#sorry if this is a bit crass perhaps

[milksnake-tea]

━━ fear not the road untaken .

Sunday hadn't spent long with the Stellaron Hunters before boarding the Express, but the memories he'd made with them were priceless. One quiet day in the Express's cabin, while reflecting on his experiences with the Hunters, you appear to visit him.

astral express!sunday x gn!stellaronhunter!reader

contains: sunday used to be a stellaron hunter, teasing, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF THIS IS THE CUTEST THING IVE WRITTEN SO FAR, SUNDAY IS DOWN BADDDD AS HE DESERVES TO BE BITES FIST I MISSED THIS SO BADDDDD, not established relationship sunday just has a massive crush on you

word count: 2.06k

a/n: happy drip marketing yall. you all get a sunday fluff piece. as a treat. also yes i am completely and totally sane. (THIS IS THE MOST SELF INDULGENT FIC IVE EVER WRITTEN I AM SO SORRY GUYS)

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina , @tragedy-of-commons , @cakechase , @kiiyoooo

“Sunday, we’re going out to Belobog for a bit. Wanna come with?”

Heeled boots still in the midst of a step. Feather-like hair shifts and tousles as he turns his head. At the invitation, gold melts, sapphires glitter, and a gentle smile warms his lips.

March is a blessing, he thinks. She is bubbly, kind, and always manages to light up whatever room she steps into - in that regard, she is not too unlike his beloved sister. Although her ability to plan ahead leaves much room for improvement, he cannot deny that it was her presence that made his transition into a Nameless much easier than it would’ve been.

Although, truthfully, he’d expected more resistance from her - out of everyone, she seemed to be the most traumatized by the Charmony Festival Disaster, and she also had more of a distaste for Stellaron Hunters than the others. But surprisingly, she’d come around to him, and welcomed him into the Express with open arms - and a lot of food. He swears, every time she’s come back from a trip, it’s another sweet or drink shoved into his arms - not that he’s complaining, though.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he begins, then rests a hand over his chest as a reflex. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. The last expedition has left me rather exhausted - and as you know, I don’t fare well in cold weather.”

Dan Heng nods in understanding. He’s never been a man of many words, and for that Sunday appreciates him. He rather likes straight-forward people, who aren’t afraid to say their mind - perhaps that’s why he’s grown to adore both the Express and the Hunters so much.

“Is there anything you want us to bring back?” pipes up the Trailblazer, dog-like eyes shining as they lean over March. “Like, sweets or whatever?”

Sunday bites back a chuckle. Somehow, word had gotten around that Sunday had quite the sweet tooth. He doesn’t know who started it or how they found out (he has his suspicions on March), but ever since the trio has been dragging him around to various planets and encouraging him to try the local desserts.

He wonders if he’s gotten cavities yet. He hopes not.

Maybe he should check again, at a later time.

“That Rye Bread Iceberg you brought last time was rather enjoyable. I’d like to try it again.”

March and the Trailblazer brighten at his words. “Okay, on it!”

Dan Heng only hums his acknowledgement before turning to leave the parlor car. “Let’s go,” he advises the others. “You know Seele doesn’t like to wait.”

Sunday has never personally met this Seele (the Trailblazer describes her as a crass but kind-hearted warrior), but her fury is enough to whip both March and the Trailblazer into shape. It isn’t long before the trio is waving him goodbye as they descend into the frozen planet, and he also bids them farewell.

And then it is just him, and the conductor.

A small sigh leaves him as he sits down on one of the many couches. He wasn’t lying when he said he was exhausted. Fighting - or any physical activity, for that matter - isn’t exactly his strong suit. Even during his time with the Hunters, he’d stayed behind the front lines, acting as a pseudo Kafka with his carefully crafted words and tuning abilities.

That’s one of the few things about the Hunters that he prefers over the Express - they didn’t force him to hike through deserts and jungles and mountains and Xipe knows what else. All they did was throw him off a skyscraper in the name of the script (he’s pretty sure Elio just wanted to see if he’d actually fly or not).

Sunday blinks, realizing just what had just passed through his mind. Then he sighs with a smile, leaning back into the red plush of the couches.

Only a few months since his fall, and he’s already beginning to think as weirdly as the rest of them.

“Sunday, are you alright?”

Sunday glances down to see the conductor waddling by his feet.

Pom Pom is… strange, no doubt - for whatever reason, Dan Heng fears them and has advised Sunday to not anger them at all costs. Their past is shrouded in mystery, but Sunday finds himself drawn to the conductor. Perhaps living most of his life in a fever dream like Penacony has warped his perception of what is normal and what is not.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He shifts on the couch to make room, but the conductor shakes their head.

“Are you sure? Pom Pom saw you laughing to yourself,” they fret, tapping their nubby hands together anxiously. “Have you been sleeping enough?”

Sunday crosses one leg over the other, and rests his hands over his knee. “If you’re concerned about my transition from Penacony to reality, be at ease. The Hunters have practically beat a proper sleep schedule into me.”

Pom Pom yelps in shock. “B-Beat?! They beat you?”

“Not literally,” Sunday hastes, instinctively reaching out a hand to calm the conductor. “It was more akin to… ominously threatening checkups. Although, there was this one time-”

He sees the look on Pom Pom’s face, and decides to stop it there. He fears they might break out sobbing if he continues.

“Nevertheless, rest assured that I am sleeping at an appropriate time,” he finishes reassuringly. His practiced smile pays off as the conductor gradually calms down, albeit worry about the Hunters’ methods still lingers.

“Alright, if you say so, Sunday.” They look around uneasily. “Do you want anything to drink?”

Sunday waves his hands hastily. “No, I am alright, thank you-”

“He’ll have some tea.”

Pom Pom jumps with a shriek and Sunday’s wings puff up. A familiar laugh ghosts his ear, and immediately Sunday’s face brightens.

“What- What are you doing here?!” Pom Pom quickly hides behind one of Sunday’s slender legs, hugging it like a lifeline. Sunday places a hand on their head to calm them as he turns to the hologram with a warm smile.

“At ease, conductor, they’re a friend.”

Your holographic form glitches in and out of reality. There’s a thin blue filter over your appearance, but other than that, everything is the same as he remembers.

“Hey, angel,” you coo, leaning your elbow on his shoulder as you sit besides him. Its weight is not the same as it would be in reality, but the presence is enough - a small, barely noticeable tingle that has his heart fluttering and his wings following in suit. “How’s life as Nameless? Do you miss us yet?”

Sunday laughs gently. “It has only been two weeks since I left the Hunters. I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to miss you all.”

You pout playfully, sticking out your tongue.Even though parts of you chip away and reappear, and your form isn’t stable, Sunday can’t help but be as captivated by you as he was when he was still among the Hunters’ ranks. Where the projection fails, his tinted memory fills in.

“Silver Wolf misses you, although I doubt she’d actually say it,” you say, taking a lock of his hair and twirling it around your finger. “Has she visited you yet?”

Sunday stutters a bit before weakly batting your finger away with his wing. “No, I’m afraid she hasn’t.”

“Hm.” You smile at his attempt to brush you off. Letting go of his hair, you instead opt to tug lightly at his cheek, earning a squeak from the Halovian. “That’s weird. Maybe she was too shy to speak up.”

“I-” Sunday rubs his cheek when you finally let go. Embarrassingly, his wings jump to shield his face, an unfortunate reflex he’d yet to curb. “I suppose she was…”

He hears you hum, and he lifts a wing to peek at you. His cheeks feel hot - no, that’s an understatement, the entirety of his body feels as if he’s in a fireplace.

“Give her my regards,” he finally breathes out, thanking the Aeons for his training in keeping his composure. Sure, it ultimately fails whenever he looks at you, but at least he’s able to fix himself quickly enough… or at least, he hopes that’s what it looks like.

“You didn’t answer my question though.” Propping your elbow on his shoulder again, you rest your cheek in your palm. “How’s the Nameless life treating you?”

“It’s chaotic,” Sunday admits with a fond sigh. He relaxes into the couch once more, feeling himself sink into the plush. Briefly, he’s tempted to lean his head on your shoulder, but given that you’re a holograph, he holds himself back. “But it’s fun. The Nameless have been kind, and the planets I’ve visited… It’s nice, to see the universe as someone other than a wanted criminal.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

Sunday would apologize, but considering that it’s you he’s talking to, he doesn’t feel the need to. After all, you’ve said worse to him, and him to you.

“You know what I mean,” he chuckles. “To be honest, though, the Express and the Hunters aren’t so different.”

He hears Pom Pom squawk indignantly, and again he ruffles their fur to calm them. Turning ever so slightly to your hologram, he gazes at you with adoration and fondness swelling his heart.

“To the both of you, I am forever grateful. If it weren’t for your kindness, I’d be rotting away in an alley somewhere. I wouldn’t be where I am today.”

All distaste for the Hunters fades from Pom Pom as they giggle bashfully. “Aw, Sunday… You don’t have to thank us. We were just doing what the Nameless do.”

You nod in agreement, reaching through his wing and poking his cheek again. “Conductor’s right. No need for thanks, birdie.”

“Still-” Sunday makes a sound like a startled bird as you poke his cheek harder, squishing it against the rest of his face. Underneath his coat, his primary wings strain with the urge to flutter and twitch, while his secondary wings are held back by sheer willpower. The only sign that they want to flap so badly is with the tiniest of tremors.

“None of that,” you chide him gently, tapping him lightly on the plush of his lips. “We’re just glad you’re happy - right, bunny?”

“Who’re you calling bunny?!” Pom Pom protests, steam puffing out of their head while steam threatens to escape Sunday’s face for completely different reasons.

Before you can reply, however, your form begins to glitch out, flickering in and out of reality at a higher frequency. With an annoyed click of your tongue, you stand up.

“Looks like Silver Wolf isn’t happy,” you comment, brushing off imaginary dust from your clothes. Taking one step so that you’re fully in front of Sunday, you lean in so that your projected nose barely brushes against his. “I have to get going now. You have my number, so text me if you need anything, okay? Or if you want to catch me up with your travels, you can always call me.”

Sunday’s voice feels lodged in his throat. With a subtle gulp, his Adam’s Apple bobbing ever so slightly, he manages to speak with an even voice.

“Okay,” he whispers, his voice almost a whimper. He wants to explode.

You smile fondly, and duck in to peck at the corner of his lips. The buzzing of your holograph morphs into electrifying lightning, surging into his veins, puffing up his feathers and making all of his hairs stand up and sending his already tapping heart into a frenzy. His body freezes into a statue, and all coherent thoughts melt away into a haze that is both ecstatic and shocked.

By the time you pull away, his wings are flapping erratically and his entire body is dyed in a rosey red. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, but all words die on his tongue and he is left blabbering like a fool.

You laugh again, eyes crinkling so beautifully he swears he’s ascended.

“If that’s how you react, I wonder how cute you’ll be when it’s the real deal.”

And then you’re gone, vanishing like a sweet dream in a flurry of pixels, leaving Sunday there to dazedly touch his lips, and then where you’d kissed him.

And then he smiles, giddily, and his halo practically glows as soft, love-stricken giggles begin to leave him.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[nymphomatique]

simulacra

atsv!miguel x fem!reader x comic!miguel

im no geneticist so please forgive me for any incorrect science terms 😁 i have no words for this one i wrote this with my pussy. enjoy! 

cw: bunch of word vomit before we get to the sex, miguelcest? two miguel’s like eachother very much, comic!miguel x fem!reader x atsv!miguel, boys kissing, reader fujoshing out, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), blowjobs, ball sucking, handjob, fingering, squirting, voyeurism/cucking?? idk one watches for a bit, double penetration, anal fingering, unrealistic anal 🫡, nipple sucking (f), cum eating, honestly just vibes all around!

wc: 7.9k. im sorry.

—> so this was originally supposed to go up like several weeks ago with a note that i would be gone for school + summer classes (that i just finished!!!) but turns out i drafted it instead of queuing it like a fucking idiot 😁!!!!!! nonetheless, i’m so sorry for the wait. enjoy. 

“This is ambitious, even for you Miguel.”

“The worse that could happen is there’s no other dimension, then we take our dinner after this experiment.”

“You’re paying.”

“Only if I’m wrong.”

Geneticist by day, interdimensional scienctist by night, Miguel O’Hara proceeds as one of Alchemax’s brightest employees. A ground breaking research paper with a thesis on the future of genetics and their ability to be bioengineered and spliced with those of non-mammals earned him the title of lead geneticist, nothing short of prodigal in comparison to his peers. 

You and Miguel met two years ago during your internship for Alchemax, studying yourself to become a geneticist after reading Miguel’s thesis paper in your freshman year of college. Miguel is a famed alum of Nueva York University,  the science department’s crowning achievement in all its years of standing. When you had heard that the genetic science department had opened internship applications for Alchemax, you had been ecstatic. Not only would you have a chance to intern at the company of your dreams, but also get the chance to meet one of your academic idols. Needless to say, when you had read the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted and offered an internship position to study within Alchemax’s genetic science and engineering department.”, to say you were excited would be an understatement.

In the two years you’ve spent interning at Alchemax, you and Miguel have developed a close relationship to say the least. It had been a divine stroke of luck perhaps when you learned that you would be working along side Miguel as a lab technician, you had felt like you died and gone to heaven. Seeing framed photos of the scientific genius in his earlier years had no comparison to seeing him in person. To be crass, he was fucking sexy. Tall, extremely tall, broad and muscular in stature, and tan all over. Brooding eyes and a seemingly permanent frown of dissatisfaction present on his round lips, it was safe to say you had developed a slight workplace crush. 

Nevertheless, it seemed to be an unrequited infatuation. Miguel never seeming to want to talk to you about things beyond the study of deconstructing cells on an atomic level or changing the structure of somethings molecular composition, he seemed beyond disinterested in you. Still, you enjoyed the stolen glances and the misinterpretations of a touch or a word or a glance. It’s like a secret you have kept to yourself. 

It wasn’t all distaste on Miguel’s part however, after some time with him he began to share some tidbits out his personal life, rather reluctantly however. You caught him one day in the lab after hours, you had decided to stay late to work on a test subject, a spider with more than one type of species’ cells, an epigenetic experiment of yours. You were about to leave the lab when you saw Miguel hunched over his desk in his office fidgeting with a gadget you’ve never seen before. A rather crude looking watch, various types of wiring and exposed circuits coming together to form it. 

It was then he had explained to you his after hours personal project; inter-dimensional travel. To think he was ambitious was the least of your thoughts, you concluded in your head that he was downright stupid to think something like that is feasible on a level of understanding basic science and physics. But after witnessing the messy blueprints and nights of coffee and energy drinks, night after night, seeing how truly dedicated he was at just wanting to believe the idea of inter-dimensional travel, you had no choice but to indulge in him, your bubbling crush gave you no choice to object. 

So nights of him alone hunched over his desk, became late nights of both of you hunched over his desk together, fidgeting with formulas and logistics of opening a window to an entirely different universe. 

Sometimes you brought coffee, and sometimes he brought late night dinner (that he made in his kitchen) for the both of you. Regardless, the both of you had developed a work relationship, platonic of course, in the two years you’ve been present at Alchemax. You had even shared with him a draft of your own personal work for your final thesis before you graduate; the possibility bio engineering spider DNA with human DNA after your successful test of cross species creation of two types of spiders. To your surprise, Miguel had taken great interest in your work, even helping you with your thesis. It made it hard to not develop feelings for him under circumstances like this.

Tonight has been no different than any other. The two of you sat together in his personal office, gearing up to test a new iteration of the dimension opening watch, more sophisticated than one of the prototypes you walked in on Miguel tweaking at all those months ago. 

“Did you set up the tripod?”

“Check.”

“And the-“

“Yes, Miguel,” you drawl out, “the recorder is set as well. Can we get the started now? I’m tired and hungry. I’m counting on that burger.”

Miguel’s face goes stale and you hold in a laugh. You really love how easy it is to piss him off. “Get in position so we can start.” The fluttering thought of you and Miguel setting up and getting in position for a different type of movie crosses your mind and you blush a bit. Focus! You move behind the camera set up, and press record, signaling for Miguel to start the video log.

“Miguel O’Hara. Time is 22 hundred and 27. This is watch prototype 14-B. With this experiment, I hope to be the first person on earth to discover inter-dimensional travel.” 

You give a very subtle clear of your throat behind the camera and Miguel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m also accompanied by my lab technician.” You peek your head around the camera and wave with a smile. Unmoved, Miguel prepares to start with the experiment. A nervous glance to the camera and he twists the mechanism of the watch to the on setting. There’s a moment of silence, the room tense with anticipation, the silent clanking of gears filling the room, until its stops. There’s a short pause in hoping, anticipating something would happen but nothing. Miguel breaks the silence. 

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight,” you quip, walking away from the camera, ignoring to turn it off. 

Miguel rolls his eyes at your comment shucking off his lab coat for the day. “Hurry up so we can catch the cafeteria before it closes.”

You’re hot on his heels, leaving the lab sauntering behind him.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight.”

Miguel was perplexed. Where are those voices coming from? 

Sat in his apartment, a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand, with soft jazz lulling in the background. After a long day of hero work, the unwinding was needed, so such a rude interruption calls for investigation.

“Lyla?” He calls out softly, and with flitting of light she appears. Soft features and blonde hair all an illusion of light. 

“Yes?”

“Inspect where those voices are coming from.”

“On it,” and she’s gone once more. 

A sip of scotch luls the bulging nerve beginning to head at Miguel’s temple. With a sigh, and another curt sip, he gets lost in the soft jazz, the saxophone carrying him away just for a moment. Until..

“Miguel?” Lyla rouses him from his reverie, and he’s reminded of where he is. “I’m not sure where the sound is coming from. But I am sensing waves of molecular abnormality and instability, suggesting that someone could be-“

“Dimensional travel,” Miguel cuts. “Shock. Who do you think’s behind this?” 

