was loosing his edge, he sent a glance to the hallway where his siblings listened. From the sight he could tell Deuce wasn’t signaling anything in particular, (Y/n) was no different. Their face was stuffed into his twin’s side, once again hiding from the after math bound to come.

It was up to him once again.

Just like it was his job to shove the witch into the oven. 

It was his decision and the witch’s fate.

______________________________________________________________

Trey adored the sunrise. It brought such excitement that the day was starting once again. He also adored waking to an empty bed because it meant that the most beautiful part of his day was to come.

The sounds of small pairs of feet padding against the creaking wood coming already brought a smile to his face. The hushed arguments and demands to ‘shhh’ made Trey pretend to be asleep as he felt the side of the bed dip from multiple angles. Feeling the little hands that opened his arms to curl into his sides and the smaller weight plopping on his stomach. It made Trey irrevocably happy.

“Daddy, are you awake yet?”

It was Deuce. Polite as always. Trey loved that about him.

“Dad’s not awake. If he was awake he would have stopped me from picking my nose just now.”

The other children laughed to themselves. 

That was Ace. Ever the mischievous trickster and the unexpected leader of his siblings. Trey loved him despite his flaws and was more than willing to deal with anyone who’d bother to complain.

There were no words from his third child. His baby. Just the light plat of their hands against his cheeks, eventually becoming curious tugs at his lashes. After successfully lifting one of his lids to see his golden orbs alert and moving, Trey figured the jig was up. 

Closing his arms in he trapped all of his children and held them tight. Perfectly able to deliver a number of kisses on their little heads. Unbothered by the joyful squirming and their protests Trey made sure every one of his children got a barrage of kisses and ‘I love you’s before they were released. He held onto (Y/n) easily cradling them to blow raspberries into their tummy. He already knew they’d need a nap from waking so early.

“Papa wanted us to tell you he’s back from hunting.”

The message Deuce delivered reminded Trey of the concept of hunger. He didn’t feel it much anymore but he was sure his children did. And they couldn’t possibly handle a whole human at their age, so he better get breakfast ready.

“Thank you Deuce.”

Ace jumped up, hopping up and down on the bed emphasizing his words with every jump.

“I–wanna–hunt–!”

Trey reached over to drag him from the edge, saving the kid a world of hurt. 

“Not until you’re older and it’ll probably be different then what your Papa does.”

“But Papa’s taken us hunting before a long long long time ago…at least I think he did."

Deuce innocently chimed tickling (Y/n)’s feet, unknowingly making Trey’s heart heavy. Trey kept a smile on his face as Ace joined Deuce, making (Y/n) let out more silent laughter.

“Oh yeah I think he did  but we were real little I don’t even think (Y/n) was around then!”

“Yeah…Dad were you with us then?”

The eyes turning to Trey put him on the spot, his heart skipping a beat before he answered.

“Of course I was. I’ve always been here.”

Deuce smiled, “That’s what I thought. I don’t think I can remember anything without you Dad!”

Trey quietly mumbled to himself,”A time without me….”

The witch thought about the mother he’d seen in the market place and the infant she paraded around. A babbling baby that only knew to cry out to her in times of stress. Trey never got to experience that. Looking down at (Y/n) who was released from the barrage of tickling to just stay cradled in their father’s arm. Trey smiled to himself.

“My baby!”

Bending down to kiss their forehead, he relished in the incomplete smiling back at him. He did the same to the twins on each side. Trey’s grateful for the magic that let him keep this family and he was grateful it would let him get back all the times he’s missed with his dear family. 

“My babies! Come let’s get started on breakfast! Who’s hungry?”

“Me!”

“Me!”

(Y/n) raised their hand, fighting to bring their hand as high as theirs. An impossible feat at their age but with a bit of magic maybe that won’t be the case next time. 

“My perfect little family and it’s all mine.”