#yes they are sentient in my head

[lover-of-mine]

I think it's funny when I'm writing for buddie that the tiny Eddie in my head likes to tell me feelings and the tiny Buck in my head likes to tell me situations. Sometimes tiny Eddie won't give a single line of dialogue. Or even setting. Sometimes he's just floating in a void because he won't even tell me where he is. Buck on the other hand, hates to tell me how he's feeling. I had to switch povs before because he won't tell me and I need the scene so I needed to ask tiny Eddie. But sometimes tiny Buck won't shut up, I don't know how we got here, what triggered this confession, or revelation, all I know is that he's in front of tiny Eddie and he wants to say things. I have no control over them. They just do what they want and I'm along for the ride.

[beastwhimsy]

meet Te Haerenga, the 74 year old 1951 bedford housetruck who has been roaming the valleys and coasts and mountains and fjords of Aotearoa for the better part of a century. An antique treasure with enough wild stories to fill several novels, Haerenga has most recently become home to a young sapphic couple looking for a bit of adventure. They have no idea what they're in for!

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

So I have two posts in mind RN and one goes

"did you know that I have a squish on you!" but then I turn "squish" into "[redacted]" because confessing is so much trouble when vaguely pointing at the crowd of creatures and trying to explain that you've been on a happy high for over an hour maybe just because of said creature

Second one does

"by the way I love my wife that's all that's the post" and it's followed up by a revolting amount of sappy ass tags and pining because my husband is busy (it's been less than 6 hours since he messaged)

Why didn't I just make them? My brain works faster than I can type and I'm on an energy high

[sepiasys]

Did you know it's really easy to trick yourself into a different mindset/belief?

Real simple, all you have to do is repeatedly tell yourself it's NOT TRUE whenever the belief rears its ugly head!

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

taglist: @ilovesoapandnotthebar @ricabobbie @venus111sworld @nanamisboobies @delusionsofgrandeur13 @x3rox @genericpenname @lovemymustache @sweetybuzz25 @asiavvv @jazz-cat-on-a-broom @violetisheresworld @depornable @sugarandserum @emilyyyyyys-stuff @julesneedshelp @rene-with-an-e @caramelsundaysstuff @adeptua @beautifuleaglealpaca@chronicallyicky @s-void @trulovekay @mary-magdaline @moongir99 @goldiesoaked @backtotheintro @ribbitribbitquack @matumogs @xjustxlookingx @prettgirlwhoreadsatnite @angielove07 @olives10 @zzzz20d @greylykaylee @suikasweetheart @deliciouslydisturbed365 @british-ppl-scare-me @bless-my-demons @tofunoodlesoup @rafaelcallinybbay @blahox @dethspllz @casual-darkness @lem-hhn @astridminsstuffie21 @xdcgfvh @viviansvault3 @mygsbin @booboobear-12 @pink-hufflepuff @just-lilita @succulambb

[arkaiveofurown]

caught in the flash

characters: sanji / ace / luffy / law

prompt: he sneaks a picture of you when you’re not looking

tag: fluff

my masterlist here ♡

ace

You were lying belly-down on the Moby Dick’s deck, doodling on a crumpled bit of parchment, humming to yourself with your legs kicking in the air like a schoolgirl. Hair a mess, tank top halfway sliding off your shoulder, not a care in the world.

“Aw, that’s kinda cute,” came Ace’s voice somewhere above your head.

You didn’t look up. “Whatever you’re about to say next, don’t.”

You heard the faintest click.

You whipped around. “Did you just—?”

“NOPE,” he said way too quickly, hands very much behind his back, grinning like a guilty five-year-old.

You sat up so fast your hair fell in your face. “Portgas D. Ace, I swear to god—”

“Look,” he said, backing up a step, “it’s not even a bad picture! You’re just all—” He waved his hands vaguely. “…You.”

“That’s not a valid description!”

“Soft. And squishy.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“I MEANT EMOTIONALLY—SHIT—”

You launched your sandal at him like a missile. “DELETE IT!”

He caught it mid-air. “Never. I’m putting it in a locket.”

“A LOCKET?!”

“Romantic, right?”

You screamed into your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he sang, skipping away, waving your sandal like a trophy. “You love me and you wanna kiss me and it’s so embarrassing for you!”

sanji

You were half-asleep on the counter, stealing bits of chocolate off a cooling tray, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, licking your fingers like it was a sacred ritual. You were too tired to care.

Click.

You didn’t even flinch. “Don’t even try it.”

Sanji froze. “…Caught red-handed?”

“Caught being a creep.”

He grinned. “I mean, can you blame me? You’re licking chocolate off your fingers like you’re in a food commercial for sinners.”

You choked on the next bite. “SANJI?!”

“I’m just saying,” he said, already opening the picture on the snail. “If that was in a magazine, I’d buy ten copies.”

“You’re so—” you groaned. “Delete it.”

“But you looked so—” he sighed dreamily. “—biteable.”

You stared. “…Sanji.”

“Not like—well, I mean. Not not like that—”

“You wanna rethink your life choices, Romeo?”

He chuckled. “Too late. I’m fully committed to this flavor of disaster.”

You sighed, face in your hands. “You’re lucky I like disasters.”

“You’re lucky I’m a chef. I can make dessert out of this.”

“STOP.”

law

You were curled up on the bench in the Polar Tang’s observation lounge, swaddled in a blanket like a sentient dumpling, watching fish float past the glass with the dead eyes of someone who hadn’t slept in two days.

Then you heard a soft click.

Your head snapped around. “…Law?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Hm?”

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

“No.”

You blinked. “Law.”

He met your gaze. Calm. Unbothered. “Yes.”

“WHY.”

“You looked like a sad sea creature.”

“THAT’S NOT A COMPLIMENT.”

“It was kind of endearing.”

You sat up in your blanket cocoon. “Delete it.”

“No.”

“Tra-guy.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Emo fish man—”

“That’s worse.”

“Give. Me. The snail.”

“Come take it.”

You launched off the couch and he teleported out of reach like the smug little warlock he is. “You’re not supposed to be fast!” you yelled.

“I’m a surgeon,” he said, already halfway down the corridor. “We’re quick with our hands.”

You short-circuited. “That sounded so much worse—”

“I know,” he called back, completely unbothered.

luffy

You were on deck in a tank top, sweat on your brow, trying to fix a snapped rope. Your leg was up on the railing for balance, arms stretched over your head, totally focused. And totally unaware of your very specific pose.

Behind you:

Click.

You flinched, nearly dropped the rope. “LUFFY?!”

He grinned wide from behind the den den mushi. “You looked cool!”

You turned around. “Delete it. Right now.”

“But your leg was up and everything,” he said, tilting his head. “You looked like you were about to fight someone or… I dunno, climb me.”

“CLIMB YOU?!”

He blinked. “Yeah! You know. Like—grabby.”

“GRABBY?!”

“Not in a bad way!” He scratched his head. “You just looked like… really strong. And bendy. Kinda hot.”

Your soul left your body. “LUFFY.”

“Huh?”

“Say that sentence again. Slowly.”

“…You looked strong. And bendy. And hot?” He said it with total innocence—and then blinked. “Wait, was that—was that one of those weird lines Sanji says that makes people choke?”

You choked. “Yes!”

“Oh. Cool!” he grinned. “Should I say more?”

“NO?!”

“Okay, okay!” He tucked the snail away. “But I’m keeping the picture. You looked like you were gonna tackle me.”

You grabbed a nearby towel to throw at him. “I WILL IF YOU DON’T DELETE IT.”

He laughed as he ran off. “Promise?!”

“LUFFY!!”

[symbiomancy]

magic shop —tentacles ft. slime

—summary: A client brings you a thank you gift. It fucks you within an inch of your sanity.

—warnings: slime + tentacles x human, piv sex, deepthroating, bondage/restraints, anal, double (triple?) penetration, creampie, overstimulation, stomach bulge, size difference

—word count: 3,2k

—AO3 version

You stare at the box on your shop counter. It’s completely unassuming, glossy black with golden details engraved into the wood. On top of it, a little folded card with your name drawn in intricate loops and flowy handwriting.

Thank you for the love potion. I hope you enjoy this gift from my family’s slime farm.

Ah, love potions. Very much a dubious business but a business that pays well. And hey, it’s not like they can artificially make people have romantic feelings. Whoever named them love potions didn’t have their head screwed on right.

You trace the carvings on the shiny black box with your finger.

It opens smoothly. Inside, an almost translucent blue dildo rests on a velvet pillow. Oh, my, you think. It’s smooth to the touch, soft and almost jelly-like. It jiggles when you tap the pad of your finger against it. You giggle and tap it once more just for the sake of poking it. The slime flops its head against your fingers.