“I’m not too sure, but I am worried. I’ll look into it further.” Lyla disappears once more within a moment. 

“For shock’s sake,” a sigh and thick fingers come up to pinch his nose bridge. This is the last thing he needs. He stands from the couch and is suddenly taken aback at the intense shaking in his penthouse. “What the sh- Lyla!” he calls out, but as the shaking continues she’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A bean of light shoots up from under the ground and blinds Miguel. He’s so fucked if he ends up in the hands of some villain. The floor splits from under him, swallowing him and spitting him out into a void-tunnel-like space, an amalgamation of orange, yellow, red, and pink lights. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing at once. He simply closes his eyes and braces himself for wherever this decides to drop him. 

Glass breaking alerts Miguel all the way from the cafeteria. 

“Did you hear that?” He stalls mid conversation. Quiet. Listening. 

You’re confused. “No? How good is your hearing you think you hear things from down here?”

“Sensitive hearing,” he says, still unmoving. There’s another pause, until he starts packing up his food to go. “Stay here. I think someone is in the lab.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m investigating with you, let’s go.” 

Miguel looks at you and any argument dies with the deadpan look you give him. Silently, he walks back to the lab and you’re just as silent, following behind him.

First, Miguel thinks he’s in a hospital. The white lights and broken vials he landed on making him think he fucked up some poor doctor’s office. Then, he looks around and he knows it’s not a doctor’s lab. The bunsen burners and scribbles upon a rolling chalk board riddled with math. Then, he sees the abandoned lab coat embroidered with the word ALCHEMAX. How did he end up here? That’s when he hears it. Hulking footsteps, followed by a lighter tread. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had no gear on. The footsteps were getting closer. He thinks fast, grabbing a piece of a broken beaker in his hand. 

The lab door swings open and that’s when he sees the both of you. Him and the stranger in front of him look at each other. Perplexed. You’re like me. Different. It’s unspoken. There’s a pause before you emerge from behind the large man and Miguel looks at you up and down, glossing you with his eyes. Cute, he muses silently. You raise a brow at him blatantly checking you out before you speak.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, or should we call security and let them deal with you instead?” A hand rests on your hip as you pose the question. A feisty one, he can tell. 

Miguel sits up and drops the glass. “I.. don’t know how I got here or how. One minute I was in my house and the next..” he shrugs and looks around.

You freeze, looking at the tall man before you both. “You don’t think.. do you?” And he freezes at the question a beat after you ask it.

“It worked.” 

“So, uh,” Miguel clears his throat. “Care to clue a guy in?”

You think you’re losing your mind. You can’t believe it worked. A person, a man, from another dimension is here. In your lab. You and Miguel did this. You want to burst with excitement and vomit in fear at the same time. 

Holy fuck, dimension travel is real. We did it. We fucking did it. 

You introduce yourself and your lab partner to the strange and is face goes staunch.

“What did you say..?”

“This is my- my lab partner Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

“No shocking way.. I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s your turn to go staunch next. “You’re- what?”  It’s now you take a moment to look, really 

look at the other Miguel. First thing you notice is he’s drastically shorter that your Miguel, sitting at five foot eleven compared to the staunch six feet and nine inches of your Miguel. Then, you look at his face. Same brown tresses but less wavy, coiffed in a messy side look instead of the slick back you’re used to seeing. Still, you can’t deny his attractiveness looking at him. Some things seem to carry on between dimensions, like the same thick eyebrows, slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips in a pout. You trail your eyes down his strong nose to his thick shoulders, muscles visible even through a plain white tee shirt. The small of his waist and the thick of his thighs strained against his denim jeans have your mind trailing off for a moment, with very inappropriate thoughts to have about a coworker and a stranger. 

Miguel, your Miguel, has barely said a word, brooding over you and his tether silently. “Yeah. And this is Alchemax, yeah? My father owns this company where I’m from, the piece a’shit. Lyla would lose her head at this.”

Miguel decides to speak finally and it scares you a bit. “Did you say Lyla? As in Lyrate Lifeform-“

“Lifeform Approximation, yeah.” 

“Brother?”

“Gabriel, the pain in the ass he is.”

Miguel’s in disbelief. “No way this is- I did this.” He looks at you for a second and away, like he’s thinking, contemplating.

“Are you.. do you take it too? Rapture?” he chooses his words carefully, and you’re confused. Rapture? 

“Yeah,” he nods. 

You look between the two men, a bit flustered to be honest, and clear your throat, trying not to blush when they look at you. “Sorry to be that guy here gentlemen but uh- how do we get him back?”

“I think the pretty little scientist is right here, my brother. I think you know as well as I do why I can’t stay here for too long.”

He does. A dirty little secret he’s kept from not only you, but all of Nueva York, is that he’s the one and only Spider-Man. Not only does rapture need to be sated, but crime doesn’t allow for vacation time in this line of work. Left to its vices, Nueva York may very well burn itself from inside out.

“Get me the watch,” your Miguel asks you. You twiddle off to the office with broken glass and loose paper rattled all over the floor, picking up the watch in all its fried-wire glory. You grimace, before getting up to leave when you notice the camera from the video logs on the floor tucked away behind a fallen chair. You remember that you forgot to turn it off before you left for lunch. You bring it in jest, hoping maybe there’s something valuable on film. If not, you get to watch Miguel look incredibly handsome in his lab coat again, and you can’t complain about that. 

It’s quiet between the pair when you return. You can’t help but look at them, thinking how ludicrous this whole situation is, truly. “I still can’t believe you guys are the same person,” you muse aloud, dropping the broken watch on the counter along with the camera. “I forgot to stop recording, might be something worthwhile on that thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll clean up and uh, head to my place. S’getting late,” your Miguel says, dropping the watch in his pocket.

In the two weeks the other Miguel has been here, you’ve learned two things: One, Miguel, the both of them, are Spider-Man. Other Miguel had let it slip, and your Miguel confirmed it to you. Following a brief moment of shell shock, your mind began to race. His stamina is probably incredible, and he’s so big and durable, I wonder what he looks like under that suit. Speaking of that suit, you’ve never not noticed the bulge but knowing it’s been Miguel under there the whole time you bite your lip. You’re so fucked. Second, you were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on the other Miguel. You delude yourself into thinking it’s an enamourment that’s returned, the flirty jokes and wandering exchanges shared between the two of you.

This was something that unbeknownst to you didn’t fly under your Miguel’s radar in the slightest. When all three of you are together, you notice the way his muscles in his face pull at the borderline vulgar double entendres his doppelgänger makes towards you. The twist of his lips, the hard swallow in his throat. Is he… jealous? 

“Red or white?” you hear the other Miguel over the couch ask, and the question grounds you. You’re over at Miguel’s place, in attempts to figure out what missing code is needed to finally send Miguel’s other back to his original dimension. You had showed up on time, but Miguel had been running late with Spider-Man duties, so you and his tether found yourself plenty occupied within the wine cabinet, stocked with aged reds and whites. 

“Red,” you reply back. “What bottle is that? If it’s expensive he’ll kill you.”

“Chateau Cheval Blanc. 1947. Aged to perfection,” Miguel says, walking towards you at the couch with two large rounded glasses in hand accompanied with a rather expensive looking wine bottle. When he rounds the couch you quirk an eye at him. “All the bottles he has are expensive. And technically, they’re my bottles too.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile. With a pop, the champagne bottle opens, and the smooth pour of amber liquid fills your glass. 

At the first sip, it’s tart, a slight edge to the wine. But with each sip, the notes of fruit and full bodied taste of it begins to hit your taste bud. As you sip, conversation between you and Miguel follows. He tells you about his own perils as Spider-Man, his troubled home life, romantic life, and everything in between. 

You laugh. You sip. Your glass empties, and he refills it. You’re warm. Your eyelids become heavier. You’re blinking slower. You’re chewing your lip. You’re nervous.

You’re nervous to be alone with Miguel like this. You’re scared of his charm, his dry humour. His chiseled jaw and rounded lips. You really wanna kiss him.

You realize he’s been talking to you this whole time, sat across the couch, droning on about his own LYLA. You feel the heat in your stare, and you wonder if he can too. You can’t help but look at his lips while he’s talking, his tongue peeking out in a flash of pink to wet his lips after a prolonged sentence. 

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me. 

Your hand slowly comes up towards Miguel’s face and the words slowly die out of his mouth until he’s silent, staring at you like you’ve been staring it him. 

“S’good wine,” you say, rubbing soft circles into his cheek. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod and bite your lip. “How comes, baby?” You blush. He’s teasing you now. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Makes me feel warm.” 

You’re meek in your speech, and Miguel finds it adorable, building up the all too palpable feeling of attraction. “Just warm?” he prods, his turn to run circles onto your skin. You’re glad you worse a dress, you think, as his hand trails slowly up your thigh until his fingers are just centimetres away from where you really want them. Then he begins to caress your upper thigh with his thick hand. You’re beyond the point of wanting a kiss now.

You shake your head slowly. “Not just warm. Needy,” you sigh out. Your hand leaves his face and falls on top of his hand on your thigh, and you pull it up ever so slightly until he’s touching you where you really want it, his fingers simply resting against the fabric of your panties. “Feel needy here.”

“Oh, baby..” he drawls, and he pulls you in with a kiss with his free hand. You feel yourself melt into him, a little dizzy. Whether it’s the wine or Miguel, you’re unsure, but you savour this feeling, scared for it to end. Your lips exchange taste, his mouth tasting of the wine, mint and cigarettes. You can’t help but grind yourself into his fingers, and he finally gets the hint and rubs against the crotch of your panties, coaxing the wetness out of you. Your lips don’t leave eachother, the moment you’ve been waiting for being fuelled but the weeks worth of desire for this Miguel, and years worth of repressed feelings for the other. Your hands comb through his thick brown hair, holding onto him as if he’ll disappear if you let go. Your lips leave his to whisper your words of desire into his ear. You can’t wait anymore.

“F-fuck me, please.”

He groans, his lips making his way to your neck to suck, and when your field of vision clears up you freeze. Miguel is home. Standing in the doorway to his apartment, watching you suck face with his tether. You feel like a kid whose hand got caught in the cookie jar, the strong look of displeasure, anger, at catching you in the middle of defiling his couch. Other Miguel eases up off of your neck with a satisfied face that falls flat when he sees the expression on yours, eyes fixed over his shoulder. He sits up and turns around and freezes once he sees what you see.

It’s unbelievably tense in the room. Your mind feeling like it’s going a mile a minute, while also feeling like you’re unable to produce a coherent thought, a combination of Miguel’s touches and that damned red wine. 

Your mouth opens and closes over and over, until you blurt out some half-coherent apology for making out with his indimensional counterpart in his home. 

“I’ll um- leave.”

You get up and grab your purse, walking past your Miguel on your way to the door, but you’re met with a strong hand on your shoulder. His strong hand on your shoulder. “Sit.” 

It’s all he says. And you do. 

You slowly stalk back to the couch, sat in the middle trying to keep a respectable distance from the other Miguel, considering the embarrassing position you were caught in. Miguel makes his way over to the couch, looking at the wine bottle and wine glasses on his glass centre table. 

“1947. Good year,” he smirks, and you’re feel your stomach twist. What is he playing at?

Finally, Miguel sits beside you, and you feel your face heat up at your predicament. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

“I’m not upset about what you two did in here,” Miguel states plainly. He runs his eyes down your neck at the drying spit in between the juncture of it and your shoulder. You look down in embarrassment, but his hand lifts your chin up to look at him once more. “I’m just upset he wasn’t going to wait for me,” he says, brushing his fingers across your cheek and down your chin. You barely have a moment to process what the fuck is happening before his lips crash into yours. Your wine-muddled brain is swirling with so many thoughts but the only one you listen to is the one telling you to kiss him back, so you do. You kiss him back softly, letting him lead you into it. His tongue slips between your lips when you let out a soft moan, and the kiss breaks. Miguel chuckles at your face. He looks beyond you and eyes his twin. “You gonna join or what?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” other Miguel muses, and grabs your chin to kiss you next. The difference between the two kisses has your mind spinning. One soft but dominating, the other hot and heavy. You want to feel them both forever. You feel another pair of lips on your body, your neck specifically, softly kissing up and down the plane of skin there until the soft kisses turn into lingering nips, and the nips turn into bites and sucks that have you writhing against the couch.

Other Miguel breaks the kiss to move his way down to the juncture of your neck, littering it with bites and kisses as well. The stimulation on both sides feels so good, you can’t help but moan and tilt your head back. With lips preoccupied, a set of hands moves to life your shirt, exposing your bra and the swell of your breasts. Palms move through cups of your bra up, freeing your breasts. They’re only free for so long until a palm envelopes one, and a pair of lips from your neck migrates to your unattended nipple. Your eyes have been closed this entire time, the sensation and sheer circumstance throwing you for a loop. You open your eyes and look down, to see your Miguel sucking and pawing at your breasts, while the other continues to lick and bite at you. You feel sharp teeth graze your nipple and you hiss, your hand moving to the back of Miguel’s head and running your fingers through his brown hair, gripping slightly. He peeks up at your face with a smirk, biting one nipple and pinching the other. Your back arches and you inhale shakily and he chuckles. “Naughty fucking girl. Strip.”

It takes you a moment before your brain processes the words you just heard, but after a moment you realize what he said. Strip. You get up, back facing the two, and you undress slowly, and you become privy the sound of them stripping along with you. you sit back down between the two, hands in your palms and nervous. You’ve had sex before but never this intense, or with two guys at once. 

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me, mama? I want your ass this way.” Your Miguel asks.

Ever so pliant, you obey. Ass up, face down in the other Miguel’s lap. You take the time to look at his dick from where you are and your eyes bulge. He’s not the longest but fuck is he thick. He’s well groomed, his curly pubic hair kept primped and cut at his base. In your reverie, you feel something wet lick up at your slit and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s eating your pussy. Miguel is eating your pussy. 

“Taste so good down here too,” he muses from behind you, inhaling you before diving his tongue deep within you. Your lower body feels like it’s been set ablaze, your nerves on edge and Miguel’s prodding and licking and sucking and rubbing. His fingers circle your clit slowly as he eats you out and you feel like you’re in heaven. 

“I see you’re feeling good, huh baby. Make me feel good too, yeah?” Other Miguel says, caressing your hair away from his face. You nod, and grab his thick cock in your hand, beginning to slowly jerk him off. “Yeah, just like that baby,” he sighs, watching you intensely. You jerk him off for another moment before you lift your head up and lick haphazardly at the tip of his penis, twitching and leaking already. You look up at him as you give his tip kitten licks, and then put the tip in your mouth. “Fucking vixen, you are,” he groans, his hand coming to sit at the back of your head. You bob your head up and down slowly, trying your best not to scrape your teeth against his shaft while your Miguel eats you out so feverishly. You’re sucking and licking as best as you can, reaching a hand around to cup and massage Miguel’s balls, and his hips twitch up and push him deeper in the back of your throat. You moan, at both him and the Miguel behind you, and Miguel notices. He holds your head more firmly before he starts to thrust up into your mouth, fucking your face. Your mouth produces obscene noises, leaking spit around the base of his cock and down your lips. You moan as he fucks your face and suddenly you jolt. A thick finger breaches in you and starts thrusting against your walls, and you can’t help but moan, feeling already full from both ends. One finger becomes two, and Miguel finger fucks you to the pace of other Miguel’s hips. “Taking us so fucking well, baby. Good girl. So good. Take it for us.” You don’t know which one says it, but you keen at the praise. You want more. Your throat feels tight, like you’re gonna suffocate on this thick cock, but you hold out, feeling so good and hot inside. “Almost there baby. Swallow it all.” You muster the energy to flit your eyes up and see Miguel’s eyes closed as he fucks your face voraciously. You feel hot, both at the fingers inside you and the face Miguel is making. With each thrust, your nose hits his pubes and it makes him moan increasingly louder until he thrusts one final time and groans. “Take it for me, baby. Don’t swallow yet, fuck. Fuck!” he moans. He pulls his dick out of your mouth until it’s just the tip your lips wrap around. You breathe deeply through your nose, finally. You let Miguel’s potent cum spurt in your mouth until he finishes and pulls out. 

“Show me,” he breathes. 

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the white ropes of cum in your mouth and how groans, pulling you up to his lips to kiss him messily. You’re dumbfounded before you can even realize that your Miguel pulls you away and towards him next, pulling you into a kiss too. His tongue swirls in your mouth before he pulls away from you. “I told you I wanted to share,” he says, before kissing you again. Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure this entire thing isn’t some mega fucked up erotic dream you’re having. You can’t find it in you to care if it is or not for another moment when you feel Miguel grab your hand and wrap it around his cock. Your fingernails barely touch around the girth of him so you look down and holy shit. 

Miguel chuckles at your reaction to his size. He must get this often. His cock is definitely proportional to the rest of him, long and thick all over with a trail of curly dark hair at his base. It’s not as groomed as other Miguel’s but you don’t mind. The leaking, uncut cock in front of has you pulsating inside, and you bend down to lick the precum from his dick. “Such a good girl for me. I don’t even have to tell you what to do,” Miguel says, stroking your hair. You hear movement behind you before lips lick from your clit to asshole, and it takes you by surprise. Your lips pop off of Miguel’s cock and you turn around to see the other Miguel, already semi-errect with a smug smile on his lips. “I-I’ve never.. not there,” you stutter. “Just relax baby. M’here to make you feel good,” a says, rubbing his hand across your right ass-cheek. You nod and go back to sucking off Miguel, feeling the wet tickle of Miguel’s tongue against your asshole. You can’t help but tense as him placing kisses back there. He brings his other hand up to your other ass-cheek and spreads you apart. So vulgar, but you can’t help but find a part of you that likes it.

