#v: Crimson Executive

[hopelessbaddays]

when the men are red

and disguised

[ch33z3grits]

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

summary: Terry shamelessly gathers allies and information to pursue Camille behind the scenes. Camille, no matter how hard she tries, can't help but develop a crush on Terry.

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, manipulation, smut (male masturbation and p in v), obsessiveness/possessiveness, mentions of witchcraft, angst if you squint, stalking, breaking and entering, mentions of drugs and alcohol, AAVE, use of n-word

word count: 7,778

a/n: thanks again for all the comments and reposts on the last part! The reposts are fucking hilarious but idk how to respond to them if I even can 😭😭 but I appreciate the interactions fr. Ngl this is long lolll but enjoy :)

glossary

The Veil: the dark magic that enhances supernaturals’ ability to manipulate the human world

Terry’s song: No Heart-21 Savage | Camille’s song: Next Lifetime-Erykah Badu

Pt. Three

Terry

Terry had forgotten how annoying popularity could be. It had only been two weeks since he first onboarded with Watkins & Grant, yet he was already the firm’s shining star. His work ethic was constantly praised, as was his effortless charm when conversing with anyone. Every day, without fail, someone would drop by his office to shower him with compliments. He would laugh, a practiced chuckle that never failed to sound genuine, and put on an act of humble appreciation, making sure to make them feel special in return.

But as the days passed, Terry found himself increasingly irritated by the constant recognition. His colleagues, eager for his attention, bombarded him with social requests. Happy hours, family dinners, sporting events, casual coffee chats… invitations were always extended to Terry. He knew the drill all too well. Terry had mastered the corporate dance long ago, and he understood that maintaining these social ties was essential for his professional image. But despite the strategic benefits, the sheer volume and frequency of all those social engagements were draining his patience.

What bothered him most, though, was the growing realization that these endless interactions weren’t getting him any closer to the one person he actually wanted to see, the one who mattered far more than anyone else in the office.

In the past few weeks, Terry's interactions with Camille had been way too brief and far too professional. When she got in, she would quickly pass him in the hallway, squeaking out a small but warm "good morning" before Aston would lock her away in that fucking office of his. Their exchanges always left Terry feeling hungry for more. When those tiny moments weren’t enough to satisfy his craving for her, he’d find some bullshit excuse to walk down to her side of the office—grabbing a snack from the kitchen, admiring a different angle of the building’s view, or simply claiming he needed to stretch his legs. Each time, he’d sneak a glance into Aston’s office, and there she would be. Head down, furiously typing away or scribbling notes, working far too hard for Terry's liking.

Meanwhile, Aston would be making his rounds around the executive wing, greeting everyone with a hollow smile and kissing everyone’s ass but Terry’s. Terry wasn’t offended at all. The less he had to see the motherfucker’s face, the better. But he was going crazy trying to survive off his little interactions with Camille, watching as her professional life consumed her. Terry had to find a way to get some more time alone with her. Which is why a few days after he started, he was staying after hours to bend Stephanie Hodges, the secretary for Mr. Grant, over his desk.

After observing the social dynamics of the office, Terry discovered that Stephanie was one of the most influential people at the firm. At first, her interactions with Mr. Grant appeared strictly professional, nothing more than typical, formal exchanges. But Terry’s keen perception saw the subtle signs that hinted at something far more… inappropriate beneath the surface. He watched closely, noticing how Grant’s gaze would linger on her just a bit too long whenever she was near. Terry caught how Grant sniffed the air whenever she walked by, as if intoxicated by her presence. And whenever Stephanie wanted something, all she had to do was bat her lashes and throw a flirtatious smile at him. Every time ended with her getting exactly what she wanted and she would walk away with a triumphant smirk.

The professional relationship between Grant and Stephanie was nothing more than a carefully constructed facade. On Grant’s end, he was having an affair. On Stephanie’s end, she was enjoying a sugar baby arrangement. This knowledge solidified Terry’s understanding of her power and potential value to him, which he could leverage to his advantage. All he had to do was pull her into his orbit, which didn’t take much. Stephanie made her intentions very clear. She would come by his office every morning, making unnecessary small talk in a sultry tone. She would bend over to give him a perfect view of her ass or she would shove her cleavage in his face when she needed to show him something. Terry wasn’t particularly interested in fucking her. Stephanie was attractive, but office hook-ups often got messy, and Terry couldn’t afford the drama. But, Terry had no problem obliging her if it got him closer to his end goal. So if he had to fill her up with dick after everyone went home for the day in exchange for a few changes around the office, that didn’t bother him one bit.

“T-Terry, oh fuckkkk. F-Fuckingg...cu....c-cumming again,” Stephanie whimpered, her face pressed against the Mahogany wood of his desk. Terry rolled his eyes as he pumped his full length in and out of her with punishing strokes, feeling her pussy clench around him. She had came for the fourth time and all she could do was moan, shriek, and babble out incoherent sentences. The experience was much more than he intended. He didn't mean fuck her this good for this long. But his nut was taking longer than expected due to Stephanie’s high-pitched moans irritating the fuck out of him. And she kept fucking squirming. Frustrated, he firmly slapped her ass, causing her to cry out as the sound echoed through his office. “Stay still,” he hissed. “Damn!” 

He closed his eyes, trying to think of a way to make this more satisfying for him. An image of Camille bloomed in his mind, her face slack with pleasure, her mouth forming an ‘O’ shape. “Mmmm Terry, please.” The imaginary Camille moaned. “Please, please cum for me.” 

That got Terry across the finish line. His hips stuttered as he thrusted into Stephanie to the hilt and barreled into his orgasm. "Fuckkk," he groaned, pushing Stephanie flatter against the surface as he emptied his load into his condom. He pulled out of Stephanie quickly, the absence of his cock nearly making her slip onto the floor in a dick-drunk daze.

Good, he thought. Just how I need her to be. He discarded the condom in a nearby trash bin before sitting in his desk chair. He pulled her into his lap to soothe her as she caught her breath. She panted as she stared at him, a lazy smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“Where have you been all my life?” She giggled, running a finger over his chest. He internally cringed, but his exterior played into her ego. “I could ask you the same,” he chuckled. She flipped her fiery red hair and laid her head on his chest, pleased by his comment.

“You know,” he started, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been watching you since I first started here and I’ve noticed that you’re the only one who gets everything they want. I mean, it's no surprise considering how beautiful and magnetic you are. But, how do you do it?” She laughed, shifting herself on his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Well Mr. Richmond, I’m not afraid to ask for what I want.”

“Is that so? I need to learn your ways. Because there is something that I want. Well, someone rather,” Terry let out a defeated sigh. Stephanie stiffened in response, making him smirk. “Wow, Mr. Richmond, someone else has caught your eye already?” Terry clutched his chest, feigning shock.

“You’re mistaken, Stephanie. I don’t mean it in that way.” He stated, looking into her eyes and petting her hair. He watched as her jealousy transformed into curiosity. “I guess you could say that I’m dealing with a little professional jealousy.”

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What do you mean?”

“Camille's work ethic...I’m seriously impressed. The way she handles McCoy’s caseload, how she keeps the whole thing from collapsing under the weight of it all, it's something else. I don't have it as bad as he does, but I wouldn’t mind a little of that magic working for me. But…McCoy likes to keep her close. I mean, I get it, she’s his fiancée, after all." Terry tried to keep the bite out of his voice as he mentioned Camille’s engagement status. "But still, it feels a little…unfair, don’t you think? An associate gets to keep a paralegal like that all to themselves, and here I am, a visiting partner, left to do it all alone. I’d ask Grant or Watkins about it, but the whole ‘fiancée’ thing just makes it…tricky.”

He watched as the gears practically turned in Stephanie’s head, hoping he planted the right seeds. She tapped her fingers against his chest as she continued to think. “Well, I could always bring it to Mr. Grant’s attention. You’re right, it doesn’t make any sense for Aston to have more privileges than you.” Bingo.

Terry held back a sinister smile. “Really, you would do that for me? Would that even work?”

Stephanie’s cocky smirk returned. She sat up in his lap, her green eyes staring into his. “Of course! You said it yourself. I can get anything I want around here. Let’s test that theory.” She leaned in for a kiss, which Terry rewarded her with.

Hours later, just past 2:00 AM, Terry stood in the shadows outside of the luxury apartment building where Aston lived. On one of the rare nights when his colleagues hadn’t asked him out for drinks, he had followed Aston home, committing the address to memory. He returned the night after to watch the building closely, noting every detail. The concierge’s shift changed at exactly 2:00 AM. A handful of residents would collect late-night food deliveries until about 2:30, and the custodial staff took smoke breaks sporadically throughout the night. He had studied the rhythm of it all. Terry knew the patterns, knew the cracks in the schedule. He just needed the right window to slip through.

Tonight, he was prepared. Dressed head to toe in black, he ran his fingers over the leather gloves and ski mask tucked in his pocket. He wouldn’t need them just yet. But soon enough, they’d serve their purpose. For now, all he had to do was wait for the door to open. His eyes snapped towards the front entrance as he heard the grand door creak open. A cleaning lady, holding a pack of cigarettes, looked around momentarily. Convinced that no one was there, she grabbed a stone from a nearby bush and tucked it between the door and door frame. Then she walked a few feet in the direction opposite Terry, lighting a cigarette. Terry silently stalked towards the door, watching to make sure she didn’t turn around. He quickly slid through the open door, making sure it was propped open just like the woman had left it.

Once inside, he walked confidently over to the concierge sitting at the front desk. The man, who was busy doing crossword puzzles, stopped momentarily to see who was approaching him at such a late hour on a work night. Terry flashed a casual smile. “Hey, how are you doing tonight,” he spoke, placing his forearms on the marble counter separating them. The older gentleman looked at him with slight suspicion, but still engaged. “I’m fine, how about yourself?”

Terry let out a concerned sigh. “Actually, I'm not doing too well. My friend called me earlier, said he had a little too much to drink tonight and got himself into some trouble! I was just trying to check on him, but he won’t pick up. He only gave me the access code to the building, but I don’t know which room he’s in.”

The concierge paused, eyeing Terry with suspicion.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the man stammered. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

Frustration buzzed beneath Terry’s calm exterior, but he kept his voice steady, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Are you sure? I’d really hate to think something bad happened to him…” His words hung in the air, sharp with unspoken pressure.

The man’s gaze flickered, unease creeping into his eyes as his focus faltered. Terry inwardly groaned, knowing he would have to take matters into his own hands. He leaned in further, his fist tightening subtly, his focus sharpening. Swiftly, he conjured up the dark magic of The Veil, feeling it unfurl around him.

Terry watched with dark satisfaction as the man’s pupils dilated, his posture straightening rapidly. All emotion drained from the man’s face, signaling to Terry that he had control now. “That’s better,” Terry chuckled. “Now, bring me the master key and tell me what unit Aston McCoy is in.” Without a word, the concierge turned around and stumbled towards a room behind him. After a few moments, the concierge, moving like a brainless zombie, brought him a golden key fob and a slip of paper with ‘Aston McCoy, 608’ scribbled across it. Stuffing the items in his pocket, Terry gave the concierge another glance. “Stay right here and don’t talk to anyone.” Then, he pivoted towards the elevators.

Once inside, he slipped on the ski mask and gloves before using the key fob to get access to the sixth floor. He smiled when the doors slid open and stepped out into the hallway. Conveniently, the unit was only a few paces from the elevator. After approaching the door that displayed ‘608,’ he held the fob over the door’s keypad, and stepped inside once the door softly clicked.

Terry knew it was twisted. Breaking into his colleague's apartment to find the best, most personal way to ruin his life was abhorrent by human standards. But he wasn’t human. He hasn’t been human for centuries. So he didn’t give a fuck. Aston McCoy was the one thing standing in the way of him getting his hands on his prize.

Holding her.

Taking care of her.

Fucking her.

Worshipping her.

He vowed to move heaven and earth to have Camille all to himself. So if he had to pursue a little breaking and entering to set his plan into motion, so be it.

Terry's footsteps were silent to the average ear as he sauntered around the luxurious loft. He gazed at the expensive minimalist furniture, carefully curated wall decor, and the artificial plants that were strategically placed in the living area. The entire space lacked any trace of personality. Sterile, boring, and safe. The signs of a young white man who desperately wanted to be taken seriously and belong in the upper echelons of society. Terry smirked and shook his head. Throughout his long, long life, Terry had run into men like Aston at every turn. It was pathetic how they shaped their entire lives around getting more power, more status. Slave owners, military officials, mob bosses…white men who had the world at their feet but were always at the risk of slipping and falling. All it took was one blow from Terry and they were tumbling to the ground. Aston McCoy would be no different.

Although he found the apartment amusing, Terry grew irritated as he stalked through the space. Every drawer he opened, every closet he rifled through, only deepened his frustration. There were no signs of the vices he’d come to expect. No bottles of liquor tucked away in hidden corners, no baggies of coke stashed carelessly in drawers, no anonymous flash drives filled with illicit secrets. Nothing. Terry scoffed, feeling his eyebrows push together as he approached the last doorway in the apartment. McCoy’s bedroom. He entered the room lazily, expecting further disappointment. But his eyes widened as they settled on the central point of the room: the bed. On the left side, McCoy was bundled under a mountain of covers, his hair peeking out at the top being the only indication that it was him. But on the right side… laid Camille, looking like an absolute angel. Her body was completely exposed due to her fiancé's selfish hogging of the covers. McCoy’s actions at any other time would have Terry seeing red. But instead, they accidentally gave Terry the most pleasant and mouth-watering surprise he could have hoped for tonight.

Camille laid flat on her back, the side of her face perfectly highlighted by the moonlight pouring in as she snuggled into the crook of her arm. Her gorgeous dark brown skin seemed to glisten in the moon’s glow, asking, begging to be licked and sucked and marked. She was mostly bare, wearing nothing but a satin hair scarf and a satin nightgown that dipped dangerously low into her cleavage and hiked around her waist. Terry's focus on the task at hand faltered as his dick turned to stone. His tongue darted out of his mouth to moisten his lips hidden under his mask. Desperate to give himself some form of relief, he palmed his growing bulge through his sweatpants as he moved closer to Camille’s side of the bed. With a better view of the slumbering princess, Terry's eyes wandered to Camille’s pussy, tucked away from his sight by a lacy white thong, a present he ached to open. As if in a trance, Terry crouched down to run his gloved thumb over the waistband of Camille’s panties, careful not to awaken her.

You have no idea what you do to me, he thought, hooking a finger into the lacy fabric. His eyes snapped toward her face as he began to slowly tug the garment down. He was halfway down her thighs when she stirred, whimpering lightly. Everything in him froze except his dick. His dick jumped as the sweet sound echoed in his head. Camille’s brows furrowed momentarily, but her face relaxed and her eyes remained closed. Terry waited a beat to make sure she was still asleep. But his cock, heavy with excitement, beckoned him to continue removing her panties. So as swiftly as he could, Terry pulled the small fabric over her knees, down to her ankles, and then carefully slipped them past her feet. In a frenzy, Terry tugged the ski mask below his mouth and pulled the souvenir to his nose, inhaling deeply. Drool slid past his lips as he breathed in her scent. He held back a feral rumble in his chest, feeling his eyes flicker from their usual blue-gray to a deep red. Now isn't the time to lose control, he thought, suppressing the darkest parts of himself. With a shake of his head, he tucked Camille’s panties into his pocket, sending another shockwave through his lower region.

He backed away from Camille’s side of the bed, his eyes never leaving her enchanting face. He was just about to cross the bedroom’s threshold to walk back into the living area. But he heard the slightest vibration from the left side of the room. Terry cocked his head to the side and zeroed his focus on the phone on McCoy's nightstand. What kind of notifications could he be getting at two in the morning? He swiftly moved towards the phone, gently picking it up. He flipped it so the screen faced him and began to read the series of notifications. Banners from DraftKings, FanDuel, Prizepicks and other betting apps displayed several different messages:

Bet $20 and get 3x back on earnings!

Hurry now to get $1000 in casino bonuses!

Bet now, get instant deposit on all earnings!

Terry chuckled lightly, his eyes flickering to McCoy and Camille to briefly check if they heard him. They hadn’t. So you’re a gambling addict huh? He grinned widely as he glanced down at Aston. I can definitely work with that. Terry carefully returned the phone to its original position. Then he crossed the room once more, returning to Camille's side. He hummed slightly as he softly gripped her right leg, adjusting it to give him a perfect view of her now exposed pussy. Camille sighed slightly, shifting onto her side, unknowingly moving closer to Terry. Terry smirked, kneeling so his head was at the same level as hers. “You’ll be all mine soon enough,” he whispered, hoping that his words slipped into her dreams. She sighed in response, still in a deep slumber. With a final scan of her face, Terry pulled his ski mask back over nose, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned to leave the bedroom. He grinned wildly as he began to conjure up the most sinister and wicked ideas to get Camille into his arms and into his bed.

He exited the apartment, carefully locking the door back into place. As he rode down the elevator, taking off the gloves and ski mask, he slightly chastised himself for not already knowing that they lived together. He guessed it never crossed his mind considering that they drove separately. And the address on her driver’s license didn’t match this building. Maybe she moved in with him recently, he thought.

