#Cranium Entertainment

[bitchimasnake-sss]

hello oml i luv ur writing, i’m feeling kind of angsty tonight so i wanted to request a monster trio and fem reader where they get caught cheating and then like beg for her (love when men beg!) but the reader doesn’t take them back >:0

it's the way i know these men will never cheat so i had such a hard fucking time writing this out (hence its trash) but ask and it shall be delivered (can you tell im a people pkeaser? yes or yes?)

also, so sorry it took me forever to write this out!!!

"i wish i never met you" ft. the monster trio!

ft. luffy, zoro, sanji x fem!reader

set-up: angst, thats it thankyou (thanks to anon for the idea!!)

warnings: i tried writing angst (and miserably failed), 'nuff said; also loads and loads of cursing im sorry (also couldn't write anything for sanji im so sorry)

luffy:

- "luffy?" your voice comes out as a meek whisper, blending into the night air as you see your boyfriend kissing another woman's neck in the middle of the bar - to be fair, you were on a break. you had asked him for some space but that was less than 24 hours ago and now you saw the captain of your crew entertaining a woman in his lap - "yn?" his eyes dart over to you and there's heavy guilt in his voice but you're turning away, walking away from the man you had come to win back he's running after you, his hands outstretched to catch you in your stride - "yn" he says again as he turns you to face him - a faint humming and thumping ran rampant against your cranium, visioning blurring, throat constricting till every breath felt like concrete against your burning chest - he looked guilty. the usually happy-go-lucky man seemed as though he was about to fall apart. his eyes were wide, laced with vague uncertainty and fear; his voice trembled, words faltering at the tip of his tongue as if a cursed melody - "i cannot believe you, luffy" your voice kissed your ears in a tremble as you're surprised that you can still speak, "fuck, i mean i thought you fucking loved me?" "it's not what- i do. i do, i love you." he sucks in a breath, eyes closing with great strain, "yn, its not. it's ussop, he suggested-" - ussop "suggested"???? "are you for real?" you scoff and feel the soft tears cascade down your cheeks, "ussop said shit and you decided to go fuck some random fucking woman?" - you're turning your back at him again but he pulls you towards him till your face is against his chest and his fingers interweave with your hair; you shouldn't like this. you shouldn't relish in his familiar warmth and smell and you shouldn't want to hug him when he presses a chaste kiss against your temple. you shouldn't listen to him when he says "trust me, i love you so much please" - he cheated on you, godfuckingdammit. - and he saw no problems with it till you showed up and caught him in his little fucking act. - he doesn't get to cheat on you a day after you guys went on break and then fucking have the audacity to hold you close to him as if the blood wasn't on his hands, as if he wasn't the one ruining it all. - as if he wasn't the one planning to fuck a woman tonight and return to your warm embrace tomorrow as if it never happened. - "let me go" your voice was eerily calm against his futile apologies "what? yn, no, it was a kiss i promise just one fucking ki-" "luffy, let go." - so he did - your vision blurred, your breath hitched and you walked away. you walked away from arms that had been your home on cold mornings, from eyes that traced over your face with love, from that faint smell of coconuts and a bright smile. - how can you be homesick when he was the one who wrecked it all? - but he let you go, so, you walked away.

zoro:

- somehow, you saw it all play out and now here you were, looking like the fool - fuck, how naïve were you? didn't you notice it when his touches became faint, his hands only finding yours if he had to fuck out some frustrations; his smiles became a rare occurrence. didn't you notice when he relied more on a bottle of sake than you? so fucking naïve. - you couldn't stand this party. all your friends were busy mingling with the other pirate fleet and your boyfriend had disappeared an hour into this stupid event (maybe he was passed out somewhere after drinking too much), so what were you to do except escaping into your room and spending the night away all alone? - but you could hear moaning from outside the door, faint screeches and curses. but most importantly, you could hear your own boyfriend's voice repeating the same phrases so sacred to you - opening the door with the key you had, you walked into the scene - the blood rushed into your ear and suddenly every little jolt of the sunny made you feel like you would throw up. the world swayed under your feet as you took in the tangle of limbs that lay in front of you - "zo? zoro?" "yn- fuck, what the fuck" he was frozen, the other woman covering herself in your sheets, snuggling against your boyfriend in your room. - you were gonna be fucking sick. - "yn, what are you- doing here, i-" his voice trembled, eyes darting between you and the floor, avoiding your scorching gaze. - "are you fucking kidding me?" to your surprise, a small laugh escaped you despite the shock and the dew clinging onto your lashline. you repeated, as if unaware you had already spoken once, "you have to be fuckin' kidding me, fucking christ zoro." "i can expain, ple-" he got off the bed, putting on his pants and the other woman used the opportunity to pick up her dress and slip out "explain? explain to me how you fucked that woman?" you seethed, the words lingering on your tongue like a bitter aftertaste. - his hands over his eyes, he paced around, "yn just lis-" "no fucking go ahead." the tear streaks glided past your cheek, burning as they dripped off your chin and onto the hardware flooring, "explain to me how you fucked her, did you do it the same way you fuck me? was it good? did she-" - his tone shifted, as if resentment deep within boiled to the surface, "why do you fucking care now? huh?" "why dO I CARE? ZORO CAN YOU HEAR YOURSELF? YOU FUCKED ANOTHER WOMAN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME AND-" "AND WHAT?" his voice softened when you flinched at the sudden high tone, "and fucking what yn? i've been nothing but fucking miserable and you could barely notice" "I DID NOTICE. I DID FUCKING NOTICE AND WH-what- i tried everything. i tried to make you happy but you being miserable was enough reason for you to ch- fucking cheat on me?" your voice trembled, tears pouring down and chest heaving. - as if the gravity of the situation weighed in on his all at once, his face contorted till all he could display was sheer, stark guilt "i- fuck" he took a step towards you, arm outstretched as if to pull you towards him - but you took a step back - "yn" he whispered, "i dont know why i- fuck, why did i fucking do that? im sorry, listen to me im sorry-" "you're sorry?" you scoffed, "take that sorry and shove it up your fucking ass" - with that, you were gone. finding yourself back at the party, gulping down pint after pint of booze till you woke up with a hammering headache and a pair of foreign arms wrapped around your torso - and when you turned to look at it, you missed the familiar green locks of hair - but fuck roronoa zoro, right?

sanji:

- im so so so so so sorry but i cannot write anything for this man. if he's with you, he's down bad.

[ovaryacted]

Ok giving Leon a head while we're on our period? That's hot af girl <3

MDNI/18+. NSFW

I don’t know why the phrase “that’s hot af girl” made me laugh when I first saw this but yeah, I think it’s just a thought I had that would be a possibility. Overall, I don’t think Leon is the type of guy to ask for sex either (unless he’s very pathetic and needy and just can’t help himself). But when it comes to you on your cycle, he’s especially considerate and does things on your terms, as he always does.

He’s a sweetheart and a gentleman through and through, and if you ask for him to be a little handsy or rougher with you in the bedroom he’s willing to accommodate. When your cycle hits, he’s gentle, careful not to squeeze or touch you too much unless you ask. Focusing on tending to your needs, he feeds you, comforts you, and is intent on keeping you occupied as a distraction from your cramps. He likes cradling your head as you rest on his lap on the couch, watching some reality TV show you’re both binging.

It’s relaxing and calm, but his touches also make your body tingle. Your period made you hypersensitive to things like certain scents and materials, hence why you mostly wear baggy cotton clothes when you’re on your cycle. Leon touching you also falls under that umbrella, and you quickly go from wanting comfort to craving something else.

Rubbing yourself against his lap, you hum as he massages a certain spot at the top of your head, his thick thumbs pressing into your cranium so deliciously it is enough to make you want more. Unintentionally, your mouth started to water at the thought of having him in your mouth, mind growing distant and no longer paying attention to the show on the screen. Discretely, you press your cheek closer to his pelvis, your nose almost against his crotch.

“Want something?”, he’s coy when he asks you, as if he doesn’t already know what you were thinking. This was just his way of checking in on you, making sure you were alright. Your eyes looked up to him, his hand caressing your cheek and keeping you right where you were.

“Really want to suck your dick”, the vulgarity of your words makes him genuinely laugh, deep from within his chest. It takes him off guard sometimes, but it also turns him on just enough to entertain you, his cock already twitching in his sweats.

“Go ahead, baby. Take what you need”, in his mind, he’s doing it more for your pleasure than his own, wanting to cater to your desires and curb your oral fixation. Anything you want, he’ll gladly provide, and more.

That’s how Leon found himself in this position, keeping your hair out of your face as you sucked him off. It’s like you’re giving him something new to watch, your spit dribbling out of your mouth and making a mess underneath you. Your jaw was growing sore from how hard you were working over him, slippery hands twisting his length as your tongue circled the very tip of him. The show was quickly forgotten, his entire focus now on how your mouth felt, moaning under his breath with every tug you gave him.

“Yeah, this is what you needed, right sweetheart? Just something to keep your mouth busy?”, his voice dropped an octave, no longer holding the mellow baritone you were used to but more gravelly than before.

You offered him a hum, pulling your lips off of him before going to lick at his balls, something that made him groan even louder. Hell if you asked for it, he’d happily fuck your throat, he was very close to doing it but not without your say. Instead, he lets you use him to your heart’s content, quickly turning into a mess of drool as you work faster over him.

His hips shift upward in a gentle motion, bringing your attention back to the tip of his cock. Moving away from his balls, you slip him back into your waiting mouth, nuzzling your nose into his pelvis until you were deep-throating him, audibly gagging from the force of it and Leon’s ears perked up at the sound.

You didn’t plan on stopping until he spilled his cum deep down your throat, or stains your pretty face with his spend. Leon wants to see that wide-crazed smile you give him after you finish him off, your eyes all glazed over and satisfied with your work. He knows you’d rather have him fuck you properly, slipping him inside your tight wet body and keeping him snug there until you wanted him to leave. But for now, this was enough for you, and if you wanted more, Leon would be quick to oblige. He doesn’t mind getting a little messy anyway, it’s what makes things fun.

[fallengrvity]

KISSING IN THE RAIN

egon spengler masterlist. ✴︎ egon spengler 𝑥 gender neutral!reader.

synopsis. You and Egon get caught in the rain, so you two entertain yourselves while you wait.

contents. Fluff, all fluff. Kissing (maybe heated, the demons got to me (so this fic may be up to your interpretation)). Established relationship. It’s implied that reader encountered a ghost. Egon hardly speaks in this… The other customers at the restaurant do NOT exist. Ghostbusters II reference, I couldn’t help myself. No use of Y/N.

word count. 576

notes. egon is so beautiful 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭egon 😢😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭. I’m honestly proud of the gif. But this ficlet? Not so much. I had to force myself to finish this.

“It’s raining? Seriously?”

Egon looked up and saw you staring out the window, a dissatisfied look on your face as you watched it rain outside.

“It won’t be long,” said Egon, looking back down at the check. Egon had took you out on a date, and he decided to pay. You couldn’t complain, he insisted. When he asked you out on a date, you could tell he was quite nervous, and indeed he was. Though, you were happy about it - ecstatic even. You couldn’t help but squeal. Who would blame you? A ghostbuster, Egon Spengler to be specific, asking you out on a date. It was a dream come true, really.

You exhale through your nose as you lean back in your chair. “I hope so.” You say, looking back at Egon. “But I enjoyed tonight very much, Egon. Thank you.”

You could see a quirk of the unseen smile peak at the corner of Egon’s mouth.

It wasn’t long until you two were now outside of the restaurant, standing underneath the canopy. Egon stood to your left, his hand placed on your back — his hand felt like it belonged on your back.

You both stood there for the next five minutes, gentle smiles on your face, any future plans for the day completely forgotten. You much preferred to bask in Egon’s presence and chat about everything and nothing for as long as you can.

“I think what you do is pretty great,” you speak up. Egon looks down at you. “Saving people from ghosts, saving… me.” Your tongue peeked out to nervously lick your lips, only now realizing that Egon’s other hand was holding onto yours.

His gaze seemed calculated as he stared at you, and you wondered if he could hear your heart practically beating out of your chest. You place your free hand on your chest and as you open your mouth to say something, his lips met yours.

His lips trembled, but you couldn’t blame him, you were quite nervous yourself. You could feel him pull away, but you didn’t want this to end, freeing his tie from his vest and pulling him closer.

He let out a noise of surprise, arms coming to wrap around your waist, you both accidentally slam into the wall and getting some rain on you in the process, but a little rain wouldn’t hurt anybody.

You both only separated to take a quick breath before you reached your free hand up, tangling your fingers in Egon’s curls. He was more confident this time, gently tugging your bottom lip. For all the sweets he had tasted, he thought you tasted better. He thought he could just be satisfied here, his hands squeezing your waist and your hands digging into his scalp, which was now slightly wet due to the rain.

He was about to pull you closer until a siren suddenly went off, causing you two to pull apart.

“Hey, Egon. How was your date?”

Egon spun around and was greeted with the sight of Peter grinning at him. You peeked out from behind him, raising an eyebrow. You were slightly annoyed from the interruption.

“I bet they really dig that large cranium of yours, hm?” said Peter.

You let out a noise of surprise as you look away. Egon gave Peter a look, before he helps you over to the ecto-1, being quick so you two won’t end up getting soaked in the rain.

You thought the date went well.

EGON SPENGLER / GHOSTBUSTERS TAGLIST. @fisgla @044s @egonspenglerishot

[corollaservant]

The Host // Chrollo x f!Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Chrollo likes you, you remind him of someone he knows. Better yet, you might just be her. He's hosting a show tonight and you're starring in it.

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, yandere, kidnapping, drugging, manipulation/coercion, knives, oral and penetrative sex, psychosis/schizophrenia, stalking, Sarasa mentions (Chrollo's childhood friend), spoilers for the manga, would add more but it kinda ruins it.

A/N: inspired by Phantom Troupe's flashback in the Succession Contest arc and my love for Chrollo. Played intentionally with the verb tenses.

The party. That’s right, you were at a party, a drink in your hand and your friend with you. Where was the party? A sharp pain pierces your cranium and you wince. What ever happened to your friend? You decide you can't show empathy at present time.

It was commonly assumed that memory followed a chronological sequence, that the human brain could recall memories exactly like they unfolded but in all honesty, memory recalling happened in fragments for most. The party. Your friend. The colors of the light. A man. 

A man. Who was the man and what were you talking about, you try to think but it’s kind of hard when you can’t see, you’re blindfolded and tied to a chair. Earthy odor, smells like soil, you note. Not that this takes you far. You had definitely been drugged, you felt weak and nauseous (it was a wonder the stills popped in your head) eyes so tightly folded, the little shapes and colors from the pressure increasing your fatigue, your heart palpitating. Was this date rape? You couldn’t touch yourself to find out but you felt intact. This was also not a date. Then why the abduction and ropes? To offer something, you think. But you didn’t have much to offer for the record. You try calming yourself down but the thought only stresses you further. Fuck, how long was this going to take?

Chrollo never did things without reason. Never talked without it, stole without it (debatable, but they were in need), never acted without it or killed without it. You being there was no mistake, he was wondering how you felt at the moment, not very familiar with human emotions, they all seemed wary, he thought, so he often brushed them off—he didn't care enough to dig deeper. Chrollo listened, he never talked. He could sit through a Troupe meeting actively hearing the members, knowing fully well when stupid proposals and ideas were spouted as they all patiently waited for his final word. He didn’t mind, he thought it was funny how people unraveled without him trying.