Miguel spit on your asshole, causing a squeak to leave your stuffed lips, before his plunged his tongue in the hole. Your head starts to fly back before Miguel’s hand stops you and pushes you down, two thirds of his dick down your throat.

“Ah ah, baby. Be a good girl and show me how you suck me off,” he says, rubbing the apple of your bulging cheek with his hand. Be a good girl and show him. With Miguel’s thrusting tongue in your ass, you keep forward and try and fit more of Miguel’s dick in your mouth, sucking him and jerking off what can’t fit in your mouth. “Just like that, baby. Yeah. Make your master happy.”

Your stomach contracts at the word master and something flips in you. You suck his cock until you feel like your jaw is about to dislocate, letting yourself get lost in the praise and the pleasure, feeling an orgasm build up from getting your ass ate. You begin your tremble at the constant stimulation, sucking even harder. Your feel Miguel’s dick twitch in your mouth, an almost there slipping from his lips as you suck and lick and jerk him off. Your hips start to shake when you pull off his dick, placing the tip against your tongue and jerking him, wanting to milk him of his seed.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Miguel pants.

You brace yourself and open your mouth even wider, jerking him as he cums in your mouth. Miguel’s tart cum falls against your tongue, falling down the side of your face as you hold your mouth open for him. He groans above you and curses. “Swallow it.” And you do. Miguel groans before he leans down to meet you in a dirty kiss, and you can’t hold it in anymore before you’re groaning into his mouth and shivering into him from your orgasm. Other Miguel doesn’t stop licking you, licking up the liquid leaking from your pussy with a salacious sounding moan. “Sweet fucking pussy,” he moans between licks, and you’re trembling at the overstimulation, sending you into a second orgasm. This time, you feel your body tense up, and before you know it, you’re squirting into Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, and move your hips from Miguel’s face, feeling your own liquid leak down your leg. 

“Yeah, baby. So fuckin’ sweet,” the words make your clit tremble, the sheer base in Miguel’s voice twisting and turning, prodding and pulling at your nerves. “Don’t run, lemme finish, yeah?”

Your hips buck up and away wildly but to no avail, Miguel proving to be an immovable force to your constant movement. With every suck and lick, you feel your energy depleted as the pleasure crosses the threshold of pain, the overstimulation making your body go both numb and still. You’re engulfed in a haze, your body going limp against the couch save for your pelvis held up by two very large hands.

Distantly, you hear skin slapping and you flit your eyes up for a moment to see your Miguel jerking off at the sight of you, surrendered fully to them both. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head when you feel the wetness of Miguel’s thick tongue lick up from your clit to your ass, prodding the tight rim of muscle lightly with his tongue. Before you can register what’s about to happen, you feel a gush of wetness leave you and you groan, utterly exhausted simply from foreplay. Your ears pick up on the increased speed your Miguel took in jerking himself off, a groan leaving his lips shortly after your own does. You picture him covered in his own cum, white sketched across his tone and tanned abs, and the mental picture is enough to get you excited again, despite the way your muscles protest.

“Such a good girl, taking my mouth like that.”

You suppose you should answer, but your tongue is limp in your mouth, unable to force a sequencing of words out. Instead, you let out a pathetic sounding moan.

“I want a taste too. Holding out on me, baby?”

You half expect the stimulation to start again, tensing up, anticipating a touch to your sensitive clit. After a beat, you finally notice you’re untouched still, and a part of you is graceful for this recovery time, but the shuffling behind you has you finding the strength to lift your head up and—

Oh my fucking god.

Your brain short circuits for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing above you.

Your eyes flutter open and close a few times, somewhat of a quick blink to make sure you’re not riding off some ecstasy high that has you imagining things, that has you imagining both Miguel’s kissing. 

It’s slow, and messy at the same time. Your fluids are being lapped up and exchanged by the two men, who lap up and exchange their own saliva as well. You’re struggling to make sense of the eroticism of it, and sheer absurdity of two Miguel O’Haras making out, both mouths wet of your pussy’s nectar. The cognitive dissonance starts to kick your ass a bit, rationalizing the logistics of self incest and it being plain out sexy. 

They break apart, both slightly flushed. Your Miguel eyes you with low, brown eyes while your gaze is transfixed at his wet lips, a singular web of saliva connecting both of the men’s lips as they pull apart. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’ve immediately made your decision about the bullshit logistics of this dimensional anomaly. It’s making you so fucking wet. 

You’re sure Miguel notices your face, as a breathy laugh leaves his plump lips, wet with both you and him and another him.

“Knew you’d taste good.” He winks and smiles a smile that has your legs regaining feeling once more. 

You slowly sit up, straddling yourself in Miguel’s lap. “Want you in,” your hands wrap around his strong shoulders and you lay your cheek against his chest, grinding your sensitive wet lips up and against his dick slowly. You have other Miguel in your line of sight, and you see him watching you both, cock straining against his stomach. It has you feeling warm, thinking of how he unwound you from the inside like that earlier with only his mouth. You can only imagine how it would feel with him inside you. “I- I want you in me too. Please..”

Your voice comes out as meek, but the raunchy display of your hips grinding, face flushed, is anything but. 

“Gotta go slowly, mama. You ready?” Miguel asks you, his large hands resting at your hips now, slowly increasing the friction of your wet pussy lips against his thick cock. You moan a bit, and nod in his chest. The thick tip of Miguel’s dick stretches its way inside your pussy, burning slightly despite how wet you are. You wince in pleasure, savouring the burn of the stretch. Other Miguel sits up and makes his way behind you, kissing your back and neck as you sink down onto your Miguel’s cock.

“Fucking tight,” Miguel groans, just as aroused and affected as you are in all the hazy pleasure. Once you’re fully sat, you can’t help but sit up and look down at your lower stomach, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “Holy shit,” you moan. You’re pushed back against Miguel’s chest and you squeak at the sudden movement.

“Gonna fuck your tight little ass, baby. Okay?” 

It’s rough the way he spits it out into your ear from behind you. You can hear the arousal and anticipation in Miguel’s voice. He spreads your cheeks, spitting on your taut hole. “Gonna have to relax f’me, baby. Gonna be a real tight squeeze.”

You wince and hold onto your Miguel as the other one enters you from behind. While his size isn’t as big as your Miguel, he’s still insanely thick and long in his own right. It takes a lot out of you to withstand the entrance. Soft kisses to your temple and shoulder, sweet nothings and whisperings of “You’re doing so well”, “Good little girl” tickle your ears. From who, you’re not sure. But the verbal praise makes the pain worth it with the way a concentrated heat builds in the depths of your stomach from their charged words.

“I’m all in baby, tell me when you’re ready.” You blink once, twice, and exhale a curt puff of breath. You can’t wait anymore. 

“M-move, but slow.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the rocking of hips start, and you feel everything. The pain, the pleasure, the push, the pull, the sheer unnerving hot heat and sensation the two men bounce you between.

After the initial moment of processing the moment you’re having with these two men, these two Miguel’s, you feel your body become both wracked and accepting of the pleasure. The cant of hips get rougher, the spill of moans and breath get louder, and you start to feel yourself get lost in the raunchiness of it all. Your hands roam up a plane of firm musculature and it has you reeling. Miguel is so manly you can’t help but let it turn you on. 

“Feeling good, hm?” Miguel’s full lips are pulled into a smirk as he fucks up into your pussy and you simply grip onto his biceps as he drives into you harder. One particular thrust has you sitting up and leaving back into the other Miguel, head tucked away into the juncture of his neck as he fucks your ass from behind. “I think- fuck- we broke her, man. Can barely speak.” You can hear the smirk in Miguel’s voice as he says that, but you can’t be bothered to protest, because you feel like if you let them fuck you any longer you’ll enter comatose. 

Hands from behind you roam up from your hips to your breasts, squeezing at the expanse of your chest tenderly. Simultaneously, thick hands plant themselves on your hips, squeezing as they bring you down in time to the upwards thrusts of hips. “Oh my god- I’m gonna c-cum,” you breathe out, feeling your body wind itself up, preparing for another explosive release. The hands at your breasts start to squeeze your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive and erect buds, and you squeal. 

“So fucking sensitive, baby.” You know that’s the other Miguel, his lips are directly next to your ear. You turn your face towards his and plant your lips against his, desperate for a kiss. Your lips tingle as he kisses you back and you moan in his mouth, your hands running through his thick brown hair and gripping gentle for support. You’re sure that if you were to let go you’d fall face first into your Miguel’s chest, which wouldn’t be all bad now that you’re thinking about it. 

Your kiss with Miguel breaks when you feel something warm and wet wrap around your nipple- Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him inside of your pussy as you watch him suckle at your breast. Lips trail up against your neck and they suck and Oh my god- he bites your nipple and you moan so loud it almost startles you. That signature smirk doesn’t cease to appear on Miguel’s face even with your nipple between his lips, and you’d smack him if he wasn’t fucking you oh so well.

The lips sucking hickeys into your neck stop and the cold air drying the spit there makes you shiver. Miguel chuckles behind you and you feel the reverberation of the sound in his chest up against your back and it makes you feel warm inside. You can’t hold on for much longer if the two keep teasing you like this. “P-please let me cum, I can’t anymore,” you heave out, both exhausted and inexplicably excited.

“What do you say, Miguel. Should we let her finish?” A voice behind you. Your eyes squeeze close at a particularly intense thrust to your ass.

“Mmm, I don’t think she wants it enough.” A gravelly voice from your front says. He unlatches from your nipples. Thick fingers tease at your clit and you keen forward. 

“P- please oh my gosh please let me come I want it so bad-“ You feel like you’re on your knees, begging to two unmerciful gods to turn your punishment into something considerably comparable to a torturing pleasure. 

“Hold on for juuust a little, baby. We’ll make you feel real good, real soon.” 

The thick fingers teasing your clit, which you’ve deduced belong to the Miguel behind you, move on from their teasing to rubbing strong circles into your clit and you feel your legs begin to tremble. The feeling of your body getting ready to unwind feels closer and closer and you feel your ass and your pussy get fucked harder and harder until- 

When it happens you feel disjointed from your body, watching from third person. You can see yourself, squirming and twitching and shaking and squirting again all over Miguel’s couch and lap and they’re still fucking you because they haven’t cum yet. Your body begins to go slack and you fall against your Miguel’s chest, lips grazing his nipple as he continues to fuck up into you fervently. 

“Looks like we fucked you numb, baby,” he laughs and you hear it- feel it in his chest, and you moan lazily. “Oh baby, I know. I’m almost ready to cum. Just a little more.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna burst back here,” Other Miguel grunts above you. His hips pound roughly for two- three- four more thrusts before his stills into you and you can feel his cum spurt into you and you shiver. Right behind him your Miguel follows fucking his cum into your pussy with a deep and heavy groan. 

“S-So deep…” you breathe out, relishing in the stillness between all three of you. Heavy breathing weighs in the air for few moments before you feel Miguel slowly begin to pull out of your ass, his cum leaking out of you lewdly. You inhale a sharp breath as he moves to sit down on the couch, and that’s when your Miguel lifts you off of his semi-softened cock and onto your back on his lush sofa. 

Your chest rises up and down and your eyes flutter closed as you struggle to catch your breath and wrap your head around what happened, but you barely get a moment’s rest before your knees are pushed up to the side of your head and you’re basically balancing yourself on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see two heads above you.

“Gotta taste our work, don’t we?”

One mouth against your creampied pussy, one mouth against your cum filled ass. You’re not too concerned about who mouth is where- but them sucking at your holes, licking up their cum and yours too is sending your body into overdrive with the overstimulation.

You focus on the image up above you and your eyes bulge in your head at what you see, with each lick up your mounds, the tongues between the two Miguel’s touch. With each lick their tongues touch longer, and longer, until they kiss once more, exchanging each other’s cum with your in their mouths and you’re sure you’ve begun to witness an orgasm induced hallucination. They finish kissing, lips and mouths wet and messy, and your legs come back down from your head to the soft couch cushions. 

Your mind is absolutely reeling, processing the last few hours up until moments ago, feeling warm in the face already. 

You’re so fucked going back to work.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Yellow- Sanji PROMPTS! "Show me how to touch you." "You're so wet, for me, love?"

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Female Reader

Summary: Sanji is so into you until he's not. It pisses you the fuck off. What is his deal?

WC: 3200

Content Warnings: WEIRD COMMUNICATION ISSUES! I promise Sanji isn’t manipulative, she was def into him from the jump. P IN V SEX! Unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk and praise.

Tag List: @dreamcastgirl99 This one is for you too :)

— — 

From the day you met the Straw Hat Pirates, you knew that Sanji was a flirt. 

Okay… maybe that was a bit under-stated…

He was a desperate, horny, hopelessly romantic, slightly-perverted-yet-chivalrous sap of a man. 

He wasn’t your type and you were too cruel to lead him on so you set him straight very quickly after you joined Luffy’s crew on the high seas. You were always fast to shoot him down on his every attempt to shower you in affection every time you wore a low cut top. 

“Y/n! You look absolutely breathtaking this afternoon, is that a new blouse? The color really compliments your eyes. Can I get you something to eat? A drink, perhaps?” Sanji would fuss and fawn over you, much to your annoyance. 

“Down boy, I have no interest in getting your drool on my shirt. Buzz off, respectfully.” You gave Sanji a warning glare while pushing past him to join the other ladies to lounge underneath the tangerine trees. 

— — 

You had never had a problem rejecting Sanji’s advances until the time he caught you alone in the kitchen one morning. 

You had woken up before dawn naturally and couldn’t fall back asleep so you decided to get a quick workout in up in the crow’s nest before Zoro was awake to fill the space with his crass behavior and signature musk. You throw on a plain black pair of leggings with a sports bra and some sneakers, then toss your hair up in a high ponytail. You set off from your room and headed up to the crow’s nest as the sun was starting to make its sleepy ascent into the starlit sky. 

After you finished working out, you wiped the sweat off your skin with a towel and throw it over your shoulder to head to the galley. Daylight had broken but it was still quite early. You could only hear the call of the gulls and the soft crash of waves against the sides of the ship. 

You enter the galley and find it quiet and empty. You trot softly towards the cabinets and pull down a glass. You open the fridge and pull out the carafe of water to pour yourself a glass. After stowing the carafe you bring the glass to your lips and take several deep gulps. You finally finish the cup and grab the towel on your shoulder to wipe any water or remaining sweat from your face. As you ruffle your face in the towel you hear the galley door swing open. 

“Oh, y/n! Good morning! I didn’t expect anyone up this early.” 

Your nose was filled with the scent of strong cologne and menthol cigarettes. 

You look up, towel in hand. 

“Hey Sanji. Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you, I just couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get a workout in before Zoro stinks up the place with his gross pits.” You respond with a soft, mischievous smile. 

Sanji chuckles. 

“You’d think he was allergic to soap.” Sanji starts preparing breakfast by grabbing some pots from the hanger and the pot holders from the counter. “Hey I heard the island we’re hitting soon is super famous for their seafood. I was thinking we could try and find a nice restaurant when we get there!” Sanji cranes his head up for a moment to look at you while he chops a bunch of spring onions. 

“Yeah that sounds good, I’m down. It’ll give you a chance to sit down and eat for once.” You say and toss your sweat towel back over your shoulder. “And I’m sure Luffy and Zoro wouldn’t object to going anywhere with food and booze.” You laugh and move to head back to your room. 

“Oh, no, I was actually thinking just you and I could go.” Sanji says, seasoning the scrambled eggs he was deftly cooking on the stove. “You know, like a date?” 

His words didn’t carry the lilting, dreamy tone that they usually did when he fawned over you in front of the other crew members. They lacked the silly, dramatic intonation that they had when he complimented Nami’s bikini or Robin’s new haircut. Why was he so… casual?

You turn back around on your heels. You cock your head. 

“You’re… asking me… on a date?” You say with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Sanji looks up from his cooking and smiles at you shyly. 

“…A real date?” You question further. 

“Yes.” He says with a breathy chuckle. 

“… Why?” You narrow your eyes in confusion. 

“Well, because I like you.” Sanji smiles and turns the stove off. He takes a step towards you and leans his hip up against the counter. You meet his eyes… “I really, like you actually. And I’d like to take you out on a proper date. So… what do you say?” He says with raised, curly eyebrows. 

“No.” You respond immediately. 

There was a silence. 

Sanji smiles again.

“Alright.” He turns the oven on and continues to prepare the crew’s breakfast. 

You were not expecting to be met with that answer. You were shocked. He didn’t prod, protest, plead… anything at all! He simply accepted your rejection and is now toasting bread like nothing happened? You turn back and head towards the door to return to your room but your curiosity got the better of you. You whip back around. 

“What do you mean, ‘alright’?” You ask with furrowed brows and a confused tilt of your head. 

“I mean, ‘alright’, as in ‘it’s alright you don’t want to go on a date with me.’” Sanji laughs a bit. “Sorry y/n I guess I should have made it more clear! Do you want a cup of coffee before you go?”

“I guess I just.. never mind. No thanks, Sanji. I’m going to try and go back to sleep for another hour or so.” You reply. 

“Ah, well sweet dreams, then!” He gives you a friendly nod and you return it before you finally make it out of the galley. Once you get back to your room, you hopped into bed and shoved Sanji’s weird proposition out of your mind. 

— — 

3 Days Later 

— — 

You came back from exploring the island ready to grab your towel and head to the bathroom to wash-up for bed. You flop your sword onto the armchair by your bedroom door and strip yourself of your dirt and blood stained clothing, tossing it into a pile on the floor. 

As you turn to pick up a towel from the hanger on your closet door, you notice something foreign on your vanity, something you haven’t noticed before…

It was a blue vase filled with yellow daisies… your favorite flower. 

