#string snapping under its own tension

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

I can not tell a lie, I am a simple woman and I like when fictional men who have been trained all their lives to be unbreakable finally fucking SNAP.

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 320+, 600+, 940+, 1,200+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. Law, Penguin, Shachi.

Warnings: wet dreams, afab!reader, masturbation, slight yandere: law-penguin-shachi, dub con (masturbating while you're unaware and in the same room, using your image to masturbate to), all individual 'x reader', headcanons, you can sense my favouritism and bias, NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Notes: Had to get this out, it was driving me nuts. Brought to you by my obsession with the heart-pirates lately. Please read the warnings. Kid-Pirate Version. Art link.

Tag list: @sordidmusings @nerium-lil @feral-artistry @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @indydonuts @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @carrotsunshine @mfreedomstuff

Cries of bliss fell from your throat as you allowed the unbridled lust overtake your body. You writhed, overcome with grinding and circling your hips to use his thick cock to chase your high, clenching around him tightly to tether yourself to him. Looking up at your face, witnessing its contortion in pleasure was all it needed for him to immediately bark out a string of curses, spilling his hot cum deep within your core.

The contractions of your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock prompted him to cry your name and chase his high with more intentional bucks and thrusts. You whine his name, gripping onto his shoulders while you allow him to use your body for his pleasure. Your own high propelled his to linger longer, his hot spurts splashing up within you as he molded your body to the shape of his throbbing cock.

“I-I’m cumming,” he whispered, his brows furrowing as the tension in his stomach snapped, “Oh, I’m f-fucking cumming.” The soft, smoky image of your body crying atop him scorched into his memories. He couldn’t get enough, his eyes glazing over as he witnessed you take his entire load deep within you. The whisper of his name on your tongue, the soft smile on your lips, and body glistening in the soft glow of lustful sweat had never had him so transfixed on a single moment before.

His body suddenly jolted awake, the images of you fading away from his mind as he immediately sat upright in his dimly lit bedroom. Lips parting, he threw back the sheets and growled at himself as he looked to his lower abdomen. The white, translucent cum coated his still quivering and throbbing cock: the sticky fluid pooling over his stomach, down his shaft and dampening the sheets beneath him. He groans, wiping his face and pinching his brow before falling back and wallowing in his own embarrassment.

“Fuck.”

Trafalgar Law

He snuck another glance down at his body, clicking his tongue to reprimand himself.

“What a fucking mess,” he growled, his lips curling up and frown furrowing in the middle of his forehead. He hastily reached for his bedside tissue box, swiping a square napkins from the slot and began violently wiping at his skin to rid itself of the cum spent below him.

He was so in control of himself, every aspect of his life being refined down to a fine art. His schedule never differed, he even jotted in when he had the opportunity to masturbate to rid himself of his pent-up stress. He had even stepped out of that routine and managed to relieve himself before falling asleep last night.

So why did this happen?

Overcome with complete embarrassment and shame, he hastily stood up and began peeling off his stained bedsheets and folded them into his laundry basket. Reaching for his linen closet, he growled under his breath while he redressed his bed with his fitted sheet, top sheet, and new cover for his plush duvet.

“The fuck is wrong with me?” he growled at himself, looking down at his cock while he snapped the buttons in place to contain the duvet. Lying back within the sheets, he growled at himself, rolled over onto his side and folded his arms over his chest.

“Law, I-I'm so close,” your fictional and illusionary voice rang in his ears, prompting him to clamp his pillow around his head to muffle the thoughts.

“Shut up,” he scolded his mind, grimacing as he felt a rush of blood pool in his cock. He attempted to ignore it, but the images of you wrapped around his cock prompted his knob to begin twitching at the thoughts.

“Just like that,” your voice called to him, face beginning to contort in pleasure as your illusionary body contracted around him in his mind, “Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” he barked, immediately peeling the pillow away from his head and throwing it on the mattress. He folded it in half, immediately slotting his cock between the silken material.

He ground his hips down into the pillow with his left hand holding the stuffed material down firmly atop his throbbing cock, his right gripping the headboard of his bed. His cock was so achingly hard, thick veins began throbbing with desire as his mind conjured what you looked like beneath him.

Your legs would wrap around his hips, your lips crying out his name as he hit that spot deep within you that had you scream for him. He imagined pressing down on your stomach, feeling how deep he was within your abdomen while his thumb stimulated your clit.

As he imagined you reach your high, he manically drove his cock harder within the plush pillow: the satin shroud feeling slippery against his steely cock. He pictured you sobbing as you came undone beneath him, your eyes glistening as he had you reach your peak.

He gently cried your name, sobbing as his hips staggered in an unsyncopated rhythm. His voice caught in his throat as he let out a final lengthy groan. Ribbons of his release coated his pillowcase, his forehead thumping against the wall beyond the bedframe as he shot the last spurt of cum into the material.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he mourned his sanity, moving away from his prior position and opening up the folded pillow. He grimaced at the mess, berating himself for not only making another mess he had to clean up, but angry at the fact he used the thought of his crewmate to seek out his own pleasure.

“Fuck.”

Penguin

After quickly snapping up from his sleeping position and locating his shirt from beneath his bedside table, he wiped at his cock and stomach with it to rid it of his sticky cum. He rolled onto his side, hastily scrunching his eyes shut and pouting as he tried to fall back asleep.

His thoughts were swimming with the image of you in the thralls of bliss, riding his cock as you used his body to coast through the waves of passion. He could barely halt his roaming hands snaking down his abdomen and clench around his already hardening cock.

Praying that Shachi was still sleeping in the twin bunk beside him in their shared crew-quarters, he pricked his ears up and listened for the steady rise and fall of soft snoring in his ears. Once he deemed Shachi was sleeping deeply enough, he clapped his left hand over his lips and used his right to piston his cock within his fist.

If he was forced to cum within his dreams at the thought of you, he would intend on using that image to cum of his own volition. The way you bounced on top of him, flipping to wrythe beneath him, the soft slaps of hips meeting, the ripples of your ass as he bucked in from behind you; all of these images had him whimpering into his palm while he fucked his hand to reach his high.

He whispered your name, his eyes pricking at the corners as he spilled himself into the same shirt he used to clean himself up with moments prior. He was immediately overcome with disgust at himself. He had violated the image of you as his crewmate and turned you into his own muse to reach his orgasm.

Throughout the entirety of his shift with Shachi, his pout never left his face. His brows were furrowed, his eyes were shrouded even further beneath his hat, and his soft pout quivered into a deep frown the moment his eyes met with your body across the station. His red-haired crewmate beside him noticed his change in demeanor, giving him a soft nudge with his elbow.

“The hell is wrong with you, man?” Shachi arched his eyebrow, scowling with his upper lip curling into a soft snarl, “You’re actually doing work. And you’re so damn silent.” Penguin chose not to engage his workmate, picking up the pace with adjusting a panel on the Polar Tang.

“This got anything to do with...” Shachi leant forwards, whispering a soft moan of your name into Penguin’s ear, followed by a mocking tease of, “...I-I'm cumming. Oh, I’m f-fucking cumming.” Penguin’s face turned a deeper shade of red than Shachi’s hair, the blush flooding down his neck and igniting his skin beneath the burn.

Having a shared bunk with Shachi had its benefits: his closest friend being right there for him when the night terrors got too much for one another. He usually enjoyed having him there, but now that he was throwing his intrusive dream back in his face by mocking his sleep-talking, he was livid.

“Chill out, Penguin,” Shachi jokes, giving him a clap on the shoulder, “Happens to the best of us-.”

“-I’m not some prepubescent teenager who can’t control their fucking thoughts!” Penguin barked, prompting you to turn from your desk and look towards the two men. Penguin hushed his tone, whispering quietly to his friend. “I-I just-...” he snuck a look over at you, his breath hitching as he noticed your stare.

You shot him a puzzled look, glancing at him up and down before returning to your work. Shachi shook his head, clapping over his shoulder to support him.

“You know,” Shachi whispered, “They probably won’t bite,” he nudged him, urging him a little closer to you, “Why don’t you go ask ‘em if they wanna make your dreams come true.” Penguin snapped his head over to Shachi, who had already begun sprinting away from an enraged Penguin.

“Get back here, asshole!” Penguin roared after him, his blush deepening within his cheeks. Shachi chortled, reaching around your body and shielding himself behind you.

“Oi, don't bring me into whatever this is!” you chastised him, attempting to break away from Shachi’s grip. Penguin attempted to reach behind your shoulders, just as Shachi pushed your body into Penguin's.

As your chests collided, the angle of Penguin’s head trying to reach Shachi had his lips knit immediately with yours. You squealed in surprise, humming against his lips as Penguin's own surprise gasped against your own.

You both remained equally surprised at the fact that neither of you pulled away. In fact, Shachi reached for your wrists and clamped them around Penguins neck before he quickly scuttled away, almost forcing you to give into your mutual craving for one another. You felt the rise in heat on Penguin's cheeks, the warm burn causing you to smile against his lips.

Humming gently, you angle your chin up to deepen the soft kiss. You cradled his cheeks, squeaking in delight as he wraps his arms around your back and hoists you up into his chest. You break away from his lips to gaze deeply into his blushing face.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” he murmurs before giving you a soft peck on the lips, “Can we hold this thought for a second so I can go kill him real quick?”

“By all means,” you giggled at him, watching as a mischievous grin drew over his lips. As he releases you and begins to turn away, you draw his attention back with a soft hand atop his cheek. You draw him in close, giving his unoccupied cheek a soft kiss.

“Good luck.”

Shachi

Growling, he immediately threw himself into his shared lavatory with his bunkmate, Penguin. Never had he been so thankful that Law put Penguin on night shift with Ikkaku tonight without him. He aggressively scrunched at some tissue paper, cleaning up his spend all over his red happy trail. He groaned as he fisted at his semi-firm cock, ensuring all of the cum was out of his shaft and firmly squelched into the tissue.

Looking over at his bedside analog clock, he groaned and flung his head back. The small arm of the clock was barely touching the four, the larger one slowly moving to flick onto the ten. He slung his pajama pants over his hips, the material hanging limply and exposing his chiseled adonis belt.

“Not even 4am, for fucks sake,” he shook his head, peeling back his sheets and throwing them into his laundry basket. Weighing up his options, he decided it was not worth attempting to fall back asleep after remaking his bed with fresh sheets, and instead chose to use his time to have a lengthy and uninterrupted shower. He might even indulge in taking a lengthy, relaxing bath afterwards.

Considering the time and crew rotation, he chose the bathroom furthest away from crew quarters to not disturb those remaining in blissful slumber. As soon as he entered the room, he heard a soft humming melody echoing within the tiled walls and joined with the flooding water from the tap filling the large spa.

He turned the corner just as you dropped the towel from your body and stepped within the large bath. His eyes roamed over your thighs, hips, ass, stomach, chest and shoulders until he met with your gaze.

“Oh!” you shrieked in shock, gawking at him as he arrived in nothing but his uniform pajama pants, “Sorry, Shachi. I hope I didn't wake you!” A soft blush rose to his cheeks, looking away from your form and walking over to the shower.

Bathing together was not something uncommon with the heart-pirates. All members of the crew would often indulge in dipping into an onsen together, sharing a ceramic cup or wooden box of sake and joking with one another. It was never anything other than platonic, purely getting joy from being warmed within the water as you shrouded uniformes and became of equal stations and standing.

But now that his mind chose to corrupt the image of you naked, he couldn't help but to turn away from you and ready himself for a very cold shower. Stripping himself from his pants, he placed them in a neat pile beside your clothes. He took off his hat and glasses, rubbing his hands through his hair and placed them on top of his pants.

“You didn't wake me,” he muttered with a straightened, tight-lipped smile, “Couldn't sleep, thought I'd start early. What about you?" He turned on the tap, wincing as the ice-like shards hit his skin.

"Pretty much the same, unfortunately," Shrugging, you gathered several items to scrub at your skin, "I'm on the early shift, too. Thought I'd have a bath." Washing your face first, you lathered the suds atop your cheeks and eyes before dipping yourself in the hot water.

You sighed, leaning back and submerging your hair to lather in foamy shampoo. Your eyes were closed as you arched your back to gather the appropriate angle to dip the crown of your head within the water. Shachi snuck a look at you from behind the tiled wall of the shower stall, immediately clamping his eyes shut as he took in the sight of your bare chest with peaked nipples dripping with opaque suds of soap. He hid his face behind the wall, his forehead resting on it as his cock sprung to life.

“Fuck,” he whispered, turning the cold tap on more to freeze his body out of the thoughts overcoming him. His cock refused to let up, immediately pooling with blood and twitching with anticipation.

“Shachi?” you called to him, brows knit with concern, “Shach, you okay? You hurt?” You attempted to peer around the ceramic wall, but ultimately decided to give him privacy and an opportunity to talk.

“‘M fine,” he grunted out, his right hand grasping his cock and attempting to choke the life from it, pleading with it to fall back to its usual, flaccid state, “Just got soap in my eye, s’all.” The lie was easy enough to believe, causing him to grimace at the fact he could so easily get away with this.

“Oh, I hate it when that happens!” you comment with a soft laugh, lathering up your scalp and groaning as you massaged your fingertips within the damp strands.

Shachi flinched beneath the icy water, his arousal now heightened as soon as he heard your groan. He clenched his teeth tightly shut, his hand moving of its own volition as he circled his thumb over his tip.

“Hey, Shachi?” you hummed in thought, dipping your hair into the water and removing the soap from the ribbons of soaked locks, “Ikkaku, Bepo and I were gonna go to the bar in-land after our shift ends tomorrow. Bepo was gonna ask Penguin if he wanted to come too.”