His decision on you, he had to admit was made on impulse. He didn’t mean to drug you. He didn’t mean to abduct you. Unlike you, he remembers details. Him and the Troupe were in a club (silly to assume for entertainment, a stolen prize now decorating the heist gallery in one of the Troupe's hideouts) when he saw you. You weren’t far, a couple inches away, drinking clumsily and conversing with a person he presumed was a friend by the proximity of it. You had her eyes, he thought. Of course he could see perfectly in the dark, well, he could pretty much use any of his senses to a higher extent, he wouldn’t be a Specialist after all. Your wide eyes gleamed, they squinted when you couldn’t listen. To make matters worse, you had your hair in pigtails, loosely falling down your shoulders, long hair divided by two black hair ties. Just like hers, he thinks.

Now, Chrollo is not sentimental, he really isn’t, but the optic parallels cloud his judgement and he wants nothing more but to be by your side, to reminisce the part of him that died a long time ago. He can’t cry, not unless he has a reason; he does nothing without it, but feels touched merely by your presence. Once the decision is finalized, he makes a move.

-

‘’Excuse me, miss.’’ A voice rings behind you. A tall man with dark brown hair and gloomy eyes holds out your house keys, you always shoved them in your pockets, as you considered it safer than your purse, not directly attached to your body. 

‘’T- thank you.’’ You stammer, you’ve had a couple of drinks as the club lights hit on your face making you stumble against him, the guy behind you dancing so carelessly, you’re being pushed left and right either way. 

‘’Be careful.’’ He smiles as he extends his arm to hold you upright, a mournful look on his face as he walks away. The keys. The man. The drink. Dark. There is no memory of what happened after. 

It’s the same voice you hear entering the room, was it even a room? The sounds echo as if you are in a cave.

‘’Finally, here you are darling.’’ He smoothly says as you scream the first thing that comes to your mind ‘’What the fuck do you want?’’. Your voice rips through the "cave" but you are certain it makes no difference. Whoever this is, doesn’t worry about the helpless sounds you’re about to make.

‘’Darling, please don’t yell, I’m right here.’’ The voice of the man inches closer, as the blindfold is being removed from your hurting eyes. Your heart races when you see him in all his glory, ominous stare and a tattoo decorating his forehead (did he have this at the club?), blue orb-shaped earrings, a peculiar attire that reminds you of a Victorian vampire—a long coat with feathers all the way down his ankles and some funny boots. His calm expression while supposed to be relaxing, just increases the nausea in your stomach, he seems familiar with such processes. As for the place, it isn’t coming to your aid either, you can’t recognize what this used to be (a warehouse? a prison? an actual cave for outcasts in the city suburbs?). You feel the known sensory feeling well up in your eyes, it’s starting to become serious. 

‘’W-what to do you want?’’ You stutter, unable to scream; you could but see no point.

‘’Are your hands in pain my darling?’’ His eyes look over your tied wrists with concern and he flinches looking at the knot. ‘’I told Feitan to go easy on you.’’ ‘’Well.. he just never listens.’’

‘’What do you want from me?’’ You want to scream and beg him to let you go, he didn’t assault you so what does he even want? You had no use to a person, as far as you knew, an unessential addition to people’s lives.

‘’My sweet darling..’’ He murmurs as he prolongs the sentence, his words making a bile travel to your mouth; your nausea from the drugging never really went away.

What sick game is this?

‘’Please excuse the sudden change of heart after our brief encounter at [ ]. I was hoping you can understand that I wanted you here today for a very special reason.’’ He starts and your heart’s thrumming, you silently beg him to get to the point. You want out of there immediately.

‘’Please!’’ You yelp frustrated ‘’Just tell me!’’

‘’How about I show you? Hmm?’’ He responds, his velvety voice making you gag. ‘’Shalnark!’’ He calls and a blonde guy (boy?) makes an appearance holding a.. tripod and a digital camera, which he sets right next to him, adjusting the tripod’s legs and connecting the mounting head with the camera.

‘’Everything's set up, anything else boss?’’ This guy literally beams as your eyes widen, was this a perverted farce? What did the guy mean with fucking boss?

‘’W-what is this?’’ You ask but ‘boss’ has his a attention directed at the blonde guy. 

‘’Think you’re forgetting something, Shalnark..’’ He playfully scolds and the boy’s eyes light up as if having a sudden godlike revelation. 

‘’You’re so right, boss!’’ He widely smiles as he exits.

‘’W-what are you gonna do?’’ You are crying, anxious and can't think straight—the psychotic simulation suddenly makes you wish it would’ve been a date rape.

The boy comes back and this time he is holding a wireless microphone, which he passes to the ‘boss’, his name unknown and not your concern at the moment as he wordlessly leaves you once again to his mercy.

‘’Now, sweetheart,’’ You flinch at the choice of words. ‘’I would like for you to hold this right here.’’ He tells you indicating the microphone ‘’I’m going to untie you, please think carefully of your next move.’’ He says as he comes close to you, removing the ropes and freeing your bruised wrists. Your eyes flicker, should you try this? He knows. He sees you. He is a Specialist after all, he has a reason. The split second your left foot is turned towards his right, a wide knife with a sharp blade is pressed to your neck, while you’re being headlocked to his sides. This happens so fast you hardly have time to comprehend it.

‘’Sweetheart.’’ He sighs. ‘’The knife’s not just sharp, it’s also poisonous, so please behave.’’ He goes about it as if he deals with things like that daily, you feel your legs trembe and almost snap but he lifts you up and places you back to your initial spot. What kind of a psychotic freak has a poisonous knife on them? And why are his reflexes so fast?

‘’Will you please hold this, darling?’’ He patiently asks again, as he hands the microphone over, your hands shake but you take it, eyes wide in fear.

‘’Now..’’ He smiles. ‘’We’ll go over the script, oh..it’s been such a long time since I’ve done this!’’ He exclaims looking...happy?

He hands you over a paper with a language you can’t understand and small dialogues—you take it it’s a German variation, as there’s these funny dots over the vowels but also has some incomprehensible words and you can’t make the distinction. On the bottom there’s this image of some superheroes with cleaning devices, one holds a broom, the other one a mop. Nothing makes sense and you feel exhausted as you try to negotiate a way out. Maybe he is just a freak who wants a stupid script played out, maybe it’s that. Maybe you will be able to be free, to see your cat again. Maybe. Logic has left you, but you don't seem to notice.

‘’W-will you..please..let me go after?’’ You whisper, ready to hear the worst.

‘’My precious, of course! Please grant me this favor and I will set you free immediately, I ask for you to forgive previous gestures on my behalf, it just happens that they mean so much to me..’’ The words linger as you suspiciously eye him up. This is not a time for bargains or reason so you’ll comply to the freak’s needs. 

You start reciting as he cuts you off. ‘’More passion, my angel, you need to say it aloud, shout out the line!’’ and you sniff, what a fucking weirdo. 

He makes you retake the incoherent dialogues multiple times, cutting you off, correcting you, shouting at you for not waiting for his part. Of course he assigned himself the leader role, must've been some god complex—no wonder from a perverted mind like his.

It is around the middle of the play, when you mispronounce a word that he seems agitated as he approaches you. He slaps your face with malice, an ominous stare, his eyes burn as you let the microphone fall from the impact. 

‘’You mispronounced this, she’d never do that.’’ He spits and you start feeling a new round of tears forming in your eyes, who she is and what you had to do with her not making any sense in your mind. You sob as you brokenly stutter.

‘’I-I'm sorry, w-we can redo this, please..’’ He stares at you, the same pitiful expression on his face. He doesn't look upset anymore, all that pent up anger left him, the more he looks in your pretty eyes, how could he stay mad at you? You were after all the person he used to care for the most. A veiny hand approaches your now disheveled pigtails (pigtail in actuality, as one hairtie fell off during your abduction) and his fingers twirl around it. His lower half close to your face as you look up at him. He is absentmindedly staring at your hair when he kneels down to your height. 

‘’I’m sorry.’’ He smiles. ‘’Would you forgive me, my darling?’’ His breath fans on the red mark and your parted mouth. Tears are staining your cheeks as he brushes a thumb to 'clean' you. The proximity is eerie, you hesitantly avert your eyes as you gulp.

‘’Y-yes, sir,’’ You whisper, ‘’l-let’s continue this.’’ You're eager to be set free, eager for this twisted game to end. 

‘’No, we shall not occupy ourselves with my play anymore, Sarasa.’’

Sarasa? Who the fuck is this and what did you have to do with her? 

You don't like the new proximity, it makes you anxious, his hands still cup your jaw before he stands up and tugs at the loosened pigtail.

A bulge now decorates his pants and while you try to avert your eyes, you can't help but notice it. His finger grazes over your lips as he slides one in your mouth, observing you from above the whole time. A sigh escapes his lips when he hears you gag.

‘’Suck on it...’’ he orders, ‘’please, darling.’’

There's no plea in this tone, only authoritative command. You do as asked and he readjusts his legs. You can guess what's next and you just want this to be over—there is no escape but if sucking him off means you get to be free, you’d be more than willing to do that.

He unzips his pants, sliding them down together with his boxers as his cock springs free, he is probably the biggest you've seen and you panic thinking of him in your mouth. He must’ve noticed because he chuckles and approaches you. You are about to shut your eyes and start the lewd act when he steps aside and ties your wrists behind your back again. Left with your mouth hanging open, a victim to merciless desires, he puts his fingers in your mouth. Your saliva coats the digits, which he removes and cautiously places on his cock, stroking himself to the sight of you, stricken with fear and quivering, his good Sarasa, how he had failed to protect her, as he continues to jerk himself off in front of you. The scene is lewd: his naked torso protrudes over his ridiculously oversized feather coat, his cock oozes his precum and makes wet sounds coming in contact with your saliva and a tormented face; his head's arched back and slow ‘’im sorry’’s exit his mouth. You feel a sting in your core looking at him and the vague bile you had in your throat makes you audibly gag. How can you be thinking like this right now? But your body isn't run by your superego, your moral compass doesn't dictate your physical instincts and your legs are unconsciously brought together to alleviate the pain.

He is getting himself off, glancing at you, knowing you drink him in. His strokes become faster when he suddenly touches your lips with his thumb and parts your mouth only for an angry cock to slam against your throat without a warning. He hisses and grabs your head to push your mouth and nose all the way down, he wants his release and wants it now. You can't breathe or shout or protest in any way, only wiggling your tied hands and crying out in pain, which comes off as groans that reverberate on him and he crumbles— falling apart, moaning and shooting all his release down your throat. Snots and tears fall on his cock and he slowly removes himself.

‘’What a mess you made, darling.’’ He exhales too composed, looking down.

You were responsible for this? 

‘’I hope the camera is still on, because I am intending to punish you, Sarasa.’’ He continues. ‘’You only had one line, my angel, one line in the entire play and you couldn't make it. You know how much this upsets me?’’ His voice almost breaks, the ordeal messes you up even more.

You can’t understand him, you want to get out, your throat already hurts from his penetration and you fear for the next part. You know it must involve sex and shudder at the realization he'll have to touch you down there. The thought that you had been wet up until he came in your mouth, the fact that he would soon enough know this, the fact that you have been involuntarily aiding his mission by complying to his cruel needs makes you feel vile but you have no time to process this as you feel two arms cutting the ropes quickly, letting you free from the chair you were tied to. 

You jump up before realizing it, you’ll run you think—(you really don't have time to think, you act solely on instinct) but his agility prevails once again, fast reflexes have your neck choked as he grabs you from behind, the knife with the black handle against an artery as you halt. 

‘’This was my last warning, sweetheart, please comply before it’s too late.’’ 

He is dragging you back, forcing you to turn around, his cock still free and half hard, is he seriously turned on by your futile attempts for freedom?

What a sick person.

He languidly sits on the chair with his coat draping and touching the floor as he positions you on his bare lap. You draw a sharp breath, as you feel him under you, a disgusting cock rubbing your clothed entrance —he sighs and pulls you in an embrace. He smells like cedar, you think, cedar and sweat as he brings his lips to yours, connecting them softly. You keep them shut, your eyes open and he knows it because he quickly pulls away. ‘’Darling, why don’t you kiss me?’’ he murmurs. You feel a sharp blade trailing down your spine, his knife moves to your sides and pokes at the flesh as he brings his lips close again. Your skirt reminds him of hers and it makes him desperate for closure, he'd protect her better this time, he thinks as a stiff cock touches your panties, connecting your heat to his and making you softly whine, sounds you can't control. ‘’Please..’’ he whispers and you finally do it. You let yourself get lost in the moment, your freedom is close but the more you think about it, the more anxious you become and sadistic tendencies like his leave no space for slip ups. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue overlapping your own, of course he'd be in control, while the knife rests on your lower back. You start grinding down his length, hands digging at the roots of his hair as you feel yourself lubricated against your will, you want this to be over, that’s what you tell yourself. 

With a hand behind your back holding the knife and the other one free, he decides to feel your silky softness, test it for himself, his good girl, how obedient she is under his touch, how eager to be punished for her wrongdoings. He teases your entrance, as he smears the wetness gathered around, you choke on a moan, your still functioning conscious and pride making you want to stay silent but that's impossible with a hand around your clit and a finger sliding with ease inside your walls. The knife also doesn't leave you with another choice.

‘’I want you to call out my name.’’ He hums as he continues his rhythm, you are slowly coming undone on his fingers.

‘’W-what’s your name, sir?’’ You manage to breathe out in between thrusts, you’ve been trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, instinctively guided by a pressure within.

‘’Chrollo.’’ 

What a funny name. 

‘’P-please..Chrollo.’’ You whine, it's when he decides to remove his fingers from you. 

‘’Oh, Sarasa,’’ he sighs, ‘’you’ve misbehaved enough today, I really wanted to punish you, you know that?’’ 

‘’N-no, p-please, Chrollo..’’ You practically purr. At this point calling you Sarasa doesn't even bother you, you got accustomed to it some time ago. 

Something in the way you hum his name makes his eyes flicker and he wordlessly drops the knife behind him, as he squeezes his cock to line up with your slit.

‘’Don’t think I don’t have other means to restrain you, darling.’’ He mutters and pulls you down on him, giving you no time to adjust to his girth, the head slamming against your insides as you let out a lewd moan. 

‘’S-sir!’’ You moan, as you're sucking him in, taking every inch as best as you can given the circumstance while large palms viciously grope your behind, smashing your hips down his groin. Your pretty face bouncing atop him, wide eyes, oh these eyes, looking at his now fully darkened ones and he watches his pretty girl come apart, soft moans leaving your smudged lips, pigtails now fully disheveled; your hair bounces freely on your delicate shoulders. He observes your mouth, how beautiful it looks each time it curves and smiles at him, each time you’d tell him ‘’Look at what I found!’’ excitedly, a tape among the junk, a broken toy—you were his favorite companion. Chrollo feels himself jerk within your walls, you're trapping him inside and he won't last long. 

‘’Come for me, please...’’ He needs this, he needs you. You grip his hair fervently as you let out small ‘’fuck’’s (involuntarily, you convince yourself).

He is inching you closer to your relief despite your disdain and you can tell he is there with you, parted mouth leaving shaky, pleading blabbers, as he grabs your hair and twists it in his palm, tugging at it harshly. You are forced to throw your head back so it gives him the opportunity to assault your neck, sucking and biting on it, the sensation tingles and arouses you as you come apart, digging your nails in his arms.

‘’C-chrollo–agh!’’ You sing, it pleases him and makes him groan—he is cumming for you, your core spasms and tightens, clit pulsating and muscles taut as he thrusts upwards to fill you up as much as anatomically possible. Semen starts falling down his thighs but he still holds you tightly. He's marked you his twice and doesn't think he'll ever forget.

‘’My good girl...’’ He exhales shakily, ‘’my precious, little girl.’’ He continues, rubbing your back, as your weight falls on him, the knife tossed behind him looks at you and you shut your eyes.

-

Chrollo lets you go. He doesn’t order you a ride or have the blonde guy escort you. You have to walk 45 exhausting minutes to find a bus stop and even then, you hardly recognize the area. 

