#he loses all self restraint around soap

[bluegiragi]

ghost let the impulsive thoughts win fr

[teabutmakeitazure]

Homewrecker Blurb

>Yan! Chrollo x Fem! Reader

(set before the first part of the fic)

Years of discipline have been reduced to nothing. Control and limits no longer exist, and now Chrollo has started to sympathise with Adam and Eve for eating the apple. Instances where he trained himself to be unfeeling and indifferent seem to have all been for nought, this one singular temptation proving that humans are, in essence, simple creatures.

Water hits the bathtub floor from the showerhead, the sound dulled by the wooden door that separates the bedroom from the bathroom. Devious ideas fill Chrollo's mind. Each one reminds him of how he dismissed your concerns when you considered having him move in with you. It mocks him with red painted lips and boisterous laughter.

Water continues hitting the bathtub floor. 

A bead of sweat rolls down Chrollo's temple.

Body simply an inch away from the wooden partition, he listens intently as the water quiets down. The sound of a bottle falling quickly follows. It ends with a curse spilling from your lips, and Chrollo ends up repeating it himself when his En further expands by half a metre.

He can now make out the edge of the bathtub. The few water droplets running down serve to test Chrollo’s self-restraint and much to his dismay, he loses. Slowly, his En expands further. The first to be known are the water droplets on the bathtub floor. Cautiously and reluctantly, Chrollo allows it to expand further, lips pressed into a thin line just to end up gritting his teeth when your feet start to make themselves known.

All that happens next is your entire body being engulfed inside his En while you leisurely continue lathering your body with soap as the man outside the door loses whatever composure he had managed to maintain. Chrollo’s first reaction is surprise, having not been too overly intimate with you yet, but that surprise soon turns into desire which almost immediately turns into something else.

Said something else is so powerful that he immediately goes into Zetsu and heads for the dining table, seating himself as he thinks over his actions. The proclivity for thinking about you a majority of the time that he had recently noticed resurfaces to further scold him for being so… uncaring. Sure. His moral compass is something even the mafia is concerned over considering the little squabbles the troupe has had with them over various matters, but this? This?

Having violated your privacy after assuring you that you are completely safe and cherished in his care is simply abhorrent. Yes, he kills people without a second thought, but they are faceless beings whom he does not bother to care about. You, on the other hand, are one of the most precious and cherished people in his life. 

And despite being so utterly crucial to his existence and holding the strings to his life, he does not let you know. He mustn't. It's for the better, Chrollo bitterly thinks. Humans are fickle creatures after all. He had just demonstrated that.

The sound of footsteps causes the brooding thief to exit the state of Zetsu, head rising to look at you as you startle.

"Woah!" You take a step back, towel around your neck as water drops from the ends of your hair. "It's like you magically just appeared. What the hell?"

Chrollo tuts, acting as though he didn't just commit the equivalent of peeking into the women's bath. "I told you, your excessive screen time is destroying your attention span."

You raise a brow but stop yourself from making any further comments. The t-shirt and trousers you're wearing fail to halt Chrollo's thoughts, his mind wandering to your figure and the curves of your body. Face now resting in his palm, he continues looking at you as you drink water. It's a simple act, but his eyes do not hesitate from shamelessly resting on the swell of your chest.

It doesn't help that the t-shirt you're wearing is his.

"You're being weird," you point out. Glass tumbler placed on the counter behind you, you look at Chrollo expectantly for an answer. He, however, fails to satisfy.

"I am weird."

"No… something's up." Your eyes narrow. "Spill. What have you done? What kind of  crime have you committed? Did you not put the meat out of the freezer?"

Chrollo sighs as he leans back in his chair. Crimes? Ah. If only you knew. "Hm. I did leave it out. It's in a bowl of water in the sink, if you would be so kind as to take a look."

Surprisingly, you turn to look. "Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome. I saw your mother's rage when you forgot to do the same. I would rather not be at the receiving end of it."

“That’s it.” You’re right in front of him now, hands on your hips as Chrollo very respectfully looks up from your chest to your face. “You’ve done something. Tell me now and I promise I won’t be angry.”

“Why? I haven’t done anything.” He furrows his brows a little, making that innocent face he knows makes you weak. 

“You…! You’re lying.”

“I’m not, but you’re welcome to believe whatever you wish.”

“Aha!” In a fit of show, you dramatically point to his face, a victorious expression on your face. “That’s the first thing guilty people say! You are guilty!”

“Am I?” he challenges. “Alright. Let’s assume that I am. What exactly is it that I am guilty of? And what makes you so sure that the guilty rely on such an inadequate tactic?”

Hands go back to your hips and it is clear from your expression that you are not backing away. “You may have grown up learning the streets but I grew up with siblings. The first thing someone guilty with a crime does is deny any accusations.”

“Don’t the innocent do the same?”

“Yes, but they do it differently.”

Chrollo hums, arms now crossed over his chest. “Elaborate on ‘differently’.”

“I have the power of a woman’s intuition. I don’t need explanations.”

Mirroring his arms crossed pose makes Chrollo chuckle. Wordlessly, he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to himself. Thighs touch knees as he rests his chin on your stomach, looking up at you in the awkward position. Being the one standing, one of your hands slips into Chrollo’s hair, the other wrapping around his shoulders.

One of the hands on your hips sneaks under the hem of your shirt, moving up and down over the naked skin and feeling the curve of your waist under his calloused palm. A mischievous smile is directed your way. “What does your woman's intuition,” he whispers, “tell you now?” 

His hair remains parted in the middle as he looks up at you, but you remain focused on the tattoo that’s visible. Undeterred, you bring the hand in his hair to his lips, pressing your thumb against the soft skin as goosebumps line your arms. Chrollo grows impatient for an answer, so you finally humour him.

“It’s telling me… that you’re about to do something you regret.”

He hums, the vibrations heavy in your abdomen. Your thumb moves away to allow him to speak. “Perhaps you’re right.” The both of you continue staring into each other’s eyes before he speaks again. “If I am about to do something that I will undoubtedly regret, will you stop me?”

You think over your answer for a few moments before you speak. “Not at all.”

He smiles. “And why’s that?”

All he receives in response is a reciprocated smile and your hand moving to the back of his neck. If nothing else, at least Chrollo can be assured that you’re such a soft person. Docility makes it easier for him, if not satisfying.

[ofsappho]

Heartless, Chapter 6

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience

-

Ghost helps you when your chronic pain flares up.

-

NOTE: this chapter does not immediately follow chapter 5. this happens like a week after chapter 5, reader's chronic pain flare is not related to the smut of last chapter lmao

Ghost always wakes up before you. Always.

You’ve tried to set alarms and catch him before he goes, but the fucker evades you each time. You have a sneaking suspicion that he’s turning your phone alarms off so he can continue to win your game.

While his day consistently begins at 0600 hours, he never goes to the same place twice. Sometimes the gym, sometimes the firing range. Sometimes to speak to the captain who still doesn’t like you.

You’ve resolved to keep out of Captain Price’s way. Whatever his problem is, it ain’t none of your business.

Thankfully, the fight seems to have passed under the Captain’s radar. Neither Soap nor Ghost will tell you how that was resolved, but you have a feeling that every witness “saw nothing.” As for Langford… if he’s still alive, he hasn’t hung around.

Today is the day you beat him to it. The clock on your bedside table tells you it’s 0593 hours in red blinking numbers.

Why?

Your back is on fucking fire.

Even when you lie perfectly still in the most supportive position possible, you feel the ache like the blade of a knife slipped between your lumbar vertebrae, then left there.

And that’s just when you’re flat on your back. When you try to shift or turn over, you lose feeling below the waist completely, and your feet seem to be made of blocks of ice.

You’re not sure what’s worse; the burning pain that has made you vomit a few times in your mouth because you can’t get to the bathroom, so you don’t have a choice but to swallow it, or the cold pins-and-needles in your legs that tell of nerve damage.

It hurts. It hurts a lot.

Even coughing sends a fresh wave of blistering ache biting at your limbs.

You woke up around… 0300 hours? Something like that. You’re in too much pain to sleep or do anything other than stare at the ceiling and suffer.

Any second now, he’s going to get up.

Feigning sleep is the move, you decide. So you stifle your pained noises and forcibly shove yourself onto your side.

When you finally manage to get your cheek into your pillow, you have to blink back the tears gathering in your eyes from the effort.

Just in time, Ghost sits up. You hear him mutter, then check the clock on the bedside table. He grabs his watch and buckles it on.

You shut your eyes and curl into yourself, breathing through your nose as you try to visualize making the pain disappear. It never works beyond distracting you.

A sleeping person breathes differently; deep, even, sedate.

While most people might not notice, Ghost definitely would.

But you know how to fake sleep. Pretty well. If you can fool your parents, you can fool him.

Just when you think he’s about to get up and get dressed for the day-

“You’re awake,” He says quietly.

Shit.

You sigh, a long, slow exhale that says everything about the sheer volume of self-restraint you’re exercising. “I’ve been known to do that,” You tell him as your mouth fills with saliva.

Your nails bite into your palms deep enough to cut. 

Finally, the nausea passes, and you release your grip.

“It’s early.” There’s a soft rustling sound - Ghost picks up his gloves as usual. You expect to hear him slide them on, but he doesn’t. He grunts, then drops them back on the nightstand.

No shit, Sherlock. It’s early as fuck. Captain fucking Obvious over here. “Mm,” is all you muster in response. You don’t have the energy to be spiteful.

“…What’s wrong?”

Nevermind. It turns out you can be spiteful.

You wipe your damp cheeks on the pillowcase. “It’s nothing.” Then you close your eyes and hope, hope desperately, that Ghost leaves you be.

You don’t talk over dinner. You don’t watch movies or hold hands when you walk. He leaves you alone for ninety percent of the day. You fuck, and sometimes you sit and smoke together under the night sky, and that’s about it.

To be fair, you were never under the impression that this arrangement would be anything else.

“Right,” Ghost says. Just when you think you’ve won- “Well?” He adds in a tone that won’t take no for an answer.

The dam breaks. “I’m not in the fucking mood to play games with you, Ghost. Sorry.” You want to sound as sharp and cutting as one of his knives, something a soldier like him will understand.

Instead, you sound vulnerable. Wounded. Teary and- and unwell.

You try to press your feet together in the hopes that, magically, everything is better and you can feel them again. They don’t move an inch.

“And you don’t need to act like you actually care because we both know you don’t.”

You regret saying that as soon as it leaves your mouth.

Ghost is respectful and polite, even in his reticence. The bar for husbands in the military is in Hell, and he exceeds it by miles. He doesn’t deserve your scorn, not when you owe him so much.

The pain pulses stronger, tightening around your internal organs like a snake. “It’s my back. I- I can’t… it really hurts.” Each breath is labored, you have to force your lungs to take them.

It would hurt less if you passed out from a lack of oxygen, but that is overly dramatic and would only give Ghost more reasons to interfere.

“Are you happy now? Satisfied?” You bite out as you feel the blades in your spine twist.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Can you walk?”

You curl into yourself tighter. “No, I can’t fucking walk. I can’t do anything.” As you say it, you realize how literal that is.

In your old apartment, you had everything figured out.

A tray by your bed with non-perishable snacks. Not a huge distance between your bed and the bathroom; it was a tiny shoebox of an apartment, but that suited you just fine.

This place is much more spacious, and you’ll have to crawl like a fucking infant to go anywhere.

Your utter helplessness compounds this total shitstorm. “Just go. I don’t want you to see me like this, and you’re going to leave anyway.” What do you have to do? Scream? Throw something at his head?

Ghost just fucking stands there, still as a statue.

Your face screws up as you roll onto your back. “Go,” You plead, voice tight with tears.

“No.” His hands fist at his sides, you see the scars stretch, and you’re reminded that he kills people with those hands.

Is he still wearing the eye black from yesterday? That’s got to be terrible for Ghost’s skin. He’ll get wrinkles before he’s even an old man.

You’ve made your peace with living like this, but you’ll never get used to the shame that comes when someone else watches you. “Go! Please.”

“What, do you get off to seeing me cry for real? What are you doing here?”

“Please.”

“Don’t be mean to me right now.”

It’s not fun anymore.

Then you can’t hold the nausea down any longer, and fuck, if you’re going to vomit, at least it’s easier to clean the floor instead of the sheets.

So you drag yourself to the edge of the bed, and the new wave of agony in your back comes out of your stomach as… nothing, thankfully. Just dry heaves.

You feel Ghost sit beside you to gather your hair away from your face. “…I’m sorry,” He says quietly before sliding an arm around your waist.

It’s not like you have a choice but to lean on him. You couldn’t physically pull away even if you wanted to.

You’re sitting up, then back, and he’s holding you the whole time. “What?” You mumble as he clumsily shoves a pillow under your head.

He fusses over the blankets - in all of this moving, your legs have gotten tangled. “I- uh, am sorry. That I’ve given you the impression that I don’t… care.” Ghost doesn’t look at you when he speaks. You just see his painted black eyelids, the creases in the makeup, and his eyelashes.

He clears his throat before standing up suddenly. “Here, let me… which ones?” Ghost asks as he strides over to the dresser you’ve claimed as your own.

“Which…”

He pokes through your collection of neon orange pill bottles. “Which one of these?” You watch him go through the labels and pick one at random.

Is the pain making you hallucinate? It’s a possibility that you shouldn’t discount. It would explain the softness in his voice. “You’ve got the right one,” You tell him.

Lucky guess.

Ghost nods. “Need water?” He’s moving and filling up a glass from the sink tap before you can answer.

You shove the blankets down so you can poke your thigh. The blood disappears under your fingertip, leaving behind a white patch that stays long after you release the skin. That’s not a great sign.

He thrusts the glass and the pills towards you, then quickly rolls the blankets back up.

Ghost doesn’t talk until you’ve taken a few of your prescription painkillers and washed them down with the lukewarm water. “C’mon. I’on know what the fuck I’m doin’. Doll, you gotta help me out,” He murmurs, his gaze glimmering in the dim light as he watches you wince, then cough from the wince, then wince again.

It will take a little while before the pills kick in.

You stare at him for an extra long period of time. You wait to see if he’s just saying that to be nice, if he expects you to say there’s nothing else so he can go. Maybe he’s grown a conscience overnight that he needs to cursorily satisfy, and you’re the one lucky charity case for the year.

That was unkind of you to think.

You close your eyes as you feel everything just- just fucking throb.

He’s there when you open your eyes, in the same place, still waiting with that weird fucking look on the two inches of his face you can see.

“I- I… I really want to take a bath. I’m sorry, I can do it myself, I just need to get there-“ You confess as you fiddle with the empty glass. Asking for help feels like you’re pulling splinters out of your skin.

Sweaty, gross hair sticks to your neck and forehead every time you turn your head, driving you insane.

In a blink of an eye, he grabs the glass from you and puts it to the side. Then the blankets (that he was just fixing) are off you, again, and he scoops you into his arms without the slightest effort.

“Fucking- ow!”

He freezes at the sound of your pain, and his arms tense around you.

Your head is tilted back with your gaze screwed shut as you breathe, slow and deep, and remind yourself that as much as you want it to, this won’t kill you.

“You good?” Ghost asks in a voice barely louder than a whisper, as if he thinks talking too loud will make it worse.

You count the heartbeats pounding in your ears. “Copacetic, Lieutenant,” You eventually get out between gritted teeth.

When he starts walking, he moves slowly, smoothly. Heel first, ball of his foot, then toe, like a panther.

“What does that mean? And m’not your lieutenant.” You’re hardly bouncing around at all. Those big, beefy arms absorb what little shock he generates.

This is the part where you need to radically accept the chronic pain. “Chill. All good. I’m- I’m good.” Let the pain pain. Let it hurt. The pain is a part of you.

Blah blah blah.

You’re starting to feel like a piece of Grandma’s finest china when he deposits you on the bathtub's edge, facing away from him so he can support your back with his chest.

Ghost gets caught up for a few seconds debating the best strategy to get you into your requested bath, so you help him and peel off your sleeping shirt.

“Run the water,” You instruct softly.

You’d think the harsh white LED bathroom light would make him less gentle, less caring. It doesn’t.

Steaming hot water fills the bottom of the tub, and you’re relieved you can feel it.

Your panties will be a problem. Ghost notices before you can ask and coaxes them off you, inch by inch. They end up wherever your shirt is.

He’s seen your body plenty of times, you remind yourself. He’s done plenty of things to your body. This should be no different.

It is different. You’re typically at your best and most appealing when he sees you naked.

Ghost has to pick you up by the waist to get you into the water with fingers splayed over your stomach rolls.

This is kind of your worst.

The water rises to your knees now, so hot it would concern anyone else. You can feel your muscles untangle themselves, and you flop back with a relieved exhale.

Sleep drags at your eyelids the very instant your soreness lets up. By the time he shuts off the faucet, you’re dozing with your cheek resting on your damp shoulder.

He grabs your shampoo and conditioner from the shelf you keep it on, and then your body wash, before sitting himself on the floor with crossed legs.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake. “Ghost. Ghost. I can do it myself,” You tell him. For the sake of your sanity and self-respect, you can’t be so pathetic that he feels compelled to bathe you.

“I know you can,” He replies evenly, as if it’s genuinely no big deal.

He rolls the long sleeves of his shirt up so they don’t get wet, and his tattoos grin at you under the sheen of steam sticking to his skin.

You try again. “You’re gonna get your mask wet.” This isn’t even a lie. You know how he cares for them, he has a large collection that he washes separately, folds with reverence, and there’s even a bunch of actual masks that you haven’t seen him wear yet.

You’re looking at him when he starts to take it off.

As soon as you see that flash of his jaw, you shut your eyes and look away despite all the impulses screaming at you to devour the sight, to take the beautiful painting that must be his face and lodge it under your sternum, tightly bound by blood vessels, where no one can take it away.

Ghost laughs briefly before dipping his hand in the water to touch your arm. “You can look.” You give him a second to change his mind, but he doesn’t take the opportunity.

You open one eye, then the next.

Jesus. “Don’t tell Soap.” He’s gorgeous.

A sharp, squared jaw, high, sloping cheekbones, full lips, and a slightly-crooked nose, like it’s been broken a few times.

His light blonde hair is cut in an uneven buzz cut, a little overgrown and raggedy. Now that you can see the rest of his pale face, you have a reference point for the color of his eyes that isn’t just ~dark.

“My lips are sealed,” You promise.

Ghost has brown eyes.

That’s a sentence you never thought you’d put together. Brown eyes, scars through his barely-there eyebrows, and that eye-black smeared on his face like smoke or gunpowder.

He acts like it’s no big deal, so you try to act like it’s no big deal.

You close your shocked mouth and watch him squeeze a dollop of pink floral shampoo into his palm.

“Can you sit up for me?” He asks.

As you prop your torso up, you spin out into all sorts of thoughts and meandering conclusions about what this means.

Why Ghost has taken his mask off for so… mundane a reason, so civilian. This is tedious. And that’s what you are, right?

He takes his other hand, scoops up some water, and then pours it over your head. He repeats the motion a few times until your hair is thoroughly saturated and there’s water dripping into your eyes.

You splash the water a little as Ghost lathers the shampoo through your hair, trying to cause as many ripples as you can. It keeps you too busy to look at him.

This might be a one-time thing; you shouldn’t be greedy, or he’ll think you feel entitled. Then you’ll never see his face again, you’re sure of it.

He runs the light pink lather from the roots of your hair to the very ends, working clumsily but efficiently. “Do you need, uh, a doctor?” Ghost’s voice is gruff and a little hesitant, and that hesitancy makes you feel even worse about snapping at him earlier.

“No. I don’t. Unless it gets worse. It probably won’t. But no. There’s nothing they can do that they haven’t already tried.” You don’t tell him about the worst-case scenario plan, which involves an ambulance ride to the emergency room.

There’s no need to unnecessarily freak him out.

Ghost thinks it over for a second and then hums a quiet acknowledgment.

It’s good he doesn’t ask you to lean forward or bend back to wash out the shampoo. You doubt you could manage that simple movement.

He slips his arm into the water to hold you up, then repeats that scooping motion from earlier until your hair is clean of the soap.

His mouth purses with concentration, there’s a smudge of black on the top of his cheekbone, like a fingerprint, like he didn’t have time to make it look nice, he just slapped it on, there are little lines between his eyebrows and something permanently weary in his brown eyes.

You could stare at Ghost all day and still want more.

He’s finally managed to get the conditioner bottle open without breaking the top, and the smallest upturn of his mouth in victory is almost enough to do you in.

His fingers snag on tangle after tangle as he works the conditioner in. “I shouldn’t be so rough on you,” Ghost murmurs more to himself than you.

You appreciate the care he takes in sorting out each snarl, even when he accidentally yanks too hard sometimes.

In the past, rocking someone’s shit, screaming, and throwing things would leave you riled up and furious for days.

Your mind would obsess over what happened, examine each angle and each possible way you could have done better, been fiercer, or made the other party feel worse.

Over and over, until you could mentally digest what happened and move on.

Who are you kidding? You’ve never truly moved on. Not once.

“I like it. Plus, I’m an adult. If I didn’t want it, you’d know by now.”

But that last time, over a week ago?

Ghost practically beat the worked-up, exhausting fury out of you, and you woke up the following day without thinking of Langford at all.

It wasn’t quite moving on, but it wasn’t not moving on either.

Your hair has been thoroughly conditioned at this point; you’re not sure it could be any more moisturized, which means he’s running his fingers through your hair for the fuck of it.

You say nothing.

It feels really nice. And he seems… content, like every second that passes that he can touch you in such a simple, kind way makes him breathe a little easier.

You hadn’t noticed Ghost’s breathing was tense, to begin with.

He dips his fingers in the water to wash the excess conditioner from them. “An’ I do care.”

He trails those clean fingers along the edge of your shoulder, sketching across the back of your neck, like he’s afraid to even want this, but he’s still trying.

“I’m sorry I said that,” You tell him as you stare at the distorted image of your knees through the swirling water.

The very second Ghost moves his hand back, you chase it with your cheek until you’re looking up at him, he’s looking at you, and then he touches your back again.

His mouth twitches like he doesn’t know what to do with the lower half of his face now that you can see it.

“I understand why,” Ghost says at last.

Your hand bumps his when you tuck some wet hair behind your ear. Then he hides that hand in his lap like you’ve sprouted broken glass from your skin.

It feels funny when he does that. It hurts. But you suppose turnabout is fair play, so you tell yourself to bear the sting of rejection with dignity.

“Honestly? You care more than most,” You whisper.

His eyelashes appear as white as snow against his cheeks when he looks at your mouth.

All of a sudden, you’re terrified of saying too much. You’re not sure of what, or why, but something is beating in your chest that isn’t just your heart, throwing itself against your ribs and pleading to be let out.

You try to tell the thing to leave you alone, and it responds by crawling out of your throat and wrenching your mouth open. “Before, I always did this alone.”

Too much. That’s way, way, way too much.

You yank your gaze away. “By the way, I’m, like, really sorry for making you help me-“ Condensation beads on your cheeks, and you hope it camouflages the fresh tears in your eyes.

That is, until you feel something wet hit your forehead, and you look around to see that Ghost has fucking dipped his hand in the water and splashed you with it.

“Think you can make me do anything?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow.

Ghost comes alive when you splash him back. There’s no hugely perceptible change in his countenance, or anything specific you could point out, but you see it like someone’s taken an eraser to the bone-deep weariness woven into his DNA.

“I guess not.” You flick water at him once more for good measure and for the sake of his half-smile when he ducks.

If you think about it, you can feel the ache sticking to your muscles and spine like tar. But he helps rinse the conditioner from your hair and scrubs your skin with your favorite soap, and you don’t think about it at all.

Ghost gets up to grab your towels as the soapy water drains out of the tub.

He hands you two, one for your body and one for your hair, exactly what you use every time you shower. You didn’t know he was paying attention.

It’s so… it’s all so fucking considerate that you’re not even sure what to do with them for a second.

Ghost tries to take them from you, misinterpreting your shock as need, and you wave him off with a burning face.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can… I can do it,” You say before rolling up your hair and folding the second towel around your chest.