Shachi hummed in interest, his voice breaking a little in the middle as he listened to your statement. He couldn't help it, his hand began pistoning his shaft and strangling his knob with each crude thrust. He sucked in his bottom lip and clamped down harshly on the flesh.

“It's got that one cocktail I'm obsessed with there,” you added, gathering some conditioner and layering your hair within prayer-like hands, “Did you wanna come too?”

Shachi’s eyes went black with lust, hearing such a simple word as he worked at his cock behind the shroud of the tiled screen. His breath hitched as he felt his end reach its peak, precum beginning to pearl at his slit.

“Shachi?” you call to him, unaware that he was picking up the pace of his hand beating his cock to the sound of your voice, “Do you wanna come?”

Shachi whimpered, nearly reaching his high as his eyes rolled back to your innocent suggestion. He was right there, he just needed one more little push.

“Wh-What was that?” he tested, using the volume of the pelted water within the shower to mask your question from reaching him, “Can you speak up a little? Ask me again?”

“Shachi?” You asked him, your question so innocent, yet Shachi allowed his thoughts to run away with him the moment you asked your question, “Do you wanna come with me?”

“Y-Yes,” he whined, “I wanna come. Let me come with you. I wanna come so bad.” Shachi painted the wall of the shower with hot spurts of his sticky cum, his eyes rolling back as he chased his orgasm as silently as he could. Ropes of spattered cum wrote his sinful desires against the tiles, his toes curling and his hips lewdly bucking. After coming down from his high, he clicked his tongue to reprimand himself.

“Fuck, Shachi,” you giggled, “I've never heard you so enthusiastic about a cocktail before! You sure you wanna come with us?” Your teasing voice prompted Shachi to chuckle from behind the wall, his voice was breathy and filled with humour.

“I would love to come with you,” he panted, immediately wracked with guilt about using your voice and image to reach his climax for the second time today, “Just let me know when you're heading out, and I'll be ready.”

"Okay, great!" you giggled, rinsing the conditioner in the water and remaining blissfully ignorant to Shachi's orgasm erupting on the wall so close to you.

[airybcby]

Hiii!! I love your Blue Lock writing sm! I’ve fallen down such a rabbit hole in the fandom recently so when I just saw your post I knew I had to ask!!😭

I was wondering if I could make a request for the Fate Event for Kaiser or Shido with the red string of fate

Thank you so much💗

Hi Hi! Sorry it's taken me a bit to get to this, I've had personal stuff and school is kicking my butt, but ofc!

I decided to do Shido bc I love writing for him so much :)

Shido Ryusei x The Red String of Fate

જ⁀♡⊹｡° guess i'm stuck forever

♡ a/n — for my 800 follower event!

♡ content — shidou ryusei x gn! reader, gn! reader, reader has strong feelings (slight hatred) for shidou , shidou is a little shit, red string soulmate AU, soulmate AU, proposal (fake), set when reader & shidou are at least 21+

♡ synopsis — You wanted to be mad, but the pull of the red string and the ridiculous sparkle in Shidou Ryusei's eyes made it hard to stay angry. Maybe this was destiny’s idea of a joke.

You weren’t even supposed to be at this game.

Soccer wasn’t your thing—never had been, never would be—but your best friend had begged you to come. “PXG games are legendary,” they’d said, eyes sparkling. “And Shidou Ryusei is unreal.”

Shidou Ryusei. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until you saw him on the field that you felt the strange tug in your chest—one that sent your mind spiraling back to high school.

Back then, your friend had dragged you to your school’s rivalry game against another local powerhouse. You hadn’t cared about the match, but you remembered a player on the rival team. His bleached hair had made him stand out, as did the almost animalistic way he played. Back then, the red string around your finger had pulled faintly in his direction.

You hadn’t thought much of it. It was easy to dismiss soulmates as a romanticized idea, and besides, you figured the string would pull more strongly if you were ever truly meant to meet your soulmate. But now, standing in the packed stadium, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The red string was practically thrumming with energy, pulling taut in one unmistakable direction: straight toward Shidou Ryusei.

He moved across the pitch like a force of nature, reckless and magnetic. Every goal he scored sent the crowd into a frenzy, and though you weren’t a soccer fan, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“This has to be a mistake,” you muttered under your breath, clutching your hand to your chest as if that would stop the string from tugging.

Your friend, too caught up in the game, didn’t notice your unease. “Isn’t he insane? No one plays like Shidou!”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

After the game ended and PXG secured their victory, your friend got swept up in the post-match celebrations. That left you standing awkwardly on the sidelines, the buzzing in your finger making it impossible to leave.

It wasn’t logical, but you found yourself heading toward the players’ exit. You told yourself it was just curiosity—that you needed to see if this pull was real. But the closer you got, the stronger the string became, like it had a mind of its own.

You pushed your way to the barricades, where a crowd of fans had already gathered, phones in hand and security guards stationed to keep everyone in line. You tried to blend in, though you weren’t even sure what you were hoping to accomplish.

And then, everything changed.

A commotion rippled through the crowd as Shidou Ryusei himself appeared. He was shirtless, his jersey draped casually over his shoulder, and his grin was nothing short of feral.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

The red string between you felt like it was about to snap with tension. And when Shidou’s gaze landed on you, his grin widened into something even wilder.

You heard mumbled words of the security guards, one telling him to get back and change while the other was yelling at the rabid fangirls and asking Shidou what he was doing.

He pointed directly at you.

“Getting my love, duh!” he said proudly, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.

The world seemed to stop.

You gawked at him, mortified as every pair of eyes turned in your direction.

“I’m not—” you stammered, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Shidou was already moving toward you, weaving through the stunned crowd with a single-minded focus. The intensity in his eyes was too much.

Panicked, you turned and ran.

Back in your room that night, you sat on your bed, staring at the red string wrapped around your finger. Your heart was still racing. You couldn’t believe what had happened—or that Shidou Ryusei had actually called you his love in front of hundreds of people.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. Frowning, you grabbed it, only to freeze when you saw the message from an unknown number:

Running won’t break the string, you know. ;) – R.S.

Your stomach flipped. How did he even get your number?

You debated ignoring it, but the string’s pull wouldn’t let you rest. Finally, after a long moment, you replied:

What do you want?

The response was instant.

To meet you, obviously. Tomorrow, 2 PM. I’ll send the location. Don’t run this time. :P

You weren’t sure why you agreed to meet him. Maybe it was the string pulling you forward. Maybe it was the fact that his message somehow felt more like a challenge than a request.

Either way, you found yourself sitting at an outdoor café, nervously tapping your fingers against the table. When Shidou arrived, he was just as chaotic as you remembered—swaggering in with that unhinged grin and a confidence that made your stomach churn.

“You showed up!” he said, plopping into the chair across from you. “Guess the string works after all.”

“You’re insane,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “I don’t even know you.”

“Not yet,” he shot back, leaning forward with a glint in his eyes. “But that’s the fun part. Soulmates, remember? We’ve got time to fix that.”

Before you could respond, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small box, and dropped to one knee.

Your jaw dropped. “What the—are you proposing?”

“Obviously,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Why waste time? We’re meant to be together anyway.”

“Excuse you? Get up! You’re embarrassing me!" The people around you, hands almost clasped together in a clap gawking at your rude answer.

"We don’t even know each other!” You weren't sure if you were telling that to yourself, Shidou, or the onlookers.

Shidou just laughed, slipping the ring back into his pocket as if it had all been a joke. But his grin told you he was entirely serious.

“Relax, babe. I’ll save the real proposal for when you actually fall for me. Won’t take long, though—I’m pretty irresistible.”

You glared at him, your face hot with embarrassment. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

You wanted to be mad, but the pull of the red string and the ridiculous sparkle in his eyes made it hard to stay angry. Maybe this was destiny’s idea of a joke. Or maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t.

wrote this really late at night so it isn't my fave

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Christmas

A deal is a deal.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Yoongi, Human!Reader, Unstable AU, set prior/during the Jungkook storyline, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, strangers to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, eventual smut

Wordcount: 900 Words

-> Masterlist

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Yoongi isn’t one for soft and warm gestures. There’s no point in them.

So why did he wake up way too early to get the stupid little pine tree from the markets, so he can put a very badly wrapped piece of dumb jewelry under that tree? Well, because it might make you happy.

And yoongi likes seeing you happy.

When he wakes you with a hand on your shoulder, you’re disoriented at first- a bit panicked even, unsure if something is wrong since he rarely wakes up before you- but then you see it.

There’s a thin string of neon lights probably meant for a different purpose than decoration wrapped around a very small pine tree- and somewhat next and under it, is a small box. It’s wrapped carefully, paper held together by a simple nylon string.

“..yoongi.” You look towards him, and he panicks a little. This isn’t the kind of look he was hoping for when planning this. God, why are humans so complicated? You look like you’re about to cry even, what did he do wrong?

And then, suddenly, you’re in his arms. Head buried into his shoulder, arms around him, and he can’t even move for a good second or two as he’s bombarded with both your scent and your warmth. Things he’s been thinking about- but that’s what it was. Thoughts.

“thank you.” You mumble into his neck, before you move towards the small plant on the table. “how- did you know about this?” You wonder. “human traditions aren’t really common anymore.”

“No, but information on them is freely available.” He says, trying to control his heart from beating too hard. “you’ve.. been down lately. Your mood has been terrible.” He tries to downplay his actions by attempting to blame it on simple convenience. “I saw it and remembered someone talking about a human holiday that makes people happy.” He shrugs.

“What is it?” You wonder as you pick up the small box wrapped in simple newspaper.

“open it.” He just tells you, unable to hide his amusement when you do so with the outmost care, cherishing his efforts.

‘Do not purr.’ He tells himself. ‘You’re not a goddam pet.’

You look at the chain you take out the velvet bag inside the box, and you’re confused at first. Yoongi notices rather quickly, walking closer to take it from you. “it’s made from Iastine Metal. Lasts longer and.. should be more comfortable than what you wear now.” He says as he points to your identification still around your neck. “it’s.. got your name and ID engraved on here. Can be scanned, too.” He mumbles as he shows you the small Metal tag- looking more decorative than only purposeful. The metal is silver, but with a warm touch, reflecting in multiple hues of purple and red when catching the light.

“it looks.. expensive.” You worry, but he just shrugs, before his hands move to take your collar off at the scan of his own ID chip in his wrist.

“Its an investment.” He tries to justify, before he moves the chain around your neck instead, closing it with an odd snap or crack that startles you a bit. “the connecting piece sparks with a chemical reaction to bind the two ends together on a molecular level.”

“..so I can’t loose it?” You joke, as he looks at your neck, words tumbling out before he can stop them.

“And I won’t loose you.” He says.

It’s quiet after that, and odd tension filling the room, one of his hands still near your neck. “was it.. alright that I hugged you?” You ask quietly.

“I didn’t push you away now, did I?” He responds.

“That’s not a proper answer.”

He stutters a bit at that, deep in thought before he speaks once more, hand leaving your close proximity.

“It was.” He reassures you.

“yoongi?” You ask again, and he sighs in fake annoyance. “now I feel bad. What can I gift you?” You ask him, and he stares you down for a moment, thinking of an answer.

“I just need you to promise me something.” He says, sitting on the edge of the bed with you next to him, patiently awaiting his request. “tell me if it hurts.”

“Huh?” You ask, unsure what he’s talking about.

“I’m still figuring out what.. you are to me. Or rather, what I want you to possibly be to me.” He explains further. “I know humans are emotionally vulnerable. I’m not very soft, I’m not good at navigating someone else’s emotions. So, tell me if what I’m doing hurts you.” He says.

“as long as what you do is done with.. honest intentions, it won’t hurt.” You tell him.

“What if I sleep with you then?” He boldly asks. “just to realize that’s not what I want after all?” He questions, and you shrug.

“Won’t hurt.” You respond. “because I know why you’re doing it. Just..” you drift off.

“just?” He asks.

“just don’t..” you sigh. “don’t say you love me until you’re really sure of it, okay?” You ask, and he nods.

“Deal.”

[the-californicationist]

No comment.

MDNI

"Didn't I tell you to keep those filthy little fingers out of your cunt 'til I came home?"

His hand was gripping your jaw so roughly that it made it hard to speak, but you nodded, looking up into John's eyes with lurid need.

"Yeah?" He spat into your open mouth as he held it in his grip, strings of his saliva coating your nose and lips, dripping and begging to be licked off, "So, why did I find my pretty fuckin' wife with her legs spread open, knuckle deep in this juicy cunt, hm?"

You tried to answer, but he was too quick. He shoved two wide fingers into your mouth, smearing his spit around on your tongue, purposefully pressing your head back so you'd need to swallow against them in order to breathe.

His cock was fighting for release behind his zipper, and you could see its fat outline in the soft fabric, aching to be used against you. Your eyes were fixated on it, hungry for it, and your pussy throbbed for him.

"I'm beginnin' to suspect that you like being a dirty fuckin' slag. Innit that right?"

"Yeah," you said around his hand.

"Yeah? My fuckin' slag, huh? Mine."

"Yeah," you could barely form the word around his huge knuckles, but he seemed to like that.

John Price took his hand away from you and stepped behind you as you sat, kneeling naked on the ground.

"Put those fingers back in your cunt, missus."

You obeyed, suddenly submissive in contrast to your previous, bratty behavior.

You knew what was coming.

You heard the jangle of his belt buckle. You listened as the leather slithered out of each loop, snapping and hissing as it was freed. Then, you felt the cold strap wrap itself around your throat and everything inside of you relaxed. All of your tension and your fervor was cooled by your makeshift collar and you sighed in relief.