He leaves for the next 6 months, not communicating anything to the rest of the Troupe, people overestimate their closeness. He replays your video every night while he’s away fighting and earning (stealing) abilities, your beautiful, expressive eyes haunt his dreams, Sarasa would like you if she met you. Sarasa would make friends with you. Sarasa, you. What's the difference? 

Chrollo comes back only to find you sleeping, so peacefully he rejoices at the sight. Absolutely perfect and innocent, he tainted you and you didn’t even care? He smiles. He tells himself you're a bad girl for sleeping with your doors unlocked, just like Sarasa liked to wander on her own and look where that got her. Maybe the door wasn’t unlocked, it’s something he finds irrelevant now. He had kept his promise, he thinks. You should be grateful he’s honest.

[fanaticsnail]

The Apprentice - Part 2

Ok, ok, ok. The Mihawk mind-rot got to me. I will absolutely be making another part. I really enjoy this dynamic and honestly, any excuse to bring out my wide range of wine collection to enjoy while I write.

Warnings: blood, cursing, nudity (no graphic smut, but suggestive themes: minors beware).

Part 1 here.

Word Count: 4,455

“You’re wrong,” the disinterested voice carried over as grunts and echoes of combat reverberated among the tavern walls. Unsure as to how the fight first broke out within the polished walls and at such intensity as it was; you were thrown amongst the flurry to ‘rid the pestilence from presenting their grotesque stature and cleanse the grounds before your lord’ as your mentor so eloquently put it.

You utilised your leg to thrust upwards and capture the jaw of one of the brutes challenging you, while twisting your body around mid-kick and throwing a bar stool at one of the men approaching Mihawk, who had yet to lift a finger to defend himself.

To say things hadn’t changed between you would not be a complete and utter lie. Although neither of you spoke on your former passionate exchange with one another from three weeks ago, you noticed your mentor would choose his words more wisely with you; as such was his negotiation at continuing your apprenticeship. However, you had noticed he was more careful with you in your training; not pushing you further to reach beyond your physical limitations and not entertaining you by prodding you with insults. You had also noticed he had not been seeking out nor actively engaging in whoring his body out from port to port, causing him to remain slightly more on edge.

You missed it, truly: the bickering, the hatred, the intensity. In its place, you now found rocky and unsure waters that were yet to be tested but always crashing against the coastal shore between you both; building its choppy intensity the further you avoided speaking about the kiss.

As to completely dance around the subject matter while continuing your training, you both pulled yourselves to the one thing that brought about your mutual enjoyment: wine.

“How am I wrong, my lord?” you asked him, reaching into your thigh holster and retrieving three throwing knives and releasing them from your hand; pinning a victim to the wall by their shirt sleeves.

He released a groan in disinterest and turned to the bar and reached his hand below it to bring up a freshly decantated bottle of wine he ordered prior to combat ensuing. He began reaching for a glass to empty the liquid into to drink from it, only to find the glass shattering within his fingertips as one of your blades flew at it. He snapped his gaze at you with a deep frown, only to meet with your own smirk before you turned to rid another incoming brute from their ability to breathe by plunging your sword up into their jaw.

“Why would you ever think shattering my wine glass be a good idea, Apprentice?” he scolded you with his intense, hawk-like yellow eyes.

“To get a rise out of you,” you smirked at your thoughts, choosing to grace him with your vocal response: “because you were about to pour yourself a glass. And that-,”

Your words became halted as you withdrew your blade from within the cranium of your prior victim, turning to slash at the final remaining pirate of the crew that engaged you; cutting him from shoulder to bladder in one fell swipe, “-is my job,” you added, sheathing your blade within your scabbard.

You sauntered over to the bar, stepping around the various fallen bodies that lay in pools of their own blood. Moving your fingertips to the neck of the decanter, you contained the subtle hitch in your breath to the best of your abilities as your fingertips grazed your mentor’s as you took the crystal object into your grasp. You craned your neck over the bar and located a fresh wine glass and set its base to rest against the felt material, rising the lip of the vessel to bring the crimson liquid to meet and pool at the bottom of the chalice.

You placed your index and middle finger at the base of the glass, setting aside the decanter while swirling the liquid in the glass against the bar.

Bringing the crystal glass upwards, you turned to your mentor and made to grant the glass within his outstretched and awaiting hand. You presented the glass to him, narrowing your eyes at him as he narrowed his own at yours.

Refusing to be the one to shy away from the gaze first, you were surprised as the mighty Dracule Mihawk relented in his visual challenge of you to turn his sights to the crimson liquid within the glass and swirling it to release more of the bouquet.

He brought the wine up towards his nose and inhaled the liquid first before brining his moustache-clad lips and tongue up to the glass and taking a small sip. He chirped the liquid within his lips as he inhaled a whistle through his partly puckered mouth, savouring the flavour.

“This is meant to be a Malbec,” he snarled, “why does it taste like Petit Verdot?”

You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes, gesturing out to take the glass from between his fingers and sip from the contents; raising the chalice mouth to your lips and sipping a small amount to roll over your tongue.

“Because it’s both, my lord,” you rolled your eyes and crossed your unoccupied arm over your waist and leant your back against the bar to recline your shoulders against it. You rose the glass again to your lips before passing the half-drunken vessel back to its rightful owner.

“It’s a classic Bordeaux. I can taste Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot and Cabernet Franc in here too,” you shrugged and fluttered your eyelashes at him.

Mihawk growled and turned to face the tavern keeper, who was cowering behind the bar and covering his head with his arms to make himself as small as possible.

“You said this was a Malbec,” he roared at the cowering man, “and you give me a Bordeaux?”

You looked down and shook your head, a small smirk pulling at your lips at his animosity. He placed the glass against the bar with a small huff of his shoulders, and rolled his neck back to release a small crack from behind it.

“If you are that desperate for a Malbec, my lord,” you raised your eyebrow in suggestion, “I did see a tour advertised in the next town over.”

He brought his yellow hued eyes to meet with yours once more, intrigue pulling at his face.

“We could pick up a couple dozen,” you shrugged your shoulders, “and then I can put them with the other mid-range varietals when I completely reorganise your cellar to intensities rather than alphabetised varietals.”

“You see, Apprentice,” he engaged you, and at long last reaching out his right arm for you to take, “that is where you are wrong.”

“Oh?” you asked with a quirk of your brow, lacing your left arm within his own and allowing him to escort you out of the completely ransacked tavern.

“I like knowing I have the Malbec with the Merlot,” he continued, “and the Syrah with the Shiraz.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed under your breath at his comment.

“The Malbec and the Merlot can stay, as will the Syrah and the Shiraz,” you continued, “but I refuse to place the Cognac with the Champagne. That’s illegal.”

He sniffed out a small snicker at your comment, looking down with smiling eyes; hoping you didn’t catch his affectionate gaze.

“You put your sparkling’s with your apéritifs, your white varietals building in intensity: the chardonnays near the rose,” you listed off while nodding your head, gesturing with your right hand the exact floor plan of Mihawk’s cellar on Kuraigana Island.

He trailed his eyes over your blood-spattered face, noticing how your hair lay slightly different than the day before as he zoned your words out as you spoke them.

“-What possessed you to put all of the Pinots in the same place. Honestly,” his attention immediately snapped back at your words as you made your way to the inn you were staying in, “for someone with such disdain for Pinot Noir, you sure keep a fair few.”

“What did you say, Apprentice?” he quirked at you, eyes narrowing at your former words spoken.

“Pinot Noir, my lord,” you reiterated, “does not belong next to Pinot Gris or Pinot Grigio. You can keep it next to the Pinot Meunier, but you must let me rearrange the cellar.”

He sighed before reaching into his long jacket pocket, retrieving an embroidered pocket square from within and wordlessly passing it to you with a roll of his eyes.

“What is this for, my lord?” you asked him, clasping your hand around the material; hand meeting the fingers of one of the warlords of the sea.

“Your face,” he uttered disinterestedly, “you made a mess. You know how I despise mess.”

Bringing your sights to one of the windows of a shop front, you had indeed manage to collect a fair amount of the dark, metallic substance over your face and neck in the thralls of your ferocity. You growled as you began swiping at your skin to rid it of the blood atop it, groaning as much of the liquid had congealed and solidified against your skin; making it next to impossible to clear it from your face without soap and water.

You clutched the material and unfolded it, absentmindedly tracing your fingertips around the golden “D” and “M” as you refolded the soiled material and placed it in your side satchel.

No comment was made about the noises that had been released in frustration. It could be said that you missed his banter a little, but as you had got what you wanted; you negated your thoughts and chose to say nothing about it.

As the both of you continued to walk toe in toe with one another, you passed a large arched entranceway to a sandstone building; bamboo trees and fine bleached coarse pebbles lining the pathway towards the open entrance of the building. Your eyes widened and mouth drew up into a smile as you read the sign beside the archway.

“An onsen,” you gasped, turning your attention back to Mihawk. He halted his movements and craned his head to look at you with complete and utter disregard.

“No,” he uttered, turning back around and continuing to make his journey onwards,

“Oh, please, my lord,” you almost begged, “I’m desperate to submerge myself in deep waters to relax.”

Stretching your arms to arch above your head, you almost felt the calming of your overused muscles as the scents of perfumed bathwater drew its way to your nose; solidifying your resolve.

“There’s bathwater at the inn. We can’t waste valuable wine-tasting hours on something as time consuming as a bath house,” he called over his shoulder, “come, Apprentice.”

Your body froze, a reactionary response to the final words he spoke to you over your shoulder; thighs clenching slightly together as a rosy blush found its way to your face.

Not one step was made from your body as you drew your arms back down from its extension as you laced them together to circle your front and tapped your foot against the pavement. Mihawk, too, halted his movements and clicked his neck to the side to release the knot-riddled tension within his shoulders. You smirked at him, reading the fine print on the side of the building.

You hardened your resolve, approaching your master as you laced your hands around the crook of his left arm and brought your lips up to his ear.

“They have an on-sight masseuse,” you purred into his ear, whispering suggestively, “could relieve some of the tension in your neck.”

Yellow, hawk-like eyes snapped to meet yours as he angled his refined jaw down to gaze into your blood-spattered face. His lips curled up into almost a snarl before he exhaled a sigh, relenting to your insistence.

“Fine,” he groaned, turning back towards the archway of the onsen and bringing his right hand to rest atop your laced fingertips around his left arm to keep you against him. You hadn’t walked in such proximity like this since you relinquished your resignation request, enjoying the closeness between you and your mentor.

Your heels began grinding the pebbled floor beneath your weight, more so Mihawk’s as his mighty blade Yoru lay equipped against his back. A giddy sensation rose in your chest as you walked past the entrance and found the front desk, manned by a fishman.

“Weapons are to remain as checked items at the front desk,” he addressed you, prompting you to eagerly part with your blade as it hung loosely at your side. Mihawk looked at your overzealous removal of your several compartments of weapons with disapproval as he, too, reached his hand behind his back and withdrew Yoru from its scabbard; placing it atop the counter.

Reaching down and unclasping your thigh hilt, you felt the watchful eyes of your mentor bare into you as you fiddled with the buckle. After unequipping yourself of your weapons, you huffed out your breath in excitement as a broad smile fell over your face.

“If that will be all your arms,” the fishman smiled, gesturing to the entranceway of the side room, “welcome to our onsen.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said with a polite nod of your head.

“You may disrobe in the changing room,” he gestured to another section of the front desk, “towels and bathrobes are available on the hooks in the ensuite. Please place any used objects in the baskets at the front before you leave.”

Your gaze turned to the side counter, noticing a taped-off area.

“Ah,” the fishman followed your gaze, “yes. Unfortunately we are undergoing some renovations in the men’s area. The women’s bath is also currently occupied by an elderly rehabilitation group using the healing waters to rid their joints of arthric pain.”

Mihawk tensed his shoulders and inhaled an agitated breath through his nose.

“We currently have the cool plunge, showers, and mixed communal bath available,” he continued, “and we also have a masseuse in the hammam should you desire their services.”

Your mentor made to reequip himself of his mighty blade, only to have his actions halted as you pressed a hand against his chest while addressing the fishman once again.

“Thank you, sir,” you spoke, “do you have any baskets we could use to store our clothing? My mentor,” you turned your sites towards Mihawk and narrowed your eyes at him, “is in desperate need for the hammam and I,” you turned your warm gaze back to the front desk, “honestly can’t wait to utilise the waters.”

You felt a low rumble-like growl form within the chest of your mentor as your hand lay flush against it, relishing in the fury you had managed to pull from your boss. You missed this.

“There are several lockers you can use to place your clothing within,” he nodded with a smile.

You thanked him and relaced your arms within your mentor’s and practically dragged him into the changing room.

“Halt your enthusiasm, apprentice,” he uttered out an order to you, “we won’t be staying for long. Hot shower, cold plunge and a quick dip: Malbec awaits.”

You laughed at his command and shook your head at him as you began to disrobe and place your clothes in a neat pile within one of the cubical booths of the onsen room. As you stripped to your undergarments, you clasped one of the bathrobes provided and wrapped it around your shoulders before removing the final two items of clothing.

Sighing in relief, you placed your arms within the sleeves of the bathrobe and laced the material around the front of you, turning around to see the muscular bare back of your mentor as he brought his own robe up and over his shoulders. A small blush rose itself once again to your cheeks as you turned your head to look at the artwork on the walls in front of you.

After tying his bath robe, he turned to face you; noticing your eyeline focussing on a painting of a large cherry blossom tree.

“Shall we, then?” he uttered disinterestedly, eyes trailing over your robe-wrapped form as you turned to face him.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said with a nod of respect.

“For what now, Apprentice?” he rolled his eyes and made to open the doors of the communal bath.

“For allowing me this privilege, sir,” you said, trailing behind him as he brought his hands up to the sliding double doors. He halted his gaze and arched his head back around to face you.

“Just this once, Apprentice,” he warned you, narrowing his eyes. A small smile almost broke through his lips as he watched you beam with giddy anticipation.

He slid the doors open to reveal a beautifully maintained garden with several varieties of cropped trees, rock garden and layers of naturally occurring waterfalls cascade the area. The smile that was so beautifully almost breaking through his sinister gaze all but fell completely from his face at the next words spoken.

“Hawk-Eyes, you old gloomy prick!” a voice called, prompting you to bring your sites to rest on one of the many men within the bath waters, “what are the odds?”

The gentlemen that so unceremoniously addressed your mentor had a large smile on his face, three scars over his left eye and a mess of currently damp red hair. Several other men around him were also adorning battle scars, carefree attitudes and broad smiles on their faces.

“Absolutely not,” your mentor spoke, turning back towards the double doors.

“Who’s that you got with you?” the man spoke again, looking to you and threw you a small wink.

You furrowed your brows at his attention and allowed a small scowl to pull over your face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you turned to your mentor and placed your hand on his retreating wrist to halt him in place; prompting him to glare at you with his intense yellow eyes.

“Sir,” you addressed the redhead in front of you.

“Miss,” he taunted you with a slight smirk. You inhaled a sharp breath at his mocking tone before releasing Mihawk’s wrist from its place collected in your grasp.

You sighed out an angry breath, “I have had a particularly long day and I was so looking forward to a relaxing bath. If it be all the same to you, I would prefer it if you withheld your taunts from bringing them against my mentor.”

Turning back to face your boss, you grit your teeth and whispered at him; “Cabernet Sauvignon, Syrah and Malbec. And I’ll leave the cellar alphabetised, even though it’s impractical.”

He allowed a small growl to escape his lips before he rolled his eyes at your negotiation and brought his rebuttal against you with a smirk; “and we only remain here for a shower and a cold plunge. Absolutely no talking with Shanks or his sorry excuse for a crew.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you watched his gaze soften at you, nodding his chin over to the showerheads lining the wall behind a bamboo screen; “go rinse your face. You still have a small amount of blood on your cheek.”

“Oh, and you despise mess, my lord,” you taunted him with a smirk.

