Tumgik
#might turn this into a lil animation at some point!
short-honey-badger · 3 days
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Peppermint Tea 31 - All Blends 2
Holy crap is this chapter a doozy lol. It's quite a bit longer than my other chapters. Lotta stuff happens. So I hope you enjoy!
Warnings! None this time? Sad stuff happens ofc. We are introduced to someone new.
P.s. I was going to use some random son for Big Mom but like. I did a Lil research and I can't help but like Katakuri. 😬 again. I apologize if Big Mom and Kata seem a bit off. I'm trying to keep myself spoiler free for the anime.
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Benn runs through the courtyards of Mihawk's castle, dodging swipes from the Humandrals until he hears the sound of striking steel. He turns that way, picking up speed as he goes until he arrives at a small clearing in the dirt. Shanks and Mihawk are both grinning, a joy so easy to see that Benn thinks he may go blind. Usually, he'd stay and watch, but he can still hear your terrified voice pleading for help.
He slides to a stop, and the two men sparing turn and look at him, brows raised.
“Benn? What's going on?” Shanks asks his first mate. Benn wouldn't come get him unless it was important.
“It's, _ Shanks. They found her.”
The temperature of the surrounding area plummets, and all ambient noise disappears. Neither man can believe what they are hearing. They'd both been so sure that no one would be able to find your tiny island tucked away in Paradise, so close to the Calm Belt that most ships would be torn apart by sea kings. How could this have happened?
“What did you say?” Mihawk hisses and his grip on Yoru tightens to the point of pain, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He ignores the feeling of hot liquid dripping down his hand.
Shanks isn't faring much better. He looks ashen, pale faced and nervous. He and Benn share a look, one that Mihawk easily catches.
“_ called the transponder snail. She said that the Big Mom pirates had made landfall,” Benn frowns, one hand running through his graying hair.
“She sounded terrified.”
Mihawk is moving before his mind fully registers what's going on. He speeds through the castle, grabbing his coat and bag he'd packed the other day in case you called them. His haki is lashing, sending furniture falling and making the old stone walls of the castle crack and fracture. The ringing of his snail grabs his attention, and Hawkeye grabs it before loping out of the castle and to the bay.
Shanks is right behind him, Benn keeping up with his captain. It is with a silent, shared look with his lover that Mihawk reluctantly steps aboard the Red Force. He isn't fond of being on another's ship, especially one as big as this one, but like hell, would he let the younger man out of his sight.
While Shanks is barking orders, Mihawk takes the time to answer the still ringing snail that he clutches too tightly.
Ca-lick
“Mihawk! Finally! I've been calling forever!”
Perona’s shrill voice is a little comfort, but fear still clutches Dracule by the heart. She is rattling on before he can get a word in.
“You've got to get back to _’s island. She thinks it might be Big Mom and her crew!”
Mihawk feels a vein pop in his brow with his hard he scowls down at the snail.
“I know! Where are you? How quickly can you go back?”
“I'm three days out! So, two and a half if the sea doesn't hate me. What if she's already gone? What if…what if it's worse?”
Mihawk can hear the thickness in Perona’s voice and knows that the ghost girl is probably crying now, having worked herself up in a tizzy. He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Perona. I need you to calm down, girl. Listen to me when I say that _ will be fine. We can handle anything that's happened, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”
He hears the pinkette sniff over the transponder, but she sounds like she's gotten a hold of herself.
“Okay. What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to go back to her island. Find out if she's still there, but be safe. If you see her jolly roger, then you sail right to us. You've got your log pose, right?”
Perona sniffs again and nods even though her father-figure can't see it, “Yeah.”
“Good. If the island is clear, then investigate carefully.” He stresses the word, “Call me back as soon as you can, got it?”
“Yes, Mihawk. Will she really be okay?”
His heart breaks at the fear that he can hear swimming in his charge’s voice. He licks his lips. He is terrified in all honesty, but he keeps it together for her sake.
“She will be. Be safe, Perona.”
The ghost girl assures the older man that she will be careful and the transmission ends after that. Mihawk pockets the snail and looks around the ship to try and find Shanks.
The redhead is at the helm, still barking orders at his crew. Dracule picks his way past the pirates until he arrives at his lover's side. Shanks glances at him and then looks away, his haki curling tight around himself as if he was trying to hide away from the other man. Mihawk can't help but feel a little hurt.
Shanks is panicking. How could he tell Mihawk that all of this was his fault? That it had been him That had slipped up, his lips loose with drink and his heart heavy with wistful thoughts of his treasure that night so long ago.
The hawk hadn't trusted him with this from the beginning, and it killed him to admit that Mihawk had been right about Shanks after all? All the trust and affection that his lover had given him would go up in flames so quickly that Shanks wouldn't even be given a chance to mourn it. The redhead had little doubt that Mihawk would spirit you away from him as soon as he was able once he found out about his mistake.
The captain keeps himself busy for as long as he is able, but Mihawk is nothing if not patient, and he stays by his side until there are no more orders to be said. Before he can make a getaway, his hawk grabs him by the arm and practically drags him across the deck and into the Captain quarters. Shanks could have wrestled away, but then Mihawk would have been even more suspicious of him.
Shanks is shoved in a chair, and his lover putters around the room, pouring them both a drink before settling down in the seat across from Shanks. He sips delicately, but Shanks' nerves have him knocking back the glass of rum like it's a shot of whiskey. He jumps when Dracule speaks up.
“Perona is three days out from _’s island. She'll call me with news as soon as she gets there and if the island is clear or not.”
Shanks forces himself to nod. He licks his lips and scrubs his hand through his hair, “Good. That's good.”
Mihawk raises a brow at the other man's attitude. The man was acting more like a scared rabbit than the powerful Emperor that Dracule knows him to be. He sets his glass away and stands, crossing the short distance to stand between the redhead’s legs, and sets his hands on those tense shoulders. Mihawk guides him forward to rest his head against his bare chest, and his hands snake up to thread into red hair.
“How are we going to find her, Mihawk?”
The Emperor’s voice sounds shot, broken and beaten, and it breaks his heart listening to it. His grip tightens in Shanks’ hair, and Mihawk sighs softly.
“I don't know. But we'll search every island in Big Mom’s territory if we have to.”
~~~~~ Tomura ~~~~~
Tomura dashes through the streets of the city, a mischievous smirk on his face when he looks behind him and sees his little sister chasing after him. You look furious, but the expression just looks adorable on her chubby baby face. Tomura had snatched her favorite blanket this morning to try and wake up the sleepy head, and the chase had been on since.
Obviously, he wasn't going as fast as he could. Tomura was older than her by almost a decade, after all, and he didn't want his sister to get lost in the crowds of people. Not that the citizens of their Kingdom would let their only princess get lost.
The people laughed and urged her in the way her oldest brother ran, encouraging her to catch up to him. Their king and Queen had always been kind to their subjects, and in turn, they stayed loyal to the royal family.
Tomura slows to a stop, ducking behind a stall selling fruit and waiting for his little sister to dash past him. He springs out and grabs her by the waist, spinning you around in the air. You shriek in laughter, clutching at his wrists as he turns his lower body into dust and flies back the way he came, back to the castle and to where breakfast awaits.
Tomura opens his eyes, squinting when the sun makes them water. He wonders what you look like now. Had you found a way to survive and flourish after he left you behind? Would you even remember him? The thought of you not knowing who he is made his chest tight with fear and his throat clog with emotions he carefully hid from his men. Could you forgive him for leaving you behind, even if it had been the best course of action?
An angry scowl twists his lips, and Delemur lets out a string of quiet curses, mostly centered around a certain red-headed Emperor who had somehow stumbled across the safe house. Damn Red-Haired Shanks.
“Captain! We're going to make landfall soon!” The voice of one of his crew startled Tomura out of the fond memory and his less than savory thoughts. He rubs his face, sighing as he straightens up from where he'd been leaning on the railing.
“How long?” The white-haired man asks and looks at the lieutenant before him.
“Lookout said we're about thirty minutes out, Sir.”
Tomura nods. They would need to be prepared if some of Big Mom’s crew were there. Same with Shanks and his crew.
“Get the men prepared for a skirmish. Big Mom won't be here, but I'd bet she'd send some of her stronger men to get my sister.”
The news of his little sister being the reason behind his sudden disregard of orders had swept through the ship quicker than scurvy. But his marines were loyal, and technically, they were still chasing after pirates, so the higher ups could be too mad at them.
“Yes, Sir!” his lieutenant snapped, and then he was off, getting the other crew members up and running.
Tomura stalked to the front of the ship, and from here, he could see the outline of your island. His mouth twists in a grimace, and he prays that he's gotten here quick enough to beat Big Mom’s crew.
However, the closer he gets, the more his chest grows tight. There is grey smoke rising into the sky on the east side of the island, and even after so long away, Tomura knows that is where the safe house is.
The shore comes into view soon, and Delemur frowns when he sees a small ship docked at the shore, a large cross on the flag. He's seen that before, but he doesn't understand why Dracule Mihawk would have a shit all the way out here. Maybe it'd been stolen?
They drop anchor in the next couple of minutes, and Tomura flies ahead and drops to the sand, taking a look around with a frown. The beach looked awful, the beautiful sands trampled all the way up to where it became grass. Most of the lush forest had been torn down, most likely caused by the larger members of the raid party. He followed the trail up, picking up the pace until he was in an all-out run.
Tomura slides to a stop, sticken at the sight before him. The entire place is a disaster, the cottage a charred husk of what it used to be. The scent of burning wood is thick in the air, and the once lush and full gardens that you had cared for have been overturned and stomped on. He can see the broken remains of a small pen on the side of the building, but there were no animals in sight.
Carefully, he steps forward, bending down to collect a shard of green sea glass that had survived the fire. The Vice-Admiral flips it end over end then pockets it before walking inside the destruction. The living room is full of burned books and clothes, the furniture broken and ashen like the rest of the house. There is a shelf holding on for dear life, an old record player with a stack of melted records resting beside it.
Tomura moves to the kitchen, taking in the shattered glass of the window and the many planters that take up the majority of counter space, each plant dry and brittle or nothing but ash. A wind chime is still intact, and he reaches forward to brush the pads of his fingers across the metal tube, frowning when the beautiful melody fills the air. That kind of sound didn't belong in such destruction.
Onward Tomura goes, learning about his little sister as best he can through the ruins of her home. Your love for music and books could easily be seen, but how could he ever know what they were? What is your favorite song to listen to now, or what you liked to do on long lazy days. Were you all alone? The pen outside suggested his sister had found animals, but where were they?
Your bedroom was in a bit better shape from the rest of the house since the door had been shut before the fire had started. Tomura carefully sits on the ashen bed, green eyes looking at everything he can as quickly as he can see. He wanted to know everything about you. He had missed so much of your life, and the regret of leaving you behind was suffocating.
Would you have been safer in the military? Maybe, but Sengoku would have taken one look at you and your devil fruit and thrown you into training, just like they did with him. Tomura didn't want that for his baby sister. He had wanted you to live a good life, even if it would be a lonely one.
His thoughts are stalled when he catches sight of what hangs in your closet. His green eyes zero in on the long coat with a high collar decorated with intricate designs. Delemur knows that coat. He has seen it on the occasional times he had run into Mihawk.
The two of them had a mutual understanding to not speak about what had happened between them. Tomura didn't like that the older man had helped Big Mom, but being in the Navy gave him a different perspective. Not to mention his own skeletons hidden away in his closet, and in the end, Mihawk had been the reason that Tomura and his sister got out alive. They were even as far as he cared.
But seeing the Warlord’s coat made him pause. The tiny ship in the bay had already been suspicious, but the coat only added to his rising confusion. All the rumors had pointed at Shanks being the one to have found you, so then why in the fuck wasn't he seeing anything that might belong to the Emperor?
The sound of a bleating goat suddenly grabs his attention, and then he picks up the sound of his men shouting. Delemur bolts out of the house and finds Mihawk's pink charge, Perona glaring daggers at his men, specifically Private Nitchell, who points a shaking pistol at the young woman. Three chickens and an ornery looking goat stand behind her.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” He demands, and glares at the private, “Stand down, Nitchell. Does she look like a threat to you?”
The young man shakes his head, a blush high on his cheeks at getting reprimanded, “No, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”
The Vice-Admiral watches Nitchell stow his weapon and back up from where the ghost girl looks ready to tear his head off. Tomura rounds on the pinkette, cockimg a brow at her.
“Perona right? The hell are you doing here?” He demands and crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed by the glare that she proceeds to aim at him.
“What's it to you?” She spits at him and floats up, crossing her own arms. He spots several ghosts behind her and prepares to turn himself into dust if one flies at him. He'd seen what those things could do. However, his annoyance skyrockets at her answer, and Tomura is hard pressed not to reach out and try to wring her neck.
“I asked you first,” he snarls right back, and feels like he is arguing with a little kid when Perona sticks her tongue out at him.
“I was coming to visit my friend, Navy Man. You should leave before my dad gets here.”
Tomura rolls his eyes and ignores the threat, “Your friend is my little sister. How did you find this place?”