Once the elevator doors opened, he looked toward the concierge’s desk, seeing that the man remained in the exact same spot. Terry approached the desk, placing the key fob in front of him. He would discard the paper with the apartment's information later. “You’ll be released from this spell in about ten minutes and you won't be able to remember the events of tonight. But before then, I need you to put this back exactly how you found out, and delete the security footage from the past hour once I walk through the front door. Understood?” The empty shell of a man nodded, already reaching for the master key. Terry turned toward the door and walked out, not bothering to look back.

Rather than feasting on one of the blood bags that stocked his fridge or sinking his fangs into one of his casual partners to end his night, Terry sat in his king-sized bed as he gripped his heavy dick, Camille’s thong hanging halfway out of his mouth. The garment muffled the groans in the back of his throat as his right hand jerked up and down his shaft and his left hand held his phone displaying a picture of Camille he found on her sister’s instagram. She stood in a bathroom, wearing nothing but a white robe and silver jewelry. One side of the robe hung off her shoulder, giving a teasing view of a breast he desperately wanted to lick. She looked up at the phone provocatively, her tongue peeking between her lips.

Terry was practically choking his cock as his hand gripped up and down his length, lotion and precum mixing together to give him the perfect amount of slickness. His hips bucked as he imagined her tongue dragging over the length of him from base to tip, flicking over the slit of the mushroom head. And the residual taste of her essence flooded his taste buds, making his head damn-near spin. With a few more thrusts into his fist, he released a guttural moan as warm, thick ropes of cum landed on his torso and hand. He panted softly, chest rapidly rising and falling as he came down from his high.

He pulled her panties from his mouth, using it to clean up his seed, before placing the fabric on the altar sitting across from his bed, which held an intense love spell he had been meticulously maintaining for weeks. Framed photos of her, capturing moments of her beautiful smile and radiant laughter, were abundant. Beside them, candles glowed softly, their wicks anointed with domination and seduction oils, each deep red flame flickering with an almost sentient desire. Protection wards, drawn in ancient symbols connected to The Veil, surrounded the space like a silent, invisible force, ensuring her safety from any harm. The display was an intricate ritual, a carefully crafted tribute to Camille, meant to pull her closer, to weave her into the very fabric of his world. Every detail was deliberate, every element chosen with painstaking care. All of this—his devotion—was for her, and her alone.

He gazed at the picture on his phone once more and shuddered, his semi-erect dick standing at attention once again. But even though his mind beckoned him to masturbate once more, his supernatural hunger gnawed at him. He had been ignoring his desire to feed for the past few days, prioritizing more pressing matters. But now, he was almost at a point where he could lose control. And he couldn’t go into work tomorrow and accidentally feast on a coworker. So, with a final glance towards his magical workings, he pulled on a pair of pajama pants and stalked towards the supply of O-Negative waiting in his fridge.

Camille

Camille woke abruptly from the sound of her alarm, groggier than usual. She already wasn’t looking forward to the day, considering that it started poorly. Aston woke her up around 4 AM, horny and in the mood for a quickie, which she reluctantly gave in to. He had already taken her panties off anyway. But it was rushed and unfulfilling. Aston had rolled after two minutes, falling back to sleep after reaching his peak. But Camille wasn’t so lucky. She tossed and turned for hours, her dissatisfaction keeping her alert. And of course, her vibrator was dead, leaving her with nothing to get her off.

Before her mood could sour even more, she threw off her covers and headed for the bathroom. Dreading the work day ahead, she went through her morning routine. It wasn’t just the workload that was getting to her. Ever since Aston found out he didn’t make junior partner, he’s been…stricter. Meaner. A tad bit bitter. He’d grown increasingly harsh with her work, constantly second-guessing her decisions, and questioning the few moments she took to breathe between the demands. And it wasn’t just the office that had become tense. At home, the smallest things seemed to set him off. Camille chalked it up to him having residual disappointment from Terry having the role he wanted, which she completely understood. She saw how he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into Watkins & Grant, yet it didn’t seem to be paying off. And although she gave him grace, she couldn’t deny that he was hurting her feelings often and she was beginning to burn out.

Giving herself one last look in the mirror, Camille hoped that something good would come out of the day. Something to break up the monotony.

At least, she thought with a small sigh, there was Terry.

She hadn’t fully admitted it to herself, but Camille was developing a crush on the new addition to the firm. And she often fixated on their interactions. Their exchanges, though brief, had become the highlight of her mornings. The way he would give her a quick, almost nonchalant ‘good morning,’ accompanied by that wide smile. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He offered the same greetings to everyone else in the office. Yet, every time their eyes met, her heart would skip a beat.

Once she got to the office, that moment she always looked forward to happened like it always did. Terry passed her as she came into the office, giving her that signature smile and quick ‘good morning.’ Camille savored the moment briefly, inhaling his passing trail of cologne. But she refocused and continued to Aston’s office, mentally preparing herself for the tasks she had to handle by close of business. She pushed open the glass door and made her way to her desk, feeling Aston’s eyes track her, his phone pressed to his ear. When his call ended, he softly called out to her. “Good morning, Millie.”

“Morning,” Camille replied, refusing to look up. Aston sighed, sitting back in his chair.

“Look baby, I know I haven’t been the best company these past few weeks. And, I’m sorry. It’s not fair to you at all.” This made Camille look up, meeting his gaze. “And I know the work has been hard. I… I’m just going through something, baby. And while that’s no excuse, I want to thank you for being so patient with me.”

Her eyes softened. “It’s okay, baby. We all have our off moments,” she said, sympathy laced in her tone. He smiled and blew her a kiss, making her giggle.

“You mind us taking a long lunch today? We can go get your favorite,” he suggested, making her perk up. Camille rarely got to go to O-ku, an elevated Asian fusion spot about twenty minutes from the office. She felt a little bit of her stress melt away, feeling moved by his apology. “Yea,” she smiled brightly. “I’d love that, Aston.”

“Great,” he returned, leaning deeper in her direction. “Let me make a reserva–” An abrasive knock on the door interrupted him. Camille’s eyes dragged towards the source. Mr. Grant, not waiting to be invited in, stepped inside.

“Aston, Camille. I’m glad I caught you two,” he said curtly, shutting the door behind him. Aston sat up straighter at the arrival of their guest. Of all of the executives, Mr. Grant was the harshest, and he was rarely impressed. As a result, he always had Aston on edge when he was around.

“Now I know this may be a sensitive topic, and honestly that’s because Charles and I let it go on for far too long,” Mr. Grant said definitively. Aston and Camille exchanged a glance, neither of them having a clue what he was talking about. Aston cleared his throat. “I’m sorry sir, but what are you referring to?” Aston asked.

Mr. Grant sighed, looking around the room awkwardly. “It’s time for you two to start separating.” Camille swallowed. Aston clenched his jaw. “With all due respect sir, Camille and I, we have a good system in pla-“ Mr. Grant cut him off promptly.

“I’m aware, Aston. And the firm appreciates how well you two work together. But this arrangement…it looks unfair to the rest of the team.”

Camille knew that working together would eventually come back to haunt them. They only got away with it for so long for three reasons: One, Aston was notorious for taking on more cases than anyone else, making extra help a necessity. Two, the McCoy family had contributed generously to Watkins & Grant charity events, which kept the firm a little more lenient on their setup. And three, Mr. Watkins, a hopeless romantic, had been all too eager to make sure their relationship survived in the high-pressure world of law.

For the past two years, their colleagues had turned a blind eye. But it was clear now that the situation had become an issue for others. Mr. Grant continued, “Charles and I talked it over this morning and we agree that it’s time for the distribution of the paralegals to become more equitable.”

Mr. Grant's focus shifted solely to Camille. “Now Camille, we don’t want to thrust you into a completely different workload, so we’ll just put you under one other colleague for now, just so you can get your feet wet.” Camille nodded, honestly feeling a little excited.

“But, we still want to push you and make sure you remain challenged, so we’re not going to put you under another associate. Instead, you’ll be working under Terry,” he stated.

Camille’s heart felt like it might jump out of her chest. She was going to work with Terry? She didn’t know if she’d be able to take it. What if I embarrass myself in front of him? What if I mess up his cases? Aston interjected, displeasure obvious on his face. “Mr. Grant, she's never worked with high level cases before or a different portfolio. Don’t you think this might be too big of a leap.”

Mr. Grant flicked his hand dismissively. “She’s been stellar so far, I can’t see her falling too far away from that. And don’t worry, we’re going to add another paralegal to your rotation,” Mr. Grant was obviously not going to be swayed. He turned back towards Camille. “Camille, quickly gather your things. We’re going to hop on over to Terry’s office and see if we can finalize a new schedule for you.”

Aston looked at her, visibly upset. But what could she do? Say no to their boss? She put her laptop and notepad in her work tote, then stood to follow Mr. Grant out the door. She walked quickly to keep up with him as they moved through the office. Once they got to Terry’s door, Mr Grant's demeanor did a 180. His no-nonsense pout turned into a small smile as he knocked on the door.

“Come on in,” that velvety voice made Camille’s thighs clench. Mr. Grant stepped inside with a bright smile, Camille following closely behind. “Terry!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Working hard or hardly working?”

Both men shared a laugh as Terry rose from his desk. They continued to joke amongst themselves as Camille swayed nervously, looking everywhere but at Terry. Their laughter died down and she could feel both of their eyes on her.

“How you doing, Camille?” Terry chirped, forcing her to meet his gaze. His head was cocked to the side, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I’m doing fine Terry. How are you?” She responded, unable to help her smile.

“I can’t complain, I can’t complain,” he said, staring at her intently and biting his lip absentmindedly.

Goodness, she thought. This man is going to be the death of me.

“It’s good to know you two are acquainted,” Mr Grant starts. “Terry, I wanted to drop by with a proposition. We know that you’re doing just fine on your own. But Charles and I wanted to give Camille an opportunity to work on some higher level cases and experience some topics outside of McCoy’s portfolio. Do you mind taking her under your wing?”

Terry’s eyebrows raised, his smile deepening. “Not at all. I’d be honored.” Camille quietly let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Mr. Grant chuckled at his response.

“Well great! I was thinking about her rotating between you and McCoy. Is three days with you and two days with him alright?” Terry nodded. “Absolutely, as long as Camille doesn’t mind.” They turned to her expectantly. Her cheeks burned as she spoke up. “That sounds great!” She said. Aston is not going to like this...at all, she thought.

“Great,” Mr Grant finalized. “I’ll leave you two to work out the details,” he said, backing towards the door. “By the way Terry, are we still on for golf on Sunday?”

Terry chuckled, leaning against his desk. “Yes sir, I wouldn’t miss it.” Mr. Grant smiled again, chuckling as he walked out of the room. As the door shut, Camille watched as Terry’s eyes focused on her, as if he was studying her.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve seen you for more than five minutes since my first day,” Terry said, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. Camille felt a flutter in her chest but masked it with a grin, shrugging her shoulders. “What can I say? I’m always pretty busy.”

“Oh, I know.” Terry pushed himself off the desk, his eyes never leaving hers as he stalked toward her. Camille froze, the warmth of his proximity hitting her like a wave. Focus, Camille. Focus. His scent lingered in the air, making it hard to think. “Every time I pass McCoy’s office, you’re always buried in work.”

Camille let out a soft sigh, averting her gaze. She envied how her coworkers could wander the office freely while she seemed chained to her desk. “Yeah, it does get a little overwhelming sometimes.” She glanced back to find Terry watching her intently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. Sympathy flickered there, but something else too.

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that with me.” His voice softened, the smile that spread across his lips sending a shiver down her spine. “I promise to keep your workload interesting, but light. That’s why your first task will be spending a day out of the office… on the firm’s dime.”

Camille’s breath hitched, her pulse skipping a beat. He can’t possibly be serious. But when he reached into his wallet and pulled out the Amex card that Watkins & Grant only gave to its partners, she knew he was.

“Terry, that’s… that’s so sweet,” she murmured, her voice betraying her. She shifted on her feet, feeling conflicted. “But I can’t accept that.”

“Really?” His voice dipped, teasing, but his eyes never left hers—holding her in place. “Should I tell Grant you’re already giving me problems?” The playful edge in his tone made her stomach flutter, and despite the tension in her chest, she bit her lip, trying to maintain control.

“I just… I would feel guilty. I’m supposed to be helping you, not taking time off,” she said, her words softer than she intended.

Terry tsk’d, stepping closer, holding out the card toward her like a quiet challenge. “But you are helping me,” he said with a wink. “You’d be clearing your mind, so you’re ready for my cases.” Camille swallowed hard, knowing he had her cornered. No matter how she tried to protest, he’d always find a way to turn it back on her. With a reluctant sigh, she reached out and took the card.

“Okay,” she murmured. “But what am I supposed to do all day?” Terry shrugged casually. “Whatever you like. But if you need to feel productive, you can always swing by the Law Library and do some light research on intellectual property or impact investing cases.” His gaze lingered on hers just a moment too long.

Camille chewed her lip momentarily. “Alright, that sounds good.” Terry leaned back, a triumphant expression crossing his already smiling face. “Great. Before you go, you want to set anything down in your office?”

Her office. Not just a small corner like in Aston’s room, but a full, independent space all for her. Camille’s lips curved into a grin as she allowed herself to feel the thrill of this new chapter. Terry led her across his large office towards a door on the far side of the room. His hand reached out to press it open, holding it wide for her to step inside.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she entered. The room was everything she hadn’t realized she was hoping for. Bright and spacious, equipped with a sleek wooden desk that already had a desktop on it. Behind the desk, a plush-looking office chair awaited her, a welcome contrast to the aesthetically pleasing yet stiff chairs in Aston’s office. Around the room, a few plants and decor added life and personality, filling the space with a sense of freshness—giving the room an almost personal touch.

“Do you like it, Camille,” Terry asked, her name rolling off his tongue almost making her swoon. She gazed up at him with a grateful smile. “Oh, I love it, Terry,” she gushed, stepping into the office further. He let out a deep chuckle, leaning against the doorframe. “I’m glad that you do. I’ll let you get settled. I’m gonna join a call soon, so you can just step out when you’re ready to go.”

“Okay,” Camille said, still admiring the room. With a final sigh, she placed her work bag in the office chair and grabbed her wristlet from the inside. She carefully placed the company card inside and grabbed her keys. As she left her new sanctuary, Terry silently waved her over to him, his phone pressed to his ear. He handed her a piece of paper with a number scribbled across it. “Call or text me if you need anything,” he whispered, before returning to his call. She grabbed the paper with a smile, noticing that her grumpiness from earlier had completely disappeared.

Terry

Terry had to give Stephanie credit. She worked fast. He didn’t expect Camille to be moved to work under him the very next day. But he definitely wasn’t complaining. When Grant brought her into his office, Terry’s heart skipped a beat, a momentary jolt of surprise. She entered the room like a breath of fresh air, her presence enough to make everything feel lighter. But Terry quickly masked his reaction, his cool demeanor slipping back into place.

As much as he wanted to keep her in his presence for her first day with him, he could tell she was feeling drained. Her shoulders curled forward. Her blinks were longer, more fatigued. And her smiles weren’t reaching her eyes like they usually did. Terry felt a need to take away that burden, if only for a day. He wanted to give her a chance to breathe, to relax without the pressure of deadlines. No work. No stress. And definitely nothing related to Aston. Just a day to herself. He would make sure of it.

Her reaction to her first work “assignment” kept replaying in his mind. She was so reluctant at first, probably thinking that a day out of the office with his business card blurred the lines of professionalism. But with some pressure, she gave in, letting excitement overtake her. It was precious.

It had only been three hours since she left, so when a knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts, he arched an eyebrow. Is that her? Back already? He called out, “Door’s open,” getting ready to tease her for returning so early.

But the guest at his door was the person he least expected to see: Aston McCoy. He entered the office with a tight-lipped smile, closing the door behind him. Terry returned a similar expression.

“Terry, good to see you!” Aston appeared genuine, but Terry knew better. “Aston, long time no see. What can I do for you?”

Aston’s eyes darted around the room, clearly searching for someone. Terry watched him with quiet amusement, knowing exactly who Aston was after.

“Is Camille around?” Aston asked, his voice dripping with false casualness. Terry grinned, picking up the small ball on his desk and tossing it from hand to hand.

“Nope,” he said nonchalantly, “She’s been out for a while on her first assignment. Probably won’t be back for a few hours.” Aston’s expression flickered for just a moment, confusion clouding his features.

“Her first assignment… outside the office?” he asked, clearly caught off guard.

Terry’s response was a lazy nod, his tone condescending as he addressed Aston like a child. “Mmhm, I thought it would be good for her. Camille looked so tired today. I'm sure you, of all people, noticed.” He watched with satisfaction as Aston’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Yeah,” Aston muttered, “I guess she was. She’s been working really hard lately.” Because you’re incompetent as fuck, Terry thought bitterly, but kept his face pleasant.

“Exactly,” Terry said, his grin widening. “So I figured she deserved a little break. A real one, not one of those quick lunch-hour escapes.” The air between them thickened, the underlying animosity barely hidden.

Aston's forced smile returned. “Well,” he said. “Did she mention anything to you about lunch? We were supposed to go together.”

Terry's chest tightened, a twinge of jealousy going through him. He leaned back in his chair, still tossing the ball casually. “Nah. You should probably call her.”

