#butcher vanity moment

[aveloka-draws]

27. Eyes

[gearsofmetal]

^q^

[chickes0up]

I'm not proud of this at all😭😭😭

Meiko's english voice bank is so soft

It was incredibly difficult to work with. I'll need A LOT of practice with it😭😭

I actually don't think I'll post this to YouTube, I hate it that much

At least I managed to do something.

I'll post the full cover if people really want, but I won't do it for now

[betweenstorms]

Butcher simon who can’t help but slowly realise the portions you’re buying at his are for one person’s only, nd he slowly learns more abt you from the casual things he observes; like your name when you take a phone call, what you’re planning to make, whether you have guests over… and he doesn’t mean to pry or feel anything over it, but he can’t help but feel a sense of pride when you keep coming back, with the same slight awkwardness, slight out of place feeling, always shyly looking up at him before staring at his hands only. (he wonders if you can see him flex his arm more, on purpose compared to the other orders.)

sorry, just needed to share this after reading yours :)

I love this, thank you for sharing! The little details Simon picks up on are so perfect. And the flexing on purpose? Chef’s kiss.

Part Three of What's Between Fridays (previous part) (masterlist) Butcher!Simon x fem!Reader

Simon Riley liked routine.

It kept the world in order and kept him grounded.

And running the butcher shop had always been routine. Methodical, repetitive, and solitary, just the way he preferred it.

He didn’t need to talk much, only sharp blades and clean cuts as his constant companions, the rhythm of bone meeting steel, and the quiet satisfaction of a job done well. He found solace in the sharp rip of tearing flesh, in the metallic tang of blood that hung thick in the air of his shop. It was the perfect barrier, a crimson curtain behind which he could stand, keeping the world at arm’s length, untouched and untouchable. Because people came and went. He watched them all, never really letting anyone into his space.

Until you.

You’d been a quiet fixture in his world for months now, slipping into the shop every Friday afternoon with the same awkward hesitance, like clockwork. At first, you were just another customer, always fumbling with your words, your gaze skirting his as if afraid to linger too long. Simon had hardly given it a second thought, just another customer passing through. But something changed over time, something he hadn’t been able to ignore.

It wasn’t particularly the way you looked or even the way you sounded, it was something quieter, subtler.

It was in the way you lingered—

—like you were hesitant to leave. 

So he started paying attention.

You never bought much, always just enough for one person. That told him more than you ever realised. No ring on your finger, no mention of anyone waiting at home. You were alone. He didn’t mean to dwell on that fact, but he did. He couldn’t help but notice the little things. The slight hesitation in your step as you approached the counter, the way your voice softened when you asked for his recommendations, as if you were nervous about making the wrong choice, about using the wrong words. And the way your eyes flickered over his arms as he worked, not realising that he noticed every glance, every stolen look.

He knew the effect he had on people, especially women.

He was a large bloke, muscular, intimidating to most. But with you, it felt different. It wasn’t just that you were nervous around him, it was the way you’d peek at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

And he saw it. The way your sparkling eyes flicked down to his arms when he flexed, and yeah, maybe he did it a bit more around you. Just to see if you’d notice.

It was almost ridiculous to himself, how aware he became of his own movements when you were in the shop. Simon, who had never been one for vanity, found himself caught off guard by the subtle shift in his own presence. The weight of your gaze, tracing the lines of his hands, the curve of his muscles, stirred something in him. He wasn’t the type to seek attention, but there was a kind of satisfaction in knowing that, in those stolen moments, you saw him. And somehow, he found that he liked it—more than he cared to admit.

Simon wasn’t proud of it, but he had started piecing things together about you from the subtle details.

Your name overheard when you answered a phone call one particular afternoon. The quiet way you spoke to whoever was on the other end, your voice soft but clear. The small, everyday details of your life that trickled into his awareness over time. Like what you were planning to cook, whether you had guests coming over, even the way your eyes lit up when you talked about a new recipe. He wasn’t prying, wasn’t trying to learn more about you, but the knowledge seeped in anyway, like rain through cracked windows. 

And he found himself enjoying it, this strange cat and mouse game you both seemed to play without ever acknowledging it.

It was the way you two observed each other—never too long, never enough to make it obvious, but enough to catch those fleeting moments when your eyes met his. It was a game of longing glances, of stolen seconds, a tempting thrill woven into the mundane, and Simon couldn’t help but lean into it, enjoying the chase.

It had become a sort of ritual, a delicate choreography.

Each Friday, it played out the same. A dance of soft touches and curious glances, of hesitations and quiet desire, a rhythm you both followed without ever naming it. He’d hand you your package of meat, your fingers brushing against his for the briefest of seconds, and you’d blush, your gaze flicking down to avoid his.

It was a small thing, a passing moment, but Simon found himself waiting for it each time you stepped through the door.

That delicate brush of time where your presence seemed to still the air around him. He’d catch you looking at him more often than not. His arms, his hands, even the way he moved around the shop. You thought yourself subtle, but Simon, who had spent a lifetime reading the unspoken language of people, so he definitely knew when someone was holding back. And yet, despite all of it, you never made a move, never crossed that line.

Until you did.

It had been a regular Friday afternoon, just like all the others, and you’d come in with your usual nervous smile, your fingers brushing his as you took the package he’d prepared for you. But this time, something felt off, as though the sun had lost its way in the sky, casting shadows where light should have been.

You’d lingered just a little longer, your eyes meeting his with a kind of quiet determination that he hadn’t seen before.

And then, you asked him. 

“Are you… visiting anyone during the holidays?” The question had been innocent enough, your voice soft and unsure, but the weight of it hung between you like something fragile, something easily shattered. “I mean, celebrating with your family or…?” 

Simon’s chest tightened at the mention of family. However, the way you looked at him, the vulnerability in your sweet voice, made something stir in him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“If not,” you’d continued, your voice faltering slightly, “I was thinking, maybe… you could join me for dinner this week? At my place.”

He’d stared at you, unable to form words for a moment.

You’d always been nervous around him, shy and reserved, but this… this was something else. The offer hung in the air, tentative, like you were holding out your heart, unsure if he’d take it or let it fall.

Simon had spent most of his life holding the world at arm’s length, keeping people at a distance where they couldn’t reach him, where they couldn’t see the quiet wounds beneath his skin. It was easier that way, safer and cleaner. No need to wrestle with the chaos of feelings or the tangled knots that came with letting someone slip past the defences. But as he stood there, your gentle eyes searching his, waiting for a word, he felt something shift, something unsettling in its quiet simplicity. It crept up on him, the realisation, as delicate and inevitable as the tide, that keeping you at a distance wasn’t as effortless as it had once been. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew, in that fleeting moment, something had shifted.

Simon didn’t want to say no.

So he didn't.

“Okay.”

Your face had lit up, a soft smile breaking across your lips as you nodded, the tension in the air dissolving into something lighter, warmer. You took the package from him, your fingers brushing his once more, but this time it felt different—like a promise, a quiet understanding passing between you.

As you slipped through the door, leaving the shop behind, Simon remained rooted in place, his gaze lingering on the space where you'd been, watching the quiet swing of the door as it clicked shut. And for the first time in longer than he could remember, the feeling that settled in his chest wasn’t the familiar weight of apathy, nor the impenetrable armour of his guarded soul. No, this was something different—something lighter, like the gentle stirring of a breeze before dawn. It crept in softly, taking root in his ice cold heart, as though he were standing on the edge of something unknown, the whisper of a promise waiting to unfold.

For the first time in a long time, Simon allowed himself to think about what it might be like to let someone in.

To let you in.

And the thought didn’t scare him as much as it should have.

[yawnderu]

Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (2/?)

cw: stalking, noncon. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment.

"Are you listening?" The man in front of you asks the moment your gaze starts to drift off for the third time since you arrived at the office.

"Sorry. What did you say?" The dark circles around your eyes make you resemble a raccoon more than a human, the memories of your friends dying and their blood splattered all around the pale wallpapers. Images of nature that were supposed to be remembered as calming do the exact opposite, forever engraved in your broken psyche.

"Do you remember anything about the suspect?" The detective's voice is calm, laced with nothing but pure understanding and compassion, a man too passionate about what he does— and the man you're about to lie to, delaying the investigation of your friend's death just to save your own ass.

"Nothing other than what I've told you, sir. Everything is just so..." The pregnant pause makes him fidget with the pen in his hand, grey eyes focused on the way you look away from him, eyes squinting as you try to recall memories from that night, memories that are so painful he can see it written all over your face, making him feel a pang of guilt.

"It's okay. Call me if you remember anything else, yeah?" His warm hand rests on your shoulder after you get up, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile that is only met with weary eyes, making your way out without saying anything. There's hesitation in your steps, your heart almost beating out of your chest the moment you stop walking and look over your shoulder, briefly meeting his curious gaze.

“He had brown eyes.” Mr. Smith doesn't waste any time on adding the information to his notes, only making the guilt spread all over your insides like black mold, taking over what used to be your soul— it's all his now.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment, yet what do you call seeing the man who killed your friends everywhere you go? He's been taking over your entire life no matter how much you try to push the memories away, no matter how much you try to forget it all happened, only serving as a constant reminder that you didn't do enough.

Dreams colliding with reality isn't something new, yet your nightmares are so realistic that it almost feels like you were there. Even while you were hidden away in a dark closet, you can see your friends struggling against the much bigger, armed man, innocent bodies butchered while they were alive, a mess of limbs spread all over the rented cabin, blank eyes always staring at you, watching you run away and leave them behind.

Were you losing your mind? It all seems so real, to the point you're not even convinced you only saw your best friend die. Are you sure you didn't peek the kitchen the moment you cowardly decided to escape? The kitchen was blocked by a wall, and yet.

Cold water splashes all over your face, feeling the softness of your palm rub the skin, trying to come back to reality, to remind yourself that it's impossible to have seen the other bodies. The crime scene report is repeated over and over like a mantra, serving as a permanent reminder that you weren't there. No, not when only a body was found in the living room.

The person looking back at you in the mirror is a far cry from who you used to be. The dark circles in your eyes resemble more a dead girl walking than a real, healthy body, and perhaps that's what you are. If it weren't for the constant feeling of crippling dread and the tears spilling down your cheeks like a broken dam, you could've fooled a mortician.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the vanity brings you back to reality from your trip to Self-Pity Land, slapping some more water on your sweaty face before deciding to take a peek at the screen.

1:38 PM.

From: Ali💗

Almost there.

It's enough to make you scurry around the room, applying enough makeup to not make your friend worry, knowing that she wanted to get you out of the house just to give you a worthy distraction.

For what seems like the first time in forever, the corners of your lips tilt up into a smile the moment your friend wraps her arms around you, holding you close despite the odd stares you're getting from the people in the diner.

“Hey, you.” Her cheerfulness was contagious, to the point that even if only for a second, you get a sense of normalcy. A sense of community, despite your own feelings about the entire situation.

Your friend can talk for two. Something that you never noticed until now, listening to her ramble about anything and everything for the past hour. In a way, it gave you the chance to dissociate in peace, the words mixing together to the point they barely made sense anymore, completely entering one ear and leaving the other.

“He's looking at you.” Alina says in a teasing whisper, nudging you with her elbow. You give her a confused glance until she looks between the man and you, giving you the look.

Your gaze connects with a pair of baby blue eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cut through your soul. His eyes look too familiar, resembling the pair you see every single day in your nightmares. His entire demeanor screams ''cocky bastard'', manspreading on the seat of the table across from you, his arm propped up on the backrest.

“Awful timing, but I have to go.” Alina says with a small frown, though it quickly changes to a little smug smirk the moment she realizes the man is still looking at you. If she even notices your pleading gaze, it goes completely ignored as she gets up from the booth, giving you a strong, goodbye hug— and the stare from the man makes it clear that it might be the last one.

“Get some.” She teases in a whisper, quickly making her way out of the diner after paying for your drinks. You feel the urge to empty your stomach, yet there's barely anything there, only the slow-growing sense of pure dread the longer you keep staring at each other. Even when you force yourself to look away, you can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, almost able to tell he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Leaving a halfway done drink behind, you make your way out of the diner, hoping that being out with more witnesses can save you. Is that really him? You barely got the chance to see his eyes yet you never saw his face, starting to doubt yourself the longer your tired feet drag you around the street. He could be an innocent man falling victim of your trauma, simply looking to get laid— you could probably use that, too, yet his icy stare and cocky grin is carved into your damaged mind.

“Need a ride?” A deep, gravely voice offers, nearly giving you a heart attack the moment your eyes meet his. Your hand goes up to your chest, trying to calm your fast-beating heart even when he gives you a reassuring, charming smile.

“No, thank you.” Your tone is far too polite and kind, still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fight or flight screaming at you to flee— to get away from the man you're now convinced is the same masked man who murdered your friends.

“Get in the fucking car, princess.”

The charming smile he was shooting your way is gone within a second, his icy gaze piercing through your soul now that he knows you saw through his bullshit. Your gaze drifts down to the hand lifting a part of his shirt up, revealing part of his dark, happy trail— and his handgun.

There's hesitation in your steps as you walk to the passenger's seat, already feeling the smoothie you drank starting to crawl up your throat, almost making you throw it all up, yet you do your best to hold it in, shakily getting into his car.

“… My house's up ahead.” You purposely give him the wrong address, trying to protect your family and yourself from the deranged bastard. The ride is eerily quiet, almost making you even more nervous than if he was trying to make conversation with you. There's no music playing, no humming— nothing, other than his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and his calm breathing.

“We're here.” Maybe you're reading him wrong, but there's hints of teasing bleeding through his deep voice, his eyes shining with mirth when you step out of his truck, making your way to one of the houses. You reach the front door after what feels like minutes, your hand shaking as you think of what to do. You can hear the engine of his car still behind you, not driving away even when you told him that's your home.

I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If someone opens the door, would he murder them too? He has a gun, and the way he brutalized your friends makes it clear that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty no matter the weapon. His loud laugh makes every single muscle in your body tense up, hesitantly looking back at him, the pure amusement dancing all over his face doesn't ease your fears in the slightest.

“Come back, sweetheart. I'll take you home.” And he stays true to his word, driving back in silence, his warm hand resting on your bare thigh. You don't dare look at it, simply staring out of the window, feeling every single callus on his hand while the scenery gets more and more familiar. The black mold in your soul spreads by the second, threatening to rot you from the inside out, bubbling up into a disgusting brew as he stops in front of your house.

Your eyes briefly meet his, his pupils starting to dilate the same way they did when he was done brutalizing your friends; just like a predator who has never failed to catch his prey. You never gave him your address— in fact, you didn't say a single word since you got back into his truck, yet he still found his way to your house.

It's all starting to make sense. Despite assuming it's all a product of your paranoia, you've been catching hints of the masked man everywhere you go, blue eyes always staring right into your soul.