Whatever argument that Perona was hyping herself up for deflated like a popped balloon when she registered what the marine said. She looks him over, dark eyes flickering from head to toe. The more she sees, the less Perona thinks that this man is lying. He looks like you. His cheekbones and brow are a familiar and comforting sight. But what should she tell him? Perona didn't think that Mihawk would be very happy with her if she happened to spill the beans on everything that he's been doing.
Perona licks her lips and floats back down, dismissing her ghosts and setting a hand on top of Neal's head. The goat grunts at her and butts his head into her hand, happy that the only other person he tolerated had found him and the three chickens hidden away in the intact part of the forest.
“Mihawk found this place a few years ago. After a while, he told me about your sister, and I wanted to be her friend. She seemed lonely, and I know what that's like,” Perona begins and shifts her weight with a sniff. She's been here for two days looking for anything that would help them find out where Big Mom’s crew may have taken you. The only luck she had was finding your goat and chickens. Hank and Sukuna were nowhere to be found.
Tomura's hands clenched into fists at the information. Mihawk had known about you for years, and Delemur was just now finding out about it. How were Shanks involved then? To his knowledge, the redhead and the hawk stayed away from one another. Until recently, that is.
Just what the hell had his baby sister gotten up to?
“She called me five days ago and said that some of Big Mom’s crew had found her island. I came as fast as I could, but I was too late. Shanks and Mihawk are on their way here now.”
Tomura doesn't like the thought of such powerful men working together and all for the sake of his little sister. What had you done to catch their attention? Did he even want to know the answer to that?
“How long until they get here?” Tomura asks after a moment. He would wait here until they arrived. At least he wouldn't have to go tracking the pirates down. He had a couple of choice words to give both of them now that he knows that Mihawk has been here as well. That bastard had looked him in the face not four months ago and had said nothing about knowing you.
Perona shrugs at him, her face morphing into a pout, “I don't know. Another week?”
Shanks and his crew were strong enough to go through the Calm Belt if they wanted to, and that would cut their travel time down by a lot. Gloom Island was a two week trip from here by normal means.
Tomura grumbles at having to wait that long, but he isn't that much of an asshole, and so stalks forward and offers Perona his hand.
“I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot with you. My name is Tomura. Thank you for being my sister's friend.”
The ghost girl blinks dumbly up at him before tentatively taking his hand and shaking it.
“Uh. You're welcome?” Perona has never been thanked for being someone's friend before. It was a little weird, but Tomura seemed genuine and kind like you. Just a bit more…violent it seemed.
Tomura blushes and takes his hand away, rubbing them together before pointing at Neal and the chickens, hoping to change the subject.
“Are those _’s?”
Perona nods and introduces Neal and the chickens. She couldn't remember if you had named the fowl, so she had taken it upon herself to name the rooster Henry and the two hens Harriet and Henrietta. The crew of his ship piddled around the island while Perona told Tomura stories about his little sister, and soon, the sun was beginning to set on the little island. He sighs heavily and invites Perona on his ship for dinner. They may as well get to know one another if they were to be stuck on an island together for the next couple of days.
Those days pass in the blink of an eye, and it is late in the evening on the fifth day when the lookout on his ship announces that the Red Force is entering the bay. Tension skyrockets, and Perona stands away from Tomura while they watch the pirate ship navigate to the shore. She can see two people standing at the bow of the ship, and tears of relief sprout in her eyes when she spots Mihawk's wide hat.
~~~~~~
The fear and anxiety that Shanks has felt during the entire trip explodes the moment they spot the navy vessel docked at his treasure's island. Of course, the rumors had reached your brother. Shanks should have known Tomura would be on his way here to see you. He curls his haki close to himself, refusing to let the older man feel just how manic he is right now. He needed to keep his head clear for this.
Next to him, Mihawk's haki lashes like an angry snake, golden eyes wide and full of fire when he sees the ship. He recognizes who it belongs to and cuts his eyes over at Shanks, who won't even look his way. Dracule had been silent about his concerns with just how Big Mom had found out, and he doesn't like the picture that has been painted for him. He doesn't want to accuse anyone of anything until he has all the knowledge he needs.
Mihawk and Shanks flash to the shore, and the warlord gets an armful of sad ghost girl the second his feet touch sand. Perona buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist and holding the warlord tightly. Tears sprout and run down her cheeks, and Mihawk can do nothing but sigh and hold the young woman close, one hand stroking the back of her pink hair.
Shanks steps up beside him, a kind smile that he forces on his lips as he pats Perona on the back, “It's alright, kid. We're here now.”
Mihawk shoots him a grateful look, and thankfully, Perona decides to pull away, reaching up to wipe her eyes free of smeared makeup.
“It took you two long enough to get here,” She grumbles and takes a step away, turning to look over at the Vice-Admiral, “Tomura has kept me company.”
Dracule looks up and catches the Navy man's eyes, the green dark and full of suppressed rage. He doesn't expect the younger man to bypass him almost immediately, instead, aiming that almost familiar glare at Shanks. The tension deepens, and sand is kicked up by the haki that coils between the three men. Tomura wasn't anywhere near the pirate's power level, but that wasn't about to stop him. The Emperor was the one responsible for his baby sister getting taken.
“Did he, now,” Mihawk murmurs and carefully maneuvers Perona to stand slightly behind him. He didn't want her to get caught in this, and the Warlord could tell that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to be very pretty.
Tomura isn't here to beat around the bush and cuts straight to the case, “Did you have any fucking plans to tell me that you knew my sister, Mihawk? How the hell did you even find her?”
Mihawk keeps his face free of any kind of expression that may give away his true feelings. Brother or not, Mihawk wasn't in the mood to deal with this right now. Not when you were obviously still missing. What he doesn't expect is Tomura rounding on Shanks, his tone dropping and turning dangerous.
“And you, you son a bitch. You're the fucking reason my gods damned baby sister was found.”
The silence that blankets the shore of the island is deafening. Tomura grins meanly when he sees that panic that pools in Shanks’ dark eyes and stands taller, pointing an accusing finger at the redhead. Mihawk follows the gesture, his heart seizing in his chest when he catches sight of the look of devastation that paints his lover's face. He takes two steps back, bringing Perona with him, away from the man who had promised Dracule that he could trust him.
“You promised me, Shanks,” Mihawk remarks and tries to keep the hurt out of his tone, but the younger man easily picks up on it, making him feel worse than scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The hurt quickly turns to anger, and the warlord reaches for Yuro, the blade swinging around to point at Shanks.
“You promised me that you would keep your mouth shut! You drunken, lying bastard. I never should have put my trust in you again.”
His ringed eyes blaze with a rage Mihawk hasn't felt in decades. Not since he was young and impressionable. His heart feels shattered, and out of everything, disappointment rings through his body like a live wire. He shouldn't have allowed the redhead to pass his walls.
Shanks’ eyes widen at the threat, and he takes a couple of steps back from the wicked blade. His own hand curls around Gryphon, and Shanks braces for the fight that would no doubt happen because of his mistakes. He didn't want to fight Mihawk, but he would defend himself if the older man made the first move. He quickly began to explain before Dracule could try and take his head from his shoulders.
“I know, and I'm so sorry, Mihawk. I was drunk that night, and I missed the two of you so much. I didn't know I was being so loud until Benn told me to shut it. I never meant for any of this to happen.”
Shanks is pushed back when Mihawk's haki lashes out, his face flushed red from how angry he is at the lame excuse. How dare he.
“When are you not drunk off your ass, Shanks? There is no excuse that you can give me that will make any of this okay. _ is gone! Most likely slated to be married off to one of Charlotte’s sons because of your inability to keep your mouth shut!”
Perona grabbing him by the arm is the only thing that prevents Mihawk from following after Shanks. He glares at her, about to snap at the girl to let him go, when he sees the unshed tears and fear in her dark eyes.
“We need his help finding her, Mihawk,” Perona says, voice thick with emotion. She doesn't like seeing them fight, and it hurts seeing what she has begun to call family fall apart in front of her eyes.
Her words seem to bring everyone back to the situation at hand, and the wild haki from the three men is pulled back and settled. Tomura relaxes his shoulders, shifting his weight and glaring at the two pirates.
“She's right. Big Mom has a lot of territory. It'll take months for us to search each of her islands if we don't work together,” Delemur frowns even as he speaks, disliking the idea of working with the men who'd found his sister. What even were the three of them?
“What is she to you?” Tomura demands and regrets it the second both men look at him like he was an idiot.
“We,” Mihawk begins and then swiftly corrects himself. He didn't want anything to do with Shanks right now, “I love her. She had no idea who I was when I found her, and it was…refreshing to have someone like that. We should move quickly. _ is in a delicate state.”
Tomura doesn't even want to think about what that means and glances at Shanks for the redhead’s answer.
Shanks shifts his weight, his hand falling from his sword once Mihawk had sheathed his own, but he keeps his distance. He gives Tomura a helpless shrug.
“My crew and I drifted close to her island one day, and we got to know one another. I can admit I was jealous of what Mihawk had with her, so we made it work. The three of us.”
Tomura doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth glued shut. How the hell had his little sister pulled not one but two of some of the most powerful men on the Grand Line. He would ask once he found her.
“I'll use whatever resources the Navy can give me to find her,” Tomura says after a moment of rather awkward silence. He reaches into his pocket and takes out two mini transponder snails, and hands them to Shanks and Mihawk.
“I'll ring you if I find anything. I hope the two of you do the same.”
Mihawk dips his head in agreement, handing the snail to Perona and Shanks pockets his. They would work together to find you, even if none of them wanted to.
“I'm going to take a look around and see if we can't find something that'll lead us in the right direction,” Shanks says and whistles loudly to signal to his crew that it was fine to disembark from the ship now. He chances a glance at Mihawk, but the dark-haired man refuses to look his way. He frowns, guilt eating him up from the inside out before he lopes away without a word.
“Perona and I will head to the New World and begin our search,” Mihawk says and then he struts to the ship Perona had taken from his island, not bothering to look back at the Vice-Admiral. He can't bring himself to search the island. Dracule had seen the smoke curling into the sky, and seeing whatever remained of his home away from home would only make the hurt worse.
Tomura is left standing alone on the white sands, and he sighs heavily, looking out over the crashing waves. He smooths his white hair away from his forehead, and he murmurs to himself.
“Where the hell did they take you, Princess.”
~~~~~~
Thousands of miles away, you are escorted past hallways full of mirrors that make you feel dizzy if you look too closely. You cast your eyes back to the floor, one hand tangled in the fur of Hank's shaggy coat and the other holding Sukuna close to your chest. Your pets had chased after the men who had dragged you kicking and screaming from the tiny cave you'd forced yourself into.
Surprisingly, once they had seen that you were pregnant, the men had handled you with much more care and had even allowed you to take the cat and dog with you. Despite not wanting to leave, you had been much more willing once they assured you that you could have them. Hank and Sukuna were the only two things keeping you sane right now.
Sukuna wouldn't stop hissing, a constant low growl echoing in the hallway. His tail was poofed, and he glared at everyone with furious golden eyes. Hank fared no better, his hackles raised, and his ears pulled up. He stayed pressed against his human’s legs as they walked, unwilling to let you out of his sight.
It wasn't long before your group stopped at massive double doors that creaked open. You waltz inside, relieved at the lack of creepy mirrors, but that relief disappears the moment your eyes lay on who hovers in the middle of the room. She is the biggest human you've ever seen, sitting atop a cloud that glares down at you.
Beside her, another massive man stands. He has deep purplish hair, and the bottom half of his face is covered in a black and white scarf. He wears an open vest, and you can see a tattoo running down his exposed chest.
“It's about time you showed up,” Big Mom’s booming voice startles you, and you cut your eyes up to look at her. She grins down at you, her smile wicked as she looks you over.
“Such a pretty young thing. You'll make a nice wife for my son Katakuri. Don't you think so?”
@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom
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upsidedownwithsteve · 3 months
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hi! im so glad ur doing well, my dash did feel a lil empty without your blurbs and random posts c:
if you're still in the writing mood, steve and unconsciously searching out each other’s hand while sleeping or not realizing they’re holding hands till someone points it out got me all soft and i think you'd write something cute w it :(((
🧡
Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was that animal part of your brains, the one Murray always spoke about, the part that quietly told you all there was safety in numbers.
Maybe it was because you’d all gone through enough to realise there were indeed very real reasons to be scared of the dark.
Movie nights turned into sleepovers, never really planned, but always wholly accepted. Bodies on couches, on the floor, sleeping bags pulled from attic spaces and kids crushed together top to toe on the pullout in the Wheeler’s basement. Someone on an old recliner, a blanket pulled from a picnic basket to use to keep warm, heaps of pillows making a patchwork on the floor, socked feet pressed to thighs because even in sleep it was nice to know your friends were close.
Maybe that’s why it happened.
A night of watching Jaws, everyone chewing on popcorn and pretending that there wasn’t something evil outside, something lingering in the dark that was so much worse than a big fish called Bruce. Before the credits could roll, before the spilled candy could be cleaned up, people would nod off one by one, soft snores becoming a well heard lullaby.