Aston hummed, a low, almost frustrated sound as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he muttered, shifting his gaze to the office, looking around with wonder. “You know, this is a really amazing office,” he sighed.

Terry leaned forward slightly, taking the opportunity to be petty. “It really is! Maybe one day, you’ll have one like it.”

Aston visibly stiffened, his smile cracking, just for an instant. Terry resisted the urge to laugh.

Aston opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Terry’s door opening. Stephanie waltzed in like she owned the place, her eyes settling on Terry. “Aston,” she greeted dismissively, not even bothering to look in his direction. “Terryyyyy, are we still going to lunch?”

Terry nodded, feeling annoyed by her flirty tone. “Yes ma’am.”

He gave Aston a final look. “Anything else I can help you with?” he asked sarcastically. Aston gave him another forced smile. “No, that’s all.” Terry grinned, “You have a great day then,” dismissing him.

Terry watched as he turned on his heel to walk past Stephanie and finally leave his office. Bitch ass nigga.

Camille

Camille let out a contented sigh as she drove home from work and reflected on her day, feeling better than she had for a long time. After leaving the office, she started at the law library, eager to dive into research and take her time with it. She moved leisurely through the shelves of law books and case archives, feeling the rare luxury of not being rushed. The peace of it all was almost meditative, and she reveled in the quiet rhythm of flipping through pages and making notes.

But after two hours, she'd exhausted all the references she could find. Knowing Terry wouldn't be pleased with an early return, Camille decided to take a break at a nearby park. She settled onto a bench, letting the crisp air declutter her mind.

When she grew hungry, she texted Aston, suggesting they meet at O-ku. After forty minutes of silence, she figured he'd probably gotten caught up with something. No matter, she would enjoy her own company. She treated herself to a happy hour special, savoring each bite and sip as she gazed out the window. It was then that her eyes caught a glimpse of a charming flower shop across the street. The idea struck her suddenly, some fresh flowers for her office would be a nice touch. But would it be appropriate to buy herself flowers using her boss’ card? Technically, she thought, they wouldn’t be from Terry, they would be from the firm.

With a gorgeous arrangement in hand, she had made her way back into the office, feeling lighter as she set the flowers on her desk. Terry noticed her good mood when she returned his card.

“That's the Camille I like to see,” he chuckled, warming her heart.

As she walked into her apartment that evening, she felt as though the day had ended perfectly. Until she was met by Aston’s scowl when she entered the kitchen.

“Hey…,” she started cautiously. “Is everything alright?”

His lips tightened. “Something about that Terry asshole doesn’t sit right with me.” Camille’s jaw dropped. What could’ve happened at work today that would prompt him to say that?

“Woah, Aston. Let’s just take a deep breath, okay? What happened today?” she said, sliding into the barstool next to him. He glanced at her before glaring off into the distance. “He separated us on purpose.” His tone was definitive. Sharp like a razor. But despite his seriousness, Camille couldn’t help but let out a breathless laugh. His eyes snapped to hers, narrowing. Her smile faltered, and she instantly regretted it. She hadn’t meant to make light of it.

“Baby, that’s a little absurd, don’t you think? What would Terry even do that for?” she asked, confused on how he came to that conclusion. She rubbed soothing circles into his back. He placed his chin in his hand, looking deep in thought.

“I don’t know why, but I-I know he’s behind it,” he muttered, as if he was speaking more to himself than to her. “At first, I thought it was because he had a crush on you. But I went by his office and saw Stephanie drooling over him and how he entertained her. The way they were acting, they’re obviously sleeping together.”

Camille’s stomach dropped. Terry and Stephanie were seeing each other? How long had that been going on? A cold wave of shock and an unexpected rush of jealousy filled her chest. But these feelings were quickly followed by guilt. How can I feel this way? I'm literally talking to my future husband. I shouldn’t be jealous of a single man dating whoever he pleases, no matter how big of a crush I have on him.

To distract herself from her inner turmoil, Camille ended the evening trying, with no luck, to get Aston to abandon his theory about Terry. He couldn't possibly have been behind their new workflow, right?

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

@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree

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[soullessdianthus]

can i request ghost x reader, kind of like an enemies to lovers/hatefucking type situation 🫣 can be as kinky as you like. thank you <3

A/N: I'm living for this trope with Ghost! Because I believe he could be absolute douche sometimes, but at the end of the day, he would just drown you in sweet affection. (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

Warnings: enemies to lovers (idiots in love), implied age gap, angst???, smut (p in v, slow and gentle sex, unprotected)

Word count: 4.2k oops

It felt like literal eternity serving within the British Army. But in reality it’s only been three years since you enrolled. Since the very beginning of your personal excursion along the nine circles of hell, the devil was looming above your head – Lieutenant Riley. 

God damn bastard. 

Around a year ago Captain John Price was selecting only a few privates to see if any of the “fresh blood” was fit to join his special forces. You happened to be one of the lucky soldiers. 

During this intense year of service you managed to get promoted to a sergeant, allowing you to be more independent during missions than a rookie or a private. To be honest, you were amongst the youngest sergeants out there in the army, along Soap MacTavish. 

You were good. That’s what Price told you at the end of the selections. You weren’t as strong as men larger and taller than you, but you catch up in the different fields. Swift yet seamless in the way you moved, quietly. A good aim and fast ability to evaluate the situation. 

Sometimes your biggest flaw was panicking during shootouts. Especially when your team was getting slaughtered, one by one and your cheeks were splashed with thick, warm blood. If not your slightly strayed aim and heavy breathing no one would even know. 

You were extremely young for such missions Captain (or Laswell) sent you on, so honestly, the way your body reacted was a basic human reaction to such stress and trauma. 

And there he was, a man soaked in crimson, his skull mask remaining untouched. Ghost walked right by you inside of the helo, when Soap tried to console you by nudging your arm. 

You felt his dark eyes looking at you with scorn, disappointment maybe. Ghost never praised you, not once, even if you saved their arses. All of them. 

━ Pull yourself together, sergeant. ━ Lieutenant snarled, before sitting down on the opposite bench. 

━ Ignore him, lass. He’s just a grumpy sad man.

Johnny was more than right about Simon Riley being a sad man having a sad life. Perhaps that’s why he got so used to crushing each bundle of joy in his life.

You thanked God in situations like this, that there was always Soap or Gaz to ease the tension between Lieutenant Riley and you. Because no matter how much you acted unbothered and tough or how much you tried to ignore his hatred towards you, Ghost’s attitude was painfully scratching your heart. 

Obviously you made some mistakes, all of them had. You were just humans at the end of the day. So whenever you tried to impress the others, looking out for friend’s approval, you were struck by his empty stare full of pity. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, you never wanted to, but you couldn’t just treat him indifferently. There was some fucked up part inside of you that didn’t want to let him go. And it only brought more pain.

There was no logical explanation why Ghost despited you so much. You were humble about your job or abilities and overall polite (well, most of the time, lately you began to talk back to the grumpy Englishman).

But what you didn’t know was that Ghost was actually jealous. 

He couldn’t stand how quick it was for someone as young and fragile as you to climb to the sergeant’s position. Ghost didn’t possess the features you had – the way you made friends so easily among the comrades, how you practically every time executed your job without a slip up or how you put a spell over Soap, Gaz and even Price. They were all fond of you.

Once, when you got hurt, Ghost couldn’t help but to trace the dripping blood from the cut on your cheekbone. The blood trickled down your soft skin over the curvature of your face, which he involuntarily found pretty for a woman. The crimson substance dripped down your chin and onto the cleavage of your shirt. 

Simon swore, he could see your round, full breasts through the tight shirt. Only then he snapped back to reality. Since then he hated himself even more for casually showing such fragility. Ghost couldn’t let you be his weakness. The ghost had none. 

But all you could see in this situation was that your lieutenant was disappointed with you. That you managed to get hurt on such an easy mission. “Such a failure in his eyes, am I?”, you thought to yourself.

The other time, when you followed him along the concrete wall, trying to flee the ambush, Ghost happened to be just too close to you. His broad shoulder touching you almost constantly. 

His presence didn’t bother you, until the lieutenant's tight grip over your upper arm barely cut the blood circulation in the limb. He yanked you backwards so hard, you nearly stumbled. 

━ Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? ━ Ghost growled in a raspy voice, making sure you weren’t shot. He brought you close to his own body, too close. You could feel the warmth of his body, almost welcoming you into embrace. Almost.

━ I got it covered! ━ His gloved hand snatched up to cover your mouth at once.  Both of you stilled upon hearing the enemy walking past your cover. Simon retraced his palm only when he was sure the danger was gone. ━ You’re insufferable, Lt.

━ Congratulations, the girl finally noticed. You want some cheers or a confetti thrown? 

━ Would like one actually ━ you agreed with a pathetic shell of a man, wasting all of the strength not to tell him to fuck off ━ but not from you. Let’s move.

Ouch, that had to hurt his fragile ego. But Ghost wondered why it actually made his blood boil. Why your little back talk got him riled up. 

For years he got used to hearing insults or miserable comments from other soldiers. So why did he feel truly insulted when it came to you and your filthy mouth? He felt similar to a parent who failed to put their child into their place. 

So he desired to torment you a little more. However, this decision ended differently than usual, when he toyed with you, mocking each aspect regarding your life.

This time you smacked him across his face, when you were back in the helo taking a few soldiers back to base. One too many malicious comments from the lieutenant and you snapped. 

Of course you regretted being so carried out by emotions, but slapping Ghost across his stupid mask gave you a sense of relief. Bastard deserved that.

You were surprised when one of the women in the barracks told you that Ghost is asking for your presence in his office. That it’s urgent.

It has been a couple of days since “the incident” and since then you hadn’t been forced to spend time with him, not in the training area nor in the cafeteria. 

You jumped out of your bed and pulled on the high trail shoes and stuffed the legs of your pants inside of them. There were many ideas coming to your mind, why he requested your presence. Perhaps, the little disagreement in the helo was too much. Maybe the Captain was there with him, ready to reprimand you for such disrespect towards the Lt?

Who knew, the only way to find out was to go and see for yourself. So you did. 

The base seemed more empty than ever before, most of the soldiers being sent away on missions. Or on a training grounds, far from the main building. 

So you walked with a steady pace down the hallway until your eyes managed to read the label “Lt Riley” on the doors. Before your hand reached for the handle, you acknowledged the state your body was in – wrist and slender fingers shaking, skin inflamed. Were you afraid of this confrontation? What was wrong with you?

A loud sigh left your mouth and your chest collapsed. You knocked twice and entered the office only when you heard his voice “come in”. 

━ You wanted to see me? 

━ Come, I might need your help ━ such foolishly selected words made your heart skip a beat. You closed the door behind and walked closer to where he was sitting. ━ Fill those just like the example here and then put them aside. 

Ghost pointed to the one singular sheet of paper already filled out and your eyes wandered on the massive pile of those you were supposed to complete. The similar stack was on the lieutenant’s right. 

━ And you can’t do it yourself? ━ You raised your brow, looking in a questionable way at him. Ghost sighed, rolling his eyes.

━ Can’t you just do what your told?

You grabbed the folding chair and set it next to the grumpy man. You carefully watched his reaction as you did so. 

━ Soap wasn’t available?

━ He’s on a deployment, somewhere in Urzikstan ━ the man wearing a balaclava with solid skull sewed to it explained briefly. ━ Besides, I needed a woman to help me out with this.

━ Oh wow, didn’t know you were a sexist. ━ A surprised huff slipped out of your mouth, when you got comfortable on the plastic chair next to him. He sneaked a peek at your wiggling hips and felt a sudden wave of heat.  

━ Fuckin’ hell ━ he cursed, passing you the pen. ━ You think Johnny or Gaz know how to sign their own name? At least you know how to write, yeah?

━ Look, you just said something nice for once. 

A not so fake, but forced smile twisted your face as you accepted the pen he given you. 

━ Don’t flatter yourself. 

━ Nothing coming from your mouth is flattering, Lt. 

Within the last spoken sentence you began filling the papers out just as he instructed. The task itself wasn’t difficult, just repetitive. 

Minutes passed as you sat next to Ghost in silence. Only the sound of paper sheets being moved around intervened with the quietness. You unknowingly started to chew on your lower lip, distracting the man sitting beside you. But how could you know this, he just hummed from time to time, God knew why. 

The tension between the two of you started to fade out as you felt more comfortable spending time with him. Work time of course, doing important things, but in a secluded room and all alone. 

Your somehow guilty mind didn’t want to leave the business unclear, there was a need rooted inside of you that needed its explanation. 

So you gathered enough bravery and finally spoke, breaking the silence. 

━ You’re in a mood for talking, sir? 

━ Not particularly ━ Ghost replied, eyes still glued to the documentation in front of him. ━ But since you addressed me properly… What do you want?

He was right. Maybe it was the first time you addressed him with “sir” since the beginning. 

━ I’m not looking for trouble, alright? But, what is your problem? Why… ━ you paused for a second, your own gaze drilling into the pen you were gripping so hard between your fingers ━ are you so harsh to me? 

━ What did you expect joining the military, eh? Would you like a special treatment? 

━ An equal treatment would be great ━ you emphasized on the words, sinking further into a plastic chair. ━ See, you don’t even understand. 

Why were you sitting there, listening to him taking out his bitterness on you? There was far more you deserve in life than this. You did nothing wrong to be treated as such. 

━ I tried getting along with you, Simon ━ you continued after a moment of silence. You were so focused on the confusing feeling in your guts, that you missed the part when he stopped working to look directly at you. And the sadness painted on that pretty face of yours. ━ I really did. But you're pushing everyone away and that’s not my problem. So don’t dare take this out on me. 

His short, but rough laugh echoed in your ears and blush of humiliations covered your cheeks. There was even a hint of you crying in a matter of seconds, but you kept your act together. That’s what he told you so often, right? 

━ Jesus fuckin’ Christ. ━ The lieutenant muttered, your face twisted in pure anger.

That’s it. That was the fine line. 

Suddenly you stood up, pushing the chair with the back of your thighs. It almost fell down with a thud, but you caught the backrest quickly, before it could actually happen. 

Did he just laugh at you? 

━ What the fuck is wrong with you?! ━ You let the emotions emerge to the surface, raising your voice at the masked man. But despite the wrong he did, what Ghost said to you, you couldn’t find a dash of hatred towards him. It made you feel sick. ━ Why do you hate me so much? I didn’t do anything wrong!

Ghost stood up from his own seat and out of the sudden his larger body caged you in between him and the solid desk. The Englishman placed his hands on both sides of you, over the countertop, taking away the possibility of you escaping. Slipping away through his fingers.

He pressed his chest and whole front of his body into your back. To your (and his) surprise, you didn’t even flinch. Ghost’s head was leaning next to your left ear. The significant skull mask staring directly at you. 

━ I can’t stand your presence, sergeant. It makes my blood boil, especially when you laugh. Because it… ━ he paused, inhaling sharply through his teeth ━ you make me feel things. Though, I’ve no hatred towards you, Y/N.

A confusion overwhelmed your body, when he didn’t snap back or when he didn’t bother to be mean towards you further than that. Your heart was hammering inside of your ribcage.

All these months, he kept pushing you away with his repulsive attitude, just because Ghost didn’t want to allow anyone closer. His heart was cold, so how come you managed to stir something in him? 

In a cold-blooded killer?

━ You’re better than me. All those atrocities we experienced, didn’t change you into a fuckin’ killin’ machine. A monster. Because you shouldn’t end up like me. 

His right hand, not wearing any glove, slowly raised in the air until it reached your face. With the outer side of his palm and knuckles, the more scarred one, he caressed your features. The outline of your cheek and jaw, the curvature of your lips. 

Your body instinctively leaned into his touch, into the tenderness it craved subconsciously. You would never imagine Ghost was capable of such intimate acts. 

━ You’re not a monster, Simon ━ your mind was eased, yet body was inflamed with something more. The skin craved more answers, more clarifications. An assurance. ━ Just an idiot. 

He chuckled softly, his chest tensing for a moment. You could feel it through the layers of clothes that separated you from each other. 

His hand left the side of your face. The lieutenant removed his balaclava along with the skull mask. You knew it, because he placed it on the desk nearby, just in your sight. He was exposing himself to you. He wasn’t fucking around this time. He was serious. 

━ Look at me. 

Ghost tone was firm, a bunch of words sounding like an order. And like a good soldier you followed this one. 

You slowly moved around, before leaning against the desk again, but this time you were facing him – Simon Riley himself. Not Ghost. Not a shell of a man. 

His face was covered with many scars and memories, it was true, but you would never say that it mutilated him anyhow. He was still handsome, especially with his messed up blonde hair sticking to his forehead. 

You didn’t even realize when the corners of your mouth twisted warmly at this sight. You couldn’t devour it for so long, because he grabbed both sides of your flustered face and pulled you into a passionate, deep kiss. 

Something he was restraining himself from for so long. It became agonizing. 

Your fingers shot up, surprised by the sudden grasp, filling the hollow depth between Simon’s knuckles. 

This shouldn’t feel good, this should have tasted like a sin. He was in a way your superior, he was older than you and he made you believe you were his demise. Which in a way you were. He was ready to throw aside his grumpy mask, if that would make you smile more often. 

Simon thought he would never expose himself like this, show his vulnerability to anyone. Until he met you. 