“Not gonna invite me over for some coffee?” Technically, it is a question, yet you both know saying no to him is not even on the table.

“Sure… I can make you a coffee.” Perhaps inviting a serial killer is not the brightest idea, yet what other options do you even have? He knows where you live and the places you frequent, you're not safe anywhere. His hand drifts down to the small of your back as you open the entrance door, hesitantly letting him back into the only safe space you had, willingly allowing him to invade your life.

“Atta girl.” What should feel like praise from an older man only serves as additional mental torture, the sound of the door closing behind you making all hope of surviving him fade away.

“Come sit on my lap.” He walks to the living room as if it's his own home, not even asking for directions, simply being able to navigate his way around like he's been here before— deep inside, you know he has. Your nose starts to sting as he sits down on the couch and forces you to straddle him, your thighs around his, allowing you to feel all the muscle.

“Don't cry…” He taunts, only now making you aware of the hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your lips trembling as he pushes you closer by the ass, pressing your clothed cunt against his hardening dick. His face is buried on he crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your scent as his starts to grind against you, calloused hands roaming all over your pretty body.

“Wanna feel my cock?” The vigorous head shake you give him is enough to make him laugh, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your neck and shoulders, not caring about leaving any marks. You can barely register the sound of his zipper coming down until he's guiding your hand to his warm, hardening dick.

You're too shaky to even do anything about it, disgust and nervousness turning into a dangerous mix, yet Keegan is a patient man. A patient man who gently makes your fingers wrap around his shaft, guiding your movements to jerk him off, getting even harder underneath your touch. Low grunts and muffled moans are spilled right into your ear, clearly getting off despite your very clear fear.

“You're doing so good, princess…” He murmurs. Keegan's free hand starts to sneak his way inside your shirt, slipping past your bra, his thumb brushing past your hardening nipple. Your brain is able to recognize that fight or flight aren't options anymore, so just like a wild animal trying to avoid a fight; you freeze.

Your shaky breaths mingle together, only interrupted by the low groans he lets out, his hand leaving yours for the first time, leaving you unsure of what to do. Despite the tears falling down your cheeks and the muffled whimpers, your hand keeps moving up and down his shaft, not wanting to die by his dirty, blood-tainted hands.

Keegan's mind isn't broken enough to not know it's wrong, yet it has been broken enough to the point he simply doesn't care. Thrown away by his brothers in arms and the marines, he doesn't have anything else to lose. No life purpose, other than to bring others the same pain he has suffered for years.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips as he moves your hand away from his cock, using his tip to move your underwear aside. His free hand goes to the back of your head, encouraging you to hide your pretty, tear-stained face on the crook of his neck, fully muffling your cries the moment he penetrates you. His dick is way too thick for his own good— stretching you open forcefully, despite the way he's actually going out of his way to make it as painless as possible.

“Shh, it's okay, kid. Just enjoy it.” He whispers into your ear, running a reassuring hand up and down your back, starting to move inside you, as if what he's doing could be even remotely enjoyable. A low, throaty moan makes its way out of his lips the moment he manages to bottom out, your body responding to the forced intrusion by getting you wet, not able to register that you don't want it.

Breaking you apart is the closest thing to religion he's ever gotten. Keegan's lips crash against yours as his hips start to thrust up faster and deeper, growing more desperate by the second despite how wrong he knows it is. He shouldn't be enjoying this, yet he's just a broken, terrible man, the little sobs leaving your lips only making him fuck into you harder.

The human body works in odd, awful ways. You don't want this, yet every single nerve inside your cunt is being stimulated by his long shaft, sending signals to your body that make it feel much better after you got wet. The small moan that gets ripped out from your throat makes him break away from the kiss, amusement written all over his face.

Keegan's forehead leans against yours as his hips rock against yours, his breath hot against your face. From this position, you're able to examine his face, taking note of as many details as possible in case he decides to let you leave, no matter how slim the chances are.

Thick, black eyebrows, buzzcut, dark scruff covering his pale cheeks. High cheekbones, light blue eyes, no visible scars or moles.

You repeat it inside your head like a mantra, trying to use it as a replacement to keep your head occupied from the knot starting to tense in your stomach, tightening up more and more with each thrust. You know for a fact you're hating this, yet your body is betraying you, coating his cock with slick.

He pulls out only to slam himself back in, dragging more pathetic moans out of your lips the moment he hits your spongy cervix. The stimulation is enough to make you hide your face on the warm crook of his neck, biting your thumb hard to muffle your own sounds the moment you start tightening up around him, finally giving in to the stimulation.

Your teeth sink deeper into your skin despite the small whiny moan escaping your lips the moment your forced orgasm hits, barely conscious enough to register the cocky laugh above you, feeling his lips connect against your temple, his breath hot on your skin as he manages to pull out, shooting ropes of thick cum all over your stomach.

“See? It wasn't that bad, was it, princess?” You collapse against him with a loud exhale, not able to hold it together anymore.

“Why…?” It's all you can ask, and you're not even sure about the reason you're asking why. Why did he kill your friends? Why did he let you live? Why is he stalking you? Why did he force himself on you? Why is he caressing your body like you're made of glass, as if he didn't just destroy you into thousands of shards?

“Because I'm not right in the head anymore.”

Taglist: @h0ney-mushroom @bangtandaze @elentiyaiswriting @lollycotton @sleepydang @billiousserpent As always, thank you so much @moosch for the amazing art!! 💗💗 world-building with her has been so fucking exciting and I'm happy to finally be writing about Slasher!Keegan after we've been talking about it for months!!<333

[sencrose]

-- WHY LET THE OFFAL GO TO WASTE?

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

tags: DEAD DOVE, NONCON, noncon groping, choking, dacryphilia, hospitalization, injury, multiple/forced orgasm(s), power imbalance/dynamics, praise, psychological trauma, restraints

wc: 6.3k

a/n: title from butcher vanity. tagging this as dead dove bc it feels darker than the stuff i usually write? might also be bc the choking kinda squicked me out while i was writing this lol. anyways please read the tags and proceed with caution! ao3 link here.

summary: After a harrowing battle and a self-proclaimed failure of a first mission, you land yourself in the hospital. Your vice captain is adamant in playing a starring role in your rehabilitation.

It’s taking everything to keep your breathing steady. Even though the van sits in a heavy silence, you can feel the emotions radiating from your fellow combatants. Through the nervous shifts, shaking legs, and meditative rituals.

Some are itching to get out on the field to show off how far they’ve come, others are doing their best to calm their nerves. 

You fall somewhere in the middle.

Training module after training module, you’re all too aware of where you fall – last. Dead last. And not by any close margin; the gap between you and the next combatant is astronomical. It’s a miracle you even made it into the force, much less the third division. 

You come into your first mission with something to prove: your competence. Delusions are better left untouched, and you don’t have any expectations of being an overachiever. You don’t need to be number one, nor do you need to set any records. It’s simple: don’t come in last. 

The van slowly comes to a halt as you make it to your destination.

“Third division, rollout!” 

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ ring throughout the van before you’re deployed into combat. Your team quickly splits off into their assigned positions until you’re alone. The once booming cityscape hangs in an eerie silence. No conversations to eavesdrop in, no cars rushing to get to their next destination, no music from local businesses trying to attract more customers. Just the sound of the occasional gunshot in the distance.

You hear your first Kaiju before seeing it, the sound of cement and plaster crashing into the ground. Thankfully, it’s not as large as you thought it’d be. However, it is more grotesque than you expected — the smell of rotten fish invades your nostrils. It vaguely resembles an octopus, or at least that’s the best guess you can muster with its tentacles thrashing about. 

You steel yourself, the temperature of your suit steadily rising as you focus. You steady your hands, aiming to shoot the core in one shot. In the scope, the creature’s eye swiftly meets yours. You press the trigger, the recoil hitting you harder than you anticipated – the butt of your gun strikes you hard in your chest, you nearly trip over your feet from the impact. Shakily, you find your footing and look out into the distance, waiting for the dust and rubble to clear.

Shit.

Your aim was just slightly off, only hitting the tip of one of its appendages. The creature’s tentacles flail wildly, but with a precision to its movements –  reaching out to nearby structures to pull its body towards, making its way to you. Your fingers shake around the trigger as it approaches.

Deep breaths.

Your heart races as you aim through the scope again, but it’s hard to focus on a moving subject. You shoot again, a bit too hastily still. The bullet hits another one of its appendages, slowing it down for a moment before it starts erratically scurrying towards you again. Your suit starts to heat up a bit more, devouring you in its all enveloping warmth. Sweat pools at your temples, beads sliding down the side of your face as you aim again. Your finger floats carefully in front of the trigger, waiting for the right moment to strike. With each street pole, building, car, the creature takes into its grasp, the more dust and debris clouds your vision.

Your nerves only build on top of each other, an unsteady tower of blocks threatening to fall, heart racing, as the crashes get louder.

There’s a miraculous moment where the dust settles, your reflexes taking over and shooting it right in the core. It falls, crashing into the building next to it.

Your breaths are heavy as you look over to its corpse. A dead kaiju smells even worse than an alive one. How do the cleaners deal with this on a daily basis?

With a soft buzz, your earpiece comes alive with a message from HQ.

”Congrats on your first kill!”

“Thanks,” you answer, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. That was too close for comfort.

”Are you still in condition to fight?”

”Yeah, should be.” 

”Alright, make your way to N-3, they could use the backup.”

”Roger that.”

Just as you turn around to make your way to the next battle, the hairs on your neck come to a sudden stand, as you sense an overwhelming aura behind you. Chills run down your spine despite the suit running you warm. Dread swells in your chest and lead fills your legs, planting your feet on the ground.

By the time you turn around, it’s too late.

Everything happens too fast. 

Something pierces into your shoulder.

Warm crimson seeps out of the wound, drenching part of your suit. You don’t even register the pain at first, dazed from the scent of copper filling your lungs.

When the searing burn of having your flesh punctured finally hits you, you do your best not to cry in pain because that’s not what a proper combatant does. They produce results. (You do not have any notable ones.) They neutralize kaiju. (You’ve only neutralized one by the skin of your teeth.) But another is right in front of you, a golden opportunity. You can turn the tides.

Intent on revenge, you swiftly change hands with your gun, firing another shot at the kaiju. You step back, shooting another two bullets, the heat in your suit shooting to unbearable temperatures. Then you’re on your feet, and the only thought in your head is run, run, run.

But you’re not fast enough. It lunges towards you, its tentacle stretching and grasping your arm tight, too tight, too much. An unfamiliar and sickening crack rings in your ears, and you can no longer hold back your screams. They’re short lived, not through mercy, but through the kaiju flinging you to the floor like a ragdoll. You’re sure you hear another bloodcurdling crack when your back crashes on to the cement. Air is choked out of your lungs as you try to steady yourself, but your arms are in no shape to lift yourself up. Blinding pain sears through your body, and you start to lose track of where your body ends and the suit begins, engulfed in an all-consuming heat.

Before you even have the chance to recover, the creature’s tendril wraps tightly against your neck, the tight pressure cutting off your ability to breathe. Your mouth drops agape, desperately attempting to suck in air only to let out repulsing coughs and gasps before you’re left with nothing, a fish out of water. How ironic. Willing to take the risk of shooting yourself as collateral, you aim your gun point blank at the appendage, just for it to be smacked out of your hand before you can pull the trigger.

Panic and adrenaline rushes through your body in droves, limbs desperately flailing about to release yourself. It only makes things worse, the grip around your neck tightening. It feels horrid. The way your face numbs, your lungs burning with the desperate need for oxygen. Everything gets just a bit lighter, your vision, your head, your body. The pressure in your head builds and builds, an over pumped balloon just waiting to pop. 

Everyone always says it’s a possibility, but no amount of training could have prepared you for death. Part of you wishes it could’ve happened a bit more heroically, but that’s foolish. At the very least, you can take solace in knowing nobody’s around to see you at your worst, in your final moments.

With a sudden puff of wind grazing your cheek, you drop to the floor, sputtering and gasping for air. You look up to see a miracle in the shape of your vice-captain bestowed upon you.

Soshiro Hoshina arrives in silence, utilizing his blades to take down the monster. You’re barely able to keep up with his movements – he bounces from place to place without delay. In a moment’s time he’s already slayed the creature that put you in such a miserable state. 

He takes a moment to flick his blades, kaiju blood and bodily fluids splattering on the floor in a neat line before he sheathes his swords.

“Can you stand?” Hoshina’s hand reaches out towards yours.

“I think so.” You balance yourself against his body, wincing as you sling your arm around his shoulder, taking it one step at a time. Your body still burns from your injuries and the overheating of your suit.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll do better next time.”

The guilt of inadequacy and inexperience come to a breaking point as tears well up in your eyes. You try to hold back your sniffles, but with how close your face is to his ears, you know he can hear them.

“Yes sir.”

—

Hospitals suck. Unfortunately, you’ll be stuck here for the next few weeks while you heal from your injuries. On the bright side, your squad has been very kind in dropping you ‘get better soon’ cards, small gifts, and catching you up on all the drama happening within the organization. You’re truly thankful for them. And while visits from your fellow peers are expected, visits from your superior officer aren’t.

Hoshina knocks on the doorframe in his civilian clothes, a black t-shirt with a pair of sweats. You can’t help but notice how the fabric of his shirt clings to his body, showing a sliver of his muscles. In his hand, he holds a bento box wrapped in a fabric cover. If you’re being honest, you’re blown away by his kindness. 

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you joke, “the doctors here have been really nice though.”

Hoshina unwraps the fabric, and uncovers the box, revealing a portion of curry rice with a side of steamed vegetables. 

“You didn’t have to go out of your way for this sir.”

“I’m just looking out for my cute junior.” 

The unexpected descriptor sends heat to your face and butterflies to your stomach. Did you hear him right? You sit in silence, unsure of how to respond back.

Hoshina breaks the silence, taking the reins on the conversation. “Have you eaten anything yet?” 

“Not yet, haven’t had much of an appetite.”

He grabs a spoonful of the curry, bringing it right in front of your mouth.

“Here, open up.” 

“Is this really necessary?” “Just open up. That’s an order.” 

His words aren’t anything you haven’t heard before, but they have you squirming in the bed. 

You hesitantly separate your lips, as the spoon enters your mouth. Hoshina’s hand hovers under your mouth in case any crumbs fall. You swear his fingertips just ever so slightly graze against your chin. Then again, maybe not.

The curry’s a bit hot, you move it around your mouth as you blow out some air to cool it down. It has just enough kick, the pieces of vegetables melting in your mouth with little effort. Salty, savory, with a hint of sweetness. It’s delicious.

“How is it?” Hoshina asks.

Your mouth is still full of food as you rush to finish it in a gulp.