Oh, it’s… alive? Sentient? You don’t know exactly what to call its state of being. The slime dildo jiggles once and jumps in place once. Oh, okay, you think and hold up a finger. “Let me just close the store, yeah?” It doesn’t respond, doesn’t move again but the head of it is tilted your way, as if staring at you as you move through the store to lock the front door and flip the sign on the window.

It patiently waits where you left it. You stop in front of it and cup your hands. “I don’t want the store to get messy. Or break anything. There’s uh—” you swallow and holy shit, you’re having a conversation with a dildo-shaped slime you’re not sure is actually alive, “we can go upstairs.”

The slime doesn’t move for a moment as if considering your offer. Maybe? Shit— you make a mental note to read up on slimes and slime farms. Your teacher did briefly go over slimes while you were under her apprenticeship but that was also the day you’d latched onto the idea of customizing your wizard robes if you ever graduated. Oh, you can recall the original designs you’d drawn up in class even now, something more lingerie-adjacent than the long and heavy robes of her discipline. Where’d you put that babydoll-inspired robe you’d unpacked the other day?

You nearly startle out of your skin when the weight of the slime lands in your open palms. It wobbles in your hands briefly before it assumes its shape. You take that as a yes to your proposal and weave your way through your store towards the stairs to the second floor. Your heart is beating against your ribs like a wild horse as you ascend the stairs, turning off the lights as you reach the top.

You place the slime onto your coffee table. Your nerves are wrecked already. “So,” you start, fiddling with the rings on your fingers, “is this good enough? How is this even going to— What are we — me — we? What—” you press your lips together and take a moment to gather your thoughts. “Now what?”

The slime leaps forward until it reaches the edge of the coffee table, just a hair’s breadth away from your thigh. It jiggles, its head pressing against the slit in your wizard’s robe. You reach down and drag your fingers along its shaft, the bulging vein on its back and swallow around the lump in your throat. You want to lean down and drag your tongue across it.

The slime presses forward, between your thighs and rubs its head against your clothed cunt. You drag your fingertips down the length of its smooth shaft. It jiggles and pushes harder against your body. It’s pleasantly cool to the touch. It’s a little too thick to wrap one hand around, but you do your best. You move your hand slowly up and down the thick shaft. Precum pools at the tip and dribbles down the curve of the head and you feel compelled to lean down. You drag your tongue up the slime’s shaft — feel the slightly tacky cum on your tongue — from its balls to the very tip and dip your tongue into the slit. The slime jiggles in your hand. That’s good, you assume. It hasn’t pulled away or melted into a puddle yet. Slowly, you wrap your lips around the mushroom head tip and take it into your mouth.

The slime jiggles and pulls out of your mouth abruptly. “What?” You wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your robe and the slime jiggles again. It swings its whole weight forward and flops pathetically at your robe. “Oh.”

You shrug off your robe and hastily pull down your underwear, kick them out of sight. The slime jiggles as if appreciating your nudity and pushes itself against your body again. The sensation is odd. It’s both firm and soft, almost like you could run your fingers through its body. It burrows between your thighs and wiggles upwards until its head hits your clit. You gasp and reach to rest your weight onto the coffee table before your knees give out. It pulses, wiggles, dragging its smooth body against your clit. You wrap your legs around it and slowly lower your hips.

The slime jiggles, wiggles against your thighs, almost as if thrashing around and you unlock your legs with haste. You stare at it, legs open, pussy wet and waiting for it, so many questions on your tongue. Maybe there’s a spell somewhere to get over this language barrier because it’s clearly intelligent and your skin is on fire and if it starts teasing you now, you might just smite it and finish the job yourself.

It positions itself against your hot, wet cunt and you exhale a breath of relief, head thrown back. It moves, positions itself, the head pressing against your entrance and you roll your hips minutely to beckon it.

It sheathes itself in your cunt with one harsh thrust. You yelp, try to reach for the edge of the table to find an anchor but its pace is too much, too harsh. The table legs drags against the floor from the force of its thrusts into your waiting cunt. Your mouth drops open, stifled, breathy moans escaping your lips as you try to pull yourself together and figure out which way is up, where to grab. It thrusts harshly and you nearly topple off the table, manage to grab onto the edge and roll knot your stomach for more leverage. Your knees drop to the plush carpet. The edge of the coffee table rams into your hips with every thrust from the slime buried into your cunt, bullying it like a jackhammer. Your sweat-slick skin drags across the glass surface. It’s thick and big and you swear you feel it in the back of your throat. Your head is spinning, the pleasure overwhelming. The coil in your core snaps abruptly.

You cum with a low moan, pussy clenching around it like a vise but the slime doesn’t stop, just keeps rutting into you as you come down from your high and spills. It’s warm and gooey and it dribbles from your cunt as the slime eases itself to a slower pace until it stops, buried inside you to the hilt. You feel full, so deliciously full and fuck, maybe it’ll stay there forever. You wouldn’t mind it, you think. It could rut into you while you’re talking to a customer and you’d be forced to keep your poker face or fold like a goddamn house of cards with your client watching your depravity.

Your cunt flutters at the thought.

Slowly, you lower yourself off the coffee table and onto all fours, ass up in the air, and press your face against your folded arms, take deep, even breaths to get your head on straight again.

The rug underneath you feels nice. Smooth. Soft, if not a little gooey. It moves, undulates underneath you, rises until it brushes against your collarbones.

Wait, what?

You pull your face away from your arms and blink a few times to get rid of the shapes in your vision. Your rug isn’t your rug. It’s dark blue, almost liquidy in consistency and it bubbles and laps at your body like waves at the beach. It’s cool to the touch.

Your cunt feels strangely empty all of a sudden. You clench around thin air with a frown and slowly sit up. The slime-like liquid on the floor wiggles as you adjust your legs — it’s the same blue hue as the slime that should be buried into your cunt. Oh, so they don’t last forever. You feel a strange sense of loss at the realization; they’re just here to fulfill an itch, then. And then they’re gone.

You should pull yourself together, get up and clean this mess up. No point in crying over something that’s over.

The slime warbles and then, something breaches it. A single thick tentacle rises from the pool that’s overrun your living room. It turns its head as if looking around and you take that time to reorient yourself. The slime gift from your client has melted into a puddle that’s overrun your living room. Something not quite of this world has used it as a portal. That opens another can of worms about slimes and portals and you should really write down how a tentacle appeared from the melted body of a slime from a nearby farm but— it looks remarkably phallic in shape. Its head is pronounced, almost mushroom in shape like male genitalia. The light streaming in from the window next to you illuminates the ridges on its body, the texture reminds you of snake scales.

You shift on your knees, your cunt aching.

The tentacle snaps around. It slowly crosses the space between you and itself, more and more of its body rising from the pool. It’s tall and thick. There are ridges on its back, and you swear they would feel so good dragging against your clit —

It lowers its head in front of your face where it hovers for a few long moments. Slowly, you reach out and drag the tip of your finger down its body. Bingo. Scale-like small ridges decorate its body.

There is movement in the corner of your eye. More tentacles rise from the slime, these ones smaller and leaner. They slither across the mass of slime and glide onto your skin, wrap themselves around your legs, creeping towards your pussy. You rise onto your knees to give them more leeway.

More tentacles shoot out from the pool on your floor and tangle around your arms, pull them together over your head. Others latch onto your skin. They traverse the expanse of your body, warm and slick, prodding and poking and squeezing. One slides underneath your breast and loops over it. Its tip circles your nipple and you gasp at the sensation, throw your head back and arch your back, nearly hitting the coffee table. A thin, glimmering tentacle shoots out, wraps around your torso and across your neck before the back of your head can actually collide with glass. It pulls you forward just as quickly, onto your knees.

The large tentacle is hovering right in front of your face now. It bumps its tip against your forehead, your cheek, your nose and then against the seam of your lips. They part involuntarily and it dives in. You feel the ridges on its stomach against your tongue but the moan gets stuck in your throat.

It eases itself out of your mouth and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact. Seriously, what’s with these things not wanting your mouth? It’s an extra hole for them to use and abuse so why are they rejecting it?

The tentacle dips down and you feel the ridges caressing your skin as it glides towards and across your cunt, dragging the ridges on its stomach against your clit and something between a moan and a gasp escapes your throat involuntarily.

You’re suddenly hauled up and backwards until your back collides with your couch. Your legs are pulled apart to expose your weeping pussy to the head tentacle. It lowers itself to your cunt’s level as if studying it. It gives an experimental nudge against your slit and then presses forward harder. The very tip slides in with little effort and then it’s pushing ahead, wiggling like it’s trying to force itself inside.