It was only you and Steve left, squished in the corner of the floor, sandwiched against the couch that Max and Eleven had claimed, your backs only just saved by a mismatch of sleeping bags and cushions reserved for the patio furniture in the summer. The TV buzzed with static, an indigo glow barely lighting the room and Steve had long lay down, cheek pressed to his pillow as he whispered back to you.
The conversation was never light hearted, not anymore, not even in the midst of a sleepover. Worried words always exchanged, knots between brows and an unsettled feeling in stomachs because everyone was past believing it might actually be okay this time.
Something had to give. Right? Right?
So sleep didn’t come easy, not when your last words, last thoughts were about survival and risk taking, about your friends getting hurt or worse. The chocolate coating your tongue turned to dust and everything tasted sour, so you stared into the dark until you felt it staring back, and only then did you close your eyes.
Sleep still didn’t come. It taunted you, teased at you from behind your eyelids, pulling you downdowndown until the sharp prod of the beginnings of a nightmare jerked you back awake.
At some point, when you lingered between sleeping and not, something touched your wrist. Something warm and heavy and comforting. You barely registered the feeling of it sweeping over your pulse, fingers bigger than yours curling over your palm, catching at the spaces between your own until you were holding on for dear life.
Something in the back of your mind told you it was safe, it was better now. You could sleep, it was okay, someone was looking after you.
A body, nudging a little closer, careful not to touch, but a solid wall of warmth beside you, a familiar scent, a thumb running circles over the back of your hand.
You didn’t wake until morning, after Nancy had stepped over your sleeping frame to start making coffee. You would’ve followed too, offered to help by pulling out mugs and cups, but something kept you tethered to the floor.
A hand in yours, fingers intertwined a little looser than before, but there all the same.
Steve.
The boy was still beside you, closer than when he’d fallen asleep, his nose dangerously near your own, his soft breaths huffing out warm air over your joined hands, clasped between your faces. He looked the most peaceful you’d seen him in months.
The lilac bruises under his eyes were still there, but his pink lips were parted lazily, lashes kissing his cheeks, his hair softer than you’d seen and falling into his eyes. He had a crease along his jaw from the sleeping bag zip, an indent of each stitch, pushed into his skin beside each freckle.
Someone stretched and groaned and the boy shifted, only just, nose wrinkling, lips pouting, his hand grasping yours a little tighter - as if even in sleep, he didn’t dare lose you.
You heard Nancy crack some eggs into a bowl, the coffee machine gurgling.
You stayed, holding onto Steve as tightly as he held onto you - if only until it was time to wake up.
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seelestars · 8 months
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➴ ✫ * ✧ TYPES OF DATES THEY’D TAKE YOU ON (HSR characters)
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includes : jing yuan , blade , dan heng , kafka , seele , himeko
JING YUAN : he’d take you shopping ! he shows a lot of his affection through gifts, so he wants you to pick anything you want ♪( ´▽`) he’s a gentleman, would carry your bags for you as you two continue strolling through the streets ! if you guys go shopping for clothes, he will gladly tell you his opinions on the different outfits you try on (except he thinks you look good in anything hehe) maybe he even recommends clothes that he think would look spectacular on you ! buys you some food and snacks along the way too, insisting to hand feed it to u
DAN HENG : he’d take you to the beach ! he blushes slightly at first when seeing you wear a swimsuit (imagine either a bikini or swim trunks depending on what u prefer) if you like building sand castles, he’d help you ! or you might even have a little competition to see who can build the bigger sand castle~ if you wanna do sand art, that’s fine too ! he’d draw you and him together in the sand with a heart (except he doesn’t have rlly good art skills so it’s just u n him as stickmen) if you wanted to swim, he would swim w u . u splash water on him , expecting him to splash u back but he just sits there letting you soak him in water like the sweet boy he is :( he just wants to please u
BLADE : he’d take you to an aquarium ! he secretly thinks the fish are very cute and cool , you will probs catch him zoning out while staring at them lol .. so in order to get his attention again , you press a few kisses to his cheek , causing his ears to turn red as he stares at you … u insist on taking pics w him, so with a reluctant sigh , he does all the silly poses you want to do with him (like using ur arms to make hearts etc etc) I imagine he has some weird obscure facts about the sea life in the aquarium , so if you’re willing he might go on a small rant about them what a cutie patootie.. might even point out the fishes that remind him of u
KAFKA : she’d take you to the movies ! she’s fine with any genre, so it’s up to u to pick . if u choose horror , she’d be elated bcuz deep down she wants u to cling to her whenever u get scared hehe ! if u choose smth like romance , she would probs go “that could be us if you wanted~” with a smile as she turns to you .. she likes seeing the blush that blooms on ur cheeks whenever she says things like that . def makes a lot of comments if she even remotely sees the protagonist act like u do ! sometimes , she even makes comments about the movie . like how certain parts r cheesy (bold coming from her), or how some parts seem too fake .. she’s an enthusiast about analyzing films ..
HIMEKO : she’d take you to a cat cafe ! she thinks the cats r rlly cute , plus it’s a cafe ! so she can have coffee while playing w the cats along w u ! when she spots a cat that looks / reminds her of u , she points it out before putting the cat on her lap , smiling at u .. she’ll even put it on ur lap and take pictures of you two together ! would share the desserts and drinks with you (im talking like putting two straws into smth like a milkshake, except she would use urs sometimes for the indirect kiss ..) , might even hand feed you some of it (๑╹ω╹๑ ) the type to lick a crumb off your lips if u had any lol (it’s a plus for her watching you get flustered at the action)
SEELE : she’d take you on a picnic ! she’s a person who prefers more simpler things , and it’s no different when it comes to dates ! but don’t worry , u two still have a good time hehe ☆〜(ゝ。∂)surprisingly , she brings more sweet things then anything else .. she’s a bit of a sweet tooth (even though she gets a lil embarrassed about it if you call her out on it lol) if any animals pass by , she might share some food w it (she has a soft spot for animals .. ) it’s even better if you guys watch the sunset or stargaze while having the picnic, she thinks the sky is very beautiful .. she probs knows the name of all the diff constellations and stars n will gladly tell u them while gesturing towards each one in the sky
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theplumsoldier · 8 months
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money shot
summary: when recruiting you, pedro didn't realize he would get jealous from seeing other men fuck you, so he decides to pull your jobs, now only offering you solo scenes. you (dumb and dubious) ask why.
pairing: porn director!pedro pascal x reader
warnings: 18+: p in v sex, oral sex (female receiving), vulgar language, pet names, dirty talk, lil self-doubt
word count: 2,9k
˗ˏˋ inspo ´ˎ˗ & @cannolighost for the idea (hope i did it justice babe!!;3)
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When the man who approached you, talking about "star quality", handed you his business card, you glowered up at him. "Porn?"
He frowned and surprised you as his hands waved around in such animated gestures, which merely added to his charismatic demeanor. It also made the muscles in his tan arms protrude from his Versace silk shirt. "I prefer the term 'adult film director'."
Glaring at him with squinted eyes, you looked back at the card. Bubble productions. You snorted.
You had done this kind of work before. Amateur style, of course. With your old boyfriend, actually. At one point, he had convinced you to make a little home video, just for the two of you. You enjoyed the way you looked on the camera, which made it a whole lot easier for him to persuade you into letting him upload it. The two of you ended up filming yourselves regularly and sharing it online—and it gained a lot of attraction, too.
Now it had been a couple of months since your break-up, and frankly, you missed it. Not exactly the relationship itself, but feeling sexy, feeling admired, and worshipped by random people online. You had thought about it before, doing porn at a whole other level, but had dismissed the thought as quickly as it merely reminded you of him. The cheating bastard.
This time, with this man asking you to be "his new star", it was no different.
As you gave him your best smile, he thought he had reeled you in, but you then you kindly told him to "fuck off" and spun on your heel.
It wasn't until a few of days later, when you were scrolling through your feed and found a picture of your ex with a girl, that the thought occurred to you again.
You convinced yourself that it wasn't to make him jealous, simply for your own good, to give this thing a shot and do something fun for yourself. That same day you rummaged through your purse, certain you had shoved the business card away as opposed to throwing it into the trash, and sure enough—your eyes gleamed with a certain thrill as you dialed the number.
Of course, you couldn't just accept the offer right away. You needed to know what kind of thing you were getting yourself into, set some boundaries if you were to do this, and so you asked Pedro to meet you for a couple of drinks.
Pedro smooth-talks you all night and reveals what he's been thinking. Truth be told, you didn't have a lot of expectations, but he made his business sound just glamorous and the money was not too bad either.
He ensures you that you would be able to add input, requests, and such, and insisted that "it was all up to you". You told him that if you were to do this, you wanted to be able to turn down anything, anyone, no questions asked and he did not hesitate to agree.
At some point, you excused yourself and disappeared into the bathroom. While feeling the soft alcoholic buzz enveloping your body, you felt his eyes on you and naturally became aware of the sway in your hips.
Pedro was certainly not bad-looking. With his brown hair, caramel eyes, and honey-dipped skin just begging to be licked, you began wondering if he himself had starred in any productions. You certainly would not object to a bite of him. While his charm had its wanted effect on you, you convinced yourself it was simply his eccentric persona, and not something directed specifically at you.
This charm he wields just so appears to comfort you, and welcome you to join his alluring lifestyle that it made you feel warm and fuzzy. It might be the alcohol, but he spoke with such passion, an intensity that it compelled you to take his hand and dive headfirst into his world.
Then came the dour reminder of your ex-boyfriend. He had been the one to put all these thoughts into your head in the first place, so you wondered what he would think. Would he reach out to you again? Would he be jealous? Or would he perhaps just think you for a slut?
A part of you wanted to provoke something inside of him—might be jealousy or even anger, a little possessiveness, just the right amount of toxic.
No.
This was not about him. It's about you.
With that inaudible dialogue with the bathroom mirror, you finally returned to Pedro. His skin was dewy from the heat and alcohol, and his enormous hand (which made the glass seem miniatures comparison) put his drink back down. He cocked an eyebrow as if quizzing you.
"I'm in."
The first day on the job was fantastic. There was time for the crew to mingle, the actors got to know each other a bit and you wrapped up with a nice cumshot on your tits. It was fun. You immediately felt that Bubble Productions were a safe space. The crew was focused on making the actors feel hyped up and confident, as you did your thing.
You figured it was quite normal to see a few boners here and there amongst the set crew, but you couldn't help but notice the tent in Pedro's pants as he directed from his chair. There was a point where he became unusually quiet, which made you think something was not to his liking. But as the cameramen flocked and closed in on you, you figured he was just concentrating on the money shot.
From then on, you found yourself with just three days of work in a week, trying different things with both guys and girls.
A couple of films later you began realizing Pedro had decided to take things down another road. Lately, he had handpicked you for several solo shoots, and you began pondering whether you did something wrong while performing with other people. While you enjoyed having to focus on just yourself, as well as being the center of attention (more specifically the center of Pedro's attention) you couldn't help but wonder.
Had someone complained about you? Did the audience not like you as much as they did in the beginning?
It prompted you to stay behind one time after the remains of the crew had left for the day, wanting nothing but to please the man with the vision.
It was the first time you had been alone with Pedro since that night at the bar and as you approached him with nothing to cover your figure except a dainty pink silk robe, he was ready to renounce every bit of professionalism left in him to take you right there, on the setup of fluffy pillows, wanting to see you teary-eyed as he fucked you into the Love-a-Lot Care Bear.
When you asked him if the audience did not like you, he immediately assured you: "they adore you!"
It should have lifted a weight off of your shoulders, but it did not—you were convinced something was wrong.
So you asked him if anyone had expressed aversion to working with you and Pedro realized he was the reason for your sudden self-consciousness.
It made him feel bad, for cutting your gigs down to a minimum and only offering you solo performances had been a very conscious choice. The jealousy brewing inside of him as he watched you do the job he had given you—he knew it was unprofessional of him but when the sin turned to downright anger, he just had to do something—what kind of director would he be to fire men for doing their job?
"Baby, everybody loves you! It's just—the audience doesn't wanna see a pretty girl like yourself bein' ruined, they want you all to themselves! Your solo's been a hit—"
You could see his lips move around the words, but you zoned out for a second. Of course, the audience wants to see you being ruined by filthy men, you thought, and once again, the thought that Pedro wanted you became dominant.
Did he want you all to himself?
"The audience..."
"Yeah!"
You frowned at him. "So this has nothing to do with what you want?"
Shit.
You saw right through him. He had hoped you were just pretty and dumb—that would have made his case a lot easier.
He gave lying a shot. "What? No!"
Pedro hoped you didn't notice that his voice pitched an octave. It was too obvious.
Really, you thought it was cute how flustered he got. For a man directing adult films, you would never have guessed he would find trouble flirting.
You put on a pout and sighed heavily, drawing your hand up his chest to toy with the gold chain framing his thick neck.
"S'a shame. Had kinda hoped you made me do all those, 'cause you were jealous," mused you, feeling confident as you leaned closer and twirled the hair at the nape of his neck.
His tongue danced along the line of his bottom lip as his eyes trailed down to where your chest revealed itself beneath the robe.
"Jealous, huh?"