“It’s great.” 

“That’s good to hear.” 

“You’ve got some on your lip.” Hoshina licks the pad of his thumb before using it to wipe the excess off the corner of your mouth. The heat in your face ignites, burning unbearably with embarrassment. 

“Sir, you don’t have to do this.” 

“The doctors said you should rest your arms. I don’t want you straining yourself,” he responds, continuing to wipe the mess off your face.

You’re not sure how to argue with that, nor do you feel like picking a fight with the vice captain.

“Alright.”

You sit in awkward silence as your superior officer continues to feed you. It feels far too intimate for your relationship – you wonder if he does this with the others. He brings the spoon up to your mouth again, gesturing you to open. Before you know it, you’ve gotten used to it, complying as if it’s an order in combat. 

“How long are you out of commission?”

“A few weeks, fingers crossed I’ll be out sooner though!” you say in between bites.

“That eager to be back out, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Catching up? It’s only been a couple of days.”

“Well…” you hesitate. If you could, you’d be twiddling your thumbs. “I’ve been falling behind everyone else. I mean, I barely did anything before I landed myself in the hospital,” your voice nearly breaks, and you can feel tears forming, threatening to fall if you so much as blink. That all too familiar ugly ball forms and makes itself home in your throat. “Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?” you scoff, voice wavering. 

“Everyone gets injured at some point. Nobody’s immune to that. That includes all your peers and your superiors as well,” he states matter-of-factly.

“I guess so.” Tension gets tighter in your chest as you prepare for a lecture. 

“You come back faster from injuries when you’re younger too, so don’t worry too much about it. You did well.” 

The last thing you were expecting from Hoshina was praise. If anything you expected him to reprimand you more. Your heart beats a bit harder, a bit faster, and you hope Hoshina hasn’t noticed the climb in your heart rate on the medical monitor next to your bed.

It seems like it went unnoticed as he simply brings another spoonful to your mouth only for some of the curry to dribble down your chin.

“You’re a messy eater,” he teases.

“It isn’t intentional. It’s a bit hard to use my arms right now,” you joke back, head gesturing towards your arm sling.

“I’ll get it then.”

He licks the pad of his thumb again, wiping gently against your chin. He licks it again, this time brushing against the swell of your lips. You’re pretty sure there’s nothing there, but you remain silent. His finger scratches against the corner of your mouth, before tracing your lips again agonizingly slow, as if he’s committing every crevice to memory, his eyes half lidded with an expression you don’t recognize.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” His fingers pull away from your face, his head tilting to the side inquisitively, as if his actions a moment ago weren’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Never mind.”

—

The other day floats through your mind more than you’d like to admit. The warmth of your vice captain’s fingers as he caressed your lips, the way butterflies fluttered in your stomach as a response. 

He called you cute too, right? It probably doesn’t mean anything, you assume he’s like that with everyone. But it plays in your head on repeat like a broken record, and you have to think about kaiju guts to calm yourself down.

While you appreciate his penchant for lunchtime visits, you’re equally perplexed by it. There has to be more important things to do, especially as a high ranking official. Yet here he is again, preparing to feed you lunch by the spoonful as if he isn’t your superior officer with years of killing experience over you. 

“How’s the recovery going?”

“It’s going well. Things aren’t hurting as much anymore.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Hoshina unwraps the bento he’s brought in for you. It’s a bit more extravagant this time, soup, rice, and a variety of side dishes embellish the box.

Hoshina starts with the soup, lowering his spoon until it fills, before bringing it to his mouth. He blows on it with a gentleness that almost feels uncanny of a high ranking military officer.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

You open your mouth expectantly, obediently.

“Ah!” you yelp in surprise as the spoon of soup spills onto your chest, seeping into your gown.

“I got it.” Hoshina grabs a napkin and dabs it across your chest, but there’s something strange to his motions.

His fingers linger a bit too long after each press, as if he’s searching for something. It almost feels like they’re massaging into your skin, which feels excessive just to clean up a small mess. You’re all too aware of the heat surfacing to your face the longer he touches you. 

“Um sir, I think you got it.”

It’s as if he doesn’t hear you, intent on his mission of cleaning up his mess. His fingers dig deeper, kneading your tits over the thin fabric of the gown. Your breathing becomes more jagged the longer his touch lingers. You swear his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a rush down to your core.

“Sir,” you attempt to sound firm, only for your voice to come out in a shaky breath. 

He casually takes the napkin back and crumples it.

“No harm in being thorough,” he responds with an attempt at a reassuring smile.

You nod cautiously, questioning whether that really just happened.

“Yeah… Thorough,”  you quietly repeat to yourself.

—

It feels like months have passed, though it’s only been a handful of weeks. As time passed, visits from your peers have petered off, and all that’s left is the droning hum of the hospital equipment and your own thoughts. It’s the perfect storm to send anyone spiraling, to have you questioning whether you really deserve to have such a coveted spot in one of the most elite squads in the defense force.

So, you find yourself thinking about Hoshina. It happens more often than you’d like to admit. But it’s a natural progression, isn’t it? When he’s the only one who visits, who packs lunch for you every day. Sometimes you think he’s the only one who cares.

You don’t want to ruminate on it too long. But, you like him – or you think you like him. That’s why he has such an effect on you, right? The reason why your breath hitches, your heart skips a beat when his touch lingers a moment too long, even when his hands are in places where they shouldn’t be. A light bulb flickers on in your head.

Maybe he likes you back.

A knock on the door frame shakes you out of your thoughts, and you greet your regular visitor with a warm smile.

“How are you feeling today?” Hoshina asks, smiling back before taking a seat next to your bed.

“I’m doing great.” You rotate your arms before giving it a performative flex. “I think I’m just about ready to get back out there. The doctor even said I’ll be discharged in a couple of days.”

”That’s great news.”

Hoshina unveils the bento, even more spectacular than the last. There’s at least three tiers and you lose count at how many slots are in each tray. Each slot contains a side dish, many of them resembling fine art pieces rather than something to be consumed.

”Sir.” You pause, contemplating if you should reject his offer, “I can feed myself now.”

“You should take advantage of resting while you can.”

”Sir, it’s ok, seriously-”

”Are you talking back to your superior officer?” he interrupts with a seriousness to his tone you aren’t expecting.

You sit as straight as you can, caught off guard by his sternness.

”No sir.”

”Then open up,” he says with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. So you do, taking the offering cautiously, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. 

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Hoshina states.

You do, and he’s at the forefront of it – not that you would dare tell him. So you divert over to something normal, safe.

“How’s the squad doing?” you ask.

“That’s new.”

“What’s new?”

“You asking about others.”

Maybe the topic isn’t as safe as you thought it was.

“You calling me selfish?” you snap, a bit more accusatory than you expected. 

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he says, arms raised by his head in an act of sarcastic surrender, “I said nothing of the sort.”

It’s your turn to say something, but it’s hard to get the words to leave your mouth.

“I haven’t seen a lot of them in a while,” you finally admit, “it’s been a bit lonely here.” 

“Of course, they’re being trained to the bone! Kaiju aren’t getting any weaker you know.”

What he says is true, but you don’t like that gnawing feeling of incompetence rising in your stomach. It’s been a bit rough for you these days, stuck in a never-ending cycle of bitter thoughts of your first battle, hyping yourself up to be better, and the inevitable ‘why bother trying?’ when you recall your hard work has earned you nothing thus far. Rinse and repeat. 

“I’m aware,” you say through gritted teeth, holding your tongue back as if it’s a dam keeping your self-deprecating thoughts at bay.

“You just gonna sit there and wallow in self-pity?” he asks, and his words hit you harder than you would like to admit.

“Self-loathing, actually,” you respond sarcastically.

“It makes no difference to me,” he sighs, placing his hands on the back of his head and leaning back into his chair, “but you want to get stronger, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do, sir.”

“Well I have just the opportunity for you!” Hoshina springs up from the chair with a clap, his sudden motion earning a flinch from you, “my schedule just opened up so I can train you.”

“I don’t want to waste any of your time, sir,” you reply softly, wishing you could just shrivel up in your bed. His offer feels unearned, the attention wasted on a poor performing combatant like yourself. You’re sure he has more promising things to do with his time.

“It’s not a waste of time to me,” he replies, “plus I get to spend more time with my cutest junior.”

There’s that special adjective again, the one that never fails to send heat rushing to your cheeks. It shouldn’t have you so visibly flustered, and you’re sure Hoshina notices your plight.

“A-are you sure?” you ask, nearly mumbling the words.

“As sure as this is goin’ in your mouth,” he says, picking up a piece of fried meat before bringing it towards you, “now open up.”

—

Once you’ve been dispatched from the hospital, it’s straight back into training. Nothing too intense, just enough to get you back into the swing of things is what the doctors said. Hoshina was ecstatic to look over your rehabilitation personally.

This has led you down an unfamiliar training room – cold, sterile, concrete walls resembling a brutalist dream. Something stands out like a sore thumb, an examination table towards the back of the room, and a medical monitor. Hoshina leads you towards the table, and gestures for you to sit down.

“We’re gonna start with some vitals.”

“Vitals?” you repeat, furrowing your brow. “What, am I in the hospital again?”

“No, not those vitals.” He waves his hand in front of his face as if to shake off the suggestion. “I want to see your unleashed power percentage. We’re going to try and test your endurance and get those numbers up. You were overheating pretty bad in that last battle, remember?”

It’s a sore memory you would rather forget.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s try and get that number up,” he says while fiddling with the monitor, “you’ll need to strip.”

The last word sends a rush of heat to your face.

“Sir?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“I have to attach these to get an accurate reading.” Hoshina smiles innocently and holds up a handful of wires and electrode pads connected to the medical monitor. So you did hear him correctly.

“Oh, right,” you reply with an uneasy chuckle, a rush of warmth to your face.  You take off your clothes, revealing your sports bra and underwear, feeling far too indecent in front of your superior officer. 

Carefully, you lie down on the examination table, the cold vinyl sending a chill throughout your body. Hoshina methodically presses the pads on various parts of your body, one on each arm, one on either side of your chest, two on your lower stomach, and one on each of your inner thighs. His touch lingers as always.

“Place your arms down.”

You obey, and feel the unfamiliar sensation of leather binding your wrists.

“Sir?” Panic rises in your voice as he tightens the restraints.

“Yes?”

“How long is this going to take?” you ask softly, attempting to hide your nerves.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” he answers, indifference in his voice, not acknowledging your very visible discomfort. His hand traces the leather around your hands before gently dragging down your forearm. 

“We’re going to get started now,” he says, his hand now tracing the inside of your thigh before stopping at your clothed slit, “you might feel some… discomfort.”

“S-sir?” Your breath hitches in your chest as you look down at his hand, the hand that wielded the blade that saved your life now looks foreign and distorted, mere millimeters away from your pussy. The hand that fed you warm meals and kept you company during your stay in the hospital, the hand of the captain you admired so much.

“You see that number on the screen?” Hoshina glances in the general direction of the monitor. It buzzes quietly, an ominous zero glowing in red on the screen. “It’ll show your percentage. Let’s get it to thirty today.”

Thirty? Dread swells in your chest, chills dancing on your skin when you do the mental math and realize that’s twice your personal record.

His finger twists around the edge of your underwear, pulling it down slowly, as if he’s savoring the view.

The number on the monitor goes up by one.

“See, this should take no time at all.”

Panic stirs and shakes violently in your chest like a carbonated drink on the verge of bursting as you come to the realization of what your vice captain has in store for you. 

Hoshina’s hand runs up and down your bare slit, sending a chill down your spine and a burst of heat to your face. 

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, his fingers rolling around your clit, “I’m no worse than a kaiju.”

You’re not sure that statement holds water.

His finger draws languid circles around your clit, a sensation that sends a warmth to your core, one you don’t want to indulge. Fear runs through you as you attempt to clench your legs shut, not wanting to give him any more than he’s already taken. 

“Keep these open for me, ok?” Hoshina teases, his hand pushing against your inner thigh to get a better opening. It’s not a fair fight. It was never going to be. His strength outmatches yours, plain and simple. With a carnivorous stare, he watches intently as he slowly pushes a finger inside of you, waiting for your reaction. You don’t want to give him one, but before you know it a high pitched moan escapes your lips as he makes it past the initial resistance of muscle.

Even in your state of undress, his eyes make you feel even more bare, staring hungrily at your figure, akin to a sculptor admiring a pristine slab of marble before the chisel and hammer makes the first chip.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” he says, not that it does anything to quell the sick churn of terror and betrayal in your chest. In a moment’s time he finds that spot that has you writhing against your restraints, desperate to hide this side of yourself that shouldn’t be for his viewing pleasure. It’s just too much, the way his fingers press against that squishy patch, the way his other hand continues drawing lazy circles around your clit, sending jolts of ecstasy through your body you don’t want to indulge. It takes everything in you to hold back, not that tightening your muscles does anything to help. If anything, it just prepares you for the break to come. 

You knew Hoshina was talented, it’s all anyone ever talks about on base, but you didn’t think his talents would extend to something so lewd. His fingers knew just how to play with you, to keep you on the edge between anticipation and pleasure. 

Hoshina watches with a smile as you attempt to thrash your limbs and fail, only your back arching off the bed as you come undone. Tears prickle at your eyes as you gasp at the tension finally snapping, warm waves of pleasure washing over your core, spreading out to the rest of your body before fizzling out like seafoam.

When he takes his fingers away, you nearly mourn the absence of it. The way your cunt aches to be filled, the way the muscles flutter around nothing. You can barely make out the image of your vice captain in front of your eyes through your tears.

“Look, you’re doing great already,” he gestures to the monitor, glowing at a blurry six. How much more are you going to have to endure?

“Vice captain Hoshina,” you’re barely able to make out in between sniffles, “please let me go.”

“Why would I do that?” he asks, inspecting, admiring the mess you made on his fingers, “you’re making spectacular progress.”

It hits you then with absolute certainty. One, he has no intention of letting you go, and two, you’re going to reach thirty, one way or another. Before you’re able to lose yourself in your thoughts his finger grazes against your sensitive clit, bringing your attention back to him. 

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” he mewls, fingers tracing your slick heat. You don’t want to admit to anything, don’t want him to stare at you so intensely. The way carmine eyes trace over your curves makes you feel small, a rabbit held up by the scruff of its neck, one bite away from being devoured.

He cuts you off before you can answer, his fingers making another entrance into your wet pussy. He starts building up that warm bubble in your stomach again, and you can’t bear to look at him. It’s embarrassing, lewd, the wet squelches your pussy makes for him, and it’s all out of your control. All you can do is lie there, take what he gives you. Like a good, obedient soldier.

He carefully inserts another finger and you wince at the intrusion. No matter how wet you are, the sensation is uncomfortable, fills you up far more than you’re used to.