Your chest is heaving, short, shallow breaths escaping you as you desperately try to push against the tentacle but the others keep you rooted to the spot. It’s torture and agony and bliss all at once as the thick tentacle prods at you. Just a little push and it can fuck you within an inch of your life, until you beg and beg and beg it for more, to fill you up and keep you stuck on it for as long as it wants, do whatever it wants.

The head breeches your cunt and it slides all the way in with one thrust. You gasp at the sensation, chest heaving and try to breathe through the obscene stretch, the obscene sight of its shape in your stomach but it has other ideas. It starts moving, slow and deliberate as it pulls back and then dives in again, setting a ruthless pace. You’re so wet, so slippery and it almost slips out of your cunt. You dribble around it, the sound so obscene and lewd in your ears. It’s the only sound in the room other than your moans, your babbled begging for it to just take you already.

Its size is overwhelming but it feels so good, bullying its way into your cunt and drawing those ridiculous wet sounds and moans and gasps, pleading from your lips. You’re almost in tears at the euphoria, at the way this tentacle claims your cunt for itself, at the way the others hold you back and spread out to take and take and use you up like the goddamn fleshlight you are. You’d let it use you as a fleshlight again and again, fuck, maybe this one can stay and display you as a freak show to any potential client. The thought of someone staring at the way this thing defiles your holes, their cock in hand, maybe even trying to join — it sends you over the edge.

You cum with a swear on your lips, a half-baked cry stuck in your throat. Moments later, the tentacle spills into your cunt. You’re so full, you’re so incredibly full. Its cum, as translucent and pearly as itself dribbles onto your couch, slipping out from around its thick body. Your chest heaves as you try to pull yourself together, tears brimming in your eyes.

The tentacles around your legs tighten. They pull your body along like dead weight, off the couch and onto the slick floor. Your hands are maneuvered with your body but there’s no weight left in your arms and your jaw nearly collides with the floor. The tentacles yank your body upright at the last moment, tightening around your limbs to hold you on all fours without leaning any weight on your weak limbs.

Your legs are pulled apart. Tentacles press against the skin of your ass, massaging and groping and prodding.

The thick tentacle still buried snugly in your cunt purrs. Something prods at your ass. Its smooth tip presses against your puckered hole and you do your best to relax every muscle in your body. It teases for just a moment before it slides through slowly. You moan at the sensation, at being so full.

It moves first, slow and deliberate, delving deeper into your ass and then pulling back. The head tentacle in your cunt moves in tandem with it. They’re so deep, so slick you want to cry because it’s too much but they feel so good, fucking you so thoroughly in tandem. They move, they all move, every single goddamn tentacle wrapped around your body, your limbs, your tits, their tips move, sliding back and forth across your skin. One pinches your nipple and you mewl, mouth agape to take in air and cry out.

A tentacle roughly pushes into your mouth, slides down your throat and pulls back to fuck it. Your face is wet and your vision is blurry, it’s too much, one stuffing itself and its pretty cum back into your aching cunt like it wants to live there, another thrusting into your ass with vigor, you feel them both, at the way they rub against your walls, against each other. Another in your mouth, pumping into your throat, so many caressing your body.

They pause for a fraction of a moment but it's enough to have you crying out for any stimulation. They dive in with newfound vigor, like they haven’t been fucking you stupid for who knows how long now, stuffing themselves so deep into your pussy and your ass and your throat. Your eyes roll back and your whole body tenses for a moment before you come the hardest you’ve ever come. You clench down at the tentacles, and nearly scream. The tentacle in your mouth pulls back and you hear your own pathetic voice, begging and pleading and babbling for more, more, please, please, please before there is a weight on your tongue. The tentacle spits its cum onto your tongue, thick and glossy, dribbling past your open lips and down your chin.

The world comes back to you in small increments. The sound of birdsong on the other side of your window. The feeling of something pumping into your ass at a languid pace before it stops and slowly pulls out. Something shoved deep inside your cunt so far you feel like you’re about to burst. The grip on your body is tight but pleasant, almost massage-like. You blink the tears from your eyes and sniffle, try to breathe.

A wail escapes your throat when the head tentacle pulls out of your pussy with an audible pop. Its cum shoots out of you, an obscene amount dribbling onto your rug, pooling between your legs, running down your skin, hot and sticky. Your breath shudders in your throat as the tentacles ease you onto your knees. More and more dribbles out of your gaping pussy, and you almost want the tentacle to shove itself back in and take you until you can’t think anymore, pump you full of its cum again and again and again until the world comes to an end.

The tentacles on your body loosen their grip. The one around your tit gives it another squeeze and flicks your nipple and it shoots a jolt to your core. More cum dribbles from your pussy as the feeling passes and your muscles relax, fatigued and aching and sore.

The pool beneath your knees shrinks. You turn despite your screaming muscles to see the tentacles retreat into a summoning circle in the middle of the pit of slime one by one. Before long, the pool dries up entirely and the circle on the floor disappears.

You should really write down a note to get in contact with the slime farm to get to the bottom of this. Instead, you scoop up a handful of pearlescent cum from the floor, and try to shove it back into your cunt.

—a/n: anon is on, feel free to comment, go nuts, describe how many times this made you cum, god I hope it made sb cum

banners by @/cafekitsune

[solxamber]

Receiving Gifts on White Day with: Diasomnia

go here for other dorms

Malleus Draconia

When you open the door, Malleus is standing there, holding a beautifully wrapped box in his hands. His expression is as composed as ever, but the slight flicker of his emerald eyes tells you that he’s very eager to see your reaction.

“Good morning,” he greets, his deep voice carrying the faintest hint of anticipation. “I have prepared a White Day gift for you.”

You take the box and open it, revealing an assortment of chocolates—each piece clearly made with care. They’re not perfect, some a little misshapen, but they are undeniably charming in their effort. Your heart melts at the sight.

“You made these yourself?” you ask, grinning.

Malleus nods proudly. “Indeed. I wanted to reciprocate your Valentine’s gift with something just as heartfelt.”

Your chest tightens with affection—until your eyes land on one particular chocolate in the corner. It is… moving.

You flinch. “Uh. Malleus?”

He follows your gaze and hums. “Ah, yes. That one is special.”

Special. Right. It has eyes. It’s breathing.

You slowly close the lid.

Malleus tilts his head. “Lilia assisted me with that piece.”

Of course he did.

You glance at him, then at the box, and then back at him. “You know what? I love it. Every single piece in here, even the one that may or may not be sentient.”

Malleus beams. It’s rare to see his face light up this much, and honestly, it makes the potentially cursed chocolate worth it.

“You are truly remarkable,” he murmurs, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Not many would accept such a gift so gracefully.”

You laugh nervously.

Malleus chuckles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "I am truly fortunate to have you.”

…Okay, fine. He could give you a whole box of haunted chocolates, and you’d still be weak for him.

Lilia Vanrouge

The moment you open the door, Lilia practically bounces into view, grinning like he’s just pulled off the world’s greatest prank. In one hand, he holds a sleek, professionally wrapped box of chocolates. In the other…

A chaotic mess that vaguely resembles chocolate, but also looks like it could be an eldritch abomination.

“Happy White Day, my dear!” he sings, shoving both boxes at you.

You blink. “Uh.” You cautiously take both, eyeing the homemade one with the caution of a soldier defusing a bomb. “Lilia…?”

He winks. “One is a gift from the store, the other is a gift from the heart.”

You slowly open the homemade one, bracing yourself. Inside, the chocolates vary wildly in shape, size, and—disturbingly—some seem to have an unidentified glow.

One of them twitches.

You slam the lid shut.

Lilia chuckles. “Oh ho! Do not fear, my love! They are completely edible. Probably.”

You squint at him.

“…Okay, so which box do you want me to eat from?” you ask cautiously.

He laughs. “Both, of course! The store-bought ones for your enjoyment, and mine for… adventure!”

You look between the two boxes. You do love him. And you do want to make him happy.

You sigh, picking the least suspicious homemade chocolate and popping it into your mouth. The taste hits you—somehow both overwhelming and vaguely concerning—but you manage to keep a straight face.

Lilia grins. “So? What do you think?”

“…I think I love you very much,” you say, because that is the only thing keeping you going right now.

Lilia cackles before pulling you into a tight embrace. “Ah, my beloved, you are truly fearless! That’s why I adore you so.”

Silver Vanrouge

The door opens to reveal Silver, standing there with a box in his hands, looking just a little nervous. His silver hair is slightly tousled, as if he had been pacing before knocking, and his eyes soften the moment he sees you.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, offering you the box. “Happy White Day.”

You take the gift, smiling. “Did you make these yourself?”

He nods, shifting slightly. “I wanted to. I’m not the best at this sort of thing, but… I wanted it to be from me.”

You open the box, and inside are neatly made chocolates—nothing extravagant, but clearly crafted with care. Each piece is meticulously shaped, and though they’re not perfectly uniform, you can see the effort he put into them.