You nodded, pulling back to tilt his chin up so that you caught his eyes. It seemed as if though that had darkened, his pupils had dilated and you felt his cock had grown too.
"Wanted to know 'f it was 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."
The coy smirk grew. "That somethin' ya want?"
"Dont know yet," you shrugged.
Pedro closed the space between you.
"Lemme help you find out."
His lips were crashing against yours the next second, rough and passionate, hungry and needy.
You moaned into his mouth as you felt him slip down the robe and as it pooled at your feet, you were about to trip backwards. He didn't let you and in a swift movement, he had your legs wrapped around him.
The feeling of his restrained member made you all the more excited, and as he maneuvered you over to the set you had been coming on a little earlier, you keenly pulled him with you, eager to finally have him.
You couldn't shake the thought of him limiting your scenes. Had it been anyone else, who had done it out of personal interest, you would have been furious.
Pedro had noticed the way your moans had changed recently. When you played with yourself, made yourself come, your cries had become much more authentic, less of a performer, more of an aroused insatiable woman. He couldn't help but strive to make you sing for him, make you writhe, and make you beg for him to stop while simultaneously keeping his hand in place because you would fucking kill him if he dared cease.
He didn't want those pornographic sounds you offered the mic, he wanted those greedy moans to tear through your throat as orgasm after orgasm ripped from your body.
The kisses are wet with tongues and teeth clashing, but it doesn't matter because as the pad of his index runs through your slit, every thought disintegrates in your mind and your brain becomes mush.
"So sensitive for me, baby. Pussy sore from working so hard for me?"
"Hmpff..." you mewled, acrylics clawing at his back as you stuffed your head into the crook of his neck.
"Ya done so good for me, baby—you gonna lemme take care of ya, hm?"
You whined as Pedro's finger delved into you, the curious tip exploring and prodding at your walls. The combination of being touched by someone you wanted so badly as well as his significantly girthier finger made you gasp in a lower pitch, unlike that factitious moan his so-called "stars" had elicited from you.
It made him rock hard, hearing that genuine sound sputtering from your lips like you couldn't contain it.
He drew your slick through your folds, steadying your hips with his enormous hands as you began to squirm.
"Lie still, pretty baby," Pedro tsked, a devious smirk complimenting his face, and before you could protest he lapped his tongue through the wetness that had pooled between your legs.
Another moan, this untamed and frustrated, a whimper turning into a growl while your hips bucked upward, aiming to catch his mouth completely.
But he insisted—he was going to show you just how devoted he was to making you feel good, better than you did yourself. Pedro wanted you to know he had been schooling himself with those films of you, taking notes to make sure he knew exactly what you liked, and even what you did not know you liked yet.
You cursed when he inserted two fingers. Pedro's tongue occupied your swollen clit in such a way that it left you wanting more of him.
"Pedro," you moaned but as he hooked you with a third finger, curling them against your spongy walls, carving you perfectly for his cock, your pleads were punched out into cries.
"'S fuckin' tight, baby—who'd a thought such a little slut whorin' her body out would 'ave such a tight little hole?"
Under different circumstances, you would have punched the man calling you a slut in his teeth, but this, as Pedro claimed you, you found yourself desperate for the degrading behavior.
He pulled an orgasm from you before he allowed himself the pleasure of filling you with his cock, and as his member sprung free, you had to stop yourself from drooling.
A weeping head plastered on top of his thick, veiny girth, forged to perfectly destroy any woman.
It was almost sad to hide such a wonder from the cameras.
Pedro chuckled, cooking his brow, "impressed yet?"
Just to fuck with him, you put on an indifferent demeanor and turned on your stomach, pushing a pillow down under your stomach. He certainly didn't require an ego boost.
"I'll have to get back to you on that."
His hands felt so perfectly hot on your hips when he dragged your ass closer to him, propping you on your knees and slotting himself by your entrance.
You expected him to ram straight up into you and wanted to fucking cry when he merely dragged his mushroom head along your folds, collecting your slick in a fine mixture with his precum.
"Pedro," you whined in a bated breath. "Fuck me already—"
And there it was the merciless fucking. He bottomed out only to smash back into you, heavy balls slapping against your cunt with every thrust.
The sudden movement made your knees buckle beneath you and you were back on your stomach.
The new position did not seem to face Pedro as he continued to plunge into you from behind. If anything it allowed you to feel him even deeper, a bulge hitting the deepest spot possible making you sob into the pink Care Bear.
"Mmpff—fuck, fuck, fuck—"
Pedro caught your wrists in a harsh grasp, holding them steady on the small of your back to stop you from clawing desperately at him.
"'S the matter, baby? Didn't my guys fill ya up this good, huh?" It came out like a growl and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he fucked you at a relentless pace.
You couldn't help but love the way he called his pornstars his "guys" like he was some creep who had taken you prisoner, the sole purpose of your kidnapping being that you should be fucked day-in-day-out by him and all his ravenous men.
Pedro grasping at the roots of your hair, forcing you to bend back just enough for him to see your fucked-out expression, pulled you from your fantasy.
"Asked you a question, baby."
For the first time, the pet name sounded less affectionate; way too menacing to be loving as the cruel grip on your hair loosened, only to force your face down into the mattress.
"No, no, no!" you cried, barely able to form a proper sentence between his ruthless thrusts. "Ff-uck! Never felt this good!"
Pedro chuckled and abandoned his hold on you, his arm snaking under your body to skillfully locate your clit, deft fingers beginning a dance. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten, heating up as you neared your release.
Pedro emitted a sound, something between a growl and a moan, as he felt your pussy clench so nicely around his cock. Feeling your cunt choking his cock, he gave you one command in that cocksure tone.
Fucking you through yours, he slipped into his orgasm as you practically squeezed it out of him. His brutal pace faltered only when he pulled out and as you mourned the loss in your throbbing cunt, you hastily rolled to greet him with your tongue rolled out for him to paint.
His jaw hang ajar, eyes dazed as he watched you hungrily await his seed. With a few more pumps Pedro coated your face in hot velvety strings.
He leans back on his haunches, admiring his masterpiece for a minute or so. He wanted to take a picture of you so badly. If Pedro asked, you would probably say "yes", but there was something about this moment—this was your moment, something just for the two of you.
Pedro muttered something to himself, something you didn't quite catch between your frenzied phase and the buzzing in your ears.
"Huh?" you hummed, looking so not innocent batting your come-coated lashes at him.
His large hand catches your jaw in such an affectionate manner it made your heart flutter for the umpteenth time. Just then, for a second or two, Pedro looked as if he was about to say three very specific words. He didn't.
Instead, he shook his head and cupped your sticky cheek as he planted an uncharacteristically soft kiss on your forehead, before moving away — to get towels for the mess he had made (you were equally responsible) — murmuring with a small chuckle, "ya gonna fuckin' ruin me, baby."
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urbanqhoul · 2 months
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Pondering lil weapon/items for Whimsy and we got a hammer that can turn into a parasol~ Might animate the transformation at some point eue
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headfullofpresley · 1 year
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𝐓𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐨 𝐔𝐬 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭
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Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Word count: 4,1K
Summary: Your bacholerette party gets crashed by your fiancé in typical fashion, but even though the party is over doesn't mean that the night is.
Warnings: Elvis being jealous, reader not being jealous at all, strong language, alcohol consumption, smoking, Elvis being a lil tipsy, Elvis punches... someone 👀, sexual innuendos, i guess a teeny tiny bit of smut if you squint real hard (barely), fluff, small mention of Gladys and Jesse.
A/N: there's so much more in this story than the summary states but i suck at writing summaries woops. this was requested by my lovely @marriedtopresley, i hope you like it bby!! <333
masterlist
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“We get the suite,”
“Nope,”
“Patsy, this wasn’t the deal- the boys get the suite, you girls get the streets,”
“Poor choice of words, West,” your husband’s-to-be cousin pointed out with a frown of her eyebrows before a smile returned to her features. “The answer is still no,”
You watched as they stood in the middle of Elvis’ suite, facing each other down in hopes the other one would break. You knew Patsy was just as headstrong as Red- it was like watching two wild animals circle around each other, waiting for the right moment to attack. It was downright fascinating.
“They’re still goin’ at it?” Elvis chuckled as he appeared next to you, fixing the collar of his dark crushed velvet coat. He had been wearing a full blown leather outfit minutes ago, similar to the one he wore for the special back in ’68, but he soon realised it was too hot for the Nevada climate. The velvet wasn’t much cooler but at least he was able to take some pieces of clothing off without being half naked- something he’d never do unless he was alone with you.
You were still in a bath robe, a glass of champagne in hand- it was only seven o’clock, but it was your bacholerette party… if Red and Patsy would ever give in, that was.
“Yup, and it looks like Patsy’s winning,” you chuckled as you noticed some hotel employees wandering in, beginning to build a tower out of glasses. Elvis let out a laugh as he slipped his arm around your waist, kissing your temple.
“It’s okay, I’ll tell Red you and the girls get the suite. Might do me some good to get out of this place on my last night as a free man,”
You knew he wanted a better reaction out of you other than the grin you gave him, but the thing was.. you weren’t jealous. Despite the amount of female attention Elvis got, it never bothered you. This irked Elvis more than he’d like to admit or that you were aware of, mostly because he could be jealous. Really jealous.
“Thanks, Elvis- now you guys leave, so we can get this party started!” Patsy exclaimed happily as she heard what he said, patting Red on the back who groaned and made his way over to Pat, his wife, to kiss her goodbye for the night.
“Wait, I don’t get to see what you’ll be wearing?” Elvis turned to you, pouting playfully as he circled his other arm around your waist as well to pull you against his chest. You shrugged, laughing as you hung your arms loosely over his shoulders, kissing his lips before you spoke.
“It’s just a simple dress- now the one I’ll be wearing tomorrow is way more fascinating. Patience, my love,”
He rolled his eyes as you tapped his cheek gently, grinning as he went in for another kiss. This time he parted his lips and you gladly welcomed the feeling of his tongue by doing so as well, deepening the kiss. He tasted like bourbon, which Sonny had made him take a shot of earlier, and cigars- it had you craving for more. Unfortunately for the both of you, you were ripped away from each other sooner than you liked but you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of the guys pulling Elvis out of the room and to God knows where.
 
The guys knew Elvis didn’t like to be away from you for too long and in order for him to not turn grumpy, they kept pouring shots down his throat. He hated drinking, hated the taste of strong liquor, but after a few rounds the god awful taste simply wasn’t so awful anymore. He was actually having a good time.
After seeing Tom Jones’ show at the Flamingo Hotel, Tom joined their rowdy crowd and he was more than happy to drag Elvis along to the stripclub Sammy Davis Jr. who was present too pointed out. Now if Elvis would’ve been completely sober, he didn’t think he’d spend the night before his wedding in a stripclub in Vegas because he didn’t even like normal parties but he figured for once it would be fine. His friends seemed to have a good time and although he couldn’t stop thinking about what you were doing right now, the drinks caused him to let loose a little and not worry so much.
Until Red had to open his big mouth.
“Ah c’mon, EP- loosen up!” the ginger haired male laughed loudly, leaning back in his seat as he had a girl grinding herself down on his crotch, just like Elvis had. The only difference was that Red was greatly enjoying himself and Elvis was tensed to the bone, giving Red a glare instead of looking at the breasts that were right in front of his nose. Any man would consider him a nut job for not enjoying himself right now. “Y/N probably has a fireman’s ass in her face right about now,”
The rest of the group laughed along with Red, but as soon as they all saw the look on Elvis’ face, the laughter died down and the mood quickly shifted. It was obvious to the dancers too, who quickly sneaked away from the group of men.
“Strippers? There are strippers at that party?”
Elvis' hair was sticking up as if he had just got out of bed because of the girl that had been on his lap running her hands through it and if his voice hadn’t dropped a few octaves, the guys would’ve laughed at him. But they were all very aware of his jealous nature, especially when it came to you.
Sonny cleared his throat a little, planting his hand on Elvis’ shoulder as he let out a soft awkward chuckle. “It’s her bachelorette, EP. I’m sure she’s havin’ a blast and so should you,”
Elvis’ jaw clenched involuntarily as he whipped his head around to look at the man on his other side, pushing his arm off of him roughly. He shot up from his seat, fixing his hair by running his hands through it.
“I told you to have Patsy cancel that shit- I can’t believe she actually went through with it,” he exclaimed angrily, pacing back and forth in their VIP section. Most of the guys stayed silent, trying not to show their annoyance for having Elvis ruin the night because they already knew what was coming.
“We’re leaving,” Elvis barked, ripping open the velvet rope that separated them from the public. Joe immediately got up to follow, as did the others, because it wasn’t exactly safe for the singer to wander out the club alone, let alone be on the streets. He couldn’t even use a public restroom on his own due to crazy people hiding in every corner.