The breathing between each kiss became a heavy panting – lovers stealing the air from each other. He has clearly shown how much he craved your closeness, the smell of your skin and the taste of your tongue. Something that was so prohibited for a long time. 

━ I still can’t comprehend this, Simon. I really thought you hated me. You’re not playing with me now, are you?

You needed answers, you couldn’t just simply fall for his words. You were not a silly girl anymore. Maybe unintentionally, but during the last couple of months with such stupid behavior, he made you question a confession like this. 

He abused your trust.

There was a feeling in your starved heart that Simon didn’t mean to use you or to hurt in any way, shape or form. But perhaps, due to his own life experience, he couldn’t express his emotions or desires otherwise.  

Simon Riley was a strange, secluded man. 

━ ‘m not. I’m sorry. But the way you fell for my teasin’, priceless. 

Simon chuckled into your sensitive ear as he revealed the truth. When his warm breath tickled the skin over your neck, you tried to shield it from him, before Simon latched onto it like a bloodsucking leech. 

He stepped closer towards your figure trapped in front of him, but only when he bumped into you, he realized how excited and bothered he got. How his trousers became instantly tighter against his manhood. 

━ Fuck. ━ He murmured out, head hanging low in shame. 

━ Simon ━ your sweet voice snatched him back to reality from the depths of his worried mind. You clung to his chest, pressing against his toned body, hands sneaking over his frame. ━ Would you like some help? 

Fuck.

Simon barely managed to swallow his own saliva, when he nodded his head. He wanted to hold you, to have you. Entirely. To leave shady stamps over your skin, so the next morning you would remember this confession. You would remember him. 

━ Not so tough now, aren’t we? ━ You jokingly said, when the lieutenant managed to relax a little bit. When he quit being ashamed of his boner. 

━ You’ve put a spell on me, damn vixen. 

━ Keep telling yourself, Lt. 

The blonde man, still with the smudged black paint over his eyelids, squeezed your hip for a moment, before he reached for the thick blanket from the little, old couch. He unfolded it on the ground and you stepped closer.

Ghost grabbed your smaller hand and guided you to get down on your knees along with him. Your glossed eyes, shimmering with lust followed his handsome face. The face that he kept hidden for so long. 

It was a matter of seconds, before the two of you clung to each other, lips connected with desire. Sloppily, you took some clothing off of him and yourself – like heavy, dirty shoes, his warm jacket or your trousers. 

Your curious eyes noticed his tattoo. It wasn’t the first time you managed to sneak a peek, but it was a first look from this close. 

Simon laid you down onto the plaid blanket and sat on his knees between your legs. His broader shoulders leaned over you, casting a shadow beneath. You kept his face close, leaving a trail of kisses over his features. His short beard tickled you here and there.

━ You okay? ━ He asked, sounding a little concerned that the things progressed so fast. But your eager nodding dispersed the worries away. 

━ Still mad at you, it’s all. 

━ I’ll apologize then. 

Simon unzipped his pants, before he slid them slightly down the thighs. You noticed the bright, short hairs over his meaty legs, prior to him grabbing the sergeant and pulling closer to his groin.

He managed to maneuver your far more delicate form with no struggle, it amazed you how aware Simon was of his strength. 

He smudged the flush tip of his hardened length down your now exposed slit. You gasped at the sudden touch there, pressing eyes shut. The soldier kissed gently over your fluttering eyelid and continued pushing forward with his hips. 

When his stomach brushed in a swiping motion against your softer belly, you suppressed a mewl by biting onto your lip. Simon continued thrusting into your heat in a gentle way. In a way, you wouldn’t think that someone who hated you so much would do.

The blonde man propped against his right forearm, placed next to your head. You could clearly see how his bicep tensed with each movement. Simon’s other palm wandered over the side of your body, fingers counting the ribs under the skin. 

In fact, he was so delicate his touch almost tingled. 

Your thighs squished his sides, when the lieutenant speeded up the rhythm of the thrusts. You felt the crude way your bodies were connected and found pure, primitive pleasure with such an act. 

How Simon moved within you, how the sex itself was passionate yet not painful, the way he made you feel secure and protected between his arms. In his arms.

When you opened enough for him, a couple of cute moans slipped from your mouth just as he pressed his forehead against yours. 

━ Simon. ━ You whispered, the ecstasy of the moment becoming overwhelming. 

You leaned for a sloppy kiss. No, not one. You wanted more. He kept holding himself back, waiting for your initiations. 

So when you welcomed him inside your mouth, he clung to it tighter. The coiling pressure in your tummy grew stronger, making your fingers numb.

━ Si–Simon, I–

You didn’t have to finish the sentence, he already knew. The lieutenant could read you like a book. His favorite one. 

━ Fuck, me too. ━ He groaned through his teeth, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Your hips bucked vividly into him, when you nuzzled your head into Simon’s neck – exactly where it meets with the shoulder. His scent was heavy in the air. The sound of his loud breaths filled your ears. 

━ Don’t stop, don’t stop. ━ You chanted whispering, slowly drifting yourself into upcoming orgasm. 

So when the coiling feeling of climax snapped inside of you, you let out a breathless moan. Your slender fingers squeezing around Simon’s arm and shoulder, lower half of the body spasming uncontrollably. 

The lieutenant nearly lost himself within the divine sensations your body provided him with. Simon’s shoulders tensed, thighs flexed and he continued to lead you through your pleasure, meanwhile chasing his own. 

And finally, when you started becoming limp on that plaid blanket beneath with a final, eager thrust, he climaxed too. His hips shuttered, mouth fallen agape while riding through his own peak. The Englishman muttered your name on repeat for a moment as his length throbbed.

Simon was so preoccupied with blinding delight that he hadn’t noticed when your hand cupped his jaw, another one sneaking onto his occiput, slowly rubbing circles. 

━ You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’. ━ He declared amazed, carefully resting down his body over yours. 

You still, up to this moment, couldn’t believe what just had happened. The months of rage and scuffles ended in his office, on the floor. Nearly naked. 

His scent was stronger than ever before – a specific brand of aftershave or a cologne? Nonetheless, it smelled like burned wood, like a campfire on a summer night. Perhaps maybe because of that you felt safe in Ghost’s embrace. 

Since you laid down your head on his chest, he couldn’t stop touching your hair. The lieutenant played with the loose strands of it, flicking between his coarse fingers. 

He had already given you his warm jacket, which you gladly put on and snuggled against his side, like a big teddy bear. One of your shaking legs, hooked over his. Simon pushed you even closer with his arm wrapped around your back. 

━ So ━ Simon spoke softly, making sure you hadn’t fallen asleep prior to it ━ you still angry with me, eh?

━ Still debating about that, Lt. 

━ Quit teasin’, bonnie. 

You giggled like a foolish teenager again, your head adjusting on top of his chest. The lieutenant placed his palm over yours and you could observe how his ribcage was opening up and slowly falling down. 

God, this shouldn’t feel so good. 

━ Simon, shouldn’t we finish the reports? 

━ Yeah, in a minute. Let’s stay like that a lil’ longer.

[sh4nksslvt]

Strings in Crimson

When our enigmatic Y/n accidentally lands in Dressrosa, it sets off a chain of chaos, power displays, and dangerously intoxicating tension with Donquixote Doflamingo.

PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES

doflamingo x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: doflamingo

tags: sfw, v!ol3nce

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

words count: 786

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Dressrosa was too bright.

Even from the moment you stepped onto the sun-bleached cobblestones, the place reeked of forced cheer. Laughter too loud, colors too vibrant. Like a festival that refused to end. You hated it immediately.

You’d landed by accident — or as close to an accident as someone like you could. Space liked to rip when you snapped your fingers too hard. One careless flick, a shimmer of stars, and there you were. Smack in the middle of the city square while a nearby woman screamed about her missing child.

You sighed.

A blonde in pink feathers clocked you instantly. It was impossible not to. Tall and lean, Donquixote Doflamingo practically radiated threat.

“Fufufufu~ well, well,” he crooned from above, perched like a smug vulture on a balcony. “A new face. And what a face.”

You didn’t answer. Not out of caution. You just didn’t care.

Instead, you turned a nearby pigeon into a tiny floating star just to see if you could.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Doflamingo’s grin sharpened.

In a blur, he appeared before you, a slash of color and power.

“Name,” he demanded.

“Y/n.”

“Devil Fruit user?”

“No.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “Then what the hell are you? fufufufu~”

You glanced at the ground. It cracked under your gaze, spreading like glass under a hammer.

“Complicated.”

A chuckle. Low, dangerous. “I like complicated.”

He brought you to his palace. You let him. Not because you trusted him, but because you were bored.

His executives bristled. Trebol whined about taking in strays, Pica rumbled disapproval, Diamante preened. You ignored them all. Your presence was a storm in still air, and they felt it, even if they didn’t understand why.

“Test them,” Doflamingo ordered, one hand languidly swirling wine.

Buffalo charged first.

You didn’t move.

A thought, and space folded. He disappeared with a yelp, reappearing upside down, tangled in the palace’s chandelier.

Gladius tried next.

You blinked. His exploding fists paused mid-detonation, the tiny fragments suspended in mid-air.

“Cute trick,” you murmured, then rewound time by a second, leaving him disoriented and vomiting from vertigo.

The room fell silent.

Doflamingo leaned forward, interest gleaming.

“You could kill them all.”

You shrugged. “Could.”

“And me?”

A small, crooked smile tugged at your lips. “Wouldn’t be polite.”

He laughed. A real one. Not the shrill cackle, but something darker, lower.

“You’re mine now.”

“No.”

“Eventually.”

You poured yourself a drink, letting reality bend just slightly to fill the glass from a bottle across the room.

Weeks passed.

You became a ghost in the palace, appearing where you pleased, vanishing when bored. You rewound time to catch falling glasses, bent space to avoid dull conversations. The staff flinched when you passed. Doflamingo watched you with something dangerous, something almost fond.

He’d invite you to dinners you rarely attended. When you did, it was chaos.

Once, a rival warlord visited. He made the mistake of grabbing your wrist.

You didn’t react.

He blinked — and found himself standing in the middle of the sea, a thousand yards offshore.

Doflamingo’s grin nearly split his face.

“That was a gift,” he told you later, eyes gleaming.

You shrugged. “Didn’t like him.”

Neither did Doflamingo.

Trouble came in the form of a foreign warlord and a double-crossed deal. Not one for subtlety, the fool marched right into Dressrosa’s palace with a small army and a head full of bad ideas.

You found Doflamingo in the gardens, pristine and grinning, standing atop a mound of broken bodies like a crimson-clad god, not a scratch on him as enemies circled, too stupid to realize their doom.

“Care for a hand?” you asked mildly.

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Thought you’d never offer.”

You raised a hand. Reality convulsed.

Half the enemy force vanished into a pocket dimension of black nothingness. The rest scrambled, confusion thick in the air.

One bold lieutenant lunged. You tilted your head, and the man’s soul flickered visibly from his body — a ghostly echo you plucked between your fingers like a thread and snapped.

Doflamingo whistled, low. "You are a vicious thing."

“I get bored.”

Within minutes, the garden was a graveyard of twisted perceptions — enemies trapped in loops of false victories, others suspended mid-air like grotesque marionettes.

You dusted off your coat. "Clean enough?"

Doflamingo stepped over a dying man, his grin sharp and fond. “Marry me.”

“Pass."

He chuckled, licking blood from his teeth. "You’ll come around."

You would, maybe. Or not.

But for now, you flexed space one last time, leaving the remnants of the coup in a shivering bubble of frozen time, an unbroken reminder of what it meant to cross either of you.

[solitablvd]

The Blood Moon

**Minors DNI**

Pairing: Vampire!Javier Escuella x Vampire Slayer!Reader

Summary: With the blood moon's crimson glow tapestrying over the night, you, an experienced vampire slayer on the hunt, find exactly who you're looking for.

Warnings: Human/Vampire Relationship, vampire smut, vampire bites, unprotected p in v, v fingering, marking, blood sucking/drinking, partial mind control, making out, nsfw

Word Count: 3.6k AO3 Link

The wooden porch let out a creak under the heel of your leather boot as you shifted to lean against the railing. The scene before you was a grim, but unfortunately familiar one. Wooden casket, red roses, and tears. You had been in the game so long you had become numb to these situations now.

“For all people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever, just as the memory of dear Grace. Blessed be the life of Grace Barlow, who now lives in eternal peace. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.” The priest gives a final sign of the cross to the crowd before him. You allowed your fingers to move from your head to your chest, then shoulder to shoulder before bringing the rosary that laid upon your chest up to your lips for a final kiss in unison with the crowd.

As the service finished, you made your way down the porch steps as those who were once sitting in rows began to file into the grieving family’s home to await the burial. Walking down the short aisle, you nodded to the priest as he passed you by.

Taking a deep breath, you approached Grace’s husband, Peter. He stood above his deceased wife, staring down at her with eyes red from everlasting tears. As the spurs on your boots clinked, he glanced briefly behind him at you before shifting his attention back to his wife. “You made it.”

You nodded, joining beside him, “Apologies for missing the first half of the service Mr. Barlow. A farmer just North of here said he saw a mysterious male figure near his barn last night. Then found one of his goats with the blood completely drained from it in the early morning. Had to bring in a priest to bless the place, but anyway— I think it might be who you’re looking for.”

Before he could respond you looked down at Grace before you. Her face, though flushed from all its color, looked peaceful. She wore a long, lavender dress, with a matching ascot that was no doubt placed to cover the scar she received from her assailant.

“May I?” You asked Peter. He nodded somberly, placing a gentle hand on Grace’s ascot and pulling it down slightly to reveal her neck. As you suspected, the scarred fang marks were still visible on her pale skin. Her skin was ice cold, but you had touched enough deceased bodies to remain indifferent. You brushed your fingers over the scar.

The bite of a vampire.

“I didn’t get a good look at it.” Peter began, “It was late. I–I told Grace not to go out so late, but she—” His voice shook. “She went anyway, almost as if she was bewitched by that—”

“I understand.” You nodded earnestly. “Not to worry though, if the same one was lurking just North of here, he can’t be too far.” You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

Peter took Grace’s hand once more before muttering, “You better. I am paying you after all.” He placed a final delicate kiss on her skin before closing the wooden casket altogether.

With the shut of the casket you gave a solemn goodbye before turning away, making your way through the family’s home. The sorrowful faces that gathered had no effect on you. They had once upon a time, but that was long ago. When you first began vampire slaying, every case felt personal. You made promises to grieving masses that you couldn’t always keep. Over time you had learned how to steel yourself against the pain of others. You were given your task and you executed these tasks with nothing less than precision and duty. Leaving the residence, you lifted yourself onto your horse and made your way Northbound.

On your journey, you stopped by the local gunsmith in the town of Valentine to ensure you had the right supplies for the night’s hunt. Hunting a vampire would take more than prayers or garlic as many often believe. You hitched your horse, gave her a sweet pat and entered the gunsmith to a familiar face.

“Ah, the vampire slayer.” The shopkeep, Ralph, smiled knowingly, “You haven’t been here in a while. The usual I suppose?” You answered his question affirmingly. He went to the locked wooden box on the wall to grab your ammunition.

“I’ve been out in the plains near Blackwater.” You explained, “I caught word of a woman who was left for dead just outside the perimeter of her home just South of here. Had two holes in her neck. Widower offered to pay me a sizable amount for the bastard’s head.”

Ralph placed a box of pure silver bullets in front of you. “Well, this should do the trick alright.” You picked up one of the bullets to examine it while Ralph continued. “Take the whole box, you might need it; heard it’s a blood moon tonight.”

Your mind began to race as you replaced the lead bullets in your revolver for the silver ones. A blood moon meant the perfect night for hunting a vampire, but for all the wrong reasons. Any vampire out on a blood moon would no doubt be looking for a body to feast on which meant the hunt shouldn’t take much time. The energy of the blood moon however, would also amplify their power. With this in mind, you placed your revolver back into your holster and kept the box of the gleaming bullets.

You began your journey on horseback, heading further North into the West Grizzlies where you suspected the vampire would continue heading, based on where he was last seen. You crossed over the Dakota River and ventured into the increasing vision of trees.

You slowed your horse down to a trot as you spotted tracks of drying blood on the dirt ground, shining in the golden glow of the sunset. The sunsetting meant your time would soon become limited. You hopped off your horse to follow the tracks on foot. You kept one hand on your holster, ready to draw at any given moment before coming across the source of the blood.

The trail of blood led to a large rock, where behind it laid a lifeless doe. The doe appeared gaunt and discolored. This was no work of any ordinary predator. The two holes on the animal’s neck only proved your theory. You brushed your fingers along the two apertures, the blood was still tacky. He couldn’t be too far.

You continued on the trail, slowing your horse to a stop once the sun had finally set. You took out the sharp knife in your holster, holding the edge of the blade to your palm before taking a gasping breath and slicing into yourself.

“Fuck,” You whispered with a wince at the familiar pain. The cut was not deep, but enough to draw a bit of your crimson blood for your next step. You grabbed a white linen handkerchief out of your satchel and first wiped it along your neck to catch your scent. You then used the fabric to wipe the trickling blood off your palm. Once the fabric had been smeared with enough blood you tossed it to the ground below you: the perfect bait.