When he picks you up this time, he’s notably more careful, bordering on impractically so. One arm under your knees and some maneuvering so your back isn’t unsupported for a second, even at the cost of his balance.

Ghost rights himself instantly, biceps flexing to hold you aloft and away from his clumsy footing.

“I’m not too heavy, am I?” You ask as panic squeezes tight around your lungs. You must be a burden, and the thought spreads through your heart like rot. Dead weight, a heap of flesh and fat, you can’t do something as simple as stand.

Ghost clears his throat, you see him scoff, and you know he won’t be dignifying you with a response.

“Right, dumb question.”

Being carried around by him without the mask is a totally different experience. You loop one of your arms around his neck, then realize this is the closest you’ve ever been to his cheek, his real cheek.

There’s blonde stubble dotting his jaw and upper lip. Maybe he’s someone who freckles in the summer instead of tans, and you realize that you might get to find out.

Ghost glares at you from the corner of his eye when you try to let go of his neck and touch his face, like full-on glares, the whites of his eyes stark against the fuckin’ makeup stuff.

But the effect is dampened by the memory of him handing you a towel covered in little ducks with swim caps and the one currently in your hair branded with Hello Kitty’s face.

So you laugh, you let your head rest against his arm, and you cooperate when he lowers you to the bed with your back propped up against the headboard.

Aw, shit. You’re still mostly wet from the bath, and you shiver the instant you realize it, your hands scramble to dry off your less numb legs, but it’s too late, you’re cold as fuck. Goosebumps grow on every inch of your naked skin.

You even pull the towel out of your hair to help maximize your body coverage, furiously bundling up in the damp cloth.

That is, until something dark green and soft hits your face, covering your eyes.

“Ghost, what the fuck-“ You pull it off your head, ready to curse him out, only to see that it’s a shirt. A regulation dark green shirt with ‘SAS’ emblazoned across the chest. Special Air Services.

He looks at you like you’re crazy for not immediately putting it on. “You’re cold,” Ghost says, raising his eyebrows the tiniest bit.

Oh, he has a fucking point, doesn’t he? And he knows it.

He may have less time to revel in his superiority if you put it on fast enough.

It falls past your thighs in great folds of worn cotton, large enough that even your boobs swim in fabric. You’re only human, a human in pain who is currently very lowly, so you don’t feel an ounce of shame when you hold the collar to your nose and inhale.

It smells like him, more comforting than every blanket on the bed.

Of course, your stomach picks now to growl louder than a teenage boy’s first car at a stoplight.

“Hungry?” Ghost asks as he folds his muscular arms over his chest.

You will have to disappoint if he somehow expects you to be less snarky. “No, that was just for fun,” You quip with an eye roll.

“Shut up.” He heads into the bathroom to grab his abandoned mask. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere-“ You watch him slip the balaclava on with something like longing thrumming in the back of your teeth.

The last of his face disappears under the skull mask, and you wish- you wish you’d gotten to see him one more time.

Between the painkillers and your bath, well, you feel like a pat of butter, and your bed is a freshly made pancake. And like a pat of butter, you decide to spread yourself out under the covers as you wait for him to return.

You don’t think you’ll be giving his shirt back anytime soon. It’s so fucking soft, like hugging him without Ghost’s habit of pressing his cold feet to your warm ones.

If you close your eyes, it will make the time pass faster.

Someone gingerly sits on the other side of the bed, and the blankets dip under their body weight.

You don’t notice at first as you continue to nap in a nice place where nothing hurts and everything is soft and comfortable, until you hear the clink of dishes against a tray.

Ghost notices your face turn towards him, even though you keep your eyes closed. “Shit. Did I wake you?” He whispers as he passes a rough finger over one of your sleep-warmed cheeks.

“Mmph?”

He sighs, then plucks some hair out of your face where it’s stuck to your mouth. “Go back to sleep, love.”

British people say ‘love’ all the time. It’s something they do. But Ghost says it, and you-

You reach out your arms until they’re clasped around his waist, and you can lay your head in his lap, face buried in his shirt. “Ghost… missed you…” You murmur, the sleepiness loosening your tongue.

You didn’t know you’d missed him until now when your body felt cold no matter how deep into the blankets you burrowed.

Now, though, you’re plenty warm.

You hear him swallow. “Really?” He asks quietly, his palm curled to your temple.

Then you poke your head up.

“Did you bring me food?” You can smell it. It smells like… bacon? Bacon, and you look around and see a plate of toast with butter and jam, some eggs, and a glass of orange juice. Fuck yeah.

Ghost pushes the tray just out of reach. “Nah, this is jus’ for fun,” He teases, amusement shining in his deep voice.

How dare he. That’s your fucking breakfast. “Gimme. Gib,” You order as you stretch out your arms and open and close your hands, over and over.

Ghost relents with a laugh, first helping you sit up before he takes the tray and sets it on your lap.

Being in pain makes you eat like you’re starved, which you are. It takes up so much fucking energy, and you can’t help but inhale the creamy scrambled eggs and crispy, crunchy bacon. Fuck eating elegantly - you demolish the tray in record time.

By the time you’re done, Ghost has found his way back into bed, and you lean your head against his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby,” You tell him. The number one way to make you cuddly and soft is to feed you, which he has done, so you magnanimously hold his hand and invade his personal space, your legs thrown over his.

“Baby?” He asks as if he’s not sure whether to be touched or disgusted.

You reach up to poke his cheek through his skull mask. “What, I can’t call you cute names too?”

“Does it have to be ‘baby’?” Ah, yes, there’s his side eye that is supposed to scare you but just makes you giggle.

“You don’t want to be my baby?” You ask. Honestly, Ghost doesn’t have a choice. You’ll call him that whether he likes it or not.

He looks at you for another long moment before letting out a deep, suffering sigh. “…Not in front o’ the others,” He mutters with a shake of his head, and your answering smile is as pleased as the cat who got the cream.

“Deal.”

The two of you drift into a comfortable silence. Ghost runs his thumb over your knuckles, you scootch yourself closer to his side. Some of your hair gets trapped between your head and his shirt for a moment, and he helps you brush it free.

Then he pulls down the opening of his mask to press his lips against your hair. A quick kiss, nothing gratuitous or prolonged. But you feel it and can’t resist the impulse to draw his hand to your mouth and kiss his scarred fingers.

You don’t know how long you sit there. It could be a couple of minutes, it could be a whole entire hour.

The clock on the bedside table tells you it’s been a few hours since he got up.

You hate to break the fragile sweetness of this moment, but the fear of losing his company has made it taste bitter in your mouth. “Don’t you have, I don’t know, stuff to do?”

“‘S my day off,” He says, tightening his fingers around yours.

That’s bullshit. You both know that’s bullshit. But-

You’re not a saint. He’s a grown man. You’ll take this… whatever, for all that it is.

Ghost nudges you gently with his shoulder until you look up at him. His mask is still stretched open over his mouth, and his eyes glimmer in the darkness of your shared bedroom. His lips are chapped when he kisses you, slow and indulgent, you slide the tips of your fingers under the edge of his balaclava until you find his shorn hair. You run the pads of your fingers over the spiky texture, and he smiles into your mouth.

Eventually, the pain comes back. It bothers you in ripples, in waves slowly building through your spine and down the sides of your legs.

But it’s okay. He notices when you suck in a sharp inhale, your eyelids flutter with discomfort, and Ghost gets up to find your meds without saying a thing.

He opens the container for you, then holds it up to silently ask how many.

“Four,” You whisper. It’s more than strictly recommended, but he doesn’t know that, and you’ve taken these for years. You know when too much is too much.

Ghost shakes four pills into your outstretched palm before handing you your half-empty glass of orange juice.

Once you down them and return the empty glass, he catches your left hand in his.

You let him get under the covers with you, holding your hand the whole time, and wait for him to speak the words he’s mulling over.

“Should get you a ring.”

Oh.

“I was just saying that to the chaplain, I didn’t mean to, like… imply that we have to get one,” You say as you look to the side. You thought he knew that.

Ghost shifts. “You’re my wife, aren’t you? You’ll wear a ring.” His voice brooks no debate.

“Fine. You have to wear one, too.” You can’t say you’re displeased by the thought. It will be nice to have something shiny on your ring finger, it’ll look official. It will be nicer if he also has one.

Bite marks on his pale skin fade, your perfume on his clothes only lingers for so long. But a real wedding ring? Wherever Ghost goes, he’ll take a piece of you with him.

“Fine.” Then he kisses you again, his teeth gently nipping your bottom lip, one large hand spanning your collarbones, and your soft, pleasured sigh running over his tongue.

-

The promised caretaking! Hope y'all enjoy. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled smut next chapter, hehe, and a little birdie told me Cowboy!Ghost will be making an appearance soon!

Tagging (if you want off the list, just shoot me a message/tell me):

@abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @strvqtt @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @idesofarch @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney @crowsjourney @vanevafu @xxghostyx @rafaelacallinybbay @akaotv @chibijusstuff @wasteland-babe @anubiseqq @lilpothoscuttings @soapyghost @maliceex59 @valdemarismynonbinarylove @confuseddipshit

[mythicalmisery]

Detective AU Pt. 2 : GhostxSoap

At those words, Ghost let out a sound that Soap could only compare to a growl. The taller man gripped the front of his shirt and practically dragged him through the precinct without a word. Soap wasn’t sure what he was doing until he was being roughly shoved into the empty interrogation room. Ghost dragged one of the metal chairs all the way to the wall, still silent as ever. He leaned back in the chair, appraising the man before him with a hard stare. 

“Strip” 

“What? H-here?” Soap stuttered out. All confidence from before was lost on him. 

“I said strip Johnny. I won’t tell you again.”

He stood there for a few seconds, taking in the demand before finally submitting. He started with his shirt, hands slightly shaking as he undid each button. He unlaced and slipped off his boots, removing the socks next. He straightened back up and was met with that same heated stare, pinning him in place. His heart was still racing and he could feel a sheen of anxious sweat coating the palms that were resting by his side. 

“Keep going, detective.”

Soap’s hands moved towards his waistband, hesitating on the buckle of his belt. He wasn’t typically self-conscious, he worked out every week and never had trouble when it came to dating. But there was something about the others suffocating gaze that had him slightly second-guessing his actions. Laying himself bare for the man who took up his thoughts more than he cared to admit. 

He shook his head and the anxiety away with it, finally undoing the metal clasp and pulling the leather away. Hooking his thumbs in the loops, he pulled the jeans down his hips and each leg, leaving him in nothing but his dark blue boxers. He went for the waistband of those as well, lest he lose his nerve, but was met with a grunt that had him looking up at his partner. 

Ghost simply shook his head at the other and reached behind his back to grab something before casually throwing it at Soap. He caught it midair before it could hit him in the face, looking down at the cold metal in his palms. He swallowed thickly. They were Ghost’s handcuffs. 

“Go ahead and hook yourself to the table for me.”

Soap just blinked at Ghost, making sure he hadn’t misheard the man. When he was met with a look that left no room for argument, he turned around and faced the metal table. He wasn’t exactly sure what the best method for this was. Believe it or not, this was his first time handcuffing himself to a table. He finally decided laying on his back would be the most comfortable. He climbed up on all fours before twisting himself into a seated position with his knees folded. He couldn’t look at Ghost during all this, the bastard was surely fucking pleased at himself having Soap embarrass himself like this. 

He laid down on the table, slightly flinching at the feel of cold metal on his bare skin. Lifting his arms, he closed one cuff around his left wrist and weaved the short chain through the metal loop on the table. He finally managed to close the other cuff around his right wrist, eyes straining from having to look straight up for so long. He nervously tugged on the cuffs. Yep. He was stuck. 

Testing his restraints left him momentarily oblivious to his surroundings. He flinched as he felt the hand barely brushing over his stomach. He whipped his head down to look at his partner who was now hovering over him. His eyes holding a flurry of emotions he couldn’t bring himself to name at the moment. Soap's breath hitched as Ghost leaned down to lay a gentle kiss on his bare skin, sending a jolt of electricity throughout him. This went on for too long, Ghost feeling and kissing all over Soap’s body, making sure to never give him attention in the one place he needed it most. 

Soap squirmed and rattled his cuffs at the other man's actions. “Come on, Ghost” he practically whined. 

With one last kiss right beneath the jawline, Ghost lifted his head with a smirk plastered on his face. Bastard.

“What is it darling, hmm?” He asked while brushing a thumb over Soap’s bottom lip. 

“I said I wanted you to fuck me Ghost, not kiss my body to bloody death,” Soap tried to sound assertive. Not really effective when one is tied to a table and practically naked. 

“And who said you got to make demands here? I’ll leave you tied up here all night if I want, painfully hard and on the edge until you can’t even think properly. Leave you here drooling and tied up for the morning crew to find. Maybe Captain Price would find you first. You’d probably like that wouldn’t you, Johnny?” Ghost casually stated as if talking about the weather. Meanwhile, Soap was beet red from the man's words, ashamed at not entirely hating the idea. 

“P-please I just need… more, I-I’ll be good I swear,” he pleaded. 

“Alright Johnny,” Ghost said, seemingly taking pity on the man below him. He left a trail of burning kisses down the man’s stomach. Eyes flicking up and taking in the other's overwhelmed expression. He heard the sharp intake of breath from above as he brushed his lips over Soap’s half-hard dick, kissing him through the boxers. He continued to kiss down the inside of the tan thighs while his hands found the waistband of Soap’s boxers. His partner raised his hips off the table as he pulled them down, discarding them with the other clothes splayed out on the floor. 

“Well, would you look at that, already wet for me detective?” Ghost teased as he looked at the pool of pre cum dripping onto Soap’s stomach.

Soap huffed out a sigh of frustration. “Please Gho-ach!” He choked on his words.

The other man suddenly licked a stripe from the base up to the tip of his dick. Slightly swirling his tongue before pushing his mouth all the way down, deep-throating Soap’s dick in one go. He could feel the man underneath subconsciously jerk his hips up, chasing more. He pulled away with a wet pop and that same smirk, continuing to idly pump the man's now fully erect dick with his hand. 

“Fuckin hell” Soap whispered to no one in particular. 

Ghost let out a gentle chuckle at the other's state. Soap’s skin was flushed with a pretty shade of pink from either embarrassment, arousal, or a mix of the two. Creeping all the way from his cheeks to his chest. They had barely even started and the man was already coming undone. He lifted his unoccupied hand and rested two fingers on Soap’s lips. Teary eyes met his, the ever-present fire still burning beneath. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Soap hesitated a second too long, Ghost squeezing his dick harshly as a warning. He jerked at the painful sensation, hissing through gritted teeth. His lips parted, eyeing Ghost warily. Ghost didn’t hesitate, unlike the man beneath him, slipping his index and middle fingers into Soap’s warm mouth. He pushed them further, twisting as he went, teasing the man’s gag reflex and earning himself a whine from below. Soap tried scooting back on the table in search of reprieve, his cuffs clanging against the metal once more. 

“I don’t have any lube on me, so I suggest you start sucking Johnny” he mused. Soap keened at his words and started moving his tongue around the intruding appendages, smothering them with his hot saliva. Ghost was entranced at the debauched action, absentmindedly sliding his fingers back and forth in lieu of his dick. He finally relented, satisfied with the amount of makeshift lube, pulling his fingers out of Soap’s mouth. A string of spit connecting them before finally breaking away and landing on the man's chin.

Soap’s eyes squeezed shut as Ghost reached down to his exposed entrance, circling slowly and smearing his own spit around. Ghost chuckled as he whined and jerked his hips back up again, a pitiful attempt at relief. He was still casually pumping the man's dick with his other hand, not too fast but not too slow. Just the right amount of aggravating. 

“You ready darling?” Ghost rasped out. Arousal evident in his voice.

Soap shook his head rapidly causing Ghost to smile at the eagerness. Alright, he teased the man long enough. Ghost’s own patience and ability to hold himself back was wearing thin as well. 

Ghost leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, licking inside the cavern as he plunged his finger down to the third knuckle in one quick motion. He swallowed Soap’s gasp at the sudden intrusion. He twisted his finger on the slow drag out, just brushing the man's prostate which earned him a loud moan. Fuck, was that the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

He wasted no time, pumping in and out of Soap while offsetting the rhythm of his strokes. Never allowing Soap a second of reprieve. He quickly added a second finger right next to the first, pressing in farther and stretching the tight entrance. Soap moaned shamelessly as he kept purposely brushing past the man’s prostate. Okay, maybe he wasn’t done teasing his helpless partner. 

“G-Ghost… I’m not gonna l-last much longer..” He panted out. 

“Tsk, don’t tell me you’re a quitter Johnny”

“P-please, I’m sorry..”

“Shh..shh.. make it to three for me like the good boy I know you are” Ghost whispered.

All Soap could do was nod as he closed his eyes and rested his head back down on the table. Breathing in deeply as he felt Ghost’s middle finger try and wedge its way inside of him. Ghost removed his hand from Soap’s dick, reaching up and cupping the man’s cheek. Both ignored the slick he was absentmindedly wiping across Soap’s face. 

“Relax for me love, you’re doing so well.” Soap just nodded at the man's words, basking in the praise. Ghost snickered as he felt Soap clench down on his fingers. “Oh, you like that huh?” He teased. With a few more pumps, Ghost deemed Soap ready for him. He honestly wasn’t sure how he managed to last this long himself. He slowly pulled his fingers out of Soap’s entrance, a sick squelching noise ringing throughout the room.

He worked his belt and pants free, pulling them down just far enough to release his own hard member. He made unflinching eye contact with his partner as he licked up his palm, coating it in saliva. The same hand that had just been in Soap’s very own ass. Soap just let out a low groan at the obscenity before him. He stroked himself a few times, soaking in the anticipation and pure desire painted on Soap’s face below him. 

Gripping the underside of Soap’s knees, he yanked the man down to the edge of the table. He lined himself up, rubbing his head across Soap’s entrance a few times before pressing in just enough to get caught on the rim. He groaned at the sensation of the man clamping down on him. He kept going, not giving Soap a second to get used to the stretch or catch his breath. He waited long enough. One long thrust later and he was fully seated in the man's ass, hands falling to grip the other's hips. Soap hissed at the unwavering grip, he’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. 

He ground his hips into the man's ass, pushing out another lewd moan. Soap managed to relax himself, releasing his death grip on the man's dick for a brief moment. Ghost took the opportunity without a second thought, pulling back almost entirely before ramming back into Soap harshly.  

“Oh fuck!” Soap cried out, pulling on his cuffs and arching his back off the table.

Ghost just kept going, leaning back down and kissing all over Soap’s chest and neck as he ruthlessly pounded into the man. He leaned down to nip at Soap’s ear, whispering nothing but filth. “Look at you, all it takes is another man's cock and you’re a fucking slut” he emphasized each of the last words with a hard thrust. Earning him nothing but broken moans and whimpers in return. He moved his hand up onto Soap’s throat, gripping it tightly but not enough to restrict airflow.

“Mine detective. You only get to whore yourself out to me. Do you got that Johnny?” He growled out, eyes burning into Soap’s. 

“Yours. I-I’m yours Simon…” he let out with a cry. Too far gone to realize what he even said.

Ghost’s thrusts stuttered at that. Simon. He had called him Simon. He had never heard his name on the other’s tongue before. He surged forward, crashing Soap’s lips onto his. Biting down hard on his bottom lip, the familiar metallic taste drowning his senses, drawing a muffled cry from the other at the pain. His hips picked back up their brutal pace from before, snapping harder and harder. Hitting his prostate each time now with maddening accuracy. The metal table underneath screeched against the cement floor with each urgent thrust. 

Soap suddenly clenched down on Ghost's length, crying out into his mouth. His hips jerked up into the air for the last time, searching for friction. Ghost slightly slowed as he registered what just occurred. Soap had cum. Untouched. 

Fuckin hell.

He pounded into the man, causing the other to whimper at the overstimulation. He leaned over resting his head on Soap’s chest as he chased his own climax. The pleasure built in his stomach, growing tighter at each flutter of Soap’s entrance before he finally snapped. It only took about three more thrusts before his hips were stuttering and he was falling over the edge. His vision almost blacked out as it hit him like a brick wall. He could barely catch his breath. His hips jerked slightly at each pulse, emptying himself deep inside. He groaned as shudders racked his body, now covered in a glistening sheen of sweat.

After briefly pulling himself back together, he slipped free from Soap and watched as his own cum leaked out of the limp man spread across the table. He tucked himself back into his own boxers and redid his belt.

“You still with me detective?”

“Yeah, Simon” he hummed out.

With one hand on the man’s cheek, he placed a barely there kiss in the middle of his forehead. “Alright Johnny, let's get you home and in bed love,” Ghost whispered to the practically unconscious man below him. Receiving only a tired grunt as a response. He smiled to himself as he unlocked the cuffs and rubbed the stiffness away. He placed a kiss on each of Soap’s wrists, right above the pulse points. Both men were in their own world, the aftermath of what had just occurred was a thought for tomorrow.

Both were unaware of the mortified gaze staring at them through the one-way mirror of the interrogation room. It truly was a shame that of all the days for Officer Kyle Garrick to leave his phone behind in the observation room, it had to be that one. 

[bunnerscrib-28]

Microphone, labeled The Loud and Proud, is a character on Inanimate Insanity & was a contestant on Inanimate Insanity II. he was placed with The Grand Slams. he is voiced by Hailey Chapman.

Appearance

Microphone is a dark grey wireless microphone. A button is on his chest area, while he has a light grey collar around his "head". Another collar appears near things flat bottom area. he also has a "Gain" toggle on his bottom back.

Personality

At the start of the season, Microphone began as one of the most level-headed newbies. he is upbeat, kind, & especially open to meeting others. Mic's energetic temperament makes him a determined and competitive contestant who aims to try his hardest and do well in challenges. However, most of Mic's positive attributes are usually overshadowed by his spontaneous loud voice, which can annoy others easily and view him more as a hindrance than a good ally. Despite this, Microphone initially is proud and holds thingself in high regard.

Microphone is generally outspoken and honest about his opinions, noting that Soap's pizza looked unappetizing in "Cooking for the Grater Good" & affronting Dough in "A Kick in the Right Direction". he also appears to be easily irritated by others who disrespect or mock him, most particularly Cheesy, and often dismiss others' criticisms. Microphone's honesty can make him impulsive and lose control of him actions, often causing him to mess up in challenges or insult others. However, he begins to reflect on himself and attempts to practice self-restraint.

In "Theft and Battery", it is revealed that Microphone keeps a secret diary where things writes his inner thoughts. In his passages, Microphone becomes self-critical and writes about his personal struggles, particularly losing challenges and irritating others. After Taco learns of Mic's strife in "Rain On Your Charade", she offers him a deal to help in challenges & lead him on a more definitive yet fraudulent path to victory. Microphone is reluctant at first but agrees to secretly align with Taco.

Microphone begins to warily obey Taco's mischievous plans for victory, which start as harmless cheating in "Mazed and Confused". The plans eventually prove to be at odds for Microphone, who disagrees with Taco's endorsement for violence against others in "Kick the Bucket" & vouches for alternative means of mental manipulation.

Official Site Bio

“ Microphone is a very outgoing & friendly contestant who just wants to have a good time. Unfortunately, he seems to not be able to keep his volume under control, causing him to be rather loud around other people. This can irritate people very easily & helps & hurts him in many situations.”

—Inanimate Insanity Site, 2013

“ Microphone is determined to make his full potential audible to others. If he ever encounters a problem, Mic is sure to address the situation head-on & speak (or shout) his mind. As a result, he is easily misunderstood and usually has problems hiding hid secrets... which he recently has plenty of. Although Microphone began this competition loud and proud, he has lost sight of his initial strengths and has resorted to alternative means of winning.”

—Inanimate Insanity Site, 2018

Abilities

Microphone is known for her unique abilities, such as:

Voice Amplification: Microphone can significantly amplify the volume of his voice. This can occasionally be strong enough to cause pain to others.

Sound Waves: With high amplification, Microphone can produce sound waves that are powerful enough to move objects. He may use this to his advantage, such as screaming to move a ball to hit the target in "Kick the Bucket".