The sleek, trim blue vase with the protrusion of fluffy flowers at the top couldn’t help but jog your memory of a certain someone… 

Sanji must have left these for you. 

That fucking love-sick moron… But you were too tired to care or form a thought about his romantic gesture. 

You wrap a towel around your tired body and head to the bathroom to shower. You push open the wooden door to the bathrooms expecting to be alone, but jump when you see a shirtless blonde man at the counter brushing his teeth. 

“Mmph?”

He sucks in water from the tap and swirls it around his mouth. 

“I’m not going to date you.” You state plainly. 

Sanji spits the water into the sink. 

“I know.” He reaches for a washcloth to wipe his mouth. 

“Then why are you leaving flowers in my room?” You ask, accusatorially. 

“Because I like you. I like doing things for you.” Sanji smiles at you and throws a white cotton shirt over his head and moves to exit the bathroom to give you your privacy. “I don’t need an anterior motive.”

“But I told you I will literally never be with you… ever… So this is pointless.” You scowl and cross your arms. 

“Okay.” Sanji replies with an even brighter smile. “Sleep well, Y/n, it was a long day.” 

Sanji brushes past you politely and exits the bathroom. 

“I-“ 

Before you could respond, you were alone. 

— — 

You were laid on a beach chair in between your two best friends catching some rays on the deck of the bow of the Sunny. Robin was nose deep in a textbook while Nami slathered sunscreen across her porcelain skin. 

You sit up. 

“Can I ask you guys something?” You inquire, pulling your sunglasses up over your head. 

“What’s up?” Nami responds. 

“Has Sanji ever asked you out on a date?” You ask. 

“Are you kidding me, y/n? All he does is tell me how beautiful and rapturous I am… that’s just how he is. You haven’t seriously just noticed this now, have you?!” Nami laughs back at you. 

“No no… I mean has he ever like, asked you to dinner? Drinks? Alone?” You press further. “Like, a real date?”

Robin closes her book. 

“You know, now that you mention it, no.” He looks in your direction, her blue eyes showing some sort of curiosity. “I thought it was because he knows I’m spoken for… what about you, Nami? You’re very single, has he asked you out?”

“I mean, no I guess not…” Nami responds. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well…. He asked me out.. on a date… a week or so ago…” You reply sheepishly. 

“That’s… odd…” Robin peruses the situation. 

— — 

4 Days Later 

— — 

“You’re being weird.” Nami’s shrill voice snaps you back to reality. 

“Hmm?” You respond, clearly not paying attention. 

“See? You were totally out of it during dinner. Are you feeling okay?” Nami presses further. “You seem… irritated.” 

“I… I don’t know…” You fumble for words. Sanji had made your favorite meal for dinner, and said nothing about it. He made no grand showing of trying to impress you, just simply laid out a three course meal of all of your favorite dishes and retreated back to the kitchen. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Well, go to bed then.” Robin chimes in. “Who knows what tomorrow may bring.”

You glance towards the galley door before looking back at your friends. 

“I think I’m going to grab another drink, a nightcap. I’m not tired yet. I’ll see you girls in the morning.” You smile before heading off to the kitchen. What you didn’t notice was the knowing glances exchanged between Nami and Robin. 

You push the doors to the galley open, swiftly locking them behind you. 

“Oh y/n, can I get you more wine? I just-“ Sanji looks back at you from the sink. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, angrily. 

“I’m not sure what you-“ 

“Leaving me flowers? Asking me out? Cooking my favorite things? I’ve already told you I won’t date you!” You shout, storming up to the cook. 

“I know.” 

“Then would you stop fucking trying to get me to go out with you?!” You ask, getting even more irate. 

“I asked you out, you said no, and I said alright. I haven’t brought it up since.” Sanji says while casually drying a plate from the sink. 

You were fuming. 

“Yeah okay?! But you-!” You stomp, frustrated, fist balled at your side. “And you just-! But you keep-!” You stomp again. “Ugh!” 

Sanji puts away the dishes and steps towards you, giving you his full attention as he tosses his dish rag against the side of the sink. 

“Y/n, is there something wrong?” He asked with a raised, curly eyebrow. 

“Yes!” You shout immediately. “You say you want me but you’ve left it at that! You haven’t asked again in days! If anything you’ve been avoiding me! All I get is extravagant meals and flower arrangements!” You huff out. 

There’s a silence. Sanji cocks his head. 

“So… I asked you out… you said no… and you’re upset that I respected your rejection?” The blonde cook asks, confused. “What exactly have I done wrong here?” 

“I… I don’t-“ You throw your hands down at your sides. “I don’t know!”

“Well…” Sanji steps towards you, mere inches away from each other now. “What did you want from me?”

You could smell the amber of his cologne and the remnants of nicotine from his suit jacket at this distance. You tried to form a response but his broad shoulders engulfed your smaller frame as he approached you and you felt dwarfed in comparison… 

“I…” 

“Tell me…” Sanji places a gently hand on your waist and pulls you into him. “Is this alright, y/n?” Sanji asks as he uses his other hand to tilt your chin up so you can meet his eye line. You chest was flush with his and your heart fluttered in your chest… oh my god you really wanted this, didn’t you? That’s why you came in here… you wanted him to prove it to you… 

“Yes…” You whisper, your lips so close to Sanji’s now, your eyelids hooded and dazed. 

Sanji wastes no time after your consent to press his mouth to yours. 

His lips are soft and gently as he moves them carefully agains yours, making sure to take note of which maneuvers make you gasp and cling to him further as you kiss. 

“Oh-!” You yelp as Sanji grips your waist and pulls you up to sit you on the kitchen counter. He remained standing as he pulled your sweatpants down and discarded them to the floor. Sanji’s nimble fingers play up your slit over your panties and he smiles against your lips. 

“So wet… for me, love?” He asks, feeling the wetness seeping through your cotton undergarments. 

“Y-yes…” You gasp out, so desperate to feel more of his touch against your body. 

Sanji smirks and pulls your panties down to let them join your pants on the wooden floor of the kitchen.  He doesn’t even stand back up, Sanji kneels against the counter so that he’s face to face with your dripping sex. 

“So fucking gorgeous…” Sanji murmurs before he dives in between your legs. 

You yelp as you feel his expert tongue slither between your folds and find your clit with ease. Once he reaches your sensitive pearl with his wet muscle you moan out and grip his blonde locks with both hands. 

“Yes, there it is. Show me how to touch you…” He encourages you to guide him to help you reach your climax. 

“Oh my gods… Sanji…shit-“ You pull and yank on his hair, letting his goatee get saturated in your sticky fluids as he suckles on your clit. “Don’t stop, there-“ You keep bucking your pelvis up involuntarily into his hungry mouth. 

“Mph…… more baby… come on, give me more..” Sanji drunkenly slurs against your sex as he urges you to spill your release onto him. 

“Ah-!” You hit your peak as you push Sanji’s head further into you, relishing in the soft suckling of his supple lips and experienced tongue. Your cunt spasms and your slick coats Sanji’s face. 

You let your body relax for a few moments against the cold tile countertop before you feel yourself being lifted in Sanji’s strong arms. 

“Come here…” Sanji is suddenly laying you down on the dining room table, the perfect height for him to strip his clothing and feel his naked body against yours. He leans over you and you claw your nails down his chest. 

Sanji presses his lips to yours, sinking his tongue into your mouth and exploring it like he’d never get the chance to again. You moan loudly in response. 

You feel the hot, leaking tip of Sanji’s thick cock prodding at your weeping entrance. You whimper. 

“Please, I want it…” You whisper to the blonde man hovering over you. “Fuck me.” You grip the hairs at the back of Sanji’s neck tightly. 

He presses into you, the two of you groan in unison. 

Sanji’s arm holds him up against the dining table and he uses the other to grip your hip, pushing himself into you as far as he could possibly go… you squirm and whine as his tip kisses your cervix. 

“Sanjiiii-“ You whimper. 

“Yes… ma belle… tell me, how does it feel?” Sanji coos as he pulls out just enough to tease you. 

“S-so good! More!” You claw at your lover’s shoulders and jerk your hips upwards to goad him into fucking you harder. 

Sanji wordlessly replies to your plea by thrusting himself back into you with force. You smile stupidly. 

“Yes!” You cry out as his hips meet yours. “There!” You gasp and he nudges against the soft, gummy spot inside of you that makes your head spin. 

Sanji grips your hips with both hands and starts plowing hard into you, so hard that your tits begin to bounce as your body is thrown back and forth against the dining room table. 

“Ma ange, my sweetheart… how pretty you look like this…” Sanji coos as he brings a soft, un-marred hand up to your cheek to stroke it softly. “I can tell you’re about to cum… could you do that again for me?” He never falters in his thrusts as he brings his other hand to your center where his thumb caressed your clit gently. You feel yourself being coaxed back into another climax and let it wash over you.. 

“Fuck- Sanji!” You cry out and throw your head back as you cum for the second time this evening. 

“There it is, my love… so perfect…” 

You feel the grip on your waist tighten and notice Sanji’s breathing quicken. 

“Where-“ 

“Inside me.” 

“You’re su-“

“Need it!” You grip your nails into Sanji’s lower back and press him into you, encouraging him to fill you up. 

“Ah-!”

You feel hot ropes of spend hit your wet cavern and you sigh out in relief. You were satisfied from your orgasms, but having Sanji fill you was the push you needed to enter complete bliss. 

Sweat drips from Sanij’s brow onto your chest as he recovers from his climax. 

You come to and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close to you. 

“My darling…” Sanji says as he nuzzles the middle of your breasts. 

“Yes?” You respond, without thinking. 

Sanji leans back up, hiking you up in his arms in the process. You let out a yelp. 

“Dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, pushing your bangs from your sweaty forehead. 

You laugh. 

“Can you ask me when our clothes are back on?”

— — 

[ficmashup]

Captive Patient

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Heavy Price-involved chapter! Took me a bit longer to write because it's a bit longer and because I wanted to get it right. Sorry for the wait! But, hope you enjoy. :)

Warnings: Vague SA mentions, illness, some crass language, so much fluff.

Word Count: 4.6k

Feral Masterlist

Shopping with Price is different than shopping with Simon.

With Simon, it’s all quick jabs and taking the piss with each other down every aisle. We were even scolded by the manager once when I sent a pack of jerky shooting towards his head with deadly accuracy. A single look from Simon had them scurrying away and I couldn’t stop giggling for two straight minutes.

It’s just…easy with Price.

“Grab the gnocchi for me?” I ask, pointing up at the item while I crouch and reach back to gather chicken stock on the bottom shelf.

“The what?” Price looks directly at the package with furrowed brows.

A smile pulls on my lips as I place my things in the cart before walking over to him. “Gnocchi? Just there.” I tap the bottom of the shelf and he reaches up to get it for me as he looks it over.

“The hell is it?” He asks and I chuckle, gently taking it from his hands and putting it in the cart as he looks at me.

“Like…dumplings? Little, pillowy potato bites. Never had them before, I take it?” I ask with amusement in my voice as he shakes his head, following me as we walk down the aisle again.

“Can’t say that I have. What do you do with them?”

“Other than eat them?” I tease, smirking as he gives me a look.

“I mean, how do you cook them?” He corrects and keeps pushing the cart as I grab a few things, add them to the cart, then slide back into place with him beside me. He coughs again, covering his mouth with his elbow while I listen closely. It’s a wet cough. Maybe he has some congestion dripping down the back of his throat?

I focus back on the conversation. “Hm, well, this time I’m making a sort of twist on chicken pot pie. Same ingredients go in one big pot and it simmers for a few hours, then you’re done.” I explain, unconsciously making hand gestures for the pot, stirring, and so on. There’s still a slight furrow to Price’s brow when I look back at him.

“Why not just make chicken pot pie?”

“It’s supposed to be easier.”

“But aren’t you missing the crust?”

“The gnocchi take the place of the crust.”

“The crust is the best part.”

I shake my head amusedly at his insistence, and slide in front of the cart as I gather a few things. “Look, I’m making it today. Why don’t you come try it yourself?” My hands freeze as I hold a package of chicken, my eyes not even seeing the price as I replay what I just said. This is the problem with things being so easy. I’m usually a bit more careful, a bit more on my guard, but like this…I say things without considering them first. But Price responds before I can take the words back.

“Alright.” He agrees and my eyes snap to his. Those pretty eyes crinkle as he nods, leaning against the cart. “And I’ll make you a real chicken pot pie this week. We’ll compare.” His smirk grows as I realize that I’m staring and I quickly shove the chicken into the cart before pushing it forward a bit.

“You cook?” I ask, struggling to keep my mind from spinning and my body catching on fire.

“Occasionally. I don’t set toast on fire like Johnny.” He chuckles and I relax at the sound, the tension fading from my shoulders as he moves back to my side. “I’ve taught myself a few things over the years. Pot pie was my mother’s favorite, so I taught myself how to make it.” That catches my attention and I can’t think about anything at all when he speaks in that soft, gruff tone.

“You made it for her?” I draw the obvious conclusion and he shrugs a shoulder, half-grinning.

“Tried to. She nearly spat it out the first time I tried. She, ah, she wasn’t the type of woman to hold back her opinions.” He recalls fondly and his eyes look off for a moment as if reliving the moment. My lips press together as I try to hide my smile as he looks back at me with a slightly sheepish grin. “But I got better.”

“Mm, I’d hope so.” I tease and take in the warmth in his eyes like a reptile in the sun before we move on.

*     *     *

It’s easy enough to sneak a few things into my cart that he doesn’t notice. I don’t have to ask him to help me take my groceries up to my flat, and its child’s play to get him to sit on my couch for a few moments under the guise of waiting for a cup of tea. He sits and I note how tired he seems when he thinks I’m not looking. He leans against the back of the couch with a heavy sigh. His eyes shut while his hands slide over his thighs and I try not to get too distracted by him as he spreads his legs to get comfortable.

Quickly, I grab the secret things I got from the store and set each in front of him on my coffee table. His eyes open, looking at me while his brows furrow. “Drink one of these.” I point to the bottled water and a glass filled with a golden liquid. (Electrolytes, lemon-flavored.) “Then we’ll wait a few minutes until I can take your temperature. If it’s higher than I like, then I’m keeping you here until it goes down.” It’s very clear that nothing I’m saying is a suggestion.

Price blinks at me. “What?”

I set my hands on my hips, fingers drumming over my hipbones. “You’re sick. You’re coughing, you’re feverish, you’re taking more deep breaths than usual as if you’re having trouble getting enough air. It’s also obvious that you’re exhausted and I’d guess you’re not sleeping either because of congestion or hot and cold flashes at night.” I look pointedly to the drinks I set in front of him and he slowly leans forward to take the water bottle, but doesn’t drink it just yet.

His eyes narrow at me. “So you decided to back me into a corner with the promise of a home cooked meal?” Surprise pulls his brows up, but there’s amusement and something almost like pride in his eyes.

I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down. “Yes. Blame yourself. You told me that you’re insufferable when you’re sick, so I took things into my own hands by making a tactical move.”

He can’t keep himself from smiling now and my stance softens just a touch at the sound of his soft laugh. “Damn. I’ll remember that when considering undercover missions for the team.” He leans toward me with his elbows on his knees, head tilted up at me. My fingers flex against my arms as I see him in this position and I beg my mind to pull itself together. “But I’m fine. No need to go to any trouble.” A particularly bad cough chooses this moment to rattle his chest and I give him a pointed look once he’s finished hacking his lungs up. He returns the look with all the innocence in the world.

“Right. Let’s test that theory.” I pick up the thermometer and hold it out to him, raising a brow when he doesn’t take it. “There are many ways to take your temperature, Captain. Either let me take it willingly or I will shove this up your ass.” There isn’t a hint of hesitation in my voice and Price’s eyes widen a touch. His jaw flexes as he thinks it over before sighing and accepting the thermometer.

“Starting to feel bad for the boys if this is the treatment they got when they needed fixin’ up.” He grumbles as he slides the thermometer under his tongue with the end sticking out between his lips. It’s almost like a poor imitation of his cigars.

“I only treat my stubborn patients this way. If you’re good, then I’ll be sweet as sugar.” I glance at the clock, noting the time so I can be sure he keeps it in long enough for the reading to be accurate.

“Bet you would be.” The words are barely spoken under his breath, but my eyes snap to his immediately. Tension stretches taught as a rubber band between us and my body goes hot as he shifts slightly in place on the couch.

“What was that?” I whisper, frozen in place as I wait for his answer.

“Said I’ll try to be good then.” He responds gruffly and our eyes are locked on one another’s before the thermometer beeps, startling us both. A deep breath vanishes down my throat as I steady myself. I lean forward and slip the thermometer from between his lips, not meeting his eyes now as my hand skims his cheek. My thoughts narrow as I see the digital numbers flashing up at me.

“101. Low-grade fever. Still insisting you’re not sick?” I shoot Price a scolding look while he huffs. I pull away and clean the thermometer and put it away while gathering a few other things. It helps to get a little distance from Price anyway. “Alright.” I walk back to him and press pills into his hand. “Take these and drink as much as you can. Rest. I’ll work on the dinner I promised.”

Price looks utterly dissatisfied. “You want me to sit here while you cook? That’d make me a poor guest.”

I smile and hum in amusement. “But a good patient. You can come sit at the counter, but I’m not having you do much until that fever is down.”

He stands up, shaking his head. “I feel fine—"

“John.” I use my firm voice, holding his gaze without flinching as I place a hand on his chest. We hold that position for a moment, neither of us backing down while I think about the best way to handle him. My stance softens and I sigh softly, leaning into him a bit so my hand pushes against his chest just enough to drive my point home. “You trust me to take care of our team, you trust my advice on missions, now I’m asking you to trust me enough to let me take care of you. Let me.” My fingers tap lightly over his heart and mine beats faster at the vulnerability of asking him for something. Especially since I’m asking for his trust.