He pulled it tight around you, looping a finger between your neck and the strap for safety, willing to get dangerous but only on his terms.

"That's it. You like this, hm? You like it when you're at my goddamn mercy. Show me how wet you are. Now."

He jerked the strap, pulling your body against the belt threateningly.

You shoved your fingers even deeper, collecting your come on your hand and pulling it out of yourself, holding it in the air to show him what he wanted to see.

You couldn't see his expression since he was behind you, but you felt his mouth. He bent over, pulling the belt tighter, and began to suckle from your fingertips, licking between them to eat your clear stickiness off of your skin.

"Turn around," he barked.

You didn't actually have to do anything. He spun you on his own, holding the end of the belt nice and high to keep you under control. Then, with his free hand, he unbuttoned his pants, letting his drooling dick loll out of the opening. It was pink and swollen, engorged from his pleasure and veiny with blue, dark blood.

You leaned forward to lick him, but he caught you, yanking you back like a bad dog.

"What do we say when we want something, pet?"

John looked down at you with a sinister satisfaction, his smile full of decadent lust and longing.

You met his eyes and gave him your best helpless fawn impression,

"Please..."

He tightened the belt until it bit into your skin, pinching you. Then, he was crushing your face into his pants, shoving your nose into his pubic hair like a naughty puppy.

"What was that?"

"Please! Please... I want to suck your cock. Please, please, please."

Now, you were wriggling and crying in earnest, no longer just playing the part of his helpless victim, but fully submitting to him, eager to be used.

The belt loosened, and a twisted part of you already missed the pain of its steel against your neck.

"Good girl. See? I knew you had it in you," he laughed softly, tapping your cheek with his rigid muscle, rubbing his cock across your face irreverently.

"Hope you're hungry, missus."

[chuuyascumsock]

My Pride, My Poor— Dwindling Pride. || Minors DNI

Summary: I’ve never felt so utterly stressed out writing dominant men. Here’s your cake so you can eat it too, you filthy animals.

Tags: Chuuya Nakahara/Reader, Female reader, Top Chuuya, Bondage, Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Brat Taming, Throat Fucking, Hair Pulling, Rough Sex, Lowkey Hand Kink, Ok— Highkey Hand Kink, I Don’t Hold Back With Obscene Descriptions Now Because I Don’t Care Anymore And All My Friends Know I Have A Pegging Kink Already So Fuck It, I’m Pulling Out The Big Guns.

You knew exactly what you were getting into when you made your way into executive Chuuya Nakahara’s office with a bitter expression on your face and a fussy attitude. Taking it even further— you knew exactly how vexed it made him when you threw a stack of files upon his desk with some less-than-savory comments spewing past your vulgar lips. You wanted to take it out on someone and you didn’t care who fell victim to your sour mood. You hardly even remember what you said, so peeved off that you could barely think.

But it must’ve been directed forwards Chuuya with the twisted look of perplexion and irate on his face.

You don’t even spare him a look as you turn abruptly to leave— only to pause when hearing the gritting tone of Chuuya, “Excuse me? Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my office like that?” He seethes, thin brows furrowing into his glabella.

Teeth clack into a clench as you spin on your heel to face him, face scrunched up with frustration. With your mind too jumbled of the earlier events of your teammates detrimental fuck up on the recent mission you just got back from— you keep quiet with a glare. Anthracite eyes glare back at you, a fire beginning to kindle and burn behind his gaze.

If you had been anyone else, surely you wouldn’t have been standing for any longer than three seconds unharmed after disrespecting Chuuya in such a way.

But your relationship with Chuuya was a strange one.

“Have you forgotten your status? Because you have some nerve coming in here, throwing shit on my desk, insulting me under your breath, and then thinking that you can just waltz out like you own the goddamn place.” Chuuya snaps, his left hand gripping his pen that’s now visibly bending from his wrath. His right hand is clenched into a fist by his papers.

Your eyes linger on his gloved hands for a moment before trailing back to his eyes. You also note the way his hat that he normally wears is sitting on a nearby hat-rack. It seems the tension and festering anger were planting small thoughts within your mind. Thoughts that were meant to be kept outside of work when no one else was there to witness a different side of the man in front of you.

You had a new plan than just to piss off anyone who came across your path.

“Whatever.”

All it takes is a clipped— one worded response, and you know his patience that tenses against a string thins to its last thread.

There’s a suffocating pressure that constricts your body before you drop to your knees. You find yourself unable to move as Chuuya stands from his desk chair, legs screeching against the hard floor. “Are we really doing this right now?” He walks around the desk, his shoes clipping the ground brutally as he comes to stand in front of you. “Is this how it’s going to be today?” His chin tilts downwards to look you in the eyes sternly as his arms cross over his chest.

You don’t say anything in return, merely biting the inside of your cheek as you debate whether he was on the same page or genuinely about to kick your shit in. You take the chance and snarkily reply, “Yeah, what are you going to do about it?”

Chuuya swipes his tongue across the bottom row of his teeth in exasperation as he glares in borderline amusement at your attitude and his arms fall to his sides. “Apologize.”

A short laugh slips past your lips before you spit out, “No.”

His glare only hardens and his fingers clench into the palms of his gloves tightly, “Apologize, now.”

“Make me,” You tilt your chin up to stare directly at him with a challenging look.

You note the burning stare that pierces back at you in utter disbelief and silence from your words, his lips parting slightly, “… What did you just say to me?”

Your eyelids lull with mirth, “I said— make me.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before his bray laughter spills throughout his office as if he had been delusionally imagining the whole interaction and your blatant audacity. It wears off quickly into a grinning scowl as you’re manhandled off the floor and thrown to bend over Chuuya’s desk. Various papers, files, and pens fly off and scatter to the ground as you choke out a breathless gasp and attempt to catch your breath. There’s not much room to struggle with the effects of his ability pinning you down in place.

One of Chuuya’s gloved hands splay across your wrists to clasp around them tightly, his leathered fingers biting into your skin. He releases his ability as he leans over you, his front pressing tightly against your back.

“I am going to fucking ruin you,” His voice rasps into a growl.

You hiss through your teeth with each struggled breath before biting into your lower lip as he continues, “I’m sick of your prissy fucking attitude today, if you want to act like a damn brat— I guess I’ll just have to fuck it out of you, huh?” He grits out as his body weighs down further into your backside, giving you the feel of his strained bulge confined in his slacks against your ass.

Your breath hitches before falling into heavier sighs as your heart pounds against your rib cage and your thighs rub together in anticipation.

Chuuya notices and a scoff escapes him, “You can’t be serious.” His lips twitch indecisively as he doesn’t know whether to frown in annoyance or laugh at your absurd reasoning behind your antagonistic actions. “That’s what you wanted? Un-fucking-believable…” He chuckles softly before it gradually grows sinister and then trails off, “You have quite the mouth on you— always rambling those pretty lips away any other time just fine. But you couldn’t use your words to ask me to fuck you? You just had to rile me up— c’mon now, Doll, you’re better than that.”

You breathe in and out through your nose heavily a few times as your voice comes out strained from the pressure in your chest, “You… I… You’re hot when you’re mad.”

Chuuya’s brows arch at your revelation, his eyes scanning over how you try to squirm under his grip. It doesn’t take long for what you said to settle in and an arrogant grin crosses his lips, “Am I now? Huh, I‘ll remember that for next time then… For now…” His grip on your wrists tighten and the other comes down to your stockings, ”Why don’t I remind you of your place that you’ve seemingly forgotten?” His fingers dig into the nylon fabric of your pantyhose under your skirt before the tearing of fabric rips through your ears.

“You dick..! Those were my only pair!” You yelp and wriggle, kicking your feet at his shins.

Chuuya ignores you, continuing to speak over your struggles, “You know, you should be on your knees sucking my dick for forgiveness right about now,” He sighs, “But as usual— you’re spoiled and I can’t help but indulge in your wants for the moment.” A gloved finger moves your underwear to the side before easily sinking into your slick pussy.

A whine escapes your throat, toes stretching your body forward in an attempt to escape the teasing and unfulfilling touch of one finger. His other hand keeps you pinned and from moving anywhere as his finger slides in and out tediously as a means to drag on your frustration and need.

“Maybe it’s my fault for giving you everything you’ve wanted, and even till now,” Chuuya growls the last part to himself as another finger stuffs itself into your sopping cunt. “Y’know— you’re so fuckin’ lucky I can’t help myself when it comes to you, or things would’ve went a lot more differently today.” He huffs, mindlessly dragging and scissoring his leather clad fingers against your soft walls. “I get enough shit from the other bastards who think they have enough balls to even turn their noses up in my direction.”

“M’sorry, Chuu—“ Your voice pitches off into a moan as his digits curl and press into a familiar and sensitive spot.

Chuuya chuckles and goes back to slowly thrusting his fingers in and out, “I don’t care now, I know what you really want— but use your words next time instead of makin’ me think I did somethin’ wrong to deserve your attitude, ‘kay, Doll?”

You nod in return, though it’s subtle with how much you’ve already melted under his touch. Your eyelids flutter and you mumble about how you won’t don’t it again before your body tenses and a short, soft cry slips out from the sudden change in pace of his fingers that piston into you.

“Don’t think that you’re not going to be punished for your little stunt earlier just because you said sorry, though,” He clicks, pulling his fingers all the way out and slapping his wet digits against your clit. “You’re going to have to put that mouth to use for a proper apology.”

Blood rushes to your face and up the nape of your neck as a whimper creeps through, turbulent jolts of excitement flip in your lower stomach at his actions before hearing the subtle noise of his belt clinking. You only grow restless further as he nearly rips the belt from his pants to wrap the leather around your wrists, keeping them bound to your back. Chuuya slips an index finger into the loop of the tied belt, tugging you to stand up before you’re spun around and pushed by the shoulders to fall to your knees.

Your eyes set on his hard cock in front of your face, pre-cum weeping from the tip down his length. He wraps a gloved hand around his girth, stroking himself slowly as a smug grin presents itself on his face. His chin tilts down to look at you, index finger and thumb digging into your cheeks to unhinge your jaw.

“Open wide for me, Doll.”

The taste of his bitter cum has your mouth watering, tip gliding along your tongue until it nudges past your uvula and bullies the back of your throat softly. Your throat convulses around him before you gag, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes as you breathe through your nose.

Chuuya groans, his hand moving from your jaw to weave through your hair, tugging the locks to strain against your scalp. He pulls you forward until your nose is buried against the happy trail leading down his lower stomach to his groin. “Fuck, if only you could see yourself choking on my cock right now,” He shakily breathes out as his eyes burn the image into his mind.

You pant heavily through your nose— or at least you try to— finding it hard to breathe with his cock stuffed half-way down your throat.

It isn’t until a few seconds later that he draws his hips back, allowing air to fill your lungs for a moment before bucking into your throat once more as he holds your head in place. Your fingers clench as your wrists jolt against the belt— an involuntary urge to dig your nails into his thighs clawing at you. There’s no build up in speed as he skips right into fucking your throat like a personal fleshlight, every thrust bruising your soft palate. Your whimpers are drowned out by the wet squelching of his girth slipping in and out of the convulsing walls of your throat along with Chuuya’s grunts and half-assed bitten back moans.

“Fuuuck, I could just come down your pretty fuckin’ throat like this,” He gasps before another guttural groan leaves him. Then, he lets out a breathy, rugged laugh as his eyes watch you leeringly, “Christ, Doll, you’re makin’ a mess.” He points out, a mix of his pre-cum and your saliva splatters against your chin messily every time he touches the back of your throat.

It takes a few more thrusts until he forces himself to pull out, leaving you coughing and sputtering violently. You gasp for air greedily through your mouth after he pulls out, tears spilling over from the coughing fit. He lifts your chin with a hand and wipes away his pre-cum mixed with your snot dripping from your nose with a satisfied grin. “God, you’re so good f’me, Doll,” He borderline slurs over his words before pulling you back up to your feet and pushing you back onto his desk.

The hardwood is uncomfortable underneath you as your arms are still tied and pressing into your back, but you’re too light headed and burning with need to notice. Chuuya is quick to shove his way past your thighs and bury himself inside you to the hilt. It takes everything in him not to come with your tight, sopping pussy clenching around him. You swear you can hear him whimper quietly into your chest as he presses his hips flush against yours.

“Please, please fuck me, I need to come s’bad, Chuu,” You plead weakly as tears dry against your cheeks, throat raw and sore from his relentless deep throating just prior moments ago.

He shudders at your broken voice before slowly grinding his hips against you, “Gimme a damn minute,” He growls before panting, “Or I’ll fuckin’ come right now.”

Your head drops back to rest against the desk as you wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at his lower back, the heels of your feet spurring him on to move.

His grinding turns into brief and shallow thrusts before he’s snapping his hips into you roughly, his hands finding purchase to grip at the edge of his desk on either side of your head. His forehead presses into your sternum as he desperately drives his cock as far as he can into your welcoming heat, pre-cum and slick frothing at the base of his length with every thrust.

Quickly, he reaches a hand down between your bodies to press and rub against your aching clit. Your lips part as pitchy moans and mewls fall through, the familiar knotting feeling in your lower stomach growing tenfold as your back arches into Chuuya. “M’gonna come, please— I can’t, I’m— fuck,” You ramble incoherently as you rut your hips to meet his thrusts, skin slapping wet aginst one another.

“I know, Doll, I know— Shit, you’re squeezing around my cock so fuckin’ tight,” He grits, eyes clenching shut as his hips begin to stutter and rolls your clit between his thumb and index finger.