“You’re taking it so well,” he croons, and you don’t want to admit the compliment goes straight to your core. After all, praise rarely makes it to your ears. His other hand grazes past your clit and you find your hips rutting into him, searching for the much needed stimulation. Hoshina is ecstatic to indulge you, drawing slow, loose circles around your bundle of nerves. He builds his pace again, fingers hitting deep into your g-spot, tighter shapes around your clit until the heat in your core builds, white hot.

“There, there, let it all out,” he coos, as if he knows you’re right on the edge, as if he knows your body better than you do, and your body submits against your wishes. That familiar warmth engulfs you again, washes over you until it fades as fast as it came. Everything aches –  you’ve never been so sore, muscles unable to relax with how the convulse around his fingers. You can barely register his fingers withdrawing, head too light and fuzzy from the aftermath.

You lie there, panting and drenched in sweat, reminiscent of those physical training modules you were so horrible at. You can only wish it was that.

“Keep that up and we’ll be done in no time.” Hoshina says, bringing you out from your post-bliss daze.

Hoshina hoists himself onto the table, lowering his pants and boxers just enough to show his cock. The sight of it sends a chill up your spine, has fear brewing a storm in your stomach. It’s just too big, there’s no way you’ll be able to take it.

But your superior officer is a man of incredible tenacity and talent. He’ll make it happen, whether you like it or not.

“No, no, no,” you instinctually attempt to bring your arms to your legs, only to be thwarted by the restraints, leather burning a rash into your skin the harder you resist.

He lifts your legs so they lay against his chest, the flushed tip of his cock now prodding against your entrance. The anticipation is worse, you think, your heart beating uncontrollably fast as you lie there, at the mercy of your vice captain. But maybe it isn’t. Hoshina pushes his cock into your cunt, pain piercing through your walls and he forcefully spreads them apart. He takes his time with it, savoring the changes in your expression with every inch pushed into you before letting out a harsh grunt once he’s fully bottomed out.

“Please, please, sir, too much-” You’re cut off by an involuntary noise from your own tongue, unfamiliar and salacious moans as he starts rutting into you harder.

“Show a little restraint, soldier,” he purrs into your ear.

It’s ironic, because you’re sure your he’s unable to hold any restraint as he fucks you, ruts into you like an animal in heat. His fingers press into your hips so hard you’re sure they’re going to leave bruises, and all you can do is accept his mark on you. It’s a side of your vice captain you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if you recognize the man in front of you anymore.

“Sir, please, stop,” you beg, tears swelling in your eyes, a blink from falling.

“But you’re clenching around me so hard,” he replies, voice low and sultry, “bet you’re getting close.” 

His hand returns to your clit, pinching on it to coax a reaction out of you. And he gets exactly that – a yelp and your walls tighten around him and he groans. Cruel as he is, he draws languid strokes on your clit, and warmth bubbles in your core. His rough thrusts become more bearable, almost pleasurable, with the added stimulation. 

“Soshiro-“ you moan, his name slipping out of your mouth before you can catch it. It’s too late to take it back, a sly smile forming on Hoshina’s face as soon as it hits his ear. 

“Referring to a superior officer without their title?” he asks breathlessly, voice laced with poison.

“No, no, I’m sorry sir, it was an accident,” you plead, beg, hoping the desperation in your voice is enough to placate him. 

“Perhaps I’ve been too easy on you.” Hoshina’s hands wrap around your neck. “I commend your dedication to your training.”

There’s no room for the pressure to ease in. It hits you all at once. 

Adrenaline whirls and rushes right back into you, and your mind bloats with thoughts of running. But you can’t. Your state is close to that of a rabid animal, aggressively struggling against your cuffs, gritted teeth and all. The reflex to scratch at your neck, placated by the damn restraints. It only gets worse the more you struggle, your wrists rubbed raw from the leather. 

When his eyes glimmer at your pained expression, you realize Hoshina sees what that Kaiju saw in you. Weak. A plaything. Something to toy with and toss to the side once they’ve gotten their fill. 

“You can do it. I know you can do it,” he eggs you on with a smirk on his face. As if you’re an athlete and he’s your oh so encouraging coach. 

If the situation were any different, maybe you would be able to take solace in his words. But all you can feel is tension building in your stomach with each thrust, a sensation you don’t want to entertain. As it builds, guilt roars and churns like a storm in your stomach. 

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel this good when the circulation to your head is cut off. When everything becomes numb except for the heat in your pussy. The longer he chokes you, the less your brain can stand to function and you’re just one step closer to indulging. 

Maybe you really are weak. 

”Is this what it felt like? Tell me if I’m getting it right,” he teases, his hands wrapping around your neck tighter, blood rushing to your head in a dizzying whirl. He thrusts into your pussy harder, striking a spot that only adds to your daze. 

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—not that you’re able to—tears blurring your vision until everything blends into each other.

“Cryin’ just for me? Can I ask for a bit more?” he asks, but you both know that you are in no place to refuse.

All you can let out are sad sputters and coughs, a sad attempt at a “no” that doesn’t reach his ears. 

Even through your tears, you can see the number on the monitor climb to the highest it’s ever been. Something resembling a choked laugh escapes your lips. Was it delusional? To think you had a seed of potential deep inside you, that your superior officer was willing to nurture it out of you?

Your train of thought is ripped from you, tension reaching a breaking point and you cum with choked moans and desperate gasps for air. Your body tenses, your walls clamping around his cock, gripping onto him like a vice.

Hoshina’s pace starts to slacken, his grip tightening harder around you until he slams one last deep thrust into you. Hot ropes of his seed shoot inside you, and you wince at the warmth.

Once his hands finally let go, it’s all wet coughs and desperate deep inhales. Once you have enough air, soft cries, much like the ones you let out on his shoulder just a few weeks prior, but now on a sterile table. 

The monitor hums quietly, a red thirty-two burned onto the screen.

“You’ll catch up in no time.”

[omgbilly]

☆ no peeking ☆

18+ ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʙᴀʀᴇʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴsɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ʟɪʟ ғʟᴜғғ ᴀɴɢsᴛ ᴍᴀsʜ-ᴜᴘ. ᴄʜᴇᴇʀs, xᴏ. ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ɴᴜᴅɪᴛʏ (ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟʟʏ ʙᴇ ᴡᴏʀsᴇ, ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ). ᴅɪsᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴀᴅᴠɪsᴇᴅ 'ʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛs. ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.3ᴋ

It was finally quiet, save for the sound of the shower running in this outdated, dirty bathroom. You peeled the sticky, blood-soaked clothing off your body—piece by piece. The heavy iron stench of the crimson substance would’ve made you wretch just months ago, had this not become your new normal. You stood in front of the vanity in the tiny basement bathroom, hands braced on the sink for the support you so desperately needed in this moment, as you gazed at the stranger returning your solemn look in the mirror. Sure, you were covered in someone’s blood and your hair was a tangled mess, but it was more than that. Your cheeks had sunken in slightly; the bags under your eyes had bags, and you had that thousand-yard stare that you had only ever seen described in novels.

It’s days like today when you miss who you were; before the Boys, before this whole “take down Vought and burn everything to the ground in the process” initiative that they were after. That Butcher was after. Butcher was…something else entirely, a true enigma—in your humble opinion. Every time you thought you had him figured out, he pulled a 180. He was good looking, incredibly attractive, but you never saw him entertain any potential love interests. You had, however, caught the isolated glance your way once or twice. The occasional brushing of hands that lingered longer than that should have…

A gentle knock sounded at the door, prompting you away from your thoughts before they went too far down the forbidden path that is Billy Butcher. You were brought back to the current moment in time; one in which you looked like a feral animal, blood splattered across your face. You were too quickly reminded of the harshness of your reality, and it sent you into a vicious spiral.

“Yeah?” you sniffled, trying your best to conceal the sound of your hyperventilating. It wasn’t like it would be weird that you were on the verge of a complete and total breakdown. Virtually every one of you has had a full-fledged “they’re coming to take me away” moment or two. And it’s honestly expected given your newfound line of work in…what’d you tell that cute guy at the bar the other day? Extermination? Waste management? 

“It’s, uh, it’s Hughie,” a soft voice emanated from the other side of the cheap, thin door. “We’re going to grab something to eat. Need us to bring some food back?”

You instinctively placed your grimy hand on your bare stomach. You hadn’t eaten a proper meal in what felt like weeks, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could reasonably keep this up. Your hand moved towards your chest, resting firmly above your heart in an attempt to settle down. Breathing deeply and clearing your throat, you replied, “um, yes, actually. Thank you, Hughie, I’m…famished, honestly.”

You could almost hear the relief in his voice as he gave you a brief farewell before you finally built up the strength to move towards the shower. You gently stepped over the wall of the yellowed porcelain tub, instantly enveloped in the hot water. Under any other circumstance, the heat of the water would have been too much to bear but you knew only water from the depths of the fiery inferno that is your hellish life would be able to fully cleanse your body of today’s events.

After what felt like hours, and the struggle of bringing yourself to actively wash your hair, face, and body instead of just lying on the floor of the shower and crying, you turned off the stream of water and stepped out of the shower. You grabbed the nearest towel, scratchy and worn, and wrapped yourself in it. Your feet slowly padded towards the door, pulling it open. Somehow thinking about nothing and everything all at once, you were in your own world as you rounded the corner out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel when you collided into the chest of a much larger person. You let out a startled yelp, hands raised to push against the wall of a human that you had, quite literally, run into.

“‘Ello, dove,” Butcher grinned, his eyes shimmering with amusement as he wrapped his arms around you to keep you from toppling over. 

“W-what are you doing here? I thought, I mean, Hughie said that you guys were…” you stuttered, fumbling over what to say.

“You thought you had this whole place to yerself and could parade that pretty arse around like y’owned the damn place?” he chuckled, hands migrating lower down your back before pulling you closer to press firmly against him. 

His accent was absolutely delectable and it, coupled with the sensation of his large, rough hands on your bare skin, sent shivers down your spine. Your body had a surprisingly visceral reaction to both with goosebumps erupting all over your body. Staring up at him, you couldn’t help admiring his rugged features. You had always thought his deep-set eyes were black, but up-close they were a beautiful dark brown that housed his trademark intensity. He had small scars, barely noticeable, peppered across his prominent cheekbones. His thick dark hair was longer than you typically would prefer in a man but the slightly tousled appearance only added to his tough, masculine exterior. You felt your arousal stirring deep in your belly, yearning with a desperate, uncomfortable desire for him to move his hands to another part of you. You weren’t sure if it was his touch or the sudden chill you felt that had your whole body on edge.

“Bit nippy in here, yea?”

You tensed, becoming keenly aware of the feeling of his clothes against your naked figure. You looked down in horror, mortified, to see the tattered excuse of a towel you once donned was in a heap on the floor. You instantly felt heat spread rapidly across your face, undoubtedly apparent to the rugged Brit before you. Your heart was beating out of your chest. God, strike you down now—save you from the embarrassment.

“Butcher, oh my God, I—”

“Relax, love, I ain’t looking. Here,” he interrupted, removing his hands from the small of your back agonizingly slow. The gentle trace of his fingertips as he pulled away left a trail of fire in their wake. He didn’t break contact with your pleading doe eyes, as he waved one hand and placed it over his eyes as a show of good faith and took a—small—step back. 

You cleared your throat, expectantly. “You better not peek.”

He let out his low grumble of a laugh, acknowledging your unspoken request with a small shake of his head and a breathy sigh before turning around. You immediately bent down, scooping up your towel and scrambling to wrap it around you as quickly as you could. Your trembling fingers eventually were able to secure it around your bust after dropping the corner twice, exposing your breasts. You glanced up, thanking the big fella upstairs that Butcher was turned around and unable to see you pathetically take a full minute to hide your shivering body.

“You’re fine, Butcher, I’ve got my towel,” you voice quietly, stepping to the side as you begin to scurry past him to your room. 

I’m never gonna hear the end of this, you think to yourself, your face still flushed. You all but sprinted the few remaining feet of the small, cramped space when you caught a glint of light in a large vanity mirror hung on the wall at the end of the hallway. You stopped in your tracks. The mirror offered a perfect view of the hallway but more, specifically, the exact spot of where you previously stood, naked and fumbling with your towel. In the same mirror, you saw Butcher’s devilish smile appear from the shadow of his dark beard accompanied by a mischievous wink before turning on his heel of his boot and disappearing around the corner of the opposite end of the hall.

[chemtrailsoverthrcountryclub]

I GET DRUNK ON JEALOUSY!

including satoru gojo & a batshit crazy reader.

content warnings of swearing, slut shaming, threats, hints of insecurity, reader has problems, no use of y/n

notes lmk how we’re feeling ab obsessive reader after u finish this… readers so cheeky. reqs are open. i didn’t proofread this btw so ignore mistakes thx bye

the first times you brought up your concerns to satoru about his obscene amount of female friends, he shrugged you off without a second thought. which led to you going through his phone while he showered and finding various messages of the girls he called “just friends” openly talking about you and your antics.

i dunno how ur not seeing it satoru. all she does is gaslight you :((

u deserve better toru ! there are so many girls out there who would treat u 10x better than wtv she’s doing <3

of course satoru shut down these ideas the moment they were sent, but that didn’t stop you from fighting the urge to gag as one of his friends called him by his nickname. your nickname. an eye twitched as you heard the shower turn off and you exited out of his phone before going back to apply your makeup, satoru coming out shortly after.

“so who do we know that’s going to be there?” it was a joke of a question, really. you knew it all. it was some fraternity horndog hosting the house party, so you weren’t too suspicious.

“probably just like… my whole friend group.” satoru shrugged as he buttoned up his loose shirt, approaching your vanity as you glanced at him in the mirror. you hummed in acknowledgment, nodding slowly.

“so… those girls? god, i just can’t put a name to any of their faces. you’ll have to remind me once we see them tonight.” cocking your head to the right ever so slightly, you made your passive aggressive comment to satoru.

he bent down to kiss your cheek before walking to put on his shoes. “s’not like they matter. you ready to go?”

coincidentally, you do run into one of those girls that happened to be talking about you in satoru’s DM’s. her outfit told you everything you needed to know about her. goddamn skank. the urge to strangle you is so strong— your thoughts are interrupted by satoru pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before murmuring in your hair.

“i’m gonna go catch up with suguru, ‘kay? don’t get lost on me now,” he teased and you grinned, nearly falling in love all over again. honestly, you can’t blame the girls.

satoru’s presence left your peripheral and the girl (still too unbothered to acknowledge their names) opens her mouth to introduce herself before you cut her off with a raised finger and a small smile. “stop messaging satoru,” your voice dropped an octave, and her face went pale. the music muffled your conversation to everyone else surrounding, only pushing you to threaten her further. “talk all the shit you want about me to whoever will listen, but don’t let me see it on satoru’s phone. or i’ll shove a butchers knife down your throat ten times bigger than the dicks you suck.”

you brushed away any lint from your tight fitted top before smiling once more at her, tucking a stray strand behind your ear innocently before turning to see satoru and suguru laughing in a corner. “this was a good talk. hopefully won’t see you around.”

satoru opens his arm for you to tuck yourself under with a smile as he sees you approaching, before placing another soft kiss to your hairline. “have fun, baby?”