His jaw flexes a moment before he sighs, a smile pulling on his lips as his hand slides over mine on his chest. “Fine, sugar. You got me.” He agrees at last and I swallow at the sound of his soft, deep voice as he surrenders.

“Thank you. Now, where do you want to sit?” I raise a brow, seeing if he actually meant what he said.

He shakes his head slightly as if he can’t believe himself. “The counter. I’ll lend moral support.”

I grin, tapping his chest twice before reluctantly sliding my hand off him. “Good. That’s the most important kind.” He chuckles and grabs the drinks I bought him before settling on a stool at the counter while I walk around it to start cooking.

“Think I’d take air support over moral support.” He comments and I chuckle as I get everything out.

“You think so? You’d take a chopper over having the team at your back?” I challenge with a smirk as I get out two cutting boards and knives before organizing what needs to be done. He gives me a look, but can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Touche.” He allows and amusement flits through me. Conversation continues to be easy and John actually behaves well enough after I give him a job. (Cutting vegetables for the soup.) We eat together and it takes me a few minutes to settle as we both sit together and eat. It’s been a long time since I’ve done something so mundane and while I’ve eaten here with Simon, everything with John feels different.

His gaze follows me around the room and the weight is comfortable, soothing, and the very fact that I like it makes me nervous. The only thing that keeps me steady is the fact that he still needs care because he’s sick. It starts getting later and later, but the only thing that I’ve managed to help is his congestion. At least he can breathe a little easier.

I’m curled up in a ball on the opposite end of the couch as I debate making him stay, hating the idea of sending him home to his empty flat. Especially since I know he won’t call me if things get worse. My mouth opens to at least start the conversation, but before I can get a word out, a soft snore fills the room. I glance over at Price with wide eyes to find his head tilted back on the couch cushions, fast asleep. My lips press together to keep in a giggle as I relax back into place.

His position isn’t putting too much strain on any part of his body and if he’s fallen asleep so easily, he really must’ve been having trouble recently with the dripping down the back of his throat. I’ll let him sleep like this a while, then move him to the guest room a little later. I find myself watching him. He looks utterly relaxed slumped on my couch, hands still resting on his spread thighs as soft, rumbling snores leave his lips and each one makes me smile. What’s truly surprising is how comfortable I am having him here. The last time I had a man in here was…a very long time ago. A one-night stand to scratch an itch. Then, more recently, I’ve started having Simon here.

Simon was a bit easier because we have an understanding. Scars that neither of us have voiced, but that we both can see. Scars that are shared. It’s been a give and take of trust with us, always keeping things even, keeping each other steady until we relaxed into friendship. I’d let him into my apartment for barely five minutes the first time since he was the one who invited me to tea. A fair exchange. Then he let me into his place for longer, then I did the same, until we spent hours with each other and found we no longer needed to keep score.

With John…he’s already given me more than I could ever repay. He let me on the team, provided a place for me to fit in, a job to focus on, and provided me with friends within that job, people I could trust and depend on. That’s why it’s so easy for me to find myself off-balance with him. He’s given me so much so freely and only expects me to carry my own weight. Maybe that’s how normal people are supposed to interact and I’m just fucked up, but whatever.

Gently, I ease myself onto my feet and turn the tv off. “John.” My voice is soft as I move close, but don’t touch him just yet. “Hey, John. Come on, I’ve got to move you or else you’ll regret it in the morning.” My foot nudges his boot and he sighs heavily, shifting in place.

“Hmph.” He makes a disgruntled noise and I can’t help giggling. That’s what entices him to crack one eye open. “Am I dreamin’?” His voice is low and gruff and sends warmth seeping through my body.

“Are your dreams the only place you make women laugh?” I tease, leaning forward and taking his hand in mine along with wrapping my other around his bicep. “Come on, I’m getting you to bed.” Slowly, I heave him onto his feet and grunt as I duck under his arm, the heat of his body searing my side as we shuffle towards my guest room.

“Don’t often get to hear your laugh.” He mutters, his eyes only half open as I struggle to guide him around my furniture. “Such a damn pretty sound.” My body is boiling from heat and I’m not sure whether it’s because of embarrassment or pleasure.

“You should tell me more jokes if you want to hear me laugh.” It’s the only thing I can think to say and the warmth gathering in my stomach isn’t helped by the soft chuckle he gives me.

“Not much good at jokes, but I’ll keep that in mind, sugar.” He nods once and a tingle slides down my spine at the little nickname. I wonder if it’ll stick. “Wait.” We reach the doorway to my guestroom and Price reaches out, catching the doorframe with his hand while the arm I have a hold of tightens around me. He blinks a few times and I see him trying to wake up. I can’t imagine how deeply he must’ve been sleeping to have this much trouble. On missions, he’s up and ready to go in seconds, has to be.

“Don’t start thinking now.” I tease lightly and keep gently tugging him forward. Tired eyes meet mine as he lets me. “You’re in my flat, I’m putting you in my guest room because it’s late and I don’t trust you to take care of yourself.” I explain as much as is needed and finally sit him down on the bed. He allows it with a heavy sigh and rubs a hand over his face.

“Sorry for falling asleep on you.” He shakes his head at himself and I smile softly, wondering if his despondency is due to thinking of how his mother that he’d cooked for would think him a bad guest.

“I wanted you to sleep.” I step closer and press the back of my hand to his forehead. The only light in this room comes from the lamp still on in the living room, the warm light spilling across the bed like a shard of amber. It catches Price’s eyes just right and leaves them half a clear blue, and the other half shadowed like a stormy sea. I nearly forget what I’m doing as I stare into them. “You…you still have a fever. I’ll check in the morning, but for now, some more rest will do you good.” My other hand rests lightly on his shoulder and I don’t realize until after I move away that it wasn’t for any reason. I just wanted to touch him.

The thought makes me flustered as I swallow. “I think I have something you can wear, if you’d like.”

Price raises a brow at me. “Don’t think anything you have would fit me.” He presses the toe of his boots against the heel as he slips them off.

I give him a look, though I’m glad he’s not putting up a fight about staying here. “Wasn’t planning on giving you my clothes. I think there are some men’s clothes still shoved in the back of one of my drawers from an old boyfriend.” Mentally, I look through my drawers and try to pinpoint where I left them.

“Hm. No, thank you, sugar.” He shakes his head and I focus on him again. “Don’t usually sleep in much anyway.” I blink a few times before quickly nodding.

“Right. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.” My feet carry me to the bathroom and I flick on the light, grabbing a washcloth and dampening it with cold water. I wring it out in the sink and purposefully don’t look at myself in the mirror as I walk out. I don’t need to think about what I’m doing and I’m afraid if I meet my gaze, I’ll start reading into all the thoughts spinning around in my head.

Next, I grab two bottles of water and head back into the room, nearly tripping when I see Price’s shirt and pants slung neatly over the end of the bed. His socks are also tucked into his boots just under the cuff of his folded pants. My steps slow and I curse myself for being an idiot as I set the bottled waters on the bedside table. It’s not like I haven’t seen him shirtless before. I’ve seen every member of our team stripped down to their underwear when we had to cross a freezing river in the mountains. Not to mention I’ve treated their cuts and scrapes, Price least of all, but enough to see most of him.

But this is different. This isn’t in the field with the team or on base with half a dozen nurses around. We’re alone in my home with no one to watch or check in. It’s just us.

Price coughing brings my head swinging back towards him and I frown, sitting on the edge of the bed as the coughs ease. “Your throat raw from coughing?” I ask as he sighs, nodding as he leans his head back against the headboard. “I have something for that, hold on.” My hands gingerly lay the folded, cool cloth over his forehead before I get up and come back again with cough syrup.

“That looks like it’s going to taste great.” He grumbles as he peeks at it and I sit back on the bed beside him with my hip pressed against his thigh. He’s pulled the blankets up a little past his hips so we’re…relatively decent.

I smirk and pour the thick, molasses-type liquid into the cap before holding it out to him. “Better than whiskey.”

“Hmph, bite your tongue.” But he takes it anyway, grimacing as it slides down his throat and he hands me back the cap. I screw it back on and set the container next to his waters which he instantly chugs half of to try to get the sickly-sweet medicine taste out of his mouth.

“Alright, I’ll leave you alone for the night.” I say softly, meeting his gaze as I think of anything else I can do. “Come get me if things get worse. I mean it.” I shoot daggers at him with my eyes and he only smiles warmly, nodding in acceptance.

“Yes, ma’am.” He agrees and I’m about to get up when I feel the pads of his fingers brush mine on the bed. “Thank you for this.” His gaze holds mine and I freeze as his fingertips ever so lightly slide up and down each of my fingers. “Been a long time since I let someone take care of me. Longer still since someone wanted to.”

“It’s…my job.” I reply and the words taste like a lie.

His fingers pause for a moment, then he continues with a slow nod. “If you’d like to think that, then that’s fine. I won’t push and your standing with the team and with me won’t change. I’ve never lied to you and I hope you can trust me that much.” My brows furrow and I nod. I’ve trusted him with my life and with knowing more about me than nearly anyone else. I trust him not to lie to me. His eyes still haven’t wavered from mine and I’m comfortably caught in them, his words only half-sinking in for now. “But I’m not here because you’re my medic. And I don’t think you’re lettin’ me touch you like this because I’m your Captain.” The words are gentle, wrapped in the warmth of his rumbling voice, but the actual sentiment is blunt.

I blink a few times, keeping my body absolutely still. John is patient and his fingers don’t stop moving against mine. Thoughts whirl through my head, most tinged with panic, but Price is still here, still steady, still keeping his eyes on me as if ready to talk me down or let me run out of here. He’s not saying this like it’s a problem. He’s saying this like he’s trying to break the news to me, as if I don’t already know, as if I haven’t been fiendishly ignoring every little flutter of warmth his every word or gesture gives me.

I finally move, reaching up and pressing my fingers to my temple as I try to think. “It sounds like you have something you want to do about that.” I say softly, feeling like we’re encased in a little bubble here and speaking too loudly will break it.

He quirks a brow at me, surprise in his eyes. “We could start with a date.”

Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “A date.” I repeat, my fingers curling just a touch towards his as he keeps petting mine.

“Mmhmm.” He hums a confirmation with his head tilting just slightly as he watches my reaction. It’s clearly not what he thought it would be.

“You want to take me on a date?”

“Yes, sugar.”

“You realize what a bad fucking idea that is?” My voice is still hushed, my brows furrowed with confusion while Price keeps watching me with that steady gaze. “Forget the headache it would be on base, the gossip, the paperwork, possibly screwing with team dynamics, but you’ve read my file.” My voice shakes, but I don’t break away from John’s gaze. I’ve never hidden myself from him before and I’m not about to start now. “You realize what a nightmare it would be to try and date me? Do anything like that with me?” My words are a warning, bright red and flashing.

“I understand.” He says levelly and glances down to our hands for just a moment. “But I’m used to nightmares, sugar. I’d be glad if you’d let me tackle yours by your side.” His eyes lift to mine and if there was any doubt that he was earnest, the sincerity in his gaze immediately puts them at ease. I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I try to use the dull pain to keep the tears stinging the back of my eyes at bay. “But you don’t have to answer now. Sleep on it.”

“I have limits and boundaries that I don’t even know about yet. Things…wouldn’t be easy. Do you really want to navigate landmines in your personal life and your professional life?” I push anyway, needing his answer if I’m even going to consider this. I need him to know what he’s asking for.

“I understand.” He repeats, his fingers still moving soft and sweet against mine. “Yes, I do.” My next breath is a little shaky as I take in his words and the certainty in which he says them.

“You should sleep.” I say quietly, shifting closer as I flip the cool towel on his forehead and don’t resist the temptation to let my fingers linger. My hand rests against the side of his face, my thumb brushing over his cheek while his hot skin brands me. “Ask me again tomorrow.” His eyes scan my face as he nods, agreeing. Neither of us says anything else as he gets comfortable in bed and I slip out into my own room, curling up underneath my blankets.

For a while, I lay there while my mind swirls. The tears come next and my sobs are quick and quiet as I try to wrap my mind around what John is saying. He wants me. He wants to try. He’s willing to face my nightmares and stay. When I eventually fall asleep with tears smeared over my cheeks, there’s a small, hopeful smile on my face.

Taglist(hello lovelies, lmk if anyone else wants to be tagged!):

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes

[protags-fic-blog]

Hiii can you do brother conflict like how would guys react when is ema(mc) in like Christmas dress (you can pick) theyy are doing something for school for she have to wear that.

At the risk of being crass, there are probably two groups. The 'oh, she looks so cute!' squad and the boner squad. I'm personally imagining the bottom left one... idk I think some of them would want to see what's under the shawl. Sorry that the bullet points are a bit short, it's difficult when there are 14 characters!! and now i'm about a week late for posting :P

Masaomi

Lowkey down for it but I don't think he'd recognize that feeling.

Surprisingly mature about it.

First person to offer a jacket if she gets cold

Ukyo

Oh he's in to it. Definitely. Did you SEE what he thought about in the Valentine's day special?

come sit on santas lap ema JKJKJK i'm just being mean

He'd personally prefer a longer dress though, for a formal Christmas ball

Kaname

come sit on santas lap ema deadass this time

'you can jingle my bells ;)'

sorry i love being mean to my favorite characters

definitely wants a little peek under the sweater. how 'cold' does the top have to be for it need to be covered?

Hikaru

While he'd definitely tease Ema about it, he probably wouldn't think about it too much. He's down bad for Ema, regardless of what she's wearing.

Perhaps he'd tease her about wearing something so short in the middle of winter.

Tsubaki

oh my GOD he's down so bad

he'd take even coal from such a cute santa

small chance he's carrying around mistletoe.

Azusa

In to it... but not obnoxious about it.

Plays it cool though!

Definitely thinks shes cute though

Natsume

It's sort of whatever

He'd love to see her in anything cute

It's on theme for the holidays though

Louis

Tbh probably gifted it to Ema in the first place.

He likely saw it on a mannequin and bought it thinking of her... not of how his brothers would react haha

Would want to style her up like she's debuting

Subaru

*clears throat* BONER SQUAD

BRIGHT RED

the color of his face matches the dress!

says nothing though. can't muster anything up

Iori

I think it would be a nice distraction for him

the holidays are rough, it seems, so spending it with someone in general is nice

he doesn't care much for the holiday theming though

Yuusuke

member 2 of the boner squad

stammering

but.... he matches her yknow?? so theyre like santa and mrs claus.... happily married couple of like 200 years.... so..... maybe it's an omen

Fuuto

teasing so much teasing!!

says ema looks stupid but. thinks shes cute!

Wataru

Doesn't quite get it yet :/

He sees his brothers acting a bit weird and doesn't know why.

He just thinks it's a cute outfit!

[lenreli]

Day 12 - Enemies to Lovers [Human AU]

[AO3]

Sir Robert Gadling is crass and scandalous, as well as new money that Dream hates, much less wants to host at one of their family’s traditional balls. But duty permits, even with, he’s sure, people gossiping that perhaps they’ll see him and Gadling trading barbs, like at the tea shops they’ve done that at. 

He may have also been a bit hasty to write him off so, especially with Gadling’s quick defense of him, taking only a minute to knock unconscious the people that were trying to kidnap him when he had a moment alone. “You need not have come to my defense,” he breathes, hearing the sultry tone of his voice and unable to stop it, mind still going over how quickly it happened. 

“Your security is lax,” Gadling points out, staring down at the interlopers with crossed arms before staring at him, dark eyes looking him over, making him feel overtly aware of his black shirt, the red underbust corset, the black pants and thigh-high boots with an embroidered black coat. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, I am,” he frowns and tugs at his long hair, held back by a red bow, “yes. Thank you,” he offers quietly.

Gadling smiles, stepping closer to him and his heart jumps into his throat as a callused and scarred hand holds one of his, bringing it between them, “you chipped a nail,” Gadling says with a frown, and Dream stares down at the black lacquered nails, the lacquer on his pinky and the finger close to it broken and bloody from the scuffle. “I am sorry, but you are no longer able to show your face to the public,” Gadling says solemnly, thumb brushing the blood off his fingers and, “let me clean you up.” 

“I―“ Dream swallows, adrenaline rushing everywhere as dark eyes dilate, then flick to his lips as he licks them, “that―yes―one of my siblings can,” he nods and grabs Gadling’s hands, leading them to one of the off-limits of the castle, ending up in a huge bedroom as the tension between them crackles, as Gadling presses him against the door, as Gadling’s lips just brush his, the scent of lemon and bergamot overwhelming. “I can look after myself, you know.” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Gadling says with a small smile and Dream shivers as a hand caresses his cheek, “would be a bit disappointed if you couldn’t, really,” is whispered against his lips, and his irritation spikes until he’s being kissed, deep and filthy, Gadling’s hand holding his face still as Dream whines and bites into the other’s mouth.

“You are―“ Dream keens as Gadling kisses down his neck, the warm weight of him making him harder as Gadling’s other hand presses into the corset, robbing him of his breath before going down into his pants, “incorrigible, Gadling,” he finishes eventually, and Gadling huffs. 

“Calling me Hob won’t kill you,” Gadling whispers into his ear before biting the shell of his ear, and Dream can only whine at the feel of calluses on his cock as Gadling strokes him slowly, pleasure rising slowly and there’s a sound of Gadling swearing as he kneels, “these things might kill me, though,” Gadling scowls at his boots, and there’s a mad scramble to undo the laces of them, with one of them taken off as his pants are pulled down. “Very hot, but impractical,” Gadling berates, hands touching his thighs.

Dream gasps, hands going to Gadling’s shoulders and then to his brown-grey hair, held in it’s own bow as Gadling’s mouth surrounds his cock, and Dream whines, head thunking against the door as he stares up at the ceiling, thoughts soon leaving him as Gadling―Hob sucks and licks him to orgasm.