A choked whine drags out as your legs tighten around him to bring him as close as possible and your body shudders violently under him as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Chuuya follows after a few more thrusts with a graveled moan, his cock burying itself as deep as possible as his cum smothers your walls in warmth.

He collapses against you, red in the face and covered in sweat that makes his bangs stick to his forehead and cheeks. You’re not much different aside from the occasional shiver from the aftermath. A few moments go by before you heavily sigh and your breathing steadies along with his.

“God damn…” He murmurs against the skin of your sternum before placing a soft peck over your calming heart. “You’re seriously going to be the death of me, Doll,” He picks his head up and leans over, pressing his lips against yours in a lingering kiss.

“Sorry,” You respond apathetically.

His brows scrunch together and his eyes squint, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“Cause m’not really,” You tiredly grin, earning a quiet scoff from him.

“You’re something else.”

[moonmaiden1996]

Pollen's Pull- Chapter 1

Part of my pollen series- Check out my Shanks X Reader for the first in the series. Warning-some chapter are 18+

Law stared down at the faint powder shimmering under the secure glass slide, the clips locking it away from causing further harm. Its crystalline texture refracted the dim laboratory light, each glint a mocking illusion of innocence. It looked harmless—a fine, innocuous dust that might drift unnoticed on a breeze or settle on an idle surface. But Law knew better. Anything born from a Devil Fruit was never harmless.

His hand trembled-just every so slightly- a tremble that only his visitor would have noticed as he raised it to his face.The phantom sensation lingered—gritty, alive, burning into his nerves like a scar. It clung to him in a way that defied explanation, the memory of its touch seared into his mind. The storm inside his head churned—a violent collision of disbelief, fury, and something darker he dared not name.

"I don’t believe it," he muttered, his voice raw, breaking under the strain. "It shouldn’t affect me. I’m a Devil Fruit user—I should be immune," he barked, anger lacing his words as they clawed at the edges of reason.

Across the room, Mihawk’s golden eyes gleamed like twin blades, cutting through the charged air with ease. The swordsman exuded calm detachment, his indifference a stark counterpoint to Law’s storm. With a faint shrug, Mihawk adjusted the cuffs of his coat, each movement deliberate and dismissive.

"Believe it or not, Trafalgar, it makes no difference," Mihawk said, his tone cold and edged with impatience. "I’ve delivered my warning. What you do with it is no concern of mine."

Law’s glare intensified, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. "You expect me to accept this? To believe some nonsense about Devil Fruit pollen? If you’ve allowed yourself to be manipulated by one of Doc Q’s twisted experiments, that’s your business. But I won’t be dragged into your delirium."

The tension between them thickened, an unspoken challenge crackling in the space between words. Mihawk’s lip curled into a faint sneer, disdain etched into the lines of his face.

"If that’s your wish," Mihawk replied, his voice deliberate, each word a blade. "But resisting it will be... unpleasant. For someone as headstrong as you, Trafalgar, it will get far worse."

Law’s smirk was sharp and brittle, defiance flickering in his narrowed eyes. "Maybe I should rid you of whatever parasite has latched onto you. It might snap you out of this madness."

The shift was instantaneous. One moment Mihawk was seated across the room; the next, he was a blur of shadow and steel. Yoru’s cold, unyielding edge pressed against Law’s throat, its bite a silent promise.

"This visit was a courtesy," Mihawk hissed, his voice low and venomous, more verdict than threat. "We hunt the true offender, and there is no connection to Blackbeard’s crew. Take that as you will. But threaten her again..." His eyes bore into Law’s, unflinching. "...and not even you will be able to put yourself back together."

For a breathless moment, the silence was a blade of its own. Law’s chest heaved, his pride smoldering alongside his fury. Then, with the grace of a predator, Mihawk sheathed Yoru and turned, his coat billowing behind him as he strode from the room.

Law remained where he was, his body rigid, his composure fractured. The sting of Mihawk’s blade lingered like an accusation, cutting deeper than flesh.

xxxxxxxxxx

The pull began immediately.

At first, it was subtle—a whisper at the edges of his consciousness, a faint tug urging him forward. It was like a stray thought he couldn’t quite shake, a nagging feeling just outside his grasp. But as the days passed, the pull became a demand, relentless and consuming. It twisted its hooks into his very being, threading through every fiber of his body until he was little more than a marionette tugged along by invisible strings. Just like Domflamingo. 

His body rebelled against his attempts to resist. Muscles locked in defiance whenever he tried to move in the wrong direction—away from the pull. It was as though his own will had been commandeered, replaced by something foreign, something alive. Hours dissolved into an agonizing battle with his own flesh, leaving him drained and trembling.

Then the fever came.

It raged through him, a relentless fire consuming him from within. His body burned as if his blood had turned to molten lava. Each breath was a struggle, his lungs seizing with every shallow gasp. His vision blurred, fractured into kaleidoscopic patterns of light and shadow that mocked his pain. Sweat poured from him, soaking his clothes and pooling beneath him as he collapsed onto the cold floor of his lab.

But the fever wasn’t the worst of it.

The dreams were.

They plagued him, vivid and haunting. Every night, he saw —you—but never clearly. Your face was always shrouded, a figure bathed in warmth and light, tantalizingly close yet maddeningly unreachable. He reached for you in desperation, his hands clawing at the air, but you dissolved like smoke between his fingers. The dreams left him raw, his chest aching with a need he didn’t understand, a hunger that devoured him from the inside out.

He hated you for it.

But more than that, he hated himself.

This was no ordinary affliction. It wasn’t a poison he could purge or a wound he could suture. It was an invasion, insidious and all-encompassing, eating away at his sense of self. He felt like a man infected, his soul rotting under the weight of something he couldn’t name.

So, like any good surgeon would when faced with a corrupted limb, he resolved to amputate.

It was the only way.

The pull was leading him to you, drawing him like a moth to a flame. He would let it. He would follow it to its source, find you—whatever you were—and cut you out of his life like a tumor.

But the thought of severing the connection wasn’t entirely free of dread. A part of him—a small, festering part—craved the pull. It was a dark, twisted hunger that whispered to him in the dead of night, promising solace if only he let himself fall deeper to consume you.

He despised it. Yet he couldn’t ignore it. He would end this affliction. He had no choice. He wouldn’t allow himself to be controlled- not anymore.

Author's note- I still haven't gotten to grips with Law yet, I am near the end of the Dressrosa Arc and generally did not think he would win so this is a little bit of an adventure.

Also as Sanji did also win I am writing his arc now. If you have anything suggestions for his reader let me know.

[diz-eaze]

Imagine yan scara getting teased by reader unintentionally, in that; reader vents to him about "how ugly she is" and how she can't go to beach with her pretty friends meanwhile she's out here wearing a bikini in front of him to "show him how nothing pretty fits her" or talking about how she got a dress but its for hourglass bodies and it doesn't fit her because her chest is small and her hips are wider than the fit

"Kuni, me and Dehya are going out and and I got this dress but I can't tell if it's too tight or not. Am I fat?... 🥺👉👈"

; body insecurity, not proofread !!

; scara is genuinely about to split into two because on one hand, oh golly gee !! you're wearing a bikini in front of him !! FOR FREE !?!? and on the other, he's about to fall to his knees in absolute agony because howww can you view yourself as anything less than perfect !?!? which asshole planted these thoughts in your head >:/// he'll take care of them !! he's all pitchforks and riot until you softly tell him that it's you who planted these thoughts. also omg I'm sorry I made it so srs instead of lowkey silly

right now, your own body doesn't feel right. your skin doesn't feel your own. it's all so, so wrong, and there's absolutely no way you can stand alongside your friends, let alone be seen with such clothing in public. you tug on your bikini string, desperate to cling onto anything to ground you back to yourself - yet you can't help the fast thudding in your heart as you're under scrutiny by your own roommate.

you regret it. you regret asking him to stand outside the bathroom to judge your bikini choice, because now you're all exposed and seen, and with it comes your body's imperfections. your small chest that's often teased by passing men as being more akin to a flatboard, your wide hips that struggle to fit into tight-fitting clothing, the visible scar that runs across your thigh from an injury you sustained during your childhood, and the large birthmark placed under your belly button - it's all there for him to view.

he's not making it any better, either. he's been silent the whole time since you stepped outside the bathroom. is he laughing at you in his mind? or is he readying himself to dish out criticism for the way your bikini and body look? still, you swallow your anxiety to speak,

"uhm-... is it... okay?" your volume comes out quieter than you'd like but it seems pointless when all you're greeted with is silence once more. you try once more, "hey... is my bikini okay? roomie?"

his eyes, previously looking at your bikini-clad body up and down, snap to your face. "sorry, I was deep in thought. what was that?"

you bite your lip in frustration and embarrassment for having to repeat your question three times. you hug yourself, wanting to shrink away. "uhm. i asked if my bikini is okay... but with the way you're so quiet, i- I guess not."

scaramouche frowns - ridges appearing between his brows, and his beautiful face is dyed in displeasure. he takes a step closer to you, then, cold fingers reaching out to gently grasp your wrist.

"no, y-you got it all wrong.." he stumbles over his words slightly, and you see the progression of red blooming on the tips of his ears. he breathes in. he breathes out. then he says, "you're... you're gorgeous, okay?"

his tone reeks of sincerity. he utters the word 'gorgeous' as if you were beauty itself, as if you were a statue crafted by michelangelo himself. and you notice now that his fingers are ice-cold because he's nervous, too. nervous of what? of you?

he's nervous... because he finds you too gorgeous to be around with?

your heart seizes at the thought.

scaramouche looks you up and down once more, and he gives several enthusiastic nods once he's done. his overzealous actions break through the nervous tension and are replaced with a laugh that starts to bubble within you. you sigh softly, releasing the breath you weren't even aware you previously held. your chest starts to feel lighter.

"thanks, maybe i was overthinking it too much, haha." your laugh is not genuine, moreso a laugh to release the nerves still swimming in your body. "I hope dehya and the others won't be too mad that I'm late."

scaramouche bites his lip, eyes narrowing for a split second as if in contemplation. a moment passes, and he hurriedly turns around, presumably to go back to his room.

"anyone would be glad to wait for a lifetime if it were you they're waiting on."

his unexpected comment leaves your mouth gaping as you dumbly stand outside the bathroom. your heart thuds once more, but this time, for a different reason.

[demonsreverie]

Chapter 20… Lying in wait‼️

[A comic book style sequence, read right to left. Panel 1: Ganondorf draws back a massive, dark gold bow, the string taut as he readies a spear-like arrow. His dark armor gleams under the light, and his expression is focused. The sheer power behind the draw is evident in the tension of his muscles. Panel 2: He releases the arrow. His mouth parts in a slow exhale, eyes widening slightly as the projectile surges forward. The bowstring snapping back with force. Panel 3: “SNAP!” “SHATTER!” “CRASH!!!” The arrow obliterates its target, and another, splintering through obstacles before slamming into the distant cliffs. The impact sends up clouds of dust and debris, and boulders scattering down the cliffs. Panel 4: Ganondorf barely moves, but his head turns just enough to glance at someone off-panel. His lips curl into a pleased grin, his confidence absolute.]

[A close up of the final panel: Ganondorf wearing his signature arrogant grin.]

[reobabesstuff]

chapter 9

MESSY MAKE-OUT!!

The tension in the air was thick as she stood in the center of Jun-yeong’s dimly lit apartment, her voice sharp and unrelenting. The rain outside battered against the windows, a distant echo to the storm brewing inside.

“You think I don’t notice, Jun-yeong?” she snapped, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “The way you pull strings behind my back? The way you manipulate every little thing to keep me under your thumb? Do you even hear yourself when you talk about ‘protecting me’?”

Jun-yeong, who had been sitting on the edge of the couch with his head bowed, clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His usual mask of cool indifference was cracking, his jaw tight as her words lashed at him.

“I trusted you,” she continued, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and betrayal. “And all you’ve done is use that trust against me. Every time I think I can rely on you, you prove me wrong. What kind of person does that?”

“Y/n, that’s enough,” Jun-yeong said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. But she didn’t stop.

“No, it’s not enough!” she shouted, her eyes blazing with fury. “You think you’re some kind of savior, don’t you? Playing God with my life, deciding what’s best for me. Newsflash, Jun-yeong—you’re not the hero in this story. You’re the villain.”

His head snapped up, and for a moment, the room went silent. Then he rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. When he spoke, his voice was cold, razor-sharp.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to her. “You stand there, accusing me, judging me, as if you’ve lived even a fraction of the life I have.”

She held her ground, though her heart pounded in her chest. “Don’t turn this around on me,” she said, her voice wavering but defiant. “This isn’t about your past. This is about what you’ve done to me.”

“What I’ve done to you?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Everything I’ve done has been for you! Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed to keep you safe? What I’ve risked?”

“I never asked for that!” she shouted back, her hands shaking. “I never asked you to play puppet master with my life.”

Jun-yeong’s temper snapped. He slammed his fist into the wall beside her, the sound reverberating through the room. She flinched but didn’t back down, her breath coming in short, angry bursts.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he growled, his voice trembling with rage and something deeper—something almost vulnerable. “I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you think I’m a monster. But I will not stand by and watch you get hurt because you’re too stubborn to see the danger.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “And I won’t let you control me anymore,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

They stood there, the distance between them a chasm neither could cross, their emotions raw and exposed. For once, neither of them spoke, the only sound was the pounding of the rain outside. And in that silence, both of them realized just how deeply they had wounded each other.