“lots.” you grin, “lots of fun.”

[kl-silly-fox]

How sad would u all be when I say that in future, in Butcher Vanity au, there would be a couple S/A attempts?

But they would mostly be interrupted or Simon will stop in the right moment himself

@spiderlilyforlife here :_]

[ogzieoggleton]

My "Lord garmadon is a part of the Crystal Council au" just got an angsty update.

Mentioned auto-cannibalism BTW (only breif buuut)

Garmadon starts to hear the overlords voice talking and taunting and tempting him through ghostly whispers, soething of which makes him think he hears the Overlord from his hand. His biten hand.

Delusional, hungry, tired, and anxious from the overwhelming build-up of evil he can feel, he cuts his forearm off in what remained of the temple of ressurection (upon listening to Butchers Vanity, it turns out I decided he would eat his own arm upin it's removal..)

The pain leaves him vulnerable, and the overlord takes him as his fith and final servant. Garmadon is beyond devoid of life and is basically stone amongst the rest of them, acting more like a silent backup to garumis second in command. (This leads up to an interesting arc for harumi to see her "god" nothing but a dead puppet with blood dripping down his face almost constantly.)

Anyway, when Garmadon is taken by the overlord Wu starts having horrible hallucinations and nightmare if his brother standing right infornt of him in the shadows, his glowing eyes dark, tired, and blank but his glare is pain ridden. Within these terrors, Wu watches as the hand Garmadon cut off pushes itself out of his brother mouth, reaching for Wu with a desperate tremble...

He always wakes up and immediately starts to search for his brother upon last sightings, but it only leads him to the former temple of ressurection- the temple now being wrecked as if it had been attacked.. maybe a certain oni wasn't very happy with the voices in his head?

With Garmadon bow pretty much back at square 1 of his revival (Quiet, complacent..) Lloyd has to struggle with his reawaken trauma, Harumi has to reconsider her decisions, and Wu has to fight against his loss of his brother..

In the final fight of crystallised, Garmadon finds his will to serve the side of good upon having the weight of his existence thrown down on him like a sledge hammer upon a glass table.

Garmadon's attack to retaliate for the multitudes of soul wrecking trauma he had faced in the recent months from the overlord alone, only to find the overlord alone was the reason for his whole life of suffering, did not end well for the oni and left him beaten and weak to where he was dying in Lloyd’s arms.

Lloyd, overwhelmed, terrified, and now heartbroken, he can't avoid an oni form moment of which ends with him spying the body of his father now being held by harumi as he splutters for breath. The sight of this in the crystals' reflection causes Lloyd to look hopelessly at his father before being beaten back and knocked from his oni form..

In the end, Lloyd finds peace with his oni form in the way that the Ninja made peace with their lost powers in that final scene and they rebuild their life with Wu and Garmadon being seen eith each other with Garmadon using his brother as a support for walking..

[spiderlilyforlife]

"Would it still be comforting if it was just you comforting you..?”

Small soft moment from DT!Oren :)🧡

Butcher Vanity au by: @krislgfox (ıdk if it's count as gift/fanart but hope you like it xD)

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Beautiful

[BATIM/BATDR] Alice Angel x Female Reader

Summary: Alice has a meltdown after catching a glimpse of her reflection, and you're there to comfort her.

Word Count: 2.09k Content Warnings: Mentions of insecurity Category: Slight Angst + Heavy Fluff || Oneshot

[A/N] #1: To make up for all the angst from last week, this one has heavy fluff instead. A very small amount of angst, but it's quickly resolved.

[A/N] #2: Thank you to everyone who sent in a request! I promise I'll try to get to them as soon as I can.

Enjoy!

Soft scribbling filled the silent space in the study, forming the words on Alice’s mind and printing them below the side of her palm against a thin sheet of paper. A small huff prompted by her exhaustion slipped past her tattered lips. As she finished writing out notes for her latest experiments, her free hand lifted far enough to rub at the one eye that still remained intact, which had fallen heavy with fatigue. Over the hours following the numerous tests she had carried out, Alice had shut herself in her study, curses spilling easily below her breath with each annotation of what had gone wrong.

It seemed as of lately that none of her experiments were going right. Even as she burdened herself with the task of figuring every detail out on her own, she still couldn’t understand what was causing the fault in her studies. Her mind had wandered here and there, the spark of want in her igniting the idea of asking you for help. Each time, however, she discarded the thought immediately. The stress was already taxing enough on her, and she didn’t want to share the weight of it all with the one person she cared about so deeply.

Because of her late nights in her study, Alice hardly ever had the time to be with you. The guilt ate away at her conscience constantly, but she knew that the moment she could understand the issues halting her progress, she’d be able to finally focus on you again. Even so, when she’d come to bed long after you had fallen asleep, she couldn’t prevent the pang of sorrow she felt, knowing you had likely stayed up late to wait for her.

Unfortunately, this only led to her spending more time away from you and trying to perfect her theories in her lab. In her mind, each Butcher Gang member that she had ripped apart and dissected was one step closer to being able to return her attention solely to you the way she craved. Every pulsating heart that writhed in her frigid hand was another markup in progress, and every piercing needle that let a concoction flow through the veins of one of the poor souls that had fallen prey to the Angel aided the approaching future of once again being by your side at every moment.

Another heavy sigh left her as she let her pencil fall back to the desk. Slowly, she leaned back into the chair to stretch with a yawn.

Surely a small break wouldn’t hurt. She knew you were in the kitchen preparing dinner, so it would do her good to at least wander out to give her mind a rest from the work piling up on her desk. You brought her peace, and at that moment, that was all she needed.

Granting herself another brief glance over her notes, she ultimately tucked them into a folder and slipped it into the lowest desk drawer, then finally rose to her feet. A small smile graced her lips as she made her way around the desk and toward the door. Her eye peered over at the rows of books lining her shelves, though her motions faltered and eventually stopped altogether when she caught a glimpse of herself in a small vanity mirror she had sworn she had covered.

Frozen in place, all she could do was stare through the reflection, grimacing at the ghastly sight of her torn mouth, gouged out eye, and the large mass erupting from the side of her skull. Instantly, tears welled up in her eye as wave after wave of insecurity crashed over her. Hours seemed to have passed, and she soon found herself curled up on the sofa with her knees tucked into her chest. She couldn’t recall moving there, though it wasn’t a pressing concern in her mind.

Trembling hands lifted from clutching at her shins to cradle her face as she unwillingly wept. Soon, her palms were coated with salty tears that began to trickle down her wrists and drip against her lap. Past the sound of her heart hammering against her ribs, she managed to make out the sound of footsteps nearing the door.

You strode toward Alice’s study, intending to let her know that dinner was almost ready and to make sure she was okay. As you grew closer, however, you could hear quiet sobs behind the door, instantly prompting your nerves to spike. You quickened your pace and gently knocked on the door to gain her attention. “Alice?” You uttered shakily. “Is everything alright? May I come in?” Before she had the chance to answer, you had already reached for the handle and twisted it, a soft push letting you enter and reveal the room. You paid no mind to the mountains of paperwork resting on her desk and instead turned your attention to the whimpering woman wavering on the sofa.

Within a moment, you had sat down next to her and pulled her against your side, instantly rubbing her shoulder in a soothing manner. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” She sputtered out a few words, none of which were discernible. You shushed her and let the tips of your fingers stroke through her jet black locks, ignoring the ink that stained your hand. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Just breathe for me, alright?”

There was no reply, but you watched and felt as she tried her best to suck in a deep breath, only to hiccup and cough instead. She attempted again, finally managing to breathe in all the way, albeit very shakily.

Softly, you gave her words of encouragement as she steadied her ragged breathing, which finally evened out after some time. She let out a sniffle and wiped at her nose and eye, her head turning away to avert her gaze from yours. Almost hurt by the action, you let the pads of your thumb and index finger gently take hold of her chin and turn her back to face you. “Hey,” you whispered, your hand then sliding up to carefully caress her face. With each featherlike stroke of your thumb against her cheek, her tensed form seemed to ease up more.

“Did something happen? Why were you crying, love?” Another grimace painted her lips as she glanced down with a worn out sigh. “Well, I…” She paused, seemingly unable to form the words. Your free hand softly clasped hers and gave a reassuring squeeze. The motion alone helped her visibly loosen up. “I was leaving the room to go see you and take a break, but I caught my–” She hiccuped as another round of tears began to form. “I caught my reflection,” she squeaked out as she shuffled back to hide her face once more.

Heart now aching, you frowned and peeked up at the shelf carrying the small mirror. She had been doing so well with her confidence. Her self-image seemed to be steady, and she had managed to check her complexion here and there without much issue. Seeing her in that moment, however, brought the entirety of the concern you had long forgotten rushing back.

“Alice, hun, you know you’re still beautiful.” She scoffed. “It’s easy to say that when you aren’t the one who has to live with half of her face torn apart,” she sneered loudly with a sense of venom beneath each syllable, finally able to bite back her hiccups and coughs. Even as she retorted with such fury, the regret instantly made itself known in her features. She shrunk further into herself.

This wasn’t what she had wanted. Not only had she been neglecting your wants and needs over the months, but she had also begun to start petty arguments that resulted in her losing her patience with you for things that weren’t your fault. She knew they weren’t your fault, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself in the heat of the moment. “I’m sorry.” She stared down into her lap and covered her face again. “I’m so sorry, darling, I promise I’m not meaning to be so blunt with you. Things have just been horrendous lately, and seeing my reflection like that? It just… “

Her trembling body stilled when your warm hand returned to her shoulder. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m not mad. I understand why you’ve been so stressed, and I know you’re going to lash out until that stress is gone.”

You scooted closer to her and placed a small peck to her cheekbone. “I love you, hun. You don’t need to apologize, okay?” She whimpered at your words and nodded, turning her body enough to let her head fall against your shoulder. “I love you, too.”

You smiled at her and tugged her closer, your arms wrapping around her torso to let you rub soothingly at her back. With each small sniffle that slipped from her, it almost felt as though she was repeatedly moving closer, and you wondered if she kept thinking she could get as close to you as physically possible somehow. “But can I tell you something?” You questioned at length.

All she could do in response was nod. “Well, it’s actually a few things, but it’s all part of a bigger picture.” At that, she leaned back enough to stare at you in pure confusion. “Bigger picture?” She echoed. You nodded.

“It’s kind of like a list on why I think you should love who you see in the mirror.” Her face flustered and she instantly returned her face to the crook of your neck to hide it. “Oh.”

“Hm, where to start? There’s so many things I love about you.

“Your cute little nose, your small beauty mark on your cheek, the beauty of your eye, especially when it lights up when you get excited over something.

“I love the softness of your lips when you kiss me or press a kiss to my head or cheek. I love your strong jawline I can easily bury my face into if I want to get your attention. I adore your horns and halo I can toy with when we’re cuddling in bed, and your hair I can brush out, even though it stains the brush with ink sometimes.”

She scoffed and playfully shoved your shoulder, earning a laugh from you before you continued.

“I love the way your eye softens when we’re staying up late at night together to talk about whatever comes to mind, and the way your lips curl into a smile when I talk about something I’m passionate about. I love how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when you find something gross while we’re gathering supplies, and I absolutely love your voice. It’s so comforting to hear you talk, and I always immediately crash the moment you start singing to me at night. I love everything about you, Alice.”

A moment passed, and all you could hear was soft sniffling combined with the feeling of warm tears dripping against your shoulder. The tips of her fingers dug into your shirt as she trembled almost unnoticeably. Just as you parted your lips to speak, she leaned back and wiped at her eye.

“What about…” She motioned toward that tattered features on the left side of her face. “This?”

You grinned at her and cupped both sides of her face. With a small tug, you leaned her closer to yourself and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. When the two of you pulled away, you found her staring at you expectantly. “Honestly?” You started, earning a nod.

“I think it makes you look badass.”

She snorted in surprise and chuckled, teasingly pushing you back as she ran a hand down her face. “You are such a dork,” she finally mumbled between giggles. You grinned back at her again and leaned forward, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. “Yeah, but I’m your dork. And you know I’m right about you being badass, too.”

Even as she rolled her eyes, she couldn’t bite back the smirk that crossed her lips. Her hands slid up from their place against her lap and grasped lightly at your hips before reaching back further to partially wrap her arms around you. “Okay, okay, darling,” she whispered before pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. As your words set in, she could feel her confidence slowly rebuild itself. It would still be a while before she could look at herself again, but she knew you’d always be there for her regardless. “You’re right.”