[italkback]

I wrote smut for the first time ever. I’ve had this scene in my head for well over a year. Content warning, some rough CNC

It goes something like this.

She has finally talked you into it. Giving her a back massage, gentle kisses, orgasm after orgasm. Pleasuring her. Worshipping her. You get the satisfaction of her bliss and beholding her body, which is nice. The throbbing of your cock is beginning to bother you. You don’t know fully what she is intending. Before you got here you had asked, but she was too bashful to talk it all out. What you did know is that she wanted to feel like a goddess. You’re beginning to think you’ve catered to her wishes perfectly, but you realise she has no intention of being done anytime soon and that’s starting to drive you crazy. Her face flushed, the afternoon sun falling across her curves and satisfied smile. You can’t take it any longer. One final line of kisses down her leg, to her ankle and you stop; looking up. A beat passes, she looks down at you. “What’s the matter?”

You intwine yourself between her legs, gently kissing her thigh. “I think this pantomime has come to an end.”

“Hang on, that’s not how this is supposed to go--”

But you’ve pinned her wrists to her sides now.

“Shhh now, what sort of goddess is so easily overcome?”

She squirms beneath you, a fire sparked in her eyes. “Fuck you.” She spits at you, but you’re already pushing inside her and she can’t help but gasp.

“Watch your mouth. You will not address Your God like that.” you thrust into her, she takes it well, though you know it’s only because she is barely a fighter, and horribly turned on.

You pause at her entrance waiting for a reaction. She is trying to move towards you, all but begging.

“Oh this is pathetic. You can’t even use your words? What a fool I was. You’re not deserving of worship. Perhaps you aren’t even worthy of being used.” She flinches, angry again, but undeniably enjoying herself. He knew that smug smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Perhaps.” She spoke back. “And what then?”

You growl. Always a brat.

“I will use you anyway. As a tool. A means to an end, no different than any other whore with holes.” She is watching you carefully. You let one of her wrists go, stroking yourself, readjusting yourself to her other hole. She freezes. “Please, no, I don’t want this.” She looks at you, genuine fear in her eyes.

“Beg then.” She swallows.

“Please, fuck me.”

“Is that all? That’s what I'm doing.” You interrupt her.

“No! Fuck my pussy, please. I don’t want my ass fucked.”

“Tsk tsk, that’s not really begging is it?” She rolls onto her side trying to sneak away.

You catch her and slam her back onto the bed onto her stomach.

“This makes it easier.” You comment with a bit of a chuckle. She growls.

“Darling, I will give you one last chance. Beg. Beg for mercy, I was just worshipping your pathetic little body, I am not without pity.”

She is breathing fast, nearly quaking. “Please, please have mercy. I cannot handle you in my ass.”

“I can’t hear you, who are you talking to?”

She growls. “My God, please. I’m begging for mercy. Please don’t fuck my ass.”

You let out a little laugh. “You are really pretty crass even when praying in a panic, poor baby.” You nudge into her tight ass. She groans. Beginning to fight again. “No! I begged!”

“You didn’t beg.” You state firmly.

She whines, as you continue to push into her, thrusting gently at first, she stops fighting.

“Good girl. I told you you’re as good as a whore.”

She whimpers. “Please, please stop.”

“I can’t hear you. Did you say ‘go faster’?”

“Oh my God no, please.” Two quick thrusts into her tight ass. she was glistening with sweat.

“Now I heard you.” You lean down to her ear. “What is it I can do for your weak, trembling body?”

“I want you in my pussy.” You grab a handful of her hair and lift her head from the mattress slightly. “That is not how you address me, Little One.”

“I’m--I’m sorry. Please, use my cunt. I can’t handle it anymore...my God.” Those last words didn’t want to come out, but the fact that they did slide out was enough to make you listen. Besides, how could resist her dripping wetness spilling from her vagina. And all this acting like she hated this? Her body never lied.

“Alright, you poor little human.”

She feels so good. She always does, and her moans and whimpers always have a way of overwhelming your senses. It doesn’t take a long time for you to be on the verge of cumming. She knew it too, her body was tense, as if waiting for it.

“Please--” You barely hear her, you know she didn’t say it so softly for you.

“Please what?” You hiss in her ear. She is embarrassed again. Remarkable how you can be balls deep in your favourite person and still embarrass her.

“Would you prefer I finish somewhere else?” Although you know that’s not the case. Cumslut that she is.

“No, no sir.”

“Alright then, beg. You need the practice.”

She does. “Please cum, please use me. please --please please.”

Between her clinched pussy, her begging and your quick thrusts you finish quickly, pumping her stomach full of your semen.

“I hope such a weak and pathetic excuse for a goddess doesn’t end up pregnant with my children.”

She let out another whimper.

Aaaaaand scene.

[oddinarydellequent]

(Ch. 1) The Magic Knights Entrance Exam (pt. 1)

Black Clover Self-Insert

“Ethelrid.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Come with me. The examination is about to begin. I want you to help me decide the new recruits for our squad.” 

“...”

“You have nothing to say?”

“I’d be delighted, ma’am.”

And that’s how Ethelrid Dimitriadis finds herself, a mere new recruit, the honor to stand by the Blue Rose’s captain during the Magic Knights Entrance Exam. Why the Captain would allow a recruit to tag along and provide some insight into choosing recruits is beyond understanding, especially with the row Ethelrid had with one of the Intermediate Class Knights due to a conflict of opinions. Perhaps the Captain shares Ethelrid’s view on gender equality, though it is highly unlikely as Captain Charlotte is much of a misandrist as the Knight Ethelrid nearly butt heads with, so the rumors say. There may be times Ethelrid would agree to some of the Captain’s viewpoints, but she finds that reducing the male squad members to errand boys is just as quaint and primitive as reducing a woman to an accessory. Sadly, from the last twenty minutes, she’s been in the squad, Ethelrid finds that not one woman in the Blue Rose shares her views… yet. 

Perhaps the Captain regards Ethelrid highly, given that she was recruited earlier than the usual procedure. She supposes her noble background still serves her well. Ethelrid longs to mingle with the mages below her and find interesting magic within the crowd. She might just find someone as promising as someone she knows, but she wonders if she could deal with the snobby and spoiled nobles without exchanging a few dastardly words at least. Ethelrid often struggles to think that not all nobles are the same, for she barely remembers anyone who differs from the proud and self-absorbed nobility. She still wonders if she herself is any different. 

No. Do not go down that road again. You have grown beyond the selfishness and grandeur of nobility. There are people who think you have. 

Ethelrid’s head clears as the Captain of the Black Bull complains. 

“What a pain in the ass. Can’t we just get this over with?”

Yami Sukehiro, Captain of the Black Bulls. Ethelrid shares the Captain’s attribute. Ever since she heard of the foreigner turned Magic Knights Captain with the attribute of Dark Magic, she has always wondered if they were related. They have the same ebony black hair which Ethelrid always sports in a long braid hanging from the side, but she shares her eyes with her Mother’s, emerald green. It was a farfetched theory, but she would give anything to be unrelated to her biological father. 

Hearing the man now, she finds the familial relation highly unlikely for she would never be as crass. Well, it depends on the situation. Sometimes certain events naturally bring out strong exclamations. 

“This is an important exam that will decide the future of these youths”, Captain Vangeance replied. “We need you to take this a bit more seriously.”

“Yeah, yeah. Mr. Serious”

Ethelrid wonders what has made this man so brazen as to regard the Golden Dawn Captain so casually, but she supposes that they are colleagues of equal standing, and can regard each other as they like. 

“Candidates.” Captain Vangeance begins. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I will be conducting this exam.” 

He brings out his grimoire and exclaims, “Magic tree, descend!” 

His grimoire shines neon green, and a rumble reverberates throughout the arena, the sky darkens as dark clouds gather above. A wind gushes forth and Ethelrid brings her hand up to her face. She looks up and sees rays of light, and a gargantuan tree descends from the clouds towards the candidates, branches branching forth, offering brooms to the mages. 

A man beside her says, “This never ceases to amaze me!”

The mages below let out gasps of just as much awe as they each receive a broom. 

The sky then clears and rays of sunshine reach the arena once again as Captain Vangeance says, “We will now begin the Magic Knights Entrance Exam”

Ethelrid finally closes her mouth. To be able to see the Captain’s Tree Magic up close, gratitude towards Captain Charlotte swells within Ethelrid. She has a long way to go to match Captain Vangeance magical ability. Witnessing the display made Ethelrid’s training near one of the magic regions inadequate. Maybe she should have thrown self-preservation out of the window and attempted actually training in the zone instead. 

Captain Vangeance begins to explain the proceedings of the examination. Ethelrid suddenly feels unworthy to be standing near Captain Charlotte, chosen as a new recruit of the prestigious Blue Rose without having to undergo an exam. It’s downright unfair for those taking the Entrance Exam. Ethelrid has prepared to go through hurdles to become a magic knight, and a senior knight recognizing Ethelrid’s family name was all it took for her to be accepted. 

"Captain," Ethelrid starts. 

Captain Charlotte turns to her and raises an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“Requesting permission to partake in the examination.”

“What for?”

“I am undeserving to be chosen to be among the Blue Rose squad members without proving my worth to the captain.”

“Nonsense. You have the potential and skill worthy of a Magic Knight and certainly one of the Blue Rose. I know just by looking at you. Do not doubt yourself.” 

“Allow me to prove to you my skill of which you speak of nevertheless, Captain.” 

She sighs. “Very well.” 

She turns to do just that, but before she could descend from the platform, a voice calls out, “Rosenbluth.”

Ethelrid nearly ignores the use of her father’s surname but turns to the Captain of the Silver Eagles, Nozel Silva, nevertheless.

He continues, “Do not allow yourself to mingle with those peasants. It is already a given that you are far superior compared to them.”

Ethelrid grits her teeth before she could let out a string of words she will only slightly regret and fights to keep the calm in her voice, “With all due respect, sir, I did not ask for your permission," and she turns before she could hear any more slander towards the lower class that she almost missed Captain Vangeance calling out her name. 

She turns once more but to the captain of the Golden Dawn, with his arms outstretched and a broom in his hands. “Here.”

She goes to receive the broom and bows, “Thank you, sir.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

She finally goes to descend downstairs. 

Everyone turns to look at the girl with a coat around her with the insignia of the Blue Rose and begins to whisper among themselves. 

“What is she doing here?”

“Isn’t she already in a squad? And with the Blue Rose no less.”

“Maybe she’s here just to show off.”

Ethelrid joins them, unbothered, broom in hand. 

As expected, Captain Vangeance announces, “For the first exam, we will have you get on those brooms and fly.”

Mutters scatter throughout the crowd.

“But that’s…”

“I’ve never done that before.”

So has Ethelrid, unfortunately. And to think she was joining the Blue Rose without knowing how to fly with a broom. 

Though she has flown before with one of her spells. It was one of the most revitalizing moments of her life, learning how to fly. She’s never felt so free. But learning to do so was not easy, and so she must think that learning how to fly with a broom will be just as hard. 

Captain Vangeance continues, “Mages who can control their magical powers should be able to do this instinctively. It is the most basic way for mages to travel. If you cannot fly on a broom, you shouldn’t even be here.”

Ethelrid gulps. She fights to contain her anxiety, for a racing heart will greatly affect her performance. She must be confident and must believe in herself to succeed. 

Fake your confidence, and true confidence will eventually come to you, a wise man once said. 

She inhales. Exhales. 

“Begin.”

Ethelrid brings the broom between her legs and tries to focus on the flow of her mana. She tries to remember the technique in manipulating the flow of mana to flow through another object, and then first brings the mana flow through her heart. She lets it brew there as the mana struggles to break through the confines and then slowly extends from her heart to her arms, then to her fingers, and through her grip, brings the mana to the broom as if it were an extension of her body. Not long after, she feels her feet leave the floor, and she opens her eyes to find herself levitating high up in the air. 

She allows herself a small chuckle at her small achievement and turns to find some of the candidates still struggling to even keep themselves upright on the broom. 

Among her, several people proudly ride their broom this high up from the ground, and one of them even stands on his broom, a raven-haired youth with a necklace with a blue gem around his neck. 

“For a kid from the boonies, he sure is amazing," Ethelrid overhears. 

She smiles. The boy reminds her of a friend—the calm aura that is overridden with competence and the surety that they will succeed. 

Never underestimate peasants, Ethelrid learned a long time ago. 

“The genius chosen by the four-leaf...”

Ethelrid’s eyes widened and she turned to the boy flying over them. 

He was chosen by a four-leaf grimoire? That hasn’t happened in centuries, and he’s from the Forsaken Realm no less. Amazing. 

Ethelrid smiles even wider. 

Looks like you got competition, Lyre. 

Ethelrid’s eyes turn to Captain Charlotte and hope that that is approval in her eyes, but Ethelrid knows she has a long way to go before she garners any of the captains’ approval. 

The examination moves on to the Magic Ability test, and all are lined up before separate walls of brick. The test is simple enough: to destroy the wall of bricks before you. 

Anxiety wells up in Ethelrid again, but she’s been over this already and calms her heart. She’s dealt with this before. She will not be cowered again by mere words. 

Mana wells up in her, and dark magic surrounds her arms as she releases a tendril of black magic that spears through the wall of brick, now reduced to rubble. 

“What kind of magic is that?”

“So creepy…” 

“What is she, some kind of demon?”

Words pass through her ear and come out from the other...

Your magic is like nothing I’ve ever seen. And you’re no demon; you’re my friend.

...the ignorant words of the masses mean nothing to her. 

Ethelrid does not mind the distance between the other contestants; in fact, it’s kind of familiar, nostalgic even. 

Next is the magic control test. Targets fly in the air at a frenzied pace, making it hard even to pin down with the eyes. But there is mana in them, and Ethelrid focuses on a single target with a distinct signature, isolating the rest of the surroundings around her. She waits, and with perfect timing, releases a tendril that hits the jackpot. Another test passed. Ethelrid controls herself before she becomes too full of herself, that’d be quite an embarrassing display.

Next is the Creation Magic test, which Ethelrid enjoyed quite a bit as she forms a lyre with her dark magic. She tries to fiddle with the strings, but her fingers only pass through it like sand. She suddenly itches to play an actual lyre. 

During the developmental test, Ethelrid enjoys the irony of using dark magic to bring a seed to life as it blooms in darkness into a black rose. Perhaps it’d be a fitting gesture to give this to Captain Charlotte, but the captain might get the wrong idea, not that Ethelrid minds giving a rose to the beautiful captain. 

“All right, the next exam shall be the last one. You shall engage in actual combat.”

Gasps and groans can be heard throughout the arena. 

“You’ll be battling!”, the Captain of the Crimson Lion announces fervently. “Fighting is our duty. Show us your true abilities!” 

“As soon as one of you yields or becomes unable to fight, the exam will be over. There will be healing mages on standby,” Captain Vangeance explains. 

“So fight to your heart’s content!" Captain Fuegoleon helpfully adds. 

-end of pt. 1-

part 2 / part 3

[leftoverdinosaurbones]

In Pursuit of Power

Series: F!Reader (Dark Urge), Astarion NSFW (minors DNI)

[Act 1 & 2 Spoilers. Set in-game]

***

This is a new fic I'm working on, based on an evil* durge run. It's a slow-burn (sorry) but hopefully worth the wait. I will update warnings as needed! *As evil as I could personally handle (I'm a baby)

You can read it here or on Ao3 - whichever you prefer!

Content Warning: Mentions minor character death.

Summary: From the moment you fell out of the pod on the nautiloid, you were aware of three things:

1. Your name 2. Your frequent headaches 3. Your thirst for blood

These three things were your constants. But where did these come from? You feel a deep urge to find something beyond what you’ve experienced so far. For power beyond measure. You just need to figure out how to grasp it.

Series Inspiration: for the ~vibes~

Chapter 1: A Tempting Proposition

From the moment you fell out of the pod on the nautiloid, you were aware of three things:

Your name

Your frequent headaches

Your thirst for blood

These three things were your constants. But where did these come from?

Who named you? This, you weren’t sure. You had no recollection of your parents or who raised you. Perhaps your devoted little butler would have some answers? You made a mental note to ask him about this the next time you saw him.

What caused these headaches? Of course, there’s the tadpole in your head. But your companions don’t seem to be plagued by the same bouts of pain. This pain that bores behind your eyes and gnaws at you, and sometimes even knocks you out cold.

What drove your thirst? At times, your bloodlust could be insatiable. But what drove it forward? Was it vengeance? Power? Compulsion?

You couldn’t deny the absolute and immeasurable joy you felt when you woke out of your stupor, hands covered in the blood of that poor bard girl. But you didn’t know why you killed her. Hells, you didn’t even remember doing it. It all just seemed so… simple. So crass. What was the point if you couldn’t even remember doing it? If you couldn’t decide who lives and dies by your hand?

You feel a deep urge to find something beyond what you’ve experienced so far. For power beyond measure. You just need to figure out how to grasp it.

For now, you’ve started to cultivate an…eclectic group of followers. Some of them even show signs of promise. Despite your gruesome, aggressive, and largely cold-blooded ways, you’ve managed to worm your way into their hearts and minds. Even your more kind-natured companions find ways to excuse their newfound tendencies toward violence. We couldn’t just kill the leaders of the Goblin camp - the rest would surely still take out the grove on their own! The memories brought a smile to your lips. How easy it has been to satisfy both your bloodlust and build loyal followers.

If your followers get too worked up over a decision you’ve made, you only need to talk them down with just a few gentle words.

Karlach, you’re looking like you’re running a bit too hot today. Mind staying back at the camp for today? Maybe I can try to cool you off later.

Wyll, sometimes we make terrible decisions for the greater good, right?

Gods, it’s just too easy.