The silence stretched between them, the weight of their argument hanging in the air like a storm that refused to pass. Jun-yeong took a step back, his chest heaving as he struggled to rein in his anger. Her eyes followed his movements, her own emotions tangled in a web of frustration, pain, and something she couldn’t quite name.

He turned away from her, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically dispel the tension coiling within him. “You want me to stop?” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “Fine. I’ll stop. I’ll let you go, if that’s what you want.”

His words hit her like a punch to the gut. For a moment, she felt the air leave her lungs, her anger evaporating into something much colder. She should have felt relieved, vindicated—but instead, a hollow ache settled in her chest.

“Is that what you think this is about?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling. “That I want you to walk away?”

Jun-yeong turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Isn’t it?” he asked, his tone sharp but wavering. “You’ve made it clear that you think I’m the problem. That you’d be better off without me.”

“I never said that,” she shot back, stepping closer. “You twist everything I say into something it’s not. I’m angry because you keep shutting me out. You make decisions for me, you control everything, but you never let me in.”

Her words seemed to strike a nerve, and for the first time, Jun-yeong looked uncertain. Vulnerable. “I don’t let people in because when I do, they get hurt,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I can’t… I can’t let that happen to you.”

Y/n’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice, the crack in his armor that he usually guarded so fiercely. “Don’t you see?” she said, her tone softening. “By keeping me out, you’re hurting me anyway. You don’t have to carry everything on your own, Jun-yeong. I’m stronger than you think.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t understand. If they find out about you—if they know how much you mean to me—they’ll use you against me. They’ll destroy you just to get to me.”

“Then stop giving them the power to control you,” she said, stepping closer still. “Stop hiding behind your lies and manipulation. Trust me enough to stand beside you, not under you.”

Jun-yeong stared at her, his jaw tight, his eyes searching hers for something—confirmation, forgiveness, or maybe just the courage to believe her. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had finally caught up to him.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

“Then let me show you,” she replied, reaching out to gently take his hand. “But you have to let me in.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his hand stiff in hers. But then, slowly, he squeezed her fingers, a silent acknowledgment of the leap of faith he was about to take. The storm between them hadn’t passed, but for the first time, they faced it together.

Y/n’s breath hitched as Jun-yeong’s hand tightened around hers, his grip trembling but firm. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, bore into hers, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. The air between them felt charged, their emotions raw and unfiltered, a volatile mix of anger, pain, and something far deeper that neither of them could suppress anymore.

“You think this is so simple,” Jun-yeong said, his voice low and strained, the words tinged with bitterness. “You think I can just let you in without falling apart.”

Y/n refused to back down, her fingers curling tighter around his. “Maybe you need to fall apart."

He closed his eyes briefly, as though trying to block out her words, but when they opened again, the conflict in them was replaced by something fiercer. Before she could say another word, he moved, stepping so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Y/n,” he murmured her name on his lips a mixture of warning and desperation. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Yes, I do,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper, her heart pounding in her chest. “Stop pushing me away.”

Something inside Jun-yeong snapped. His hand shot up to cradle her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with a roughness that sent a jolt through her. He stared at her for a moment longer, as if giving her one last chance to pull away, but when she didn’t, his resolve shattered.

He crushed his lips against hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was desperate, almost bruising as if he was pouring every unspoken word and unresolved emotion into the connection. Y/n gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shirt to steady herself, but he didn’t give her a moment to breathe. His other arm wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her flush against him, their bodies colliding in a chaotic mix of passion and frustration.

She matched his intensity, her fingers tangling in his hair as she kissed him back with equal fervor. Their movements were messy, urgent, their emotions spilling over in a way neither of them could control. Jun-yeong’s lips moved to her jawline, trailing down her neck with a possessive hunger that made her shudder.

“Why do you do this to me?” he muttered against her skin, his voice hoarse and ragged. His grip on her tightened, his emotions teetering between anger and longing. “You drive me insane, Y/n.”

“Good,” she breathed, her voice trembling but defiant. “Maybe it’s time someone got under your skin.”

Her words seemed to ignite something in him, and he kissed her again, harder this time, his teeth grazing her lower lip as his hands roamed possessively over her back. The world around them blurred, their surroundings forgotten as they gave in to the storm raging between them. It wasn’t gentle or tender—it was raw, messy, and unapologetically real. And in that moment, it was everything they needed.

[blackjackkent]

Given that all the cultists keep talking to her in ways that make her head ache, Rakha is almost relieved to look down at the center of the Temple and see that, after so much toil and terror, she has finally found what she is looking for.

Orin stands atop a raised dais at the center of the temple platform. Stretched at her feet, unmoving, is a familiar form - Lae'zel. For a moment, Rakha thinks they are too late, that she is dead, and the beast in her head keens with triumphant glee at the thought...

But then her chest rises and falls, almost imperceptibly.

She lives.

Rakha releases a breath that it feels like she has been holding for days. She had not realized the full extent of the tension that has been holding her upright, driving her forward, until now; it feels as if the strings holding her in place have been cut, and she almost collapses to her knees with the sheer weight of relief.

But she can't. Not yet. It isn't over. And her head aches as Orin lifts her gaze and smiles that dagger's-edge smile at her.

"Shhhh... shhhhh..." the changeling croons softly to Lae'zel's unconscious body. "Your savior approaches... scuttling in without the tyrant's rock..."

Rakha comes to a halt a few feet away. Orin glares at her, snarling like a creature whose nest has been invaded. "You are a mangled blood-brain," she hisses. "Thinking Father could be refused!"

Then her head snaps back, her nostrils flaring, the mocking laughter replaced instantly with rage. "I know what you did!" she cries. "Spilled my grandfather's crimson... He was mine! He showed me the way, how to slice and slit. He guides my daggers still."

She flicks a wrist, and one of those knives is in her hand suddenly, a long and curving, wickedly sharp blade.

Slowly, tenderly, she lowers its edge to sit under Lae'zel's jaw, and her lips curl again with manic hunger. "Did it think it could protect?" she sneers. "Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation!"

Another moment, and the blade will cut and slice and bleed and it will all be over. Rakha's head aches and aches, stabbing, blinding, and she can barely breathe, so strong does the beast urge suddenly wake and roar inside her skull.

Yes. Bleed her dry, the final cut, and then we shall take your head as you took hers, sister, sister, sister, failed attempt to be what I once was, broken bleeding bleating BITCH--

Something in her so desperately wants to see that blade draw its line in Lae'zel's flesh, to see every throat in this place, friend and foe alike, bleed until there is nothing left and all eyes are empty and staring and beautiful. Something in her is a monster that wakes at the moment of crisis, and sometimes it is so strong that she feels broken and shattered beside it.

But she has learned. She has learned so much.

She has learned from Wyll's hand on her arm, his warmth and his unerring goodness that has drawn her to the light out of the great black pit where he found her. His love, offered to her when she has least felt she deserved it, and which she has tried in a halting, faltering way to give back out of every functioning bit of her heart.

She has learned from Jaheira's steady solidity, the pillar beneath a rotted and rickety platform - the woman who watched over her in the darkness and told her at the darkest moment that she was not lost.

She has learned from Minsc - roaring, raging, just as mad as she, showing her that the broken bits of her do not bar her from being something greater, that justice and violence can live in the same skull.

She has learned from Karlach's kindness. From Gale's knowledge. From Minthara's focused determination. From Astarion's inner battles and Shadowheart's final triumphs. From Halsin's wisdom. From Isobel's forgiveness and Aylin's vengeance.

And she has learned from Lae'zel, the first voice she has memory of hearing. Attack with purpose and savor your kills. She has learned that she has the strength to guide her own hand and to turn on the god that bore her when the need is just.

Her head lifts, her voice a solid, booming roar, knocking the beast backwards within her and echoing to the stone rafters above.

[INTIMIDATION] "Harm her, and I will unleash the agonies of Bhaal upon you!"

Orin's head snaps up and she giggles maniacally, the blade falling away from Lae'zel's neck as she focuses on Rakha directly. "Yes," she squeals. "Yes! Give me agony! Pluck me bone from socket. Stroke me with a jagged edge until my skin shreds wet and red."

(A/N: Big props to Maggie Robertson; this is SO creepy, lol. Eeeeeeek.)

With a sudden smooth motion, she leaps over the altar to stand in front of Rakha, her other victim for the moment forgotten. "You still don't remember, do you, blood-kin?" she purrs gleefully.

Her body shifts, twists - settles into a new form, taller, broader in the shoulders. Rakha's own body, the one she's only bothered to see in a mirror a handful of times. Clear of the lines of the worm or the scars of the road, the face she must have had before her memories were lost.

"How you screamed as my knife split your skull," Orin hisses, now in Rakha's voice, deeper, harsher. Her lips curl in the smirk that Rakha's have only held in her darkest moments. "Your brain juices sticky and sweet."

(A/N: This is kinda fun. :D We don't ever get to hear the player character VA get any big speeches, they only ever get little ambient lines moving around the world. Tempted to do a Durge!Hector run now just to hear what his voice sounds like making a speech. :D )

She draws closer, lifting a hand almost to touch Rakha's cheek - and Rakha sees that she is holding a tadpole carefully in one palm.

"A little hole... big enough for the worm," she sneers. "Your body a blood sack to feed it." Her fist clenches around the tadpole, which erupts in a sudden burst of blood.

(A/N: It is so weird to see Rakha with her eyes intact and her skin un-wormed.)

She leans forward, draws her bloody fingertips against Rakha's jaw. "The favorite of Bhaal turned meat-puppet, strung up by the sinews and plucked by my hands..."

Rakha feels frozen into immobility. She doesn't know what the others are doing behind her - waiting for a sign to strike, perhaps. For a moment she can't think about them. She can only think about the flickering images that begin to rattle through her brain as Orin slowly shifts back into her own form.

Narrator: A straggling memory rises - the day your tyranny should have engulfed this world, it was you who were the first to be enslaved.

Narrator: Orin's smile was the last thing you saw, her bright blade glinting as she chiseled into your skull. Her reckless digging left your mind shattered. She robbed you of your bloody birthright, reduced you to nothing. Nothing but pure hate, and now it burns, yearning for vengeance.

Her head aches and the tadpole writhes and the beast screams and she clenches her fists at her sides, flame flaring around her fingertips. The fury is unsettling and there is no escaping the fact that the beast wants this violence too - but this is a killing with purpose. Jaheira has said it, Wyll has said it. Lae'zel would say it if she was conscious. Orin must die. It is the only way she can face down the taint in her blood and perhaps find the strength to walk away from it.

"Husk," Orin growls. "Maggot. A Bhaalspawn, slip-sliding in filth with these pigs." Her eyes flick to Wyll and Jaheira, to Minsc, to Minthara. Her lip curls disdainfully. "You don't deserve the murder-lord's blessing."

(A/N: We have the option here to tell Orin that she's the product of incest and that Sarevok has lied to her, and she gets BIG mad about it. However... I really don't think that's top of mind for Rakha? She's far more concerned about her own issues tbh. :P )

"Forget Bhaal." Rakha's voice rasps in her throat, tight and hoarse. Focused with every ounce of concentration she can manage. "It's your Netherstone I've come for."

Rage roars across Orin's face. "It opens its lips and spews filthy lies!" she screeches. "No no NO!"

Rakha flinches as the changeling closes with her, spittle spewing from her mouth.

"None can resist Father's blessing!" The Weave is starting to ripple and churn around Orin's body, a strange dark undulation that Rakha has never seen before. It curls around her body like smoke. "He tells me, whisper-quiet. The lies must be cut from your throat!"

She spreads her arms with a maniacal smile. "Come close, my Death's Heads! But keep your blades unblooded! Bhaal demands a duel! He wants to taste my domination. An altar flowing with his own unwilling flesh. Draining, dying, drip, drip, drip--"

There's a low, familiar buzzing hiss from behind her. Sceleritas appears on the stairs, and clicks his tongue in gentle disapproval. "You should have trained harder, Master," he murmurs.

Rakha isn't sure what he means - but it doesn't take her long to find out.

The Weave writing around Orin's body suddenly rises to a fever pitch and then explodes in a burst of orange-white light. When it fades... she has become a monster.

Magical walls shoot up around the dais, cutting Rakha off from her friends. Fear shoots through her, animal terror blocking out everything else.

Orin's slayer form roars and lunges forward, intent on slitting Rakha's throat.

The battle, at long last, is joined.

[atefingersdagger]

Scrapped Cato + Clove WIP

"Pulses."

*

To remember she’s alive, she has to press her fingers to her pulse. Pointer and middle, feeling the pump under her skin. Clove does this often, counting the beats, never finding a murmur. She’s lucky.

Next to her, Cato does this, too. For himself, and for her. A simple way to grasp where they are now; District 2, home, safe. There’s no more wars being waged. Or high sacrifices to be made.

They sleep in the same bed, comfortable with each other’s presence for many reasons. It’s easy to tell when he is being plagued in his sleep, brows threaded together, creasing his forehead, and the cold sweats. Waking him up, even past midnight, was only natural.

She takes his shaking hand, large in comparison to her own, and presses it to her chest once he’s registered where he is. Not at the swell of her breasts where they both liked, but right above her heart. Clove holds his palm there, closing her eyes in slight rapture, thankful he’s still here to touch her at all.

Which is ironic, as when she first met him, she had plans to kill him. Formulated in that very moment on stage. To make a good show of his demise. But that rule revision during their Games changed them into something more intimate than competitors in a fight to the death.

Her thumb absentmindedly caresses the back of Cato’s scarred hand, an act she wouldn’t have been caught dead doing five years ago. She breathes in deeply with a pause for inhale, letting him feel the rise and fall of her sternum.