“So, what are you gonna do, huh?” Red sighed deeply as they all climbed into the limousine, looking at Elvis who poured himself a glass of champagne, downing it while scrunching up his nose. “Crash the girls’ party? You’re not even supposed to sleep next to Y/N tonight- you’re gettin’ married tomorrow, man,”
“To hell with all that traditional shit,” he grumbled, reaching for the bottle again as he tore off his glasses and put them atop his head- something he never did but now that he was slightly intoxicated, he didn’t care it made him look silly. “I’m sleepin’ next to my wife tonight, whether she wants me to or not,”
“She ain’t your wife yet,” Tom grinned at him, but before Elvis could comment, Red quickly pushed the champagne glass to raven haired man’s mouth, giving Tom a glare that made him shut right up.
 
 
You figured your bacholerette party would be small. Just you, Patsy, Pat, Judy, Barbara and the rest of the Mafia girlfriends, but an hour after you got dressed the champagne tower started flowing and more people started to arrive in the hotel suite. They were all female, such as Nancy Sinatra and the girlfriend of the hotel’s director, so you didn’t mind it all too much.
Compared to Elvis, you liked parties, so it didn’t take you long to get in your usual party mood and were steadily on your way to get intoxicated. But even if you were sober, you would’ve been just as excited about the stripper that barged into the room.
Your fiancé was going to have a whiplash if he was aware of your current activities, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t kill him.
The stripper was hot, naturally, and you happily welcomed it when he pushed you down on a chair in the middle of the room and danced to the music blasting through the room. All the other girls were happily cheering and snapping pictures of the moment the man in front of you grabbed your hands and ran them down his muscles and down over his crotch which was still covered by a pair of firefighter pants. You screamed in excitement, hiding your mouth behind your hands as he took the little crown you were wearing off your head and replaced it with his hat before he pulled his suspenders down his bare shoulders.
You happily obliged as the stripper grabbed your hands and moved them to his pants, signing for you to do undo them. Your fingers moved swiftly as you flicked the button open and pulled the zipper down, Nancy cheering you on as she stood behind you.
Not long after the pants were off and your hands had been forced onto the man’s ass, it sounded like the door was nearly kicked in, followed by gasps coming from several girls in the room.
 
As soon as Elvis stepped into the room, followed by a panicked Memphis Mafia, and saw the stripper wrapping your legs around his waist, he felt anger boiling in his veins. Red and Sonny weren’t fast enough to hold Elvis back, because he was already striding toward you- you gasped in shock as the stripper was ripped off you and you were pretty sure your eyes were the size of saucers at the sight of Elvis’ fist connecting to the other man’s jaw.
“Elvis!” you screeched as you shot up from your seat, nearly stumbling on your heels as you grabbed his jacket and pulled him off the dancer. The half naked firefighter got back on his feet, grabbing his pants to get the hell out of the room. Elvis noticed the hat you were wearing and pulled it off, throwing it after the stripper- the plastic hit him right on the back of his head.
Joe quickly followed the poor man to do some damage control.
“Everybody out!” Elvis yelled, the volume of his voice roaring above the music and making everyone shoot into action as they left the room as quick as possible. Patsy flashed you an apologetic smile and you responded to it with one of yourself, signing to her that you’d call her later.
Red was the last to leave the room, which he did with a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, which Elvis luckily didn’t see.
 
You didn’t want to laugh, honest to God you didn’t, but you couldn’t hold it in due to the drinks you had consumed tonight. Not only did your party last only about two hours, the man that you were marrying tomorrow had just punched a stripper. How in the world could you not laugh?
“I don’t think this is funny,” Elvis snapped at you as he threw his coat on the bed before sitting down at the end of it.
You placed your hand over your mouth as you sat down next to him, giggling in your palm. “I mean..” you inhaled a deep breath, putting your hands in your lap as you looked at him. “Aside from the fact that you ruined my party, it is kinda funny,”
“Did you know there was gonna be a fuckin’ stripper? You knew, didn’t you? And you let it happen anyways,”
You raised your eyebrows at him, even though he barely looked at you. His rings that he was twirling around his fingers repeatedly seemed to be more interesting to him at the moment. You could see by the way his jaw was clenched so tightly and the angry frown on his features that he really did not think this was funny. You knew he was jealous, no matter how silly it sounded in this moment, and while you usually teased him with it you knew that wouldn’t be the best option right now.
But he really did crash your party and you were genuinely having a good time- now you were getting a little annoyed as well.
“No, I didn’t know, Elvis- that’s the whole point of a bachelorette party. The girls took care of everything,” you told him, crossing your legs and folding your arms as you looked at his glasses on the floor which he lost when he took a swing at the stripper. “And you smell of booze and cheap perfume, it’s not like you and the guys were having a cup of coffee downstairs,”
Elvis turned his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. He moved closer to sit up against you, his arm snaking around your waist to let his hand rest on the side of your thigh. “Why? Are you jealous?”
You snorted, looking at him as you tilted your head a little. He leaned down into you a little more, his grin growing wider as a smile spread across your own face. As soon as you spoke, that smug grin was wiped right off his face.
“No, baby, I’m not,”
“Why not?” he exclaimed in frustration as he watched you get up and kick your heels off, picking up his glasses from the floor.
“I don’t know, I’m just not,” you shrugged a little, putting on his glasses as you turned back to him and pointed a finger in his direction. “But I do think it’s unfair you crashed my party and act like a baby just because there was one stripper here while you were in a club full of naked ladies,”
“So you are jealous?”
“No,”
He groaned as he let himself fall back on the bed, his arms spread out as he looked up at the helium balloons that floated against the ceiling. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as you walked over to him, making him look at you as you crawled on top of him and straddled his waist. You pushed the sunglasses up in your hair, placing your hands on his chest as you smiled at him.
“Why do you want me to be jealous so bad, El?”
He sighed deeply as he placed his hands on your thighs, fingertips disappearing underneath the fabric of your short dress so he could let his digits absentmindedly caress your skin.
“It’s not like I want you to be-well… sometimes. Damnit honey, I don’t know. Bein’ jealous means you care and I guess I just would like to see the roles reversed sometimes,”
You laughed softly as he pulled his hands back and pushed his elbows in the mattress, looking up at you with a slight pout on his face. You bit your lip as you suddenly slapped him across the face- not hard enough to leave a mark or anything, but enough to make him look at you with wide eyes and shock written over his features.
“What the fuck was that for?!”
You climbed off of him, pacing the room as you threw his glasses on the couch by the tv. You still weren’t jealous, but if acting as if you were was going to make your man happy, then that’s what you’ll do.
“You went to a stripclub?” you exclaimed in feigned anger, making sure it looked as real as possible. You seemed to be a good enough actress because Elvis sat up again, gawking at you in confusion. “You’re disgusting, Elvis- I don’t believe you! How was it, huh? Did you touch any of them?”
You walked over to him, taking him by surprise once more as you grabbed his hands and placed them on your breasts. “Did theirs feel.. better? Bigger? No, don’t tell me- I don’t think I can take it,” as soon as you put the back of your hand against your forehead dramatically and looked away from him, the both of you couldn’t hold back your laugh. Yours was interrupted by a squeal as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you down on the bed with him.
“You little shit,” he laughed as he hid his face in your neck, trapping you underneath him on the mattress. “I hate you,”
You giggled as you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him in your embrace while trapping him just as much by snaking your legs around his waist. As he pulled his face out of your neck, you moved your hands down his shoulders and to his chest, opening a few buttons of his blouse.
“You don’t hate me- you love me and I love you, El. Just because I’m not jealous doesn’t mean I don’t care, you know that, right?”
He nodded, smiling down at you as he caressed some hair out of your face before kissing your lips. “I know, baby, I was’ just bein’… stupid,”
“That’s what you get for drinking whiskey,”
He frowned, laughing softly. “How’d you know?”
“I can taste it and you got a mean right on whiskey,”
A smirk spread across his face as he thought back about the stripper he knocked down without blinking a little while ago. He was sure Joe would take care of things and that fucker deserved it, touching his lady the way he did, so Elvis didn’t really feel guilty or whatsoever.
“I got him good,” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, making you laugh as you tilted your head a little, welcoming his lips in your neck. You grabbed his hand, letting it wander down in between your thighs and right into the panties you wore underneath your dress.
“That good, huh?” he grinned against your skin, a moan rolling off your tongue as he did not wait for a response and slowly pushed a long finger inside of you, making you forget all about your friends who were probably continuing the party elsewhere.
 
“What if we got married right now?” Elvis questioned, blowing out the smoke from his cigar in circles before tapping off the ashes in the ash tray in your hand.
You frowned as you looked at nothing in particular in front of you, resting against the man’s chest while taking a drag from your own cigarette. You turned to look at the alarm clock on the bedside table, laughing softly.
“It’s 2 in the morning,”
“So? We’re in Vegas, there’s a chapel on every corner,”
You slowly sat up to turn around and face him, pushing out your cigarette in the ash tray. You exhaled the smoke in the other direction, still holding up the sheets to your chest.
“We’re getting married in a few hours, El,” you reminded him to which he laughed at softly, shrugging his shoulders as he placed his cigar in the ash tray and took it out of your hand, placing it next to the alarm clock.
“I know but tomorrow’s gonna be so busy with everyone there and we have this damned schedule to follow- tomorrow won’t belong to us alone, but we still have the night,”
The excitement of his crazy idea was rubbing off on you and as he slipped his hands into yours, you shook them wildly.
“You’re right, you’re so right but.. is this even possible? I mean, legally,”
“Baby, this is Las Vegas,” he reminded you again with a laugh. “Anything is possible,”
You nodded as you laughed, kissing him over and over again. “Okay, let’s do it. Let’s get married,” you said as you jumped up from the bed, running into the walk-in closet. “I have the perfect outfit!”
 
You wore a short baby blue skirt with a matching long sleeved blouse, putting the hood on and letting your hair drape over the shape of your breasts. You had a traditional dress for tomorrow, but what you and Elvis were doing right now was anything but traditional and you were excited about it- maybe even more excited than for the big day tomorrow.
He wore his crushed velvet outfit, including big golden belt and sunglasses and all- true Presley fashion.
Despite the excitement of it all, you tried to convince Elvis to bring one or two of the guys for safety, but he wouldn’t hear it. He didn’t want anyone else but you and him to know about this- tomorrow he was going to officially promise his loyalty to you and make you his wife in front of family, friends and probably way too many reporters. He was pretty sure everyone would want his attention at all times and he wouldn’t spend the amount of time alone he wanted with you until the honeymoon, so this little pre-wedding was going to be good and it was going to happen.
He had made up his mind and he wasn’t going to change it.
And you didn’t want him to, and even if you did, it was too late now. You and Elvis were already sneaking through the hotel and into the garage like a couple of teenagers, driving off to a chapel that wasn’t crowded by drunk people who were going to wake up married to a stranger tomorrow morning.
You and Elvis found one that seemed quiet enough way on the other side of the city, close to the desert. There were barely any people around and you were surprised they were open and doing services at all, but the few people that worked at the chapel sure as hell weren’t going to close up shop now that Elvis Presley walked in.
Getting married in a tiny chapel in the desert was hardly a girl’s dream, but you were over the moon as you got married to the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. You’d have your ‘real’ wedding tomorrow and although you didn’t have rings to give each other now, you didn’t care where Elvis and you would promise your love to each other.
You’d follow him anywhere he’d go and you were hundred per cent certain he’d do the same for you, because it simply didn’t matter where in the world you were- as long as you were by each other’s sides.
 
“Sorry about the lack of cake, Mrs. Presley,” Elvis grinned from beside you as you sat on the hood of his car, looking up at the stars that twinkled in the dark sky. There were two that flickered extra hard and both you and your husband had decided those were Gladys and Jesse, watching over you and being part of your silly and chaotic night.
You laughed softly as you handed the bottle of champagne the workers at the chapel gifted you to him. “There’ll be plenty of cake tomorrow, my husband,”
He smiled down at you as you hooked your arm through his and snuggled up to him, putting your head on his shoulder. He took a few small sips from the bottle, kissing your head as he pushed it back in your hand. He did not like the taste of champagne at all and he already had too much of it tonight, so you were the one who drank most of it.
“I like the sound of that- my wife,”
“Me too,” you grinned as you raised your head to look at him, pecking his lips. “I love you,”
“I love you more,” he said in between kisses, pulling your legs across his lap before resting his hand on your thigh. You placed the bottle behind you, folding your hands behind his neck as you wrapped your arms around him.
“How much more?” you smiled playfully as you looked at him when he pulled his head back in his neck a little, pretending to think about it as he looked up at the sky.
“To the moon,”
“And back,” you immediately responded with a giggle, kissing him once more as soon as he turned back to you.
He didn’t hesitate to kiss you back.
When it came to you, Elvis never hesitated- out of everything in his life, you had always been the most steady and you were always going to be.
Just like that big, bright moon above that shone on you and him in this moment, you were his rock and he was yours.
 
The vow goes; “to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
But for you and Elvis, you wholeheartedly believed that you’d be together even after living out a happy and adventurous life- with your souls entangled the way they were, it was inevitable.
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taglist: @breadsquash @generoustreemystic @woundmetender @returntoelvis @prayerstopresley @ab4eva @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @wonka-gifs @notstefaniepresley @ellie-24 @dollksj @webbedwebs @re3kin @wivette @eliseinmemphis @18lkpeters @rosepresley
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bhaalism · 2 months
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— BLACK MAPS \ PROLOGUE ˎˊ˗
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𖤐 | summary : hell on earth begins with a red sky at dawn, a dead girl in a field. You and your partner have to trace the tangled threads to answer far more nightmarish questions than you're prepared for.