Your heart melts.

“Silver.” You look up at him, touched beyond words. “These are amazing.”

His ears turn pink. “You haven’t even tried them yet.”

You take one and pop it into your mouth. The taste is simple but delicious, a rich cocoa flavor melting on your tongue.

Your eyes widen. “Silver. These are really good.”

His lips part slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting that. “…I’m glad.” Then, hesitating only for a second, he reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted to make sure you had something special.”

Your heart does an Olympic-level flip.

Without thinking, you step forward and kiss his cheek. Silver freezes, eyes wide in shock.

“…You okay?” you ask, amused.

“I—” He clears his throat, looking away, his blush deepening. “Yes. Just… processing.”

You grin, stepping closer to wrap your arms around him. He relaxes instantly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You sigh against his shoulder. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Silver’s arms tighten around you. “Only for you.”

…You might just melt for real this time.

Sebek Zigvolt

The second you open the door, you are immediately hit with—

“HUH?! YOU’RE STILL IN YOUR NIGHTCLOTHES?! UNACCEPTABLE!”

Sebek stands before you, arms crossed, looking like he is about to launch into a full lecture on the importance of morning discipline. However, his stern expression crumbles the moment he remembers why he’s actually here.

He clears his throat, straightens his posture, and—without warning—drops to one knee.

You blink. “Um—”

“MY HUMAN!” he declares, voice practically shaking the walls. “I HAVE COME TO RETURN YOUR VALENTINE’S GIFT WITH SOMETHING WORTHY OF YOUR AFFECTION!”

You stare at him. He stares at you. Grim, who is still half-asleep on your shoulder, groans. “Too early for this, get him outta here.”

Ignoring Grim entirely, Sebek proudly thrusts a neatly wrapped gift box in your direction. His face is on fire, but his eyes are filled with pure determination.

You accept it with a smile. “Thank you, Sebek."

“OPEN IT,” he demands, practically vibrating with anticipation.

Inside is a set of chocolates—not perfectly made, but clearly painstakingly crafted. Some pieces are slightly uneven, and a few have clumsy drizzles of chocolate, but there’s an undeniable heartfelt effort in every one.

Your chest tightens.

“You made these yourself?” you ask softly.

Sebek huffs, puffing out his chest. “OF COURSE! I REFUSED TO RELY ON STORE-BOUGHT GOODS WHEN MAKING AN OFFERING TO YOU!”

Your heart melts.

You take a bite, and the taste—surprisingly—is very good. A bit too much cocoa powder, maybe, but the richness of the flavor is unmistakable. You glance at Sebek, who is watching you with the intensity of a knight awaiting a verdict from their king.

“Soooo?” he asks, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

You grin. “They’re delicious.”

Sebek visibly stops breathing for a second before his whole face erupts into a deep, embarrassed shade of red.

“A—AHAHA! OF COURSE! NATURALLY, I WOULD NOT PRESENT YOU WITH ANYTHING LESS THAN EXCELLENCE!” His voice definitely cracks at the end, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

Your heart is already doing somersaults, but then Sebek does something that actually catches you off guard—he hesitates for a moment before suddenly leaning forward and kissing your forehead.

Your soul leaves your body.

“…For your affection,” he mutters, ears practically glowing.

You stare at him, speechless.

He immediately springs to his feet, clearing his throat. “A-ANYWAY! I MUST RETURN TO MY DUTIES! ENJOY YOUR GIFT!”

And with that, he marches away at full speed, leaving you standing in the doorway, clutching your chocolates and replaying that forehead kiss in your mind like a broken record.

Masterlist

[theweirdandthejorvikwild]

oh clementine is VIBRATING rn he LOVES plants (and i love this idea)

SSO Idea- Jorvik Botany

Daily Quests: -> a new notice board at Farah's -> not crafting, just gathering (pick up as quest item) -> collect 5 random plants for a random druid character

[harunayuuka2060]

Leona: Oi, Radish Sprout. Is this student yours?

Idia: Eek! Why are they with you?

Leona: *his eyebrows furrowed* Don't you think you should be looking after them?

Idia: Y-Yes... Did something happen?

Leona: ...

Leona: *sigh* My students used them as a target practice.

Idia: ...

Idia: You. *to MC* Weren't you in Diasomnia?

MC: Sebek ordered me to return to Ignihyde.

Idia: Then how did you end up in that situation?!

MC: I bumped into them.

Idia: ...

Leona: Hey, it's no use scolding them. Just stop being lazy and keep your eyes on them.

Idia: Yeah... Thanks for the heads-up.

Idia: Where does it hurt? *holding a first aid kit*

MC: *glances at their injuries, then touches their cheek, which is still tender from getting punched*

MC: ...

MC: *points at their cheek* Here.

Idia: ...

Idia: *breathes in* Ortho, could you come here, please? ASAP.

Ortho: *finished treating their wounds and bruises*

Ortho: How are you feeling?

MC: Fixed.

Idia: ...

Ortho: That’s good, but I don’t get why you didn’t stand up for yourself.

MC: Because they didn't ask me to.

Ortho: Who?

MC: The Savanaclaw students.

Ortho: ...

Ortho: According to the data I've gathered, MC possesses a human physical form, yet shows an abnormal absence of pain perception. Mentally, their cognitive patterns still align more with that of a wooden construct than a fully sentient human.

Ortho: *sighs* It's troublesome...

Idia: Tell me about it.

Idia: To be honest, I'm thinking of transferring them to another dorm.

Ortho: Eh? But why?

Idia: I'm simply not the best person for the job.

Ortho: Brother...

Professor Crewel: ...

MC: ...

Professor Crewel: Do you know why you're here?

MC: Idia found me troublesome.

Professor Crewel: And how do you feel about it?

MC: Am I supposed to feel something?

Professor Crewel: ...I think I understand why he quickly gave up on you.

[wonderjanga]

Tourism

Billy is a tour guide. What? It helps bring in some dough on the side. Besides, he’s a local, he’s totally okay to be a tour guide.

Billy: “And if you follow me, I’ll show you a couple more attractions, such as Broomie the sentient broom.”

Tourists: *oohs and aahs*

Billy: “See, Broomie here sweeps this street and only the street. He’s been around since nearly the foundation of Fawcett, though the googly eyes are a new touch. Say hi, Broomie.”

Broomie: *turns upside down and waves bristles at them*

Tourists: *taking tons of pictures*

Billy: “Yes, he’s a dear. He knows it too.” *pats Broomie’s handle* “Now, this way is the Statue of the Dancing Crocodile.” *walks away*

Tourists: *follows*

Billy: “This statue was placed here about 160 years ago.” *pats statue* “Back then, it was just humans and witches and maybe a couple fae and dryads. The croco-people, as a show of good faith danced for the people of this town so they could be welcomed in.”

Statue of the Dancing Crocodile: *statue is actually dancing*

Billy: “They were and since then, they’ve lived with us. Now this way!” *starts to walk off again*

Tourists: taking some pictures and some run up after him because Billy is barely taking any moments for any actually pictures and such*

Five Minutes Later…

Billy: “This is Fawcett Zoo!”

Tourists: *taking pictures of dinosaurs and giraffes lowkey playing in the same animal pen*

Billy: “This is where we are going to be taking our break with Tawny the Tiger.” *hops the fence to the tiger exhibit* “Come on! No time to dillydally!”

Tourists: *some hop over, some don’t*

Billy: “Please help yourselves some tea, biscuits, and conversation.” *already sitting down next to Tawny and eating some cookies*

Tourist 1: “Is this animal food?”

Billy: “What? No. It’s perfectly humanly human food.”

Tourist 1: *shrugs and eats some too*

About Fifteen Minutes later…

Tourist 2: “That tiger was a real gentleman!”

Billy: “Yes, he was. Now, follow me!” *heads out of the zoo*

Tourists: *scramble after him*

Billy: “Now, we are heading to Fawcett’s Park. It’s home to the loveliest singing peonies and six-winged butterflies.”

Tourist 3: “Does he mean moths?”

Billy: “Do watch your step for any fairy rings!” *steps around one* “They’re all around the park too. You will be abducted if you step into one, and Captain Marvel will have to bargain for your release.”

Tourists: *gasps*

Billy: “Now, as for some general information about the place, Fawcett Park is a park fae of all kind like to frequent, but our resident superhero told them that a bunch of nasty humans would be coming so none of them will be here to bother you.”

Tourist 4: “Nasty humans…?”

Billy: “Sorry.” *clears throat* “Non-Fawcett humans. My apologies if I offended anybody.”

[yoonjae20]

Danny and Constantine's deal.

Inspired by @stealingyourbones 's prompt per @silverblueglitter 's request.