“Clove.”

He whispers his name in the dim room, never pitch black because he sees shadows of muttations in the dark. Cato’s voice is rough, a bit scratchy like gravel being grazed under heavy, moving weight. The sound stirs her insides into being somehow warmer.

Nodding, Clove pats over his knuckles. “I’m still here.”

“So am I.”

That’s what they say each time. A rehearsal that never fails to bring them back into the present. It’s moments of solitude and the secrecy of the thick, silent walls of their house that allow them to be like this; vulnerable with no strings attached.

To her neck, Clove slides his hand up, catching the instinctual twitch to pull away. Cato can snap her spine so easily. He knows from the Games, and he still has trouble touching her there for it. They haven’t truly wanted to kill each other since the arena where they had every chance to but simply didn’t. Their greatest act of mutual mercy.

“It’s okay.” She soothes, adjusting his two fingers into the position to feel her pulse. And the one he’d use between her legs. “I trust you.”

Clove watches him, how he looks at her like a puppy wanting attention or how his blonde hair has darkened in its dampened state. With a teasing movement of her digits down his muscular arm, she whispers a crude joke, liking the way that smug expression of his occurs then.

“I’m real. I’m not going anywhere.” Clove says, free hand brushing away the sweaty strands that have stuck to his forehead in his tossing and turning.

He repeats her name, a habit of his she quite enjoys. The soft, bumpy back and forth of his callused thumbs tickles her jaw, but she’s trained in holding back any girlish giggles. So she’s quiet besides a satisfied sigh.

“Your pulse is quite sexy.”

No, that gets her. Clove barks out one loud laugh before it trails off into chuckling. Her sound is a rev of a purr at the end. One she knows will turn him on.

“Color me seduced.” She holds his hand harder to her throat. How her flesh gives at the adored tension has her spine tingling.

Except Cato glides his palm to the back of her neck swiftly, securing her to his lips.

*

[ginsengkittensecondary]

I HAVE MOVED TO MY MAIN. PLEASE FOLLOW GINSENGKITTEN FOR UPDATES. STORY WILL CONTINUE THERE. <3

༺Beautiful Dangerous༻

a slashxreader fanfiction

༺☆༻

Chapter Two:

A snake & a lighter

Word count approx: 1700

☆Track list☆

Lullaby - The Cure

Talk Show Host - RadioHead

A Large python is inching its way towards the door of your bedroom. It's dark in your room, it must be night, you think? Moonlight drowns the room and the shadows of the rain sprinkle down your floral wallpaper. It feels familiar. The makeup bottles on your white dresser. Your denim jacket on its regular hook. Your stuffed animals preciously lined against your floor. School photos of you in miscellaneous academics adorned the wall. The snake continues, this dangerous animal making its way into your room. You see yourself asleep in your own bed like watching some sort of demented film. You want to alert yourself of the impending danger. The snake reaches the foot of your bed and you feel your muscles strain. You try to scream to yourself "WAKE UP! WAKE UP ITS GOING TO GET YOU!" but no noise seems to come out. You feel breathless. The snake slowly climbs onto your bed, paving it's large body through your comforter. You watch it approach your helpless body. You watch, terrified as the snake begins to hug around your body. You feel the tension of the snake starting to tighten harder and harder. It's getting difficult to breathe when some sort of...heat fills your chest. you feel your chest raising and deflating with hot electricity. This same feeling you had felt a week ago at the records store. When that..guy..stared into your soul like a lion to a lamb. Suddenly you surrender to it all. You want this. The fear and the heat entangle you as you fade into darkness. Wake up,wake up, wake up.

"Wake Up Y/N!" Daisy's voice echos into your consciousness. You snap awake with a gasp. Daisy is timidly sat at the edge of your bed, a look of concern on her face. "Y/N, I think you were having a nightmare." She says softly. The morning light blisters the bed through the white curtains of the guest bedroom. Your eyes squint as you come to. You feel your heart beat slowing. "You're all sweaty" she laughs slightly as if to mend the awkward awakening with humor. "Oh..." You sit up in a daze, sleepily rubbing your eyes. "What a terrible way to wake up on your birthday!" Daisy laughs louder now, she skips to the window and excitedly strings the curtains open. "My god!" You laugh and practically hiss at the light like a vampire. The light shocks you fully awake probably as Daisy intended. She did not take lightly to birthdays. Your 18th birthday. Wow what a milestone. How weird. I don't feel so different, am I supposed to feel-adultish? You thought to yourself as you accustom yourself to being awake. "My little baby ain't a baby no more!" Daisy cooed in a semi false sad, motherly tone as she embraced you in your sweaty pajamas. Daisy had turned 18 in February and was older by just a little. But she was more experienced in just about everything and sometimes felt like an older sister. You spent your birthday each year at Daisy's as it fell in June, right as you were on your regularly scheduled summer stay. You had started being sent away during the summers as mother and daddy chose to work full time during the summers as it was the busiest season for their line of work. At least that's what they tell you. The true reason was, as their only daughter, they took no chances of you getting into trouble or mischief like the rest of the teenagers in your town would during summer. The number of teen pregnancies that occurred the summer you turned 12 shocked your parents so intensely that they opted to ship you away entirely to the safe haven that is....Hollywood...and up until now it's worked it's job with only few instances of mischief under Daisy's wing. And yet this new feeling of yearning gnawed at you. It began the day you had listened to the Aerosmith album. The inner yearning for something more. Something new.

-

You sit in a trance at the dining table. Your breakfast untouched before you. Your apetite escapes you as you recount the nightmare in your head. Snakes. You've never really feared snakes. You haven't even seen one recently that would provoke such a fright. You recall on the warmth of emotion that overtook you in the dream. Almost a pleasurable sensation? Fear and Pleasure. You felt torn from feeling such intense emotions simultaneously. Confused at where this came from, some unidentifiable sense of impending doom ate away at you. Aunt Shena had prepared a gorgeous spread in honor of your birthday. She was religiously intense but her heart meant good always. She was present when she could be but could often be found hypocritically passed out from her anti anxieties or shopping uncle Robs salary away. Again, she meant well.

"Now girls." Aunt Shena excused herself from the table, dabbing non existent remnants of her uneaten food from the corners of her lipsticked mouth. "While I'd love to stay and join in on the festivities, I've got to get to a very important meeting with the crochet group for a fundraiser. I know you've only just turned 18, Y/N, but I thought it might be nice to go to the beach or a night showing at the movies?" Aunt shena primped her hair in the hallway mirror. "Just don't-" she paused and smiled at us both. "Don't tell your uncle Rob I've let you out so soon unsupervised. He doesn't need to know. There's some allowance upstairs on my dresser." She said hurried. She always made sure she looked so....very nice..for her crochet group. Very nice. It made you wonder at times but not enough to pry. Not your business what goes on at crochet. Plus if it took her off your backs whatever it was was very much so none of your business. For a bible thumping hills wife, Aunt Shena sure seemed to have her own unholier-than-thou activities. Again-not your business.

"And Daisy-" she turned and gave her a pleading look." Please...just take the jeep this time." Daisy and you exchange looks. Did she know about the Pontiac? Nevertheless, for a woman of god she seemed less than uninterested in consequence or punishment of Daisy's wrongdoings. Which seemed to make Daisy want to get into even more mischief. Daisy nodded in agreement, accepting her stern reprimanding from her all attentive mother.

-

The sun scorched across the water. A slight breeze gave occasional relief. You lay on your stomach and mindlessly draw circles in the sand. Just absorbing the ocean ebbing and flowing in blue and white hues. The seagulls crying out. The distant screams of people joyfully splashing in the water. Your mind couldn't help but revisit the dream once more. But every time you did, you couldn't help but revisit the record store in your mind. That guy. He hadn't left your mind since. Had you left his? Was it as electrifying for him as it was for you? No man had ever taken such residence of your mind before, not like this. You try to recall his features from memory. The gruff stature, and wild, beautiful curls that fell perfectly around his face. His face, that smile. That smile that was so sweet it was almost maddening. The way his pouted lips curved into that smirk. The way his hand felt over yours for that brief moment. His grip was strong and his fingers were fashioned with rings. One of them was a snake ring. The ring was a snake. That's where you saw the snake from, could it be? Such an intense dream from a simple ring on a finger? You couldn't help but believe that he had something to do with it. Somehow that interaction inspired that dream. He inspired that dream. What did it mean?

"So like I was saying Y/N" Daisy's voice intruding your thoughts. She flicked her lighter on the edge of her cigarette, lighting it into a steady stream of smoke. She held it to her lips and took a drag. A well seasoned drag at that. She motioned it to you but you politely shake your head no. "You remember that guy I met last week at tower records right?" Daisy continues. 'No' You think to yourself. "Yeah" you lie. To be honest, the entire car ride home that Daisy had spilled juicy details about her newest boyfriend, you had been busy thinking about your own mystery man who had wooed you at the cash register. "Well like I was saying, he and his friends have this band. I can't remember the name. 'Something Roses'. Anyways, they have a concert tonight and he said we'd get in for free. You down for a little birthday fun?" She gently pushes you with herself in a joking manner. A concert? You can't remember the last concert you'd even seen. It might have been the church family Christmas choir concert? That doesn't really count though. Daisy observes you thinking on it and offers a deal sweetener. "It's a rock band" she pushes again. Daisy knew all too well your developing fascination with rock music, and frankly the fading boundaries of which you once held yourself to. Over the years, the constant protection and coddling and bubble wrapping had worn on you. Something had been stirring violently within you over time. Sometimes it was like you felt as though you were born with a ticking time bomb in your heart. And the older you grew, the less time remained on the clock. All the walls, all the quiet submission, all the rules and the rhythms in which you kept your life stringent to, all felt like it could just take a single spark and you would ignite.

You suddenly feel a sense of overwhelming over-your-head bravery. You snatch the cigarette out of Daisy’s grasp and suck in an entirely too large inhale of smoke. You cough it all out immediately and laugh, as does Daisy-out of shock. A hilariously failed attempt to look badass in your moment of newfound bravery, but the smoke felt good as it burned your throat. You finally manage to choke out:

"Okay, let's go."

I HAVE MOVED TO MY MAIN. PLEASE FOLLOW GINSENGKITTEN FOR UPDATES. STORY WILL CONTINUE THERE. <3

[badpanduhmemes]

Absurd Hypothetical Situation (Fanfic)

I started this back in February, as a wishful/ hopeful hypothetical scenario. Since they were bringing a lot of characters back, one that I really wanted to see was Soothsayer. I would have loved Soothsayer having a cameo, of some kind. Any kind. So, I wrote a Soothsayer reunites with dead-Shen fic, because I am a monster. And then due to life, I never finished it. So, I decided to wrap this thing up this weekend.

The bowl cracked with a snap, and smoke was buffeted upward, in a shape unsettlingly familiar, as a cold leaden weight of dread settled heavily in the pit of the Soothsayer’s stomach. Smoke had spread like a fan… her own words from a lifetime before echoing in her head.

‘A peacock is defeated by a warrior of black and white…’ Loud her voice rang in her ears. Reverberated in her mind. Suddenly mocking and cruel, when she knew she’d been sorrowing and resigned when she’d spoken those words to that very peacock for the last time. And unlike last time, something had changed.

Something unnatural. Something horrible. Something that should not have been possible let alone feasible had been done. Something, something, something, and the universe was screaming in her ears that Shen was involved. That this thing, this dreadful and terrible thing, be undone.               

At the very least her macabre sense of curiosity was screaming at her to discover the truth. Quietly panicking in the safety of her own the mind, maternal instinct suddenly woken from its long dead stupor leant strength to her urgency. She was packed and locking up her house in under an hour, driven forward by the push and pull of the universe, leading her to places far away.

The Old Goat was feeling her age when she arrived. She knew she was almost there, with the universe practically shrieking in her mind, and sparking like firecrackers in her veins. This was the domain of a powerful sorceress. She should have known. She wasn’t entirely surprised, so maybe on some level she had suspected as much. But why? Why necromancy? Why Shen?

A myriad of horrifying possibilities flitted across her mind, each more alarming than the last. But she hastily stamped down her emotions, shaking her head to clear her mind. She was a little old lady, in a dangerous place, and she was having enough trouble keeping her wits about her without entertaining a hundred different nightmares.

She would have her answers when she made it there. Watching a streetside brawl turn deadly, between two enraged oxen was enough to make her tack the word ‘if’ onto the end of that thought.

The universe was getting louder, and the mind she had worked so hard to train against the unyielding burdens of fate, destiny, future, and history, was not able to blot out the phantasmal shreds of vision rising and falling in her periphery. What had been, what was, and what might never be played themselves out in shadows on the wall, making her exceedingly jumpy as she crept small and frail, through empty corridors, oppressive with the weight of power.

Real power, great and terrible resided in the palace she’d snuck into, but it had not been alerted to her presence, instead preoccupied with its own machinations.

The visions abruptly ceased. The universe fell silent with the tension of a pulled string on the verge of snapping, and power stirred. Some great leviathan, stirring from slumber, uncoiling itself, as it stretched out its will, and in the gloom echoing against the cold stone walls and hard stone floors, was the sound of footsteps.

Her measly disguise was suddenly wrenched from her and she founder herself being stared at and analyzed by the fiery eyes of a chameleon. Power recognized power, and while this sorceress was beyond her in terms of strength, she could clearly see the goat for what she was a kindred spirit of sorts, and the faint curl of her scaled lip which might have been disgust or a general from of unease was unclear.

The universe was still silent, but there was a looming sense of paradigms being shifted, and destiny and history colliding.