“Watch your tone, Apprentice,” he warned you with a low growl, prompting you to smile and release him from your grip and make to the showers with towel in hand.

--

“She’s a bit of a feisty one,” Shanks called to Mihawk with a chuckle, as the yellow-eyed man made his way over to the baths, “bet she keeps you young.”

“And what is that meant to mean, you drunken idiot?” he spat at his old associate with venomousity.

Shanks raised his single right hand defensively with a teasing smile.

“I meant no disrespect,” he said with a small shake of his head, “who you choose to warm your bed is no business of my own. You sure know how to choose them, though. She’s stunning-.”

“She’s my apprentice,” he hissed at the redhead as he disrobed and hung the large object on a hook on the sandstone wall.

Wolf-whistles and hollers were called from the Red-Hair Pirates at that comment, prompting Mihawk to harden his stare.

“Is that how it is, then?” Shanks laughed at Mihawk.

The warlord made his way to join the Red-Hair pirates within the warm waters of the onsen and audibly sighed as the heat penetrated his aching muscles. He dipped his raven hair below the waters and allowed the water to begin healing his body of their pent up afflictions.

He then released a groan as he turned to see the large grin on the red-headed captain who brought himself next to him.

“How is it going then, the training,” he asked with interest, his eyes playfully twinkling behind his brown eyes, “sword user, then?”

“She has a great many talents,” he uttered with complete disinterest at continuing the conversation, “but swords and knives are her greatest strengths.”

Shanks hummed in response, nodding in deep thought while scratching his stubbled chin with his right hand.

“Are you planning on going for a drink after this?” he asked curiously, “my men and I could use a couple of brews.”

Mihawk released a small exasperated sigh, “I will not have your carefree crew undo all of my hard work I have drilled into my apprentice.”

Shanks laughed and tossed his head back before stifling his laughter, teetering it off into a low chuckle.

“If you wanted to be alone with her, you should just say so,” he teased him with a playful punch against Mihawk’s shoulder.

--

After a brisk shower, you readorned yourself with the robe provided and walked away from the screen and back into the view of your mentor and his former associates.

Before you could take a step towards the onsen bath, your mentor rose a hand to halt your movements before pointing to the small pool at the side of the bath.

“Cold plunge,” he ordered monotonously, “then back to the inn.”

You narrowed your eyes and a snarl pulled its way at the lefthand corner of your upper lip.

“Oh, lighten up,” the redhead spoke up with a laugh, “disregard that, love. Come and join us!”

The motley crew of pirates all cheered at the aspect of you joining them within the warm waters, and the desire you had was also prominent. However, not one step was made in either direction as you kept your gaze locked on your mentor to await his new command or dismissal of his prior order.

Mihawk huffed a sigh and narrowed his yellow-eyes at you before he again addressed you.

“Cold plunge,” he again reiterated, “then five minutes in the onsen.”

“Ten,” you smirked your rebuttal at him and rose your left eyebrow upwards.

“Eight,” he reiterated, “and you have to do the cold plunge twice.”

You laughed as you disrobed to bare yourself completely before the assortment of pirates and your current boss. Both you and Mihawk regularly would change in front of one another to equip yourselves ready for battle, not really caring if one glance was shared between you or not. Of late, however, the intensity of the rising tension between you had those looks trailing between you last longer than the average glance.

Not ashamed of your body in the slightest, you turned to retreat to the many hooks lining the sandstone wall and began to place your towel on the bench below. You moved to place the robe on the hook beside your mentor’s own robe and began psyching yourself up to jump into the icy depths of the cold plunge.

You made it to the ledge of the small, circular pool and arched your shoulders back and rolled your head. After releasing a small shaky breath, you brought your right foot outwards and sprung your left foot upwards, falling towards the dark and deep cool water.

Your body became overwhelmed at the icy waters as you plunged into the deep waters. You kicked your legs and resurfaced, gasping in a large breath as you did so. Your feet found the ladder and you hoisted yourself above the water with ease, shaking slightly under the cold as you made your way toward the shallows of the onsen as you gracefully made your descent.

Although the bathwater was a warm 37C, you felt every inch burning into you as the ice-water from the cold-plunge rewrote your internal body temperature. As you sat against one of the many walls of the onsen, you reclined your head to rest against the ledge, closing your eyes and sighing as the warmth overcame you.

“I’m Shanks,” you heard a voice address you. You cracked open your right eye and glanced at him before promptly shutting your eyes once again.

“And I’ve been forbidden from entertaining this conversation,” you smirked and scrunched up your nose.

“Really, Mihawk?” the redhead called, prompting a wide smile to bring itself on your face as your view remained obstructed by your closed eyelids, “you banned me?”

“That I did,” your boss said offhandedly, “and you’ve only got four minutes remaining, Apprentice.”

You groaned as you arched your shoulders, relishing in the warm, scented waters as they worked at your relaxing your muscles.

“And why would he ban me, I wonder,” the voice cooed at you with a slight taunt.

“Although curious myself,” you sighed, “again, you’re contraband. No talking.”

Shanks laughed at your dismissal of him before resting his body beside yours and relishing in the glare that was baring into him at his proximity.

“Then we won’t talk,” he smirked before turning his head and whispered in your ear; “nod or shake your head. Are you sweet on your boss?”

Your jaw fell slack in shock as you opened your eyes to look at the playful features of the redhead beside you. You made to reprimand him vocally for his suggestion, halting as you turned to meet the gaze of Mihawk.

Trailing your eyes over his raven hair before flittering your gaze down to his finely maintained facial hair, pulling your sights down to the lips that so roughly engaged you earlier in the month.

“Nod or shake,” Shanks uttered in a voice below a whisper. Almost invisible to the untrained eye, a subtle nod was all the confirmation required for the redhead to sigh out a laugh.

“Good girl,” he praised you in a low tone before whispering, “now let’s make him angry.”

Part 3

[hive-sight]

Delay 1

Sentients, Terran media is fascinating. By this one’s observations, it can be largely broken into two separate areas. This one would label them as: 

Fiction - A uniquely Terran phenomena, fiction encompasses stories and tales that are known to be untrue but are made purely to entertain. Media under this category often, but not always, imbues a select Terran with abilities that are extraordinary. This Terran, known as ‘the protagonist,’ is then placed in situations and conflicts that require their unique abilities to surpass. When the protagonists themselves are not extraordinary, the situations often are.

Non-Fiction - By conventional linguistic dynamics, non-fiction, meaning ‘not fiction,’ should encompass any media that does not fall under fiction. Non-Fiction media will be either reports on events that happened, or recreations of events that happened earlier in history.

Further than that the Terrans have a form of media that, to this one's knowledge, is also unique to Terra. Animation. Thousands upon thousands of images with only minute differences are played sequentially and at various speeds to create the illusion of motion.

The effect is too slow for the perception speed of this one unfortunately. More fortunately, the ship’s AI was able to artificially increase the rate and number of frames in the downloaded media for this one’s race.

The effect is quite astonishing.

---

This one observed Raxor moving through the halls of the ship this Lum. They appear… forlorn. Are they perhaps disappointed with the level of warfare shown by Sol-3?

---

Additionally, a delay has thrown our course off track. A large grouping of space debris was on a collision course with this one’s ship. A delay of approximately three Lums is expected.

As this post seems a bit short, this one will ponder on some aspects of Terran physiology.

At first glance, a Terran is relatively hairless aside from patches of hair covering the top of the cranium, under the manual limbs, covering the groin, and, on male specimens particularly, spatterings across the torso. As this one said, this is merely at first glance. Upon closer inspection of the data from their internet, the entire body of a Terran is covered in an extremely fine layer of hair. Function is unknown at this point.

Unlike many sentients in the Greater Galaxy, the Terrans have somewhat significant sexual dimorphism. Meaning the male and female specimens can vary greatly in physical characteristics. This dimorphism starts as largely insignificant in the Terran’s larval years, and stays insignificant for 1.1 to 1.5 Terran decades before a process called ‘puberty’ begins.

During puberty, the Terran’s brain begins to secrete various levels of hormones and the dimorphism progresses based on the levels of these hormones. The end results appear to vary among individuals, so this one will wait until the opportunity to interview a Terran becomes available.

The date is XD: 4682C 3A 24L, or the 13th of May in the Terran year of 2030. This is Elysia of Xyloptha, looking forward to learning more about Terran culture, and signing off!

[gen15gg]

okay SO! these r a bunch of creloise fic ideas i came up w on the train ride home from uni bc am i not jus a girl who overthinks? w all the time in the world?? on a train???

so fair warning this is a LOT, but at least ik the old man sittin next to me was fairly entertained so u win some u lose some i suppose lmao 😭

- i def wanna see more 2000s or 90s AUs cuz duhhh i would love a little line ab them havin specific ringtones for each otha on their silly little flip phones (id cry if i saw this)

- OR OR OR clubbing scenes, meeting on the UNDERGROUND OMG!!!

(the trains that go under ldn for the americans idk if u lot kno what it is sorry, it’s like NYC subway??😭)

.. anyways cressida could always notice eloise reading something and tries to talk to her by either reading the same book or one journey jus offering the book “emma” (LIKE IN THE SHOW GUYS?!?) as a good read before she gets off on her stop OMDS and/or eloise always noticing cressida’s fashionable-ness for a fùckin 9-5 (yes cressida would be giving office siren absolutely) and maybe if the tables are turned, cressida is reading and eloise notices this and suddenly sparks up conversation bc she simply cannot shut her mouth (and replaying all the times she’s seen cressida in new outfits like the montage scene of anne hathaway in the devil wears prada LMFAO) n every tube journey they encounter each otha on, they go back n forth on their opinions on which eva book they’re reading atm OMGGGG n maybe on valentines one of them gives the otha a rose or a book before they get off SOMEONE RESTRAIN ME MY BRAIN IS WORKING OVERTIME 😭

- would also love to see more modern AUs in general like yes i loooove seein this pairing in different time periods, adapting to the ideas and limitations of that era MWAH to everyone who has been writing these i love you - let me kiss u on yo fùckin cranium MWAH !

- imagine a 1920s jazz girls creloise like idk who would be a jazz singer (maybe cressida??), havin them be in ‘flapper girl’ attire.. IDK id jus love to imagine them in that environment perhaps smoking from those thingies that held the cig itself

- not to stress this too much (i am) but i wanna see them as a 90s or def a 2000s famous pairing!! like both are singers!! i mean cmon cressida would hav an unbelievable stage presence w her amazing outfits we’ve seen in the show itself and eloise would be more punk-ish i suppose!!

or eloise remains a singer and cressida is a model?! but in both situations it’s like they despiseeee each otha or at least eloise does of cressida bc of her overall appearance and the message her looks send (i.e. similar to bridgerton era blah blah expectations etc)

but then they hav to date as a publicity stunt to push down rumours that they hate each otha or maybeeeee penelope is a news outlet they’re trying to get the jump on by going ‘noooo we don’t hate each otha we’re actually dating!’ (they do hate each otha but they fall in love obvs)

or penelope is one of their publicists and has set this up??.. or they’re forced to write a song together IDK this can go any which way but i was inspired by the song “maybe” by emma bunton as a song cressida would DEFINITELY sing OR “let me see” by Morcheeba

man idk Cressida jus gives me the vibe that in this AU she could be equivalent to kylie minogue or a brit pop icon of sorts regardless or Kate Moss if u went w the cressida as a model version AND MAYBE ELOISE AS A PHOTOGRAPHER??? IDK!!!!

- also NEED NEED. NEEEEED. a MR n MRS SMITH AU OF THEM!!!! like omdssss

(im referencing the original film w angelina jolie but go wild if one were to write this, which most like won’t happen but oh well 😭)

but omds the tension that would be between them both !!!! like eloise fits the playful goofy but intelligent character of mr smith, whilst i can most definitely see cressida in the role of mrs smith! trying her utmost best to keep things calculated and goin according to plan but (as u kno if you’ve watched the film) eloise will ruin this calculated streak she’s got 😭 OMDSSSS i can jus imagine their banter as they fight

- uhhh fuck me a surfer AU??? why not atp i’d love to see it where either teaches the otha to surf?? or it’s one where eloise is the one travelling around instead of colin (lmao #white girl goin on holiday to find herself) or w him as this would be a modern AU n she meets cressida somewhere in the mediterranean (bc cressida was sent away by her father) n yk sparks and whatnot ensue 🤭

or omds a rendition of that mermaid movie ‘aquamarine’ ??

- YES OMG A MERMAID AU GODDAMN WAITTTTT ELOISE ESCAPING PATRIARCHAL EXPECTATIONS BY PRETENTDING TO BE A PIRATE AND FALLING IN LOVE W MERMAID CRESSIDA OR THEYRE BOTH PIRATES??? LIKE ANNE BONNY AND MARY READ!!!

- jus had the biggest brain moment on this train ride me thinks… flowershop AU..

specifically an ‘imagine me & you’ AU. cressida had married some man ?? could be Debling to get her parents off her back but then falls in love at first sight of eloise the florist as she walks down the aisle to get married

omg i’m literally jus askin for creloise as ‘imagine me & you’ bc why not i think it’s adorable 😭

ANYWAYS!!! that’s ova but if anyone has any more ideas i’d love to hear them bc i hav serious brain rot from this pairing who will prolly not get togetha </3

[greyspirehollow]

MURDER AT THE HOSPITAL Chapter 2

Warnings : chapter opens on a brain surgery ; morbid ideas / reflexions ; allusions to past crimes ; mentions of medication ; allusions to sex ; discussion of complex physical relationship

I would rate this chapter 18+ and the overall fic 16 +

Valdemar sat in the operation room, carefully hovering over yet another patient’s open cranium. They quietly hummed to themselves as they carefully prodded at the familiar fleshy pink wrinkles, carefully making their way towards a small tumor lodged just underneath the frontal lobe. Their reddish eyes were fixated on their task and their hands worked with expertise, the rest of their body completely immobile. It was almost unnerving to watch. Their mind went back to the previous day, when they’d been interrogated by Vulgora. Of course, they’d let their temper get the best of them, like often… They really didn’t know why they were so hell bent on making them their culprit. A cadaver in the morgue? Really? It wasn’t their style. Had they been the perpetrator, that body would’ve never been found. Oh no, they would have hidden it pretty well. Out of sight, yet right under everybody’s nose… Maybe they would’ve kept the cranium as a decoration for their office. It was full of strange little things already anyway. Sometimes people asked to take appointments in someone else’s office, just because they didn’t want to step in Valdemar’s. They’d even made appointments right in the waiting room before. Hells, patients had asked other doctors to be carrier pigeons for them just not to come near Valdemar. It was getting ridiculous.

Ah, they let their thoughts trail off again… The tumor isn’t in their field of view yet anyway. They probably could go on for a little longer. So, this investigation… Ah yes. They’d spotted police officer in civilian around their neighborhood. The two would follow them around whenever they left the house. A tad annoying, but as long as they didn’t interfere with their daily business, they could understand why Vulgora took that measure. Speaking of them, they really seemed to take the case at heart, for some reason. Well that was going to be a challenge, even for them, with such little patience. Were they going to make any progress at all? Valdemar smirked to themselves. The chances of Vulgora solving this case all by themselves were… Slim. They were way too prideful and stubborn for any of this to go well. They almost chuckled. As entertaining as it would be to see them completely fail this investigation, Valdemar found themselves… Intrigued. The murder didn’t seem to be ordinary. First of all, it was clear the body wouldn’t have been found hadn’t it be intentionally put in the morgue. The killer wanted it to be found ; could it mean they were going to toy with investigators ? That thought alone sent a pleasant shiver down their spine. Oh they would gladly play along… It was wonderful to see just how depraved and twisted the human mind could get ; well, not always, but most of the time. Oh, there was the tumor-

Their clamps and scalpel nudged their way to the cancerous bud between the layers of flesh, and carefully started to remove it from its snug spot. They disposed of it on the adjacent metal tray, and worked their way back out of the brain ; it was always the most tedious part. It was important to be careful not to let their attention waver, since they had to get out without causing any lasting damage still. And so, with their usual utmost precision, they wriggled their way out of the patient’s head. They closed the opening they’d made in the cranium, stitched back together the various layers atop of the bone aaaannnd done !