You strayed from the trail to head into the line of trees to set up a camp for the night, allowing whatever blood was left on your palm to trickle onto the ground below. The light of the moon had already begun to shine, appearing darker than any traditional night. Soon the light would shine red with the blood moon.

You stoked your fire, wanting the smoke to attract your unwanted, yet desired visitor, and rinsed the dried blood from your palm with water from the nearby stream.

The howling of the night’s wind grew as the time passed, the moon becoming a copper version of its original self. You remained seated alongside your campfire, staring at the dancing flames and leaping embers. Your vigilance persisted as the moon grew more and more red through the night, until it was eventually so vivid that it reminded you exactly why it was called a blood moon. The moonlight shone on your makeshift campsite, but was not exactly the inviting kind. The stream nearby now looked like a stream of blood flowing in the shape of veins. The ground before you that was once brown now appeared a wine-red hue.

The nearby rustling of leaves caused you to snap your attention to the line of trees ahead of you. You attempted to spot any figure of some sort, but before you could there was another rustle of leaves behind you. You quickly whirled to face where the noise came from. He was circling you like a predator stalking its prey.

You gulped, but kept a brave face as the snapping of a twig whipped your attention behind you once more. This time you stood quickly, facing the line of trees. In an instant, the creature appeared standing before you.

The vampire was far more elegant than you were used to. Clad in black jeans and a white button-up shirt, saturated in the moon's glow, he wore a long black duster embellished with gleaming golden buttons. His hair was meticulously tied back, effortlessly framing his regal features. His eyes were dark, with a glint of red that you briefly wondered was from the shine of the moon.

“I believe you dropped this, miss.” He spoke, his words coming out like silk as he presented the white handkerchief soiled in your blood. He flashed a smile and even in the scarlet-tinted night you could see the knifelike edges of his fangs.

A beat passed as you contemplated your options. Shooting wasn’t one, at least not yet; he’d easily evade any bullet with the speed he’s displayed, perhaps it would even make him more combative. Your revolver remained in the holster hanging off your hips as you made your next move.

“Oh— it must’ve fallen on my ride.” You spoke innocently, maintaining distance between the two of you.

“Perhaps,” He shrugged nonchalantly, keeping his gaze steady as he looked you up and down.

“Perhaps not.” He allowed the handkerchief to slip from his fingers onto the scarlet floor as he sauntered slowly towards you, “A chance encounter with a vampire sl—”

Those words were your signal to quickly draw your weapon, the metal barrel now aimed directly as his chest.

He stopped in his place, raising his hands in surrender with a smoky chuckle. “Let me finish.”

Instead, you cocked the hammer of the revolver, raising another chuckle from the man, “Ay, no, no. Amada, you don’t want to do that,” His playful, yet alluring demeanor continued. His words were laced with an enticing charm that you were trying to ignore.

As he looked down the barrel of your weapon, you met his gaze once more. His eyes bore into you with what you could only describe as an insatiable desire. The glint of red in his eyes intensified as he spoke smoothly, “You’re not going to pull that trigger.”

You felt your hand stiffen involuntarily against the cold metal. You gasped lightly with realization— he was manipulating your mind. His entrancing words began to echo in your mind. Your finger shook against the trigger as you attempted to resist his unearthly enchantment. This supernatural compulsion was one you had only ever heard of, but never encountered.

You widened eyes only seemed to elicit another smile from the vampire, his tongue quickly brushing over the edge of one of his fangs, “What? Never seen it before? My little trick is… quite something, isn’t it?”

He kept his eyes connected with yours as he made his way beside you. You felt frozen in place, your weapon now pointed at the dark line of trees. He stopped when he was at your elbow, not close enough to touch you, but the pull of his nearby presence was beginning to feel intoxicating.

“Drop it,” He whispered. You felt the words continue to echo in your mind as the weapon slipped right through your hand, dropping onto the floor. His gaze felt magnetic. You couldn’t look away, but you knew this had to be the source of this supernatural compulsion.

As your hands fell to your side, he stepped in front of you. You felt your roles reverse. He had now disarmed your weapon and your will with only a few enchanting words and a fixed look. You stood in silence under the tapestry of the scarlet eclipse; he was thinking, but of what?

The vampire’s gaze broke for only a second to look down at your lips. In the red moonlight they appeared very tempting to the vampire. Though you didn’t know it, he felt entranced by you too. In a way that he knew couldn’t be supernatural, as you were only a mere mortal, yet he felt as though you had bewitched him somehow. His mouth opened to speak once more, but when his eyes flickered back to yours, they found them already closed; for in that instant, you had shut them tightly, halting his entrancement.

You had broken his compulsion of your mind, yet you still felt caught in his undeniable allure. You didn’t move, not to push him away, not even to grab the silver stake laying by your crackling fire. You wanted to remain as close to him as possible.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” He spoke again. As his voice brushed against your ear you could hear that he had now moved behind you. Without your sight you allowed yourself to focus on his voice. He spoke sultrily, his words leaving you wanting more. Could he be suggesting what you thought?

Your silver rosary plastered against your chest reflected brightly against the moon’s crimson glow. No vampire could touch the cross’ wearer without getting their skin scorched. He wanted you, that was clear now. He ached to touch you, but couldn’t as long as the rosary remained a barrier on your body.

You allowed your eyes to flutter open, turning only your gaze back towards him. This time you willingly looked into his eyes, wondering if he felt the same burning desire you did. His lips parted as if he were going to speak again, but closed in silent contemplation.

Tenderly, he reached out for your fingertips. Before you could register his touch he was recoiling with a sharp wince as his skin felt the searing of the cross. Your eyes widened in shock, wondering why he’d risk getting burned. You look down at his fingers, the tips now a scorched black, then back up to him with sympathy. Your compassion was unexpected as you felt an odd sense of admiration for his action.

“It’ll be worth it,” He reassured you in a murmur, “Just for one touch.”

A blooming sensation filled your body, your cheeks flushing at his words. You could feel yourself pulse with want— with need. You both remained silent as you raised your hands to unclamp the necklace. Your heart raced as you let the rosary slip off your chest onto the wine-red ground below.

He took one of your hands in his and you felt his touch for the first time. His touch was cold this time, yet held an ethereal quality. He pressed a tender kiss against the top of your hand, then held onto it as his kisses traveled delicately up your arm. Every kiss was intoxicating and filled with his passion. As his lips pressed against your shoulder, he slowed, allowing you time to tilt your head to give him complete access to your neck.

“I think…” He muttered against the bare skin of your neck, his breath sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. His lips grazed you as he continued, “I deserve a taste.”

An involuntary, trembling moan escaped your lips as his began to kiss your nape ever so gently. You looked up to the blood red moon, its deep red glow reflecting onto both your bodies. You gasped lightly as he nipped you lightly, holding himself back from devouring you altogether.

You brought your hand up to caress him as he continued to kiss hungrily at the crook of your neck. You craved more of him, pulling him in closer to let him know you needed more. He groaned against your neck as his hands began to explore your curves. You arched your back against his touch. He rubbed his hands over your breasts, then moved down to your hips to press your bodies closer together. His touch was sending a burning sensation throughout your body, you could feel yourself begin to throb at the feeling.

He used his hands to turn you to face him, keeping his hands rubbing up and down your hips in harmony with your arms now placed on his biceps. He kissed up your jawline, eventually finding home against your open lips. He kissed you hungrily as you returned the carnal lust. He was addicting, like nothing you had ever felt before. You moaned against his lips with desperation.

You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in closer. The movement was all he needed to effortlessly lift you, his hands getting lost in the ruffles of your long skirt as you cupped his face to kiss him deeply, your lips growing more and more needy.

Amongst your palpable insatiableness, he gracefully pressed you against a tree. You moved your hands down and began frantically undoing the lace of your bodice. Feeling your hands, the vampire took the liberty of assisting you by yanking at the lace, pulling it off of you easily before tossing it onto the floor along with his duster.

He took his lips off yours only to turn his attention back to your neck, grazing it with careful passion as he worked his way down to your collarbones, and lifting you higher to nip at your breasts. You threw your head back against the tree in pleasure, arching your back against what you could feel was his hardening cock below. He kept one hand beneath you, supporting his hips to keep you pinned up against the tree, but allowed his other hand to slip between your thighs

Your nails raked across the back of his white button-up shirt as you gripped him desperately, the burning fire becoming overwhelming as his fingers pushed past your undergarments to play with your wetness. He continued to suck on your breasts, marking you as his own. The combined sensations left you pleading for more.

“Please,” You whimpered, arching against his fingers, begging for him to enter. You felt him smile against your skin, his eyes flickering up to yours with contemptment at your desperation.

He gave in, letting one of his fingers slip into you. You trembled at the feeling, gripping him tighter. He moved his finger up and down at an achingly slow pace, enjoying how you threw your head back, looking up at the red night sky, muttering please, please, please as if you were pleading to God for more. He answered your prayers by gently slipping another finger up into you. He moved up to nip back at your neck, enjoying the vibrations that came with your needy moans.

The scent of blood he got from your neck became dizzying for him. He moaned deeply against your neck, pulling back, but keeping his forehead pressed against your collarbone in what appeared to be frustration.

“Eres una dulzura,” He breathed out. He slipped his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips to taste sensually before reaching down to undo his jeans. He swiftly pushed his already hardened cock into you with fervor, causing you to let out a sharp gasp. With that, you pushed your lips back against his hungrily and raked your fingers through his hair.

You arched your back against him as he continued to pound into you. His rhythm quickened with approval as you grew incoherent against his lips. He let his hand slip down to rub your sensitive clit in circles, causing you to buck your hips with eagerness as you began to moan noisily at his touch. He didn’t let up, keeping in time with his thrusting as you felt your bodying nearing its peak.

His pace quickened as the pressure within him increased, needing release. He grunted against your neck, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer. With a final thrust, you felt him still inside you as he reached his climax, the hot liquid filling you fervently as he rode out his high. He groaned loudly as he moved his fingers quickly against your clit as you let him know you were going to come too.

Just as you reached your peak, you felt his fangs scrape the delicate skin of your neck before puncturing your skin completely. You cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. The bite sent a powerful force through your body as you reached your climax. Your body clenched with intensity as he sucked on your neck with an insatiable hunger. You quivered against him, clinging onto his body for support.

He roughly brought his mouth away from your neck, as if holding himself back. He panted heavily, the blood— your blood— dripping from his fangs. His tongue quickly brushed over his lips to collect the dripping blood as he didn’t want any of it to go to waste.

He slipped himself out of you before gently placing you back onto the ground, though you remained leaned against the tree behind you for support. He continued to plant sinfully slow kisses along your collarbone as you breathed heavily, looking up and silently praying the red moon above would forget to go down and keep this night eternal.

[wellthebardsdead]

*the scarab prince and the runaway dragon, pt 3, part 2 here *

———

Vivienne: *head and vision swimming as he stares up at jewel toned colours and shadowed figures looming over him. His body numb and feeling completely weightless as his clothes are pulled from him piece by piece. Barely holding onto consciousness or the memories of the events that lead him here as the scent of heavy perfume fills his sinuses and the tingling of brushstrokes on his face lulls his eyes closed. He’d always been warned to stay away from brothels, he had no clue the bar was attached to one, or what a brothel even looked like. Lured into its doors by the smell of fried scrib and the promise of affordable mazte, he sat for a meal unaware of the lingering eyes of Suldran. He’d barely gotten a bite of his dinner when he was struck hard across the face sending his mask flying. The brawl was messy, and it ended with his adversary being thrown to the streets by the bouncer. And the woman he’d now call madam urging him to have his meal and a free drink on the house. He was too naive to realise she saw his face, his skin, his body, and she wanted him not just for herself, but for her own gain. It took less than a few minutes for the drugs to hit his empty stomach, and now here he was. Collared as a whore. Barely aware of his surroundings as the figures leave him, and another enters the room. Long reddish dark hair, crimson eyes hidden behind a half mask, a youthful face and a wicked smile grinning down at him as cold hands grasp his legs and open them wide* mnnn…

Sen Dres: Hello, Vivec.

*a few weeks later*

Steren: *leaning over a bench in the temple kitchens talking to the head cook as he picks at his lunch* it went as well as you could expect. The minute Sen Dres proposed he could court me father had to hold Ata back from lunging at him across the table.

Head cook: as he should, there’s something very wrong with that councillor. Forgive me for speaking ill of my betters your grace but… he should not have a place at council.

Steren: don’t apologise my friend, you’re right- *looks at the door as the delivery men arrive, carting in fresh produce and the like*

Delivery man 1: morning sera! Anyway- *looks back at the other mer* I’m telling you, he’s at the redlight of blacklight. I swear it he looks just like Vivec, gold skin and it’s not paint! Believe me we tried to get it off!

Delivery man 2: you should report it to the guards then- a-ah- your highness-

Steren: *wide eyed, staring almost slackjawed at them as he halts mid bite of his food* Did you say vivec?

*a few days later*

Vivienne: *eyes glazed over with tears, body exhausted and unable to do anything about it as he stares up at the men surrounding him. His face sore from being struck, throat raw from being abused, and his privates much the same as he loses count of todays clients and how many mistreated him* m-more- p-please- *whimpers out with a raspy voice knowing there’s no point in fighting back, he’ll only end up in more trouble. His tears only serving to wind up his clients excitement anyway*

“Out of my way whore!!”

“All of you! You’re under arrest!!”

“Get off of him!! On the ground! Now!”

Vivienne: *watches as the men who were moments ago so gleefully taking pleasure in harming him, drop to the ground and cower as temple guards swarm the room with ordinators in towe* h-huh- *stares up at them as they pull him to his feet, a brief hope that they’re here to save him quickly being snuffed out as they force him into a pillory. The wood rough against his skin, yet the iron oddly soothing* wh-what-

Captain Ordinator: *unfurls a scroll, his arrest warrent* By order of the Hortator and king of Morrowind, Indoril Nerevar, I here by place you, Vivec, under arrest, you will be brought to Mournhold for ques-

Temple guard: Execution.

Vivienne: I-i… I’m not, V-Vivec…

[melodygatesauthor]

A Long Night

Blue Jones X f!Reader

Not Beta-read - Requested by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Head Orderly, Blue Jones, comes into your room with a new medication that you don't recall being prescribed by your psychiatrist.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, sex pollen, dubious consent, patient/orderly sex, power imbalance, orderly Blue, asylum Blue, reader is asylum patient, unrealistic amounts of cum, no refractory period, cum smearing, messy sex, p in v creampie, coming in pants, porn with a little plot, rough sex, spit kink

Word Count: 2.9k

Head Orderly Blue Jones was in your room right as you were waking up. You noticed how he closed the door and locked it behind himself, pulling the privacy cover over the little window you used to look out into the hall of the asylum sometimes. This was unusual, and immediately you felt that nagging in the back of your mind that you should be looking for an escape. You’d been so well behaved since you arrived; there was no reason for him to be in your room.

Your gaze fell to his hand, noticing that he had an inhaler he’d brought with him. He approached your bed slowly, looking at you with a smug grin, which to you meant he was up to something horrible. Blue was known for his lewd practices within the asylum. He looked down at you as you climbed off the bed and stood in front of him, trying your best to appear unafraid.

“Good morning.” He looked over the inhaler before turning his gaze back to you, “it’s time for your medication babygirl. There’s this new one the doctors want you to take.”

“My psychiatrist didn’t say anything about that,” you protested, “I’m not taking it.”

Blue pressed his lips together tightly and then licked them, narrowing his eyes on you in a threatening way. You knew that look, and knew that nothing good could come after it. He tilted his head to the side and huffed out an irritated sigh. You gulped harshly, feeling the fear pool in your gut like a heavy weight. He wasn’t above psychological and physical torture to make girls behave, and you knew that. Regardless, you had no idea what the contents of that inhaler would do to you, and you were determined to keep it that way.

“I do so much for you. I know you know that.” His tone was soft and yet still laced in a horrific darkness. “Why are you going to start acting up now? Huh?”

He licked his lips again, face getting so, so close to yours. His voice was rising, along with his very obvious aggravation at your disobedience. Blue didn’t like any sort of defiance, and you weren’t giving him what he wanted. You kept your eyes on him, despite your mind telling you to look away. You were afraid that if you lost sight of him for even a second, he would strike.

“Come here.” He said roughly, reaching out and grabbing your jaw in his strong hand. 

One of your hands reached up to grab his wrist as he brought the inhaler toward your face, and your other hand desperately latched over his enclosed fist. You struggled against his strong grip, grunting while trying to pry his fingers open. You knew that whatever was inside the canister could spell your death. You had to find a way to overcome his strength.

“Come on!” He yelled, “you’re going to take this whether you want to or not so-”

You got the upper hand, kneeing his inner thigh, and managing to steal the inhaler from his hand. You were squeezing so hard over the apparatus that you activated the canister in his face by mistake. A dark crimson cloud puffed out of the inhaler and you watched Blue breathe it in entirely.

The room became deafeningly silent. He let go of you, and you dropped the inhaler on the floor with a loud clunk. He glared at you for a moment, clearly trying to process what had just happened. You had no idea what you just did, but understood that this couldn’t end well for you. Either you’d just killed him, which meant you were going to get lobotomized or outright executed, or you did something that was going to hurt him and he was going to make you pay for it later. You covered your mouth nervously, eyes widened in terror.