This chameleon’s power was great. But it was an aberration, her activities and abhorrence.

“And just what is a little old lady such as yourself doing uninvited in my house?”

Soothsayer stroked her beard. “I got lost looking for a friend.”

The chameleon’s eyes swiveled, or more accurately one of them did, while the other looked her up and down. The frown on the lizard’s lip deepened, sensing some sort of ruse. And then the reptile smiled, far too sweetly to be genuinely, and with enough visible teeth to be unsettling.

“Perhaps we can find your friend together.”

Soothsayer stared into the chameleon’s eyes, sensing the trap for what it was, but unsure how to proceed. This had been a stupid plan, but she’d needed to come here, to this awful city, and this awful palace, to see with her eyes if her visions were true.

“I…”

Somewhere, from some long shadowy hall metal scraped stone with a haunting phantasmal chime. The goat’s heart sputtered as her lungs froze, and her grip on her cane slackened, before she could gather herself.

It had been summer’s day, and the gates of the Tower of Sacred Flame had been forced open and that same sound had filled the air in time with every step… as Shen had emerged from the shadow of the gatehouse….

 …. As Shen emerged from the shadows of a hallway….

Head held high, lordly and regal even in death, his brow furrowed at the sight of her. His eyes darting between her, and the The Chameleon, and back to her. There was a curve to his beak, a glint in his eyes, and he seemed to very deliberately turn his head away.

He was back from the dead.

Her heart broke for him, and she was furious on his behalf.

Back from the dead, and the old goat practically see the restless shifting of his wing feathers hidden in his sleeves as his mind raced. Her visions had once again proven true!

The little goat’s fingers tightened around her cane. Her eyes narrowed, as she dragged her gaze back to the Chameleon. The sorceress was smiling, having seen everything she needed to see, and putting it all together. She stepped to the side offering Soothsayer a fuller view of her ‘friend’ still smiling as she enjoyed watching the old goat’s horror and dismay seeing Shen again.

Soothsayer, glared at the Chameleon. “You have no right denying the dead their rest.”

She had never wanted to swing her cane at somebody more in her entire life. Her heart was racing in fury as the Chameleon’s toothy smile broadened.

“There are lots of powerful people in the spirit realm, and seeing that they’re not making use of that power, I see no reason why I can’t borrow it. Right? Lord Shen?”

The peacock’s eyes narrowed. He had been watching the pair of them again since the Soothsayer started talking.

He hated being back. Hated the all too familiar weight of the living world pushing against him from all sides, suffocating him. He was trapped. Entrammeled, and he’d gone well out of his way to be as belligerent as possible since returning, but now…. The horrid little sorceress stood between him and the Soothsayer, and he hated the current situation more than he’d hated anything since returning.

He leaned down closer to The Chameleon’s eye level capturing her full attention. “One of these days, Lizard.” He ground the word into a hateful hiss, before raising his head and adopting an air of pleasantness. “You’ll find out, when I happily escort you there.”

The Chameleon’s eyes hardened ever so slightly, even her smile never completely faltered.

“Speaking of which… this little old goat seems to have trespassed and gotten lost.” The Chameleon pointed with the staff in the goat’s direction watching Shen’s face for any sign of worry or fear. “Perhaps you’ll do her the honor of escorting her there, in the meantime.”

It wasn’t a question, and silence settled between the three of them, as Shen’s narrowed hateful eyes swung toward the Soothsayer. He was absolutely livid, and while she didn’t believe any of his ire was truly directed at her, it still turned her blood cold to see him so… murderous.

“Shen….” It was a faint little rasp of a whisper. Nothing else could come out of her throat. But it seemed to insight something within him, as he stalked closer, train slowly rising behind him.

“Why did you come here?” It was a pained little hiss trembling with anger and fear, as he put himself squarely between his old nanny and the evil little lizard watching from the background.

“Why?”

He was shaking, trembling, and Soothsayer made to reach out, is if she were going to place a hoof on his wing, but at the last second her arm froze.

“Why?”

She didn’t lower her hoof or pull away. She just couldn’t move.

“Why?!”

He stopped just out of reach, and words rose to her tongue only to wither and die. She could not bring herself to speak to him. She didn’t know what to say-or there was too much to say.

She had stood on the dock after his battle with the Warrior of Black and White. She had smiled then convinced that he may have found peace in the end. Or convinced that with time he would after his death, but to see him again brough back by cruel magic and made a slave of-it was beyond horrific, and her throat tightened around a painful lump.

The peacock exhaled and slumped, red eyes glowering at the floor between them.

“You always were a stubborn old goat.” He wanted to say she was constantly sticking her nose in his business, but he wasn’t ungrateful enough to imply something so cruel, nor was he particularly keen on revealing the nature of their relationship to the watching lizard smirking in the corner.

He gently pushed her outstretched hood down. His last words to her had been that he had no use for her. Something somewhere inside twisted, leaving him breathless, but he pushed the emotion away, cozening up instead the anger that still followed him as a constant companion after his death.

Anger he understood. Anger burned, but it was a raw hot thing, he was used to. He’d sent her away, because it had been dangerous to keep her around- a danger to his plans-to himself, and that had been all he’d been willing to admit to himself at the time. But here and now, he couldn’t deny to himself it had been partially done to keep her safe. She was in danger now. Because of him. Because of some stupid lizard playing god, and there was no panda around to save the day. To save her. He didn’t know how, but the Chameleon was going to pay. She was going to pay for all of it.

He sensed the motion behind him, and whirled. Metal collided with jade, and Shen’s train snapped open.

“Too slow.” The Chameleon’s voice was cold. Her patience had run out, and Shen sneered. He’d been difficult and unruly; unwilling to bow his head and obey from the moment she’d summoned him. She had half a mind to send him back for his constant attempted transgressions, but his brilliant mind was for too useful. She had an army. She had sorcery. She had his kung fu and all the abilities she’d stolen from every other master she’d brought back, but the one thing she didn’t have, that could expedite her plans, were Shen’s weapons.

He could invent something new and exciting for her, and sending him back prematurely would be a waste.

“Too slow?” Shen’s voice was icy, and his eyes had shrunk to pinpricks of incandescent fury. “You’re too sloppy.”

If she decided to use the staff against him, there’d be nothing he could do. Her eyes flashed teal, and for a moment he tensed expecting to feel her skittering around inside his mind, like the world’s most aggressively annoying acupuncture. But her will never overcame his. Instead, he heard footsteps.

He glowered into the corridor he’d come from earlier, while the Chameleon laughed, backing away from him.

“You want continue your foolish crusade of defiance? By all means, be the rebellious little princeling you always were.” The Chameleon leaned against the jade staff. “See how much it costs you.”

From the corridor appeared, Tai Lung. The peacock’s only response was to shift. The Soothsayer was still out of view and if she was smart, she’d start running.

“I have no use for you.” It was all he could say to her, and he had to hope fear hadn’t rooted her to the spot. He wasn’t confident about his odds.

The Chameleon’s eyes flashed. Tai Lung’s eyes flashed teal, and with a low growl, the snow leopard crouched.

Before anyone could move, there was a cacophony of loud noises. A series of ‘ouches’ ‘youches’ ‘yees’ and finally a very loud ‘oof’ followed by something crashing. All eyes were on the noise. Soothsayer, very discreetly began backing up. Shen’s eyes flicked to hers, and he gave her the tiniest of nods.

“Shen…” her voice was still so faint, so clotted with emotion. For the first time in a long time, her façade of cool aloofness had been completely shattered, and he very discreetly reached through his train feathers, to touch her arm as she’d attempted to do to him earlier.

“Goodbye, Nan- Goodbye.”

He withdrew. His wing feathers left a warm unfamiliar weight on her arm. He was once again a stern cold warrior, fully intent on the noises, coming from a side corridor. The voice huffing and puffing, followed by some other voice were both growing louder.

Shen, head raised, very deliberately relaxing, as The Panda appeared.

Po’s green eyes surveyed the dark intersection of passageways and the people he’d just stumbled on. The elderly goat that had saved him from the river, looking heartbroken, and gob smacked at the same time. Lord Shen was standing before her protectively-which seemed odd until he remembered the Soothsayer had mentioned being the tower with him when he was young. Tai Lung of all people ready to attack the peacock, and in the middle of it all stood The Chameleon, quietly watching her hard won control over the afternoon spiraling further into infuriating disarray.

A young fox appeared by the panda’s side. “You really need to sort out your failed relationship with staircases.” Was all she said as she dropped into a fighting stance.

It was probably the weirdest reunion Po had ever experienced, and yet it hardly seemed like the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. Although he was struggling in that moment to think of what might have been weirder.

“Well, if it isn’t the so-called Dragon Warrior.” Tai Lung rose.

“Greetings Panda, we meet agai-” Shen broke the silence, and Po still winded from evidently falling a considerable distance, gave him a small lackadaisical wave.

“Hey, how’re you doing?”               

It wasn’t clear who it was Po was addressing. Maybe Shen. Maybe Tai Lung. Maybe all of them. Anything that might have been said further, was drowned out by Shen suddenly laughing, just before his eyes flashed teal.

[ginsengkitten]

༺Beautiful Dangerous༻

a slashxreader fanfiction

༺☆༻

Chapter Two:

A snake & a lighter

Word count approx: 1700

☆Track list☆

Lullaby - The Cure

Talk Show Host - RadioHead

A Large python is inching its way towards the door of your bedroom. It's dark in your room, it must be night, you think? Moonlight drowns the room and the shadows of the rain sprinkle down your floral wallpaper. It feels familiar. The makeup bottles on your white dresser. Your denim jacket on its regular hook. Your stuffed animals preciously lined against your floor. School photos of you in miscellaneous academics adorned the wall. The snake continues, this dangerous animal making its way into your room. You see yourself asleep in your own bed like watching some sort of demented film. You want to alert yourself of the impending danger. The snake reaches the foot of your bed and you feel your muscles strain. You try to scream to yourself "WAKE UP! WAKE UP ITS GOING TO GET YOU!" but no noise seems to come out. You feel breathless. The snake slowly climbs onto your bed, paving it's large body through your comforter. You watch it approach your helpless body. You watch, terrified as the snake begins to hug around your body. You feel the tension of the snake starting to tighten harder and harder. It's getting difficult to breathe when some sort of...heat fills your chest. you feel your chest raising and deflating with hot electricity. This same feeling you had felt a week ago at the records store. When that..guy..stared into your soul like a lion to a lamb. Suddenly you surrender to it all. You want this. The fear and the heat entangle you as you fade into darkness. Wake up,wake up, wake up.

"Wake Up Y/N!" Daisy's voice echos into your consciousness. You snap awake with a gasp. Daisy is timidly sat at the edge of your bed, a look of concern on her face. "Y/N, I think you were having a nightmare." She says softly. The morning light blisters the bed through the white curtains of the guest bedroom. Your eyes squint as you come to. You feel your heart beat slowing. "You're all sweaty" she laughs slightly as if to mend the awkward awakening with humor. "Oh..." You sit up in a daze, sleepily rubbing your eyes. "What a terrible way to wake up on your birthday!" Daisy laughs louder now, she skips to the window and excitedly strings the curtains open. "My god!" You laugh and practically hiss at the light like a vampire. The light shocks you fully awake probably as Daisy intended. She did not take lightly to birthdays. Your 18th birthday. Wow what a milestone. How weird. I don't feel so different, am I supposed to feel-adultish? You thought to yourself as you accustom yourself to being awake. "My little baby ain't a baby no more!" Daisy cooed in a semi false sad, motherly tone as she embraced you in your sweaty pajamas. Daisy had turned 18 in February and was older by just a little. But she was more experienced in just about everything and sometimes felt like an older sister. You spent your birthday each year at Daisy's as it fell in June, right as you were on your regularly scheduled summer stay. You had started being sent away during the summers as mother and daddy chose to work full time during the summers as it was the busiest season for their line of work. At least that's what they tell you. The true reason was, as their only daughter, they took no chances of you getting into trouble or mischief like the rest of the teenagers in your town would during summer. The number of teen pregnancies that occurred the summer you turned 12 shocked your parents so intensely that they opted to ship you away entirely to the safe haven that is....Hollywood...and up until now it's worked it's job with only few instances of mischief under Daisy's wing. And yet this new feeling of yearning gnawed at you. It began the day you had listened to the Aerosmith album. The inner yearning for something more. Something new.

-

You sit in a trance at the dining table. Your breakfast untouched before you. Your apetite escapes you as you recount the nightmare in your head. Snakes. You've never really feared snakes. You haven't even seen one recently that would provoke such a fright. You recall on the warmth of emotion that overtook you in the dream. Almost a pleasurable sensation? Fear and Pleasure. You felt torn from feeling such intense emotions simultaneously. Confused at where this came from, some unidentifiable sense of impending doom ate away at you. Aunt Shena had prepared a gorgeous spread in honor of your birthday. She was religiously intense but her heart meant good always. She was present when she could be but could often be found hypocritically passed out from her anti anxieties or shopping uncle Robs salary away. Again, she meant well.

"Now girls." Aunt Shena excused herself from the table, dabbing non existent remnants of her uneaten food from the corners of her lipsticked mouth. "While I'd love to stay and join in on the festivities, I've got to get to a very important meeting with the crochet group for a fundraiser. I know you've only just turned 18, Y/N, but I thought it might be nice to go to the beach or a night showing at the movies?" Aunt shena primped her hair in the hallway mirror. "Just don't-" she paused and smiled at us both. "Don't tell your uncle Rob I've let you out so soon unsupervised. He doesn't need to know. There's some allowance upstairs on my dresser." She said hurried. She always made sure she looked so....very nice..for her crochet group. Very nice. It made you wonder at times but not enough to pry. Not your business what goes on at crochet. Plus if it took her off your backs whatever it was was very much so none of your business. For a bible thumping hills wife, Aunt Shena sure seemed to have her own unholier-than-thou activities. Again-not your business.