They smiled and stood from the stool they liked to sit on while they operate and called the nurses so they could bring the patient out of the operation room. Once that was done, they left as well, going to wash their tools and hands ; their smile never left their face. It was always thrilling to perform yet another completely successful surgery…

Their mind wandered again. That murder seemed to gnaw at them and poke at their curiosity more than they liked to admit. They might just have to be a little nosy and get some information for themselves… Of course, they’d have to thread carefully. They knew how closely Vulgora kept an eye on them. Rightfully so, if they were honest with themselves. They had gotten their hands pretty dirty in the past. It was foolish, for sure. The thrill of it only lasted for so long. Neurosurgeon was a much more suitable, fulfilling and satisfying. Either way… That scientist they’d spotted in the crime scene, and who’d they saw in the police station’s corridor – he could probably help them.

Julian laid on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was the weekend, and he didn’t work on weekends. Well, he didn’t work at the lab. He usually came home and continued observing his patients’ blood under his own microscope, because… He didn’t really like doing nothing. Whenever he stayed idle, he felt an anxious itch in his chest that only work would scratch. He didn’t like the idea of not working. He loved his job, he really did ; helping people was his number one priority… And so when he had days off like this, he felt… Weird. As if he shouldn’t take time for himself. As if he needed to work, if only for the people that counted on him. He wouldn’t allow himself rest.

But this Saturday morning, it was different. With that whole… Murder case going on, the interrogation he went through… He didn’t want to work. But he couldn’t find it in himself to rest either. He felt stuck and confused. The images of that cadaver would not leave his mind, and a feeling of restlessness was nagging at him. He didn’t know why. His instincts screamed at him to not care, to stay away from this whole thing as much as he could, to let the police investigate themselves… And then his mind drifted back to that cute guy from the scientific police. He reached in his pocket, pulling out the small piece of paper with his number on it. He paused. Should he…? He didn’t want to be a bother…

He nonetheless grabbed his phone, and entered Liam’s number into his contacts. He bit down on his lip nervously as he stared at the default purple contact picture. What should he do? Text first? Or call? Call might be closer to a regular interaction than text, but text could probably be a saver from awkward slip ups and silences… What to do? He took a deep breath and decided to text.

Julian sighed, adjusted his glasses onto his nose and put his phone aside. He briefly closed his eyes, and mentally went over the conversation he’d just had with Liam. The fact he’d been slightly curious about Valdemar worried him, but well, he could only warn him about them. Liam was an adult man capable of taking his own decisions… But still, the fact there was a possibility he would willingly try and contact them made a surge of protectiveness wash over him. His cheeks reddened at that realization, and he rubbed his eyes. What the hell was he thinking? He’d just met this guy, and they had talked exactly twice. No need to go mother hen right now ! His mind then drifted back to the mention of medication. He wondered what they could be, but he had to respect Liam’s refusal to tell him. He understood, to an extent ; medical history was personal and private ; but he worked at a hospital, so… He had probably seen worse than whatever was in Liam’s med bottles.

Vulgora fumbled with their keys and opened the front door of their house, stepping in with a heavy sigh before closing said door behind them. They took off their shoes and ran a hand through their hair. Gods, how were they going to do this…? They had no idea why they were so hellbent on being the lead officer in this case. They were no detective, or investigator… What were they trying to prove? And to whom?? They went over to their bedroom, grumbling under their breath. They closed the door behind them, the warm lingering scent of sex filling their nostrils. They pushed their thoughts aside and changed out of their uniform, before joining the man they shared this house with in the living room.

Vultur looked up from his book with a smile. “how was today?” he asked.

Vulgora groaned and let themselves slump down onto the couch. They took a deep breath and thought about how to explain their conflicting thoughts to the other man. “I don’t know… We – I mean I took up a new case.”

Vultur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, but he seemed interested. “you have?”

Vulgora leaned their head back, brows subtly pinched in a small frown “yeah. It’s not like the ones I usually deal with. It’s a murder” Vultur let out an interested ‘oooh’ as Vulgora continued “Honestly, I have no idea what came over me, I…” they sighed “I have very, if any experience with those ! I just… I guess I didn’t think it through before taking the case. I hate going slow, I much prefer when I can kick ass straight away !”

Vultur’s head tilted slightly, a hint of concern in his clear blue eyes “you can always pass the case to someone else, you know?”

“NO!!” they replied firmly, before apologetically clearing their throat and looking aside “I mean… I took it, now I have to resolve it, y’know? I’m not a pussy. Or a quitter.” they crossed their arms.

Vultur smiled “that you aren’t… But do you really plan on doing this all by yourself?”

Vulgora’s mouth opened but no words came out. They closed it, brows furrowed in thought. The other man was… Kind of right. If they took on the case alone with no experience, they might just be going straight into a wall. They huffed. “I can do it.”

Vultur paused, considering his words. “you know… It’s ok to ask other people to help you.”

Their nose scrunched at that. They knew he was right, but the idea left a bitter taste in their mouth. They didn’t need anyone’s help ! Did they…?

The sound of Vultur closing his book snapped them out of their thoughts. “I’ll go make dinner. Maybe that’ll help you think better” They nodded, relaxing a little.

Vulgora sat with him at the table, munching tranquilly on their plate of spaghetti when their gaze shifted back to him. Despite themselves, they took a moment to observe him. His shoulder length black hair, still wet from the shower he took – probably before they came home -, his piercing, clear eyes, his thin eyebrow and soft and pale skin… But they could tell something was troubling him ; and they were right. Vultur spoke up, a hint of apprehension in his tone. “I wanted to ask you something…”

Vulgora took another fork of spaghetti and looked back at him, attentive “mhm?”

Vultur paused, looking right into their eyes. They could tell it was more serious than usual, making their brows pinch together slightly. When Vultur spoke up again, his tone was almost cold “what am I, to you?”

Vulgora paused, stopped chewing, and regarded him. Their mind had gone completely blank. “… huh?”

Vultur discreetly sighed, through his nose, thinking of how to formulate his question more directly. “…Are you with me just for the sex?”

Vulgora blinked, their mind both paralyzed and racing a mile a minute. He wasn’t wrong… “I-I mean… kind of ? You’re the best I’ve been with, you know, it’s… “ they frowned and shook their head, a hint of annoyance in their tone as they added “I’m not in the mood for that kind of talk.”, before going back to their spaghetti. Vultur didn’t say anything, and the next time Vulgora looked back up they were met with the most disapproving glance they’d received from him yet, accompanied with a hint of hurt. Their heart did a little twist in their chest. They’d obviously said something wrong. “what?”

Without any kind of further commentary, Vultur picked his plate and went back to the kitchen, finishing his own spaghetti there. The police officer wanted to stand up and catch up to him, to say something, to do something, but… They didn’t know what. They stayed frozen in their seat for a good thirty seconds before they finished their spaghetti. They put the empty plate and dirty silverware in the dishwasher before returning to the master bedroom. Once the door was closed they slumped back against it briefly, before going to lay down in bed.

That night, Vultur hadn’t joined them, and had slept on the couch. They found the room… Quiet. Strangely empty. His absence in the bed poked weirdly at their heart, leaving them confused.

Yes they were with him for the sex, it's the best they ever had, that part is true… They still remember what they’d said during the aftermath of their first night together. ‘Where the hell were you my whole life?!’ they’d shouted. They couldn’t deny how good he was in bed played a huge part in why they were staying with him. But it was obvious, even more after this somewhat short talk that this what not all Vultur wanted.

It left a bitter taste in their mouth. Their heart squeezed in their chest. They didn’t know what to call all those thoughts and emotions. They’d never felt them before… They’d never really cared about their relationships in the past, not like that anyway. They don’t know how to label how they feel about Vultur…

Their mind drifted back to how the man behaved with them. They… Never had any arguments. During the three and a half months they were together, they couldn’t remember any major conflict.

They noticed how sometimes Vultur would slip a kiss on their face here and there, give affectionate touches when they were sitting on the couch…

And then their mind went back to his business.

Their heart dropped as they remember him telling them about his wines, ‘Baron’s’ they think the brand was called, and how another brand was starting to take over the market. They remembered how defeated he looked, and how worried he was. They guessed the situation didn’t really get any better, in just a week or two.

The fact his lung surgery had had complications around the same time just…

Vulgora’s heart clenched with the realization that Vultur stayed because… He needed them.

They sighed and groaned, rubbing their face as the weight of their mistakes dawned on them.

“… What the hells am I doing…?”

Author's note : ayy chapter 2 ! Really wanted to start exploring Vulgora's relationship's depths, but fear not I will explore all the main characters of my story as much as I can (or I'll try to at least)

Feedback is always greatly appreciated !! especially in regards to the warnings / ratings

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph! Curious if you had any existing lists ready to go? :D

Hi Lovely!

I do! And based on this poll here, this is the list you guys want to see!! I hope you enjoy!!

HURT/COMFORT Under 5K Pt. 2

See also:

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 1: Under 5K Words

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 2: 5K to 10K Words

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 3: 10K to 50K Words

Hurt / Comfort Pt. 4: 50K+ Words Pt. 1

==

And When The Night Is Over by Simply Isnt On (K, 329 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Platonic Bed Sharing / Not Slash) – Sherlock and John sleep together.

Once Upon A Time by ProfessorSquirrell (T, 908 w., 1 Ch. || Family, Snippets of Life, Romance, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Implied Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending) – There is a room in Sherlock's mind palace where nothing gets deleted. And it looks like this...

My Unfortunately Average Sized Cranium by Haelia (K+, 996 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Headache, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Drug Use, Doctor John) – In which Sherlock has a migraine. ALMOST Johnlock. Not quite.

The Four Incidents by TheGirlWithRedHair22 (K+, 1,064 w., 1 Ch. || S1 Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, John Whump, Accident, John POV, Hand Holding, Worried Sherlock, Sherlock’s Self Esteem) – The first time John was present when someone insulted Sherlock, he brushed it off as a strange coincidence.

Sleep Tonight by Jenn1984 (T, 1,220 w, 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Bed Sharing, Worried Sherlock, Sick John, Hugs/Cuddles, Touch Neediness) – Fingers begin prying open his jacket looking for a wound and John would really like to swat at them. No, he's not hit anywhere, he's just damn sick.- John Watson has a fever.

Poppies For John by grannysknitting (T, 1,102 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Rememberance Sunday fic - John notices a discrepancy between Sherlock's stated intent and his actions. Sherlock, for once, explains himself. Friendship or pre-slash, your choice. Intended in honour of those who defend us.

And, Usually, He's the One Who GIVES Me a Headache by Cumberbatch Critter (T, 1,315 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, POV John, Cranky John, Headaches, Head Massage) – A migraine is never fun.

Hallucinations can't open doors by Bespectacled dreamer (K+, 1,330 w., 1 Ch. || Reunion, Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Hallucinations, John’s Wedding, Light Humour) – In which John gets married and Sherlock gets a broken nose. 

Here to Stay by MockJayPhoenix12 (K, 1,574 w., 1 Ch. || Post Reunion, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Headache, Bed Sharing, Care Taker Sherlock, Hand Holding, Fluff) – On Sherlock's first day home, John wakes with a migraine.

3:00 in the Morning is a Great Time to Talk by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,775 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt / Comfort, Friendship, Bed Sharing, First Person POV John, Cuddling, Worried Sherlock, Comforting John, Platonic Affection/Love) – "Are you trying to talk your way into my bed?" "Obviously." 

Dying Changes Everything by whitchry9 (K+, 1,919 w., 1 Ch || Sherlock POV, Suicidal Ideation, Near-Death, Hospital, Sherlock Whump, Gunshot, Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship) – Sherlock is having an existential crisis and wants to have a near death experience like John did to gain some perspective. “Shoot me John!” he insisted, gesturing to himself. John just looked at him. “Are you completely mad?” 

Study in John by chappysmom (K+, 2,158 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiP, POV John, Introspection, Friendship, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, John’s Limp) – After the events of "A Study in Pink," John lies on the couch in Baker Street and thinks about the whirlwind events of the day. What is he getting himself into?

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

Spilt Milk by Erin Giles (K+, 2,222 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John comes back from a trip to the supermarket only to take a trip up the stairs. Both shopping and blood are spilled leaving Sherlock to play the role of Doctor.

BBCSH 'The Comfort of Company' by tigersilver (T, 2,769 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF/Mary, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Bed Sharing, Grumpy John, Touching, Clingy/Handsy Sherlock, Cranky Sherlock, Fluff and Light Angst) – It's a trope that John and Sherlock end up sharing in the same bed eventually and I admit I do adore it unconditionally, along with all it infers as to the lowering of defenses and the heightening of trust. I put forth for your consideration that the notion persists because those who think about these things realize these two men are each in dire need of some good company.

Unquantifiable by 221b_hound (M, 2,799 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Sherlock/Sally Friendship, Grumpy John, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pet Names, Texting, Sweet Sherlock, Princess Bride References) – John remains a terrible and foul-tempered patient, but he does try to make up for it with pet names and text message silliness. In the meantime, Sally Donovan visits Baker Street for a hint about the Milverton case, and has to deal with a Sherlock Holmes who can't find words big enough to thank her for saving John's life at the warehouse. For afters, there's a viewing of The Princess Bride. Part 33 of the Unkissed series

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

It's Just Another Birthday by Vintage Tea Party (K, 3,207 w., 2 Ch. || Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Sherlock’s Birthday, Sherlock 3rd Person POV) – When John makes a birthday cake for Sherlock he thinks its an innocent enough gesture. But nothing is ever normal with Sherlock and this isn't just another birthday. 

Human Body Pillow by Lunavere (K, 4,122 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Five and Ones, Sleepy Johnlock, Bed Sharing) – A story about the five times John fell asleep on Sherlock, and the one time Sherlock fell asleep on him.

What John Doesn't Know (Won't Hurt Him) by blueink3 (NR [T], 4,392 w., 1 Ch, || S3 Fix It, Pining Sherlock, Snippets of Life, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Fluff and Angst, Five and One, Hopeful Ending, POV Sherlock) – Five people who see Sherlock's scars before John Watson. But Sherlock's secrets were never something he could keep from his blogger for long.

Date Night by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 4,451 w., 1 Ch. || Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Caring John, Schmoopy Fluff, Fidget Cube, Baking / Cooking, Date Night, Established Relationship, POV Sherlock Holmes, Understanding John, Grumpy Sherlock, John’s Bum, Kisses, Hugs, Domestic Fluff, Touching, Hair Petting, Light Humour) – It's John and Sherlock's first Date Night as an official couple and Sherlock needs it to be PERFECT. Mrs Hudson helps. Part 7 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

When Your Belly's in the Trench by Morgan_Stuart (T, 4,743 w., 1 Ch. || PTSD, Character Study, Rescue, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, Trauma, Danger, Drama, Kidnapping/Captivity) – The next time that door opens, John Watson will kill the person on the other side.

[hellsvestibule]

I do think if something you like is actually super pretentious and deep, you shouldn’t try to sell it exclusively on this factor, at the expense of whatever gives it mass appeal (be that tits and ass, fight scene sakuga, ghibli-esque environmental storytelling) bc then what you’re doing is presenting something pleasurable as exclusively an intellectual exercise, when it was purposefully wrapped in nice packaging and given Flavor so you aren’t just, playing the video game version of a philosophy textbook. It was made accessible for a reason and you shouldn’t dismiss the merit in that.