𖤐 | wc : 3k+
𖤐 | warnings : dead dove, satoru x reader detective au, slow burn partners to lovers, angst, graphic depictions of murder + autopsy, descriptive violence, death, main character death, brief mention of violence towards an animal (nothing graphic), drug use, torture, alcohol consumption, cigarettes, ritualistic/sacrilege elements, please be mindful of these warnings!!
𖤐 | a/n : a combination of my love for mystery thrillers, my mortuary sciences background, and how id be foaming at the mouth for a hot detective satoru <3 I hope you enjoy this lil prologue :3 ps smut in later chapters I promise I just wanted to get the setup finished
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RURAL EXTENSION HWY - MORNING
Red clouds, red sunrise. Giant, sweeping fingers of emberglow orange heralding another day and the particularly hellish scene waiting for you two in the forested clearing off the shoulder. Spires from the mountains jutting out of the earth like spears meant to impale heaven, all awash in early dawn ruby light. In hindsight, it was fitting, hell on earth to welcome you two into the most bizarre case you’d ever work together.
“Who found her?"
The deputy that greeted you was clearly jumpy, as evidenced by the way his voice cracked as he answered you. “Farmer and her son.”
“Keep ‘em here, and lets tape off this road, yeah?” you say, shielding your eyes from the rising sun.
Without another word the deputy kicks off into a light jog back the way you came towards the road, clearly eager to put as much distance between himself and whatever was waiting in the clearing.
Your instinct is to avert your eyes from the dark, slumped shape as it comes sharper into focus but you know Satoru is already on every detail as soon as it comes into his head. Try as either of you might, its impossible to not scrutinize. A necessary evil of the job.
The body was female, nude, posed kneeling over a large tree root. Some kind of crudely sourced crown on her head, seemingly fashioned from whatever the perpetrator found laying around although it was crafted with care. The crown wasn’t the oddest detail. A set of wings, like something from a Halloween set, were situated on her back. Looped around beneath her shoulders and spray painted black as pitch, folding downward, the tips barely brushing the earth. As Satoru snaps on a pair of latex gloves before kneeling down beside the girl you glance around, the scene was obviously important to whoever posed her there.
As you turn you catch something carved into a tree nearby, could be unrelated to the body but still, you stray from the immediate scene to get a better look, seeing that it’s actually a carefully carved circle with four swirling black arms that meet in the center.
Motioning to another uniform you direct her at the symbol to get photographs before making your way back to Satoru, snapping on an identical pair of latex gloves.
“Go ahead,” you gesture at him as you squat down beside him.
"You ever see anything like this?” he asks, despite already knowing the answer.
You had been partnered with him fresh off the detectives exam, and although you’d been working together for the better part of five years now you still knew very little about his personal life. Most of his personnel file from before your arrival was also heavily redacted.
“There’s a symbol carved over there,” you point, not bothering to confirm his question. “Likely connected but I’m not sure if it’s some wannabe satanic stuff or something unique. Techs on it though.”
“Tell me what you see.”
You center in on the body for the first time, absorbing every brutal detail.
“Ligature marks on the wrists, knees, and ankles. Stab wounds to the abdomen but they’re shallow, like he hesitated or didn’t intend for those to be killing wounds.” You stand now, circling her. “Hemorraging around the throat. Lividity at her sounders, thighs and torso. She was on her back a while before her moved her, posed her.”
The snap of camera shutters punctuates your observations as you raise a brow at Satoru. He always liked testing your skills at a scene, and it isn’t unappreciated. Partners should keep each other sharp, especially when one day you could be handed something like this.
“It’s gonna happen again, or it already happened before.” He spoke cryptically, making you shake your head.
“Ritualistic doesn’t always mean multiples.”
“Thats just it, look at it all together.” he turns to you, removing his gloves and speaking like hes had some sort of epiphany. “It’s ritualistic, fetishized iconography. This is a realized vision, and its not just the scene its her, too. Rugburns on the knees and receding gum lines. I’d bet shes a prostitute.”
You roll your eyes. “Gum disease means someones a prostitiue now? Don’t prejudice yourself before we even get an ID back.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.” He replies offhandedly, assured in his own assessment.
That trait of his always pissed you off in the beginning, misread as arrogance when really it’s that Satoru does have the ability to make better immediate connections and conclusions then your average investigator. It’s not unfounded confidence for him.
~
“I mean, this was some fucking satanic shit they caught. Girl had horns on her head.”
Bullpen chatter doesn’t usually grate on you, distract you so much, but today it’s prodding some hidden exposed nerve. Maybe residual funk from the scene, anything like that would sour someones mood for months. Just the same, it makes you rub the bridge of your nose as you feel the beginnings of a migrane.
“Coffee,” Saturn snaps you out of it, setting the mug of likely burnt roast down in front of you before moving to the whiteboard.
“Coroner’s reports up,” he chirps around a sip of coffee.
“ID come in yet?”
“No, it’s most likely she’s not gonna be in the system at this point.”
“Well, why don’t we see what Shoko has to say?”
Without another word you both set down your mugs, and you watch as he puts up photographs of the scene before getting ready to meet Shoko in the coroners office. It’s really no better in the harsh, fluorescent office lights. The photographs are as nauseating as the scene had been in the flesh, and as your eyes drift to the picture of that carved symbol you feel pressure building in your nose.
Great, sinus headache.
~
“She was washed clean, not a print on her. Marks at the wrists and ankles, bounds by half inch rope for possibly between ten and twenty hours. Bound upright, hadn’t eaten in a day, maybe longer. No evidence of intercourse and toxicology came back with hits for lysergic acid and amphetamines.”
“Crystal and LSD? How much LSD?” You ask.
“Hard to say without mass spec results, still waiting on those.” Shoko says, crossing her arms after handing you the autopsy report.
“So, drugged, tortured, killed, and then posed.” Satoru muses, more to himself than either of you.
“What about the crown and wings?” You ask, gesturing towards the evidence table.
“Well the “crown” is made of rose thorns and switchgrass wrapped around a branch. The horns glued on it are deer antler shards, again no prints on any of this stuff. The paint on the wings is standard acrylic base black.”
"Any idea what it means?” Satoru steps back into the conversation.
“No, it’s all primitive, like cave paintings. Maybe you should talk to an anthropologist?” Shoko shrugs, turning away to tend to a different file before speaking again.
“You two still owe me dinner for the last case. Rush jobs are not my specialty and I like to be thanked.”
You huff out a laugh. “Sure, I could bring takeout over. A bottle of wine maybe.”
“Satoru your partners one upping you.”
~
The next day you’re greeted with a newspaper hiding Satorus face, the headline in bold block lettering: Occult Murder on the Rise?.
“The occult? Great, we don’t know if this shit is anything but crazy and now the superintendent is gonna be paying attention to our every move.” You rub the bridge of your nose again, already battling a new migraine before it’s even nine o’clock. “Please tell me theres good news.”
“No positive ID, but I figured we should start showing the picture of her around, especially corners. See if we can get any bites.” He grabs a bottle of headache pills from inside his desk, tossing them at you with a grin. “Can’t have you whining the whole day.”
Shrugging on your jacket you slide the bottle in your pocket, sticking your tongue out at him as he grabs the keys and you two make your way out towards the parking lot. Sliding in against crackling leather seats your greeted with the familiar, almost comforting scent of old coffee and cigarettes. You know he doesn’t agree with your habit but after all this time has finally stopped badgering you about it.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” he asks as the engine turns over.
“I thought we agreed in the beginning that the car is a place for silent reflection?” You asked.
“That was because for the first year you wouldn’t stop trying to dictate notes on every word that came out of my mouth.”
“Hey I did not! And besides is it so bad to respect a superiors experience?”
“You make me sound ancient,” he laughs as you exit the lot, going towards the outskirts of town, rather than downtown.
“I thought you wanted to pound corners?” You ask, finding it odd he’d go the opposite direction.
“She wasn’t from anywhere near downtown.”
You don’t bother asking how he knows that.
The car passes an old, weathered billboard with a womans portrait on it. The text is still legible, although more grey than black now: HAVE YOU SEEN ME? NOBARA KUGASAKI 16 with a phone number listed below. A shiver runs down your spine and you turn the heat up in the car as the atmosphere outside turns gloomy the further you drive. Isolated fields, ramshackle homes, and stringy power lines are starkly set against the desolate valley scape and you’re both enveloped in a strangely tense silence.
“What should we bring to Shokos?”
“Hm? Oh, bottle of wine is probably fine. Odds are she’ll just toss whatever else you bring.”
~
The car rolls to a stop on the side of a particularly broken up road, what was once a nice residential street is nothing more than a pockmarked, half alive maw with broken down houses in more places than ones with any obvious occupants.
You wind up on the porch of one such occupied home, clearly a rarity here.
“Have you seen anything out of the ordinary the last few days?” Satoru asks a particularly wizend looking woman, her whisps of white hair catching in the light wind kicking up.
"No, no but uh- sometimes they hunt back there. They find a woman?”
“Yeah, a woman. If you recall anything please give me a call.” He hands her a card and you two make your way towards an older man thats clearly been spying from further down the road. As you approach he looks at you both in a hardened way you can’t quite place.
“Was it the Kugasaki girl?”
"Why do you ask?” you say, crossing your arms to meet him with equal suspicion.
“Don’t know. Went missing years back now, just figured it must be her if you all are back poking around here.”
“Who was she, that girl?”
“I don’t really know.”
“Her family around here?”
“Moved years back, after it all happened.” His words are harsh and you know now where his standoffishness comes from.
The two of you say your goodbyes, handing him another card with your number on it with the standard if you recall anything parting line. This place carries a heaviness and you’re not sure if it comes from the disappearance of that child or something deeper. You ruminate in silence as Satoru leads you towards what looks like an old church, probably the closest thing to a community center here.
Inside it’s clearly been restored more recently than the exterior, all heavy aged wood and the air is thick with years of candle smoke and sweat. A man is seated in the front, head bowed and in religious garb as you two approach. Clearing his throat Satoru shifts from one foot to the next, you’ve never seen him so… on edge.
“Oh you must be the detectives.” Neither of you bother to ask how he knows that, small places like this word travels faster than the breeze when suits start walking around asking questions.
"We are, just had some questions regarding a victim found the other day but before we get to that did you know the Kugasaki girl? The one that went missing.”
"Her family came to our services years back, six or so? Is it that girl you found?” He rises at that, clearly tense waiting for Satoru to speak.
“No sir, I’m sorry.”
“A shame then, I had hope- well, things happen in ways we don’t understand. Does what you’re investigating have anything to do with those dogs?”
Your curiosity is piqued instantly and you interject before Satoru can speak. “What dogs?”
“Two of them, someone butchered the poor things and laid them out behind the church. I called the police, sked for it to be investigated.”
“We aren’t those police sir.”
"Well then, who is?” he raises a brow back.
“Do any of these look familiar to you?” You change the subject, bringing out pictures of the crown and wings from the lab to hand him.
“No, although the weaved stuff looks like something old folks used to make here or there when I was a kid. Superstitious stuff, you know.”
“What is it exactly?”
“That I don’t know, like I said. Since you two are here would you please follow up on those dogs, it’s made people awfully nervous.”
~
LOCAL POLICE STATION
A photo of that missing girl sits on the wood table in front of you.
“That all you got?” Satoru questioned.
“It was six years ago,” the officer shrugs, setting down a small box that seems much too light for the disappearance of a young girl.
“Teenage girl goes missing and theres not any pressure on you?” He presses, an edge to his voice.
"Now hold on,” the officer raises a hand. “Our understanding was she just up and left. Maybe grabbed a train ride out of here after hitchhiking, who knows for sure. Mom and dads records are in there too, seems to me she was better off just running away, and what most folks won’t tell you is they believe it, too.”
"Department said you had another complaint around here a few months ago, little kid got chased through the woods?”
"I pulled it for you too, but I don’t know how much use you’ll have for that.”
You raise a brow, taking the file from him. “And why is that?”
"Boy said a monster chased him through the woods, sketch is in there.”
You pull out a sketch of some malformed humanoid beast, clearly done in a childs hand. “What the hell is this?”
“You wanna put out a call for that one go right ahead.” He snickers and walks out, leaving you two in the conference room.
“What a bust,” you grumble, thumbing through the barebones file on Nobara. Looks like that old man had reason to be prickly with you, local police couldn’t have cared less about what happened to this girl.
Satoru works with you to combe through the file and it’s not long before night settles in, and as you glace out the window you briefly cringe remembering you’re supposed to be over at Shokos place soon.
~
PRESENT DAY
Shoko Ieiri lights a cigarette inside an interrogation room, waving a hand flippantly when an interviewer tries to interject. “Yeah, I know I’m not supposed to why don’t you go tell someone about it?”
His lips form a thin, line frowning starkly as she takes a drag before a second officer clears his throat.
“So, did they show up for dinner at least?”