But your personal favorites are the ones that lust after power just as much as you. How you can almost smell it on them - the desperation, the carnal need for it. They will simply do anything for you, because you’ve made them believe that you are critical to their success.

Even now, as you rest at the Last Light, your head is cradled in Karlach’s lap while she massages away one of your tension headaches. After her upgrade from Dammon this evening, she is thrilled to be touching you so easily. She doesn’t know that just earlier today, you demanded a goblin run into the shadows to fetch a bone he threw for a hyena - though in all honesty, you would defend that as an act of justice. You relax further into her eager touch.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Astarion with a deep scowl on his face. He is flipping through the pages of his book in a disgruntled huff, barely absorbing the words on the page before moving on to the next. Every now and then, he steals furtive glances your way before casting his eyes back towards his book.

You close your eyes and suppress a laugh. You’ve noticed how Astarion stares after you as you make your rounds to speak to each of your followers at camp. Sometimes, you wait to speak with him last solely because you know how much it bothers him. He whispers sweet nothings at you if you pass by too close. He flirts with you, outrageously, in front of the rest of the group. He will even invite himself into your conversation if you linger too long with Gale, Wyll, or Shadowheart.

From one manipulator to another - you assume that he is trying to get close to you for his own purposes, not because of any genuine feelings of his own. And so far, you’ve let him establish that relationship. He’s one of the most powerful followers you have, with the tadpole only magnifying his strengths. There’s also a part of you - a small part - that does find him particularly attractive. What could be the harm of a little self-indulgence?

“Thank you so much, Karlach, that was divine.” You sit up from Karlach’s lap with a grateful stretch. Karlach lets out a soft sigh, already mourning the loss of contact. You press a quick kiss to the crown of her forehead before smoothing down your ruffled hair.

“You’re welcome!” Karlach smiles, hands clapped together. “Time for me to go chat with Withers about his old eye…” She pushed herself onto her feet and bounded away towards the skeleton.

After adjusting your clothes, you turned to make your way towards Astarion, the corner of your lips turned up into a half-smirk.

“Oh, hello there." He pretends to be startled by your approach. “To what do I owe the pleasure of our great leader blessing me with the gift of her presence?” He rolled his eyes and looked back at his book.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame of his room at the Inn. “Oh, come off it. She wanted to help with my terrible headache And it’s not like anyone else offered to help.” You raised an eyebrow in his direction, looking for his reaction.

Nothing.

“Plus, you know Karlach is long overdue for some skin-to-skin touch. If you wanted, I’m sure she would help you out with any of your needs, too.”

“Why do I get the feeling that Karlach would rather use her hands to break me in half? No thanks,” Astarion scoffed, snapping his book shut. “Anyway, since you’re here now, there is something I wanted to talk to you about.” Astarion set the book down and brought one of his hands to his face, index finger resting thoughtfully on his chin.

“I feel a connection between us. Like we are two souls walking the same path.”

Your eyebrows stitch together and you hold your breath - where is this going?

“Every step we walk trails blood. Killing is an instinct for us. I respect you for that. I would keep the murders in our own camp to a minimum, but otherwise we are very much on the same page.”

You release your breath. Of course this is what he means. What were you thinking??

“Why, thank you,” you respond in kind, hoping that you were able to successfully cover up the fleeting emotion on your face.

“I just worry that we’re not considering all our options when it comes to our uninvited guests. How many people are infested with them? Hundreds? Thousands?” Unaware, Astarion plowed forward with his monologue.

“And they are not all just goblin trash. There are powerful people in the worms’ thrall. Whoever’s waiting for us at Moonrise Towers controls it all. But if we can take that control from them, imagine the power we’d wield.”

Hmm. You hadn’t considered this yet. You’d been so consumed with the idea of what comes after getting rid of the tadpoles that you never thought of what could happen if you accept them instead, and use them for your own advantage. An interesting idea, indeed. Of course, you can see the greater advantage for Astarion - he can keep his ability to walk in the sun, cross rivers, walk into any home he’d like. But this plan isn’t without benefits for you, too.

“This is a tempting idea,” you conceded, uncrossing your arms to run your fingers idly through the ends of your hair.

Astarion brought his hands together, hints of excitement glittering in his eyes as you welcomed his idea.

“Isn’t it just? Imagine, the entire cult under our thumb. I’m just saying that there’s an opportunity before us. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and enjoy a little world domination on the side. Doesn’t that sound fun?” His mind had begun to run away with possibilities.

“It does sound fun…any ideas on how we could accomplish such a task?”

Astarion scrunched up his nose, brows furrowed in thought. “Well, I…hmm. I mean, I’m really more of a big-picture person myself. I haven’t thought of the details yet. I figured you would be able to get to all of that,” he waves your question off with an impatient hand.

“Anyway, I knew I was right about you. It’s so good to find a kindred spirit amongst this rabble.” He ran his hand gently down your arm, fingers dancing along your skin.

“Well, I must be off to bed. A long day tomorrow.” You cut the conversation off, turning on your heel. You notice the faintest, quietest of disappointed sighs from behind you. With a smile, you look back over your shoulder.

“Oh, you’re welcome to feed on me tonight, if you’d like.”

Astarion struggles to hold back a beaming smile.

“Then I will see your delicious self tonight.”

Chapter 2 here

[fan-art-ic]

What do I do? Where do I go? I hate what we do to the Palestinians, last war I've cried myself to sleep thinking about Palestinian mothers who've lost their children. Do I have to leave? Nowhere else feels like home. Nowhere else do they speak my language. A dead language we've brought back to life. But maybe I have to leave because it's the right thing to do. I don't know. I'm trying, I'm getting my degree so I can apply for citizenship somewhere else, do I deserve to get killed in the meantime? You say I do. We aren't a conquering force sent by Europe, you have to understand that. We're refugees ourselves. And this doesn't justify all the pain and horror we've brought upon the Palestinians, but you have to understand there's nowhere for us to "go back" to, my grandparents are from Iraq, I will be killed there. The others are from the increasingly antisemitic Poland, and it's not like either country would give me citizenship.

On Saturday they broke into houses, and sprayed everyone inside with bullets. Houses they didn't manage to break into they burned down, leaving the families inside the choice to either burn alive or get out and be shot down. The internet is flooded with final texts that end with I love you or stop abruptly. By those families, by those kids you don't care about at the music festival, texting their parents. I still don't know how many of them go to university with me. There are videos of bodies being mutilated, of kidnapped girls being stripped naked. People are recognizing their loved ones in those videos.

If I can cry for Palestinians, who I have been raised to see as my enemies, can't you, can't all those people online show the slightest bit of remorse for us? Can't all those who are outright gleeful at least show the slightest bit of restraint? So many of us fight for a better government, call for a two state solution, are we evil for wanting to stay in our home, just like the Palestinians do? What if we don't have a way to leave even if we wanted? I'm not asking you to feel sorry for us, I really don't. I'm just asking if you honestly, truly think this is right and just, only because it's happening to people who were born in Israel.

I do feel sorry and remorse for you, it's not your fault your government is an occupational regime on stolen land. That's not something that you are to blame for, individually. And I was perhaps pretty crass on that one post, I'll admit. The thing is, you say you cry for the Palestinians. So I can stand with you. There are plenty of young Israelis who are fighting back on the Palestinian side because they have reflected and recognized that neutrality is complicity is giving into shiny duplexes built on burnt villages. I think there is a difference between the Israelis who, for example, have made watch parties out of bombing Palestinians, and then Israelis such as yourself, im assuming, who are disgusted and heart broken by the violence everywhere.

I have no generalized sympathy for the concert goers, like I said. I have individual sympathy and hope that the people killed are found to be laid to rest and the injured are healed, but one thing that is absolutely sticking to me is the fact there was a concert at all. That on one side of a barrier there is inhumane suffering and on the other there is fun and laughter.

One thing with the Land Back movement in the USA, which I don't know all the intricacies of, is that a lot of white people mistakenly believe they will be treated the exact same way their ancestors slaughtered the Natives. But no its just about returning land stewardship and returning human rights and protections to a people who have been subjugated and harassed and forced to flee their homes for hundreds of years. If Israel suddenly stopped, and said, okay you win Palestine, there wouldn't suddenly be a mass exodus of Israelis. There would be relief and hooe and life and a fostering of good ties and trying to re build homes and shops and communities. Palestinians could move back home and the Israelis, whose government allowed them to steal it, could be given a new place to live somewhere there wasn't a village terminated to make room for

And I have gotten a tiny bit off topic from your message. i want to touch on the "on Saturday they broke into houses and sprayed everyone with bullets". I understand that is terrifying, that you and perhaps others who were killed would have been amenable to talking and peace. One thing however, is that it's the Israel government who started this war, so it is THEIR FAULT for every single death that continues to stack, Palestinian and Israeli both.

THIS IS THE GOVERNMENTS FAULT

What do you do? Where do you go? Talk to your family and see if they also believe in Palestinian freedom. Talk to your friends. There literally is an iconic tweet of a swiftie refusing to join the idf and going to jail for a few months. THAT is the courage you need. For every single person that has been stripped, mutilated, raped, tortured, and murdered, Israeli and Palestinian both, there is one single cause behind it and that is the Israel governments plan to eradicate all signs of Palestinian existence.

I honestly wish you well and hope you stay safe, you sound like a good egg, if really emotionally wounded and terrified. I want you to take all your pain, and rage, and fury, and scream yourself hoarse. Now more than ever, your people are going through an extraordinary transformation of no longer being protected from the war waged next door. You have to get out there, you have to tell everyone that you believe that your country is an apartheid that it must change to include Palestine and every Palestinian as equals.

Your absolutely correct, there are huge waves of antisemitism rocketing across the globe. It makes sense to love the place you live because you have the freedom of your culture and your language and your people. But the freedom of culture, language, and people is being stripped raw and bleeding from Palestinians and has been from the past 50 years. The solution to antisemitism isn't to huddle up and bunker down on top of graveyards it's to actively combat it everywhere you go. Which is exactly why the Palestinians are doing this right now, they can't just hope one day their voice will be heard because it never will be. They must snatch Israel's ear off its head reclaim their homes. I'm CERTAIN there are places Jewish communities fleeing Europe could have gone in Palestine to be safe and free. You know, considering that region is insanely religiously old. The people who founded Israel in conjunction with the British government did not have to raze ground to be safe!

I don't know where I'm going with this. Thank you for sending me a message, I hope any of this makes sense, and once again I'm a white USAmerican so if it sounds like I'm talking out my ass I apologize. I hope you take care

[hcark]

(boyd holbrook, he/they, cursed blood) to JEBIDIAH, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their ability of ENTITY BONDING grows a little stronger.  they are a COYOTE shade aligned to VANITAS. for FORTY-ONE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their GRIT and ABRASIVENESS. they work as an OVERWORKED MOTEL MANAGER ( BOSS ), but if they could change their fate, they’d want to OUTLIVE THE FELLA THAT BIT THEM. 

— STATS .

sexuality & status: biromantic / demisexual & single 4ever

hobbies: minding his own fucking business, long rambunctious naps ( his snoring’s been mistaken as the pipes settling on more than one occasion )

pets: closest he’s ever gotten to one is this one mangy rat at on the road — considers it an acquaintance for all the times it’s scared off prissy customers

relatives: everyone bit the dust — one bit him literally ( younger sister, kid was a biter growing up and not a saint )

— ‘DOSSIER’ .

for as loud and crass as someone like jebidiah is, there isn’t a lot known about the man. nothing of actual importance, that is. he’s one to keep his nose firmly out of anyone’s business and ( foolishly ) expects everyone to do the same unto him. spoiler alert: it never works out — either someone drags him into some unneeded knowledge or tries to nose their way into his.

jebidiah’s no stranger to the lands betwixt selphia and the wildwoods prior his ‘permanent’ residence, even if he’s always hated the place. everything reeks of bullshit and the million fucking bugs always do their damndest to pester him. and yet, he’s here. been here for five years and counting.

strange, isn’t it?

how such a flighty, belligerently insensitive brute like him hasn’t upped and left just yet. then again, it’s kind of fitting that he resides in a business that matches his visage perfectly. peeling wallpaper in almost every room, singed burnt orange carpet in the eyesore of a lobby, no — the curtains don’t match any of the drapes ( there’s an uneven number of them, some are even missing a panel ).

unkempt, eerily ambianced, barely functionable.

perhaps that’s why his friend had him inherit the damn place ( against ‘his will’ )... oops, sorry — that’s too much information seeing the light of day. All you need to know is that any serious complains ( aka all of them ) should go up to the big boss of the rundown motel — which totally isn’t him, and don’t try to clean up any.. messes made. you’ll probably just make the staining worse.

— ACTUAL DOSSIER .

jebidiah hails from a piss poor family of four nestled in the dirt rich countryside. mother and father never saw eye to eye on anything, even when death came tolling for their ticket in life. his younger sister, quite the maverick she was, hardly cared for the happenings on home turf. she barely stayed put until some grand adventure called her away. 

now, you might be wondering how in the world jebidiah let her go so early. wasn’t he worried about her safety? the world’s a harsh place and he’s already had his fair share of horrible treatment by her birth. and the answer is, yes, of course he was worried sick about her departure, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. well, except chase trails gone cold over and over and over again until they all... stopped for good.

family aside, he’s always been hard-headed with even thicker skin. not once did he have a goal in life other than to survive it. death would come for him whenever it’s time — he made peace with that fact early on ( perhaps concerningly so ). except.. one particular asshole made it his life’s mission to fuck the only constant in jebidiah’s miserable life.

.. and so the story about how jebidiah strayed from mortality unfurls.. it’s dumb. stupid, really, because people usually regard immortality as something gained for power, wealth, or even love. but jebidiah? yeah, no, he’s always seen it as a hoax. and even if it wasn’t just fairytale, he wanted nothing to do with it. the idea of living forever sounded like the shittiest win at an even shittier lottery. so imagine his hate-filled surprise when his nemesis ( full on most loathed person to ever exist in his life ) comes by this nifty ‘gift’. now quadruple that rage when that rat bastard bites and changes him solely to riff and neg jebidiah for eternity. 

what kind of idiotic reasoning was that?

to make matters even worse ( yes, it’s always possible ), that shithead was still green to the whole cursedblood thing. so the two of them had to figure it out together; something jebidiah clearly despised with every single fiber of his being. how they didn’t kill each other remains a mystery, but that fucker’s still out there and jebidiah’s done everything to hide away time and time again — aka the main reason for his location hopping.

then, as luck would have it, the only friend he’s ever really had ( he still uses that term very loosely ) from vanitas dies out of the blue and leaves his name on the motel’s deed. him, of all people. him. he had half the mind to just close the business from the get-go. never wanted to be boss of anything — let alone some barely maintained motel off of some shitty highway. but some odd sense of comfort, of — dare he say it — home finds its way into his dead heart. pictures of him and his friend stay up in the one room he occupies at the end of the establishment ( always heavily locked — no one’s allowed in ). regulars ( the bad and the worse ) start to.. grow on him even if the majority get on his last damn nerve.

and so, he’s come to an agreement with things. where he is in life, who he’s ( barely ) around, how long he���s been ‘settled down’... for now.

— CONNECTIONS .

TENants because there’s only 10 rooms (0/?) — made the choice to shack up  at on the road? well, there’s 100% chance you’ve come by jebidiah. either it’s at the front desk ( asleep ), swearing up a storm as a room’s being changed out, giving that one shitty vending machine situated outside a piece of his mind, etc. he acts as the overworked manager of the shitty joint — just a voice for the mysterious boss of the place, he swears it.

the ones that won’t go away ( 0/? ) — reasons be damned, jebidiah does not like to keep close tabs on people nor does he like people to think or involve him in anything. so whether it’s an attempt to recruit him into the saints organization, do one solid favor about the dead body bodies in room 1, 3, 5, or 7 ( it’s always the odd numbers for some reason ), or just to befriend him ( can’t fathom why )... jebidiah will always shoot down each and every chance. even if there’s a select few that he might have grown ‘fond’ over.

crime, shcrime ( 1/? ) — been there, done that.. one too many times over his ‘exhaustively extensive’ life. crime’s boring and so not worth the trouble. he knows he’s value in the sense of finding things that should never be found, but please — leave him out of the illegal shenanigans.

romance should be dead ( 0/1 ) — as a self-proclaimed miser, jebidiah’s always wanted to be left the fuck alone. but maybe someone wows him. really throws a hook, line, and sinker over the years somehow. no, this doesn’t mean he’ll change for the better or worse. but maybe.. he’ll make up for it in his own way after being an incredible asshole. maybe.

[goldenguillotines]

Hey Milo, why were you getting so confrontational with that pink fish guy Naka is friends with? Did he do something wrong or step on your nerves somehow?

"☆What? You call inspiring some action actually having some kinda beef with him?☆

"☆I think that giant prick deserves a bit of hell but I do certainly believe my fweinds deserve a lil happiness or whatever. ☆"

"☆As if you really think either one of them would say anything to the other.. Perhaps I was a little crass or mean but hey. It all worked out in the end. I probably would have to say sorry or something like that eventually.. but I'll let them have their time together bein all lovey dovey and keep to myself.. My work is quite done here~☆"

"☆I don't think that someone like Aitreo deserves to have his desires fulfilled. But I suppose I'm nice like that. ☆"

[inferidrowned]

⬐[rp starter for @staytendcr]⬏ ━━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━━

'dearest andromeda,' the letter begins, in thin, unfamiliar writing that scratches across the page as if written by a shaking hand. the owl is unfamiliar, too, and not one easily forgotten - a dreadful shabby one-eyed giant that screeches and nips at any fingers that get too close.