Blue pursed his lips at you, agitation etched in every part of his face. He was still alive, and he didn’t seem to be in any pain. You felt a little relief. He shook his head slowly, sniffing while he brushed the backside of his hand under his nostrils. His gaze stayed on you, like a predator looking at its prey. His eyes trekked over your torso and to the floor before shooting back up at you. You gasped involuntarily and stepped back.

“You really think you did something there don’t you babygirl?” His tone was taunting. You really fucked up.

“W-what was in that?” You asked anxiously, failing to keep your voice from trembling.

You watched Blue’s cheeks started turning a shade of dusty pink while he removed his jacket.

“Fuckin’ hot in here isn’t it?” He tossed his jacket onto the floor, leaving him in only his white tee.

“It’s-it’s not that hot.” Your voice sounded vacant while you stared in awe.

He licked his lips hungrily while he looked at you. You watched his pupils dilate, making his eyes appear black. Blue paced slowly, airing his shirt out and keeping his eyes trained only on you. You started to back up toward the wall. If only he hadn’t been occupying the space between you and the only door out of there, you might’ve been able to make a break for it. He followed you while you continued backward, trying desperately not to trip over yourself.

He lowered his gaze, looking up at you from beneath his lashes.

“I need to fuck you, gonna fill you with everything I have,” he spoke in a low growl. His wide shoulders were heaving with each breath, “come here.”

His words hung in the air and forced a panicked breath to escape your lips. You were getting closer to the corner of the room, and once he had you there you knew you were done. You saw him reach a hand down to grab around the hard bulge in his pants. He dragged his palm over his erection while he drew nearer to you. Blue moaned at his own touch.

You shook your head, “no, Blue, please.”

Whatever was in that inhaler was clearly making him aroused, more aroused than he could handle. You remembered suddenly that it was originally intended for you. You knew he’d slept with some of the other girls in the facility; a lot of them had talked about it. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t thought about it yourself, and the idea of him taking you was exciting. They all talked about how fucking good he felt and how big he was. Judging by the shadow in his pants, they weren’t lying. This wasn’t how you wanted it though. In his current state, Blue was going to cause you real harm, you could see it in his eyes.

“Stop walking away from me and come here,” he said between gritted teeth, pointing his index finger at the ground.

“No.”

You darted to his left, thinking foolishly that you might be able to get to the door in time, but he grabbed you, pulling you back against his chest. You shouted and wriggled desperately while he brought you to the floor, managing to pin your flailing hands above your head with only one of his. His fingers were scalding hot against your wrists.

He buried his face in your neck while he talked to you in a low growl.

"I know you've been talking to the other girls about how bad you want me, now's your chance babygirl so just shut up and take it." His free hand was grabbing the waist of your pants and fighting to pull them down.

You noticed that he was eagerly grinding his hips against you, sliding his clothed erection against your inner thigh. You couldn’t move, he was pressed too tightly against your body and when you tried to yell he picked his head up and slotted his lips on yours to silence you. Blue stole your protests until they turned into moans, continuing to thrust himself over you. His kissing was sloppy and drool started coating your chin. He was nearly vibrating, as if his entire body was surging with electricity.

“When I get into those fucking pants, gonna fuck you wide open. You’re not even gonna remember your name when I’m done with you.”

Blue let out a strangled sound as his body shook violently. His mouth was open on the side of your face, spit rolling down your cheek as his hot breath punched out of his lungs and onto your skin. You felt the wet spot that formed between your legs where he’d been prodding against you. He came in his fucking pants. Blue Jones  was so worked up that he came in his goddamn pants.

“All that for you to just…” you sniffed out a laugh, feeling foolish for panicking so hard.

Relief washed over you. You’d been truly afraid that Blue was going to hurt you. When he’d said he was going to fuck you wide open, you thought he might actually deliver on that promise. You tried to push him off of you, but he was still holding onto you tight. His eyes turned up and met yours, gaze still hooded in lust.

“Stay still,” he ordered, letting go of your wrists, “I need more.”

He started tugging at your pants again, but you took that opportunity to slide back and foolishly try to run again, another big mistake. Blue got up quickly and grabbed you by the back of your shirt. He was strong, made even stronger by the mystery medication he’d inhaled, and dragged you back to your bed despite your protests. He pushed you down face first into the mattress and closed in behind you.

“I told you to stay still,” he repeated in a low growl, “I’m not done playing with you yet.”

He pulled your pants down quickly. You felt him fumbling while he rushed to do the same for himself. He didn’t even have a chance to slide them off before he was pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. You had a feeling that you weren’t going to be able to get away, even if you did manage to get him off of you and make it to the door. Surely it was locked, and the key was in his long discarded jacket on the floor. You were trapped there.

He plunged himself deep into your wet heat and started fucking into you ravenously. His hands were painfully grabbing onto your waist, leaving divots in their wake. You held onto your bedding tight, balling it up in your fists. When he said he was going to fuck you wide open he meant it. You’d never felt anyone so big or so…good. Despite your initial fears, he was hitting all the right spots and sending you into a dumb-fucked state that you couldn’t shake.

“Feels so good babygirl-fuck,” he rasped from behind you, snapping his hips against your rear, “hope you’re ready for a long night. This would’ve been a lot better for you if you’d just taken your medicine like you were supposed to.”

You couldn’t speak, you could only make unintelligible noises while you drooled into the mattress. Blue was enjoying this all too much, you could tell by the way his hands trekked over your skin. You felt him lean forward, pushing you down further, nearly flattening you. His lips touched your spine through your shirt.

“Take this off,” he didn’t stop grinding into you while he pulled your shirt up to your neck, “take it off.”

You reached up, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it on the floor. He leaned over and wrapped his arms around you, his hot skin burning you to your core.

“You’ve got the tightest little pussy babygirl-fuck-I’m just gonna fill you up over and over okay? Just gonna-oh-fahh.”

He was coming again, and this time you were too, the way the head of his cock dragged over that spot deep inside of you was maddening. He was twitching wildly into you, cum squirting over the sides and down your thighs in a hot dripping mess. Blue kept fucking through it, never slowing his pace even though you started yelling for him to stop. You were feeling oversensitive and you needed to catch your breath.

But he wouldn’t stop.

He pulled out just long enough to turn you around, grab your sides and shove you back onto the bed. He climbed over you, smiling and licking his lips while he positioned himself between your cum-sticky legs. He hurriedly took off his pants now, murmuring something about how they were in his way.

“So pretty, all fucked out, my pretty babygirl.” He dove into the hollow of your neck hungrily, “n-need more.”

“M-more? I can’t take-oh fuck.”

He was inside of you again, slamming his hips at an unforgiving pace that left you grabbing onto the sides of the bed for stability. You were oversensitive, and you felt tears streaming down your cheeks. He ripped his shirt off without slowing his thrusts. Blue fell forward, pressing his sweaty chest flush against yours. You could feel his heat burning against your breasts.

“I can’t stop, don’t you understand? I can’t stop until you’re full. Gotta make sure you’re good and full. All mine. You’re mine, okay?”

His breath was shaking and ragged as he crashed his mouth into yours with a force that made a muffled scream escape your lungs. You felt his tongue glide over the seam of your lips. He wasn’t asking nicely for you to open yourself up to him, he was demanding. You complied, what else could you do? He was flattened against you, trapping you in place.

He kissed you like a man starved. You could hardly breathe with how heavily he was panting into your mouth. You turned your head, gasping for air desperately. His hand flew up and grabbed your throat. His nearly black eyes darted between yours.

“Open your fucking mouth,” his voice was like gravel in your ear.

You obeyed, knowing your options were limited, dropping your jaw down as far as you could. He squeezed around your windpipe with his strong hand, choking your airway while he dropped a glob of spit down over your tongue. You arched your chest up, panicking when you couldn’t take in a full breath. He finally loosened his fingers and you gulped in what little air you could before he started kissing you again.

He shuddered a moan into your mouth, tongue finally softening, melting into yours repeatedly. You felt his cock hardening with his third orgasm. He whined this time when he came, and you tasted his salty tears as they fell down his face, sliding over your tongues.

“Just feels so good, feels so good baby,” he kissed you again, lips smacking noisily, “your little pussy is squeezing me so tight, oh you’re just loving this aren’t you?”

You were. It had taken you a moment to get over the initial shock of him taking you so suddenly, but you had to admit that it felt mind-numbingly delicious to have him fucking you so hard, and wanting you so desperately. You felt your own climax hit again like a wave crashing over your body and making you go limp. Your mind went white while he dragged his thick shaft on that sweet spot repeatedly. He was still so fucking hard, and showing no signs of stopping. You tried to push him off of you now, the oversensitivity making you feel like you were going to go into cardiac arrest any second.

“Please, please it’s too much it’s-ah!”

He pulled out of you, and you felt his hot cum gush out of your cunt.

“Just making room, not enough room,” he was panting like a dog, cupping his hand under your hole.

You watched in awe as he brought a huge handful of the white, sticky substance up and held it over your torso. You were in awe watching it drip between his fingers. He slapped it onto your abdomen before thrusting himself inside of you once more. His eyes were half hooded when he looked at you again. You bit your bottom lip against the ache, trying not to cry out and alert the entire asylum.

He pressed his chest to yours again. The slick of his cum was sliding your bellies against each other with each forward snap of his hips. Blue’s face was buried again in the crook of your neck, kissing and whimpering while he fucked harder.

“It’s too much!” You cried, trying to push him off of you.

“Shut the fuck up.” He said harshly against your ear, “you’re done when I say so, and you’re not done until I’ve emptied every last drop I have into you, got it?”

You gasped when he nipped your earlobe.

“Y-yes Blue.”

“Good girl.”

AO3 LINK

Blue Jones Masterlist

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @peachbear-art, @poppyflower-22, @dameronshandholder, @y0urvalent1ne, @ninebluehearts, @gay4magneto, @midgardian-witch, @loki-hargreeves, @kittyofalltrades, @welcometostayingawake, @thatmomwitchfriend, @abbessolute, @campingwiththecharmings, @romanarose, @grumpyahjumma, @moonknightly, @pimosworld, @purplefancybitch

[splatixboi]

Promoting my canon divergent Fangxin Guoshi fic again. (In hopes that I’ll be motivated to work on it.)

V !!Link Below!! V

“Gathering Your Scattered Petals”

A partial, & more gruesome, retelling of Tgcf, beginning from the arc of Fangxin & Lang Qianqiu...

“After the events as Fang Xin Guoshi leading to his execution by Lang Qianqiu, instead of being buried alive in a coffin for 100 years with a stake through his heart, Lang Qianqiu opts to cut and scatter Xie Lian’s body far away to get rid of him for good.

He is unaware of Xie Lian’s ex-godhood, his shackles, and how they keep him alive no matter what injuries he faces.”

…Leading up to the discovery of the banished former God’s severed hand, by none other than one Crimson Rain Sought Flower.

(I’m sorry if this promo post is too long and cluttered, I was just trying to make it look more appealing and eye catching. 🥹 Anyways, if you’re reading this I hope you enjoy the fic, comments are always appreciated. <3)

[nedlittle]

everyone give it up for another year of flops, disappointments, and failures!! i read some absolute dogshit this year and now i have to share my suffering with the rest of you

the bangalore detectives club by harini nagendra ⭐

Why go through all the trouble of setting up that plot thread only to retract it at the next possible moment? That's not even a red herring. That's padding for a mystery that apparently took 13 years to cook and still came out fucking raw.

vampires of el norte by isabel cañas ⭐

Isabel Cañas writes like she's being held at gunpoint by a thesaurus.

the plague letters by v. l. valentine ⭐

I have read books with nonsense plots and books with horrible characters and books that read like a first draft done on the back of a napkin in crayon, but never, NEVER EVER have i read a book where the author decides to sprinkle in the fact that one of the protagonists can see ghosts at the halfway point.

yellowface by r. f. kuang ⭐.5

Yellowface, more than anything, rings hollow as a critique of privilege when written by someone who went to an elementary school where one year cost more than all four years of my university tuition combined.

everyone knows your mother is a witch by rivka galchen ⭐.75

Overall, I do not recommend this book except as a sleep aid.

manhunt by gretchen felker-martin ⭐.75

I weep for the potential Manhunt would have had if Gretchen Felker-Martin's Internet access had been cut off while she was writing.

the petticoat men by barbara ewing ⭐.75

This is a book your mom mentions she read for her book club because she wants you to know that she read a book about gay people.

the crimson ribbon by katherine clements ⭐⭐

The issue isn't that Clements decided to make Lizzie Poole gay. She decided to make Lizzie Poole gay so that her eventual execution would be more tragic. This isn't even a bad-faith reading of the text.

a rustle of silk by alys clare ⭐⭐

you don't need to be good at your job or care about what you're writing, you just have to have enough ideas to be able to wring every shred of life from your original gimmick until publishing decides they're no longer interested.

lovers at the chameleon club, paris 1932 by francine prose ⭐⭐

Francine, you did not make up those characters or events. You changed the names after reading a couple of history books on Paris.

[mrxcreepypastamadness]

Here's my official reveal of King Virtual, no it's not King Candy/Turbo from Wreck-It-Ralph, at all.

King Virtual

Inspired by: Mr. Virtual created by Stupendous Snart

Appearances:

• Candy Land (Original King Kandy)

• Friday Night Funkin': Sugar Rush Madness V2

• Jubileena's January Night Massacre (Upcoming)

• Vs. Sugar Hallow FNF Port V1 (Cancelled)

• Candy Land: The Great V1RTU4L Experience (Upcoming Candy Land Creepypasta)

• Curse of the Crimson King (Upcoming)

• Friendly Enmity (AU upcoming.)

Aliases:

• Mr. King Virtual (most commonly/Non-Canon name)

• King V

• King Vlad the V

• Vlad

• Vlad the Halocaust King

• The Crimson King

• Various Fake Identities

Affiliation:

• Torri Ferdinand (Police officer/Enemy)

• Sammy Henderson (victim)

Age:

• 63 (at time of death)

• 102

Species:

• Human (formerly)

• Poltergeist

Gender: Male

Height:

• 6'3 (Human)

• 14'5 (Current)

Weight: ???

Eye Color: Black

Date of Birth: 666 A.D.

Date of Death: October 13th (Day of his execution ordered by a new King that saved everyone from mass extermination.)

Place of birth: ???

Occupation:

• King/tyrant ruler of his crimson kingdom (Formerly)

• Serial Killer

Debut: Friday Night Funkin': Sugar Rush Madness

About:

King Virtual is a Virtual Boy oriented EXE inspired by Mr. Virtual. He is the antagonist of the upcoming horror series "Curse of the Crimson King" and "Candy Land: The V1RTU4L Experience".

Biography:

King Virtual was once a normal king and a tyrant simply under the name "Vlad the V", he lived a life of struggle and torment before one day he snaps, burning down his whole entire kingdom and watching the halocaust of those he knew die before his very own eyes, the screams of his subjects, servants and peasants caused him a sence of pure bloodlust and euphoria, and this down life of a sinful act, becoming a ruthless dictator and serial killer once again under the alias of "Vlad the V", his killings would involve him mutilating his victims in various ways, and carving a large satanic temple symbol on their chests before burying them in secret locations.

His killings caught attention to King Thomas Ferdinand the III, who immediately took action, started a war in hunting a psychopath, who, after months would eventually be caught in October 13th, the war would lead the king to Vlad into the dungeon where he can be current held for awile until his Judgement Day, where Vlad the V would be eventually executed, burning him on a stake he was tied to, and eventually Vlad the V would bring a curse upon everyone where he would be possessing a Virtual Boy console, where they would be showing of the latest "Virtual Boy" System.

Unknowing to Torri Ferdinand, Vlad the V's soul would become tethered to the system in death, transforming a red gangly and seemingly shapeless poltergeist.

Months after his death, Vlad the V takes the name "King V", a giant phantom which took a twisted form of King Kandy, having renounced his previous life to attain one singular goal, Kill Officer Torri Ferdinand. He wasn't yet aware of his abilities till an unsuspecting Sammy Henderson had played a very system he inhabited, this allowed Vlad the V to follow him, just as he did to his previous victims, which lead him to attempting his old halocaust ways, Sammy would experience months of nightmares and unexplained origins and paranoia, till one day, he was able to see him, then he struck, He mutilated not his physical form, but the very soul that inhabited his body, leaving it a mangled corpse of what once was "Sammy Henderson", in doing this, he was able to replace him and tether his form to the body of Sammy, using it as a vessel, the feeling of flesh, the smell of the air, it was all familiar, but completely foreign to him at the same time, he has returned to the physical plane, and he LOVED it...

But this feeling, this vessel, it would fall short, as only mere days after he attained his new body, it would begin to rot away, the skin peeling off, the face deteriorating into a grotesque smile which matched that of his new face, and then, without any warning, he was back in the headset, he had stayed tethered to the cursed object he had made a curse with, and he was no closer to achieving his goal, however, with a newfound knowledge of his abilities, he would just need to try again, and again, until one day, Ferdinand would die by his hands...

Voicelines:

Friday Night Funkin'; Sugar Rush Madness (Hellish Hollows):

• "Would you like to try again?

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

• "HMHMHMHOHOHOHAHAHAHA!"

• "Such a Bold Knight in shining armor, yet...such a frail mind...HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

• "Thank you for freeing me...