"Heh, yeah you could say. If you’re in the habit of having dinner at one am thats only a cheap bottle of screwtop wine. He could afford top shelf, that's what always got me.” she shakes her head, huffing a laugh and exhaling whisps of smoke.
"We know Satoru went off the rails a bit then, obsessed with that Kugasaki case.”
"Yeah, they both were. Just didn’t know until later that they’d found her out there in those woods. She was unrecognizable. Strangest thing though, her prints should’ve been in the system. Should’ve flagged from the beginning. That place didn’t help though, affected both of them. Weird vibes, you know?”
The fluorescent lights hum a steady rhythm as she shuts her eyes, takes one more drag before crushing it out in the dregs of a coffee mug.
"Well boys, speaking of, I’m going to make a little wine run.”
“Why don’t you hold off?”
She smirks. “Because all of this is supposed to be admissible, right? Well, why don’t you go do it for me then. Call it even for getting to pick my brain.”
She slides cash across the silver top of the tabel, raising a brow as if in challenge.
“Why is it so important?”
“Because it’s my day off, and half past noon. On my days off I get to drink, you’re not interrupting my routine.”
One officer reluctantly stands, pocketing the cash.
“I’d appreciate some speed on that, please.”
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zizz-asdf-re-r-o-u · 2 months
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Kuya- Is character developmentTM necessary?
(NOTE: I have not played every event nor watched all intimacy rooms. If anyone has additional info, please let me know!)
Soooo idk if anyone in NU Carnival tumblr also follows fanartists on twitter, but there was a lil bit of drama over some character criticism amongst some midsized fanartists (I say midsized cause they're moderately known in the English-speaking fandom, but MUCH smaller than more popular anime or kpop fanartists). And 2 things- I really like all the fanartists that were involved so I hope it doesn't become a long lasting fight. I know big fandoms can get in a lot of fanwars (coff kpop), and would hate to see how relatively mature NU Carnival has handled things, turn into fanwars over small stuff. Get fights over the gacha system pricing, sure, but not over opinionsTM on fictional characters. Anyways, that's a twitter problem. Tumblr fandoms, although they can get into fights too, the NU Carnival tumblr analysis people seem more chill and I haven't seen any public fanwars yet. But also there's also fewer people active on tumblr.
AAAANYWAYS. The point of this is my response to their arguments. Basically the discussion was over whether or not Kuya had any character development. And I say- with a cast of 12 lead-ish characters and not everyone getting the spotlight all the time, there will be some screentime sacrifices made. But I would also like to propose- is it absolutely necessary for EEEVERY character to get "character development"? And is it necessary for every character to get the SAME kind of "character development"?
Let's take a side tangent at Avatar the Last Airbender. Zuko is infamous as the poster child for character development. And while that works for Zuko's character, it would not be right for EVERY character to follow his pattern. Specifically for some characters such as Uncle Iroh. Or they deserve to have smaller scale or slower character development, such as Aang or Toph. I'm not saying Aang or Toph don't have character development, but they don't have the massive 360 changes that Zuko does. And that's because they don't need it!
Now let's move over to NU: Carnival. I'll bring up Garu/Karu first. I'm not sure if everyone realizes this yet, but Karu is probably the best character who is starting at the beginning/bottom of his character development arc. He's got lots of issues and none of it is solved yet. Their role is also being a victim of the plot- stuff has happened to Garu/Karu and they've got no agency yet. We can also predict that Karu is going to eventually lower down his walls, accept or overcome his trauma, mature from his delusions of grandeur, become actually powerful, and experience ~character development~. Garu doesn't have as many problems with Eiden or the rest of the clan, but he also lacks empowerment and maturity that he's been slowly building up since Eerie Escapade. For them, because they are starting their story completely unsolved and at the bottom of the barrel, "character development" is necessary- especially now that we have hints on how much of a victim they are of the plot (essence/gemstone experiments) and how crucial they might be to solving things. And that can't happen if they've still got amnesia and blacking out from trauma.
But what about Kuya, whose the point of this whole discussion? The 2 sides of the twitter argument were- Kuya has stopped progressing and is boring and a bitch vs Kuya actually has a lot of character development. How about another perspective? Well, let's take a look at where Kuya is starting and what role he plays. Realistically, he starts out being a villain archetype, he's Huey's former right hand man and super close to the lore. Half the time Kuya is saving the day or creating the chaos, and the other half of the time, he already knows the answer and is providing the exposition or mystery/backstory reveals, or has personal experience/connections with whatever mystery they're encountering.
"Development"-wise, he's the oldest character whose gone through the most changes over time, except in the past. Yeah he's a total bitch and still emotionally constipated. But he's been like this for 200, maybe 300 or 400+ years. In fact, he was worse 100-200 years ago. So what does this mean for present-day Kuya with Eiden's clan?
a) Kuya is not at the start of his character development and he does not need major character development, like Garu/Karu or Dante or Yakumo or Edmond. He has already done the bulk of his character development in the past, and is now changing very very veeeeeeeeeeeeery slowly simply due to time and he will keep changing at his own much slower pace than everyone else.
c) Kuya's main role is also the extremely powerful being who has answers to almost all the lore. Yeah, there's still a LOOOOT of things he doesn't know or learns along the way, but 90% of the time, he's so experienced and smart, he figures it out (except for the playing cards, which kickstarts his interest in Eiden). For example, figuring out the night crane in Silver Miracle or the Tanuki in mystic banquet or the time shenanigans in Astral Duo and he already knows whats going on in Frozen Echoes. (Rusted Nations is a bit hard to compare since it's mostly flashbacks to past Kuya). He's just so bored of knowing the answers, or being able to easily figure out the answers that he fucks around with people. Heck, there's a small possibility that, if Journey to a NU World is canon, that means Kuya is so OP he's basically Jobu Tupaki from EEAAO or Monika from DDLC, and he knows the actual game developers.
If we think about it in terms of gaming, Kuya has maxed out and finished the game. He is super powerful and has nowhere upwards to go. The only thing he can do now is doing Lost Relics, filling out the pokedex, sidequests, and exploring after game content. Or playing the sequel, which would be equivalent of universe hopping to Eiden's world. Another example- you've solved over 200 puzzles and the difficulty level never changes. Your character development was in puzzles 0-150, and when you encounter puzzle 201 but it's STILL that easy, eventually most people will get bored. That's what Kuya is like.
I don't have a fancy conclusion or anything, but yeah that's my thoughts. If anyone has corrections or their own interpretation, I'd love to hear it!
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inkyquince · 7 months
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Niki with gray streaks at his temples. Niki with crows feet lining his eyes. Niki, who got to expand his business beyond the photography, into being a man of the pictures. The prettiest pictures. Racks in more money than even his best photo shoots. 
characters. Niki. (Degrees of Lewdity)
cw. older niki being a pervert. legit wrote this while watching pearl and then x and had a flash of inspiration. nothing too bad, just niki being an older pervert, filming, its... hinted that its coerced but there's no words spoken. body worship. its HINTED niki is into musk lmao. anyway, this is for all yall very patient dol lads while i've been having a lil brain melt over miguel and then bg3 :3
Niki who still has his white stick balancing on the bow of his bottom lip, tongue stroking the end as he squints at one of his scuffed lenses. Sometimes he’s surrounded by people whose names he doesn’t care to know, shooting some boring scene that gets the old timer’s panties wet and peckers to stiffen. That’s for the crowd that likes the vanilla stuff. “Vanilla” he ruminates, watching the two women in animal masks ride that poor sod’s entire body. Yeah. This is the shit that gets sold at the checkout line in the grocery store. He prefers his other work. The type where he’s no longer surrounded by people fiddling with equipment and lousy actors rehearsing their lines. The type that brings him back to his younger years of filming in the quiet barn. 
His muses came and went. None of them lasted much longer than two months. Except his little assistant. Fuck, he never had one before, when all he needed was his camera and his own sharp eyes. Except he fucking pulled something in his back and had to lie on Harper’s examining table, listening to the doctor chastise him on not taking care of himself, his own blond hair flecked with grey too. 
So, he had you. Lift the heavier equipment, hand out shit so he didn’t have to. Then, when it was just the two of you? You stayed quiet when he needed it. Filled the silence when he needed it. Helped him… When he needed it. 
When the actors and actresses bored him, when the hopeful bright eyed thing getting paid to get fucked in the ass struggled to hold his attention, Niki goes looking for something real. The club, recording as people groped each other breathlessly. To the park, to catch the odd streaker. 
Then there’s something special. Stuff he doesn’t let himself indulge in too much. But when he had a block, where all of his shots look stilted and wrong, when nothing is coming together like it should do, he can’t help it. He needs something real, nothing like the acted out sex, or the lapdances, or anything. Nothing for an audience, but something just for him. 
Even he didn’t know how it started. 
Sharing a room for a good price, with you quietly cooking at the stove while Niki huffed and grumbled, looking at the extensive amount of filming he had to do the next day. He thinks you might have burned yourself. Maybe nicked yourself with a knife. Just a soft swear from under your breath had him looking up at you, his graying strands dipping into his eyes as he saw you in the way he was meant to. 
The lighting was perfect. You loose tank top showing just enough skin by your ribs. The pretty way you were wholly unaware of his gaze going from disinterested, soft, to sharp, intense. An artist who finally had a muse again. 
Without you noticing, Niki quietly resticks his white stick back into his mouth and gets up. Moving around behind you as you made sure the two of you ate that night. The radio whining out a tinny little song masked any sound made by his movements. 
You turned around to ask your boss if he wanted something to drink with his meal but stopped short, seeing his camera up and rolling. Pointed directly at you. Making the soft whirring noises as Nikki fiddled with the equipment a bit before looking straight at you. 
There were no words for you. Just his gaze, fixed on you, with the camera whirring. 
It was the first time you had ever been on the other hand of the lens. You always stayed by his side during the filming, fiddling with the audio equipment or going over the notes Niki had prepared. It felt like you were bare. Being captured exactly how Niki saw you in this moment. Immortalized. Seen. Even though you still had all your clothes on, you felt bare. Because of not how he currently saw you, but you knew in what way he wanted to see you. 
Niki’s expression didn’t change as you slowly raised your hands and slipped yourself free of your shirt. His eyes remained steely and glinting but behind his relaxed lips, just barely open, his teeth were biting through his lollipop stick, breaking it.
Soft, perfect nipples hardening in the cool air, perking right up under his gaze. It felt more real than anything else he filmed for a long while. All for him. His breathing kicked up as you watched him right back, quietly seeking his approving gaze as you slowly dragged a hand over your chest, pressing your fingers down into your skin. It looked so soft, so easy and malleable for his tongue to ruin it with bruises and bites. He noticed the blemishes on your skin, everything that made you imperfect, but real. Nothing fake, not like his other productions with the actors. He knew you wouldn’t force your moans for him. Niki knew he caught you unawares, so you hadn’t had time to spend the last hour shaving your pubes, or shower after a long day of hauling things for him.  Authentic. Saliva pooled on his tongue. 
With a little jerk of his head, he motioned at your shorts, necessary in the cloying heat. Your chest hitched with a shuddering breath and Niki’s dry lips curled into a smile at long last. Nervous. Unaware. Shy. Real. 
So, your shorts pooled around your ankles, which you kicked to the side. Underwear was still on, but he could see everything, outlined perfectly. You motioned to slip those off but Niki shook his head. He made a circular motion with his finger and you flushed. A bit clumsy, almost slipping on the discarded shorts, you slowly did a charming little pirouette, leg lifted. He chuckled and then made his particular motion for you to bend over for him. 
Underwear snug against your body, he made sure to zoom in to where your hole would be. Waiting. 
You heard the click of the camera turning off before you heard Niki’s voice. 
“That's enough. We’ll get up early tomorrow morning.” 
You stood there, stock still for a moment, face too hot before scrambling for your clothes, almost mortified by what just happened. It felt like a snub. It wasn’t, but it felt like one. You expected the next day to be full of filming the cute cow-girls with tits too big for them to know what to do with, but Niki didn’t head towards the farm, instead driving out to the farmlands and hiking to the coast. 
He filmed you swimming. Sunbathing. Just existing as if you weren’t being paid by the hour for this. 
It wasn’t always like that. Niki still filmed other things, with his hand slowly rubbing circles into inner thigh as the camera rolled. The longer time passed in between your private shoots, the more times you caught him watching you during the shoots, eyes seeking out skin. 
Your personal shoots became lewder. Niki wanting to capture every inch of skin, as you invited him in, both his attention and his camera. 
Older Niki, having his personal assistant double as his muse. He’s twice their age, with gray streaking his temples. He grits his teeth when younger men chat you up. He grinds them when you can’t come around in the evening, just to pose for him. Lie there for him, naked and sinful and good. Forced to watch some of your films instead. Niki and his favorite muse. 
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apocalypse-shuffle · 6 months
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DICK GRAYSON | NIGHTWING (young justice animated)
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“Intruder Alert” (Dick Grayson x Gn!Reader)
| Dick sneaks into your apartment after a rough night and the two of you end up scaring each other.
| SFW, false scare, reader has a panic attack, wound care
| Not canon complaint. (pic source: Young Justice animated series)
| 600+ words
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When you walk into your apartment you allow yourself exactly two seconds of unease before inching your way right back out.