'dearest andromeda,

i pray this letter finds you in good health, and that you will kindly consider not burning it. i will not be so crass as to beg forgiveness nor tolerance, and certainly not so as to ask for anything of such a manner in return.

congratulations on the career you've chosen! perhaps this part is coming a bit late. i've been largely indisposed, and only recently been told. healing is the most noble of arts, and i hope you find pride and fulfillment in your work. i would

i am sure you've heard of walburga's passing some time ago. a number of years back, before you when i she had expressed a desire to pass some heirloom jewelry onto her family upon her departure. (i shall not relate her exact wording, as it was not particularly kind. i'm sure you recall how mother was.)

i do hope you perceive my offer not as an insult, despite her unkindness and any resentment you may hold towards the rest of us. i wish more than anything for it to stay in the family, and i have reason for i am not sure if you've heard i am trying to have less silver in the house for personal reasons. if you'd like it, i can arrange something.

do you still speak to i miss

i wish you the best in all things, and humbly request you write me back.

yours, regulus a. black

ps. sorry if persephone bit you upon retrieving this letter. she's a lovely owl, truly.'

[ficmashup]

Learning

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: Hello, my sweet darlings. This one is pretty indulgent and I'm sorry it's so short! It just had to be this way and I couldn't fit it anywhere else, so I decided to just go with it. I have a vague idea of where I'm going, but no promises. ;) Hey, a summary! Will probably go back and do specific summaries, but for now this is good enough. Thanks for reading! <3

Warnings: As always with this fic, vague references of SA, crass language, talk of injuries, honestly a sickening amount of fluff.

Word Count: 2.4k (Short, I know! Sorry!)

Feral Masterlist

I don’t leave Soap’s side as he recovers. Thankfully, the infection isn’t a bad one and the fever breaks in a couple days. I keep him in the infirmary for one more day and threaten Soap with more if he so much as puts a foot on the floor. “And what about you, lass? You look dead on your feet.” He looks at me pointedly while I resist sticking my tongue out at him like a child.

“’M not on my feet.” I object as I settle back into my chair with a yawn, Ghost’s jacket dwarfing me as I tug it on. He’d visited and hadn’t reclaimed it yet, so it’s my personal blanket for now. I’d like to wash it before I give it back anyway. The boys had each tried to convince me to head back to my room, but I hadn’t given in yet. Price hadn’t ordered me away, so I figured I had a little more time. “Said I’d stay until you’re well. I keep my word.”

“I’m well enough, G. You’re discharging me tomorrow. Come on, go get some real sleep in your own bed.” Soap pushes and I shake my head, resting it back against the chair as my eyes close.

“About to get some sleep right here, right now.” I open an eye to peak at him and point an accusatory finger at him. “Remember that the other nurses will tell me if you move.” They were the ones who had to treat the soldiers I fought when I first got here. They wouldn’t lie for him. Not to me, anyway. Soap rolls his eyes with a huff before my eyes shut again. I’m nearly asleep when I hear the familiar scuff of boots stopping next to me and I look up a bit blearily.

“I’m relieving you tonight, soldier.” Price’s voice wakes me up a bit more and I wipe a hand over my eyes as my brows furrow.

“That’s not necessary, sir. It’s my job.” I sit up a bit more, pulling the sleeves of Ghost’s jacket up so my hands are free.

“And it’s my job to see to the welfare of my team.” He points out as his fingers curl in a gesture for me to get up. I rise with a small huff and keep a hand on the arm of the chair to keep myself steady. My lips part to object again, but Price steps a bit closer and bends down a bit so only I can hear his words. “You’ve done a hell of a job looking after Johnny. Time you looked after yourself.” He holds my gaze for a moment, his hand reaching out to lightly squeeze my shoulder in his usual method of encouragement. A little smile creeps onto my face at the feeling, at knowing him well enough to see that.

I heave a breath. I’m being overprotective, possessive, as Soap would put it. Certain memories stick in my mind despite the fact that Soap isn’t me and I didn’t have a team like this the last place I was in. “You’ll send for me if something happens?” I allow at last and ignore Soap’s slack-jawed look. A few words from Price can get me to leave, but an hour-long argument with him and the others didn’t so much as get me to budge. Well. Price knows why I’m reticent.

Price nods without hesitation. “You’ll be the first to know. I won’t leave until you discharge him tomorrow.” My jaw locks as I consider it for a few moments before nodding my agreement. Price squeezes my shoulder again in acknowledgement of how difficult this is for me even though we both know I’m using my background as a basis, rather than logic. He turns towards the chair and this time I’m the one who reaches out, my fingers sliding over his hand on my shoulder. He turns back towards me and I soak in his pretty blue eyes.

“Thank you.” The words are quiet, but firm and full of sincerity. His gaze softens in that sweet way they sometimes do and his hand turns, his fingers brushing mine before both our hands drop.

“You’re welcome.” He responds just as quietly before I turn to Soap who is blinking as if worried he’s hallucinating.

“Remember the nurses know my orders and won’t hesitate to snitch on you to Price.” I pin him to the bed with my gaze before he holds up his hands in surrender. My feet carry me out of the infirmary before I can change my mind and I sigh entering my room. I barely have the energy to kick off my boots before I collapse onto my bed and instantly fall asleep.

*     *     *

I’ve no clue what time it is when I wake up. It’s still dark out, that’s clear to see, and I’m groggy as hell. A quick glance at my phone reveals that it’s two a.m. and my stomach gurgles loudly. Sighing, I slide out of bed and rustle around my bags before finding a granola bar that I immediately shove in my mouth. It’ll tide me over until I somehow find some more food. Half-asleep, I shrug Ghost’s jacket on and drape a blanket around me as I head out towards the mess hall. I pass by the infirmary and slow down a little, then decide to duck in for just a second. They usually have some good rations hidden away anyway.

A soft smile comes to my face as I see the boys exactly where I left them. Soap is asleep with some drool coming out of his mouth and Price is sleeping in the chair next to him, his hat pulled low over his face and his feet propped up next to Soap’s on the bed. I creep in and ignore the scolding look the on-duty nurse gives me as I walk over to them. Something in my chest eases seeing everything is alright without me.

Carefully, I drape my body warmed blanket over Price and he doesn’t move a muscle except for the steady up and down of his chest as he breathes. There are a few cups of pudding next to Soap’s bed and I happily scoop one up and open it with a little crinkling sound from the packaging. “Couldn’t resist?” I freeze at the gruff voice and see the corner of Price’s mouth lift as he reaches up to set his hat properly on his head so he can look at me. I smile sheepishly at him.

“Got a bit hungry. The infirmary always has the good snacks.” I tell him honestly and he quirks a skeptical eyebrow at me. “And I may have wanted to check in while I was out. Didn’t mean to wake you, Price.”

He shakes his head, that near smile still on his face. “I’m impressed you made it this long, actually.” He sits up and moves his feet onto the floor, cracking his neck with a heavy sigh. I smirk a little as he moves. That chair isn’t that comfortable and no one knows that more than me. I grab another pudding cup and spoon before offering both to him. He glances at them, then to me, then takes them while I grin.

“I swear I would’ve made it until tomorrow if I hadn’t gotten hungry.” I say softly while we both eat the pudding. Chocolate. It’s not too bad for military rations.

Price hums in amusement. “Should’ve made you eat something before I sent you off. Should’ve also gotten you a better chair to sleep in while you looked after Johnny. This thing is a fuckin’ nightmare.” He kicks the leg of the chair he’s in with his heel and I giggle, short and sweet. His eyes crinkle slightly as he smiles at me and I feel something in me soften. He really cares about his team. Which includes me now, I suppose. That’s why he stayed here tonight, not to watch Soap, but to put my mind at ease.

“You don’t have to stay here the rest of the night, Captain. Soap seems well looked after.” I say quietly and he raises his brows.

“You sure about that?” He asks and I nod.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I spare Soap a look and take a breath as I feel doubt creeping up into my throat. Soap isn’t me and the situations are completely different. Time to move forward. “I’ll walk you out.” I turn back to Price and I’m struck dumb with the pride in his gaze.

He nods slowly, considering me a moment longer before he agrees and lays the blanket I put over him onto Soap’s bed. “Alright.” He stands and I put a hand over my mouth as he groans softly while stretching. Those lovely eyes shoot daggers at the chair behind him. “Remind me to burn that chair.”

“Yes, sir.” There’s amusement in my voice and he gives me a look that tells me he knows I’m laughing at him. He doesn’t call me out on it though and merely smirks as I take another pudding cup to eat as we quietly leave the infirmary.

“Lucky you got the soft introduction to treating the team when we’re injured.” Price says as we walk slowly through the halls. Our pace is a tad slower, but I don’t mind spending a little extra time talking with Price. He goes on, “Soap and Gaz aren’t too bad. Johnny gets a bit restless, but he’s not too bad. Gaz is a smartass and tends to hide how bad things are with humor. You have to push a bit or he has to trust you enough to be straight with you. And Ghost…” He trails off and reaches up to wipe a hand over his facial hair, shaking his head.

“Difficult one, hm?” It’s not a surprise to me. Ghost seems as likely to trust others as I am and that’s not much.

Price sighs as we come to a stop outside my room and turn to face one another. “He’s a stubborn bastard. Won’t tell you something’s wrong unless he’s bleeding out.”

I grimace, but make a mental note of the fact. “Okay. I’ll keep an eye out.” Because I know he’s not telling me this simply to talk. Price isn’t the time of man to do things idly. He’s giving me a lot of trust by letting me into his team, trusting me to take care of them to the best of my ability. The relationship between a medic and a captain can make or break a team. It’s up to both of us, him giving the orders and me patching everyone up, to keep everyone whole and safe.

He nods and there isn’t any doubt in his eyes. “I know you will. You’re a hell of a medic.” He glances down to Ghost’s jacket still wrapped around me and I tug a bit on the sleeves while he smiles. “You’ve made real strides with this team in a short amount of time. That’s nothing to scoff at.”

“You all welcomed me too.” I point out, holding out my hands that are half hidden in Ghost’s jacket to prove a point. “Despite my…less than warm attitude.”

Price hums in amusement. “You did better than you think. Ghost didn’t answer anyone but me with anything other than grunts the first two months he was here.”

I laugh softly. “Really?”

“Told you he was a stubborn bastard.” Price confirms with a warm smile on his face. “Soap was the one to eventually break him down. Took a while though.” I lean back against the door frame of my room as I hear the thinly veiled comfort in his words. He’s saying it’s okay that it’s taking me a while too.

I hesitate a moment, then decide to go for it. “Ghost told me that you kept my file to yourself. I appreciate that.” My eyes hold his as I speak so he can see the genuine gratefulness in my gaze.

He nods, not having to think about it for a second. “No thanks needed. I figured you would tell who you wanted when you wanted.”

“Well, my preferred answer to that would be no one and never, but apparently that’s bad for my mental health.” We both chuckle before his stance softens a touch and he shifts towards me despite not taking a step closer.

“You’re a tough soldier, I know you know that. I’m glad to have been able to give you a place here. Give you a team that actually deserves you.” I’m caught in his eyes for a moment, in the absolute certainty in his voice that I’m a good fit for the team that he holds in such high esteem. His team.

I smile, glancing down at the floor a moment while my head shakes. “You’re a really fucking good captain, you know that?” My compliment isn’t as smooth or deft as his, but it’s sincere. Our gazes meet again and he looks a bit taken aback, then a surprised smile takes over his face. He chuckles softly and the sound is warm like a glass of whiskey.

“Don’t know about that. I try.” He says, reaching up and lifting his hat to rub a hand over his head, then putting the hat back on. I smile a tiny bit. Is he…flustered?

“No, I’m telling you. As a member of your team. You’re a good captain.” I don’t give him time to brush it off as I reach out and squeeze his bicep with a little smirk on my face at turning his habit back around on him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I open the door to my room and take in that sweet, soft look in his eyes.

“Tomorrow.” He tips his hat and I can’t stop my wide grin as he pauses, second guessing the movement before he shakes his head. I watch him walk away before one more thing pops into my head.

“You never said how you are when you’re injured.” I call out and he turns back to me with a half-shrug and mischevious smile.

“Insufferable.” He responds and leaves me with a smile on my face. I hold his cigar box as I sleep, but it’s for a little more than chasing away nightmares…

Taglist (hi! it's so nice having so many people wanting to be tagged! Thanks for being interested! If anyone else wants to be tagged, lmk);

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13

[tewwor-moving]

— STATS .

sexuality & status: biromantic / demisexual & single 4ever ( unless... )

hobbies: minding his own fucking business, long rambunctious naps ( his snoring’s been mistaken as the pipes settling on more than one occasion )

pets: closest he’s ever gotten to one is this one mangy rat at on the road — considers it an acquaintance for all the times it’s scared off prissy customers

relatives: everyone bit the dust — one bit him literally ( younger sister, kid was a biter growing up and not a saint )

— ‘DOSSIER’ .

for as loud and crass as someone like walter is, there isn’t a lot known about the man. nothing of actual importance, that is. he’s one to keep his nose firmly out of anyone’s business and ( foolishly ) expects everyone to do the same unto him. spoiler alert: it never works out — either someone drags him into some unneeded knowledge or tries to nose their way into his.

walter's no stranger to these parts, even if he’s always hated the place. everything reeks of bullshit and the million fucking bugs always do their damndest to pester him. and yet, he’s here. been here for five years and counting.

strange, isn’t it?

how such a flighty, belligerently insensitive brute like him hasn’t upped and left just yet. then again, it’s kind of fitting that he resides in a business that matches his visage perfectly. peeling wallpaper in almost every room, singed burnt orange carpet in the eyesore of a lobby, no — the curtains don’t match any of the drapes ( there’s an uneven number of them, some are even missing a panel ).

unkempt, eerily ambianced, barely functionable.

perhaps that’s why his friend had him inherit the damn place ( against ‘his will’ )… oops, sorry — that’s too much information seeing the light of day. All you need to know is that any serious complains ( aka all of them ) should go up to the big boss of the rundown motel — which totally isn’t him, and don’t try to clean up any.. messes made. you’ll probably just make the staining worse.

— ACTUAL DOSSIER .

walter hails from a piss poor family of four nestled in the dirt rich countryside. mother and father never saw eye to eye on anything, even when death came tolling for their ticket in life. his younger sister, quite the maverick she was, hardly cared for the happenings on home turf. she barely stayed put until some grand adventure called her away. 

now, you might be wondering how in the world walter let her go so early. wasn’t he worried about her safety? the world’s a harsh place and he’s already had his fair share of horrible treatment by her birth. and the answer is, yes, of course he was worried sick about her departure, but there was literally nothing he could do about it. well, except chase trails gone cold over and over and over again until they all…stopped for good.

family aside, he’s always been hard-headed with even thicker skin. not once did he have a goal in life other than to survive it. death would come for him whenever it’s time — he made peace with that fact early on ( perhaps concerningly so ). except.. one particular asshole made it his life’s mission to fuck the only constant in walter's miserable life.

.. and so the story about how walter strayed from mortality unfurls.. it’s dumb. stupid, really, because people usually regard immortality as something gained for power, wealth, or even love. but walter? yeah, no, he’s always seen it as a hoax. and even if it wasn’t just fairytale, he wanted nothing to do with it. the idea of living forever sounded like the shittiest win at an even shittier lottery. so imagine his hate-filled surprise when his nemesis ( full on most loathed person to ever exist in his life ) comes by this nifty ‘gift’. now quadruple that rage when that rat bastard bites and changes him solely to riff and neg walter for eternity.

what kind of idiotic reasoning was that?

to make matters even worse ( yes, it’s always possible ), that shithead was still green to the whole vampire thing. so the two of them had to figure it out together; something walter clearly despised with every single fiber of his being. how they didn’t kill each other remains a mystery, but that fucker’s still out there and walter's done everything to hide away time and time again — aka the main reason for his location hopping.

then, as luck would have it, the only friend he’s ever really had ( he still uses that term very loosely ) dies out of the blue and leaves his name on the motel’s deed. him, of all people. him. he had half the mind to just close the business from the get-go. never wanted to be boss of anything— let alone some barely maintained motel off of some shitty highway. but some odd sense of comfort, of — dare he say it —home finds its way into his dead heart. pictures of him and his friend stay up in the one room he occupies at the end of the establishment ( always heavily locked — no one’s allowed in ). regulars ( the bad and the worse ) start to.. grow on him even if the majority get on his last damn nerve.

and so, he’s come to an agreement with things. where he is in life, who he’s ( barely ) around, how long he’s been ‘settled down’… for now.

— CONNECTIONS .

TENants because there’s only 10 rooms (0/?) — made the choice to shack up  at on the road? well, there’s 100% chance you’ve come by walter. either it’s at the front desk ( asleep ), swearing up a storm as a room’s being changed out, giving that one shitty vending machine situated outside a piece of his mind, etc. he acts as the overworked manager of the shitty joint — just a voice for the mysterious boss of the place, he swears it.

the ones that won’t go away ( 0/? )— reasons be damned, walter does not like to keep close tabs on people nor does he like people to think or involve him in anything. so whether it’s an attempt to recruit him into the saints organization, do one solid favor about the dead body bodies in room 1, 3, 5, or 7( it’s always the odd numbers for some reason ), or just to befriend him ( can’t fathom why )… walter will always shoot down each and every chance. even if there’s a select few that he might have grown ‘fond’ over.

crime, shcrime ( 1/? ) —been there, done that.. one too many times over his ‘exhaustively extensive’ life. crime’s boring and so not worth the trouble. he knows he’s value in the sense of finding things that should never be found, but please — leave him out of the illegal shenanigans.

romance should be dead ( 0/1 ) — as a self-proclaimed miser, walter's always wanted to be left the fuck alone. but maybe someone wows him. really throws a hook, line, and sinker over the years somehow. no, this doesn’t mean he’ll change for the better or worse. but maybe.. he’ll make up for it in his own way after being an incredible asshole. maybe.