Enhanced Hearing: Using the gain knob on things back, Microphone can hear faint noises from far distances. This is first showcased at the end of "Everything's A-OJ", but is primarily used in "Mazed and Confused" & on in order for Microphone to communicate with Taco.

Trivia

Despite Microphone's famous yelling ability, real-life microphones don't make any sound at all, they just get a sound input.

Microphone is the only contestant to voluntarily quit the game.

This is uniquely different from Balloon's self vote and Marshmallow's disqualification.

Microphone is left-handed.

Microphone makes a minor appearance in "Journey Through Memory Lane/Part 2" in the corner of the screen. It is assumed that this is simply a visual easter egg, and things canonical first appearance is in "Breaking The Ice".

Microphone is the third tallest contestant on Inanimate Insanity.

The voice actor for Microphone, Hailey Chapman, and the voice actor for Soap, Kacie Chapman, are sisters. Coincidentally, Soap and Microphone are friends.

Cheesy, Fan, and Microphone are the only season 2 contestants to appear in season 1.

Thanks Mekio😭😭😭

[aspiringharlot]

Redolence

You’ve got a pretty lame quirk, but it manages to catch someone’s attention.

Word Count: 5.8k

Okay, second attempt at this whole y/n fanfic idea…I also tried formatting the this beginning bit,  hope you’re still bearing with me!

Trigger warnings: Stalking behavior, noncon/ noncon turned to consent, public sex, name calling (let me know if I forgot something)

Tagged for: @palbabor-writes, @tod0oki, @kugutsuu

p.s. @cupcake-rogue, I know that this isn’t explicitly yandere/incel focused but I figured I’d direct your attention anyways!

For Palbabor, a sprinkle of Hawks!

 Was Hawks the kind of guy to play it fast and loose? No, not even close. Sure, he acted out the charismatic, playboy persona crafted by his PR team, but a careless man he was not. Hawks had self-control, and a sense of self discipline, he’d never just make brash decisions capable of jeopardizing his standing as a hero.

And yet he’d entangled himself in this situation.

It all started when he caught a whiff of you.

Being a Hawk-man had many upsides. Hawks had phenomenal vision, unmatched speed and reflexes, and even telepathic control over his wings, though, that last ability may not be as Hawk related as the others. Still, despite the multitude of benefits, Hawks, like many birds, had a weak olfactory sense.

He’d lived his whole life like that, never seeing the downside to this facet of his life. How could he? Can’t miss what you never had, right?

And then, on a sweltering day approximately two months ago, he smelt a distinct scent.

He had no reference to judge the scent. How could he explain it? It was… good?  

That was your quirk. You’d always lamented the lameness of your quirk, an emitter type known as “Redolence”. You could inspire interest and appreciation in others through your pheromones, in most cases only minutely affecting another’s perception of you. This had helped you out a few times. Before job interviews or dates, you’d typically avoid wearing perfume or using scented soaps, making you more likely to receive a call back, but that was really all it could do.

 You’d never put much thought towards how those with a weak sense of smell would perceive it. Surely, they’d be unable to smell your pheromones and would go on with their day, right?

Wrong.

The scent of your pheromones penetrated all noses, regardless of their capabilities.

It had been months since that fateful patrol in which Hawks had smelt a scrunchie you’d lost on the sidewalk. The smell at first caught him off guard. It wasn’t often that he smelt something, let alone all the way up in the air and that made him curious. He dove lower to the ground to see what that smell could possibly be. Perched at the top of a building he scanned the street side with his trained eyes.

He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. An average crowd of people milling on with their day, seemingly oblivious to the mouthwatering aroma encompassing the neighborhood.

Really, Hawks should’ve just went back to his patrol. Nothing terribly strange was happening, he just smelt something.

‘Get back to work, Hawks.’ He thought to himself. ‘wasting time now means you’ll get your route done later and that means less personal time when it’s finally over with.’

The hero stood, readying himself to soar back in the air.

Instead he dove down.

The action wasn’t especially discreet, and several citizens flocked to Hawks, asking for pictures or autographs. He dealt with them as he would any other fan, patiently but not allowing himself to be pushed around. Eventually, as they were leaving him to himself, the blond reached out and asked a pair of friends if they’d smelt the pleasant aroma floating through the area.

They looked to each other confused before the shorter of the pair gained a spark of recognition in her eyes.

“Oh, do you mean that super sweet smell? It was a little stronger back the way we came but it wasn’t all that unusual.”

“Hm.” Hawks grunted gruffly, before seeing the taken aback faces of the pair. Misstep, that grunt was too aggressive, mask it with a more carefree response.

“Oh uh, sorry girls, I suspect there’s an illegal quirk user right in the area.” He pushed out a hardy, fake chuckle. “Not that’s anything a pair of beautiful young girls like yourself needs to worry about.”

They began to blush and stammer, allowing Hawks the perfect opportunity to exit the conversation and head off towards the area the short girl referenced. What an easy distraction a simple complement could make.

As he moved on, he smelled that scent becoming stronger and more powerful. His heart was beating, and butterflies began to form in his stomach. What was this smell? And why was he so desperate to find the source of it?

Eventually the scent began to fade slightly. Shit, he must’ve walked right past it. A game of hot and cold began, Hawks walking in circles like an idiot to track down the source of the smell. And then he found it.

A scrunchie, pink and velvety with prominent ruffles.

That was all, just a hair tie. Mystery solved, pack it up, time to move on.

Hawks was pathetic, feeling like a freak, as in one fluid motion he bent at the waist to collect the scrunchie. He held it to close to his face, mouthwatering as something stirred inside him. The scent emitting from the hair-tie was what he’d always thought cherry pie would smell like. Was this sugar? If it was, he had no idea how bakers managed their day to day lives, the scent alone making him feel increasingly excited.

Was he really going to do this? Snatch a hair tie from the sidewalk grate and keep it like a desperate weirdo?

The scrunchie was tucked into one of the many pockets lining the inside of Hawks’ coat.

From that day on, huffing that hair tie became a part of Hawks’ routine. After a long day he’d come home to shower and tend to his wings before reveling in the scent. It came to a point where he’d please himself, in one hand holding the scrunchie to his face as the other stroked his cock. He didn’t know how, but he had fallen in love with a scent.

Tragically, overtime, the smell faded like autumn leaves losing their crunch. He was going to have to stop relying on the scrunchie.

No, he was addicted to this smell, he couldn’t just let it fade out from his life. He thought back to the day he found it. It was left behind in public, maybe there were cameras which had captured the owner of this hair tie. Cameras that captured you.

Being a top pro hero gave Hawks much leeway- contacting the owners of nearby businesses and asking for copies of their security footage inspired no suspicion.  Within a day he had several angles of perspective on the drop sight. He stuck an intern at his agency with the responsibility of reviewing the footage to detect who had dropped the footage.

Five hours later, Hawks saw you for the first time.

His heart fluttered. He saw a beautiful, no- a gorgeous girl resign herself to the side of the path as she dug through a small bag, digging for something.  In frustration she pulls the bag open wider and ruffles more intensely until finally she pulls out a phone. In the roughness, the scrunchie he had held so close for two months now, slipped out of her purse. She hadn’t noticed, instead checking her phone only to noticeably sigh in relief as a car approached her. She entered the car and it drove away.

Finally, Hawks could put a face to a smell. Now he just had to find you.

That poor intern began to reevaluate his position as the agency when Hawks told him to track you down- Hawks wanted an entire file, complete with a name, date of birth, address, summative history. The whole works.

It took several days, but the intern got all the information and organized it in a neat manilla folder, giving it to Hawks as soon as it was completed.

When Hawks received the folder, he could hardly contain his excitement. This was it, using this file he could track down the smell and subsequently the person that he’d been obsessing over for the past two months. After his intern left, he raced to his room, digging the scrunchie from the plastic baggie it was kept in to sniff at it as he read your file. He tore it open right after pulling his pants down to his ankles. He immediately began palming at his erection, softly exhaling as he began to read over your file.

--------

 (Photograph of you)

(clipped behind, are nudes that were obtained from your phone)

-------

Hawks stopped himself immediately to look slack jawed at the nude photographs of you, squeezing himself around the base of his cock to remind him of restraint. He laid the photo out next to the file to reference as he massaged his cock.

---------

Name: (y/n) (l/n)

Date of Birth: (y/D.O.B.)

Gender: Female

Sex: Female

Relationship Status: Single, no romantic partners or interests.

Sexuality: Unclear

Quirk: Redolence (emitter) - produces mood altering hormones capable of influencing perceptions of others. Low calculated threat as a combatant. Possible use in support position.

­­­­­­­------------------

‘Well,’ thought Hawks. ‘That certainly explains how I’ve gotten into this situation.’ He pumped his cock slowly, savoring the information he was learning.

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

Legal status: Immigrated Citizen – all paperwork has been processed and completed as of 12/14/20XX

Criminal History: Nonexistent

Address: (Nearby address)

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

‘She’s been that close this whole time?’  Hawks couldn’t help but picture you, walking down his street, your quirk turning heads as people wondered why they wanted you so badly. The inadequacy those strangers would feel when they saw Hawks swoop down to lift you off the street and into the air. Hawks felt even more turned on.

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

 Summary: (L/n) works at (place of employment) as (job position). Current income is ($$) per year. Has scarcely active social media profile. Not a public figure. Little contact with friends and family (out of country, no files available to draw information from). No roommates. No house pets. I.P. tracking shows recent queries centered around, heat death of the universe, 20th century American criminal Ed Gein, plane tickets to (your state), and pornographic material containing Consenting Non-Consent (CNC), public sex, indecent exposure, chikan and degradation.

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

‘Oh boy,’ Hawks felt his cock twitch. He couldn’t believe that you’d be such a naughty little slut. He took a deep inhalation, melting at the fading scent. Right now, all he had was this scrunchie, but soon he’d have you. The reassurance made him being to pump his cock faster, the member throbbing in his calloused hands.

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

Medical history shows she is prone to cavities, complications have arisen from improper healing of a torn muscle. Currently attending physical therapy to aid recovery. P.T. backed by health insurance.

Schedule:

Sunday- Grocery shops at approximately 11:20. Returns home to clean and watch television. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Monday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Purchases takeout on way home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Tuesday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. Exits at 20:00, goes to building laundry office. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Wednesday- Attends physical therapy from 10:00 to 11:00. Attends work from 12:00 to 20:00. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Thursday- Attends work from 8:00 to 17:00. Returns home. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Friday- Goes to (specific area) public park at approximately 12:00. Remains for approximately two hours. Returns home and orders take-out. No notable pattern excluding these events.

Saturday- No notable pattern detected.

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

Hawks was more than pleased with the information that had been gathered on you. And the schedule, that gave him more than enough time to plan out your first meeting. He could see it now, this Friday he’ll swoop through the park and casually run into you.

“Oh, hey there pretty lady, its funny running into you here, I think I saw you a few months ago…” You would start blushing and stammering right away, you’d feel so honored that the Pro Hero Hawks had remembered you, even if you hadn’t technically met.

From there he’d pull out the scrunchie that you lost and play it off like he’d seen you drop it recently. He’d say something like, “Anyway- I saw you drop this a few minutes ago and I thought I’d catch up and return it to you.” He’d hold it out to you and get a little closer than would be strictly necessary. You’d look into his eyes and Hawks could tell you how beautiful you are. He’d offer you out to coffee, he knows you have nothing planned afterwards so there’s no way you’ll say no.

By the time you finished your coffee you’d be in love with Hawks, equally infatuated with him as he was you. You’d shyly ask if he was busy and if maybe he wouldn’t mind walking you home… As soon as you got there, you’d offer yourself to him, stripping off your clothes to reveal your sensual breasts. He’d eagerly be led to the bedroom and immediately work himself down to your core, hoping for a chance to smell your sex. He’d lap at your folds, savoring the taste as he’d dip is tongue past the ring of muscle protecting your hole.

You’d mewl beneath him or pant his name and just beg him to fuck you with his cock. The sounds you’d make underneath him, downright sinful. You’d cum on his cock and flood the room with the smell of your pheromones, making him cum right inside you before he’d collapse on top of you to breath in your scent at the source.

In reality, Hawks was pumping his cock fast, occasionally twisting is hand to change up the rhythm, getting closer and closer as he dropped the scrunchie to instead hold the nude photograph. As he imagined the way you’d beg for his cock he came, hard, shooting white ribbons of cum right onto the picture of you.

He smiled.

Yes, Hawks had this whole thing planned perfectly. This encounter was going to end spectacularly.

When Friday came, Hawks came to the park an hour early, keeping an eye out for you just incase you’d decided to come early. The pro hero was circling the circumference of the park, his eyes darting from person to person until finally he saw you. Or, more accurately, smelled you.

You were entering the park from the west end, in your arms a yoga mat and a large opaque water bottle. On your body was a pants tightening outfit- black high-rise spandex cupping your legs and ass with a white cropped t-shirt straining against your tits. The little shirt was tied into a little knot in the front, the shin white fabric doing nothing to hide your black sports bra, enticing glances from men and women alike. Your hair was another matter of interest for Hawks, the soft strands clipped out of your eyes, only allowing the barest element to frame your face.  Most importantly, you smelled great, Hawks could tell from all the way up in the air. The smell was not the same as the smell of your scrunchie- that one had been more, flirty somehow. Today all that Hawks could smell was that underlying scent that screamed ‘you’. Hawks didn’t mind though, he’d work your quirk’s full potential out of you when the time came.

The way he was getting excited, Hawks didn’t think he could wait any longer, he had to go down and make contact.

He managed to hold off another 7 minutes, allowing you to position yourself in a secluded area of the park, ideal for yoga and meditation. At this point he’d grounded himself to be more discreet and was casually approaching you, not that you noticed with your back to him and eyes closed.

For a tense moment, Hawks stood silently in front of you, breathing quiet. His heart pounded, ba-dum, ba-dum.

“Hey there.” You jumped in surprise, eyes shooting open as you gasped out an awkward sort of “guUh!” noise.

“Whoops!” Hawks chuckled merrily. “Didn’t mean to spook ya there.” When you looked at him, it took you a moment to process that there was a pro-hero in front of you. As you looked up at him, you took notice of his stance. He was calm, standing languidly and unbothered. He must have just felt like acknowledging you and now that he had, he’d probably move on with his day.

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” you blanched. Did he know you?

“ah, no, uh… you must be thinking of someone else.”

“No, No, I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours.” He winked confidently. ‘What?’ you thought.

“What?” you said.

“Where was it… Oh!” He snapped, pointing at you. “On the sidewalk outside (business), about two month’s back, yeah, that’s it! (y/n)! That’s your name!”

You furrowed your brow trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you’d gone through that area several times in the past three months, you had to in order to get to your physical therapy appointment, but you couldn’t recall seeing Hawks there. You’d never seen the guy in person to begin with!

“Uh, yeah maybe…” Hawks smirked at you.

“Oh, it’s fine if you don’t remember,” his face switched from playful to informative. “there was that villain with the memory erasing quirk, he probably hit you.” You supposed that made sense. Perhaps you did have a conversation with Hawks at some point, that’d explain why he knew your name.

“So-ahem,” you cleared your throat. “what’d we talk about?”

“Well, I saw you drop a few dollars and a hair tie from your purse and decided to do the heroic thing and return them to you” Hawks became carefree again. “We were chatting, and this little stand offered me some chicken kebabs- I asked if you could have some too and we just chatted until that villain came through. If I remember correctly, we were talking about exchanging numbers.”

You widened your eyes. Not only had you been approached by Hawks in the past, but you’d been about to get his number? You weren’t even a huge fan of hero’s, how had that happened?

“Wow, uh, I don’t know what to say.” You giggled.

“You know, I’m free at the moment, mind if I sit and enjoy the park with you?” Without waiting on a response Hawks plopped himself down near you, his great, red wings flexing for a moment before relaxing.

“Oh, uhm, sure…” Now you weren’t sure what to do. You were clearly here to do yoga, but would it be rude to keep doing it while someone was with you?

As if he read your mind, Hawks opened his mouth again, saying, “Don’t mind me, you can go on with your yoga.”

Now it’d be rude if you didn’t continue. You moved into a high lunge pose, stretching your thigh muscles before groaning just a little. Your sore muscle still experiencing some pain.

“Oh, was that the leg you were going to physical therapy for?” he asked innocently. You looked over to see him sprawled on the grass watching you.

“Yeah… I told you I was going to physical therapy?” Something about the way he said that ground your gears. Come to think of it, you only went through that way as you where heading to your appointment. Why would you stop and chat with Hawks beforehand and risk being late?

And, who would be serving chicken kebabs at 9:30 in the morning?

Something was off.

“Oh yeah!” Hawks brought you from your thoughts. “You were talking about how you couldn’t hang out long, you had your appointment to get to. Heck, you left in such a hurry I forgot to hand that hair tie back to you… hmmm… I wonder if…” Hawks began shrugging his coat off before rummaging through the pockets.

So, it seemed possible that you may of ran into Hawks at some point, but he must have been lying about the kebab thing… or maybe he was exaggerating to justify his interest.

“I knew it!” He pulled a pink scrunchie from one of his pockets and sure enough you did recognize it. It certainly was yours.

“Your scrunchie, m’lady.” He scooted closer to you and offered it back.

“Thanks…” you accepted it, wrapping the tie around your wrist twice. You noticed that some of the material seemed worn and stretched, like it had been handled a lot. “I’m surprised you kept it this long.”

“Me too,” Hawks laughed. “To be honest, I forgot all about it till just now.” His face was lit with a cheery smile. He held the smiled uncomfortably long and you weren’t so sure he was telling the truth.

Similarly, you were holding your yoga position too long. When you went to shift your position you grunted, your butt hitting the ground as you were destabilized.

You let out a high pitched, “Shit…” as you felt pain envelope your thigh.

“Oh, fuck, are you okay?” Hawks asked, sitting up and moving even closer to you. It was kind of weird how he kept scooting closer. Brief conversation or not, you were still strangers.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you assured. “This happens sometimes, I just have to rub the area a bit, it’s just a pain doing it myself-“

“I could do it.” Hawks eyes kept moving from your inner thigh to your face and back again.

“heh, uh, no thanks…” you tried to laugh it off.

“No really, let me at it. You’ll feel much better.”

“Uh, thanks for the offer but, it’s not that bad.”

Okay, that was weird too. That was really weird. People don’t just offer to… do that, nor do they insist, and he seemed completely serious.

You were starting to feel not so safe around Hawks. Several things weren’t adding up. A villain with a quirk that could alter a person’s memory… When would you even be hit with that quirk? You did make it to your appointment- Hawks said so himself, so at what point would you get hit with a quirk like that?

The two of you sat it tense silence, not that Hawks acknowledged it. At the moment, he was just happy to be close to your scent. It would’ve been ideal if you’d let him in between your legs to massage your sore muscle but, could he really complain right now? No, even if this was awkward, he could see this working out for him.

“So, Hawks uh, how did I get hit with a memory loss quirk?” you asked.

“I don’t know that one, I just figured you had since you didn’t remember me and there was a villain with that quirk in the area, you must have been hit.” He seemed nonchalant and by all means, trustworthy; he was a hero for crying out loud!

But you couldn’t shake the gut feeling that something was wrong. Hawks would look at you, smiling charismatically, but you couldn’t help but feel like a chicken trapped in a fox’s den.

You’d really rather be going.

“Well, um…” you awkwardly start. “I think I’m going to head out…”

Hawks tilted his head as he looked at you. “What? Are you kidding? You’ve only been here for 20 minutes…Oh, don’t tell me that your one of those people who only does yoga in the park to say that they did yoga in the park.” His inflection. Were you imagining the bite you heard in his tone?

“O- oh, no, it’s just ah… I’m not feeling well…” You started to gather your stuff together, rolling up your mat before starting to stand. Before you fully straightened yourself out you started to sink back down, your leg muscle throbbing. You yelped and Hawks caught you, lowering you back down.

“’Not that bad’, huh?” Hawks chucked and he started to lightly push you back. You resisted, anxiously blabbering, “No, Hawks, I’ll be fine- I think I’ll feel better once I’m back home.”

You couldn’t stop him from pinning you down. Hawks straddled your good leg, holding the knee of your bad so you couldn’t close your legs. Humiliatingly, a single feather flew to rest on your forehead, subtly preventing you from lifting your upper body.

With his free hand, Hawks tenderly explored your inner thigh first only rubbing you through your spandex with the pads of his fingertips.

Alarms were ringing in your head, red alert, red alert, stranger pinning you down to creep on your thighs

“Hawks please-“ you tried to start.

“If you’d just let me finish this, you’d be out before you even realize I touched you.”

You tried being quiet, maybe submission would aid you.

Hawks got rougher with his caresses, making you whimper underneath him. Frustratingly, the position he’d pinned you in was… kind of erotic. There was this handsome man, holding you down, forcing your legs open and subsequently exposing your core. Your brain was recognizing the pattern, remembering all the porn you watched, the erotica you read. Your pussy started getting wet.  You hoped to God that your quirk wouldn’t activate- it’d only make Hawks more aggressive.

You didn’t realize the half of it.

Because Hawks could smell your pheromones, inviting him to continue, making his head feel dizzy with excitement. His mouth watered and he began to lower closer and closer to your legs. Closer to your pussy.

“Oh (y/n),” he crooned. “Your leggings are getting in the way, I hope you don’t mind if I just-“ a feather detached itself from his wing, sharpening and dragging across your pantleg. A slit was torn in the fabric, exposing your leg to him.

“Hawks- please stop!”

He didn’t stop. Instead you felt his hands wander to the slit to physically rip a bigger hole, making the leggings a mere scrap of spandex. The action revealed your clothed cunt and the increased intensity of your pheromones drove Hawks wild, making him as feral as an opossum. He gave up the pretense of massaging your sore muscles and cupped your pussy with his palm, feeling your heat and wetness through your panties.

For a moment he just held it there before taking the hand to his nose and inhaling deeply.

And then you understood.

The scrunchie wrapped around your wrist, you last wore the thing on a hookup. Your pheromones must have gotten into the fibers of the fabric. If you lost it… and Hawks found it…No wonder Hawks had held on to it for so long… the fucker developed an obsession with the scent of your pheromones.

And then, he sees you, in public- of course he’d try to initiate something with you… Shit.

You’re taken back to the reality of your situation when you feel the scrape of a feather against your shirt. That- That fucker was cutting open your shirt! How the fuck were you going to get home in a bra and panties… soaked panties at that.

Rip Rip

Okay, scratch that, now all your clothes were shredded and unwearable.

Hawks finally changed positions, swinging around to hold you in a 69 position. The action kept you pinned down even when you jumped in surprise at the sensation of Hawks dragging his tongue over your pussy lips. He didn’t hesitate to dive in, eating your pussy like a man starved of nutrients for 12 to 13 days.

You hated to admit it… but it felt fantastic. The feeling of his stubble dragging against your skin while he alternated between licking and sucking your clit was making your pussy gush. The taboo of it all as well. Fuck, this shit was all your kinks rolled into one.

You wanted to hate what was happening. Hawks, he was overpowering you- making you feel small and weak. This was wrong…

Fuck it, you were horny.

To Hawks’ surprise you started palming at his erection, trying to work the zipper down to free his cock. Despite his surprise, he was thankful. Hawks Junior was starting to feel like a caged bird, trapped in his pants the way they were.

He was doubly as thankful when he felt your small, soft hand start working his cock, pumping it, letting the tip rub against the skin of your breast. Hawks shakily exhaled, taking a moment’s break from eating you out to focus of the pleasurable sensations overtaking his cock.

“Hawks~” you whined. “You’re wearing too many clothes…”

“Huh?” he said, dumbfounded for a moment.

“Take your clothes off.” He looked down at himself, raising his eyebrows when he compared his state of dress to yours.

“Oh, yeah, right!” He was quick to strip down, undoing his belt and allowing his pants to fall to the ground. His goggles, coat and shirt followed suit and you took in the sight before you.

In a moment of confidence, Hawks fully extended his wings and allowed you to look upon his toned body.  His muscles were well defined and displayed the power housed within his skin.