"And Daisy-" she turned and gave her a pleading look." Please...just take the jeep this time." Daisy and you exchange looks. Did she know about the Pontiac? Nevertheless, for a woman of god she seemed less than uninterested in consequence or punishment of Daisy's wrongdoings. Which seemed to make Daisy want to get into even more mischief. Daisy nodded in agreement, accepting her stern reprimanding from her all attentive mother.

-

The sun scorched across the water. A slight breeze gave occasional relief. You lay on your stomach and mindlessly draw circles in the sand. Just absorbing the ocean ebbing and flowing in blue and white hues. The seagulls crying out. The distant screams of people joyfully splashing in the water. Your mind couldn't help but revisit the dream once more. But every time you did, you couldn't help but revisit the record store in your mind. That guy. He hadn't left your mind since. Had you left his? Was it as electrifying for him as it was for you? No man had ever taken such residence of your mind before, not like this. You try to recall his features from memory. The gruff stature, and wild, beautiful curls that fell perfectly around his face. His face, that smile. That smile that was so sweet it was almost maddening. The way his pouted lips curved into that smirk. The way his hand felt over yours for that brief moment. His grip was strong and his fingers were fashioned with rings. One of them was a snake ring. The ring was a snake. That's where you saw the snake from, could it be? Such an intense dream from a simple ring on a finger? You couldn't help but believe that he had something to do with it. Somehow that interaction inspired that dream. He inspired that dream. What did it mean?

"So like I was saying Y/N" Daisy's voice intruding your thoughts. She flicked her lighter on the edge of her cigarette, lighting it into a steady stream of smoke. She held it to her lips and took a drag. A well seasoned drag at that. She motioned it to you but you politely shake your head no. "You remember that guy I met last week at tower records right?" Daisy continues. 'No' You think to yourself. "Yeah" you lie. To be honest, the entire car ride home that Daisy had spilled juicy details about her newest boyfriend, you had been busy thinking about your own mystery man who had wooed you at the cash register. "Well like I was saying, he and his friends have this band. I can't remember the name. 'Something Roses'. Anyways, they have a concert tonight and he said we'd get in for free. You down for a little birthday fun?" She gently pushes you with herself in a joking manner. A concert? You can't remember the last concert you'd even seen. It might have been the church family Christmas choir concert? That doesn't really count though. Daisy observes you thinking on it and offers a deal sweetener. "It's a rock band" she pushes again. Daisy knew all too well your developing fascination with rock music, and frankly the fading boundaries of which you once held yourself to. Over the years, the constant protection and coddling and bubble wrapping had worn on you. Something had been stirring violently within you over time. Sometimes it was like you felt as though you were born with a ticking time bomb in your heart. And the older you grew, the less time remained on the clock. All the walls, all the quiet submission, all the rules and the rhythms in which you kept your life stringent to, all felt like it could just take a single spark and you would ignite.

You suddenly feel a sense of overwhelming over-your-head bravery. You snatch the cigarette out of Daisy’s grasp and suck in an entirely too large inhale of smoke. You cough it all out immediately and laugh, as does Daisy-out of shock. A hilariously failed attempt to look badass in your moment of newfound bravery, but the smoke felt good as it burned your throat. You finally manage to choke out:

"Okay, let's go."

[purple-on-black]

From my Fallout 4 inspired WIP (Name Still Pending)

The Children of Adam Saga

(Part of the Far Harbor Arc)

Part 2

*

(Be aware, this section does include a hallucination/fever-dream sequence that involves the death of a child. If that is something you are sensitive to, you might want to skip this or only read the first half [Up to the first image.].)

*

(Part 1: Here )

(Part 3: Here )

*

I lay on my bedroll, shivering violently while Nick searched the building for any supplies. The ranger station was not big, a single room, and had been picked pretty clean by scavvers already. A wooden desk stood near the far wall, bolted to the floor. The moisture had caused it to warp, little pustules bubbling across its surface and bursting under the thin cheap veneer. A small magazine rack had been toppled, spilling its last couple fliers and advertisements across the dirty floor. A taxidermied prewar elk head hung high up on the wall, visibly dusty and with strings of cobwebs draped over its antlers. One of its glass eyes had fallen out and at one point a bird had made a home in the sawdust of its eye socket.

I lay on the floor, bundled up under my bedroll. My head burned, but inside my body felt cold. Excruciatingly cold. Icicle fingers speared through me whenever I tried to move. It was like being in the cryogenic pod all over again.

I hazily watched Nick as he rummaged through the small first aid kit bolted up by the doorframe. He mumbled to himself as he did so. “Bandages…tourniquet…Buffout? And I don’t even know what this is,” he said, pulling out half of a busted CPR mask. “Would it’a killed ‘em to put some damn aspirin in here?” He growled, snapping the metal box shut in frustration.

“Nick?” I called out in a horse whisper.

Nick immediately turned around, eyes wide and piercing through the darkness. “Sorry, Doll. Looks like we’re not so lucky,” he said as he walked over. There was an anxious tension in his voice. It worried me, as if he knew something I didn’t. He crouched in front of me and brushed a hand over my hair, pushing a lock that had come loose from my bun back behind my ear. “You doing alright?”

I flinched at the touch. His hand was cold—frigid! And it just added to the overwhelming sensation that I was already experiencing. “I-I’m cold…” I muttered through chatting teeth. “Not sure if it’s the fever or the island but I’m freezing…”

“Yeah?” Nick raised an eyebrow, pressing the back of his good hand to my cheek. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, ’cause to me, seems like you’re burning up.” He glanced around the small room like he was hoping the walls might offer up a better idea. Then, with a sigh, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over my shoulders. “Don’t make me regret this. Any hotter and I’m taking it back—and throwing you in the ice box.”

My stiff fingers closed around the fabric of the worn khaki trench coat, pulling it closer, desperate for any semblance of warmth. The smell of cigarette smoke filled my head, a small familiar comfort. I closed my eyes and tried to absorb myself into this feeling. For a moment I was back in time: sitting in my grandparent’s den, Christmastime, bright twinkling lights decorating the tree, discarded scraps of crumpled wrapping paper lying around on the floor, the adults talking over coffee, an ashtray sitting on the coffee table holding a small pile of ash and still-smoldering cigarette butts.

Something cold touched my head, jarring me out of my fantasy. I gasped and my eyes flung open. “Easy,” Nick said in his even steady voice. He was holding a cloth soaked with water to my forehead. “I know it ain’t pleasant, but this will help.”

I opened my mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. My own skin felt foreign to me. There was a prickling tingle through my cheeks, rising up and bursting on the surface in the cold air like the bubbles in a Nuka-cola bottle. Nick spoke again, “Just relax. Breathe, alright? You’ll make it through this.”

He sounded further away this time. Not quieter necessarily, just distant…muffled like he was speaking from the other side of a wall. But still, something about his voice grounded me. My eyes ached. I let them close, relinquishing my body to the exhaustion.

*

The gurney crashed through the triage doors, tires screeching against the polished tile.

“Blood pressure is falling, I need some hands over here!” I called out to some of the other nurses nearby. Five other women dropped what they were doing and surrounded the small form on the bed. Blood had already soaked through the thin cotton sheets over the mattress. The smell of panic and copper hung heavy in the air.

“What have we got?”

“Ten Year-old male, multiple gun shot wounds to the abdomen.”

“Do we know where the parents are?”

“No idea, and right now that’s one of the last things on my mind,” I turned to one of the aids still standing behind the triage desk. “Get Doctor Henderson down here!”

“Heart rate is falling, we need an IV started.”

“He’s losing too much blood, hold more pressure.”

“Someone get a stim on standby!”

The boy in the bed turned to me, terror coursing through his bright blue eyes and tears cutting trails down his small face. His lips trembled as he tried to mumble something. I hushed him and leaned in, giving him the most reassuring smile I could. “It’s alright, Sweetheart, you’re going to be alright—just hang in there, ok?” I shouted over my shoulder again, “Where is that stimpack?”

“…Mom…?”

My head whipped back. Time instantly slowed down. Surely I had misheard, or he was just confused. But those eyes—even wide and pleading—

Suddenly I was holding an infant, swaddled in a blue striped blanket, smiling up at me with those same bright blue eyes.

“Shaun?!”

A sudden harsh tone from one of the monitors shoved me out of my freeze. “We’re losing him,” the nurse to my right took over, stepping up into my place, “Prep for cardiac massage.”

Hands flew around me but I didn’t move. It was like all my training and years of experience immediately disappeared, leaving me stuck in place, forced to watch as the life drained from my son. Or some version of him. How old was he again? I couldn’t remember.

A cold solid note cut through the din of the triage hallway, matching almost perfectly with the tone ringing through my ears. “It’s no use,” one of the other nurses said. Detached. Professional. “Time of death, 14:27 hours.”

The others started to clean up, removing tubes, powering down machines, but I didn’t—couldn’t. I felt an itch in my head telling me that I at least had to move—to get out of the way, but my body wouldn’t respond. I just stood there watching while others worked around my son’s body.

My son. Had I really just failed him again? Had I really just watched him bleed out in front of me? And I just stood there.

“Hell of a job you did.”

The voice hit like a scalpel between the shoulder blades. My blood ran cold. I broke through my syncope and whipped around, coming face to face with a man I’d been sure I would never see again.

Kellogg.

He wore a beige button-up and tie, but it was undeniably him. His bronzed skin looked out of place and filthy against the glowing white lab coat. Eyes piercing and judgmental. Mouth curling into that predatory sneer. He walked up to the cot, the other nurses moving around him without response like he wasn’t even there.

Kellogg laid a hand on the rail of the gurney, glancing down at the boys body, and inspecting it with one cocked eyebrow like it was a cut of meat at the butcher. “It was your job to protect him, you know.” His voice held no anger—just that dry, mocking disdain. He stood up again, staring back at me. “You had one job and you couldn’t even do that right. Mom of the year, huh?”

“Shut up,” I spat. My words didn’t feel like my own. I wanted to argue that this wasn’t my fault—that I had nothing to do with it, but I couldn’t.

Kellogg scoffed a half-chuckle. “Be angry all you want, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.” He stepped around the cot. As soon as he walked in front of it Shaun’s body disappeared. “You keep this up, your body count is going to be almost as long as mine.”

“Sh—shut up…!” I shouted again. I’d wanted to say something else, a retort of some kind, proof that what he was saying was wrong, but my brain couldn’t come up with anything else.

“You think I’m the one that took him away? The Institute? Nah, you did a bang-up job all on your own.” The hospital walls melted away, replaced by the Army base where I’d finally taken him down. Synths surrounded him, laser rifles drawn at the ready. “I’m almost impressed,” he continued. “When I said before that I admired your dedication, that wasn’t a lie. What I didn’t realize at the time was that we would end up being so…” he stood in front of me, inches away, so close I could smell the reek of the San Francisco Sunlights. “Similar.”

I shoved him. His body was solid. Hard. His chest shifted under my hands like it was a solid unit. My hands were shaking—my chest pounding. “Fuck you, Kellogg!”

He just laughed. There was a strange almost staticky quality to it. His eyes bored into me. Had they always glowed yellow? “Keep running all you want, it won’t change the fact that you failed him.” I blinked and the lab coat turned into a dusty khaki trench. Kellogg pulled a beat up fedora out of nowhere and put it on. “You keep trying to fix it, but you can’t. You never could.” He put his hands in the pockets of the coat as he took another step. When he looked back up it was suddenly Nick standing in front of me. “And every time you try to save someone, you just end up standing over another body.”

My heart dropped. I took another step back, the heel of my boot hitting the wall. Kellogg’s judgment I could ignore, but Nick’s? The person who I’d come to trust the most out in this crazy place? Nick, the one who stood beside me? Who’d believed in me?

He glared at me with such disdain and disgust, it felt like there was a weight on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. “N-no…I didn’t…Th-that’s not…!”

His glare wasn’t stoic or skeptical. It was hatred.

“You let him die,” he said again, voice crackling and metallic. “Just like the others. All those lives—Gone. And for what?”

“I didn’t… I tried—” My voice broke. My words sounded hollow. Useless. My face burned with shame but despite this I was shaking. I collapsed against the wall, hands covering my head. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry…”

My head buzzed. I could still hear Nick saying something—muffled, distant—but I didn’t want to. I clamped my hands over my ears,

Nick’s voice only got louder. “Kat…Kat…”

I opened my eyes again. Fort Hagen was gone. Everything was washed out in a bright shimmery haze, like looking up at the sun from underneath the water.

Was I dead?

No…My pulse pounded through my ears. Dead people didn’t have heartbeats.

Then through the ringing:

“Kat…whatever you’re seeing—it’s not real…”

I felt so hot. Like I’d just stepped off the surface of the sun. Or I had just come back from Hell…which to be fair was a distinct possibility. My skin burned. My limbs were filled with sand. My chest felt crushed under a thousand pounds. Even breathing hurt.

Then—

Coolness. Metal fingers wrapped around mine. Stiff, and jittering slightly with every movement. But an oasis that my mind latched onto.

“Dammit, come on, Doll, stay with me, here…!”

It wasn’t the words that cut through; it was the tone.

Too desperate. Too emotional. Not Nick’s usual dry wit.

He was scared.

But he was real.