[dawnthefox24]

Sometimes I wish I can animate because if I was listening to Butcher vanity would be my go to for Cassidy and his distain for pork So enjoy this lil sad spooky prompt

*Cassidy is on a mission with Angie,Genji, Mei,Juno and Jack but is frozen in place as he stares at a slaughter house since they got noticed of Talon activity. Soon Cass started to feel the blood reach in head hearing the echos of screams ringing in his head* ????: Mr.Cassidy you okay? Cassidy:*snaps out of it and looks at Juno* Uh yeah..I'm fine... Mei: *looks at Cassidy* You sure? You look like you were about to faint. Cassidy:*looks at everyone staring at him but forces a smile on his face* Mercy: *places her hand on his shoulder*Cole you don't have to do this.. Soldier 76: She's right if you can't handle this then- Cassidy: I'm fine...Just I need a minute... Genji:...You sure? Cassidy:*looks back at the building feeling his blood run cold feeling his blood pound even louder in his head but nods* Yeah I'm fine... Juno:*looks at him and holds her hand out* You can hold my hand if you want to! I-I mean you don't have to since well I-I just... Cassidy:*smiles softly and lowers his hat on his head before tipping it back up* Yeah that would nice. Juno:*takes Cassidy's hand and squeezes it* If you want I can send my rovers in to see it's a safe! Cassidy:*Holds her hand and looks back at the slaughter house before taking a deep breath* So who wants to go inside first! Mei:*takes Genji arm* Come along Genji lets go, then Juno and Cass, last is Angela and Jack. Genji:*nods* That can work, how do you feel about that Cassidy? Cassidy:*still hears the distant screams and knifes chopping against the meat but nods a bit* Y-Yeah... Mercy: Cole...Your pale... Cassidy:*squeezes Juno hand for a moment taking a deep breath* Juno: Tell you what partner! If you feel nervous you just squeeze my hand when you get nervous and we can leave how does that sound!? Cassidy:*looked at Juno and smiles softly* Yeah...That can work. *Soon Mei and Genji went in first, followed by Cass and Juno, lastly Jack and Mercy* Cassidy:*looks at all the hooks, cleavers and meat. Which makes him look down getting hit with the smell of rotten meat making him freeze* ~~~~ Cassidy:*looks up and noticed that he's alone* Oh no...no..no. no no no... Young Cassidy: * looks at his hands and seeing that he doesn't have his prosthetic arm and starts panicking * Fuck...No.... *Cassidy covers his ears hearing the sound of children crying, people screaming, and pigs squealing in pain making him take off running * ~~~~ *Mercy,Juno,Mei,Genji,and Jack all see Cassidy take off running clearly have a panic attack, seeing him just running past the hooks as if he knows where he's going* Genji: *runs after him*KUSO! CASSIDY!! Soldier 76: *runs after Cassidy as well* For the love of-!! COLE!! Juno, Mei and Mercy:*all go after Cassidy* Juno: What happened!? Mercy: Trauma! Juno: But why though!? Mei: Juno we'll talk about that later! Where did he go!? Mercy:* looks around and sighs softly finding Cassidy in a corner bring his knees close to his chest as he looked in shock* Genji:*sighs softly and approaches Cole only for Jack to stop him* Soldier 76: Don't...Who knows how he'll act...You never ever go to someone who have anxiety attack from something like... Mercy:*sighs and sits down in front of Cassidy* Cole... Cassidy:*doesn't say anything as he still has his ears covered with tears rolling down his face* Juno:...May I try? Mercy:...I sure... Mei: Juno... Juno: *walks over to Cassidy and sits down next to him as she doesn't do anything* Cole, if you want I can stay here with you will you be okay? Nod if yes shake if no... Cassidy:*nods* Juno:*smiles* Wonderful, now my friend can I take your hand so we leave together? It's okay if we don't I want to make sure your okay... Cassidy:*nods and looks at Juno* Juno:*smiles softly as she holds her hand out* Come along then and lets look at the ground okay. Cassidy:*takes her hand* *Juno smiles softly as she helps Cassidy up as they leave together slowly leaving the building together.* Mercy:*sighs softly* Winston has some explaining to do asking Cole to do a mission like this....

[hssssssssh-eishi]

Commission I did for an irl friend!

I don’t have commissions open rn, but I plan to do some in the future! I only really did this since I know him irl and don’t really have to set up something new for payment :)

Executor Sans belongs to my irl friend (He doesn’t have social media accounts as far as I’m aware but I will update this the moment I figure out if that’s changed at all, I just don’t wanna put his real name online)

[yohohonabottle]

Potions mishap -Dire consequences (Reposted from A03)

🖋️Summary: Usually his smooth-talk is enough to get him through the day, except this time things went down differently and the situation got...Out of hand. Very out of hand, in so many ways. You'd think he was attempting to fill out a bingo card of 'what could possibly go wrong' that day. Also 'Merlin' happened to be close-by, too. Funny how it's always the two of them whenever trouble crops up, maybe funnier how no matter what- They seem to always inadvertently run into each other at the worst of times. It's like fate has it out for them for whatever reason. [❗] Trigger Warning:{❗} Obsessive, manipulative, love-sick and overall toxic behavior all across the board. Also mild foul language. 📖 Work status: Completed one-shot. (Chapter II is a bonus.) ----------------------------------------------- Notes: Had this brain-rot spawn in randomly, so I gave it the bum's rush. 🎧 Song recommendation: -> Butcher vanity -> Stalker's tango

Just your typical run-of-the mill day in Rustport, the town ever so steadily on its way to getting better, now that the Immortal Fleet are gone and there's no fog or kraken in the way. But change doesn't turn up overnight even as things are several ideas better looking for the next tomorrows. The Water Wights, leaderless now and in slightly more declining numbers, are still a damn menace. I may be a captain and a hero of this dear town now, but money won't pool itself at my feet. Still gotta work, gotta hustle.

It's not like Sonja can keep a hawk-eye on Brineville nowadays either. If anything, her 'free time' is over and she'll be busy drowning in heaps of work from now on, and it would only pile on up higher.

Plus, the newly acquired Chainkeeper is still out of commission and will be in Hugin's care for a while, so no adventuring or treasure-hunting. Which means-- Back to intel-brokering and scurrying for whatever other opportunities that flit into his line of sight or grasp, or both. Today's deal looks to be pretty promising, and after that- A bit of networking, a bit of bounty-hunting, a quick stop at the Golden guest for a drink.. 

Boy didn't that deal turn out to be a surprise.  A not so good one.

As soon he reaches the meet-up point in a back alley on Shark street by the Warehouse district, things swiftly spun for the crazy.

Holding a pick between his teeth, Sinbad reaches into his bag and pulls out a scroll, unrolling it. Names accompanied by dates and places, and notes look back up at him, some crossed out and others circled or underlined with some question marks. Little miscellaneous notes he'd jotted down about each client- Intel he'd gotten from his wide network that he has meticulously built up over the years and whatever info he'd managed to get by doing his own thorough research. Plus what to dig more into later.

One in particular jumps out at him-- A nameless chap going by a pseudonym strictly, a rather elusive one at that. The only thing he's come to know is that the fellow is from the Wights and dabbles in potions or drugs, having gotten hired several times. And yet, each time- It was never in person, always through letters and smaller fry.

Each time he manages to remotely begin to catch a pattern, he's been met with either a dead-end or a massive red herring that makes everything prior look nonsensical.

—"Alright, should be here.. Now, the carrier pigeon should be turning up about any moment." Wonder who would it be this time. -The sailor hums with a laid-back charming smirk, looking up from the scroll as he quickly rolls it up. But nothing out of the ordinary comes up. No courier, no lackey, no boss. Only him and the silence of the shaded corner, the sun high and the seagulls flying overhead. Tucking the rolled-up paper back into his bag and keeping his calm face on, he reaches for his daggers slowly, stance deceptively relaxed but on guard and on-edge.

Taking a leisurely stroll to scope out the place while waiting, Sinbad moves the pick to the other corner of his mouth, taking stake of his surroundings. Still no hair or hide, the hour of meeting is passing, the minutes wheezing by. This is the place, Atropine clearly specified in the letter earlier. Where's that bookie? Nowhere.

Ten more minutes go by which easily string into fifteen then twenty. No bookie or henchman turns up.

Was I duped? Not the first time to happen, but I did make sure to be locked-in when doing my homework. Did I overlook something somehow?

"I'm just wasting my time. Guess deal was postponed or called off." And right as the blond intel-trader mutters this to himself under his breath with a displeased sigh, preparing to leave--

Something darts like a flash, a silhouette.

On alert, Sinbad sharply turns on his heels, ready to fight and about to yell 'Who's there? Show yourself!'-- all the daring street-rat gets, is a glimpse of a person in a high-collar trench coat and a hat. But it's impossible to tell if it's a man or woman under those, and everything happens in seconds, he could barely react at all. A bottle is thrown straight at him, the cork bouncing off the wall like that from a bottle of champagne and whizzes past like a bullet, missing his head by centimeters as he stumbles with a pained curse, dropping his weapons.

Wiping off the liquid from his face and clinging onto consciousness like a drowner with adrenaline screeching like a kraken in his veins, he shrugs off the blow, blinking to clear his vision. But the blasted scoundrel is gone, had bolted like a coward. Bending to pick up his daggers and sheathing them, the tanned man staggers a little but retains his balance through sheer stubborn will. A step, two, away from the crates of the deserted warehouse- His vision blurs and the world spins, then turns black.

It's a few long moments of drifting in the weightless void, that the seaside savant finally comes to. What greets him, is a familiar face of a friend and that voice... It's the sweetest music to his ears. His mind immediately drops everything else to laser-focus on those things alone- the sight and voice, the perfume or cologne Pirin wears, the fancy tailcoat, shirt, the red embroidery on it, sash and slacks- committing it all to memory fully. Like the greatest, most precious treasures. Sinbad has never felt this strongly enraptured--Never needed or revered someone so, very, terribly badly before or had the insurmountable compulsion to keep that person by his side, safe and sound. All to himself body, mind and soul, surrender himself fully with near religious devotion and worship the very ground they walk on, no hesitation, regrets or second thoughts.

Until now.

Until laying his eyes on the best, most lovely gem one could possibly wish for. No pearl, diamond, moonstone, opal or quartz can come remotely close. 

No matter what the cost, everything else be damned.

Forever.

—"Sinbad? Sinbad!" -A very much anxious Pirin barks, tone sharp with worry barely concealed, shaking the man by the shoulders with a death-grip. A pang of relief washes over him when the sailor's rum-like brown eyes open and meet his own pearlescent, vision focused and clear. Conscious and responsive, good.

The relief instantly fizzles out the second he takes notice of the look in that gaze, one he's been unfortunate enough to have gotten acquainted with a little too well.

Devotion that goes beyond what's healthy, reverence that crosses far from normal admiration. Fanatic, obsessed. Like that of a maniac.  It sends chills down the vampire's spine, chalk-pale face going even paler with dawning horror as a ghastly realization strikes, one that entirely confirms his suspicions as to why a particularly cold feel of dread has been tailing him this day. Something happened here, Sinbad no doubt has gotten himself into trouble like the bloody magnet he is for it. If the glass shards lying around on the ground a meter or two behind his back are anything to go by.. Then it appears whatever was in that bottle, a potion or drug maybe, is causing this state.  "..No..." Not this again! For gods' sake not again! How many times would this thing be happening? First it was Valen and solving that problem was a bitch, then it was Soren who fell prey to the same 'plague'. And both times Berial turned out to be the culprit for casting that disastrous jinx. And now it's Sinbad who's affected! How did that wretched clown get his gangly little hands on him?? How?! Each time someone fell victim to this accursed madness, hell was one tiny step away. Waking them up only got harder and more complicated, preventing chaos and unnecessary deaths even more so.  

Merlin's hamsters nearly died those two times, the call much too close. 

This one won't be all too different, will it? Could be, for worse unfortunately. 

Letting go of the blond's scarred shoulders as though slapped, Pirin hastily gets up to his feet from how he was crouched down by the man's side and almost stumbles as he backs away from him. As if stung, narrowly tripped over his own feet. His brain instantly blanks--

Whoever this is, isn't his trusted friend he has been adventuring with all these months while stuck in Rustport. Not Sinbad, no- only a lunatic wearing his skin and voice. It reels as he keeps his eyes trained on the other like how he'd watch a lethal foe. Someone is targeting me. Someone really wants to rattle me, poisoning my friends like this to severely hurt us both in the most sadistically diabolical way. 

"Pirin?" -He distantly hears the scruffy young man breathe in a confused tone of mild concern, sitting up and getting up on his feet shakily. The small spike of excitement and happiness a smidge too strong doesn't go unnoticed. "What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like this?" Like I'm a madman to be scared of?  No answer falls out of his lips, too shocked and stifled to speak, only shakes his head as he keeps backing away. Distance that the tanned orphan closes with steady yet swift strides, a comforting smile on his stubbled face. 

It's not reassuring at all. It makes matters worse, somehow makes him look deranged instead of the usual charisma. A monster. 

—"Hey now, it's me- Sinbad, your old mate! I'm a friend, remember? Come on, I'm not going to hurt you. I would never want to!"

Almost misspoke there, said 'love'. Whoops! "There's nothing to be scared of." -His tone softens ever so slightly, loosing its light-hearted vivaciousness. But it doesn't dip low enough as to sound threatening or intimate and loving. Adoring. Devoted. No, no. It would only spook his poor 'Little finch', his dear lovely siren, scare him away. Can't have that happening, can we? Instead it's sincere.

—"You can trust me, you know that, right?" Or do you still not trust me at all after all the trials we went through? Do I still seem that unreliable to you as I did on day one?  

—"You're not yourself." -The shorter, slimmer man finds his voice at last, uttering the words hardly above a whisper with a shake of his head. Images resurge into his mind's eye, vivid memories of desperately fighting to keep matters under control so tragedies don't occur. Having to deal with his friends' worst tendencies rising and twisting them into senseless love-sick creeps. Potential stalkers and murderers.

How on Esperia he managed to dodge getting assaulted, Pirin has zero clue, but it was a close call. Instead he made sure to steer things right back to friendly, mildly affectionate territory or put distance and shut it down before matters could snowball into unwanted directions.

But dear gods did they made it hard at each turn. If there was any genuine interest and desire prior to the illness, it was cranked up to terrifying intensity of lustful desperation. And where there were none, the curse warped its victim's mind to reach the same result.

"I don't know how you got hit with that plague- But you're not yourself." You're sick. Corrupted.

And I'm terrified of what disaster you'll become.

A part of him wishes to run back towards the baffled, lost sailor and offer comfort- Promise the man that things will be back to normal soon. Gods know how pained he feels right now somewhere deep down, how scary it must be.. to be still lucid and see the changes taking place. Like rotting from the inside out alive, and unable to put a stop to it on his own--Only watch helplessly as the curse keeps on gnawing away like ravenous maggots. The strained look lurking underneath the slowly settling madness is proof, a strangled muted cry for help. And it tugs at his own bleeding heart to be seeing his companion in such a state. The look on Sinbad's scarred angular visage, crestfallen and pleading like a kicked lost dog- It pulls on his heartstrings like playing masterful arias.

Pirin wants nothing more than to pull the weathered intel-broker into a bear-hug.  But the knowledge of how the hex festering under the man's skin is ever so slowly but surely distorting him into someone else, into a threat-- It holds him firmly at bay. Rooted in place, keeping a wary eye on how the distance between them shrinks with each careful step Sinbad takes so to back away if he gets too close. 

—"Seriously, Sinbad- tell me...How's it that you always get yourself neck-deep in trouble?" -The vampire huffs with a small haggard laugh and a weak smile, attempting to lift both their spirits with humor. Which isn't too far from a genuine question. For all those months he's spent in this rundown coastal town and by Sinbad's side, trouble always somehow found its way to nip at their heels tirelessly without fail. You'd think the adventurous savant is doing it on purpose. And sometimes, that is the case. However most of the time, it happens on accident. A trouble, hazard-magnet. 

Problem is, he himself isn't much better in this regard- Pretty much on the same scale as Sinbad.

And what happens when you put two equally strong trouble-magnets together? 

Nothing good, that's what. 

—"Sometimes I honestly think you're using it as a strange way to 'advertise your intelligence-gathering skills' and draw in clients. No PR is bad PR, right?" Too bad I know better. And already just as neck-deep in this mess.