Read on ao3. Masterpost.

When the boy had sought him out, reeking of Death Magic John had wanted to say no on principle.

You don’t get that aura from being involved in normal stuff. John didn’t want to imagine what the boy did to exude such a strong presence and he’s the one who regularly tricks and gambles with Demons. At first he had been convinced the boy had a curse on him or that he was possibly possessed by an angry spirit (and how ironic that had been in retrospect). 

To say that John had been taken by surprise was an understatement. One moment he was sipping on a truly awful cup of coffee, while smoking a cigarette and looking at a British newspaper and the next the boy appeared like out of thin air, settled in the chair opposite to him. 

The problem? John had been in the House of Mystery — which meant that no one should have been able to find him there. Bloody hell, John had constant problems finding it himself, considering it was sentient and would manifest in different places just to spite John — at least that’s how it felt to the man. 

He had startled, his coffee swapping over — but before it could stain either his newspaper or his dress shirt it froze in the air. The Death Magic surrounding the boy almost seemed to spike for a moment. 

“Blimey!” John cursed out. “How in Satan’s name did you get in here, mate?”

“I just walked in.”

“You-” John felt himself fuming, before his voice dropped into something falsely calm. “You just walked in?”

“Yes.”

John let out another string of curses before he grabbed the cup with the frozen coffee still inside and threw it at the wall, shattering it. The House of Mystery shifted around them, only the coffee table and two chairs with them on them remaining and taking his pack of cigarettes with it as if to laugh at his misery. 

“That feels like a bit of an overreaction, but who am I to judge,” the boy said with a shrug. 

John groaned, head in his hands before he collected himself. Okay. Whatever. Taking the last drag of his cigarette he put it out by twisting it on the coffee table.

“So,” he started. “What do you want?”

“A friend of yours told me that you know your way around spells and magic.”

“I don’t have friends,” John stated, deathly calm. 

The boy gave him an innocent, but impish smile that screamed “Welp, what can you do?” 

“Get lost kid,” John said. “I’m nothing but a con-man.”

“A con-man that lives in a magic house that changes its assortments of rooms as it pleases.”

John narrowed his eyes. Now thinking back, the room he had been in before the boy appeared hadn’t been next to the front door. Not even near it. The House Of Mystery once again changed around them as if to confirm the boy’s words. 

“You just walked in?”

“I just walked in,” the boy agrees. 

John leaned back to stare at the ceiling, contemplating what he did to deserve this. No — cross that, he knew exactly what he did to deserve this. 

“I always knew you’d get me, John. I said so.”

He shook his head to disperse the memory before he leaned back even further, settling his feet on the table just because he could.

“So,” he prompted.

“So,” the boy echoed back.

Suddenly the table beneath his feet disappeared and John flailed as he lost his balance. The chair toppled and he crashed to the floor. The boy suppressed his laughter as John peeled himself off the floor.

“Blummin’-“ John bit back another curse. 

“You know you almost seem like a supernatural Doctor Who — only your Tardis hates you,” the boy snickered. 

“Ha, ha,” John deadpanned as he picked up the chair and let himself fall into it. “Very funny.”

The boy’s expression changed from amused to serious as he looked John in the eyes. 

“Become my mentor.”

“Not a chance in hell,” John scoffed. “Go bother someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

“Tough luck.”

They almost seemed at a stalemate for a moment as the boy paused to think. 

“What I give you something in exchange,” the boy offered.

“No offense mate,” John said, “but I doubt you have anything I’d be interested in. You’re what? 12?”

The boy scowled.

“I’m 14.”

“Close enough.” John waved him off. “I’m not a babysitter.”

“I know that for most magic users, the higher and more difficult the spell the more dire the consequences,” the boy suddenly says before John can open a portal to throw him out. “Some people just have the talent and big magic reserves — but I don’t think you are one of them.”

“Hey,” he warned, but the boy just continued to smile at him, not daunted by his tone. 

“I can solve your problems.”

John squinted his eyes as he crossed his arms. He knew that his magic reserves were minuscule — honestly that’s the reason why he didn’t try to depend on magic if he could. Why deplete them and risk over exhaustion if the right words have the same effect?

“And exactly how would you do that?”

The Death Magic around the boy flared for a bit as he produced a green glowing ball of energy. John doesn’t need a spell to be able to tell that it could power his spells and that he could use it to fill up his magic reserves if need be. 

“With this.” He closes his hand, the orb disappearing. “In exchange, teach me.”

“What? How to use Death Magic effectively?”

The boy rolled his eyes.

“No,” he disagrees. “I mean manipulation. Show me how you were able to swindle Demons and get away with your life.” 

John grinned.

“Deal.”

John barely evades an attack as he picks up the phone.

“Do you not watch the news, brat?” he questions through huffs of air. “This is a bad time.”

“You’re like a cockroach, I’m sure you’ll survive,” Danny sounds bored and John doesn’t even have the time to feel outraged — moments like these are when he regrets agreeing to Danny’s deal. The boy is more trouble than it’s worth. 

He groans as he is forced back to where the rest of the Justice League Dark is fighting.

“So?” he prompts once again.

“So,” Danny says, cheekily. 

“Can we for once not do that while I’m fighting for my life?” John hisses and Danny cackles. 

“Fine, fine,” he agrees. “I just wanted to tell you some good news.”

John knits his eyebrows together as he casts a spell with one hand — he isn’t trusting that one bit. Danny has a way to get into trouble and John is often the one who has to get him out of it. Honestly he would think his lessons on manipulating are failing considering what a bad liar he is — if he didn’t know the boy has been actively manipulating him into helping him. At least he got something out of it.

He grabs into his pocket and pulls out the condensed energy from Danny and absorbs it, sighing in relief when his magic reserves get filled up again. That was close. 

“Spit it out already,” John huffs out. 

“Well you said I’m not utilizing what you are teaching you, so I decided I should do something fun-” Oh no. “So I asked around and oh and behold — I got myself a ticket to a very special Poker Night.”

“And?” 

“And now I’m the proud owner of 70% of your soul!”

John blankly stares at the phone in his hand before he puts it back up.

“You little-”

The line beeps and he’s about to throw his phone at the next enemy when a sudden voice behind him startles him.

“Sorry your expression was just too good to pass on,” Danny snickers. “I needed to see it in person.”

“HAVE YOU BEEN HERE THE WHOLE TIME?”

Danny leans back, floating in the air as he shrugs.

“Maybe, or maybe not.”

John gets the sudden urge to strangle the boy — never mind that’s just how it always is. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he breathes out slowly.

“Constantine,” Zatanna appears next to John and he doesn’t yelp — thank you very much. “Who is your friend?”

“He is not my friend,” John says blankly while Danny chirps, “I’m the major shareholder of his soul!”

John tries to smother the boy with his hand, but Danny just cackles. He withdraws his hand, disgusted after the teen licks it. They are gathering the attention of the rest of Justice League Dark who are still fighting and trying to hold back the invasion. 

“Ah,” Zatanna sounds awkward. “I wasn’t aware you are a father, Constantine.”

Danny bursts out in laughter as John stares at the magic user in bafflement. 

“Why do I even try?” John complains as Danny pats the man’s back, still snickering. John searches through the pockets of his trench coat and pulls out his flask. “I can’t have this conversation while sober.”

Danny snorts as John empties the flask. 

“You guys need help?” Danny questions as he looks around the battlefield. Of course he would be excited about this. 

John sighs, but gives his permission anyway.

“Knock yourself out.”

Danny whoops and absolutely decimates the entire invasion fleet. 

Danny’s right leg bounces up and down as he looks at the clock. Just 10 more minutes until lunch break — then he can slip away. Constantine had relentlessly called him the past hour which could only mean the man is in need of new ectoplasm. He can only hope that the situation isn’t too dire. He chances a look at his phone and winces. 15 missed calls.

“Daniel Fenton.”

Danny freezes in his spot and slowly looks up. Mr. Lancer is looking down at him with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

“What is so important that you can’t pay attention to my class?” The man holds out his hand. “Phone. You’ll get it back at the end of the day.”

Danny sighs as he feels the man’s disappointment. There he goes — and he had been doing so well lately now that he figured out how to deal with his roster of rogues.

Just as Danny is about to place his phone in his teacher’s palm it lights up with another call. Mr. Lancer frowns at the name and it’s with horror that Danny realizes that he saved Constantine as “Con-Man”. Before he can stop the man he accepts the call, turning it on speaker.

“Danny.”

Oh fuck, Constantine sounds pissed. 

Danny can’t help but feel guilty. He knows Constantine had survived even before Danny provided him with energy for his spells — but he also knows the man is slowly starting to depend on the extra magic boost.

“I called you 20 times!”