It made you want to blow him.

You got on your knees before him, nuzzling his cock before taking it into your mouth- not an ounce of hesitation left in you anymore.

“Oh, so is this it real (y/n)? Not some nervous, bashful girl? She’s actually a worthless slut?” he cupped your face in his left hand, pushing your head down further onto his cock. Unprepared, you gagged- pulling yourself off his cock to cough and wheeze. He wasn’t thrilled at that, he wanted to feel your throat convulse around his cock, you weren’t allowed to just pull off.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair, yanking you so you toppled to your hands and knees before his feet.  

“Oh come on, you can be a better slut than that!” You looked up to him, lust making your eyes dilated. Eagerly you repositioned yourself onto your knees, again not hesitating to slurp on his cock. He pushed your head down again like last time, triggering your gag reflex but you held down, forcing yourself to relax overtime, swallowing around his cock on occasion.

“See,” he cooed condescendingly, “there’s a good slut.” Wetness dribbled down your thigh. You pulled off his cock with an audible pop and said three words that made Hawks want to fuck you till you went blind.

“Please fuck me.” The look of it all was so erotic. You, naked on your knees, face red and makeup running, lips, puffy and red from sucking cock, begging to be stuffed with cock.

Hawks grabbed you by the hair again, dragging you to a gnarled tree. “oh, you want to be fucked? Fucked right in your needy hole?” you nodded eagerly. “Good slut, now go on, position yourself for me.”

You braced yourself against the tree, arching your back and planting your feet. You could feel the rough bark against the soft skin of your pillowy tits. It hurt but you didn’t care. You were too caught up in the eroticism of what you were doing.

When you felt Hawks tease his cock against your cunt, you couldn’t suppress your squeal of excitement or stop yourself from eagerly spearing yourself onto his cock. You shivered at the sound of Hawks groaning as he entered your tight, slick, heat.

“Fuuuuuck,” He moaned out as he adjusted to your tightness. It wasn’t long before he was bucking into your, searching for the spot inside you that would make your legs shake.

Three or four thrusts in you squeaked- eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh there? Is that where the little slut likes feeling my cock?” you nodded eagerly but that wasn’t enough for Hawks. “No, I want to hear you say it. Say it!”

“Yes! Fuck, that’s where I like feeling your cock!” Hawks pulled out completely.

“That’s where who likes feeling my cock?” your eyes widened with recognition.

“That’s where the little slut likes feeling your cock!”

“Oh, Good Girl!”

He thrust back in, aiming directly for that patch of skin inside your tight walls that made you see stars. Hawks’ own cock was feeling fantastic, the warm heat making him go a little crazy, groaning louder and louder.  He kept thrusting in, harder and harder, making your brain rattle around inside your skull. He reached around to grind his hand against your clit, adding to the cacophony of pleasure you felt.

You were getting really close and Hawks’ wasn’t far behind you. With each thrust he could feel his muscles tense up in preparation to cum, the only thing keeping him from erupting inside you being his own willpower.

Finally, as the pleasure built inside of you, your muscles firmly clenched around Hawks’ thick cock, milking it around your own orgasm. The pro hero’s hips slowed their pace, fucking you through both of your orgasms until finally they stuttered to a halt, stuffing you to the brim with his cream.

He remained like that for a moment, cock feeling too sensitive to pull out but finally, he eased his cock out of your hole, removing the dam which had kept all of Hawks’ cum inside you. He watched in satisfaction as his cum leaked out of your used hole, completely transfixed until he heard the snapping of a branch.

He whipped around, eyes locking onto a teenaged boy holding his phone up from the bushes. The kid was tiny, with the strangest hairstyle Hawks had ever seen. Purple balls that didn’t even resemble hair. All and all an ugly kid. Even worse was to see that while one hand was occupied holding his phone, the other was held suspiciously low.

Luckily, at sight alone, the kid made a man dash to avoid a scolding. Unluckily, that kid for sure had a first of its kind, hero sex tape.

Hawks looked back at you, now slid to the ground, breathing heavily. Your naked form was a work of art, and his satisfaction with the sequence of events left him with a clear head. He looked around the clearing the two of you had occupied.

Oh, right. He’d completely destroyed all of your clothes… that was tricky.

“Hey, sorry for ruining all your clothes.” He didn’t seem too sorry.

“Its, whatever… I’ll just have to figure out a way home.”

“Well, I could fly you home… no one to enforce public decency when you’re in the sky.” You were not thrilled at the prospect of flying through the air naked. You looked down at your nude body. Unfortunately, you had no choice.

“I don’t really have any other options…” you helped clean up the clearing, and when all was set and done, allowed yourself to be carried bridal style by Hawks.

He leapt into the air, soaring seemingly higher than a plane. The cold made your nipples rock hard.

“oh by the way, (y/n)?” you looked at him.

“When we get to my apartment I’m gonna need you to rub your scent on my bed.”

 Sometimes, you hated your quirk.

[lovehotelreservation]

Skintight

Summary: It’s a beautiful day to go out and cosplay at your local anime convention!

But it’s a horrendous day for Joseph to get some Artist Alley shopping done when he’s too buy being mesmerized by your stupid sexy cosplay! 

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: F!Reader/Joseph

I MISS ANIME CONS SMH

I NEED MY FIX OF SEEING FRIENDS, MAKING NEW ONES, AND GIVING ALL MY DOUBLOONS TO NEW ACCESSORIES FOR MY ITABAG ; v ;

IT WAS WHY I WAS APPREACIATIVE TO @spaceispeachy FOR SUCH A FUN COMMISSION PROMPT!!! THANK YOU LOTS FOR SUCH A FUN TIME!!!

ANYWAY PLS ENJOY!!! OWO

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It took a lot for Joseph to hate sweets.

After all, how could he ever be in a bad mood when he had a mouthful of brownies, or cracking open a cannoli to lick out the cream filling while Caesar looked about ready to suplex him for his crimes against Italian cuisine?

But there was one dessert that was taunting him.

A treat that he could not easily have while he meandered through a bustling Saturday morning at the local anime con Artist Alley.

Pudding.

When anime con meals tend to run from convention center French fries, to food truck curry bowls, and freebie Pocky for subscribing to a streaming service, his craving for such a simple treat was rather odd.

But the allure of creamy pudding called to him nonetheless.

Literally.

“Aww, that’s sweet of you, but I already have a puddin’, see?”

The sweet chime of your voice.

Paired with the cheeky point of a foam prop hammer sent towards his direction.

Immediately, his concentrated expression from trying to calculate the value of getting a Fire Emblem Awakening key charm set for $35 turned into a menacingly cheerful look as he quickly turned around to wave at yet another Joker cosplayer who approached you for pictures of your Harley Quinn cosplay.

God, what was it with these Persona 5 fans hitting on you today?

The poor lad immediately shrunk back after realizing you were taken.

In retrospect, this issue could have been easily resolved if he decided to complement your Harley Quinn as a genderswapped Poison Ivy prior to the convention, but today was to be dedicated to Artist Alley and he did not want to be restricted within the busy crowds by someone stepping on the vines of his cosplay.

But with him dressing casually, admirers of your form-fitting outfit seemed to be blissfully ignorant to the way his hand protectively held yours, or the kisses shared between you both whenever you stopped at an open area for you to reapply your lipstick.

Not that he could blame them.

Even though he really did.

Your honey colored overalls alone were enough to get him sweating, the tight-fitting fabric hugging your curves and accentuating your ass, which made watching each step you took as you led the way a mesmerizing taunt.

And he did not want to get started on the cheeky peek of your cleavage thanks to the unzipped front of your overalls, your pink bralette looking to be more and more of a nuisance as they obscured your breasts from his grabby hands eager to rip your clothes right off--

“Shall we?”

Your fingers intertwined with his while your lips met in a kiss, the warmth of your palm putting his senses at ease.

“Lead the way, babe!” He grinned with an affirmative nod and wink, even if his self-restraint was looking to be in tatters.

There were still a ways away to get through the rest of Artist Alley, and he didn’t know if he was going to keep himself calm all the way back to the hotel.

As the two of you passed by an artist table selling Gintama-inspired soap, Joseph minded himself to stay calm with steady breaths and quell the heat that was spreading within his loins to hold on until later tonight.

For now, he found relief with his imminent purchase of a set of Yorozuya soap bars, his mind already racing to when he could use them to rub your body clean during a nice long shower once you both returned to your hotel room.

He just needed to have you retrieve his money from your wallet, given the inevitability of him losing something.

You were just about ready to, your back facing him as you reached into your bag.

Up until a group of passing cosplayers bumped against your side, causing you to stumble forward while dropping his money onto the floor in the process.

Alarmed, you immediately bent over to pick up the dropped bills.

While it was instinct for Joseph to bark out an “Oi, watch it!” to the oblivious group, the sight of the fabric of your overalls becoming taut as they stretched over your ass perfectly served to leave him speechless immediately afterwards while eviscerating whatever remnants of his self-restraint were still intact.

The look on your face was sheepish when you turned around, offering him a “sorry” and his money.

But instead of taking his dollars, Joseph was taking hold of your wrist as he quickly dragged you along and out of the Artist Alley crowds.

“J-JoJo! What about your soap?” You yelped, doing your best to keep up with Joseph while stuffing his money back into your bag.

Though he barreled on ahead without any intent to stop, Joseph quickly turned his head back towards you, his face hot and red as he remarked, “The soap can wait, I can’t!” 

You knew what that urgency in his voice meant, your heart fluttering upon realizing his intentions.

With those words uttered, he quickly faced ahead, his eyes scanning around for any place that would provide the best discretion.

Thankfully, the search for privacy was not prolonged into a grueling endeavor upon coming across an empty panel room. A peek at the schedule taped on the entry door showed that there was supposed to be a showcase for the upcoming anime season, but the large “CANCELLED” that was scribbled onto the itinerary was all that he needed to see.

But not as much as he needed to see your breasts springing free from your clothes.

From a massive space packed to the brim with costumed attendees to the quiet, dark solitude of this single room.

With the lights off and not a prying eye around, Joseph felt nothing short of liberation as he hauled you right onto his lap after he sat down on one of the provided convention chairs. His lips smothered yours while his hands reached for your ass for a few firm needy squeezes, his voice in a grumble,

“Stupid sexy overalls that hug your ass! Only I’m allowed to do that, damn it!”

As much as he wanted to tear your clothes right off of you, he knew you’d manage to make a swing from your prop hammer lethal if he dared to tear apart your cosplay. So while he was mindful to help you with shimmying out of your overalls and tugging up at your bralette, he held no restraint once your nude skin was finally revealed.

The moment he caught sight of the bounce of your exposed breasts, his mouth was all over them for hot kisses, his suckling lips making it a point to leave red marks that would be difficult to hide.

By this point, he already unbuckled his belt and freed his cock out of his pants, his hands gripping your hips as he guided you to grind your slick core right onto the blunt thick tip of his dick, only sheathing himself fully inside once you began to mewl for him to move.

And move he did.

HIs hands returned to your ass for more indulgent gropes, holding tight as he had you bounce up and down his cock at a brisk rate, his need for your slippery wet heat too intense for him to even think to be slow.

You didn’t see or feel a problem with this, reciprocating his rhythm by the shake of your hips, all while your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders while your lips fell onto his neck, red kisses left in their wake--it was only fair for you to mark him up, after all.

Not to mention, while it was only the two of you alone in this room, the murmured chattering in the hallway outside the panel room served as a constant reminder that the two of you wouldn’t be private for long.

But with how riled up that Joseph had become from being utterly entranced by your alluring costume to how delightfully fierce that he was pounding up into your core, it did not take too long for the two of you to reach your climaxes. The hot spill of his cum poured inside you as your walls squeezed around his cock, your mouths met to muffle each other’s moans in a kiss

Your lips parted once Joseph fell back against his chair in a satisfied slump, his arms still hugging you close.

As you caught your breath, you looked up to him with a flustered expression, your lips pouting. “Now I’m gonna be all sticky walking through Artist Alley.”

A grin just cracked onto his lips as he leaned forward, kissing your forehead while reaching down to give your ass another squeeze as he affectionately teased,

“Don’t worry about it, puddin’. I’ll wash you up real nice with some Gintama soap tonight!”

He would happily make good on his word.

[bansept]

Family festival

A very big shout-out to @star-snail whose Ichihime fanart inspired this fanfic : it is a very beautiful piece that just radiates peace and love and fun to me, so I tried my best to convey this in a written way. I hope I do their work justice 🙃

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

Japan is the land of festivals, Ichigo is pretty darn sure of that. He is far from complaining, especially because it allows all his family to reunite so that they can eat sweets, have fun, pray and just, be together.

For days, the house down the street of the Kurosaki clinic had been filled with excited chatters of both Orihime and Kazui, the little boy asking his mother about this and that story, his mother explaining with great details. The 5 year-old had looked at her like magic was pouring out of her mouth, which was probably the case, to him. Kazui had asked about many festivals, including the Tanabata one, which of course brought tears to his eyes.

"B-but why did they part away? Why aren't they together!"

He wasn't a fussy boy, very far from it. He was calm and collected, and obeyed all instructions, but when it involved anything bad, even remotely linked to his parents (a name in this case), he was crying.

So Ichigo had to assure him that no, mommy wouldn't go in the stars, no, they wouldn't be separated. Yes, he could have a big kiss from papa.

"Ichigo, come get Kazui please!" Orihime called out from their room, and her husband complied, leaving the kitchen to tickle his son, who was playing with a few toys near their sofa.

The boy laughed at the fingers on his sides, wriggling in his dad's arms. He shook his tiny legs to try to get him out of such a monstrous grip, but Ichigo had him in a hug in an instant, his son up in his arms as they climbed the stairs.

"Here is my prey... Where do I put him, Hime?" Ichigo chuckled in a fake deep voice, which pulled a squeal from his son, who extended his hands to his mom, hoping to get away from his horrible father.

"Oh, well how about you give this cute boy a bath before dressing him up? We'll be late..."

"We are supposed to meet the rest in an hour, Hime, don't worry."

Ichigo walked to his nervous wife and gave her a very gentle peck on the cheek, hoping to calm her down. Kazui turned his head to the side, suddenly interested in what was on the walls while Orihime blushed a little.

"... You're right. I'm just a bit nervous... I don't know why."

Ichigo gave Kazui a little kiss on the temple before placing him back on the floor, and rubbed his back.

"Kazui, can you go get ready for the bath? I'll be here in a second."

The boy, being the sweetheart he was, nodded simply and pitty patted to the washroom, leaving his parents in their room. Ichigo looked back to his wife and raised his hand to caress her cheek.

"Orihime? Are you okay?"

The young woman breathed out, going to hug Ichigo and burying her face in his neck. She melted in his touch when she felt Ichigo's arms wrap around her, drawing nonsense on the fabric of her kimono.

"I am, it's just... I'm reminded of... I don't know, everything. My parents, my brother... For the first ones, I still wish I had some knowledge of them. And Ni-Chan... He would have been happy to be with us."

Ichigo could only agree with her, only knowing one part of the way she felt. He wished his mother was here today too, to be with her husband and her children and now Kazui too. But it was impossible.

"They're not here physically. But the people we love are with us in spirit." Ichigo said simply, his strong arms tightening a little around Orihime, his face meeting with the top of her hair.

Orihime didn't answer, only hugging him more, letting her emotions calm down, the thrumming of her heart go back to normal. Those types of thoughts didn't come often, not because she was too happy to get them, simply because there was no reason to feel bad about the past. But tonight... Tonight felt different.

After a few minutes, Orihime gave Ichigo more of her sweet and enlightening smile, brushing a hand on his cheek to thank him before getting downstairs. Ichigo went back to his son, who was looking at his reflection and waiting patiently.

"Ah, sorry Kazui. Took more than one second. But now mommy is better and you can get washed!"

Ichigo started the bath and quickly but very carefully washed the boy, who giggled and tried to splash his dad with water multiple times, but was stopped with the promise of more treats if he was nice tonight. Wetting a kimono with soap-filled water? Big no no.

The boys got ready pretty fast, father making sure that son was comfortable in his kimono and waraji, not daring to try to tame his unruly hair. He really was like Ichigo in that department. The only way to make sure it wasn't all over the place was to cut them, even if another reason was more, hem, personal.

Totally not related to how Orihime all but loved to scratch the back of his head and it was easier done when the hair is short.

They got down the stairs, Kazui holding onto Ichigo's hand tightly to not fall, still not used to the straw shoes in his little feet. Orihime checked her reflection one last time before squatting to her son, giving him a big smooth on the forehead, praising Ichigo for dressing him so well.

Did the two blush profusely? Yes. One because he was a little boy and proud to make his mommy proud, and the other one because damn if his wife wasn't the most jaw dropping beautiful woman in existence.

A few knocks on the door wanted them of the arrival of the louder part of the family, as Ichigo jokingly called them. Isshin didn't really wait until anyone opened the door to burst it open, his laughter and happy face infectious.

"Ah! Where is my grandson! Oh, you look so good.. so cute my boy!" He sniffed, tears already streaming down his face as he kneeled down to hug Kazui. Yuzu almost did the same, but had some self restraint (thank goodness) and instead laughed with Orihime. Karin kept the door opened and saluted everyone calmly, without a word, but the smile on her face too obvious for her to pretend to be unhappy about the commotion.

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

All of them, after a lot of tears, walked to the closest festival stalls, the night setting in and the lampions lighting up the streets, giving it a fairy tale like atmosphere. Kazui walked neatly next to his father, holding to his arm closely, but his eyes darted everywhere in wonder. This green light, that blue stall... Some people wore masks and some kids were chasing each other with tiny fireworks in their hands.

"Let's get some food! Yuzu insisted on not making any at home as to not waste the one here..."

The young girl nodded her head enthusiastically while her twin sister trotted to a Ikayaki stall, asking for one before watching the drama play out.

"Well yes, because otherwise you would have eat like normal but all your appetite would have been gone with us and you would have complained about your stomach!"

Yuzu lectured her father, and Orihime stood next to her to tap her shoulder and calm her down, otherwise it would turn into a quite loud conversation. Karin came back next to her twin and gave her a candy apple, placing it in her hand.

"Don't mind him. Let's enjoy the festival. Let him eat if he wants."

The sisters walked ahead, not really caring about their dad's wailing, Ichigo pushing Kazui between Orihime and him.

"Tsk, he always has to be dramatic about everything..."

"But it's funny papa! When grandpa cries he always makes funny faces! And then I hug him and poof! Gone!"

Orihime gave her son a very sweet kiss on the forehead, because who wouldn't melt at the boy's sweet heart and words.

"Hm, oh, Hime. Look there."

Ichigo pointed at a stall with a shooting contest, which confused the woman at first, before she clapped her hands excitedly.

"Oh, we've haven't done one in so long!" She giggled, jogging to the inviting booth with Kazui on her side. Ichigo smiled brightly, shaking his head. Who was the child?

"You go win her a prize, I'll look after Kazui." Isshin told him, surprisingly calm after one minute of crying. He raised an eyebrow at his dad who clapped his hands together before raising Kazui in the air.

"Kazui, you'll see if your papa is good with shooting targets. If he's not, then you'll be staying with me for a while week!"

So, that meant going to bed very late, eating candy, not doing any kind of work and losing a few braincells because of Isshin cooing at him and talking to him like a baby.

No way was he going to lose. Especially when Orihime was watching intently, her hands holding each other on her chest.

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

Of course Ichigo won.

And got the biggest prize he could obtain, a grey teddy bear, proudly holding it for his wife. Orihime was filled with happiness, feeding him a chocolate banana from time to time.

The evening passed like that : between chatters, contests, street food and laughter, not a single Kurosaki wasn't smiling. The sisters stood close to Orihime, always hoping to spend more time with her, always hoping to find this reminder of Masaki in her. Ichigo walked by her side, listening to their chatters and keeping an eye on Kazui, who was getting sleepy.

"Papa?"

"Hm?"

"Who is that?"

Ichigo turned his face to look on his right, where Kazui had pointed at, but seeing no one. There was barely any civilian at the stalls around them, so it was safe to say Kazui definitely needed some well earned sleep. Ichigo crouched down to pick him up in his arms, patting his head gently.

"You're tired baby, were going home soon. You can sleep some if you want."

"But the lady..."

"Hm?"

Kazui couldn't say more, already closing his little arms and snoring softly. The day had been long, of course he was exhausted. Ichigo made sure he held him tight, the teddy in his other hand being a bit of a pain now. Orihime stopped to check on the little boy, her heart feeling like it turned goowee at the adorable sight.

"We should head back... Kazui needs to take some well deserved rest." Ichigo announced to his family, the two girls nodding in unison and Isshin hugging Orihime quickly before patting Ichigo on the shoulder.

"We had a great time, thank you, to the three of you." Orihime bowed and got her goodbyes back at her, Yuzu making one last joke with her before everyone returned to their homes.

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

Once Kazui was changed and put to bed, Ichigo cracked his back bones and brushed his teeth sleepily, now in his sleeping t-shirt and shorts. Weird how before he could have his bed time at 3 in the morning without any problem, and now 11:30 was the maximum.

He heard Orihime sigh next door, in their room, and popped his head out of the bathroom door.

"Hm?"

She laughed at his cute appearance and his puppy look, the head tilted to the side. She waved her hand as if to say "later, later" and went back to changing. Ichigo frowned, the infamous gesture that he had forgotten along the years bringing back the usual anxiety he felt in his younger days.

He spit in the sink and washed up his hands before entering their room and pushing the door closed.

"Hime, what's wrong? Please tell me..." He asked, sitting on the bed to watch her take her hair down, unleashing it from the tight grip of her sofisticated bun. She sighed again, and Ichigo frowned again, before going to hug him, the force of it pushing Ichigo to lay on the bed with his wife in his arms.

"Hime..."

"Nothing is wrong, I promise." She cut him off, rolling to her side if the bed and staring at his eyes. She was not lying, she was alright but then why did she sigh? Why did she look so exhausted when they return back home?

Ichigo still nodded, reassured to a point, before leaning down to kiss her in the lips. She gladly accept the peck, placing her hands on his face in such a sweet and careful hold, Ichigo definitely wanted to kiss her more. But she pulled away again, still looking at him with this strange look, one that made her eyes glitter in excitement. Orihime took one of his hands, so strong, so callous from all those fights, to place it on her belly, warm tears filling her eyes.

"I'm pregnant."

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

Oh I'm so bad for leaving this like that 😂 but then again, if you guys want the rest, you can always ask for it hehe

As I am not Japanese, I had to research for festivals and clothes and food, hopefully what I wrote made sense ;;

[harlot-of-oblivion]

Garden of Delight

Vergil takes matters into his own hand after having an erotic dream about you.

Sooooo while I was writing chapter two of Flowers By The Sea, this scenario popped into my head and I just had to write it out. This happens before Part 8 of A Rose Among the Briars series, but you don't have to read it to understand what's going on here...you can read it here or over on my Ao3 😘

Abandon all pants ye who reads below the cut! 

Vergil jolts awake with a start, breathing in time with his rapid heartbeat as he blinks away the remnants of sleep. His hands feel around the bed to ground himself after having the most intense dream. Images of you flash before his eyes; your sultry gaze and bare skin cause waves of heat all over his body, coalescing down in between his wet thighs. His brow furrows in confusion for only a split second before the sudden realization hits him. He rips the blanket covering him away and stares down with a chagrin scowl at a huge wet spot in the middle of his pajama bottoms.

The air is thick with the scent of his seed, so there is no sense in denying what happened while he slumbered. Vergil stares at his crotch, silently seething at the sight of his lack of control before pushing himself off the bed with a low growl. He stalks over to the adjacent bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the light as he gets the shower ready. While the hot water runs, he carefully sheds his bed clothes, noting that his thin night shirt is also soaking with sweat. He tosses the soiled clothes in the corner of the room before stepping into the shower.    

Vergil stands still for a moment under the relaxing spray of the shower, letting it wash away his seed along with some of his dignity. He berates himself for giving into the allure of his dreams like some hormonal fool as he grabs some soap and a washcloth. But that still does not stop his mind from going back over the dream in great detail, testing his resolve once more as he cleans the rest of his body.