I get frustrated though bc you often do just end up in arguments w the types of people who hate nuance, like, on one side, people who want to be entertained and will let all that shit fly over their heads and only accept the baseline story premise because it’s wrapped up in sparkly packaging, and actively resent you for asking them to think deeper about the deepshit they accidentally got into bc it was pretty, and people who dismiss the artistry because they exclusively like to Think Hard bc they’re obviously sooo above seeking media for the pleasurable experience. And might even write off something they’d otherwise like Because it has tits and ass or whatever they find to make a piece of artwork trite

Wheras my brain is wired so as to need both pain and pleasure in their utmost extremity injected directly into my cranium. For some reason

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Hunted by a sunless city that never sleeps (part 3)

Dracule Mihawk x werewolf!reader. NSFW!!!

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

This is part three of five. This fic is dedicated to @alphaash99. Kuraigana Island is Mihawk's home in the manga/anime.

Shanks being in a relationship with his crew's doctor is an allusion to this headcanon list and then to this fic, even though they take place in a different continuity.

*****

The next five days are like all those you spend in the company of your lover: happy and peaceful.

The two of you spend much time together. There is no one else on the island apart from the two of you (at least, if one doesn't consider the large colony of baboons populating the woods) and you have made clear during your first visit you don't expect Mihawk to entertain you from morning till night, since you can find your own ways to pass the time. You lover spends a few hours every day training, and has no objections to you observing him, as long as you keep quiet; you sit in rapt silence at the corner of the clearing, enthralled by the elegance of his movements, the apparently effortless way he handles his heavy sword, the deadly grace with which he deals a blow capable to split a mountain in half. He ignores you, acting as if you weren't even there for hours, but in the end, when you walk up to him with a water bottle in your hand and your eyes full of admiration, he allows a pleased smile to form on his lips. He doesn't care for compliments, and he has been at the top long enough not to need to have his abilities acknowledged, but you know he is secretly flattered you are impressed by what he can do.

You also take advantage of your brief vacations on Kuraigana to train, which you often lack the time for when you are at home. Besides your beloved derringer, which you always keep within reach, you have brought two other guns, and Mihawk did tell you to make yourself at home. You just need a line of jars on a low wall, or a wooden board on which you have drawn the shape of a human body and mounted on a pole, or a fruit hanging from the branch of a tree. You shoot at a close range and from a distance, with one hand and the other (the difference is minimal, given the fact your grandfather taught you to use both and you have been functionally ambidextrous since you were ten) standing still, running and turning, closing one eye and the other, and with whatever other combination or element of difficulty you can think of; being a mercenary is perhaps less exciting an activity than being one of the Seven Warlords, not to mention one you will one day have to abandon when your mother leaves the responsibility of ruling your island in your hands, but you sincerily enjoy it, and there is no moment you feel stronger and more in control than when you are holding a gun in your hand or in both, ready to aim and fire.

Sometimes, Mihawk attends your own practicing sessions, and while you are not as good as he is at ignoring the fact you have a spectator, his presence pushes you to do your best, and impress him. Sometimes he even accepts to help you with your training; his favourite trick is tossing a coin in the air, and have you hit it from farther and farther away. You once bet you could put a bullet through his hat without hurting him; he thought you were joking, but you weren't, and you took advantage of a moment he was distracted observing the waves from the castle's porch to shoot, missing the surface of his cranium by less than an inch. Your lover wasn't amused, since unfortunately that day he was wearing his favourite hat, but he admitted he was impressed. He doesn't like guns himself since, he told you once, he finds nothing honourable about killing someone from so far away the other person doesn't even realize they are being shot at and can retaliate, but he appreciates your dedication and talent, especially considering your activity as a mercenary is something you will have to abandon one day, to succeed your mother as your island's ruler.

If you and your lover ever had a child, you let yourself fantasize sometimes, they could inherit both of your talents; Mihawk's ability with a sword, and yours with a gun. They would be unbeatable, the greatest warrior the world has ever seen, and you would be proud and happy to give your loveran heir, to love and protect and educate. It will never happen, but it is nice, sometimes, to wonder.

The two of you are all alone, and even the most passionate couple can't spend the whole day in bed; still, when you are with Mihawk, you are never bored, never wish you had company or entertainment to help you pass the time. You and your lover spend your days together in many different ways: you read, taking advantage of the castle's well-stocked library; you cook for and with each other, each secretly surprised of the other's talent in the kitchen; you swim, sometimes without even bothering with bathing costumes, in a little bay not far from the pier. During your first visit you have discovered your lover has an interest in agriculture, having started farming and tilling the once fertile fields of the island, and you enjoy helping him, not letting the long hours of physical labour scare you. Sometimes you take long walks in the woods, walking for hours without uttering a single word, simply content with each other's presence; in those moments, he doesn't oppose holding your hand. Sometimes, he is the one taking yours.

And every day, as the light filtering through the master bedroom's windows falls on his face and wakes him up, Mihawk turns in his bed and finds you, either peacefully sleeping, as at ease as you would be in your own bed, or already awake, silently admiring him in the ephemeral moment between sleep and wake. "Good morning." you murmur as you stretch towards him for the first kiss of the day; sometimes he doesn't even answer, but takes you in his arms, feeling the precious warmth of your naked body against his skin.

Any day, any moment, you can spend with your lover is happy and pleasant, but those five days are a veritable dream. Apart from the paper the News Coo delivers every day, allowing the two of you to keep informed about the latest news, it is as if the rest of the world had disappeared; you have asked your mother to only call in case of extreme necessity, and everything else can wait until you return home. Every night, after making sure your lover cannot see you, you make sure to drink from your flask, each time a sip more than the previous day; but beyond that, you do not think about the plenilune ritual, you do not think about anything that is not the man you love, and who you are determined to keep by your side whatever the cost.

Even if it means lying to him.

In the end, it is the last day of your stay; determined to spend as much time as you can with your lover, but aware of what would happen if you were to miss the monthly ceremony at your island, you decide to leave in the early afternoon, so as to have plenty of time to reach home before sundown on the next day, even in the absence of a favourable wind like the one that accompanied you to Kuraigana. You spend the morning in the kitchen preparing your lover's favourite dishes for lunch, feeling melancholic at the prospect of having to say goodbye, but otherwise content and relaxed... until Mihawk joins you, taking his cape off.

"Is your day's work already over?" you ask; he had told you over breakfast he was planning to sow a large field today, a job he thought would keep him busy for most of the day "Lunch will not be ready for two hours at least..."

"I know; I had to stop because of the storm."

"Because of the... what?"

It is only now that you realize your lover's cape is sopping wet, as well as his hair and clothes. "It started raining, a few minutes ago." he explains as he gestures to the closest window, as if inviting you to see for yourself "There was not a cloud in the sky when I got out, and suddenly, in the span of a few minutes, a storm broke out."

He is not lying, you realize as you approach the window. So focused you were on your cooking you paid no attention to the weather, especially after five days of sunny skies and warm temperatures, but as any sailor or pirate can attest, things can change rapidly and meteorological conditions are not something you can rely on or foresee. During your stay on Kuraigana, the sky has always been of a perfect, almost unreal azure, as if the Gods were blessing you and your partner with the perfect weather to enjoy your time outside.

If so, you must have inadvertently, gravely offended those very Powers, because the storm unleashed on the island is much more than a simple, innocuous summer drizzle: it's raining violently, the sky covered by menacing grey clouds, and a strong wind bending the trees.

"Oh, no..."

Mihawk's hands rest on your shoulders. "There is nothing to be afraid of; the castle is old but solid, not even an hurricane could destroy it."

"That is good to hear; but I'm not worried about that. I... I had to leave in the afternoon, remember? Otherwise I won't be home in time for the plenilune ritual."

"Oh. Right."

Your lover is pensive as he regards the cloudburst raging outside; now that you actually pay attention attention to what is happening out of the kitchen, instead of focusing on making sure the food you were preparing was good enough to satisfy Mihawk's good palate, you can hear the thunder rumbling among the clouds, the rain falling copious on the fields and the paths... and high waves rising from the sea's surface, in the background.

"These summer storms are often violent but short-lived; I wouldn't be surprised if by the time we are done eating the weather had turned again."

"Oh, I hope it does..."

You sigh, turning towards him and mentally reminding yourself the roast beef has to remain in the oven for fifteen more minutes before you take it out. "I'm sorry, Mihawk. It's not that I couldn't wait to leave, far from it, but..."

"... the ceremony is important for you; I know." he finishes for you, before kissing your forehead "I'm going to put some dry clothes on. On another note, whatever you are preparing smells heavenly."

"Just wait till you can taste it, then..."

You force yourself to smile until your lover has left the kitchen; then, frowning, you return to contemplate the storm out of the window, praying whatever God is listening it subsides soon enough to let you return home before the full moon.

*****

Mihawk sincerely appreciates your efforts in the kitchen, taking even a second helping of roast beef - not a small feat, given his refined tastes.

Unfortunately, that's the only thing you have to be happy about, since the sudden rainstorm you both hoped would pass soon and let the sky return to the cloudless blue you have enjoyed for five days, proves instead to be unusually persistent; it keeps raining, and raining, and raining still, a veritable flood pouring down on the island, deafening thunderclaps making you jump even through the castle's thick walls, the sun hidden behind a blanket of iron-grey clouds.

Not even the craziest, or most capable of sailors would dare set off by sea under these conditions, and you, who are neither, know it would be impossible, akin to suicide, to attempt to leave, even if you were travelling in a much larger and more solid vessel, given the violence of the wind and the height of the swells.

You have no choice: you have to stay (stay on the island, stay at the castle, stay with Mihawk) for at least one more day, or until the storm passes... which is much less happy a predicament one would imagine, given your relationship.

"You know you can stay as long as you want, in any case; I love having you here." he murmurs in your ear that night as you join him in bed, and you nod silently, because you know he's being sincere in extending his offer, and you love him for it, but that changes nothing - in particular, it doesn't change the fact that you are both in danger like never before.

You barely sleep that night, and on the next day, the first thing you do after waking up is to slip out of bed to anxiously look out the window. Even if you departed immediately, and were to find favourable winds to push you towards home, you would never make it on time for the ceremony, and a full moon night is the worst possible moment to spend alone on a vessel in the middle of the sea, but you would be ready to take your chance, if only to stay as far away as you can from Mihawk, breathtakingly beautiful as he still sleeps peacefully, lying on his back with a blanket covering only half of his nudity.

There is nothing you wouldn't do to keep him safe, but unfortunately you are spared the need to decide what to do, because the island is still shaken by the storm, with heavy rain, violent squalls and flashes of lightning crossing the sky. It looks even more violent than last night, you think with a sinking heart, which means that you will have to contrive another plan to keep your lover safe.

You hurry to return to bed, seeing Mihawk is beginning to stir. "Is it still raining?" he asks as soon as you have said good-morning with a kiss or five; he suffers from a mild form of halitosis, but since he appears to be unaware of the fact, you have never told him, and that doesn't make his kisses less sweet.

"An out-and-out deluge."

"Which means you are struck here with me. How unfortunate..."

You force yourself to grin, not wanting to make him worry (or suspicious) but in your heart you are shaking, and pretending everything is fine and normal and missing the plenilune ritual is something you are sorry and embarrassed for, but not completely terrified about, is harder and harder as the day goes by.

Your flask is empty but for a few drops you drink after breakfast, but the hope it helps you control the effects like it has done on the previous nights is nothing more than wishful thinking, even if you had gallons of draught to drink; the full moon is upon you, you can feel it approach even in the middle of the day like the hot breath of a predator on the back of your neck. You wait until Mihawk has headed for the castle's armory for his daily training (carrying with him not Yoru or the Kogatana but, you notice proudly, the sword you have gifted him) and then you call your mother, who expects you to be back well before sundown, on her transponder snail.

"I always did think it was incautious of you to make plans away from the island until the day before the full moon." she considers; she is not exactly scolding you, like she had to do with the unruly child you sometimes were, but she is very worried, and that fills you with guilt.

"I am sorry, mother."

"You don't have to apologize, my love. What are you going to do? With... your friend, I mean. Is there a way you can keep both of you safe?"

That is the million-berry question, as well as one you have no clear answer to. You promise to call her tomorrow morning after all is over, to reassure her you are fine, and "I love you." you murmur; there are (were, in one case) exactly three people in the world who have heard you utter those words, and she is the sole woman as well as the one you have told more often.

"I love you too, (name). Please, take care of yourself."

You promise you'll try.

For the first time you feel prisoner in the castle, walking back and forth in the corridors and attempting in vain to focus on something, be it a book, practice with your guns, or the preparation of a new delicacy for lunch... something that is not the rising hunger inside you, and that threatens to be unleashed as soon as the sun disappears behind the horizon. There is nothing you can do to stop it: avoiding the sight of the moon or sleep, in particular, is completely useless, and being alone in a new place, without the comfort and the calming presence of your people all around, for the first time in your life, makes the whole ordeal even more unpredictable. Having no sleep medications at hand, you decide to get drunk, hoping it will make you less reactive and dangerous when the time comes; you take the least expensive wine you find in the pantry, carefully avoiding the one you have gifted Mihawk and the two of you have enjoyed one glass at a time per dinner together, and start chugging.

Your lover cannot quite contain his bewilderment when an hour later he sees you enter the library (why is he so attractive?, you wonder numbly, even now that he is simply reading a book in his favourite chair? Why do you just need to set eyes on him, to feel your love overflowing like the tide breaking a dam?) completely sloshed, tripping over your own feet because of it, and naked save for your bra and underskirt, having abandoned your dress on the kitchen's floor.

"(name), what in the world...?"

"Carry me to bed."

"What?"

"I said, carry me to bed." you repeat clinging to his shirt, your lips barely a breath away from his "I want to make love - no, I need to fuck. Please, Mihawk, just help me. I need not to think for a while."

The fact that he asks you no questions, at least to make sure you are all right, should be enough to make you suspicious, but in the state you're in you wouldn't even notice if he grew wings and flew out of the window; you smile when he obediently picks you up and carries you to the master bedroom, where you quickly remove his clothes and what is left of yours before pushing him on the bed and kneeling on his lap.

"Now. Please." you beg him; a frenzy you have never known before has taken hold of you, hunger and lust and fear all in one, a strange, scary feeling you have to let off somehow, or it could destroy you. Your mother did tell you it was dangerous for one of you to face the full moon alone, but you thought she meant the loner could lose control and endanger innocent lives; what you feel is different... a solitude so crushing and encompassing you fear your own body would be torn apart, and a monster raise from the remains "My love, I need you; please, take me, do whatever you want with me, hurt me if you want, I don't care. I just... I don't want to be alone."

Your wish is granted. Mihawk doesn't hurt you, even though he is a little more heavy-handed than usual, and as he makes you scream loud in the night, kneeling on the bed behind you as your buttocks slap against his pelvis, the downright obscene sound of your lovemaking filling the room, he holds you tight against him, caressing your hair and face and kissing every inch of your body he can reach, letting you know, without the need for words as is customary between the two of you, that you are not alone, that he doesn't fear you, and that you are going to be all right.

It doesn't work, of course; not even a God could reassure you in this moment. But you appreciate the effort, and in the end, exhausted by the intensity if your coupling and already sleep deprived after the previous night, you fall asleep against his side, just as the sun disappears behind the horizon.

The storm is still raging outside. Exactly an hour later, the beast inside you rears its head.

[funnyfaceflea]

so ever since ive been getting back into animatronics (pizza time theater, rockafire explosion) ive had this question in mind ever since fnaf got me into the rich history behind them

full description of choices

Positive: Brought more people wanting to save old animatronics, more nostalgia and interest into the scene, more awareness and efforts to save old animatronics

Negative: Caused people to not take animatronics seriously anymore, only viewed them as scary and just to be the butt of jokes by people and especially, (mostly young) kids, animatronics not being desired anymore by entertainment facilities/attractions and parks due to the interest in the games

personally i think their are both positives and negatives to fnaf's impact on the animatronic scene. for me fnaf has made me care a lot about animatronics and their history, especially the cec/showbiz and disney ones (it was my cranium command hyperfixation that triggered it to come back again recently thank u buzzy) but i would love to hear your thoughts!