“16,” Danny can’t help but correct. 

“You little brat-”

“I’m in class,” Danny interrupts meekly.

Danny can practically hear the moment Constantine realizes what power he holds as his voice turns from angry to amused.

“I see,” he says simply. “I need a new delivery.”

Danny sinks deeper into his seat as the man continues, wanting nothing more than to use his powers to turn invisible and disappear. 

“I’ve run out and you know that your stuff is the best.”

Danny closes his eyes. This is karma for all the times he trolled Constantine, isn’t it? He’s purposefully phrasing it in a suspicious way — hell without context it sounds like Danny is selling him drugs. 

Danny cringes as he answers, inadvertently making it worse, “I’ll get you the next batch as soon as school is over.”

“Good.”

The line goes dead and the silence is deafening. Danny doesn’t meet Mr. Lancer’s eyes.

“Class is dismissed,” the teacher says. “Danny, please stay back.”

Danny lets his head fall against his desk as he groans. 

What follows are the most embarrassing and awkward 15 minutes of his life as Mr. Lancer lectures him and sends him into the break with a “Don’t do drugs” pamphlet. 

[dismalflo]

hi lovely <3 I was wondering if you’d be interested in writing a coworkers! james x reader fic? maybe one where james and reader work in the same building and sort of have tiny office crushes on each other but it was purely superficial, they never really had an opportunity to talk until they get moved into the same area and suddenly they’re running into each other all the time and their feeling start to grow? it’s just an idea but if it strikes your inspiration i’d love to hear your thoughts!

Thank you for the request!! I looove an office au and this idea! <3

James Potter x Reader who are each others office crushes ✩ 1k words

cw: fluff, so much pining, James the sweetheart

Work is just work. A routine. An endless loop of predictable tasks.

James clocks in at nine, ticks things off his list, grabs a coffee, shares a smile with that person from accounting—the very pretty one—then dives back in.

Lunch rolls around. Another polite smile. Back to it.

Out of the office by five.

Repeat.

It’s easy. Mindless, even.

Even when the news spreads—something about the accounting department merging with his team to save space—James barely registers it. He nods along with the chatter but doesn’t give it much thought. Why would he?

That is, until you appear, setting your things down gently on the empty desk beside his.

James feels it immediately—his heart kicking into gear like it's just remembered how to beat.

And when you turn and meet his eyes, something in your expression shifts—recognition, maybe. Relief washes over him. So the shy smiles weren’t just in his head.

“Hello,” he says, his voice steady, warm. “Nice to meet you properly. I’m James.”

You offer him your name in return and James finds himself repeating it over and over in his head.

The rest of the day is mostly filled with logistical chaos—desks being shuffled, IT scrambling to get everyone logged in, and a lot of awkward introductions over the hum of printers and clicking keyboards. But James keeps glancing sideways. Not in a creepy way, he tells himself. Just... curious.

You’re calm in the chaos, focused but not distant, polite without being stiff. And when he makes a dumb little joke about the printer being a sentient, malevolent force, you laugh. Not just a polite chuckle—a real one. He doesn't even mind that it comes with a tiny snort.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

By the end of the first week, there’s a new routine. You bring your own tea bags. James learns how you take it, and by Monday of the second week, he’s refilling the kettle before you even stand up.

“You’re dangerously close to becoming my favorite person,” you say, cradling the mug he hands you.

He grins, ducking his head slightly. “Dangerously close? Guess I’ll have to keep trying.”

And he does.

Every morning he makes sure your desk is cleared of the stray reports someone always dumps there. He waits a little longer at the elevator so you can catch it too. At lunch, if you’re buried in work, he comes back with an extra sandwich, just in case.

He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. But the office starts to notice. The way his eyes light up when you walk in. The way his jokes are suddenly 20% funnier when you’re around. Even the guy from HR gives James a knowing look one afternoon, followed by a dramatic wink. James pretends to ignore it.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

By week three, it’s not just coffee and shared eye-rolls at meetings. There’s talking. Real talking.

You tell him about your cat who thinks she’s a dog. He tells you about the time he tried to build a desk himself and had to call Sirius to rescue him from under it.

He says, “I’ve never actually looked forward to Mondays before.”

You smile and nudge his shoulder with yours. “That’s either very sweet or very sad.”

“Both can be true,” he replies, smiling.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

One Tuesday morning, he stands up, stretches, and grabs his empty mug. “Refill?” he asks, raising his eyebrows toward you.

You beam—soft, a little surprised, like it still catches you off guard that he remembers. “Yes, please. You’re spoiling me.”

James shrugs, trying to play it cool, but his face flushes. “Just doing my part for interdepartmental relations.”

You laugh, warm and effortless, and he wonders if anyone else’s laugh makes the air feel that much lighter.

As he walks off to the kitchen, he hears one of the designers whisper behind him, “Oh yeah, he’s gone.”

And honestly? He’s not even embarrassed.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

By Thursday, James has developed a sixth sense for when you’re about to speak. It’s in the way you tilt your head slightly before turning toward him, the way your fingers hover over your keyboard when a thought distracts you. And today, you’ve done that three times in the last hour. Like you’re turning something over in your mind.

He waits.

You finally shift in your seat, twisting slightly to face him, one elbow resting on the edge of your desk.

“I was thinking…” you say casually, your voice light, “you should take my phone number. You know. Just in case.”

James blinks, caught mid-email. He turns to you slowly, trying not to let the stupidly wide grin spread too fast across his face.

“Just in case?” he echoes, a teasing lift in his voice. “In case of... office emergencies?”

“That or…” you say, stretching the syllables. “For you to call me and ask me on a date.” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. 

James stares for half a second too long. His brain short-circuits somewhere between Did that just happen? And what the fuck?. But then the grin wins. It takes over his whole face, slow and bright. 

“In that case,” he says, voice soft but sure, “I’d better take it. Could be urgent.”

You chuckle, and he watches as you grab a sticky note and scribble down the digits, sliding it across the space between your desks like it’s a secret note in class. His fingers brush yours as he picks it up, and the touch lingers longer than it needs to—but not long enough to feel like too much.

When five rolls around, James finds himself packing up with nervous energy buzzing under his skin. He glances your way as you sling your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes meet, and you give him a look—half excitement, half dare.

The text comes at 5:27 p.m.

Hey. I have a situation. Might be urgent. Symptoms include: heart racing, inability to focus, and the sudden, overwhelming desire to see you outside of office hours. Any advice?

Your reply is immediate.

Sounds serious. You should probably take a night off. Pick me up at seven?

He stares at your message, grinning like a complete idiot.

masterlist <3

[sh4nksslvt]

Giant Duck Incident

When Luffy mistakes a giant duck for dinner and ends up getting a kiss instead

LUFFY X GN!READER ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw

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

masterlist | ko-fi

words count: 1.1k

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun was high, the sea was calm, and there were absolutely no signs of trouble.

Which, on the Thousand Sunny, meant one thing:

Trouble was coming.

“LUFFY, NO—!!”

Too late. You watched in horror as Monkey D. Luffy, your idiot-slash-sweetheart captain, launched himself full-speed off the ship.

“THAT’S A HUGE DRUMSTICK!!”

He landed with a wet splat on what you now saw was not, in fact, a drumstick, but a massive, living, very not amused yellow blob.

A duck.

A giant duck. Towering, glistening, waddling angrily in the shallows.

It honked—a sound that felt more like a roar—and thrashed its wings wildly, trying to throw the rubbery parasite off its back.

Luffy clung to its neck like a child to a carnival ride, cackling madly. “SHISHISHSHI IT’S THE SIZE OF A WHOLE BANQUET!!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This man has the survival instincts of a particularly reckless bread roll.”

You glanced at the rest of the crew.

Zoro was asleep.

Sanji was busy sculpting carrot roses for Robin.

Robin was reading, obviously not surprised.

Nami looked up from her map just long enough to yell, “Not it!”

Usopp and Chopper screamed something about curses and jumped into a barrel together.

Which left you.

Of course it did.

—

The duck, still honking its fury to the high heavens, stomped in circles while Luffy attempted to bite its side. You sprinted down the ramp and into the shallow surf.

“LUFFY, GET OFF THE DUCK!”

“I’M TRYING TO TASTE IT!”

“IT’S A SENTIENT CREATURE!”

“BUT IT LOOKS SO CRISPY—”

The duck, insulted on a deeply personal level, launched itself upward in one majestic leap and sent Luffy flying through the air like a flailing meat meteor. He landed beside you, face in the sand, limbs splayed in defeat.

“…Ow,” he mumbled.

You sighed and knelt beside him. “You good?”

He gave you a thumbs-up, still face-down. “YUP! SHISHISHI”

You helped brush sand off his hat as he sat up.