Yet the thought of leaving this punk alone feels like a bad idea, considering how unpredictable he is with what kind of shenanigans he tends to get into one way or the other. Unlike the knight of Holistone who has always given him the feeling that he'll be fine. No need to worry about him and be on-edge. Something I wish I could confidently say about mister seadog here.  Already, Pirin's mind whirls to work on quickly analyzing the current predicament and how to fix it. This isn't about him being Merlin's little helper and substitute, carrying the legendary mage's long-winding heroic legacy. It's a personal matter, about saving a friend first and foremost. The rest being safe from danger is a major bonus, granted everything works out long before any damage is done.

Would it be as simple as 'confessing' like it was with Valen? Or would it be as risky as playing along to get close and extract the curse like it was with Soren? ...Or would it be worse? It's almost as though whoever it is behind this maddening plague is mocking him. Can this even be reversed? 

The disheveled young man chuckles at his words, appreciating the gesture while also feeling a stab of guilt and throb of sick thrill. It's comforting, knowing his dear friend cares about him, is willing to flip the world upside-down without batting an eye, just to help him in any way possible. Just as Pirin would do for his other comrades. He could see the gears in his mind rapidly turning, thinking up of a solution and several back-up plans.

Dimly, Sinbad remembers the show-down with the Immortal, when he had managed to use Merlindabest and get in contact with Sonja and Pirin while distracting Hodgkin so they can strike from behind.

When the pale mage had seemingly sassed with him as he asked if everyone is okay, saying he should be asking that. At the time, he had assumed that the 'Magister' was just sarcastically deadpanning, implying to him that he can't be relied upon in the least. In truth, looking back at that moment and disregarding his role as Merlin, Pirin actually meant it genuinely, as in 'Are you okay?', worried-sick.

It shouldn't be such a big deal, that the pale man cares about him, it's completely normal after all. It's what friends do. But by the gods, does the potion amplify and blow it out of proportion. It skews his thoughts and messes him up, fans the wildfires of desire with each second. It..taints the tiny, flickering, embers of real much deeper affection that have recently come to life at the back of his mind and heart. Corrupts them into foul decay of infatuation and bloodlust, plants nagging intrusive thoughts filled with a sickening giddy excitement. Perverted. The last few make Sinbad visibly shudder with a wince. The most scary part is that they're slowly beginning to not repulse him as much, instead feel like something completely mundane. Natural. Appealing, even. 

The world is fading away, narrowing down to only one, single thing- The breath-taking angel standing in front of him. Pirin. Perfect, beautiful Pirin. My Pirin. My dear, gorgeous, siren. Only mine. 

Oh how he just wishes to run his hands through that snowy, silky hair, feel the ice-cold skin shivering under his lips. Just for a little bit. Imagine those thin, pretty lips screaming his name, claws digging in his back and wanting for more- how wonderful it would be.... But he restrains himself, firmly keeping his hands at his sides.

—"You could say that, yeah. What can I say? Guess not even danger can resist my handsome charm." A small step closer with a shrug of his shoulders, fingers itching to reach out and grab that pretty-face by the sharp elbow; Pull him into his embrace, wrap his arms around that slim form, curved trim waist and not let go ever again. Hold tight, tighter than a python constricting its prey.

Deep down, distantly, the sailor feels a creeping sense of cold dread and helplessness, buried under layers of infatuation and messed-up insatiably intense lust. The desire to fully possess and claim, hide away the ghostly beauty like a greedy old seawolf would his treasure or like how a dragon vehemently guards its hoard, is only growing more and more.

"And it's right on-brand, don't you think? Plus, I know you'll lend me a hand if things get dicey." Still, Pirin's words ring true and cut like a knife through his heart- More so the knowledge that he really is a threat to one of his most dear companions, knowing that he's not being himself. The tendrils of saccharine insanity wrapping around his sinking heart and throat in a suffocating grip like a kraken, drag him under the abyssal waters further. The urge to lunge in hurt, betrayed anger, shake Pirin up, make him see that he is his one and only, burns like a searing brand. Why don't you get it? I'm the only one who loves you, more than anyone else. We're meant to be. It's not that complicated.  

The mere thought of someone else laying a hand on the vampire, having his love, make him happy-- sends a tsunami wave of pure, raw, intense rage. It makes his hands itch to grip the daggers on either side of his waist and spill the blood of any poor sod who so much as dares to lay eyes on his Pirin for a millisecond too long. Let alone try stealing the phantom away from him.

Already, simmering jealousy bubbles and boils within him. The way his love had recoiled away from him before he could reach out a hand, really wasn't the reaction he had expected or hoped for. It stung. And it was so nice, waking up with an angelic face looking down at him, cradling him close. The one time he's not being a charming smooth-talker with a dashing smile, and he's written off as a horrible monster. You'd think a vampire, out of all people, wouldn't be quick to judge. But oh well, it is what it is. I'll take it. I've had to make do with far less. 

Another step closer. Almost there. 

Looking down at the shorter man cautiously eying him and taking a small step back, the look of brewing ire melts away to something softer. Reverence, boundless love and adoration, marveling at the sight before him. The soft, triangular face, the sharp, pointy nose, the thin lips, and those mesmerizing pearl-white eyes with their vertical pupils – It's as if he's seeing them for the first time. And he can't tear his eyes away. For once Tritonus has smiled upon me. The mild scowl of wounded, wary and conflicted uncertainty sprawled on the humanoid's delicate, porcelain, doll-like features easily catches his eye. 

I know that look. 

Thinking, mulling something over more thoroughly. One, split-second of distraction and hesitation.

The cunning, savvy hustler closes the gap swiftly before the opportunity slips by.

Placing a hand on the other's waist and pulling him close, a legend that he's once heard idly rises to Sinbad's mind as he cups that pretty face - Of a stunning young shepherd man whom was chosen by the gods as their cupbearer. How fitting. The downcast, clear pale eyes instantly snap up to meet his like a deer caught in headlights. Goes stiffer than a plank, torn between attempting to flee and fighting back, or melting into the touch. Gotcha.

It appears the pretty-boy has had developed a pretty hard crush on Sinbad ever since the man had first found him washed ashore after the kraken had ruined his boat. What inevitably set off the events of their adventures like a chain reaction, all the way to facing off against the Immortal Fleet and its leader in one last showdown that ended Rustport's crisis for good and lifted the fog.

That crush hasn't dissipated throughout the duration of those adventures, even as the vampire dutifully played his role as the Magister Merlin and did his best to hide it. Even now, he still fights to wrestle it down, treating this situation as another day of being on-duty and prioritizing his recovery along with ensuring the safety of everyone else foremost. All while shoving his own personal feelings far aside to stay focused with as much of a brave face as he can.

In that regard, he's a lot like Sonja--Serious. Always serious and dutiful, focused on the mission at hand, barely smiles or laughs. Always acts efficiently to cold-bloodedly uproot the problem at its core while thinking of how to minimize casualties down to zero as much as possible. 

Too bad the current issue is rather personal. Not much leeway to be 'Merlin' here. And that, unfortunately, is the chink in his armor. All of that, paired with this secret yearning for affection and love, and you've got yourself a weak spot. Maybe that's why he froze up like this, knows he has slipped and left himself open to fire, and it's too late to cover up now.

This is the problem with smart, perceptive and mighty sharp socially-skilled people like Sinbad and Valen. Almost nothing gets past them, whether it elicits a comment or not. It's even worse when those same folks actually know him pretty well, having spent enough time with him to observe and learn quite a lot. Little things like general attitude, mindset, fears and hopes, all the trivial ticks and habits that can help all the more to read him like an open book and make rather spot-on educated guesses.

Shit. I'm done for. He's got me.

A slow, sly grin spreads across Sinbad's face as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends goosebumps along the pallid skin.

—"Well, well, well." -He drawls, eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "Looks like someone's been keeping secrets from me." No witty or refuting retorts meet him, the other lad mute as a fish and pointedly looking anywhere else but him. It's not like this silly little crush has really been a secret either.

Contrary to playing dumb and being a buffoon deliberately, Sinbad isn't blind. That look of strangled, suppressed, secretive desire and inner war about it isn't new to him, having seen it flash in the haunting depths many times over. At the beach, the inn, at the pier south of Brineville, the Chainkeeper and during the showdown- Every time their eyes met, it was there. Doesn't stop him from poking fun at the poor chap though, pretend to have just discovered this revelation.

—"I had no idea you felt this way about me." Sinbad continues, his voice dripping with seduction. "But now that I do, I'm not going to let you slip away so easily." And then his loose grip tightens, pressing their bodies close. Right away, that lovely delicate face turns a nice shade of red from shame, swallowing thickly with a hammering heart. And, by the god of the waves, the way Pirin's breath hitches and gets a tiny bit less controlled as he leans in ever so slightly- It sends his own heart thumping with anticipation. Satisfaction. His warm breath ghosts over that keenly sensitive ear of his, the claws gripping onto his shoulders try to push him away meekly. 

—"You're a different kind of damedangler. Has anyone ever told you that, my dear friend?" A playful nip, and a little bit more of the stoic composure crumples to dust. Ever so steadily like a black widow, the captain spins his sweet web of smooth charm with a silver tongue. Like the poison coursing in his veins driving him mad. The tall sailor plays up his act, turning the heat up. Working up the poor bat and drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

"You could sing, walk me right to my death. And I'd gladly follow with a smile...My angelic siren." A pinch of flattery murmured in a soft lilt that teeters on being husky, wear away more of the defensive walls. And finish it with a pleading whisper of sincerity as though confessing to a sin or deepest secret. "Stay here, in Rustport. Stay with me."

Of course Sinbad knows what he's doing, how he is taking advantage of the night nymph's spark of vulnerability as he used his second of hesitation to make a move and how he's being an underhanded manipulator.

Oh but it'll be worth it.

He'll be sure to make up for the slights in full with no regrets guaranteed soon enough. 

The small hands on his shoulders tighten for a brief second like the flutter of a butterfly's wings upon sensing imminent danger. Relax their hold slowly. 

—"What, are you talking about Sinbad?" -A weak, strained attempt to put up resistance in denial. How endearing. A tad too late, however. 

—"I've seen the way you look at me, when you think I'm not paying attention." His thumb brushes gently over Pirin's cheekbone, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver down the other's spine. There's no need to pull back to look into the clear pearls to see the war between duty and desire churning. It's palpable as the buzzing tension highly-strung between the two of them, and it breaks his heart. Sends it fluttering with giddy excitement.

"How about you let me make you forget about this incident?" Placing a teasingly light peck little under his love's jaw, his tone rolls down to a seductive purr at the end, the hand resting on the shorter man's waist slides under the hem of his shirt to feel the cool and smooth skin.

"I promise it'll be worth your while." 

Let me love you. Please, Pirin- Don't make me beg. 

Still, the youthful-appearing doll doesn't go under without a struggle, like the whale tugging at the Billy 'O Tea from one of the wellerman's shanties. And much like the captain of that ship, Sinbad was dead-set on taking that whale in tow. 

—"I'm not sure this is a good idea..."  Playing hard to get, while ultimately slipping right into his grasp. Pulling back slightly to look him in the eye, he notices how the leaner man still doesn't have the courage to meet his gaze- keeping his hypnotizing eyes cast off to the side as though worried someone might walk in on them doing something...taboo, inappropriate. How Pirin has subtly shrank in on himself, uneasy and nervous. Ah yes, the age old dilemma- The rational mind says one, and the heart wants what it wants.

So close to victory.

And once again, the crafty captain dives in, snatching the opportunity without second thought to tip the scales fully into his favor. Sealing the deal with a deep kiss of hot, whirlwind passion without warning. The insatiable, all-consuming hunger for more burns as though melting him from the inside- like the green gravecalling magic fires of the Immortal. Drunk on the taste, high and addicted to the feel of that frigid skin pressed against his own. It's not enough. The frail-looking nocturnal being doesn't push him away, already under his spell and it's more than enough for Sinbad to take it as consent, getting all the bolder with his advances. His kisses are messy, fiery and deeply needy, barely giving much opportunity to gasp for air before reclaiming his lover's mouth again and exploring the form in his arms eagerly. The hand that is cupping the other's face move down to hold onto his waist to both steady and keep him in-place from slipping away like sand, savoring each muffled hum of protest like ambrosia. His other hand slinks up, fingers tracing over the lean stomach and the curve of his ribs, over the planes of his chest like handling a priceless artefact most sacred.

One by one the buttons are undone, loosening the linen garment around the narrow, sharp shoulders, giving a lovely glimpse of the flawless skin, a little tease of his prize.  The hardy shmoozer has never bothered to hide his desires for money and treasures, always dreaming of adventures far and wide, but now both couldn't be any further from his mind--

Nothing matters. Nothing, nothing, nothing, only the elusive young man in his grasp. Nevermind how he probably looks like a downright wasted kook or an unhinged lunatic like Nara was. ...Or how disgusted and horrified this mess makes him be deep down inside with seeing himself spiral as though watching a stranger from the outside, so guilty, ashamed. Sick. 

A new wave crashes over, the riptide throwing him back under the suffocating effects. Except no compass will save him from this one, left to fight for air, for lucidity and regaining control all on his own. For Pirin's sake, before it's too late and rapidly running out of time. 

I'm sorry my friend...Please forgive me.. 

—"I want to make you feel good." -Sinbad softly murmurs in a low, amorous voice between kisses, nearly breathless. It's true, he's fallen hopelessly head over heels for the quiet, aloof lad since the day he first laid eyes on him --It's not true at all.--however the gnawing hunger had been suppressed for so long.. It's unbearable, bursting at the seams, trickling out like ale from a faulty keg. I want to know everything, all of you. With each kiss and touch, he only finds himself ten times more ravenous as if having been starved for ages. Once again, the vampire tries to fight against the sailor's charm, overwhelmed akin to swimming upstream against a mighty current. Fails. Barely manages to get a word in at all beyond the insistent 'Sinbad!' in objection with the barrage of hot kisses.

With a vexed hum at the next kiss, Pirin finally gives the blond's bare scarred shoulders a firm push, halting the man. Good grief, let me breathe for gods' sake! Damn! 

Somewhere in his mind, a stab of bitterness and pain echoes.

For months and months he had waited, sighing over the guy like some love-sick loon but not once were those feelings met.

No, because Sinbad was too busy pining after the Carmine Whispers' leader, despite how the woman has never shown an ounce of interest back. And then the handsome info-gatherer had noticed him and his feelings, despite how much he's been trying to hide them away.

The bitter pain turns to sorrow in Pirin's heart, swiftly igniting to wrath.

Every time the tanned orphan had teased, skillfully played him like a cat toying with a mouse--It was like twisting a dagger ever so sadistically slow, after embedding it deep into his heart. But the flames have long started to die out now, reduced to mere flickering embers in preparation to let go.. 

How cruel of you to fan them now. 