[disordinarybeauty]

LET THE FREAK SPEAK!

Look at me!

Your eyes trace the jagged lines of my skin,

the scars etched across my face.

Disgust flickers in your gaze.

Pity, too.

But don’t stop there.

Look closer, there is more to feed your craving for oddities.

See the face growing on my head, altering the shape of my cranium.

That's disgusting, isn't it?

It's repulsive. You love it.

But you think I am the weird one.

Perhaps.

But I am more.

For centuries you have called us “freaks.”

We are the stars of the show—the unnaturals, the curiosities.

We put on your Freak Show.

They parade us, twisted and malformed, before gaping crowds.

Our deformities became your entertainment.

You laugh, you gasp, you point.

And we dance, pull faces, and make you feel better about yourselves.

Now, here I am.

Not on a stage, but on your screen.

Challenging your gaze.

Provoking your discomfort.

Why?

Because I am not just a spectacle.

I am a mirror.

Reflecting your fears, your own biases.

You see, my disfigurement is not my burden.

It’s yours.

So, let me amuse you.

Let me make you squirm.

Feel the unease.

Pulling faces like a clown.

How can I be so playful despite my ugly condition?

Question your assumptions.

Because when you look away,

when you scroll to the next video, I remain.

An embodiment of resilience.

An emblem of defiance.

An act of disturbance.

And perhaps, just perhaps, a catalyst for change.

[infraaa]

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 • • •

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 • • •

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 • • •

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 • • • ❥❥❥

tw // implied absentee family, angst, bodily injury

TAKE CAUTION UNDER THE CUT

SLAM!

It was like a cascade– frozen rain shattering and falling across the floor. The snake roared and hissed in painful agony as its head was bashed in by Y/n’s baseball bat. The ink from within the snake started to flood out of the newly severed hole in its cranium like a thick waterfall. Affogato was knocked back by this blow, being dragged along by the snake he was loosely attached to. He screamed in pain as ink spilled all over him, going into his eyes and mouth, the stinging pain! “Now! Latte, Espresso! Finish it up!” “Yes!” She responded, gathering her younger brother and floating forth, preparing their catalysts. “I know you like it bitter, Affogato,” Espresso Cookie choked, “now, allow me to give you a bitter taste you’ll never forget!” Affogato slammed his staff on the ground once more, expecting snakes to come up… however, none came. He slammed his staff down a couple more times, to no avail. And just as he looked up in a state of panic, a beam of light was coming straight for him! He tried to block it with his staff, but the propulsion of the beam was too much to bear. With incredible force, Affogato Cookie was sent backward outside into the snow, completely obliterating whatever was left of the snake. Being sent out of the cabin with a couple rough hits to the snowy yard. He landed on his back, arms outstretched with tearladen eyes stained with ink. His vision was leaving him as he lay there, exhausted. A pair of footsteps could be heard crunching through the snow, and a pair of coffee colored eyes meeting up to his own from above. The sky, black as night, shining with stars that mimicked the very light snowfall. “Affogato… are you… hang in there, okay?” He knelt down to Affogato as Latte slowly approached him. Affogato looked at his brother talking, but he couldn’t tell just what exactly he was saying– just a garble of words. His eyes slowly closed, falling unconscious. You walked up to Latte and sat next to Espresso, who had picked his older brother up by his side, cradling his head.

“Affogato?” He called out. “Affogato!” Latte repeated in chorus. You looked back over at the cabin and ran inside to see nothing more than an ink mattered, blood spattered, glass shattered state of a home that once was meant to mean a getaway trip away from chaos, only for it to be met with even more of what you lot so desperately wanted to leave behind. You saw Licorice’s body, silent against the cracked wood floor in a puddle of dark viscous blood. Kneeling down to Red Velvet, who shakily tried to get up off of the necromancer, had a large gash in his head, and was bleeding just as much as Licorice was, the only difference being he was still breathing, it seemed. His eyes seemed cloudy and dry however, lethargic– as though he was looking through you instead of at you. “Ugh…” he groaned, before collapsing onto you with a sigh pushing out of his mouth. “H… Help…” He whispered weakly. You lifted him off and positioned him comfortably against the entertainment center. “I’ll go get my phone, give me a second.” You said as you hurriedly got up and scurried to get your phone. Running to your shared bedroom, you unplugged your charging phone and quickly dialed emergency services, rushing back into the common area to see Espresso carrying an unconscious Affogato in his arms, and a very concerned Latte Cookie at her younger brother’s left hand side, looking at you with a hand at her older brother’s clammy forehead.

The lot of you were eventually found and brought to a hospital in a nearby coffee village. The doctors and nurses were able to treat Red Velvet and Licorice at a steady pace, allowing them to rest and recover. However, Affogato was a different story. He overexerted his body to such a harsh extent that he wasn’t healing properly. His throat was left permanently damaged due to the ink buildup that accumulated over the course of his overblot. He had a bag of charcoal at his side as well as some other drips, presumably for other medications and saline. You were shortly discharged from the hospital, however, before you wished to leave you wanted to see Affogato.

You had to see him. He needed to talk to you after all.

When you appeared in his room, you could see the distraught on his face– the stress was evident in the wrinkles around his eyes, as though he was going through a neverending nightmare. Sitting down next to him you put your hand on top of his gently, feeling the cold chill of his cold skin. Clammy and cold, he opened his eye slowly, and it rolled over to you. With your free hand you put it to his forehead, feeling the diaphoresis that clung to his skin. “Mon cœur…” He whispered gently, his voice weak. You helped him sit up and pat his back, spitting up bits of thickened ink that had stuck in his throat. He put a hand to his chest and looked around at the saline bags and different kinds of machines around him. “Am I in the hospital?” He asked, looking at you. You nodded slowly. After recapping to him what had happened, telling him that the cabin had basically been destroyed and stained through and through with ink, and how he nearly killed Licorice and Red Velvet, he looked at his hands, and back over to you. He seemed to have trouble comprehending what had happened, like he had grown amnesia. You leaned into him and he rested his bed head on your chest with shocked serpentine eyes still tear stained with ink, showing impression lines going down his dark cheeks.

“Let me be very clear,” you said as you combed your fingers gently through his hair, feeling him sigh into your chest with fatigue, “I still love you.” This caused him to raise from you, looking you in the eye and holding your hands in his. You felt the blood in his veins through his fingers start pumping quicker, becoming warmer with the passing minutes and the ticks of the clock hanging on the wall by the window. “I hurt you, I hurt your friends, I endangered you… you know of my past, my dear how–” “The past doesn’t matter. What’s gone is gone and what is done is done. There’s no need to dwell.” He stared at you– dumbfounded, confused. “I just…” “Need time.” He interrupted. “You need time, I know.” He slowly lowered back into your chest, listening to the gentle beeping of the machine by his bed. And after what seemed like hours he put an arm around you, hugging you close to him. “Amour,” he whispered into your chest, “mon amour, mon amour, mon amour…” Kissing your chest gently, he looked up to you, his lower jaw still warmly clad in the cleavage of your chest. You looked down at reddened eyes of off white and your lips gently parted. “Me croyez-tu toujours?” You realized he was speaking in french, which you just let him breathe into your skin in silence. You didn’t want to answer him out of fear of the question itself. “Me faites-tu toujours confiance?” He gently moved you over so that you were positioned on his knee, and then his hands slowly moved down your body, stopping at the small of your back right above your rear.

With every kiss, every soft touch his lips made with your chest, your collarbone, the base of your neck, he would hum gently against your skin, holding you down on him as though he was almost fearful of letting you go. “Je t'aime.” He whispered. Now that, that you knew, “Je t'aime et je suis désolé.” He breathed. You bent down to take his chin and kiss his lips, aching. Yearning. Wanting. You felt the beeps on the machine speed up, his heart rate beginning to quicken. You paused and rested your forehead on his— feeling his now warm breath and hands wandering. Caressing his face, he tries to push upward towards you, wanting more of your lips.

“I too want to fix this.” You whispered, making him slowly smile. This smile… was one of those rare smiles that he never wore, and it was one of genuineness and purity— sincerity. “But I just need some time, okay?” Nodding, he hugged you closer to him, as though you couldn’t get any closer, taking a hand to the back of your thigh. The door to his room opened, and in walked Latte Cookie, in a hospital gown. She suddenly stopped when she saw your position. “Ah… am I interrupting something?” She asked, a gentle blush creeping onto her features. Affogato shook his head. She resumed walking into the room, walking up to Affogato to put a hand to his head, petting him. “Are you okay?” She asked quietly. Kissing the crown of his head, he looked up at his younger sister. “I just wanted to say that, I forgive you. And I’m sorry that I wasn’t there when you needed me.” He smiled at her, that genuine smile. He felt like he had come out of that hellhole all over again— finally feeling that ecstasy driven brush of freedom. “Je t'aime ma sœur,” He whispered as he leaned into her, “Je promets de ne plus te laisser tomber.” She nodded, taking his head into her chest. “Je t'aime aussi.”

Shortly, after a few days of healing, everyone was discharged. Affogato however had his staff suspended by mages at the hospital, who were previously called to help treat him. This was to prevent him from using any more magic. They then left, and went back to the Tower. As Red Velvet sat in the back seat, you drove up front. You didn’t want any of them driving really, as you really weren’t supposed to be driving either. Affogato sat up front, and the others sat in the back along with Red Velvet, who tapped on your shoulder when you hit a red light. You ignored him. You didn’t wanna give into that temptation again, god forbid let that memory of him creep into your mind. “Y/n Cookie.” Red Velvet quietly called out, causing Affogato to stir. “Red, stop.” You said firmly, yet quietly. You felt the near sleeping cookie in the passenger seat put a hand to your thigh, presumably to tell you to relax.

Some more driving passes and you hit the borderline for Beast Yeast. You stopped at a gas station to not only fill your tank, your car and your stomachs possibly, and to empty them as well. You pulled into a gas station that looked reminiscent of a Wawa, which caused Red Velvet’s eyes to widen. “I haven’t been to this place ever since I was a kid.” Red Velvet whispered. “It’s a fucking wawa basically, I know you’ve been to several of these.” Licorice retorted, lazily getting up out of his seat of the car. As all of you got out, with Espresso vouching to stay inside the vehicle to man the gas pump, you all headed inside the gas station. It was damn near empty except for a few staff members kinda cleaning up. Affogato fixed himself a coffee in one of those thermos cups before looking at you. “Do you want anything?” He asked. You went to go get a cup when his hand met your halfway, and you both lifted the cup out of the holder it came from together. He smiled at you and took the cup into his other hand. “Let me.” Looking at the cup, then back to your partner, you nodded. All the while a certain red and black haired cookie was making eye contact with you, or at least trying to. He was getting a tea out of one of the fridges in the wall.

And those memories flashed.

Memories of you flashed in his head back at the cabin. Your fingers in his hair. You softly moaning, the way your legs buckled and wrapped around his waist… and then Affogato nearly bashing his skull. He almost died reaping the consequences of his actions, yet, he still wanted you. “Oof, you okay, Red?” Latte asked as she walked up to him. He just looked at her with a neutral look on his face, but that was contradicted when his fingers gently squeezed at the bottle he was holding. She only giggled and put a small hand to his forearm. “I see the way you look at them. I’ve been there too, in that state of want for someone.” Red Velvet Cookie sighed and looked back at you and Affogato walking away from the coffee machines, hand in hand. “I wanna let you know something, Latte Cookie.” Red Velvet whispered. She nodded, and he got close to her, almost pinning her to the fridge. At her side.

“I know that your brother nearly killed me and Licorice Cookie, whether it be out of trauma or possessiveness. But to tell you the truth,” he cut himself off as he tried to find the right words in his head to put together, his cheeks growing a darker shade of crimson, “I’m the cause of all that. I do believe my actions that morning—“ “don’t even bother to rehash.” She said with a wry smile. “You don’t need to recap, I know what happened. Licorice told me already, and Espresso said that he thought he heard moaning in the kitchen that morning.” He slowly lets her go and crosses his arms, drink in hand. His blue eyes slowly avert over, possibly out of either embarrassment or slight humiliation. “Fucking mint.” He whispered, quickly walking up to the counter. “Ask for gas while you’re up there, I’m going outside.” Latte called out as she left. Red Velvet looked to the left, then to the right. “I got this plus twenty regular cash, yeah?” The cashier nodded, and soon after came out, had the gas pumped, and the lot moved on with their trip back, which was a rather quiet one.

The tower came into view for you and Affogato, seeing some cake monsters guarding the front doors, as well as Pomegranate Cookie, who was at the front doors with a drink in hand. She watched you lot pull back into the driveway with a mundane look, and walked down the steps to help with your belongings. She gave you a small smile while helping you and Latte, and as usual dismissing the guys. As they finished, Latte and Espresso walked up to Affogato and hugged him. “I wish you and Y/n Cookie luck, dear.” Latte whispered into his ear. Affogato ruffled Espresso’s hair, causing him to grumble and attempt to straighten it back up. “I missed that side of you, dear brother.” Affogato teased, causing the other dark cookie to roll his eyes. Latte and Espresso then reloaded into the car and waved at their brother. “Au revoir!” Affogato said as he waved back. Latte rolled her window down and smiled, “Au revoir! À bientôt!”

Giving you four a plain look, Pomegranate helped gather your bags up and opened the front doors for you all to gather back into the tower. The double doors shut with a reverberating echo, filling the large entryway like an echoing cave. You felt that cold air that welcomed you back. The somewhat sweet smell of buttercream frosting, smoke, molten chocolate, and metal hung loosely in the air, and a couple dogs came racing down the stairs, barking excitedly. Red Velvet crouched as the dogs ran up to him, jumping on him and licking his face. “Hey, Chiffon!” He chirped as he took one of the cakehounds that looked similar to an angel food cake in his arms. Licorice then took his bag from Pomegranate and walked off, seeing a flying creature fly up to him– which left you and Affogato alone with the red haired priestess. “I hope you both recognize that you both will continue work tomorrow, so in light of my master and myself, I highly advise you both to get settled back before it's too late.” Pomegranate said plainly as she left the two of you be. Looking at each other, you both walked up the stairs of the entryway up to the second floor. Even though you both had separate bedrooms in the tower, you both still insist on sharing your room together. The door opened, and the air was chilly due to no one occupying it for a while. Still though, you put your bags down on your mattress and you both began to unpack your belongings silently, until your eye caught something. It was a photograph. At the very bottom of Affogato’s suitcase was a photo that looked like it was taken a long time ago, as the white polaroid frame looked a bit worn and stained with age, a warm sienna taking hold of the edges.

Taking the photograph in your hand you paused putting your things away, looking at the contents of the photograph. Two children, and a woman standing behind them, as the slightly taller boy cradled a baby in his arms gingerly. “Hey, honey?” You called out to Affogato, who turned his head to you from your shared wardrobe. He put a hanger back on the rack that had a shirt on it. “Yes?” “What’s this photograph from?” He looked at the photograph in your hands as his eyes widened a little. “It’s a… a family photo.” He murmured as he walked to you, taking the other end of the photograph in his hand. He stared at it for a second, dark thick eyelashes lowering at the glare of the picture.