It started out with you, wearing nothing but the barest amount of clothing, beckoning him to come closer before running through your garden. He chases after you and despite losing sight of you, he can still hear your soft laughter as it echoes in the night. This only spurs him to search for you faster, following the sweet sound of your voice as it begins to sing a pretty song. He treads carefully through fields of flowers until he finds a corner of the garden hidden by a large hedgerow. Your song grows the louder the closer he gets to your hiding place. His lips curve into a smug smirk as he steps behind the leafy wall to claim his prize for finding you, but it faulters as he beholds a most tantalizing sight.      

You are sitting on the grassy ground with your back towards him surrounded by beautiful blooms while rose petals rain down from the sky. As he takes a few steps closer, you stop singing and turn around to face him, revealing that you are now only clad in resplendent flowers. Your lips curl into an impish grin when you see him lurking in the shadows. You call out to him as you lean back on your hands and spread your legs wide, showing him just how excited you really are now that he has caught you…

Vergil grunts as pleasure thrums through his body and straight down to his groin. He did not even realize he had closed his eyes until he opened them to see that one of his hands has gripped the base of his engorged cock. His eyes squint down at the offending hand before tearing it away from his crotch. He reaches towards the facet and turns the other knob until it blasts him with cold water. He stands there for a moment as the icy chill of the shower seeps into his skin, once again sulking about his lack of restraint as he tries to banish the insatiable desire that comes along with his dream.

But it seems to be easier said than done as his mind refuses to listen and just picks back up where he left off. You reach down with one hand and begin to stroke your glistening petals, brushing up one side to circle your budding nub a couple of times before trailing back down the other side. Your breath becomes heavier with every stroke, panting and moaning as you make yourself wet just for him.

Oh Vergil…

The sound of your voice is so needy…so full of blatant desire…he can longer stand idly by and steps out from the shadows, never tearing his eyes away from your fingers as he walks closer, closer, closer…You continue to tease yourself as your legs spread even wider, giving him a good view as one of your fingers buries itself deep inside your sopping wet cunt. Your strangled cries of pleasure send him to his knees, but he keeps pressing on at a crawl as your finger starts to pump in and out of your silken flower…pulling more and more moans from your soft lips…

Vergil groans as another wave of pleasure rocks through his body, effectively shaking him out of his lewd recollection. His eyes snap open and he quickly notes that he has shifted around in the shower, leaning back against the shower wall while his hand is once again around his hard member. He is grasping it just below the tip now, which means that he was stroking himself to his dream instead of just holding it this time. He glares down at his troublesome erection, trying to find the will to let go…but his cock twitches in the palm of his hand, begging him to relieve this torturous ache while the image of you spearing yourself comes unbidden to the forefront of his mind…

Vergil growls lowly as he consents to defeat while his thumb brushes the head of his cock, smearing stray droplets of precum all around the head before stroking in a slow and steady pace. His mind wonders back to his dream, but he lets his imagination run wild since it originally ended right when you came around your delicate fingers. This time you keep pleasuring yourself while he tears off his coat, vest, and gloves. Then he crawls in between your legs and removes the flowers covering your chest with his teeth. You eagerly push your breasts up to his face as he unveils one pert nipple for his feasting eyes. He teases it with a few flicks of his tongue, relishing the way your breath hitches with every stroke, before sucking it into his warm mouth.

You let out a breathy moan and your hips begin to buck against your thrusting fingers as he lavishes every inch of your lovely breast. His lips trail across your chest, removing all flowers in its wake before coming upon the other nipple. You whimper as he shows it the same attention, fingers moving faster between your legs while you fall back against the grassy ground. Your other hand finds its way into his hair as your moans get louder and louder, rising in volume as you inch ever closer to your release.

Vergil groans as he tilts his head back to rest against the shower wall. He squeezes his cock tighter as he directs his fantasy self to pull your fingers out from your wanton heat. You whine at the sudden loss of pleasure as he brings your hand up close to his face. He takes in your heady scent with a deep breath through his nose, growling in satisfaction at the sight of your dripping wet fingers before holding it high above your head. His eyes roam over your body as he looms over you, admiring your every curve as it quivers in anticipation of what comes next…

As Vergil lowers his pants in the fantasy, he braces himself against the shower wall in the present. His hand picks up the pace, jerking himself off with short strokes while you wrap your legs around his waist in his salacious reverie. He presses the tip of his cock against your wet mound, reveling in the softness of your sex for a moment before pushing in with a hard and decisive thrust. Your startled gasp rings out through the garden as he fills you to the brim with his cock, but then your eyes roll back in pleasure as his hips begin to roll in between your thighs.

Meanwhile in the present, Vergil growls softly as his own hips begin thrusting up to meet every downstroke of his hand, mimicking his vigorous pace in the fantasy while it plays out in his mind. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer while you moan over and over. The rose petals covering your strewn hair across the grass is shaken off as you tilt your head from side to side while you gasp his name out in pleasure. He pounds into you faster, hoping to pull more of those delightful sounds out of your mouth while getting lost in the feel of your body as it writhes beneath him.

Vergil…Vergil…Vergil…!

His breathing grows heavier the more he imagines how your sweet voice may sound in the throes of passion. The distinct tightening sensation tells him just how close he is to his own release, and his hand instinctively pumps his cock faster as his mind speeds things up in his fantasy. You encircle his neck with one arm and gently guide him down closer until his forehead rests against your brow. He cannot help but to stare deeply into your eyes, which are now glossy with blissful pleasure as they unabashedly gaze up at him. And just before you fall over the edge and cry out in ecstasy…he captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

Vergil grunts as his cock grows impossibly hard in his hand right when he muffles your rapturous cries in the fantasy, but then he lets out a gratifying growl as pleasure wracks his body. His hips stop rolling but his hand keeps ardently stroking as he spills his white-hot seed onto the shower floor. He lets himself drift out in the euphoric waves, trying his best to prolong the pleasure for as long as possible before it inevitably fades away and leaves him alone in the cold shower.    

The strokes of his hand gradually slow down as the last shivers of pleasure tingle up his spine. His hips buck against his hand weakly, but to no avail since his pleasure still wanes until all that is left is self-loathing. He glares down as his now very satisfied cock as it softens in his hand, partly blaming his own lack of discipline for not only giving into his carnal dream of you…again…but also adding to the dream and playing out a fantasy that may never come to fruition.

Vergil huffs indignantly as he finishes up in the shower before drying off and grabbing a clean pair of pajama pants. He also gathers up the soiled bedsheets for washing and remakes his bed with a spare set of sheets. As he gets ready to lie back down he glances over at his bedside table and zooms in on what he happened to be reading before falling asleep…well, more like ogling its contents since that is the intended purpose of these lecherous magazines. The cover features a woman clad only in flowers…just like his dreams of you…

A low rumbling growl emits from his throat as the lewd magazine becomes the focus of his unbridled ire. He chastises himself for letting it pique his curiosity in the first place as he throws the offending magazine out of his room for titillating him with its erotic imagery. And as he stomps back to bed, he is grateful that no one will ever know of this late-night incident and that he has no plans of seeing you for a couple days.

Vergil grumbles as he shuffles under the covers and makes himself comfortable before attempting to sleep. He tries his best to shake the dream from his mind as he starts to get drowsy. But as he slowly slips into slumber, he cannot help but wonder if he will ever get the chance to chase you through the flowers in his waking life. His last conscious thought before sleep takes him over is of you, his lovely rose, and how utterly breathtaking you were in the garden of delight.  

My Ao3

My Masterlist

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona @exsultry

[shiftytracts]

a woman in a buttoned cardigan over a loose dress containing a bloated, gurgling belly she’s proud of—not outright flaunting, but not hiding either, as she sort of enjoys the prospect of someone noticing it and finding it as funny-looking as she does. she’s at some kind of social event, for her work or for a hobby or maybe someone’s birthday party. there are whole tables of snacks here—mostly sweets. and she’s got kind of a reputation as a connoisseur (maybe her career or side hustle involves baking or judging food), so everyone wants her opinion on whichever snack they made. she loves getting to flatter people, and loves being flattered in this way too.

so she has had a lot of sweets, in the last half hour, or hour, or two hours, or however long it’s been since she got here; she tends to lose track of time in these situations, especially when she’s also had a drink or two. so many sweets her stomach feels all rumbly and kinda sour. she wishes there were more places to sit down; everywhere’s taken right now. she informs her boyfriend of all this when he arrives and asks her how the party’s going. “good,” she says, and half-heartedly stifles burps all through her report of what her friends here are up to. “also i’ve had many good snacks,” she admits, pressing her boyfriend’s hands to her swollen, noisy belly one by one with her free hand, so as to acknowledge the fetal elephant in the room. (the other hand holds a large cookie, which slowly drips powdered sugar on her cardigan and dress.)

“i can tell,” her boyfriend laughs.

she puts the whole cookie in her mouth to hold onto it with her teeth, briefly (and insufficiently) brushes off her hands, and directs his hands in circles around her stomach, unwittingly smearing powdered sugar into her clothes. “sooo many sweets.” a big burp surprises her. reflexively she bites the cookie, and catches the part of it that lops off in her hand. “too many sweets, probably; my tummy’s getting kinda frazzled i think,” she laughs. “ugh—i still want so many more though. i could eat so many more if i had some real food first,” she muses.

“so you’re saying you’re hungry?” he asks; she smiles confirmation, a little embarrassed. they talk each other into the idea of purchasing lunch across the street, then coming back. brb! me and [boyfriend] are gonna get some chipotle, she texts the host (or the friend she came with, or whoever seems most relevant).

she holds her belly through her sweater pockets all the way over, and in the line, and while she orders, rocking back and forth on her heels. after her burrito and diet lemonade she feels pleasantly full and warm, and comparatively sober. “hmm, that felt good,” she says after a string of stifled burps, leaning back against the bench and setting her hands in her pockets again; “this was—such a good idea.”

“ready to head back?”

“almost. just give me a minute to settle.”

her cardigan’s a bit too tight now, they notice when they stand back up: her dress pokes through the gaps between the buttons. she laughs and unbuttons it, stroking the area self-consciously. and on the walk back she twice exhorts her boyfriend to slow down, when she loses her breath or gets a stitch in her side.

her stomach’s been quiet for a bit, but has just started burbling again (softly, busily, not uncomfortably) when they arrive back at the party. the snacks have depleted visibly in her absence, she notes with dismay. she heads straight for the brownies, to make sure she gets at least one more before they’re gone. while there she runs into a friend, and the two of them end up standing there chatting as she absent-mindedly eats all the brownies left. she only notices when her friend says, “good brownies?” and she exhorts them to try one—only to look down and see only crumbs left.

“oops,” she says, and pats her belly, which whines as if on cue. she discovers that it aches a little, and drags her fingers back and forth across its top.

“you must be thirsty, after all that,” the friend suggests.

she says, “yeah, now you mention it,” and they wander off for more drinks.

once she’s buzzed, of course, she barely notices the fullness, and goes on grazing until everything she likes is gone—then makes herself nibble the snacks she doesn’t like, so as not to seem too biased. when she’s bit off all she can make herself chew of something very crunchy and sticky, and so sweet that it makes her guts swirl and twist with irritation, she gets another drink and resolves to find a seat, no matter in how inconvenient a location. feeling too muddled to enjoy noise and conversation anyway, she ends up wandering outside and falling asleep in a rocking lawn chair. who knows how long later, she wakes up needing the toilet; with that accomplished she heads back to her lawn chair and dips in and out of sleep for a while longer, hands on her belly through the pockets of her now-open cardigan.

finally her boyfriend wakes her up so they can go home. “hey. how you doing?”

“hmmrgh.” she burps. “sleepy.” curls a hand more tightly around her stomach as its quease slowly wakes back to life; the motion frees another burp. this one hurts her throat a little. “mmf. don’t feel good.”

“ate too much?”

“mhm.” she hunches further over her stomach.

“do you need a toilet, or a bucket, or anything?”

she shakes her head: “i’m ok.”

“ready to go home?”

she sighs; she’s ready to be home, but hates the idea of having to get up and walk to the car and say her goodbyes, and then sit in the cold car and get jostled by speed bumps and potholes all the way home. but she nods anyway.

“need me to help you up?”

“mhm.”

once she’s upright he stands before her and cradles her stomach in his hands. waits for her to come to herself as she groans and blinks her eyes used to the light. between the space all this food takes up inside her and the hiccups that interrupt her every other inhale, her breath runs uncomfortably short. her limbs ache as if she’d been running too long. exhausted by this, she leans way forward into her boyfriend’s hands. this calls forth a very long, loud belch that catches them both by surprise.

“feel better?”

“yeah.”

they amble to the car with his arm wrapped around her. the people they pass on the way there he tells goodbye for the both of them, while she blinks at the floor and burps into her closed mouth.

the car ride isn’t so bad; she ends up falling asleep, even though it’s only like fifteen minutes. she wakes up to him opening the car door for her, offering a hand to help her up. “so sleepy,” she laments, clearly angling for something. he carries her to their bed, having expected this response. brings her water, antacids, a bucket, and a hot water bottle while she falls asleep in her clothes on top of their still-made bed. not much later, when he comes to bed, that wakes her up, and she stays awake longer this time as she ponders whether she needs the toilet. decides in the affirmative, and spends so long in there, between actual business and how lazy all this food makes her feel, that eventually a knock on the door startles her awake.

“are you ok? can i come in?”

“yeah,” she says, to both questions.

he finds her bent double over herself, arms trapped between her thighs and belly. “oof. you look like you don’t feel good.”

“my tummy hurts,” she admits. “i’m ok, though. just bein slow.”

he helps her up, and massages her still-rumbling stomach from behind while she washes her hands and brushes her teeth. “still so big,” he observes.

she says “mhm,” through a mouthful of toothpaste, with a smile that the white foam dribble makes look pretty stupid. her nostrils flare in a slight laugh at the sight of her face in the mirror. she burps, and spits the toothpaste out real quick to keep from swallowing it. he mistakes her haste for alarm, for a sign of imminent puke:

“hey, shh, it’s ok, let it out.”

she shakes her head: “i’m ok. just almost swallowed my toothpaste.”

they head back to bed; he refills the hot-water bottle for her, but by the time he gets back she’s asleep again.

in the morning she sleeps in til almost noon. wakes up still bloated, still burping, belly still gurgling, but feeling pretty ok: lazy, delicate, but not sick or in pain, aside from the occasional boomerangs that signal an impending dump. she lies on her back for a while, blinking and rubbing her stomach; takes a long shower, where she soaps that area rather more than necessary, and burps without restraint, one long belch after another; enters the living room in a big sweatshirt and underwear and socks, burping carelessly as she greets him and stretching her arms above her head so that a sliver of bloated gut is briefly visible. as she returns to her original position she yawns, blinks, and slips her hands under the sweatshirt to rub the cramps out of her belly that the stretch created. they discuss their respective plans for the day as she stands there, rubbing and burping.

“how’s your tummy?”

“pretty good.”

“think you can handle a little breakfast?”

she pats her stomach, burps again, and smiles. “i can do a normal-size breakfast.”

and indeed she can: she eats precisely the usual amount of cereal and toast, at the same pace and with the same affect as always. only afterward she does lean back in her chair with an “ooh,” and place her hands on her bloated stomach.

“too much?”

she shrugs, not sure yet. “can you hear it rumbling?”

“yeah,” he laughs. he asks, “need help getting to the bathroom?”—but she’s already leisurely pushing in her chair.

she pats her belly with first one hand, then the other. “nah, i’m good.”

it takes her a while in there—he surmises she might have a nap on the bed afterwards. the next time he encounters her, she walks up behind him while he sits at his desk, presses her belly against his upper back, puts her hands on his shoulders, kisses the top of his head. feels like she’s still a little bloated, to the extent he can judge; also he hears her burp a little from the contact. but she sounds like she feels well again. “thank you for taking such good care of me.”

[andeverymomentafter]

Hansanna Holidays 2019

@hansannafortheholidays

BE WARNED... Things get lemony and not-workplace-safe underneath the cut. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

Day 1: Yule Ball

The plan had been what the plan always was -- escape the crowd and find somewhere they could be alone. But when did anything ever go according to plan where Anna was concerned?

Hans had steered her towards an empty gallery, thinking they'd cut across and head for the wing of guest suites, all presently empty while their occupants attended the Yule Ball. He opened the doors that would let them pass through, never imagining what he and Anna would find on the other side.

The gilded corridor was lined with mirrors on one side and windows on the other. Its inlaid wooden floor was polished to a high sheen, and an endless row of crystal chandeliers dripped down from the arched ceiling. Nearly every surface was reflective, and in each one, the Northern Lights, all shimmering purples and greens, danced with the blue-black night.

"The sky's awake," whispered Anna. She gave his hand a single squeeze before crossing the threshold, drawing him with her into a bewitching, kaleidoscopic world.

Sharing a waltz here would have been romantic, but they'd stolen away from the ball with something else in mind, and watching the celestial wildfire ripple with eerie beauty over Anna's bare arms and shoulders was doing nothing to make Hans forget that. He was, with every moment, becoming more and more certain that having her right here, right now was the most important thing he'd ever do in his entire life.

Anna stopped suddenly in front of a window. She kept strangely still as she gazed up into the night sky, appearing more interested in the luminous waves than in the spell they were casting all around her. Hans stood behind her, close enough to catch the scent of her soap and her skin. He made his breathing deep and slow and kept his hands down by his sides.

For all that he and Anna seemed to have slipped into some enchanted realm, the ballroom was still close enough that Hans could hear music and, just beneath it, the hushed roar of countless voices. He wanted Anna, but he also wanted some measure of self-control.

Careful as any gentleman leading a new acquaintance in the first steps of their first dance, Hans placed one gloved hand on her waist. With the other, he gently ran his knuckles over the nape of her neck.

He fixed his attention on Anna's image in the windowpane and saw her reflection lock eyes with his. When she gave a slow, knowing smile and braced her palms against the glass, he buried his face in her hair to muffle his groan and pressed his hips into her backside, letting her feel how hard he was for her already.

Anna rocked back against him, and Hans caught her earlobe between his teeth, giving it a warning tug. Her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, and he ducked down to pepper them with feather-light kisses. As always, he had to restrain himself. He could never leave behind any sign of their trysts.

Normally, that wasn't a problem. Normally, they'd be someplace where he could take his time pleasuring Anna, preparing her to take him as fully as they both desired. The current situation, however, didn't afford them that kind of luxury.

Still, Hans knew this moment was unforgettable, and he was determined to make it theirs. He'd mark her memory if he couldn't mark her body. He had a talent, after all, for making the most of his circumstances.

Anna's pretty, low cut bodice gave him plenty to work with. In between kisses, he dragged his tongue over the most sensitive parts of her exposed flesh, tracing constellations of freckles. He used his voice, his words, whispering how good she tasted, what tasting her did to him, and what he ached to do to her.

The muscles in Anna's jaw and throat tensed with the effort of keeping quiet, and she began to shift her shoulder blades in quick, restless movements, squirming inside of her clothing.

"Feeling confined?" Hans murmured before sliding his hand down the front of her gown and freeing one of her breasts. He felt her shudder against him as her hot skin met the cool air. Giving her no time to recover, he worked his thumb over her nipple, teasing the seam of his glove over the already peaked bud.

Anna was panting now, her breath fogging the glass, and Hans noticed that she'd begun pressing and rubbing her thighs together, trying to give herself some friction, some relief. Using his teeth, he tore the glove off of his free hand and let it drop to the floor. He was desperate to be inside her. Time to see if she was ready to have him.

He lifted her skirts, and his knees almost buckled when he found nothing underneath but a pair of silk stockings. She'd spent the whole evening like this. She'd danced and chatted with princes and dukes and diplomats, all the while thinking of him. Wanting him.

"Oh, Anna..."

The longing in his voice frightened him. He felt the sudden urge to flee, to retreat to the shadows and leave Anna and her wondrous, shimmering flames behind. But then she rested her small hand on top of his and gently ran her thumb back and forth across his knuckles. The steady, excited rise and fall of her chest pressed her breast against his palm in a soft rhythm that was as electrifying as it was soothing.

Hans hid his face against the crook of her neck as his fear transformed, taking him from being petrified of everything about this moment to being petrified of losing it and whatever might come after. His breath began to fall in sync with hers, his anticipation building with every inhale and exhale.

Hans moved to unfasten his trousers, and as he did, Anna returned her hand to the window, pressing even closer to the glass as she parted her legs for him.

He'd intended to begin with only his fingers, but Anna's heat drew his cock like a magnet. Hans clenched his teeth and swallowed as he made himself rock slowly against her slick warmth instead of immediately pushing right into the core of it. Anna gave a low, choked whimper and began to make sharp little bucking motions with her hips, urging him to give her more.

"Shhh... alright... alright..."

Hans wasn't sure whether he meant to soothe Anna or himself. He was so close to spending, and he needed to be inside her when he did, needed to feel her innermost quivering as she came undone in his arms.

He reached beneath her skirts and cupped her from the front, stroking her damp curls, parting her lips, searching until he found her pearl, hot and hard and aching for his touch. Anna jerked once then sobbed out a feverish, hushed yes as she ground herself against his fingers, against his cock, frantic and clumsy, cloistered in the arch of his body.

When Hans finally pulled his hand away, Anna made an incoherent noise of protest but quieted when he took hold of her slender hips, realizing what was about to happen. She spread her legs even further apart, and he carefully positioned himself between them. Wrapping his arms around her, he made his body relax and let his weight do the rest. He sank into her, and she took him, all of him. She was everything he'd been aching for. Tight and perfect and entirely his. He rested his flushed cheek against the top of her head, nearly overcome by the rush of absolute bliss.

Anna's reflection caught his attention once more, and this time, Hans saw himself there with her. He drank in the image of them joined together, bathed in the same coloured light. God, what were they made for if not this? What was the darkness of the vast, unknown future when compared to this moment's radiance? And who was Hans if not a man adept at seizing the moment?

He began to move within her, knowing it wouldn't be long for either of them. The music, still wafting in from the ballroom, was reaching a crescendo. Hans risked a long, urgent groan, right against Anna's ear and was rewarded by her gasping his name again and again and again.

All at once, her body curved back against his, taught as a bowstring, as she came. He only just managed to keep both his footing and his hold on her while he cried out at the swift, unexpected shift in pressure and friction and movement against his cock. All his restraint vanished. He pulled her body even closer against his in a vice-like grip and bit down hard on her shoulder, riding out his own climax in a shuddering blaze.

He returned to himself to find Anna relaxed in his arms, her head pillowed against his chest. She was watching him, glassy-eyed but focused, and she wore the sweetest smile.

Hans pressed an apologetic kiss to the spot on her shoulder that was already starting to bruise.

"I'm so sorry," he said, "I think... I think this is going to leave a mark..."

Anna tenderly traced her index knuckle down his profile from brow to nose to chin.

"Don't worry. I have lots of blouses with high collars."

His mouth quirked upwards.

"Blouses with high collars, huh?"

"Mmhm. Lots."

It wasn't funny. Except that it was. Extraordinarily funny. And soon they were both swallowing snorts of laughter like a pair of children struck by the church giggles.

Still embracing her from behind, Hans tucked Anna's breast back into her bodice. She leaned up and kissed his mouth.

"Thank you," she said, her face solemn but her eyes sparkling. Then, she turned around and shook her skirts back into place before returning the favour. Buttoning his spent member back behind his trousers, straightening his sash, smoothing his lapels.

The refracted beauty of the Northern Lights still quivered all around them, and from the ballroom, they could hear the ensemble strike up a new song.

Hans tucked a wayward strand of Anna’s hair behind her ear.

"May I have this dance?" he asked.

"You mean the polonaise?" she replied, all innocence.

"The polonaise or something like it."

Anna placed her hand in his. He took her once more by the waist and they began another dance with no plan but to step forward together into the next moment and the next moment and the next, onwards into the unknown.