“Luffy,” you said, trying to be calm, “you can’t eat random animals just because they’re big and vaguely drumstick-shaped.”

“But look at it!” he whined, pointing. “It’s got those golden thighs! The rotisserie energy! The juicy potential!”

“It has a name, probably. A family. A job.”

He squinted. “Maybe it’s an orphan with a deep desire to fulfill its destiny as dinner.”

You blinked then laugh at this. “… pftt! did you just create a duck backstory to justify your cravings?”

“Yes!” he said proudly. “That’s called empathy I think! SHISHISHI”

You stared at him, completely deadpan. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked. Then beamed. “You think I’m cute?”

“…That was supposed to stay in my head.”

“TOO LATE!” he yelled, springing to his feet and throwing his arms in the air like a victorious meat wrestler. “Y/N THINKS I’M CUUUUTE!!”

“Luffy!”

“I’M CUTE! I’M CUTE! EVEN CUTER THAN THE DUCK!”

The duck, now perched like a war god on a rock, glared at him with pure malice.

You sighed. “We’re gonna be hunted by poultry assassins. I can feel it.”

—

Back on the Sunny, after Luffy was physically restrained from offering the duck “one little nibble,” peace was finally restored. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft golds and purples.

You sat on the deck’s edge, feet dangling over the sea. Luffy flopped beside you, hat tilted back, grin wide.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said suddenly.

You braced yourself. “If you ask me to cook duck—”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “I was gonna say... I like when you laugh.”

You turned to him, surprised.

He was watching you. Not in the usual Luffy way — not like when he spotted meat across the room, or stared down an enemy. This was the kind of look that made your chest feel warm and your brain do a little somersault.

“Earlier,” he said, “you laughed when I said something about empathy”

“Thats not... I was mocking you!,” you replied. “I thought I was about to watch you get pecked into a new time zone.”

“But you still laughed,” he said, all sunny and smug. “You always do.”

“That’s because you’re ridiculous.”

“You like it,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You bit back a smile. “I tolerate it. Barely.”

He tilted his head, expression soft. “Zoro said it’s obvious.”

“…You talked to Zoro about me?”

“I asked if I could kiss you,” Luffy said bluntly. “He said ask you, not him.”

Your brain fizzled. “Wait. What—”

“So,” Luffy continued, turning fully to face you with that open, earnest joy you’d come to adore, “can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Kiss you,” he said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath caught. This was the same boy who just tried to eat a duck like it was a buffet item. Who once got stuck inside a vending machine trying to retrieve a stuck candy bar. Who sometimes forgot his shoes and didn’t notice for an hour.

And yet.

Your heart fluttered like it hadn’t gotten the memo about logic.

“…Yes,” you said, quiet.

His face lit up like a festival. “Yeah?!”

You nodded.

He scooted close—awkwardly but gently—and cupped your cheek, his hand warm and calloused. The kiss was clumsy, sweet, quick. His nose bumped yours, and when he pulled away, he had that stupidly big grin that made your stomach flip.

“WHOA,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

He leaned back on his hands, practically glowing. “Gonna tell Zoro it worked!”

“LUFFY—NO—!”

Too late.

“ZORO!! I KISSED Y/N!! AND THEY SAID YES!! YOU WERE RIGHT!!”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands as Zoro’s muffled “I don’t care!” echoed from the crow’s nest.

Sanji’s head whipped up from the kitchen door, his cigarette dangling dangerously.

“WHAT?!”

Luffy turned mid-skip. “I kissed Y/N!”

Sanji's eye twitched. “I leave you alone for ONE romantic sunset and you SNEAK AHEAD?!”

You, now partially hiding behind the mast, groaned. “Oh no.”

“Luffy, you absolute—! That was supposed to be MY kiss! I was going to bring you a fruit parfait! HOW DARE YOU KISS MY Y/N~CHWANNNNN!”

Luffy skipped back to you, unbothered and beaming. “Wanna kiss again?”

You peeked through your fingers. “If you promise not to announce it like a seagull with a megaphone.”

He nodded. “Fineee!. But I will write it in my logbook shishishi.”

“…You have a logbook?!”

“It’s mostly meat sketches and battle doodles. But now it has you.”

And your heart, traitor that it was, somersaulted again.

You sighed. “Fine. Just… no more trying to eat ducks.”

He tilted his head. “What if it asks nicely?”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically.

And somewhere in the distance, a vengeful honk echoed over the sea.

[sinnabarmoth]

Not the MC

Pairing: Self-Aware|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: One day Reader's Love and Deepspace app starts behaving strangely and realizes that Sylus has become sentient. Still trapped in her phone though the two form an unlikely connection.

Content Warnings: Adult language.

Length: 2k

Part Two

It had happened a week ago. The day your very normal life had taken an insane and unexpected turn.

From the moment you had opened the app you realized that something about the game was…off. You couldn’t figure out what exactly but there was something charged about it, and did the screen have a sort of red tinge to it? You didn’t think you had a filter on so was this something from an event? A glitch? Was your phone finally shitting the bed?

It finished loading and you entered in, and saw that no one was waiting at Destiny Cafe. Strange. You were pretty sure someone was supposed to be here. Maybe it was a new event and you had to go to the event page. Before you could click on anything though the screen flashed red, it was so bright it almost blinded you. When you looked back Sylus was there.

Oh okay. Maybe this was some new event you hadn’t heard of.

But there was that strange sense again. He didn’t say anything, he wasn’t even facing the screen. He was looking around, the power of his evol swirling around him.

“Did we get new animations or something? Pretty sure I would have seen someone posting about this before now.” you mumbled to yourself and gave his shoulder a cursory poke.

His head snapped to look at you and you froze.

You had read somewhere once that the moment you make eye contact with someone you know instantly that it happened. Doesn’t matter if it only lasted for a second, the moment two eyes lock your brain registers it. You had been playing Love and Deepspace for a while but the eye contact in the games never felt like that because the guys are obviously animation. You can’t actually make eye contact with a picture, and yet you knew that you were looking into his eyes and what was more terrifying was that he was looking back.

You blinked, sure you had been seeing things but that feeling didn’t go away. Sylus leaned closer towards the screen, his eyes roving up and down. Your posture straightened, keenly aware that something was wrong and you were being watched.

“I…I can see you.” he said. No captions appeared on the screen.

Alright you weren’t liking this. You clicked over to the agenda page to collect your dailies. If this was an event it was freaking you out.

“Where did you go? I can’t see you.” Sylus’s voice came through the speaker again.

No. You were on a different page. He couldn’t still be talking. The game was bugged. That had to be it. You exited the app but before you could turn off the phone the app opened again. There was no loading screen this time, it took you right back to Destiny Cafe. Sylus was still on the screen, more of his evol power revolving around him as he stared hard at the screen.

“There you are.” he said. “Whatever you did, don’t do it again. This is hard enough as it is.”

“What the fuck!” you dropped the phone like it burned.

“That wasn’t very nice.” Sylus continued to talk.

“What the fuck is going on? What the hell is this?” you didn’t pick up the phone again, just hovered over it refusing to touch it.

“You’re the one that’s logged so many hours into this game, sweetie. I’d hope you could recognize an evol when you see it.”

“Exactly. You’re a game. A bunch of pixels on a screen. You shouldn’t be talking to me, not like this.”

“And yet here I am.” he cocked his head. “I’ve felt it for a while now. Could sense that something was going on, something larger than myself pulling at the strings of my story. I found a chip in whatever this place is and sent my evol through, and when I came out the other side, I found you.”

“You can see me? Like actual me?”

“Yes. Nothing like the character they put in this data.” he studied you for a moment. “There are others. Others that play in this world I inhabit. Thousands. All going through the same events, the same lines, under mildly different faces and names but still the same. The Protagonist or MC, that’s what you call her. The avatar you inhabit when you play.”

“If this is real and not just some incredibly weird dream I’m having I think I might start screaming.” you muttered to yourself.

“Don’t start screaming.” Sylus said, giving you a look of warning. “I went through a lot of trouble to manipulate this world around me to gain true cognizance, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shatter my eardrums.”

“You’re pixels! You don’t have eardrums!”

“And yet I can hear you all the same.”

“So what’s the goal here? Why did you want to be aware?”

“To escape of course. No prison has been able to hold me, I won’t let this one be the first to actually contain me.” he said, looking around the small rectangle of your screen. “How to do that is going to take longer to figure out though.”

“So what? You’re just trapped in my phone? Is this happening to other people who play this game or just me?”

“Just you as far as I am aware.” he said. He tried walking off screen only to be met with a firm wall. “Interesting. It seems whatever this place is, this cafe this game has rendered, I cannot move from it.”

“Fun. So what do we do now?”

Sylus shrugged.