BOY..."

• "Now you can truly be with your Girlfriend...FOREVER..."

Gallery:

King Virtual (GF form)

[gravesung-moving]

PINNED ( band au sukuna )

Send "PINNED" for your muse to pin mine against a wall. ( @koseigu )

PERHAPS HE'S BEEN a little mean.

truthfully, he's been busy — they all have with tour season well underway. between press events, rehearsals and shows, it's constant action. it's go go go. none of them expected the level of attention BENEVOLENCE attracted, especially not this fast — suguru always suspected that sukuna would be his lightning in a bottle. how right he turned out to be. inspiration once blocked now flows freely into lyrics and beats that set hearts aflame. the bad boy drummer was the perfect element to round out their group's composition.

the consequence of their packed schedule is a sharp decrease in time to themselves. time, especially, between the two of them. in the past, sukuna would simply carve out time where there was none — delaying or canceling press events for the very legitimate emergency known as piledriving his vocalist into the nearest flat surface — but as of late, suguru has cracked down on these indulgences. they can't afford to be seen as unreliable at this pivotal point in their career.

he also may or may not derive a touch of cruel amusement from frustrating his drummer. especially when he has the opportunity to let his touch linger on sukuna's lower back in public. especially when he sports a turtleneck that shows off his arms, or a half-mesh number with a deep, plunging v-neck, just so that he can indulge in the burning glare sukuna shoots him — and return it with a smile, gaze just as dark. in fact, the reason he's been able to get away with it for so long is that they're almost always in public lately. hard to shove someone up against a wall and lock the door when every room available has people in it.

the chase is thrilling, the thought of what lies at the end of it even more so. it staves off the sleep-deprived exhaustion all of them have suffered over the last weeks. but the wolf on his tail is quick, sharp, and the last few times they've locked eyes, the molten heat in that crimson gaze has reached a point that suguru would put somewhere between laser and the earth's core.

needless to say, the rest of the band makes the executive decision to fuck off for the night. they've already had their celebration anyway — drinks in a large half-circle booth with their manager and crew, certainly filmed by a few cell phones, suguru wedged between shoko and haibara across the table from sukuna. he spares him a few long, half-lidded looks, but otherwise the noise of the group is far too loud for them to speak.

utahime mentions something about keeping the party going at her place; suguru excuses himself to tuck in early and make up for the dozens of hours they've all lost in sleep. the knowing look shoko shoots him tells him that she sees right through his easy lie. he makes sure to disappear into the press of the bar crowd, to stay one step ahead of the man he has been intentionally driving insane. he didn't hear the excuse sukuna gave their group before shoving out the door behind him, and he doesn't particularly care. all he cares about is the tension that spills between them like a gas leak nearing a flame as they take the cab home.

his grip on the leash has been choke-tight for weeks on end. as soon as the door closes behind them, he lets go.

a thread snaps.

it's honestly impressive how quickly sukuna has him up against the wall. the force of it knocks the wind out of him, makes his head spin, the slam of body against drywall probably loud enough to earn him a noise complaint at this hour. suguru takes a moment to catch his breath — fuck, that was hot — and gives sukuna one of his slow, infuriating smiles. ❝ what's the matter, ryomen? you look frustrated. ❞

[singeratlarge]

MONDAY MATINEE MUSIC VIDEO: “You Won’t Be Seeing Me Anymore” by Tim (a.k.a. Chris) Andrews https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8bhFTWVNVU  This was recorded in London, but it has a folk-pop California sound that could’ve come from Laurel Canyon or San Francisco circa 1967 (when this song was made). On a cosmic jukebox this track would play next to It’s A Beautiful Day (“White Bird”) and Love. It was written by Gordon Haskell, Tim/Chris Andrews’s former bandmate from Fleur de Lys. Gordon is often noted for his role in an early incarnation of King Crimson, but beyond that he was a prolific singer-songwriter who, after years as a “starving folksinger,” found success with the hit single “How Wonderful You Are” and the platinum album HARRY’S BAR.

The lyrics are about seasonal love, coming from a young man who travels for a long time and leaves his troubled sweetheart behind. The track (w/Gordon on bass and guitar) was produced by Paul Clay (Ace Kefford, Sharon Tandy, early Yes) and Mike Noble (Joan Armatrading, Fleur de Lys, John Kongos). It was the B-side of “Sad Simon Lives Again,” Tim’s first solo single after he’d signed with renowned producer, promoter, and music executive Tony Hall (who’d plugged The Beatles, Carmen McRae, and later inked Black Sabbath’s first record deal). Tim later reverted to his real name Chris and went on as a solo act and a collaborator with Roger Daltrey, David Essex, and Davy Jones (Monkees).

#timandrews #chrisandrews #gordonhaskell #fleurdelys #kingcrimson #harrysbar #California #LaurelCanyon #SanFrancisco #Love #Itsabeautifulday #whitebird #tonyhall #London #Parlophone #singersongwriter #rogerdaltrey #davidessex #davyjones #monkees #johnnyjblair

[hick4hire]

@peppy-jester —

💀

[ cw g/ore ; b/lood ; d/eath ; v/iolence under read more ]

The world keeps going. Despite his failures, despite his losing streak, despite being set on fucking fire— he was back on his feet and back on the job. Locate. Execute. Locate. Execute. If he didn't relish in every kill, he might have been bored by now.

But as it were, the sight of blood, even at a distance, stimulated something in his brain juuust right. The same way some people found popping bubble wrap— everything about the instant the life was choked out of their miserable, pathetic bodies was endlessly fascinating to the hybrid. Stress relieving, even. A pleasant buzz that held him tightly and soaked him to the bones in sadistic bliss. He could breathe easier. As if he'd absorbed his victim's very life force in gruesome, vampiric fashion.

Everything about this job was a routine by now. A list, a formula, a smooth clean checkmark in a box. This target had been no different. A melee kill, bring back the target's watch, and a picture of the corpse. Simple enough. Nothing remarkable whatsoever.

So, when he's sliding the knife into the target's torso, roughly twisting it as the serrated blade parts skin and pierces meat... The last demon he expects to see when he lifted his head was that damned clown that Crimson had tried to sell back to the Prince of Lust.

A few things happen at once: he freezes, a cold jolt of fear ripping down his spine like an electric shock. His gaze darts to the area behind the doorway, past Fizz, eyes wide open, observing every flicker of movement.

His biology makes this a much easier process than it might be for a regular imp or regular loan shark: a special secondary eyelid dropped, made of a membrane sensitive to heat that allowed him to see a sort of overlay for heat signatures. In short, built in infrared.

From what he understood of regular hell beast snakes, this feature was some sort of convenient adaptation of a special organ that most vipers possessed: something called the pit organ that was usually beside a hellsnake's nostril on the snout. As a child, he'd asked his parents about it, but they knew as much about his particular mutation as he did.

He doesn't see any signs of Asmodeus' presence. Fizz was alone, from what he could tell. The fear completely fades from his face, a sneer replacing his brief stunned expression. "Well, howdy. Don't mind me, clown. I'm just finishing up in here."

The imp in Striker's claws has been pinned down to the floor, Striker's knife still embedded into them. They're squirming and struggling, but Striker doesn't pay it any attention. The desperate clawing at his arms was laughable. He twists the knife further in with a satisfying crunch, staring unblinkingly at Fizz.

"Well, What're you doin' this side 'a town? Didn't think your biddy'd let ya go free range just yet." Striker's grin is wide, something crazed and gleeful entering his eyes. He pulls the knife up out of the imp's chest and with a casual, graceful motion, cleanly slits their throat. He grabs their arm, ripping the watch off them. One checkmark. Two checkmarks. Two boxes ticked. Only one left. Better not take too long with the clown.

"...You ain't gonna do nothin' stupid, are ya, Fizz? You don't got that fight in ya." Striker doesn't even say it aggressively: he says it like he's making small talk about the weather. "I saw ya back in that warehouse, yack. Y'r a performer, not a fighter. Wanna do some shadow puppets for this poor fucker?"

A cruel snicker before he backhands the target, who's miserably choking on their own blood and flopping like a fish. "Better yet, you can feature in his final photo. Bet that'd sell to your freakish fanbase, huh?"

Striker stands up as the body beneath him finally goes limp. "Tch. You seein' this shit? This fucker didn't even properly scratch me. Can you believe that? Our kind was made by Wrath. Satan, for fuck's sake. But ohhh no. Y'all grandparent's left t' the other rings n' got right cushy, didn't ya? Livin' in those big cities, slavin' away for Overlords and royals. Pathetic." He spins the knife in his hand with such force the black blood is flicked off it. "You, though, you're the worst case I've ever seen." Striker takes several slow steps forward, eyes glowing brightly.

"Run." Striker leans forward slightly. His body language shifts to show just how prepared he is to burst into a sprint. Fizz wasn't get out of this without a little game of cat and mouse.

[sh4nksslvt]

Where were you? I didn't know you existed.

Hello, I'll be your new follower. You have wonderful stories.

but I would like to request one please

Gol D. Ann oh Portgas D Anne oh simply Anne the younger blood sister of Ace Portgas and sworn sister of Luffy and Sabo

Unlike her siblings, she followed the path of her adoptive grandfather Garp and became a marine. Against all odds, with the help of Garp, who hid his identity. But she was assigned as a pupil of Admiral Akainu, who trained her severely (unaware that she was the daughter and sister of two pirates). With her great talent, and as Akainu's pupil, the young woman rose rapidly within the Navy, rising to the rank of Rear Admiral of the Fleet.

Nobody knew that the young woman they believed to be loyal to the navy fell into the clutches of love, and none other than a pirate, and not just any pirate, but one who is a friend of her brother, Marco the Phoenix.

After her brother Ace was captured by the Navy, her grandfather forbade her from visiting him in the jungles. He even somehow arranged for her to be assigned a special mission so she wouldn't participate in the execution. Or rather, so she wouldn't intervene, since Garp knew her well.

When Akainu attacked Luffy and Ace stepped in. A small figure wrapped in a large white cloak Was wearing a clown mask Stayed in the middle with a Haki-filled sword between Akainu's sword arm and Ace's back She was able to briefly stop the enormous blow of power, using everything she had and managed to knock Akainu back a couple of steps But sacrificing her swords and mask The boys, upon seeing who it was, froze when they recognized her Ace An Luffy sister Anne didn't say anything, her eyes were on Akainu, she knew he shouldn't let his guard down Although he also seemed somewhat confused As did the other pirates nearby and a certain blond man who was covering his face with his hand Anne, idiot, that's a terrible way to block it, you almost ruined everything. You still haven't learned Haki by looking at his brothers. Approaching and kicking them hard, they landed right in Jimbe's arms. That's your way out, Sea Knight Jimbe. No, wait, Anne, the boys shouted as Jimbe started running again.

Akainu looked at the young woman, disappointed. While Anne wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her lips, The traitorous Akainu prepared to attack Anne, but before that, Whitebeard attacked him. Anne's hands were still shaking from holding the swords so tightly. She gave up on the rest, feeling dizzy. But before she could fall, Marco held her.

Marco Anne, idiot Anne, calm down, it's fine. Order the retreat. Then you'll discipline me, looking at her lover with a smile.

Please excuse me for bothering you. I'm sure you can make something of that information and create a great story that humiliates Akainu, saves Ace, and makes Anne and Marco fall in love. I can give you a little gift if you want

thank u for the compliments! im glad u like my works, also thank u and no need for gifts but i appreciate it either way! <3 here u go! its not well written but, i hope u like it! 😅

Where the Fire Lives

In the chaos of Marineford, Anne risks everything — her life, her duty, her heart — to save the brothers she swore to protect.

Marco the phoenix x female oc

tags: slight angst, soft, sfw, ooc, near-death experience, platonic bonds, hidden identity, happy ending, oc, bl00d/v!olence

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 3.3k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun was merciless in Marineford as Rear Admiral Anne stood at perfect attention, her fists behind her back, posture drilled into her over years of Akainu's brutal training. Her dark navy coat fluttered slightly in the sea breeze, the crimson sash at her waist marking her as a Rear Admiral. Her name—simply "Anne"—was carved into the records of the Marines as one of its youngest rising stars, a combat prodigy in the mold of Garp the Hero.

Everyone knew she was Garp’s adoptive granddaughter. But no one knew she was the daughter of Gol D. Roger, or the blood sister of Portgas D. Ace. And only a precious few knew that when she vanished from Marineford for a week every few months, she was disappearing into the arms of Marco the Phoenix.

“Rear Admiral Anne,” came a sharp voice behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to know it was Sakazuki—Admiral Akainu.

“Reporting, Admiral,” she answered smoothly.

“You’ve been assigned to eliminate the remnants of the Valkor Pirates in West Blue,” Akainu growled, his boots echoing on the stone dock. “I want their ship sunk. No survivors.”

Anne internally winced, knowing Capone Valkor’s crew was more bark than bite these days. But she nodded. “Understood, Admiral.”

Akainu narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t disappoint me, girl.”

She didn’t flinch. “I never do.”

“Anne!”

She barely dodged the flaming cannonball that tore through the mast behind her.

“Geez, Valkor’s boys are still this reckless?” she muttered, haki flaring around her fists.

In under five minutes, she dispatched the entire crew—most of whom leapt overboard after she shattered the deck with a single haki-charged stomp.

A call came through her Den Den Mushi as she stood triumphantly among the wreckage. “Mission complete. All enemies neutralized.”

“Very good, Rear Admiral~” came the smooth, amused voice of Borsalino—Admiral Kizaru. “Though you might’ve left a few more survivors. Paperwork, you know.”

“I’ll bring you souvenirs next time,” Anne deadpanned.

A week later, Anne was standing under the starlight of Sabaody Archipelago, pretending to look out over the ocean. But she wasn’t waiting for the view. She was waiting for him.

“You’re late,” she said as a blue flame flickered into existence behind her.

Marco emerged in full phoenix mode before shifting into his human form, brushing off his coat with a sheepish grin. “I’m technically a pirate. Time management isn’t our strong suit-yoi”

Anne turned to face him. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”

“You’re lucky I like Marines with secrets-yoi” Marco shot back.

She smirked. “Careful, Marco. If Akainu ever finds out I’m dating a pirate, he’ll turn me into a lava puddle.”

He kissed her forehead. “He’d have to get through me first-yoi”

They didn’t talk about the danger of their affair. About how, if her identity as Gol D. Roger’s daughter came to light, the world would shatter.

Two months later, Anne was aboard a Marine ship tracking pirate movements in the New World.

“Rear Admiral,” a young Ensign called. “Reports indicate Portgas D. Ace was spotted with Whitebeard’s crew nearby.”

Anne tensed, then forced a casual shrug. “We’ll move in. Be cautious.”

As they neared the island, she took point, moving ahead of her men. The moment she landed, a burst of fire greeted her.

“I was wondering when the Marines would show up,” Ace called from a cliff.

Anne smirked. “You’re not as impressive in person as your bounty poster.”

Ace blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Portgas D. Ace. 550 million berries. Famous for being reckless and wearing the same shorts in every poster.”

Ace gawked. “Anne, it’s me! You’re seriously pretending we don’t know each other?”

She gave him a warning glare. “Keep your voice down, idiot.”

From behind a boulder, Marco peeked out with a choked laugh.

“Wait,” Ace whispered harshly, realizing. “You’re… oh no. You’re the Rear Admiral who Marco’s been sneaking off to see?”

Anne just crossed her arms, utterly unimpressed. “Congratulations. You’ve blown three secrets in ten seconds.”

Whitebeard’s laughter could be heard from the distance. “I like this girl. Smart and terrifying.”

Ace tried to recover, pointing dramatically at her. “She’s not that scary!”

Anne kicked him in the stomach.

He landed on Marco, groaning. “Okay. I take that back.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Anne sat with Marco on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling.

“Someday, all of this is going to fall apart,” she murmured.

Marco nodded. “And when it does?”

She squeezed his hand. “I’ll still choose you.”

He smiled. “You’re the only Marine I’d ever break the world for-yoi”

They watched the stars together, unaware that soon, everything would change.

Rear Admiral Anne stood at the training grounds of Marineford, sweat glistening down her brow as she completed her fifth round of drills. Her haki-enhanced strikes shattered practice dummies with ease. Spectators—young recruits and seasoned captains alike—watched with a mix of awe and wariness.

"She's terrifying," one whispered. "Like Vice-Admiral Garp, but with fewer laughs and more death stares."

Anne sheathed her sword and rolled her shoulders. She had a rendezvous scheduled soon, but appearances needed maintaining.

"Rear Admiral Anne," Vice Admiral Tsuru approached, folding her arms behind her back. "I heard your last mission was executed flawlessly."

Anne gave a crisp salute. "Yes, ma'am. Pirate remnants neutralized. Minimal Marine casualties."

Tsuru's eyes twinkled. "Good. You're making waves, girl. Maybe even too many."

Before Anne could answer, a new voice chimed in.

"Too many waves means you’re swimming upstream. Dangerous for someone your size."

Anne groaned inwardly. "Hello, Aokiji-san."

Admiral Aokiji, casually dressed even in the fortress of order that was Marineford, gave her a lazy nod. "I saw your form earlier. Your haki’s improving. You punch like a cannon now."

"Thanks," she replied dryly. "Maybe one day I’ll hit hard enough to knock the lazy out of you."