“Affogato, go get your sister.” The lady said, setting up a tripod in front of the cabin. The sun rained down on the normally dead yet now somewhat vibrant blades of grass in the front lawn. The wind was dry yet comfortable, and a small boy was seen rushing into the door of the cabin. “Latte!” Affogato yelled. A little girl in a white dress came out with a baby clad in white and light brown clothes. “I’m coming, I had to change Espresso.” She said excitedly. He nodded. “Mama wants me to hold him for the picture.” Affogato chirped as the two children went out onto the porch. “But I wanted to hold him!” The young Latte whined, hugging the baby boy close to her chest. “Now now…” The woman said as she gracefully walked up the wooden steps, “Since Affogato is the eldest, I do believe that it would be right if he was to hold Espresso for the photo.”

Latte looked at her mother in juvenile defeat and handed the baby over to her older brother. “There we go, that’s a good girl. Now, come on.”

The camera would soon flash upon the four as Affogato beamed. Latte looked to her brother as he held a baby cookie in his arms, his hair styled up nice and neat. “You’ve always had a nice smile.” Affogato’s mother commented, looking at the newly snapped photograph. “Even as a baby…” hee look softened as she took a finger to Affogato’s face within the picture, almost looking forlorn. Nevertheless, she put on a sad smile. “It’s been six months since your father departed.” She murmured to herself. She suddenly snapped out of her stupor however when she had felt her daughter tug on the hem of her maxi dress. “Mama, are you okay?” She asked innocently. Hee mother smiled upon her, knelt down, and kissed her forehead. “I’m okay, babygirl. Mama’s okay.” Affogato went up to hug his mother by the neck, his baby brother still in an arm. It was such a peaceful moment— birds were chirping, not a cloud in the sky and the immediate area had the sweet smell of coffee, chocolate, and vanilla… and the sounds of laughter and a baby’s babble could be heard.

Pure, wholesome bliss.

“That’s when Espresso was little.” Affogato whispered as he looked at the baby he was holding. “That was like… right before my father left.” You looked at him, taking his arm in one hand. “Left?” He nodded. “It’s a… bit of a touchy subject.” “Oh..” you whispered. You then sat down on the bed you both shared, and Affogato went to finish with his stuff. You would flash a glance at him from time to time as he would stop and think about where to put something. But you felt yourself smile, and he looked at you as he heard you exhale sharply. Images of his mother flashed before his eyes, her sweet smile and her soft off white eyes, like fresh rays of morning sun hitting mild, dewy grass.

That heavy feeling came back into his chest as he felt himself kneel before you, taking your hands in his own and smiling up at you… that kind, genuine smile. “Y/n Cookie.” He started in a hush as he kissed your knuckles, “I promise you, I promise on everything I have, everything I love, and everything I hold dear to me, to love you. And to care for you. And to be by your side from here out.” He softly said as he kissed your fingers in between each statement.

“And I do love you.” He continued, “forever and always.” You bent down to kiss the crown of his head, stroking his hair with a hand he had freed. “Together we can work on a better future not just for the growth of ourselves, but for us.” You said softly as he blushed at you, meeting you halfway in a sweet, longing kiss. He sighed dreamily through his nose and let his lips linger on yours like feathers.

You felt him restore, you felt him reset.

He was ready to begin anew— start fresh.

Clean. Beautiful.

Just a sweet slew of time, for a moment of bliss. And it all started with a drive out.

[multiplicationdivision]

Simulacrum

Jace looked at his handwork.

Hours upon hours spent learning the deep fundamentals of biotech. Three full years of diligent academia and artistic work, all purpose to this final life changing goal.

A body was laid out before him. It shown in the warm light of his basement. The place had initially been dark and damp, then bright and clinical when Jace had first started this little hobby of his. At some point mad scientist wasn’t the right vibe though and the lab had shifted to what it was today.

He hadn’t actually been working with anything organic, so cold steel and easily cleaned tile had been replaced with soft carpet and colorful wallpaper. Jace sat in an old comfy couch, perched in a strange way that he personally found very comfortable.

Jace knew he was a crazy person, but he would prefer to be a cozy crazy person.

His work was just about done, the last pieces of sleek interchangeable parts slotted in. Each had been designed by Jace, replicating perfectly the motions and physics of the human body. Every piece easy to remove and edit, down to the precious orb sat snug in the cranium.

That piece had ironically been the easiest for him to create. It was the central operating computer of the simulacrum, an exact duplicate of a brain. It was crystalline and bright, its electrochemistry identical in form to that of its flesh counterpart.

Memory replication had been a widespread technology for years. It was the cornerstone of modern entertainment as well as modern education. It had been what had gotten Jace to an education level that would’ve taken decades just 30 years ago. Information recorded directly from a brain and transferred to anyone with an implant.

It was definitely dystopian, that strange tech. It had been abused for ages, corroding personality with very foreign thought. Jace had only gotten his implant recently, disturbed by news stories of celebrities’ memories having superimposed personality traits into the minds of their loving fans. Stories of billionaires trying to download their minds into employees, with a horrifying amount of success. Now though, with numerous studies and societal changes revolving around such things, Jace had taken to his fixation. Had downloaded years of academic knowledge directly into his skull and had only ever picked up the lightest tastes and preferences from his “professors”.

Now he liked tea instead of coffee. Sipping it now though was nice, calming his nerves as he checked and double checked his various prototyped parts. A joint had a minor malfunction and he had set his printer to quickly create another. It would’ve caused nearly a smallest fraction of improper articulation, but the process was easy and fast to replace it. A minute was nothing even as his nerves rose waiting. Plus he’d hate to wake up with a cramp.

The crystalline orb pulsed, connected to his implant. Devouring his experiences and recording them in its semi-metal quartz.

Jace wondered if his obsessing over the thing was less so about his perfectionism rather than that nagging existential fear. He’d gone into this project with so much excitement, yet that fear joined him on every step.

He’d need to record his entire soul into this thing, down to the last split second. He didn’t want to the one fucked over when it came down to it.

Jace had spent every moment ensuring that he would avoid abuse in this situation. Every part had been memorized and adapted to be built on a non-specialized printer. Each piece was easily replaceable without anything more complex than a screwdriver.

As Jace clicked the replacement joint back into place, his heart raced. All systems a go.

The body wasn’t much to look at.

It was humanoid, built in equal part of plasticine metal and metallic plastic. Sciency bullshit that was cheap and top of the line. It followed the form of a person, yet it was clearly not a person. Internal metallic “organs” were exposed and there was only a vaguely human outer shell.

It still resembled Jace. It had the same shape of his face, although now clade in a dull flexible metal. Across it glowed tiny dots, beginning to flare up as he set the machine to activate.

These dots scattered across the whole of the simulacrum, flecked like freckles across what could barely pass as skin. To be fair though, it wasn’t meant to be skin.

Jace tapped the final button and the lights seemed to multiply, swarming like flies across the body. Weaving together in every color before they arranged themselves into a clear coating across the body. Blues, yellows and reds merging and melding into a tan actually frecked skin.

It flowed across the entire body until Jace could finally recognise it. Various scars and moles placed at the exact places he remembered in the mirror. His tattoos placed in their proper places and replicated properly. That was especially important, that art held a place in his identity that was beyond important.

It was bizarre seeing the things he’d spent painful hours and money on be so simply recreated. It was more bizarre to feel so in awe of it, a feeling that was likely very narcissistic considering he was in awe of his own work. These patterns and images that were indicative of his soul now shared with this other body.

He noted that it was probably healthy to feel good about it considering what was inevitably coming. He’d have to be fine with sharing such things past this point.

The orb gave one last flash before the solid light projections finally covered it, replacing the dull metal in Jace’s face. Jace closed his eyes as it happened, trying to still his thoughts even as he felt his implant still whirring away in his mind. It rose with palpable last minute scans, tearing through his thoughts over and over due to the thousand in-built checks that Jace had thought were so necessary weeks ago.

Jace wondered if he would open his eyes and still be in this body or if he’d wake up on the table. His heart pounded with fear and excitement, half hoping for either. The adrenaline was addicting as he challenged every notion of scifi horror to try to accept being the clone if that was the way the coin flipped. He was doing a solid attempt, although the anticipation didn’t help.

He waited for what felt like minutes before the firing stopped and a mental beep rang through his head. DONE

His fingers creesed around his shirt, still feeling the same fabric he had been clenching. He could still feel the ground under his boots, standing as he braced himself. He heard himself breath out the breath he’d been holding, shaky and relieved.

He heard another breath in turn, this one breathing in. It was hoarse and shaky, underlying with a tint of anxious energy.

Jace opened his eyes to see their counterparts staring back. Bright green reflecting his own face back at him, pupils dilated with simulated adrenaline. The program having replicated the exact way that his hair fell onto the simulacrum face, ginger strands lazily standing back with product. The same beard that he had kept for ages, short and well trimmed.

A smile across his duplicate’s face that he couldn’t resist returning, even as his heart pounded.

“Guess I’m the copy huh” his twin joked, his tone fusing elation and dread into one impossible mix. He pulled himself up from his position on the table, proppig himself to face his original self in all his naked glory.

Jace tried not to stare at their quite brillant package, sitting down on the armchair.

“Seems like it” he replied, shrugging. “Feel weird?”

“Obviously”, his twin already feeling out his hands. The hard light composing his outer body perfectly simulated Jace’s muscles, the sinew bending and warping just like it should. Individual hairs on his arms reacting to the motion as if they were real, glinting in the light and shifting as the simulacrum man passed his hands over them.

The android flexed his arm a few times before looking back at Jace. “All systems appear operational, running at 100% optimum”. He paused before laughing. “I guess I had ensured that before I downloaded myself didn’t I”

Jace laughed too, worry for the other quelled as the android seemed to enjoy tensing and untensing his new body. “Yup, seems like you like it”

“I feel weirdly normal” his android said, even as he practiced turning on and off the hard light of his hand. It would flash and there would be his internal skeleton, metallic fingers and joints showing every true mechanic working of the motion. It would flash again and the warm skin would appear again, as if the hand had always been human. Jace was transfixed.

The android went on. “Kind of an ego boost feeling how identical this is to the old works, we did a bangup job”. He motioned to Jace “Does the meat suit still feel good, didn’t fry your brain?”

“Feels fine I think, might be getting a migraine” He admitted, rubbing his temple. It hadn’t hurt, but those scans felt like they’d pickled his brain. Maybe he’d put too many backup checks in.

His twin frowned, shifting to move closer to Jace as if to inspect him. It unfortunately moved his very naked body closer to him, Jace unable to avert his gaze from the dick now flopped up in front of him. It was big and Jace knew that. Hell he had been proud of that since he was younger, pleasing many boys and girls he’d brought home.

It shouldn’t be making his thoughts turn to even more putty. He’d seen it his whole life, jacked off and fucked a million times using it. Now though as his android self moved his head downwards to look at his implant’s external connection, he was forced to look down at it.

He felt his own dick harden awkwardly under his jeans staing at it. The insidious want that this had all been for playing over and over in his head as the android prodded at the implant.

The simulacrum asked him a question and he murmured an affirmative, extremely distracted. Jace had always wondered what he felt like. Well, he’d more so imagined over and over in his head scenarios in which he could feel his cock. Tasting it on his throat and feeling the way it grew and grew.

His brain was filled with enough dirty shit that even the slight migraine faded away. His android self would mutter something and he would resist the need to rub away the growing pressure in his jeans

“Are you even listening to me?” his duplicate finally said, clearly annoyed.

He clooked up at the simulated face over him. He was about to fake a reason about his migraine before that intelligent gaze shifted over the bulge in his jeans. There was an understanding in his eyes, some fire behind them.

The android slowly pushed his head down on top of his growing dick, forcing Jace to switch from his fantasies right to sucking his twin’s dick. It felt real, his tongue already beginning to work in practiced motions as he felt it.

His twin moaned and before long they were stripping off Jace’s clothes as he continued to fight to finish his duplicate. It felt like a challenge, Jace resisting his duplicate from removing his shirt in between watching the double resist peaking over that final edge. Every now and then the duplicate’s eyes would roll and he’d still as Jace made another step to the finish line.

“You piece of shit” his duplicate moaned as he gave up on pushing Jace’s jeans off with his feet, trying to get a view of Jace’s own identical cock. Jace punished him by increasing the motion of the blowjob, the simulacrum tensing his own body as he tried with every fiber of his being to stay on the ride.

He failed, to Jace’s satisfaction. The synthetic dick burst with holographic cum, warm and wet inside his mouth for a few seconds before fizzing away. It felt like static in his mouth as some sli down his mouth before popping out of existence.

Jace eased his mouth off of the pole with a sassy grin. “Just needed to check if you are actually working as intended”

“I’m just your glorified sexbot” his twin said, looking down at him with a very satisfied smirk.

“Just the first” Jace smirked back. “Now that I know the prototype is perfect”

His twin rolled his eyes, before pushing away. He left his original to sit there unrelieved with his jeans still half on. Jace sat there dazed as the android typed away at their printer.

Jace sent a confused look at the android as he finished his task and parked his body back down before him. The android with his hands finally free pushed his jeans off hgis body, one of his hands clasping his dick firmly. He looked up into Jace’s eyes, an equal competitive edge alive and violent in them.

He stroked Jace’s cock and motioned with his head towards the printer. It was already active, lacing metal and plastic into an object. A foot was already forming after just a minute of printing.

“Think you can hold off on cumming before the second comes around” his twin challenged, before pushing him down.

“Bet” he snarled, already in motion. Enjoying the way his motions were mimicked, and knowing he could hold out longer.

It would be more fun with another person anyways.

——————————————————————————

Jace 4 was produced upon the third round of fucking a few hours ago. He had all of the original Jace’s memories up to that point, feeling like he’d just been fucked to an inch of his life before being inserted into a completely fresh body to continue having sex. That's actually how he sort of came to be, the original Jace having wanted to both pass out from exhaustion and keep going.

Jace 4 had come into the world fucking and then had fell into simulated sleep. They’d all woken up at about the same times, four identical men pushing off of the bed that was stained with only the original Jace’s fluids. One of them would have to clean that.

They’d dressed themselves, picking from the many identical sets of clothing. Jace had prepared for this situation, and so Jace four got fresh new boots and clothes just like the ones he typically wore. Or at least he should’ve, but he’d taken Jace’s old clothes.

They were his clothes, to be fair. Jace prime had just jokingly whined then bragged about his new clothes, mockingly showing off his new boots to the other’s who wore the exact same outfit. They all gave identical compliments.

The Jaces found themselves hilarious. They all held themselves back from falling back into the same cycle of lust. The original Jace ate breakfast, his implant cycling the feeling to all of them. Jace 4 could feel the way the eggs and bacon tasted, a part of him frustrated he hadn’t used such a synchrony feature before. The original Jace picked up on his frustrated selves’ realization and laughed.

“Guess we’ll use that tonight” he said between bites of potato, the flavor coating all of their tongues. “Didn’t think the connection would properly hold”

They hadn’t. It was meant to relay a lifetime’s worth of knowledge to an unrestrained computer. It had been likely to stop relaying once the pesky hardlight had activated, the substance muffling and impermeable.

Jace 4 tested a suspicion and rubbed his cock as the man swallowed another bite. He smiled when the man choked, feeling Jace 4’s fingers.

The other Jaces shot him a glance as they too mved their hands to their dicks, stroking it. Jace four could feel them all paradoxically on his cock even as he palmed it himself. The original groaned, pretending to be annoyed by their collective horniness even as he totally wanted it too. Jace 4 knew because Jace 4 was him.

It wasn’t long before they’d given their loving original a wet spot on his jeans, chuckling amongst each other over the perks of their self cleaning.

The printer stood there tauntingly. Each Jace thinking to themselves on how they could next abuse it. The original Jace knowing they’d probably have to break it eventually, lest the house get completely overrun.

There’d be time between then and now though. Jace had prepared a lot for this moment. The house could comfortably handle a LOT of people.

It was bound to be an exciting week.

[sweetheartmotives]

Do something entertaining!

Please

The air in my cranium has managed to melt out of my skull

I can't believe you sent this while I was sleeping like you know I'm snoozing away and dreaming about Gojo!!! 🤬🤬