[advernia]

i’m amazed that i’ve been active for at least a couple days straight??? is it the effect of lesser fe3h playtimes + the silly coworker writing challenge at the workplace??? oh well ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

since i remembered i was trying to make work commentary a thing here, more rambling / author’s notes under the cut!

jul 6th // ikerev

push your way through the cracks is the first edgar/mc i’ve written here and while i’ve mentioned there that edgar is my fav out of the cast, i fear that i’ll probably take me a very long time to write another one bc... he’s my favorite. i noticed i have the tendency not to write much (or have finished works) about ships i really, really like despite... you know, liking them. hopefully not - shipping aside, i like exploring the characterizations of enigmatic types like edgar.

about the fic, i pretty much like it save for the second part bc i think i could’ve done something more with it - not exactly change the setting, but expounded a little further on it. i don’t know, it feels lacking somehow in comparison to the first two.

there are a lot of flower-related descriptions tossed here and there, but i think i succeeded in not being so purple prose-y? hopefully! this was pretty descriptive, i guess.

with this edgar fic present, that means i have 2 more red army doods to write about, namely zero & jonah. i was really aiming to make edgar the last one tho haha.

jul 12th // ikerev

weave me into your web is canon based, specifically pt. 24 of sirius’ route where they say ‘goodbye’. note those quotation marks.

i think i wrote this after a discussion i had with a friend about sirius & his route - she read some posts commenting on the route and she wanted a nearby opinion. we got into an agreement: while we do find sirius to be indeed husbando material, his route would’ve risked nothing if they gave him more / emphasized his flaws. his flaws, not mc’s, gosh. 

no, seriously. in my opinion, mc fretting so much about being immature sort of blinds her from the little things that prove sirius is not so composed as he appears to be. it gets even worse when she realizes she’s fallen in love with him, and while i enjoy the black army going kira-kira rabu support team + seth being hopeless suitor, i’m going 50/50 on mc. she’s written to be indeed very single-minded come the war phase and while that’s not necessarily bad since she gets to broaden her perspective as she always does, i think i would’ve appreciated it if she came to most of the realizations on her own by reflecting on them based on how the events around her are progressing; and not simply by sirius / someone else pointing it out for her. no wonder she’d think she’s immature in comparison - it also irks me a bit that she keeps on fretting about her feelings for sirius. this is what i’d be sad to see again in other routes: the romance overthrowing the potential / present character development. 

side note: i understand that in relationships with a notable age gap, maturity / perceived maturity can be a problem - i just wished that the route downplayed on this bc honestly, there are other things more interesting to explore than that angle, like, say; isn’t she from another culture or world or something????????? will those differences affect our potential relationship??????????????

on sirius himself, i recall reading on reddit that one person didn’t pick up ikerev for the reason that the cast is too perfect. that’s a fair opinion. i think i can relate this to sirius himself: while throughout the route you do see some flaws in him, he’s still overall the dude you’d write home about + that dude you’d dream introducing to your parents complete with that suave voice (thank u junichi suwabe). no, i’m not saying that he has to have some unlikable or quirky trait / wangsty backstory, it’s just that in my opinion he’s desirable but not exactly relatable. let him struggle, let me see him rise up from it. show me his humanity. there’s the scene with him and lancelot, but i want more. tho him being afraid of being alone is what i find extremely relatable and endearing about him, very nice. otherwise... well, maybe i have to reread the route again or smth.

anyway. the fic emphasizes actually on his character trait of self-control / restraint. did u know too much is bad for u??? it can reflect that since you hold yourself back too much, it could mean that you’re masking your true feelings, for example. there are various psychological studies on that. *stares at sirius* hMMM.

i took care to be quite descriptive on that kiss scene and at the same time, not to be so emotional on it bc it’s still sirius lol - i believe he’s not one to lose himself completely to his emotions, but he’s not that afraid to succumb to some of it - especially if he actually wants to feel them.

... this turned out to be a rant portion rather than a fic commentary now didn’t it

aug 24 // ikerev (i’m seeing a pattern here)

a beginner’s guide to waltz was seriously just some formatting experiment, then it blew up to something larger. i actually like it tho, it’s cute.

writing oliver is actually fun, not bc of the reason that i can be rude. he is rude, but he’s not like that for just the sake of being so. as seen with blanc, it’s probably a result of habit. why exactly he chose to be verbally aggressive is something i’d like to know in his route.

i have no idea how the relationship shift is portrayed either, but i do hope it’s a mortifying revelation on mc’s part lol. like, lookie here, that little kid with his wee shorts and pretty hat that you hang out with all the time and don’t care about acting so ladylike around was that hot hunk who saved you before! oliver’s so amused and never letting her live it down.

for the line ‘i’m not interested in asking you about a decision you’ve made since you arrived here’: the decision mentioned is mc’s promise not to fall in love & to go home. i think oliver would be one of those routes where he falls for her but wants her to go home anyway, but the difference in his route is that he’s very adamant to make her leave. maybe thinking along the lines of ‘i don’t want you to end up like me’ or something. idk. idk what i’m trying to type at this point, lol.

just some random thought, but i do hope ikerev artist tcg someday draws mc in the game outfits / hairstyles bc she’s actually rly pretty. the description of mc’s outfits / fashion of part 4 of the fic was out of me just staring at the my closet portion of the game. don’t ask - i like the hc of oliver & mc having elegant wardrobes / fashion sense, and since i’m too lazy to check up 19th century london fashion trends...

sep 28 // collar x malice

haunted by something still alive was the result of me thinking about guns. don’t ask me either. maybe it’s also a result of me wanting to write something else that isn’t from my horrendous drafts folder lol.

these were actually nice drabble practices, and the first one i clearly had i mind was shiraishi’s. i honestly think it would be fitting, probably around the start of the route where they haven’t got to know each other so well.

from there on i tried to do the drabbles in the route order i did when i played the game, which was mineo - sasazuka - okazaki - shiraishi - yanagi. but tbh when i was writing it became shiraishi - mineo - yanagi - sasazuka - yanagi again - okazaki, lol. i rewrote yanagi’s and okazaki’s three times.

subtitles have their respective mathematical operations on it - i find it kind of cool and funny that those are their symbols (amnesia had the card suits), but when you do think of it properly, it does relate to their characters.

... never forget that hoshino ichika is canonically good with guns.

sep 28 // ikerev

in absence of glass slippers as stated was a part of one of my first ikerev drafts. still a draft until now, but the portion i posted is one of the ‘finished’ sections of the fic.

i don’t headcanon mc as a respectable lady from a equally respectable house or her being a well-off girl, but i like the concept of her being a self-taught lady of society aka she learned stuff like manners, dancing, and etc. out of curiosity or for more practical reasons like fitting in. 19th century london is still the victorian era, so social class and propriety was still a thing.

her taking off her shoes to practice dancing with ray is a sort of a challenge, actually... his measure of improvement will be based on the times that he steps on her feet / how many blisters her feet would gain by the end of the session, lolol - that’s why she says that stepping on a rock is the least of her problems. pretty hardcore, isn’t she?

thus the title actually - glass slippers (mary janes actually) are pretty delicate, but don’t you think a lady’s foot is much more delicate?

with ray’s fic up, i’ve officially written a piece for all of the black army men! nice.

sep 29 // ikerev

neither heaven or hell is holy shit, an mc-centered fic! hella rad - i was half thinking to classify it as a drabble, but since i decided that drabbles are pieces that i may get back on, i kept it as a full fic instead since i’m happy with how it turned out.

all of my screamings are in the tags, so i don’t have much to add besides that lol. however, the writing here is pretty different, and that’s because i was trying to do a three sentence fic challenge kind of thing. buuuuut it became three paragraphs with three lengthy sentences instead lol.

also, there’s some stuff highlighting mc’s london-er/english-ness. washing powder is the british term for laundry soap. 19th century roofs for royals were usually panels, and wooden beams for commoners. different as chalk and cheese is a british expression. i’m certainly not british but i just like emphasizing the fact that mc is of another culture/world, thus there should be differences in how she perceives things / her mannerisms & actions / her way of speech. i’ve been conscious of that in all of my fics involving her.

actually, i do make it a point to watch her way of speaking. i really like the polite way of speaking of 19th century britain (and also of today), so i try to integrate that despite the fact that i’m not british myself lol. it’s hard to fully convey it, but i try with hoping that it doesn’t seem too off. i should probably look for more references to practice it.

this was a very spontaneous piece with actually minor editing involved, and i’m pretty proud of how it turned out.

[lokis-lady-death]

Interview with a God Pt 6

Tom Hiddleston/Loki x reader

Prompt: I have always heard  people joke that Tom Hiddleston is actually Loki playing Tom playing Loki. So, let’s write about it XD

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

Interview with a God Part 6

When the cab dropped you off to your building, you slugged your way through the lobby to the elevator. Finally making your way into your apartment, you flung your work bag against the wall before face planting into the unkept bed.  In your tote, you carried the shameful excuse of editing Elliot had given you to let Tom read over along with the original article and the tabloid with the infamous kiss. You let out a groan at the thought. It was hard enough to imagine everything that had transpired in less than a week- suddenly finding yourself in some sort of strange relationship with Tom, or Loki, whichever he was at the moment. Now you were going to have to deal with whatever situation Elliot was cooking up.

Another groan into your pillows.

You finally managed to sit up, your head pounding from everything rambling on in there. A shower was what you needed. Clean body, clean mind. You slinked out of your work clothes on your way to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Loki had left a faint mark on your neck where he had bit you in the limo. You chewed on your inner cheek seeing it, feeling a flood come over you at the thought of him losing his self control.

All over a low neckline dress and innocent flirting.

The hot water felt so cleansing. You finally relaxed a moment, the stress of everything rinsing off you like mud, leaving only the sensation of Loki’s hands on you. Like sitting at the park, sliding his hands up your skirt. His kiss, tender yet rough as he claimed you. His threats to take you in your office. Your mind shifted to the limo ride while your fingers trailed up then down your stomach, substituting the electric stir Loki caused with a gentle tickle. Something about seeing him go from keeping his cool to suddenly losing all composure, grabbing hold of you, squeezing your ass, even just the simple motion of tilting stirred you. In your moment, your hand trailed between your thighs, picturing it all.

“Wouldn’t you rather have the real thing, little one?” You went to scream but Loki’s hand wrapped around your mouth as he breathed, “Shhhhh,” into your ear. When he pulled your naked body backwards to him, you could feel he was fully dressed despite being in the shower. “No need to be so alarmed, darling, but you were calling out to me so loudly I couldn’t concentrate enough to finish reading.”

When his hand lowered from your mouth, you instinctively said, “I’m sorry…” But you couldn’t concentrate anymore. His hands were sliding through the water and soap, combing over your breasts.

“Oh no, y/n, please don’t misunderstand.” His lips grazed over your neck and you shuddered as he breathed you in. “I have been merely awaiting your invitation.” His hands moved over yours between your thighs. How had you not noticed before how large they were? Twice as large as your own, calloused and strong. Each of his fingers curled over yours when he whispered in your ear, “So tell me, darling, what were you daydreaming about?”

You forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. How had it suddenly become so hard to speak? “I, um……” He gave your hands a tight squeeze, meant to urge you on but only distracted you more. “The… the limo,” you managed.

“Oh?” Loki smiled and let out a short laugh that you could feel against the back of your head through his chest. His grip softened just a bit. “Yes, I very much enjoyed the limo ride,  myself.”

His hand dipped past your fingers, lightly brushing your lower lips. You inhaled sharply, legs tense, core aching. You were sensitive enough without the added pressure of him grind against your ass, his bulge growing harder with each motion.

And when his hand touched your womanhood, you couldn’t stop the urge to press back into him. A low growl bubbled out of him while his grip on you tightened when you called out, “Loki!”  

There was that lingering restraint behind Loki’s movement, trying so hard to control himself before finally giving in. His thumb made circles over your most sensitive area. You let out a slow moan, moving your hips ever so slightly to the rhythm he kept. You moved just a little harder when you felt him slide a finger into you. And then another, gently curling as you rocked against his hand. Loki continued kissing and sucking on your neck, pausing only to whisper, “I hope you continue to think of me every night, darling. I want you to call my name in your dreams.” His teeth teased your skin, so much so that you sank into him. He added another finger, pumping just a bit faster while his thumb continued to massage your clit. Another moan escaped you. “And I’ll always come to you. Just speak my name and I will find you.” His free hand moved up the back of your neck, taking a thick bundle of your hair in his hand. Just enough to crane your head around to look him in the eyes. “Tell me you’re mine, y/n.” His fingers stopped moving. “Say it. Now.”

You were beginning to peak, so close to a release, your body flowing with him. His lips came crashing onto yours, your moans rushing into one another as you kept up the movement. He made you work against his hand, no longer helping but instead gave your head another sharp tug. “Say. It.” His digits threatened to retreat from you, making your legs cross to keep him in place. He stepped around you slammed your back into the wall by your hair, his body immediately pinning you.

“I’m your’s, Loki, please!” He rewarded you. His fingers diving into you, his palm pressing into your mound, his pelvis grinding against you. He didn’t loosen his grip on your hair, instead pulling it back enough to make sure you could see him. It was enough to push you over the edge, sending you spiraling as you reached your climax. Your legs buckled, you melted into Loki’s arms. He kissed the top of your head, let out a light laugh, and lifted you up bridal style. You laid your head on his chest, suddenly aware you had both suddenly become dry.

“I don’t suppose I should be surprised when you do magic anymore,” you said, marveling at the little things he did that reminded you of who he really was: a god.

He smiled, sitting on your bed and wrapping his arms around you. “Then I suppose it would be understandable if I asked who Elliot Stringer is to you.”

You were so struck your eyes widened and you gasped. “What?” The look on Loki’s face demanded an explanation and you quickly added, “What do you mean, he’s my editor? You met him when you picked me up for lunch?”

His expression lightened and a light flashed over him, transforming him back to Tom. “Oh, yes, right. I’m sorry. I had heard his name when you were thinking of me and it made me curious.” His tone was very certain that you should understand his meaning but you were even more lost.

“You heard his name when I was thinking of you?” Almost annoyed, you sat up in the bed and asked, “Are you telling me you can hear my thoughts?”

“I can hear the ones pertaining to me, yes.” Then you remembered him saying he could hear you praying to him and the thought crossed your mind that a name was enough to get a god’s attention.

Something to make a note of.

“Okay, then I understand what you’re talking about.” You let out an exasperated sigh and began getting dressed. “I was thinking about you both because, well….” You pulled out the articles from your work bag. “This.”

Tom’s eyes skimmed over the article. You could see when he got to the particularly muddy sections because his face mirrored your own when you read it. He looked like he would say something, but instead turned the page. When he finished he looked at you, then back at the second page, then at the first page. Finally he set the article down on the bed.

“Interesting.”

“Is that all you have to say?” you criticized as you posed with your hands on your waist.

“I mean…. It’s a bit raunchy for my taste and that’s certainly not how I remember the interview going, but I suppose I could see how you would have liked it to have…”

“Seriously? I didn’t write this! That asshole Elliot did! And he went above my head to have the director approve it!”

Tom let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good, because I was concerned for a moment. Yes, it is pure garbage.”

You sat back on your bed and cradled your head in your hands. “He said it’s juicier than the original article I wrote but it isn’t my work and makes…...!” His kiss silenced you and you felt a euphoric high wash over you.

“It’s alright, y/n. Rest,” he instructed, “Sleep. You can handle this problem tomorrow.” Tom moved to sit against the headboard and brought you into his lap. His fingers brushed your hair back from your face, watching as you drifted to sleep. His eyes went back over to the article at the foot of the bed. He didn’t need to be omniscient to see there was something more to article changing than you were letting up.

*****

The next morning you stretched out in your bed, slow to realize that Loki was no longer there. You let out a sigh, reaching over to the bedside table for your phone. “Shit.” You had to be in the office in an hour. You let out a yawn as you stretched once more, feeling small pops and cracks throughout your back.

You were just thankful to a full night’s sleep.

When you showed up to the office, tote and coffee in hand, you were met by Sue at your office door. “Mr. Stringer wants to see you,” she said  in an apologetic tone.

You let out an aggravated grunt. “Of course he does.” You set your coffee down on your desk and brought your bag to Elliot's office.

Mr. Stringer was sitting behind his desk, working away on his computer. He smiled when you walked in. “You can shut the door behind you, Ms. y/n.”

Part 7 is up!

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[clown-bait]

Paranormal Journeys (Monster Roommate AU) Pt 9

WOW IM SORRY that took way too long to get out mostly because of work and trips and costume making Ive been so busy I've had barely any time to write. But anyway here it is the big reveal. Hope you enjoy all the violence.

Ch 16 Reunion

Leech continued to sing her song despite the look of annoyance from her captors and the run of her black syrupy blood falling from her nose into her mouth. The taste of it was revolting but she wanted them to know what was to come. They wont even get a chance to float now because there wasn't going to be anything left.

“Will someone please shut her up she's been singing ever since we cut off her finger.” Chris groaned and nosferatu flashed her moonlike eyes in his direction.

“Why don't you step a little closer and try yourself Chris!”

The group turned at Leech’s sudden mood change she seemed less playful and suddenly way more dangerous than her captors originally thought. Chris glared at Danielle who was rubbing Zander’s back as if she had done nothing wrong. The ghost hunter turned away from the scene. He hated this woman more than he disliked the fang filled chatter box bleeding on the wood floor. Leech flashed her teeth at him again and a too wide for comfort grin slowly grew on her face

“Psst let me go and I’ll promise I’ll leave you alive for awhile. Its her I want.”

“Is it me or did she suddenly get way more creepy?” the ghost hunter squinted.

“Well you did cut off her finger dude.” Zander grumbled.

“How long do you think it'll take before that thing shows up?” Rick asked wearily

“Is that a hint of fear I smell Ricky? Don't want that he likes fear.” Leech lolled her head to the side the loss of the ichor from her finger stump starting to make her delirious. Or maybe it was the hunger slowly rising from her belly. Either way her calm antagonistic composure was melting away into something much more dangerous.

“Shut up seriously!” Chris hissed at her as Ricks’ face turned to that of worry.

“But its not Penny you have to worry about, the only way he’ll be tasting you on my tongue after I get out of these chains.” the vampire flicked the long muscle out of her fang filled mouth like a snake dragging it over her lips in mock seduction.

“She’s got a point you cant show any fear.” Danielle said from her seat on a barrel.

“Rick bro you really got to get a hold of yourself that thing is dangerous and we can only stop it if we work together.” Zander placed his hand on his team mates shoulder while Chris glared at the woman behind him.

“He cant help it dude he's only human. Hell even I’ve been freaked out ever since I had that weird dream! And since when are we taking orders from her anyway”

“Oh! I smell a soap opera looks like I'm getting dinner and a show tonight!” Leech smirked and sat up criss-crossed with mock interest.

“Don’t you talk about Danni like that bro!”

“Oh we have nicknames for our one night stands now?”

“Chris what the fuck is your problem with the women I date? Why can’t you just back off dude?”

“Well well you found someones leg to hump Daneille? How interesting!” the vampire mused.

“Shut up Leech”

The nosferatu winked and continued to lazily smile at the group that was quickly coming apart. She could honestly care less about her food’s love triangle unfolding before her. Just as things were starting to heat up a knock came at the door of the barn the group went silent and the vampires long ears twitched upward.

Zander cautiously opened the door while rick picked up an old rifle taking aim just in case. A man stood alone in the snow in the dark winter night. He reeked of the sewer.

————————-

“So you found her what do you plan on doing now”

“Do you really want to ask that Mikey?”

“You-no you can’t!”

“Are you forgetting who I am human?”

“Please let me reason with them at least they’re innocent in this!”

“I’m already allowing you to live sheep boy, they took something from me, they will pay.”

“Just one chance clown please.”

The clowns frowned for a moment then its scowl began to soften into concentration. Mike stared at it as it eerily drooled and clicked low in its throat. Pennywise suddenly smiled and his eyes began to glow. Mike knew it couldn't be trusted it looked too excited, too hungry. it was planning something.

“I will allow you to try.” Penny’s nefarious grin grew. “Yes no harm will come to your fellow humans!” he let out a sickening chuckle towards the end.

“Why do I not believe you”

“Aww whats the matter Mikey? Don't trust your old friend Pennywise? We've been through so much together!”

“Its because of what we've been through I don't trust you.”

The clown let out a musical laugh.

“Try try try sheep boy all I want is to free my mate! Cross my heart and hope to die! Hahahahahahaha!”

“If only you would…” Mike grumbled “Im going to warn them, collect the girl and go.” he said turning his back to the creature for the first time. He could feel its hungry glowing eyes staring him down with pure hate as he walked away from his mortal enemy. Mike could at least try to get everyone out of this alive… even Pennywise much to his own self hatred at the thought. He needed the clown awake and happy and that wasn't going to happen unless they got the girl back. He had little choice but to try to reason with her captors for their own sake maybe if he was fast enough he could save everyone. Even with IT’s reassurance he knew the clown was up to something and mike had a feeling he only had minutes to stop it.

————————-

Leech shifted in her restraints as her captors went to answer the door. If it was penny he was walking into a trap and it was all because of her. She took the opportunity to try to pick the lock on the shackles around her wrists with her claws but gave up when she realized she had no idea what she was doing.

The man at the door continued to beg and plead with the group to leave saying they were all in terrible danger. Leech twisted in her shackles again. Penny was here. She could feel her own skin rubbing raw from the pathetic attempt to escape. The nosferatu shut her eyes and let out a long exhale. Instead choosing to try to determine who the lone stranger was. His voice was quite familiar and his scent was of dust old paper and a faint hint of smoke. The librarian? What was he doing here?

The vampire’s question went unanswered when she heard a click and felt a release of pressure from the taught chain attaching her to the wall and the shackles on her wrists. Her eyes flew open wide and feral and she began to chuckle. her laughter grew louder and louder as she got to her feet and metal crashed to the wood floor. A pair of yellow eyes faded into darkness behind her. Leech’s laughter started to grow manic as she cackled into the ceiling and her claws and fangs grew long and sharp. Mike stepped back in surprise at the sight before him taking note of the faint yellow glow of the two orbs in the darkness next to her. Leech began to full on scream laugh before snapping her head forward and lunging full speed straight at Danielle who was scrambling back behind the barrel she had only moments ago been sitting on.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT SHES LOOSE?! WHO THE FUCK WAS WATCHING HER?” the she-wolf screamed as leech leaped into the rafters above slashing out lanterns and blanketing the room in darkness save for a few flash lights held by Rick and Zander.

“wWhatever you do, DO NOT lose sight of her!”

Rick’s flashlight began to shake as he shined it on Zander who shot him and a terrified looking Chris a puzzled look. Two white gloves came out of the darkness and came to rest on the ghost hunters shoulders.

“Little Zander Mcpherson. My my my its been a looooonngg time hasn't it? Why I remember last we met you were but a little insignificant snack! Had to find something much bigger and much tastier than you.” a sing song voice rang out in the darkness Zander twisted around in the clowns grip to stare at it in both rage and horror.  

“N-no no way bro don't you dare talk about my sister.”

“Tasty tasty little girl she was, you should have seen her face when I took it off.”

The clown chuckled to himself and backed away into the dark his voice becoming more distant

“Why don't I show you! How about a little family reunion!”

A young girl maybe 12 or 13 years old walked out of the dark her face horribly disfigured as if she had been mauled by a mad dog. Bits of flesh hung off her skull and a chunk of her cheek flapped free just below her missing eyes. Zander began to sob.

As the clown created a beautiful distraction a pale grey spindly form dropped from the barn rafters in front of Danielle. Who shined a lantern in the direction of the creature she could just barely make out the claws and long sharp teeth but her eerie reflective eyes lit up in the dim lamplight like a  wild fox in the dark.

Leech began a horrific cackle as she approached her captor stalking towards her theatrically  twitching her claws here and there in restraint.

“Ya wanna know what real torture is like Danielle? Ya wanna know how the professionals do it?”

The werewolf scrambled back with as much strength as she could muster but a taloned foot stabbed into her calf and yanked her back as the nosferatu slammed her claws into the wood floor by her face caging the she wolf in.