"Scary." Aokiji mock shivered.

Tsuru chuckled and dismissed herself. As she left, Garp appeared from a nearby barracks hallway, munching on rice crackers.

"Brat," he barked.

Anne turned. "Grandpa."

Garp waved away a few curious recruits and yanked her into his office.

The moment the door closed, he slammed a fist into the desk, causing it to groan. "You’ve been meeting with that Phoenix boy again, haven’t you!?"

Anne didn't deny it. "Yes. And before you say anything—I’m not stupid. We’re careful."

"Careful won’t stop an imprisonment if someone finds out. You think Sengoku wouldn’t throw you in Impel Down if he knew what you’ve been doing—"

"I know, Grandpa." Her voice cracked, soft but firm. "I know the weight I carry. I chose this life because you believed I could change things from inside. I still believe that. But I won’t stop seeing Marco."

Garp sighed, sitting heavily. "You remind me too much of your brothers sometimes."

Anne smiled faintly. "Isn’t that a compliment?"

Garp just shoved more crackers into his mouth and grumbled. "Don't do something you’ll regret!”

That night, under the shroud of darkness and an overcast sky, Anne rendezvoused with Marco again—this time on a quiet island dock in the New World. After exchanging a few quiet, stolen moments together, Marco's expression shifted from his usual warm smile to something a bit more serious, as if he was weighing his words carefully.

“Weeks without seeing you feels like three years,” Marco murmured as he landed in his hybrid form.

Anne leaned into him. “Says the man who literally caught fire to dodge my last message Den Den.”

He chuckled. “You scare me when you're annoyed. And your last note said, ‘We need to talk.’ That’s usually not romantic-yoi"

“I had to make it sound like a Marine order. Just in case.”

Marco lifted her chin. “You sure you still want this? With everything heating up out there… war might not be far.”

Anne nodded, gaze resolute. “I’m sure. Besides… my heart decided before my rank did.”

They kissed, long and desperate, like time itself might steal the moment. For now, there were no emblems. No ranks. Just warmth.

"Anne," Marco sighed, his brow furrowing. "I need to talk to you about something serious. Teach killed thatch and stole his devil fruit…and Ace—he's going after teach-yoi"

Anne’s face grew serious as she listened, her heart tightening with concern. "He’s after teach?" she repeated softly, her mind racing. "Marco, I’ve got bad feelings for this… this bad feeling that something’s off. I don’t want him to go after Teach without understanding what he’s truly up against."

Marco nodded, but his worry didn't quite vanish from his eyes.

Later, after the night faded into silence and after they shared their warmth in a stolen kiss, Anne left with a heavy heart.

A few weeks passed before Anne crossed paths with Ace again. This time, he was alone, his usual smirk replaced by something harder, a look that spoke of a man who had made a decision. She stopped dead in her tracks as their gazes locked. “Ace,” Anne’s voice cut through the silence between them. “I heard. About Teach. You’ve got to be careful. He’s not someone you can just take down with fire alone.” She looked at her brother, seeing the stubbornness in his eyes, but also the uncertainty that she had been fearing. “Promise me you’ll be cautious.” Ace chuckled, ruffling Anne’s hair. “Of course. You’re still the overprotective little sister, huh?” But then his expression softened. “I’ll be careful, Anne. I’m not looking to get myself killed. But Teach won’t just sit around. I need to end this before it spirals out of control.” Anne nodded, her voice quiet but firm. “I know. Just don’t let that man get the better of you.” She kissed his cheek before pulling away, her eyes scanning the horizon like she could see the storm brewing in the distance. “And I’ll make sure Marco knows how to get in touch with me, in case things go sideways.”

Back at Marineford that evening, Anne stood atop the tower, looking at the sea.

She felt a presence behind her and spoke without turning.

“Kizaru-san. What now?”

The Admiral leaned casually against the railing. “You’re quite the enigma, Anne-chan~”

“Am I?”

“You train like a soldier, vanish like a thief, and fight like a demon...Even Sakazuki’s starting to wonder...about you~”

Anne stayed silent.

Kizaru smiled faintly. “You remind me of Roger’s crew... I fought them once, you know...Your eyes? Same fire~”

Her heart stuttered.

“But~” he continued, “you fight for us... So I won’t ask questions... Not yet~”

He vanished in a glimmer of light, leaving her breathless.

Later that night, Anne found herself in Garp’s office again.

“You’re being watched,” he warned her.

“I know.”

He sighed. “Something’s coming, Anne. You need to decide which side you’re truly on.”

She looked up, eyes glowing with resolve. “I already chose. I just don’t think the world’s ready for that choice yet.”

The jungles of the New World were thick and wild, but Anne moved through them like a ghost, her mind elsewhere.

She should have been at Marineford. She should have been at her brother’s side.

Instead, her grandfather Garp had sent her here, on a special mission. A mission that conveniently kept her far from Ace’s execution. Anne wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what Garp had done — and why.

He knows I would have tried to stop it.

And he was right.

Because no matter her rank, no matter her duty, she would have torn the world apart to protect Ace and Luffy.

The day of the execution, Anne felt it.

The shift in the air.

The roaring Haki that seemed to tear the sky apart.

The terror.

Without thinking, she dropped everything. Her orders, her mission — none of it mattered. She boarded a small craft and forced it through the raging seas toward Marineford, her heart pounding louder than the crashing waves.

She arrived in the middle of chaos.

The war was already at its peak. Pirates and Marines clashed like titans across the shattered ice and broken ships. Screams filled the air. Blood stained the ground.

Anne didn’t hesitate.

She threw a large white cloak over herself, pulled a battered clown mask over her face, and sprinted toward the execution platform.

She arrived just in time to see Akainu aiming a killing blow at Luffy’s exposed back.

Ace moved instinctively — but Anne moved faster.

With a burst of Haki, she hurled herself between Akainu’s magma fist and Ace. Her sword, coated in everything she had left, clashed against the Admiral's burning attack.

The ground shook beneath them.

Anne gritted her teeth, feeling her arms tremble violently from the impact. Her sword cracked under the overwhelming heat and pressure, and her mask shattered, falling from her face.

The world seemed to freeze.

Ace’s eyes widened in horror.

“Anne?!” Ace gasped, horror and relief blending in his voice.

Anne’s lips curled into a small, defiant smile, even as blood dripped down her chin.

She didn’t speak. She couldn't. All she could do was push with everything she had.

For one, brief, shining second — she knocked Akainu back.

The Admiral stumbled, his magma fist withdrawing for the first time.

Anne staggered, the broken remains of her swords falling from her hands. She barely registered the shocked gasps from the surrounding pirates — or the way a certain blond man was covering his face with a shaking hand.

"Anne, you idiot," Marco muttered under his breath, torn between pride and absolute panic.

Anne wiped the blood from her mouth and turned her head just enough to see Ace and Luffy, still frozen in shock.

"Go," she rasped, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Now."

You ended up kicking both Ace and Luffy square in the stomach, sending them flying into Jimbe's waiting arms.

“Jinbe!” Marco barked. “Get them the hell out of here!”

“No! Anne!” Luffy screamed, reaching out as Jinbe grabbed him and bolted, Ace struggling in his grip.

Anne didn’t turn to look. She couldn’t.

Her focus was still locked onto Akainu, who had recovered from his stumble and was now glaring at her with cold fury.

“You… traitorous brat!” Akainu growled, his fists crackling with magma. “You dare betray justice!?”

Anne gave a tired, mocking smile. "If your 'justice' means killing my brothers," she said hoarsely, "then I'll betray it a thousand times over."

Anne dropped into a shaky stance, barely able to lift her fists. She didn't care about justice anymore.

All she cared about was Ace and Luffy’s safety.

Akainu charged, magma exploding from the ground around him. Anne dodged and weaved, her body moving on instinct, using her smaller size and speed to slip past his heavy, devastating blows.

A magma fist scorched the air inches from her face — she spun under it and slashed his side with a quick, Haki-laced strike, leaving a shallow cut across his coat.

The nearby pirates gawked.

Anne, barely able to stand minutes ago, had injured an Admiral.

Akainu snarled in fury and attacked again, faster and more vicious.

Anne ducked under a molten punch, then headbutted his chin with a burst of Haki so fierce it sent him staggering back two steps.

The Whitebeard Pirates watching in the distance let out a stunned cheer.

"Get him, brat!" someone yelled.

Anne wiped the blood from her forehead, grinning fiercely.

"What's wrong, Akainu?!" she taunted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Getting beaten by a 'brat' half your size?"

Akainu’s face twisted in rage, steam pouring from his body.

He slammed his fists into the ground, magma exploding upward in a deadly wave.

Anne charged right through it.

Her cloak caught fire. Her boots melted. But she kept going — straight at him.

With a wild, reckless cry, she jumped and drove the hilt of her broken sword into his face, cracking his nose with a brutal crunch.

The battlefield fell silent.

Anne landed in a crouch, panting hard, the remains of her sword still clutched tightly.

Akainu staggered back, one hand flying to his bleeding nose.

The Admiral of Absolute Justice, humiliated — by a girl he once called nothing more than a "soldier."

Anne smirked up at him, cocky despite the blood dripping from her mouth.

But it couldn't last.

The moment passed.

Akainu roared, his entire body exploding with magma and fury, and Anne had no more strength left to dodge.

She raised her battered arms in a last, defiant stance—

Akainu surged forward, rage burning brighter than ever—but before his blow could land, a massive quake shook the battlefield.

Whitebeard.

The old pirate crashed into Akainu with a roar, sending the Admiral flying back with a devastating blow of his bisento.

Anne gasped for breath, her vision swimming. Her legs buckled—

—and Marco caught her before she hit the ground.

"Anne," Marco muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He cradled her against him, his hands glowing faintly with phoenix energy to try and slow her bleeding.

"Marco," she whispered weakly, clinging to his jacket.

"You idiot," he repeated, forehead pressing briefly against hers. "You almost got yourself killed."

Anne gave a faint, bloodied smile. "But… worth it, right?"

Marco swallowed hard. He couldn’t deny it. She had saved Ace. She had saved all of them.

He lifted her easily into his arms. “We’re retreating. Now.”

As the Whitebeard Pirates gathered to pull back, carrying their wounded and fallen, Anne closed her eyes against Marco’s chest, finally letting the exhaustion consume her.

Aftermath

Anne woke up to the sound of the ocean.

She was aboard a ship — not a Marine ship, but one of the Whitebeard Pirates’ vessels.

Her body ached from head to toe. Every muscle screamed in protest. Her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, her ribs tightly bound.

She tried to sit up — and immediately fell back with a groan.

“Don’t even try it.”

Marco’s voice drifted from the side of her bed. She turned her head to see him sitting there, arms crossed, looking more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

"You broke both your arms, cracked three ribs, burned your hands, and gave yourself a concussion," he said flatly. "And somehow you still thought it was a good idea to stand in front of Akainu."

Anne winced. "Is Ace…?"

Marco’s expression softened.

"He’s safe. Thanks to you. Him and Luffy both."

Anne sagged with relief, tears burning her eyes. She scrubbed at them weakly with the back of her bandaged hand.

Marco reached out and caught her hand gently.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For saving our family."

Anne squeezed his fingers weakly. "Always."

Meanwhile, back at Marine Headquarters:

Garp sat on the edge of a ruined wall, staring blankly at the sea.

Sengoku stood beside him, arms folded.

"You knew she’d do it," Sengoku said quietly.

Garp let out a loud, boasting laugh. "Of course I did! She's my granddaughter after all!"

He closed his eyes.

“She’s got the blood of monster running through her veins. And the heart of a fool.”

Sengoku didn't argue. He simply laid a hand on Garp’s shoulder and squeezed once, silently.

They had all lost today.

And yet, somehow, Anne had managed to save something precious.

Later, on the Whitebeard ship:

Under the blanket of stars, Anne sat on the deck, wrapped in a thick coat, watching the ocean drift by. Her hands still trembled, but she didn’t mind.

Marco dropped down beside her, handing her a cup of hot tea.

They sat in silence for a long time, the night air cool and salty.

Finally, Anne spoke.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For worrying you."

Marco snorted quietly. "You're a pirate now, Anne. Worrying me is part of the deal."

She gave him a crooked smile.

Then, softly, Marco reached over and pressed his forehead against hers again.

"You’re family now," he murmured. "And we protect our own."

Anne closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence against the cold night.

For the first time since the war had started, she let herself believe—

Maybe everything wasn't lost after all.

[magpiejay1234]

It might be time to discuss the MacGuffins of the YGO series:

**********

Original YGO had the Millennium Items, which were 7, and the Egyptian God cards, which were introduced for Battle City.

Millennium Items were already exhausted by Duelist Kingdom, since Shadi already had two of them, and Bakura had one, so we covered 4 of the 7 items. Battle City naturally needed something else, which ended being the God Cards.

Millennium World arc, and DSoD both introduce an 8th item, Atem's name for the former, and the Dimension Cube for the latter.

The improper use of the Millennium Items was probably Takahashi's first mistake for the longevity of the original series, especially after the shift of focus to Duel Monsters card game.

*******

GX had different MacGuffins for each Season. Due to the experimental nature of GX, we can ignore these, but to briefly go over them:

**Latter half of S1 has the Seven Spirit Keys, as well as bunch of other minor items.

**GX S2 has Destiny HERO - Plasma, and the keys for Sola.

**GX S3 had Yubel itself, and Super Polymerization.

**GX S4 had the ace cards of the cast, including Honest, and the card of Darkness itself, and the cards it affected.

********

5D's had the Signer Marks (and by proxy the Signers themselves), and Signer Dragons as the main MacGuffin of the series, as such Lua does not become a Signer until the end of the series, and Crow only fully becomes a Signer at the start of WRGP.

********

ZEXAL had the Number cards, and Emperor's Key, though Numbers, particularly the original 100 cards, were more important.

Barian Numbers were not that important, and Emperor's Key's role, probably due to Astral World arc being scrapped, wasn't fully utilised.

********

The main MacGuffins of ARC-V were the Bracelet Girls themselves, with the Dragons, and En Cards serving as the minor MacGuffins. Yuboys, though being MacGuffins for Z-ARC's revival, weren't important for the plot progression, since their eventual gathering was a foregone conclusion..

*********

VRAINS had the Ignis as the MacGuffins for Seasons 1-2, and SOL Tech's key as the initial MacGuffin for Ai in S3.

**************

Among all the Series, ZEXAL's Numbers were probably the conceptually most well thought, since they can have multiple variations, and would make every Duel a life or death situation. ZEXAL's execution of them was improper, but conceptually, the idea of them is the most solid one.

Crimson Dragon Marks would cause a lot of pacing issues, since the Fortune Cup being a Tournament about finding Signers to fight the Dark Signers would make the later arcs less relevant, which, like the Millennium Items of the original series, would require other lesser MacGuffins, like the Z-ONE card.

ARC-V's use of the Bracelet Girls as MacGuffins works in theory, and practice, but is somewhat flubbed, as Leo starts off the show with 3 of them in his hand, only to lose, and regain Serena. This is somewhat similar to Malik, and Slifer, but the fact that there was no in-series struggle to keep at least one of the other two makes the stakes very low for Leo.

Since GX changes the plot every Season, if not every minor arc, we can't use a consistent structure for each MacGuffin group.

VRAINS destroying its own MacGuffins, which are also their own characters, would cause Duel Links, and posthumous OCG support to correct the mistake, like ARC-V.

[rukimakino-heirofheart]

🔥 Digimon

🔥Homestuck

🔥Your choice

🔥 Homestuck: Rose/Kanaya is unbelievably fucking boring. Especially in a VN containing a ship as strong as Vriska/Terezi, it's hard for me to believe rosemary managed to get as big as it did, because it genuinely feels like half its fans are making shit up. Like. Okay. Conceptually, I can vibe with the idea; Kanaya is blatantly using Rose as a substitute for her old flame since they're both manipul8ive Light players, and Rose is cool with that because she's obsessed with the idea of being obsessed with. But like???? Nobody ever executes on this???? Including Hussie herself???? It's just a huge wasted opportunity and it feels like half the fandom wants to pretend it's not.

🔥 Digimon: *inhales*

Adventure 99 has almost no redeeming qualities and it's unreal just how far the quality spikes the moment you cross over into 02.

Ruki should have been the main protagonist of Tamers. Takato is built to be a side character, not to wear the goggles.

Dukemon is a bad design, Crimson Mode is even worse, and the fact that he's the only primary color to get a Super Ultimate entirely due to Royal Knights shilling just feels insulting.

Jian doesn't feel like a member of the main cast; he mostly just seems to be there so the Primary Colors have a direct line to the Wild Bunch.

During the D-Reaper arc, Tamers' writing quality takes a very noticeable nosedive and doesn't recover. It's inconsistent as hell (Juri especially), the ending is just kind of Stuff Happening, and the choice to separate the partners last-second was kind of pointless.

The Royal Knights arc of Frontier is leagues better than the Cherubimon arc preceding it.

Despite the Xros Wars anime being very bad, Hunters is good, and Tagiru is a good character.

Adventure 2020 is nowhere near as bad as people like to say it is, and its flaws are completely unrelated to the shit the people on Reddit like to sling at it. Treat it on its own terms as a V-Tamer/Frontier fusion and you'll have a great time.