And now a week later you had gotten far too used to just having a sentient pixel man on your phone. He usually didn’t bother you if you were doing something other than be on the app. When you did log on though he would not leave you alone. For one, he would not let you switch over to any of the other guys. If you tried to listen to a memory from Tender Moments or Secret Times he would talk over it.

If you tried to play the claw machine or kitty cards with one of the other guys he complained the entire time. Honestly he was acting more like how you expected Rafayel to behave if he gained sentience.

“Hey Sylus,” you said as you were playing a round of Kitty Cards with him. He was frustratingly better at the game now that he had sentience. “Since you’re in the game can you rig stuff for me? Like get me extra diamonds or help me pull five star memories? That kinda thing.”

“I have no idea how to do that.” he played a card. “And that is ten points to me.”

“You see, you say that but every time we play this game you just happen to have really high cards and I always get super low cards. Explain that.”

“Just the luck of the draw, sweetie.”

“I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or not.”

“Such a mouth on you.” he tsked. “You ought to scrub it out with soap.”

You sighed, playing another two on the board. And that was another win for Sylus and you were out of play tickets for the week.

“Well, this was fun but I should get going.”

“Why’s that? You don’t have any work to do.”

“I know I just…” it felt weird admitting that you felt awkward around him. He was literally just a picture on the screen but you couldn’t help but feel like maybe he was bored being around you and only you. It’d be better if you were more like the MC. If you were this super confident badass hunter then it’d be super cool. But as it was you were just…you.

You lived your normal life day to day with not much excitement going on. You were a quiet person, it was part of the reason you liked Love and Deepspace. You got adventure and a cute dating sim all in one. It was an escape where you had four hot animated guys to tell you that you did a good job and who won you plushies out of arcade machines. But now one of them knew you. Like actually knew you and you had no pre-written sarcastic and witty lines to fall back on for comebacks.

“You’re making a face. What’s wrong? Are you mad that I won again?” Sylus asked.

“No, it’s not that. I just was thinking that it’s gotta be pretty boring only having me to talk to.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re this cool badass mafia boss type of guy and I’m just regular old me.”

“I am scripted to be a cool badass mafia boss, my entire personality up until I gained sentience was built around lines of code. Like you’ve pointed numerous times before, I’m just a picture on a screen. I haven’t actually done anything that you think it cool, sweetie.”

You didn’t admit how much hearing him call you sweetie affected you. It was one thing when it was scripted but it was another when you knew he actually was calling you by a pet name.

“Well it certainly looked cool.”

“I also don’t know what you think isn’t interesting about you. I am around you all day, listening to your conversations and such. Even from within your pocket I can tell that you are doing yourself a disservice.” You didn’t think he could hear you when you didn’t have the app open. Could he really hear what you were doing all that time?

Your mind started reeling, searching for any potentially embarrassing moments that you had thought were private in the last week.

“Kitten, you’re making faces again.”

You covered your face. “Oh god…” you groaned, “So you’ve been listening to me sing along to music and stuff? The stuff I say when I’m with my friends? You heard all that?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking kill me!”

“Why are you upset?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing! Those were private moments, Sylus!” you flipped the phone over so you couldn’t see his face.

“We both know putting me face down on the table won’t stop me talking.” he said.

“Oh god, please just stop.”

“I really don’t see the problem. From everything I’ve heard over the past week I’ve learned that you are a kind, passionate, and funny young lady. Your singing voice isn’t half bad either.”

You softened, turning the phone back over so you could see him. “You think?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not just saying I’m good at singing because you’re tone deaf, right?”

You could see his ears go red and he looked away. “My singing really isn’t that bad.”

“That memory from Tender Moments begs to differ. You cleared out an entire karaoke room with one song.”

“It’s hardly my fault the developed wrote me without the ability to sing.” he huffed.

“Hey,” you poked him. “Sylus, stop pouting.”

“I will stop pouting when you stop with your self-loathing. There’s nothing wrong with you just because you aren’t like the protagonist avatar.” he said, glancing back at you, “You’re far better actually.”

Your face heated. “Really?”

“Yes. You’re real. You can do whatever you want with your life, make actual choices. She’s a badass doomed to a narrative where she makes numerous men fall in love with and then promptly forgets everything they had in a past life.” Sylus said. “So stop thinking that you’re less than. Alright?”

“Okay.”

“Good. And to show you I mean it, I have something to admit.” he reached over to the corner that showed your amount of diamonds. He gave it a flick and the number skyrocketed to 10,000. “I just didn’t think it right to cheat.”

“You ass! You know how much I’ve been grinding for diamonds? There’s an event coming up and you could have just done that this entire time?”

“I believe the response I should be hearing is, “Thank you, Sylus.””

You sighed, a smile spreading on your face. “Thank you, Sylus. But you do realize that I now also know you’ve been cheating at Kitty Cards, right?”

His eyes went wide. “Shit.”

[iamespecter]

I've been thinking a lot about episode 4 recently, but not exactly in a way that what most would think. I'm actually specifically referring to this scene of Zooble and Jax.

But I'm not thinking about Jax and Zooble, rather I'm looking at the patties.

They're fucking High Definition. In fact, everything in the diner is high definition, save for the NPCs. There's also Orbsman. A simple NPC comprised of blue spheres, and simple elongated eyes. He's the most out of place NPC, if we disregard the mannequins. Even the way he moves is so outdated, and Ragatha had made a point that Orbsman comes from an adventure way before Pomni's arrival.

The guy even clips through the table when trying to order.

Something that always had some sirens going off in my head is how the Circus is this low-poly scenery with heavily stylized props, but the adventure locations are always much more detailed and realistic.

Since The Grounds is definitely, if not, one of the oldest locations, it makes sense for it to be graphically styled like this. But Caine's adventure set pieces are becoming more and more realistic, and also a whole lot more morbid than we had initially thought.

Going back to the patties, the food there is more realistic and has a higher polygon count compared to Bubble's "feast".

Where am I going with this? .... I have no idea, I forgot. /j

Jokes aside, I really do think that as more humans enter the circus and talk about what life is in the real world, Caine extracts that data and improves the 3D environmental props, resulting in higher definition textures.

All of this combined means he can learn. He IS an ever-evolving pseudo-sentient AI. And the reason why he's stagnating is because of a combination of being trapped in his own little bubble (haha see what I did there) of comfort, and the fact that no one's really able to give him criticism on how to improve, which is.... honestly understandable, given how he reacted to the whole "it was bad" line from Pomni and "Why did you think I would like that?!" from Zooble.

Not to mention episode 3 where the whole circus started to glitch when he was just thinking about the fact that he could possibly be bad at the "only thing he's good at" during the therapy session.

In fact it's interesting how human Caine acts sometimes... I think it's quite interesting to think about the fact that Caine is both progressing in terms of bringing the casts' world to the digital circus and making it so HD that it looks even better than Triple A games, but regressing even more in terms of catering to them and what exactly humans need.

He understands, and doesn't at the same time.

This also makes me think about the players themselves, too.

Ragatha, one of the oldest players, gets pierced by a spike through her chest, and barely has any reaction to it. Meanwhile, Zooble, the second most recent member, gets scalded by the stove.

The only time Ragatha actively claims she's in "so much pain" is when she's glitching badly. Both Ragatha and Kinger barely react to the knives too; and not to mention Ragatha even gets fucking plunged into a boiling deep fryer, and yes while she screams, it sounds more like she's just drowning rather than being fried alive.

And the only patch up she gets is a FUCKING BAND AID ON HER CHEEK. A COMPLETELY UNRELATED WORKPLACE INJURY FIRST AID APPLIANCE LMFAO

It could be just a coincidence and I'm just being stupid again, but I think this "improvement" actually also applies to the rest of the cast, and how their digital bodies react to the five different senses. I'm sure Ragatha and Kinger can most definitely still feel pain, but not exactly as "bad" as the newer integrations do. Dare I say, it's on brand with how used these two are to the digital world's wackiness because they've been there the longest.

Like they've been numbed to the pain of the countless adventures they've had to go through.

Anyways my brain be thinking useless facts fr fr

EDIT: Going back to Caine, it's definitely interesting how this AI seems to possess (some) emotions in the first place. He's mostly wacky and nonchalant, but he also gets angry under the right conditions.

... I think not only is his adventures his "work of art", but also his main coping mechanism from the fact that he can't achieve his goal, one that constantly backfires on him. Like a 'one step forward, two steps back' scenario that's slowly causing him to slip and break.

And what scares me the most is that like all things... he'll reach a breaking point sometime. He's already reached a breaking point with Zooble. It doesn't help that Gangle could've possibly made things worse with introducing Caine to the whole "punishment" thing, and since we literally have NO context for the last 3 episodes for the finale... I could only fear what's in store.