“Down below they don't just tear out your guts like savage beasts. Down there they do it my way dog. They go for what hurts. You ever have your nerves severed just so? Your tendons plucked at like guitar strings?” leech cooed at the girl trying to get away but each time she moved the talon in her leg pushed in deeper causing the alpha werewolf to howl in agony. “You know they played stairway to heaven on my right arm while I was down there? I gotta give those boys props they do good work, and after a few days being torn apart and stitched back together I got to try a little myself.” the vampire seemed to be swallowing something back as if teetering on the line of control. A little too far one direction and she’d be sure to fall into total beastial insanity. The other inhabitants in the room seemed to pause their scuffle and listen in on the exchange, even Pennywise cocked an eyebrow in her direction when he heard the cry of pain from the she-wolfs lips. Leech dug her foot talons in once more wiggling them a bit to add extra insult to injury. She caught the she-wolf’s arm and began to gently stretch it out positioning the razor tips her claws over Danielle’s writs pin pricking the skin just so. “First you slice open the skin and peel it back.” the vampire ghosted the long pointed talon of her hand down the werewolf’s forearm. “Then I’d get to play a little tune.” she placed her claws back into position lightly fingering out guitar chords over the sensitive soft under-skin of the girls wrist. Danielle struggled and squirmed earning her a dissatisfied hiss from the creature holding her down. Leech grabbed the wolf’s face and dragged her fangs across the skin of her ear.  “Don't you dare move now unless you want me to do it for real. Oh, and don't. Fucking. Scream.”

As Danielle let out a terrified shriek, Leech screamed back in her face just before something cold and metal pushed against the side of her head and fired. Rick stood shaking holding the old smoking rifle as the vampire dropped limp to the floor with a horrible thud that made Pennywise quickly shift back to his preferred form and roar in agony. His charge ended as soon as it began when his mate began to float up the ichor leaking from her face reversed its direction and a bullet was caught in her fangs. As she drifted upright her head snapped to the side at Rick eyes abnormally wide glowing sickly yellow while her face remained horrible and skeletal. Too many teeth began to split at the wound in her cheek. When she shrieked it was unlike anything anyone had heard before. Her voice sounded like fifty beings at once all screaming over each other and it was very clear that the creature known as Leech was no longer present in the room. She lunged at rick with horrible unpredictable speed latching her long sharp fangs into the man’s neck and began to suck with an unrivaled hunger, the wound in her head slowly closing its self with each greedy gulp.

Pennywise watched with almost amazement as if he had just made a life changing discovery and his mind had been completely blown. mike called out to him from a nearby window breaking the creature from its awestruck state.

“WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING CLOWN?” the librarian shouted.

“I-I created something. For the first time.” he stuttered a bit still wide eyed and slightly quiet.

“Her? You created her?!” Mike asked frantically as he turned away from the horrifying scene of people he had just spoken to being ran through a living paper shredder.

“No.” Pennywise replied quietly “Not her…..them.”

“What the hell does that mean?!”

When the clown didn't answer Mike tried another question. “I thought you said no harm will come to them!” he shouted finally getting the clown’s attention.

“No harm will come from me Mikey, Leechie on the other hand isn't part of our little deal.” he grinned as a woman’s horrified screaming was being mixed with the sound of wet tearing and crunching bones.

“You sick bastard both of you!” the librarian turned his back to the window “Is she like you are there more of you?”

“Why are you still here?” the clown growled refusing to answer Mike’s question. Pennywise pushed off the wall and made his way into the bloody massacre picking up the loose chain still attached to the shackle on Leech’s neck. He gave it a harsh yank back as she began to descend upon a mortified sobbing Chris and Leech clattered to the floor backwards in a mess of razor tipped limbs. The vampires claws came up to her neck and scratched frantically at the shackle earning her another hard pull backwards till she was on her knees near the clowns feet. Penny quickly pushed her to the ground roaring so loud his face began to split and the walls creaked from the vibrations. The two began a screaming match of terrifying proportions until the struggling possessed creature below the clown calmed in the shining light now emerging from Pennywise’s throat. His grip on her chain grew slack moving to caress her shoulders and hold her in his arms as the yellow lights in her eyes began to dim. He gently placed a hand on her abdomen while creating a trill like churr in his throat until finally the lights in his mate’s eyes sunk down till nothing was left but dazed glossy blues. Leech mumbled something about kidneys as she slowly came back to reality, a theatrical voice she knew well brought her back to full consciousness.

“Its time to wake up little hunter.” he said as he pushed his nose and lips onto her temples.

“Snuggle muffin?” Leech shut her weary eyes tight and purred as Penny’s own eyes flew open dropping his mate immediately.

“PEACHY! Not in font of the food!” he snarled gesturing to Mike who had braced himself against the window pane both in nausea and laughter.

The vampire grinned wide and raised her eyebrows at him. Penny looked furious.

“Once again I get you out of trouble and this is the thanks I get?” he snarled pulling the chain and bringing the exhausted Leech up to his fangs.

“I got shot in the face and lost a finger for you I think were even.” she grinned at him unable to turn the relentless taunting off.

“Only because you never listen.” the clown grumbled

“Looks like someones a little tense hmmm Ruffle Wuffles?” Leech teased him boop-ing the eldritch horror right on the nose as Penny winced at the pet name.

“I shouldn't have saved you.”

“Like you would have lasted more than a week without me.” the vampire wheezed. Pennywise pulled on her chain again holding her inches away from his face.

“Little brat!” he snarled hot puffs of air washed over Leech’s face.

“Your little brat.” she whispered into his lips as her claws tangled into her clowns hair. Their lips reunited with fresh heated tension the clown letting out a soft groan into her mouth half in annoyance half in secret relief.

“well thats a sound ill never be able to un-hear”

Penny and Leech’s lips separated abruptly and leech glared at the librarian now standing in the doorway trying to light a hanging lantern to survey the damage. He knew the others were dead what he didn't not know was they offending team of ghost hunters were just piles of uneaten shredded flesh laying all around him.

“I wouldn't if I were you Mikey.”

“Unless you can stomach leftover hamburger.” Leech added with a chuckle and turned to her mate “Hey by the way I have like no memory of half that fight what the hells been going on?

“I also demand answers!” Mike yelled as he regained his composure the door slammed behind him locking from the outside. Pennywise placed his confused mate on the ground and a menacing grin grew across his face. “What are you doing let me out we had a deal!” Mike shouted tugging at the door.

“Hush Mikey I’ve changed my mind. Besides the other one got away and its rude to take someones meal before they're finished.” the clown was right Chris was nowhere to be seen even in the darkness of the barn.

“You bastard!” Mike hissed

“Just providing for my family Mikey. What kind of father would I be if I didn't bring my mate fresh meat for our growing brood?” Pennywise grinned beginning to step out of the light when a voice broke his assault. His favorite voice. Only this time he was in deep deep trouble.

“EXCUSE ME WHAT?!”

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

I think someones sleeping on the couch again tonight.

[plotbunnyshipper]

Visitation - [Draft/WIP/Missing middle and very end]

So I started writing two short fics at the end of Season 6, just little one offs, then a massive case of writer’s block and real life stress hit, so I haven’t worked on any of my in progress works. 

But then the trailer came out and kicked me in the “get this one written before you see anything that makes you feel the need to change it so it fits with what is out there” nerve. Thankfully what I saw already fits with what I’ve got. I need to finish up the middle and very end of this, but by posting what I have I’m less likely to change things.

There is no clock, only shift changes, meals, and what little sunlight that comes in through the window to track the time. Every other day, when not in lockdown, I get a scant hour of the ability to walk around the small fenced in area they generously call the yard, followed by an optional shower for a few minutes. The monotony makes the days blur and time feel like it’s slowing. Only the tally of soap marked on the wall gives me a record of the days passing.

It’s not safe, I know it’s not safe, to get visitors, or at least the visitors I want. A couple lawyers wrote, wanting to file an appeal for me. They were not added to my approved list. I had a flood of mail for the first month, as many letters from fans of The Arrow as haters. The guards comment on the ones that are deemed not conductive to my rehabilitation and don’t make their way in, especially the rather explicit pictures of the fans. I only read the fan and hate mail to make sure they’re not coded, letters I wait for, hope for, the ones that don’t come. Eventually a single one does. It holds a photo of Felicity and William from home, and a short line of text stating that they’re safe, written and sent by John.

Drinking a handful of tepid water from the bare sink I mentally catalog the contents and space of the dark cell as my eyes linger on that one picture.

I don’t really know what I expected when making this deal, other than the fact that I was sacrificing my privacy, right of choice, and freedom to protect everyone I cared about when I couldn’t do it myself. I had been imprisoned before, but the boredom that leaves me dwelling in my thoughts is the worst of it. Nearly the worst. Not knowing how they were doing, replaying those last few days, every missed or foiled opportunity to end things and try for the life we wanted. Over and over they play out, while I sleep, while I read, while I pace and push myself to exhaustion using my own bodyweight to strengthen muscle.

No stranger to lack of privacy, I kept to myself at first, trying to block out the sights and sounds of the inmate across from my cell as he made baited comments and jerked off during lights out while the guards made their rounds...a few weeks went by before it really got under my skin and made my self control itch for a better outlet than my workouts.

The first fight was anticlimactic. One idiot, dangerous to be sure, but he thought he could take me on and win? By himself? I had him on the ground, incapacitated while I walked away before the guards could even notice a disruption.

That didn’t go over well with the pecking order of those who thought they deserved a bit of revenge for my putting them here. It also didn’t help that as I started getting more frustrated, more bored, more angry, I started baiting them and picking fights, especially the ones who thought they were untouchable. The pain felt better than worrying for a few minutes, aggression a razor focused distraction, even if I lost privileges for it, even if they sent me to solitary a few times when my restraint was gone. No one died, but the challenges grew fewer, further between, and with a larger ratio of them verses me.

It’d been over a week since I got a real shower, stuck in my cell after leaving someone unconscious after John’s visit. He couldn’t tell me much, he didn’t know where Felicity and William were, but Lyla said they were still checking in weekly and were “doing fine” in their faked identities. No word from my sister, the threat of Richard Dragon still looming over Star City, and just the other day apparently someone in a costume that looked like mine decided to make themselves known, which would explain why I got the extra attention from the guards between standard counts. I had instigated the next fight, pressed a few harder than they could let drop and just broke someone’s face through a tiled divider when a trio of guards entered the showers.

The only reason I didn’t end up in solitary was due to the fact that it had the appearance of an ambush. After all, it’s hard to look like the guilty party rather than self defense when the others were fully dressed and had a few well made shivs while I didn’t have so much as my towel within reach. I still ended up with two weeks loss of privileges and by my count I was slightly over halfway through.  But a cage is a cage, losing a couple minutes of sunshine wasn’t going to break me, and damp towel scrub downs at my sink to keep the grime and stink of sweat away to make up for the lack of antiperspirant.

I stare out into the dark, too bored to sleep, which is the only reason I see it, the emergency lights flicker to life once as an alarm somewhere starts to blare. I am on my feet as a different red glow enters my cell. Instinct has me starting to twist the thing that grabs me into a throw before my mind catches up and I recognize the voice from right beside it.

“No! Oliver wait!” That voice that is a dream and nightmare at once and the strong familiar scent of her perfume has me stopping myself from the instinctive urge to stop anyone from touching me in here as the glowing blur lifts from the floor.

My voice is barely a whisper, “Felicity?”

Barry wheezes out, “Choking me-,“ before my hand drops and I take a step back. He slows enough to come into focus and lose the glow of speed.

The bright colors are glaring in contrast to the dull monotony of beige and gray, even in the shadows. “Get out!” I don’t know why the alarms haven’t continued, why the raucous attention of the other inmates hasn’t started, but they need to get far away from here before they’re caught. Barry doesn’t let go of his grip on my wrist and there isn’t enough room in the cell to get out of range. “You can’t be here, it’s trespassing, they’ll-“

Felicity ignores the warning, reaching towards my face, “Oh god, Oliver, what happened to you? John’s message said you were looking rough but your face…”

Shame or embarrassment, something I haven’t felt in nearly half a year, burns under my skin as I duck away ever so slightly out of her reach despite the urge to lean into that attempted contact. The thought is quiet but slips out as I think it, “You should see the other guys.”

Barry’s grip is tight on both of us, but if I let her touch me…I haven’t seen her other than the single picture since that news conference, and even in the near dark I try to reassure my mental image of her is still correct. It’s too dangerous for her to be here, for her, for me. I can’t let her work through the protective mask I’ve put around myself, “Flash, get her out of here, get yourself out.”

She has no such qualms, launching herself at me. I fight with myself, free arm wrapping around her, taking a deep breath as my chin bumps the top of her head.

Her voice is muffled against my chest, “I cashed in all my favors when I heard about the new perk of his powers, this shared ‘Flash Time’ that he didn’t bother to tell me about himself!”

“You’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“I had to read about it in the future time-traveling-daughter’s, who use you also didn’t bother to tell me about, notes!”

“Possible, future daughter, you know how the timelines are. And don’t say time-traveling like you’ve forgotten about the Legends.”

“They need a ship to do it.”

The scolding banter is something I didn’t realize I missed, “You both need to leave before you’re caught.”

My wife scoffs, “We can’t exactly move you out of here if you’re not coming permanently. Their security factors in metas like Vibe, and magic, but they haven’t figured out how to factor in for him.” She nods over at Barry. “Not even a fraction of a second has passed for anyone else, it’s Flash Time, and if you think I’m just leaving without clearing a few things off my chest then you sir have taken too many hits to the head in your stupid prison brawling!”

I spare a glance at Barry, he nods, “Yeah, as long as I’m touching someone I can push the speed force to manipulate time around them, it sticks for a little bit. The best we were able to practice at earlier was getting a relative half hour in a single second by repeated contact, though it hit her hard as soon as she dropped out. It’s not much for uninterrupted conversations, but as long as I recharge the focus every, again relative, few minutes I don’t need to be touching you constantly.

“That’s-“

There is a snap, and Felicity points at him then the door, “Your cue to leave speedster.” She laser focuses on me, ignoring that fact he hasn’t left yet, pulling out a phone and angrily pressing buttons. “I’m so angry with you right now! Not only did you make a decision that dramatically altered our whole family’s lives without any hint of consultation, now I find out you’re apparently picking fights, because there’s no way all this is from some accidental altercation!”

It’s not a question, I nod as the streak of red lets go with the glow of lightening, and vanishes from the cell.

I can hear the ringing, but she doesn’t stop talking, voice is tight, pained, “For you to get like this…I’ve seen what you can do one-on-one, one-on-five, one-on-a small army of professionally trained killers, No one would be stupid enough to keep going after you, why would you-?”

“I could have stopped Dragon. I could have, I should have killed him, ended this. I didn’t.”

An automated recording states to leave a message and she curses under her breath about having wasted time dropping the signal blockers on the way in if the mountains are just going to keep it from going through. “You’re not a killer, we’ve-“

“I’m not taking that risk, I’m putting the fear of me into these guys so they and theirs won’t go after any of you while I’m in here.”

“I’m so angry with you!”

“I know.”

“I hate that you always go it alone and sacrifice yourself, always, instead of letting us figure out…”

“I know.”

“I had to break ties with the company. You outing yourself as the Green Arrow meant investors either think I’m stupid, or the more familiar comments were along the lines of, ‘Your husband’s plea deal may keep you from being prosecuted for lying under oath, but that is not an investment risk we’re willing to take.’ The threats, the bounties Dragon put out on all of us…He’s still fucking livid. Then we can’t even visit, can’t even call because they keep reminding us it would make us easy targets, traceable, vulnerable.” The bitterness is not hidden from her voice. “Even at super speed I hacked into the system not to report faults, he’s obscured the cameras, we took down every sensor that could be taken down from outside the prison and will get everything back to ‘normal’ before we leave.”

Her fingers skim over my head, “Now, explain what your thoughts behind this hair so short I can’t get a grip and growing out this hipster beard at the same time?” She pulls me down into a kiss and my hands instinctively cup her face. It hurts, I’ve missed her so much, wanted to know she was safe, how they’re doing, everything and to have it, here, it’s like heartbreak. The feeling doubles down when I feel the tears sliding down her cheeks to hit my thumbs.

She shakes her head, not breaking the kiss as I try to swipe a tear away. Dragging my hand down, a startled noise escapes me as the fabric of her leggings parts and my fingers meet slick heat. “You’re not forgiven! I’m pissed at you, but I’m not stupid enough to waste these few minutes.”

I can feel the surprise showing on my face, “What- what are-?”

“It’s called easy access.” She rubs herself against my palm, “I may be furious with you but I’m not stupid and not in a patient mood. You know how hard it is to get yourself off when you're sharing a room in a crowded safe house?“ I look at her and the realization dims the frustration in her eyes. Replacing it with sorrow. She steels herself. “I was trying in the shower and apparently one of the guards...at least she knocked, but I was being as quiet as I could and still…

We spent about 6 hours in one place, then had to move to a different one, but company was waiting, so we tried one more option, then William and I split off to the ass end of nowhere so they couldn’t find us in yet another ARGUS locale. They haven’t found us since, but that meant losing the support, so now it’s the two of us in a one bedroom apartment, he gets the bedroom and I get even less privacy.”

[The middle stuff that isn’t revised enough to post, so mental image a couple small arguments and sexytime to be included later, and awkwardness on Barry’s part]

Felicity sighs, snuggling as tight as she can under the cover, “How bad is it here?”

There are a lot of questions insinuated with that, but she doesn’t need to know the answers to most of them, “Not as bad as the prisons in-“

That earns me a frown, “I’m serious!”

I play with the ring on the chain around her neck. “So am I, it’s not the worst, being away from my family, not being able to talk to William about his day, or hold you while you ramble about whatever runs across your mind.”

She rubs her head on my pillow and I give her a questioning look. “I know you noticed the perfume. I went heavy, I’m trying to get it embedded in here so can smell it and have good dreams.”

“How’s where you are?”

“Well if you like slower than dial up from the early Aught-y Naught-ies, cell coverage in exactly half the town, muggy stifling heat with mosquitoes the size of your fist, than it’s great!” The false enthusiasm fades from her voice, “But…I guess it’s better than in here. Oh! I should try him again!” She reaches for the phone on the ground and hits redial. “Five months, and I couldn’t even get a job at something like Tech Village because they were certain I’d be too easy to trace. The first week I went through three positions. Menial, repetitive, boring, and crappy hours. I didn’t even make it an hour making drinks at a the only club in driving distance before…walking out.” The ringing goes to voicemail again and she huffs out a frustrated noise. “William is doing self study at home in the evenings because he has to do the standard level classes because of the tracking concerns….he’s having nightmares.”

I close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do about that. Nothing I can do to help. “How bad?”

“Most nights. I’m not the mom he wants when he wakes up not knowing what’s real and not. Some nights he doesn’t sleep at all. Went through a bad stretch where he swiped a couple of my Ambien and tried daytime functioning with them. He ended up having a pretty intense hallucination and a blackout.”

My Ambien? “You’re having nightmares.”

“Don’t act like that’s new!” Half teasing, half morose, she continues quietly, “I just don’t have you as a security blanket, swooping in with snuggles because of your uncanny ability to notice when my breathing changes...What about yours? The usual?”

Nodding I try to shrug it off like she did. Her arms clench me tighter and I mimic the action.

“But maybe this little rendezvous will help us both for a few nights, right?”

“Hopefully.”

Felicity presses her lips quickly against mine, “Everything’s…everything will be fine. It’s just a rough patch.” Our foreheads lean against each other. “I just really needed your lips to be the last ones that kissed mine, and now th-” Stopping mid-word, she cringes as her mind catches up to what she was saying.

“You…kissed someone?”

“No, someone kissed me.”

The discomfort in her features…her insinuation earlier…I ask as gently as I can, forcing the words out as I both dread and need to know the answer, ”Did someone hurt you?”

Her hand touches over my heart as she quickly shakes her head, “No, but I chipped her tooth after I reacted with one of the moves John had taught me, and dropped her aggressively drunk self to the floor. I told you, I didn’t even finish the shift as a bartender.”

Logically I should not feel the level of pride I do that she took the instinct to protect herself and applied the training without hesitation, but she’s watching my face and I can’t hide it from her.

“Did you just give me your ghost smile?”

“Does that sound like something I’d do?”

Her hand leaves my chest to fingerbrush through the hair that’s fallen from her ponytail, a few strands tug away. “Yes, husband, that sounds exactly like something you’d do.” She kisses my palm, then circles my ring finger with the hair just tight enough that it won’t slip off. Tying a small knot with the ends, she laces her fingers with mine, “There, that’s better.”

It’s nearly invisible but I can feel it, like a promise, a reassurance, and it soothes a raw part of me. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well if they wouldn’t let you keep wearing yours on your finger, they definitely wouldn’t let you wear it on a necklace like mine. Whole new identity has me playing as William’s aunt, and with it being such a small town if I wore it wear they could see it they’d never stop asking about who gave it to me. Meth has taken enough parents that they don’t ask much about family taking care of relatives, but they’re still gossipy into the rest of people’s business.

[Again, not tightened up end will be finished later]

[your-iron-lung]

Mixed Up 22 | I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital) |

Chapter Word Count: 6106

Pairings: Zoro/Sanji

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Romance

Chapter Warnings: Strong Language

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 , 17, 18, 19, 20, 21,

Next Chapter: 23

The first time he dyed his hair was with cheaply bought store dye that didn’t last for very long and almost washed out completely after the first rinse. He had surprised everyone in the house he was living in at the time when he emerged from the bathroom with badly bleached, splotchy looking green hair. He remembers how Kuina had first looked envious, and then laughed outright at him. He’d been proud of his first attempt, but the shit she gave him for it wounded him. Not that he’d ever let her know, though; he’d merely accused her of being jealous and found out that he was right. She was, so she then demanded he go with her so she could pick out some cool hair colour of her own.

They didn’t do any research into which brand of dye was the best, but they picked up a different brand than the one he’d used originally after the results he got were far from optimal. He bought himself another bottle of a similar looking green, and when they got back home they dyed each other’s hair, laughing at one another for the way they looked while they waited for it to set. When it was done, Zoro’s hair was a solid, definite green and Kuina’s was a deep, dark blue that matched her eyes well.

He never did outgrow that colour. That perfect, absolute shade of green.

“You could lay down on the lawn and lose your hair in the grass,” Kuina had once said.

His hair was fading; he’d been in the hospital for too long.

Not only were his roots beginning to come in, adding a layer of dark soil for his blades of green hair to sprout from, but it’d been almost two weeks since he’d last dyed it. It was fading horribly, leaving him with the same look and quality he’d had when he’d first tried to dye it. One of his nurses (who had green hair of her own) kept making snide remarks about it, but the pain killers his doctor had him on and the fact that he was still pretty much bedridden prevented him from getting rightfully angry with her.

He could do little more than flip her off whenever she came to check in on him and taunt him with how brilliant her hair looked.

It’d been four days since the accident, and all Zoro really wanted to do was go home, drink a beer or six, and get Nami to help him re-dye his hair. Four days, and the doctor who’d removed his eye wanted to keep him there for who knew how much longer.

It didn’t make sense to him; they’d already explained how he would need to begin to care for his injury post-release, and even had a prescription written up for him for when he was able to go home- which they’d originally said he could do yesterday. The only reason they were keeping him hostage in the hospital was because those fucking painkillers they had him on made him too nauseous to leave his room. His only relief from the boredom and the irritating pain in his eye came in the form of visitors.

His whole team had come once, the day after the accident. They’d crowded the room and gave him a duffel bag filled with the things he’d left in his locker the day before and presented a huge, handmade ‘get well soon’ card to display by his bed. Even his coach had come with them, but he didn’t have any words to share with Zoro. They spoke of general things in an effort to keep the atmosphere light, but it eventually degraded into tearful apologies from those who had been on the ice with him when he’d been attacked and done nothing to help him. Zoro found it embarrassing, and so was quick to forgive them.

No one from his team had come back after the first initial visit, but he hadn’t really expected them to.

Nami came every day, but only stayed long enough to relay how Chopper was doing in her care and how work was going and who was giving his students lessons in his absence.

“It’s actually kind of cool to see Franky playing again, but he’s worried about you; we all are,” she’d said to him once, sighing melodramatically as she leaned over the railing of his bed.