—"Sinbad! Knock it off!"- He huffs out, catching his breath at long last with an annoyed frown on face. Which the tall charmer certainly doesn't take seriously, rather finding it cute. This is no good- Things are going south too fast. How can I veer us back to friendly grounds? Or at least stall enough for the wretched drug to fizzle out.

Maybe offer to go for a swim or seashell- collecting? Make it a game to take the seafarer's attention elsewhere, like the friendly competition and 'adventure'?

By the look of things, the Seaside savant would still pivot them right back to this point no matter what he attempts. Looking back on the events earlier today, choosing to leave Chippy and Hammie with their rightful owner was a wise decision. Those two would've no doubt interfered in a pitiful attempt at saving him and gotten in terrible trouble, possibly get themselves killed instead of escaping with an extremely close call.

 At least this way I'll be the only one in hot waters. No need for more casualties. 

—"We'll get caught out here." The nerve of this shmuck. Even still, Sinbad isn't deterred, only so much more determined. Instead of taking the hint, he persists stubbornly, dives back in for more. Едно си баба знае, едно си баба бае.

—"C'on Vanya--I'll give you everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever dreamed of. Just say "yes" and let me show you how much I love you." -The corrupted intel-trader murmurs, lips trailing along Pirin's jawline, fingers yet again find the hem of his shirt. In a single motion, the offending cloth is pulled over the assistant's head and tossed aside in a heap with his tailcoat. Without wasting time, con artist is quick to continue exploring fervently.

"You're beautiful."

With each heated, reverent kiss that the daring street-rat leaves-- along his neck, collarbone, down to the center of chest, over his navel--Merlin's substitute shivers involuntarily. The way Sinbad works his way lower, his callous palms resting on the waistband of his slacks and he traces the fabric as he looks up...It drives him utterly mad- both with rekindled desire and indignance. That old spark he's been fighting to smother suddenly blazing brightly anew much to his chagrin, the wooden floor beneath his back proving some much needed anchor. Worst part is that I don't actually want to resist...I've wanted this for so long.... 

With a soft sigh through his nose, a wry smile of mild amusement slowly slithers onto the vampire's lips as he sits up on his elbows. Reaching out with a hand, he gently grasps the seadog's jaw, lifting his head a little. 

—"Какви медени слова ми думаш.. Почти ти се вързах." -His tone is a fond, softly tranquil murmur if not with a small lilt of mirth and longing as he holds the half-lidded smolderingly wanton gaze evenly. Pirin's grip sharply tightens, claws digging into the tanned skin. And whilst the look in his pearly irises remains warmly serene- his breathless, deathly, tenor adopts an edge of bitter humor.

"Нямаш си на представа колко ме дразниш." And then the calmness, mild amusement falls off to reveal the suppressed hurt anger that's been lurking underneath. Just as the smile fades away from his face. "I've been waiting for months, naively held out hope that maybe-some day- you'd come around. All while watching you hopelessly pine after Sonja, even though she didn't even once show interest back." Letting go of the man's jaw sharply, his claws leave stinging nicks. 

Slipping out of Sinbad's grasp like sand or an eel, Pirin smoothly rises to his feet and crosses over to where his shirt lies discarded. Picking it up from the floor and slipping it back on, he fixes up the buttons. Deft, firm, steady hand.   The shorter man's voice is.. steadier, more flat as he speaks up again, keeping his back towards the swindler he once wanted. There's still a listless note of pain in it, albeit much more withdrawn than mere moments ago.

—"I knew you were only larking back then, whenever you teased me with empty flirting." For a brief second his tone becomes humorous as he adds in after that. Self-deprecating. "Didn't stop me from wishing you wouldn't toy with me, though."

When he glances over his shoulder back at Sinbad, the hurt is gone. Steeled to affable fondness.

"And then came a point where I finally realized the day I'm hoping for won't come. So I resigned myself to accepting the situation and move on. Still sucked, but what to do? It happens." 

And here you are, reopening old scabs all over again. 

—"I'm still grappling with toning those feelings down, making myself see you as a friend and nothing else. But I've been getting better at it, slightly. I'll still love you just as deeply as I have before- Just through platonic lens."

Adjusting his tailcoat and smoothing out its wrinkles, he finally turns back to face his friend with a genuinely peaceful smile. Even if a tiny bit wistful. 

—"And now you're pining after me, after I finally accepted you only got eyes for the Roses' leader." A chuckle. "Funny how the tables have turned, isn't it?" 

Goodbye, my friend.

And then pulsating pain hits, like a sledgehammer coming down hard. Nearly makes his vison blur and swim. It stops, then comes back- just as merciless. The outlaw's hands snap up, back hunching over as he clutches at his head with gritted teeth. The hammering doesn't leave him alone, only pauses for a long second or two before coming back with the same brutal force. 

Just where did these come from?! 

This is pure torture- The rapidly start-stop cycling of the migraines pounding all over his skull. ..Oh boy, here comes the vertigo and nausea. Yup, there they are. What a horrible hangover. Several minutes pass by with this ongoing sporadic hammering haunting him without remorse. Serves me right for drinking ale like water, I guess. Honestly- Between the filthy water of those rusty old pipes and alcohol? Yeah, no- I'm sticking to ale, thanks. And then it all screeches to a halt-- The pain, the insanity and intrusive whispering voices and thoughts. Like they were all burnt away, letting blissful silence to settle over. Finally, clarity. Peace. Oh sweet, sweet relief. 

A familiar voice seeps through the quiet, like the gentle and distant wash of waves ashore. Yet crystal clear all the same. 

The words come as a slap and a gut-punch, leaving Sinbad reeling and winded. His hands drop at his sides, brows knitting together into a look of realization. The revelation that the vampire knew about his pursuing of the Whispers' head-honcho, that he kept silent about his feelings for his sake all that time-- It stings worse than the bleeding claw-marks on his jaw. Or any other physical blow ever could. It's mind-boggling and so heart-wrenchingly bittersweet, finally shaking him out of the potion's weak, wretched grip.

Suddenly the envious glances that Pirin threw the woman back when the five of them and Nara were about to depart from the Scandia Isles make sense. When Sonja offered him to be his first mate and he had reacted like a surprised love-struck fool, or whenever the nightly humanoid caught them bantering at the tavern and picked up on the subtle, hopeful flirting subtext lurking under his playful jokes. However not once did the other man complain or make a face, even less made an attempt to swoop in and proclaim his longings. And Sinbad perfectly knows, understands why.

 

Because above all else, Ioan wants for him to be safe, well, satisfied, and happy. 

And if being with the mafia woman will make him truly happy, then so be it. Right as it seemed.

Pirin, the reckless, infuriatingly kindhearted soul he is, is more than willing to let his own yearnings die and become his wingman, and stay as a friend. The peaceful smile playing on the other man's lips and the look of serene, wistful acceptance leave him stunned, at a loss for words with an aching heart. You--! 

Never before in his life, has the Seaside savant met someone this selfless. But it makes sense, doesn't it? It's so, obviously on-brand for Pirin to pull this kind of stunts, make great sacrifices in the name of those close to his heart.

There's still a chance to fix this mess, before that fool leaves and disappears to bury his hopes again. 

Before Pirin really looses that spark and becomes cold. 

—"Pirin, wait!" 

Hastily getting up onto his feet, the brown-eyed man dashes to catch up with his companion's retreating form. There are still lingering effects from the toxin running in his veins along with obsession, but to hell with them! (They're so nearly gone. Barely but a tiny speck that gets washed away.)

Pausing in his tracks, the false magister turns his torso slightly to look at the other with a faintly baffled look. Immediately his expression morphs to one of shocked surprise as warm lips crash against his own in a brief, scorching kiss. Two arms encircle him fully into a tight hug, as though the scarred blond is scared he'd turn to smoke and fizzle out. The final blow was most shocking- Three, simple candid words said quietly in a voice raw with emotion, that it cracks. No bravado, no teasing yet full of many things left unsaid.  

—"I love you." Pirin blinks, stumped. Did I hear right? I think I misheard. 

What follows next throws him for a loop further. A stream of honesty that has never come out of the intelligence-gatherer before, the money-loving man pouring his heart out as though under another spell or potion. With being laid bare like this, he honestly has no idea what to do or say. It feels far too poignant to be merely an act. At the same time, it's not out of Sinbad's league to shed some mighty convincing crocodile tears in order to get what he wants. Just like how he's not averse to being silver-tongued, and concoct elaborate ruses and other questionable methods to reach his goals.

...And yet, he had distinctly chosen to trust this shifty weasel nonetheless on day one contrary to his own deeply-rooted trust issues screaming to do otherwise. That trust has been proven to be well-placed time and time again. Nothing jumps out as malign or false, triggers his intuition. 

"I know I've been caught up chasing after Sonja while flirting with you on the side...When I should've seen what's right in front of me much sooner. I thought I could have my cake and eat it too, without pausing to consider how unfair it would be. Forgive me." Hesitantly, the magical creature hugs back. Allows him to go on- Once again places his faith in him without wavering or judgement.

It's all the courage he needs to continue. So Sinbad presses on.

"It had completely slipped my mind that you'd keep quiet like that for my sake. Even though I've already seen you make plenty of sacrifices before." A strained, humorless chuckle followed by a half-lighthearted remark. "Really blundered there, didn't I?" Pirin stays mute as a fish, an air of quiet understanding and compassion to his silence as he hears him out without interruption.

Like always.

Didn't matter in what kind of troubles he dragged him into or how much he bitched about things at times, passed out drunk or needed to be bailed and insensitively pulled his leg-- The 'ghost' remained by his side until the very end. Right from the very start, throughout the entire hellish craziness.

Sinbad had thought the man is just plain gullible, laughing off his faith in him and then moved on. Only to be astonished by the fierce loyalty later on, the humble but fiery spirit and quiet strength that he got to see; the witty sharp tongue and what a fiend the 'frail' night nymph is in action onto the battlefield, pitching in with his own strategies and ideas.

Unknowingly-little by little, that same allegedly naïve shorty became one of his pillars to draw courage and strength from. Find solace in during rough times.

His compass.

The thought of losing him, letting Pirin down is devastating.

—"I was, such a foolish idiot, taking you for granted." I won't make the same mistake again. "You're right--The tables have turned. And I can't imagine my life without you." Taking a moment to compose himself and get his thoughts sorted with a deep shuddering breath, Sinbad pulls back slightly to press his forehead against his partner's. A hopeful smile rests on his face.

If...the vampire rejects him, chooses to leave altogether, then..so be it.

At least he'd know the truth in full.  

—"I know I'm making a tall order.. I get it if you refuse to hear me out on this one-And I'll respect your choice either way. I won't hold it against you." The moment of truth, huh? Sure is nerve-wracking. Mustering up all of his bravery, he finally forces himself to face his friend. Look him in the eye as just himself. Just, Sinbad. A flawed, knowledgeable, goofball of a man with his heart on his sleeve for once. Instead of running away from his desires like he's always done.

—"Can you give me one last chance, Vanya?" 

There. Said it. 

No answer. And then a small clawed had ruffles his hair harshly in a sign of playfulness, making it a far bigger mess than it already is. There's an affectionately amused grin in the shorter man's tone, the edge of feigned disapproving exasperation having no real bite as he mutters- "You really are something, alright." 

Looking down at him with a sheepish grin, the sailor scratches the back of his head. Not quite sure what to make of this one. 

—"So, uh- Is this a yes, or....?" What greets him, is a devious smirk quickly followed up by a brief peck to his lips as cold arms wrap around his neck and rest there casually. Tease. 

—"Did I answer your question, Jolly sailor?" The silly nickname of endearment makes him smirk, certainly noticing how it thematically matches the one he gave. No doubt a playful nod to the Jolly sailor Bold shanty and their own respective backgrounds fitting with the story pretty well.

Everything considered, this incident wasn't such a misfortune eventually. Not bad at all. Maybe I should thank Atropine next time around.  —"C'mere-" Hooking an arm under his love's back and under his knees, a small yelp slips from the doll as he hoists him up- It turns to a reserved giggle as he peppers his skin with kisses. The stubble on his chin tickles, causing the slimmer man to laugh, no longer able to stifle it.

Absolutely worth it, the way Pirin laughs-- It's music to his ears. Light, clear and ringing like windchimes softly jingling as they sway. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------ 📑 Translations: ✒️ "Какви медени слова ми думаш.. Почти ти се вързах." - What honeyed words you're saying to me... I almost got fooled. ✒️ "Нямаш си на представа колко ме дразниш." - You have no idea how much you annoy me.

[honeyandbiscuitandtea-cafe]

when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers or moots (positivity is cool) 💖

oOoOO this a good question I'll answer with songs that are perpetually stuck in my head ones that I could back to because their just that good to me

First up I got is

This song is so catchy for some reason I always find myself going back to it also helps me realize I'm not the only one sometimes with unrealistic expectations in men 😭

Second one I got is

This song is so good honestly like the vocals and lyrics just hit manage to scratch a part of my brain I didn't know I had I also love the alternate version they posted for the anniversary

I put these two in the same category cause their technically the same song just sung by different people/characters but both versions are absolute fire 🔥

The Third one I got is

I just recently found this one but ever since I did I've been having it on loop for who knows how long I'm just a sucker honestly for songs with symbolism and themes in them especially if they talk about more dark and taboo topics like this one

The Fourth One I got is

When I said I was a sucker for songs with stories and symbolism and themes behind them I wasn't kidding especially when they discuss more morbid and unnerving topics to be honest anything produced by biz is bound to be something I enjoy their whole "love it" track has been my absolute favorite of all time I love the way their are actual stories behind their songs like a whole narrative and characters you can dissect especially with the songs their releasing the lyrics exploring more dark and twisted relationships unhealthy on both sides (so far we have yet to see what they publish next and it may be something different that sticks out from the theme cause so far all the songs released in the "love it" track talk about a relationship where both parties involved are unhealthy and toxic and unhinged in some way shape or form) exploring a completely complicated web of love and toxicity all while being absolute bangers back to back overall I absolutely suggest biz as an artist if you enjoy songs talking about fucked up relationships and dynamics like their is so much nuance and analysis you can do on each song and the characters presented in each song that it keeps me coming back to them (this has honestly just divulged into me shamelessly trying to get other people to listen to this artist but let me tell you something they are super underrated in my opinion and more people need to talk about them)

And for the Fifth and Last One I got is

I love this song so much I was introduced to Frank Sinatra by my Father and have ever since become a huge fan of him it just gives such wonderful vibes Frank Sinatra is in my all time favorite artists

So that is all the songs I have listed I hope my ramblings will have convinced to check them out and their respective artists if you haven't already I left out a lot of other artists and songs I love mostly because these are the ones I am most obsessed with as of the moment but if you want you can always ask me more questions about any other songs or artists I might like I don't really have a set or specific music taste honestly I just listen to anything I like