“I’m fine,” he’d said, rolling his eye. “It’s just one eye; not like I went blind. I still have a backup.”

“Idiot! That’s not why we have two eyes!”

She’d made to hit him then, but showed enough self-restraint to keep it gentle. Their conversation had stalled out for a minute then as she somberly tried to avoid looking at the bandages across his face. She’d directed her attention to the small TV that was in the room Zoro shared with another man who also had severe facial injuries. The TV was locked on a channel that only aired soap operas, which had made her laugh at first but was now almost sort of comforting to her.

“I’ve been trying to get Sanji to come see you,” she’d said then, eyes flicking to the man who was happily watching the silent drama unfold on the television screen. “I don’t know what his deal is. He was so worried about you, but now it’s almost as if he’s afraid to see you.”

“I don’t need that idiot around here,” Zoro had said. “I’ve already got to deal with him.”

Zoro tilted his head towards his roommate, who’d turned a dumb smile onto the two of them that only Nami returned.

The man’s name was Duval, and he had, in both Zoro and Nami’s opinion, a rather uncanny resemblance to Sanji from what they could see around his bandages. His injuries were a result from what he’d called a ‘hate crime’ that had been committed against him because he was, in his own words, ‘too beautiful’.

“My looks sometimes make men act irrational with jealousy,” he’d explained on the first day that Zoro had been moved into the semi-private room with him. “It was a hate crime! The man’s girlfriend found my beauty too irresistible! He became enraged when he saw her talking with a man far more gorgeous than he, and yet he says I am to blame for flirting with her! I have no control over the way I look and how it makes women flock to me!”

Duval’s attitude and looks had reminded Zoro far too much of Sanji, but despite what he’d told Nami the day before, he did find that he almost sort of missed the bastard.

There was no one else in his life that could match his wits or rise to the physical challenges he issued. Johnny and Yosaku came close, but they were push overs and drug peddlers who only really chummed up to him so he’d buy their product.

Tashigi had filled that spot for him years earlier, but after the breakup-

No, fuck- he wasn’t going to think about her now.

Scowling, he turned his attention away from the TV he’d been mindlessly eyeballing and towards the various ‘get well soon’ cards and gifts he’d been sent during his time at the hospital. Stacked on the small bedside table was the huge card that had been signed by all his hockey teammates, and that one was surrounded by a few smaller ones that had come from his coworkers and students. Zoro didn’t care much for sentimentality, but if he were being honest, the card he’d received from Tony was his favourite.

The kid had neat handwriting, but his penmanship evidently didn’t transfer into his artistry, for the drawing he’d included of Zoro and him performing on stage together was shaky and scrunched up and overall very odd looking. The card itself didn’t tell him that Tony hoped his recovery was quick and painless, but instead included a rather thinly veiled threat that Zoro was certain the child’s grandmother had told him to write, as it said: ‘Don’t break your promise to me or else!’

If the doctors didn’t release him in time for the Solstice show, Zoro swore he was just going to walk out. Not that he hadn’t already tried that, but his attempt before had been so pitiful he didn’t think it’d work again unless he had some sort of help.

It was his legal right to leave the hospital if he were well enough to do so, wasn’t it?

And as much as his nurse Monet hated him, she wasn’t likely to help him slip out unnoticed. Zoro figured she enjoyed making his stay at the hospital as shitty as she could make it as much as he enjoyed making her job as hard to do as he possibly could. He’d even tried asking Nami once to help bust him out, but had gotten so severely reprimanded by her that he’d nearly decided to give up on escaping altogether.

That is, until Thursday came around and his way out appeared.

On the fifth day of his hospitalization, Sanji finally came to visit.

The door to Zoro’s room was closed when Sanji finally found it. The nurse that was working the station on the floor, though beautiful, had been entirely unhelpful in directing Sanji to the right room. As soon as he’d mentioned Zoro’s name to her, her demeanor switched from flirty to frosty before he could even finish blinking the hearts out of his eyes.

“Oh, that guy is somewhere on my floor. Down that hall somewhere taking up space,” she’d said icily, gesturing vaguely down the hall. Then she’d turned her back to him and proceeded to ignore him until he left.

He’d then spent the greater part of half an hour uneasily poking his head into various rooms to try and find where Zoro was being kept. Sanji hadn’t told Nami he was coming to visit, otherwise he would have asked her for his room number, but he’d been avoiding her the past few days. She’d been pressuring him so much to come that it had begun to make him feel uncomfortable whenever he caught her outside of his complex.

That, coupled with the guilt of knowing just made it seem… wrong, he supposed. Even if no one else blamed him, Sanji knew to blame himself. It had taken him days to work through the guilt and reason that, even if it was his fault, he should at least acknowledge what had happened to the man. He needed to see for himself the extent of the damage he’d caused, though he doubted very much that Zoro would want to see him.

The look on Zoro’s face when Sanji stepped through the door did little to change that feeling.

There was a huge, fierce scowl deeply embedded on his face that almost made Sanji turn around and leave until he realized that it wasn’t being directed at him. Zoro was sat upright in his bed with his arms crossed tight across his chest, frowning at the wall-mounted TV. When Sanji looked at it, he saw that it was airing some sort of drama that had apparently just reached a pivotal point in the story.

“No! How could she do that to him!?”

Surprised by the outburst, Sanji hadn’t realized Zoro was sharing a room with someone else until the other man burst out into emotional tears.

He turned to look at Zoro with a startled expression on his face before he took off the beanie and winter coat he’d been wearing.

“This,” Zoro said, gritting his teeth and finally turning to address Sanji. “This is what I have been dealing with for five fucking days.”

Sanji couldn’t help but smirk, relieved to see at least that the injury hadn’t changed Zoro’s attitude much. He set his clothing aside on a spare chair and pulled up another to sit next to Zoro’s bed. He glanced around the room, taking in how small the space was before he caught sight of the little bedside table full of gifts and cards.

“I didn’t know you had friends,” he commented, sounding bemused as he picked one up and read the standard Hallmark sentiment it contained.

“If I did, do you really think I’d be hanging out with you as much as I do?” Zoro bit out in reply.

Sanji was about to retort until he got a good look at the state Zoro was in. There was one large IV inserted into one of his arms, and a calmly beeping pulse monitor attached to his dominant hand. The bandages around his face did little to hide how tired Zoro seemed to be. His visible eye was dark-ringed and sunken, and his complexion was rather pale compared to how it usually was. They’d even taken out his safety pin earrings, effectively stripping him of his personality.

A twinge of sadness in his chest threatened to sour his mood and make him emotional, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Swallowing it down, Sanji replaced the card on the table and glanced back at Zoro.  

“Natural brunette, huh?” Sanji couldn’t help but say.

“Christ. And this is why I was glad when Nami said you didn’t want to come. Get your rocks off by kicking a guy when he’s already down?”

Sanji winced a bit inwardly, but outwardly grinned.

“You don’t look that down to me.”

And that was true, for the most part. Apart from looking like he hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a few days and the bandages covering his eye, Zoro looked, well, as fine as he could have been given his situation.

He’d only been physically injured, after all; it wasn’t like he was sick and recovering from that. Sanji didn’t think hospitals usually held people who’d been hurt like Zoro had for more than a day or two at most. Hell, emergency rooms didn’t even keep people for that long.

Which begged the question, “What are you still doing here?”

Zoro looked at him levelly for a moment, and then away with a shrug.

“This shit,” he said, tapping the IV that was going into his arm. “Makes me nauseous, but the anti-nausea shit makes me sick. They’ve caught me in a loop and won’t release me because they think I have the kind of money to keep paying for it all.”

“Oh.”

Frustrated, Zoro sighed. Sanji gave him a pitiable look as Duval cried out about the injustices of the show he was watching and demanded that the characters make amends. Begrudgingly, Zoro turned his attention to the TV to see what his roommate had been crying about as Sanji read another one of the cards.

“One of your students?” Sanji asked, holding up Tony’s card.

Zoro didn’t turn to look; merely nodded as Sanji took his time in appreciating the drawing. Whoever Tony was and drawn Zoro a little too tall and a little too skinny, but the angry expression on drawing was as accurate as it could’ve possibly been.

The visit was going much better for him than he’d expected it to, which filled him with an immense feeling of relief. Comforted by the feeling, Sanji replaced the card on the table just as Zoro swore loudly under his breath. Before Sanji could say or do anything to stop him, Zoro had jerked the blankets off of his bed abruptly and swung himself around so that his legs went over the non-railed side of his bed.

“What are you doing-” Sanji tried to say, completely taken aback as Zoro interrupted him.

“I’m done sitting here. You’re going to help me get out,” he growled, holding his head for a moment before looking around to give Sanji a stern look.

“What? No- how would I even begin to do that?” Sanji shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t think it’s even legal to leave before you’ve been officially discharged-”

“Shut the fuck up and close the goddamn door!” Zoro all but shouted.

“Oh my god you’re serious.”

Sanji backed out of the chair with a screech and hurriedly went to shut the door to the room before their raised voices attracted Monet’s attention. He turned back around to see Zoro struggling with trying to peel up the tape that kept the IV in his arm and shared a look of concern with Duval, who had suddenly lost interest in his show.

“You’re trying this again?” Duval asked, cocking his head to the side as Zoro finally succeeded, wincing visibly as he and pulled the needle out of his body.

“Again?” Sanji asked, somehow unsurprised as the needle was dropped to the floor.

“Shut up. Yes, again. Get my duffle bag under the bed,” Zoro ordered, ignoring the fact that he had begun to sweat with the effort of getting himself up. The nausea that had been plaguing him for the entire duration of his stay was beginning to flare up again.

“Fuck,” Sanji muttered as he crouched down so he could reach for the bag and bring it up. He set it down on the chair he’d been sitting on previously and then looked to Zoro, who had stood up with a slight wobble.

“Get my clothes out,” Zoro said, turning towards Sanji who had had to look away when he realized the hospital gown Zoro was wearing was untied and open down the back.

He tried to hide the flush from his face by busying himself with rifling through the contents of the bag, but knew from Duval’s laughter that he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I didn’t know there was supposed to be a full moon tonight,” Duval cackled, leaning back in his bed to laugh comfortably.

“Shut the fuck up! Can’t fucking wait to be rid of you,” Zoro growled, wiping the sweat that had accumulated across his forehead away. He was more annoyed than embarrassed.

Zoro stood there stupidly for a moment, watching Sanji go through his bag before he had to sit back down on the end of his bed. He must’ve stood up too fast or something, as his head was beginning to spin, bringing the room around with it. Ignoring it as best he could, he watched as Sanji pulled out his pair of pants.

Sanji stared at the piece of clothing aghast.

“If Frankenstein had been a fashion designer instead of a mad scientist,” he said, holding the pair of pants up for Duval to see. “These would have been his monster.”

The pants in question looked as though they were made from two different pairs. There was an even split directly through the middle of the jeans going through the crotch so that one pants leg was red plaid and the other was solid black. Both legs had black patches sewn into them that advertised bands Zoro evidently liked enough to wear around.

“What’d I say about kicking a man when he’s already down?” Zoro snapped irritably, snatching the pants away from Sanji before he could find anything else about them to shit talk. “Find my shirt.”

“What, no underwear?” Sanji asked, then wished he hadn’t as Zoro began trying to stuff one of his legs into the pants.

“Don’t wear any on game days.” Zoro grunted as he struggled to work his way through the tight pants leg. “’s what jockstraps are for.”

Sanji felt his face flushing again, but thankfully it seemed as though Zoro was too preoccupied with putting his pants on to notice. He tried to force himself not to think about it too much as he continued going through the duffel bag, pulling out a thick, patched hoodie and a plain t shirt.

He politely averted his eyes as Zoro continued the struggle, grunting as he stood up briefly to adjust himself. After he finally seemed to have gotten his pants on and buttoned, Sanji handed over his shirt.

Zoro took it, but made no move to put it on. Instead he’d grown quite still, sitting back down on the side of his bed with his face screwed up in concentration.

“What? What is it?” Sanji asked, concerned as he noticed that Zoro’s complexion had become steadily greener over the duration of his visit.

“This is why he didn’t get very far the first time,” Duval said knowingly.

Zoro looked like he wanted to reply, but instead closed his eye and took a deep breath as he felt his stomach begin to want to heave.

“Take this- the fucking- take the pulse monitor off,” he said, holding out his hand towards Sanji who looked at it doubtfully.

“Won’t that just alert the nurse if you suddenly start flat-lining?”

“Fuck,” Zoro breathed out, still unwilling to open his eye. He put his hand back on his knee to steady it as his leg began to bob up and down.

Second thoughts began manifesting themselves in Sanji’s mind as he saw just how bad Zoro’s body handled the nausea that came with the pain reliving medicines he was on. Zoro looked like he would barely be able to stand, let alone walk down the hall to the elevator or even out the building.

“Maybe you should stay here,” Sanji tried to say, but went silent when Zoro’s head snapped up to glare at him deeply.

“No.” Zoro was sweating heavily at that point, and he had to wipe his face clean again. “I’m not staying here another fucking day.”

“I’ll wear it.”

Both Zoro and Sanji turned to look at Duval, who held up his hand to wave it at them. They were both confused before he clarified by saying, “The pulse monitor. I’ll wear it so she won’t know.”

“Won’t you get in trouble when they find out you duped them?” Sanji asked with a frown.

“Not if I was asleep when you slipped it on me without my knowing,” Duval replied with a grotesque wink that made both Sanji and Zoro wince.

Despite being unsure that this was the right course of action to take with Zoro in the condition he was in, Sanji helped to transfer the pulse monitor over onto Duval’s free hand. It went quickly, and no noise or other indicator was made by the machine tracking his pulse other than an inconsistent beep for a second that a swap had been made. Zoro seemed relieved by this, but his nausea was still going strong and was actively trying to gain the upper hand over him.

He had Sanji help him into his shirt and hoodie with pauses in between as he tried to keep himself from succumbing to the overbearing sensations his nausea produced. His stomach was seizing, his head was spinning, and he’d already begun to sweat through the shirt he’d just put on.

Again, Sanji was faced with doubts with what they were attempting to do.

“Help me put my boots on,” Zoro said, using all his concentration to keep his body sitting upright instead of curling over to ease the sensation.  

In any other situation, Sanji would have told him to fuck off and do it himself if he wanted to get out so damn badly, but he didn’t. Instead, he knelt down silently by Zoro’s feet and did his best with shoving them first into socks and then into his classic cherry red Docs. After he finished lacing them up, Sanji came to a stand and took a good, long hard look at Zoro.

He was still green tinged and sweaty, but appeared resolute and determined to walk out regardless. Sanji wasn’t sure he’d be able to, no matter how strongly he wanted to leave. He wanted to ask if Zoro was certain he wanted to try and go through with it, but instead asked, “Won’t the nurse recognize you if you just walk out?”

“She doesn’t care,” Duval and Zoro said at the same time.

Duval laughed, but Zoro could only smirk weakly.

“She watched him walk out the first time,” Duval said, smiling reminiscently. “Even walked with him a ways before he collapsed.”

“Okay, well, she might not, but what if someone else recognizes you? Like your doctor? You don’t exactly have what I’d call a ‘forgettable face’. Your hair alone sets you apart.”

“That’s the point,” Zoro said lamely.

“You dense motherfucker, I know that’s your whole shtick but even if we make it off the floor, I don’t think we’re going to make it out of the building if everyone recognizes and knows you’re still supposed to be hospitalized.”

Zipping up Zoro’s duffel bag, Sanji sighed and set it on the floor so he could reclaim the seat, trying to think of a solution that could work in preventing the punk from being recognized on his way out. The eye bandages that took up a third of his face were already something the staff of a hospital would notice; it would be hard enough trying to smuggle him out based on that fact alone. He could always wear his hoodie with the hood up, but given the anti-social clothing he was in, Sanji supposed that Zoro already cut too much of a foreboding figure to risk going out with the hood on.

Some self-righteous security guard or something was certain to stop them then, especially with the size of Zoro’s duffel bag that he would be carrying.

“Weren’t you wearing a hat when you came in?” Sanji looked up at Duval, who was smiling curiously at him from across the room. “Hats work well for hiding hair.”

“Shit, now you decide you want to be helpful?” Zoro said, still trying to keep himself from shaking. “It only took you a fucking week to do.”

“Well, if you leave I can finally turn the volume on for my shows and the season finale for this one comes on tonight! I’m pretty pleased to see you go, actually.”

Wordlessly, Sanji got up from his seat and grabbed his beanie that was lying atop his coat. He tossed it to Zoro, who grabbed it as it landed limply on the bed. He put it on and pulled it down, making sure his ears and forehead were covered entirely before he shot Sanji a ‘is this good enough?’ look.

“I guess that’ll work,” Sanji said, scrutinizing the way his beanie masked most of Zoro’s more recognizable features.

While Zoro didn’t look quite as conspicuous as before, the bandages on his face still stood out. There wasn’t much either of them could do about that, though, short of taking them off, which would have been a worse idea than this already was.

“Good luck, guys,” Duval said, giving the two of them the most horrific wink either of them had ever seen and which almost made Zoro throw up then and there.

Sanji retrieved his jacket and put it on hurriedly, opening the door to Zoro’s room to make sure the hall was clear before they made their attempt. Monet was still at her station, which was mercifully located at the opposite end of the hall from the elevator. They wouldn’t have to walk past her to get there, but it was in clear view of her desk; if she looked up from whatever she was doing at any point while they were moving, she’d definitely see them.

It was a risk they’d simply have to take.

Turning back around, Zoro had come to a stand and was waiting by the chair with his duffel bag on it. He was definitely paler than he had been and looked as though he’d be sick at any moment. He was swaying on his feet, and Sanji couldn’t tell if Zoro was aware of that or not.

“We’re going to have to walk fast,” Sanji said, going to grab the bag and hoist it over his shoulder so Zoro wouldn’t have to struggle with anything other than himself. He studied Zoro seriously for a moment, trying to find any last minute flaw he could to try and convince them that this was a terrible idea. He couldn’t. “Let’s go.”

Sanji led the way but quickly realized that Zoro wasn’t going to be able to keep up with the quick pace he’d set. He was already breathing fast and had a weird, disoriented glazed look about him as he followed behind. The elevator was only a hundred feet away, but it might have been a hundred feet that Zoro couldn’t walk.

His footsteps were hard and heavy as he sluggishly moved along, trying his best to concentrate solely on the effort of escaping and not letting his nausea get the better of him. He could barely even register where it was he was going, and only knew to follow after Sanji’s form. The lines on the linoleum flooring helped to guide him as he did his best to at least keep walking straight along them, but for some reason they liked to lean and curve at random points.

“We’re almost there,” Sanji said, speaking quietly as he fell back to match Zoro’s stride. “You can lean on me if you need.”

Glancing over his shoulder back to Monet’s position to make sure they were still in the clear, Sanji felt his heart sink in his chest when he saw that she was obviously watching them. She had a smirk on her face, but didn’t seem to be trying to alert anyone to Zoro’s escape. Instead, she blew Sanji a kiss and waved them goodbye.

Sanji’s heart fluttered for a moment before he felt Zoro suddenly grab hold of his arm. Startled out of his brief romantic longings, he saw that Zoro had taken him up on his offer and was now using Sanji as a support. Neither of them said anything about it as they finally reached the elevator, with Zoro breathing heavily through his nose and sweating profusely.

They thankfully only had to wait for about a minute after they pressed the down button before the elevator stopped to let them in. The only person that had been inside got off on their floor, but not before they shot a quizzical look at Zoro’s condition.

Sanji flashed them what he hoped was a reassuring smile before he hurried them onto the elevator and pressed the button to close the doors repeatedly until they obeyed. Zoro heaved a huge sigh as he shut his eye and rested back against the elevator wall, waiting to be transported down two floors. Sanji pressed the lobby button and hoped Zoro would last long enough to walk out the front of the building; the hardest part was yet to come.

There were going to be more people waiting in the hospital lobby, which meant there was more of a chance for someone who worked there to spot Zoro before they could leave. It was also a longer walk from the elevator to the sliding glass front doors, and if Zoro had struggled just to make it to the elevator in the first place, then how the hell was he going to be able to surmount that greater distance without drawing attention to himself?

One glance at the man told him that he probably couldn’t. All they could do was try.

“You can’t lean on me when we walk through the lobby,” Sanji said, adjusting the duffel bag’s strap as they descended. “It’ll be too obvious.”

“Won’t need to,” Zoro said in response, opening his eye to up at the ceiling.

He was nearly drenched in a cold sweat and had a hard time keeping his head from spinning but felt like he was getting a good handle over his nausea regardless. His stomach told him otherwise, but Zoro was certain he could keep it contained at least until they were outside and away from any prying eyes. The empty socket was throbbing now, pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat but hadn’t yet begun to hurt. Despite the fact that it gave him debilitating nausea, the morphine at least did its job well.

“When we get outside, you wait out front off to the side somewhere and I’ll bring my car around to get you,” Sanji said, watching as the elevator counted down their floors. “I had to park in the deck. It’ll probably be easier for you to wait than to try and walk to it.”

“Fine.”

Before anything else could be said, the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby floor. There was a small crowd of people waiting to get on as the doors opened, prompting Sanji to quickly step out, hoping Zoro would keep up with him. It was obvious now that Zoro was struggling, but he managed to follow after him easily enough.

Sanji could hear the heavily labored breathing from Zoro as they slowly began to make their way towards the exit. They walked side by side, passing through the main lobby at a slow and general pace. Sweat was sliding down the sides of Zoro’s face as they progressed, but amazingly enough, he didn’t falter a single step. He kept his eye locked in a stern gaze at the doorway and focused only on moving with Sanji towards his perceived freedom as though he’d been jailed and just been released.

Perhaps due in part to the grungy clothing Zoro was wearing, Sanji noticed that as they walked through the lobby no one looked at them twice or tried to stop their progress. Zoro had a mean, deterring look about him that Sanji had noticed on the first day that they’d met, and was relieved to see that it worked on the general public as well. They made it out of the hospital without anyone trying to stop them, which was nothing short of a miracle in Sanji’s humble opinion.

Zoro sucked in a deep breath of the outside air as they moved quickly out of sight of the front desk, moving down the sidewalk several feet before the nausea finally demanded its host sit. He sat down as carefully he could on the side of the curb, resting his arms on his legs and letting his head hang down between them.

“I’ll get the car,” Sanji said, to which Zoro simply gave him a thumbs up in response.

He hurried away, hoisting the duffel bag up high onto his shoulder and disappeared down the walkway. Zoro hoped that the trick they’d pulled with Duval would buy them enough time for Sanji to pull around the car up and drive them off before anyone noticed and tried to reclaim him.

As warm as it was in the hospital, Zoro hadn’t minded being as sweaty as he was, but when the wind went by he shivered dramatically and remembered it was the middle of December. The sweat trapped two layers down against his skin had already been cold enough, but was now sticky and empowered by the chilled air.

His stomach heaved again, and this time he couldn’t stop it.

Thankful that he hadn’t eaten yet that day, all his stomach could force up was liquids. He puked hunched over with his head between his legs, his stomach coming up onto the pavement between his boots. There was a brief moment where he felt instantly better before his stomach convulsed again and started a cycle of painful dry heaving.

There was no one nearby to hear him groan as some of the pain of his eye surfaced in conjunction with the pain in his stomach. When Sanji finally pulled up, Zoro was still hunched over.

Parking as close to the curb as he could with the passenger side door closest to Zoro, Sanji got out and tried to help the injured man to his feet. At first it seemed as though Zoro didn’t want to uncurl, but after his stomach convinced him to spit up all the liquids it had left inside, he did finally come to a stand. He was trembling noticeably, but Sanji ignored it as he helped Zoro slide into the passenger seat.

Sanji didn’t badger him about buckling up as he pulled away from the hospital front, and in return Zoro didn’t have anything to say about the pop music that was playing through the car speakers. He sat with his eye closed, curled up as best he could on the car seat with his head pressed firmly against the cold window, breathing hard, yet still trying to fall asleep as Katy Perry sang to him on the ride home.