You might not be Bat levels of paranoid but you still hung around them enough to have picked up on a few things, however subconsciously.
Like the faint sound fabric makes when rubbed against and to stop and listen before you enter a room for breathing.
You feel kind of stupid not bothering to close the door. You’d already given yourself away with your key in the lock though, there was no need to do any more damage and let the possible intruder know that you were onto them so quickly.
You’ve carried yourself in a near daze down two flights of stairs before you remember you’re supposed to be calling someone. For a second something in you seizes up with the sting of humiliation as you tap on the saved name in your contacts, but you shove it off. You’d rather this be a false alarm and look a little foolish than you ignore what you picked up on and end up dead.
As you make your way to the lobby one step after the other the stairs that when you first started we’re perfectly clear are now blurry. Clearly the person hadn’t attacked you the moment the door opened so it wasn’t a rushed hit. So what the hell did you do to earn a calculated hit, one that wouldn’t happen until the door was closed and you felt safe?
You wipe at your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the blurriness but it doesn’t work. Jesus what the hell was going on?
Dick picks up on the fourth ring.
“Hey,” he says, voice tight. “I was just about to call you. What a coincidence.”
The way he says it doesn’t make it sound like a fun coincidence. You feel decidedly not fun right now though as you’re forced to stop when your legs buckle under you. You have to lean against the railing to stay on your feet.
Were you drugged? Did you release some type of gas into your system when you opened your door?
“Y/n, hey babe can you hear me! Where are you?”
“Um- I’m in the….is this line secure?”
“Of course.”
“I’m in the stairwell of my place. Third floor I think?”
“….oh?”
“Yeah. I opened my door and something was off so I left like you told me to do.”
Another longer pause before a muffled ‘shit’ and then: “…hold on I’m coming to get you.”
Turns out Dick had simply - though you didn’t see what was simple about him breaking into your 6th floor apartment with a sword wound - been in your place before you got there. You’d thought he was an intruder, and him the same of you, and you’d both freaked yourselves out in the process.
And now he’s pretzeled beside you examining the slash on his thigh, Nightwing suit laying behind him on the back of the couch with the medical kit unearthed from under your bathroom sink.
“Way to follow your instincts back there,” he’s saying. You only hum in acknowledgment, more caught up on the slash running along his calf and the way he’s bleeding all over one of your good towels.
“Why are your calves or thighs always fucked up when you come to me?”
Dick shrugs, makes a noncommittal sound. “I lead with my legs.”
“Mhm,” you cut him a look. “I like the way you almost gave me a panic attack by the way.”
He looks up at you then, blue eyes flashing with no small amount of embarrassment.
“I did not do that on purpose!”
NOTES: Short and to the point, Hope you enjoyed!!
I had to post something before the month ended so ta-da! This was really just me playing around with writing Dick on his own (more so with his YJ animated characterization) than anything.
btw: this is quite a short story, I know, but you can still write a lil comment if you want to.
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poketnife69 · 1 year
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Yooo, if you're still taking requests, can i aks for a headcanon with Vincent, Brahms, Hannibal and Thomas, where their fem S/O is like Morticia Addams, a lil sadistic, independent, gothic woman who obviously emanates Girlboss energy!
Thanks for your attention and....drink water!!!!
Slashers x fem!reader who's like Morticia Addams
Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire, Hannibal Lecter and Thomas Hewitt
WARNINGS : Mentions of murder(?), mentions of turning people into wax firgures.
NOTE : Sorry if this doesn't seem good, my brain couldn't function properly due to the lack of sleep I'm getting 💀 so I'm gonna make a new rule which is that I will not be making fanfics or taking requests during the weekends, so that I can freshen up a bit and get some rest.
Also, I MIGHT add the grabber to my list of characters and make fanfics for male readers as well, who knows?
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Vincent Sinclair
- Vincent didn't know if it was love at first sight, but all he knew is that the moment he walked into the house of wax and had this dark aura he somehow stopped breathing.
- The only thing that was on his mind was how beautiful you were.
- He tries to convince Bo not to kill you
- You and Lester get along so well, whenever he would stop by and visit Ambrose he would show you some of the raindeers and other animals he's killed
- He might have given you a raindeers head as a gift of appreciation too
- Though when it comes to Bo, you two aren't really on the best of terms, only because he doesn't trust you and that you intimidate him a lot. But despite being an ass to you he does see how happy you make vincent.
- Not like he'd admit it
- Whenever some unlucky tourists come by in the empty town of Ambrose they would often comment on your style choice.
- Of course, Vincent wouldn't have allowed this but when you spoke back at that person, he couldve sworn that they almost pissed their pants. He thinks your a badass and hot
- He still kills them afterward, but instead of making them into wax, he gives them to Lester so that he could dump their bodies in the road pit. He thinks their undeserving of becoming one of their wax sculptures.
- You would often hang with Vincent down in the basement admiring him from afar while he turns his victims into wax sculptures
- He would paint something very dark or sculpt a small wax creature and give them to you
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Brahms Heelshire
- The Heelshires had hired you to become a doll's nanny, now if it were anyone they would have freaked out and autopilot to the front door of their mansion.
- But not you though, you didn't see any reason to be creeped out by it. In fact, you were delighted to watch over the porcelain doll.
- Brahms had been watching you through the walls the entire time, and he instantly went head over heels for you.
- Eventually, he showed himself to you while you were reading a book to the doll. He was quite surprised when you patted the space next to you telling him to sit right beside you, like all the other nannies he expected you to fear him, and feel disgusted just by the mere look of him.
- But you welcomed him with open arms.
- But be warned, he's gonna be VERY clingy to the point where you can't get any space or alone time. Not like you had any privacy from the start
- Plus we all know the man reaks, and he's gonna demand cuddles.
- Please dress him up in something dark and gothic! He just loves your unique style so much that he wants to dress up just like you ( maybe even impress you 😏 )
- He honestly thinks you're so pretty! He also admired how independent you are, he knows that you can't depend on him most of the time, especially in his state ( him being a full-grown man and having the mind of a child due to him being kept in the walls by his parents for so long )
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Hannibal Lecter
- Let's just pretend that you met Hannibal at a grocery store-
- You seemed to catch his attention very easily, a woman in all dark and gothic style, and looks that could kill, in the middle of a cereal aisle was one of the highlights of his day.
- Everyone else seems to be avoiding you as if you were some sort of different entity, it was sort of amusing yet quite rude of people for thinking you differently. Hannibal approached you and introduced himself to you.
- After a little bit of chit chat he asked if you could join him for dinner, which was weird because you both had just met each other, but then again that was the purpose of having dinner.. To get to know each other better.
- You arrived a few minutes earlier which pleased him, he guided you to the dining room and pushed your chair for you. He enjoyed your company as well as conversing with you, eventually, you two finished your meals.
- And if your gonna ask if he fed you human meat that's for you to decide-🗿
- You didn't know how it happened but things sort of got... heated, which led you to wake up with him next to you. It's safe to say that after the whole encounter he would invite you for dinner every day and eventually you two ended up together.
- Now when you two are already in a relationship expect to receive a TON of gifts from this man.
- Like cmon he's rich what else did you expect, gift giving is probably his love language too.
- He'd buy the finest clothing that matches your style, some old and dark antique that would fit the vibe at your home, maybe even bring you to an opera that you like.
- Now when it comes to his 'habits' he won't let you know nor does he plan to, but if you do find out and join him in his activities then he'd just be over the moon.
- He is going to protect you with all his life no matter the cause, yes he knows you are independent and capable of managing yourself but honey please let him care for you- ❤️
- Overall it's a 10/10 when it comes to Hannibal
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Thomas Hewitt
- The first time he met you was at Luda Mae's shop
- He found you... Quite odd... But not in a rude way!
- It's just the fact that you're wearing so much black under this heat it concerns him.
- Though that didn't stop him from falling for you. And in the end, you two ended up together.
- At first, he was against the idea of you being in the basement, he didn't want you to witness all the things Thomas does to their victims thinking that it'll drive you further away from him.
- But you somehow find enjoyment in it-??
- He just lets you watch from the sidelines instead, you smile the entire time as one of the victims started crying and screaming.
- He's so shy and nervous around you! Even when you're both already a thing he still finds it hard to be affectionate with you! You tease him about it making him blush even more.
- But oh boy... If anyone dared to insult you..
- This man had lived his whole life being judged by others because of his looks, but if anyone peeped a word that may seem disrespectful, or spared a judgment look your way?..
- Let's just say that dinner will be served a little earlier.
- Though he wouldn't have any problem with that, you seem to manage the situation very well judging by the way people looked away whenever you'd pass by.
- No one would dare mess with you
- They all knew that including Hoyt, and that's what Thomas likes.
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TAGLIST :
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chronicbeans · 1 year
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I LOBE U SM LITERALLY YOU INCREASE MY MOOD HORMONES ( seratonin n oxytonin if ur wondering ) WHAT ABT WALLY N THE GANG WITH A COLLEGE OR HIGHSCHOOL READER (platonic fr fr) AND THEY'RE CURIOUS ABT THEIR HW ??
" what's the Pascal's triangle? SOCAHTAH? what's that? "
" literally satan's children idk what to tell you "
and the reader becomes their lil teacher idk abt human things 🥰🥰🥰
thx lizard 🦎🦎
Omg this is so cool! Thank you so much I am so glad I could make you happy by doing something as small as writing fanfiction!
Just a quick heads up, I feel like my high school experience was probably a bit different than most people's, because I took a health/medical career center. Basically, I only had three core classes at the end of the day with the morning ones all being taken up by my health/medical class. So, because I am basing this off of my experience (due to it being all I know), it might be a bit strange to most who didn't take a career center!
Wally and the Gang with a High School Student Reader (Platonic fr fr)
📖 So, you somehow ended up getting the Welcome Home gang involved with your school work. Now they keep you up all night asking you what a "Bermuda Triangle", "War", and even what a "Demand Curve" is.
📖 You better hope that they don't find any of your anatomy or biology homework or textbooks. The thought of them asking absolutely ANYTHING involving those topics is humiliating on its own! You don't want to end up explaining the human body to a small little puppet. Or big dog puppet. Or ANY puppet!
📖 Once, Wally had asked you what "these" were while pointing to a picture in your medical book that showed the organ systems. When you explained, halfheartedly, about how they kept you alive and were inside of your body, his pupils just dilated. Right as you turned around to go back to your homework, you were horrified when his first question was "I wanna see them! How can I see them?"
📖 Frank will be interested in your science books, especially if they include stuff about ecosystems. He knows butterflies are in there, somewhere, because some of the pictures include them. Mostly very low on some big chain. When you explain about how that is a food chain, you are shocked to see him cry for the first time about how his butterflies are being eaten. Apparently the books in Welcome Home never told him that. Then again, the show never included any animals besides insects and the animal neighbors as far as you remember.
📖 Sally wants to know more about this "Shakespeare" guy your English class keeps talking about. He made plays, right? He must be a pretty swell guy! Can she meet him? Oh! And can you teach her more about the planets and solar system?
📖 Basically, every neighbor will have a specific subject they show interest in. Sally, Barnaby, and Eddie will love English. Howdy would like math, simply because he has no idea how this "money stuff" works or why it is so important. Poppy and Julie will like home economics, Poppy for the food science and Julie for the clothing. Home would also like home economics because they are literally a Home. Frank likes science, specifically for the animals and butterflies. Wally would love anatomy and any medical classes because he wants to learn more about YOU.
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mechamedusa · 1 year
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BAKUGOU x FEM!READER
♫ ⏯︎ Kiss - Lil Peep
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☆IT’S A PARTY! REQUEST EVENT | MASTERLIST
BAKUGOU (BNHA) x CLUB [+SPIT PLAY]
REQUESTED BY ☆ @kaidabakugou
LENGTH ☆ 4.4k
CONTAINS ☆ NSFW! Toxic relationship (mention of arguments, verbal abuse, violent outbursts), so much angst, alcohol mentions, jealousy, dubcon (intoxication), car sex, hate sex / makeup sex mixture, possessiveness, marking, spit play, light degradation, reader fantasizes about beating up another girl
AN ☆ Ty for requesting this!! This ended up being very different from what I originally intended to write, but it was very cathartic! This explores some of the nuances of toxic relationships, and if that would bother or trigger anyone then I suggest skipping this. That being said, I’m sorry this ended up being so angsty, I honestly have nothing to say for myself lol. I hope it’s still a good read, and that you enjoy! <3
“One more chance baby gimme a kiss, you got one more chance at a night like this…”
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Running into your ex at the club was probably the worst thing that could’ve happened tonight.
But there he is, standing next to the bar with his signature grimace on his face, jaw flexing in anger every time some drunk person bumps into him, or squeals too loud near him, or, hell, even so much as breathes the wrong way in his direction. Katsuki Bakugou, your fucking ex boyfriend, is here. At the club. Even though he hates clubs. 
You know very well how much he hates clubs, so much so that it had ended up on the ‘cons’ side of the ‘Katsuki pros and cons’ list you had made with your girls after you broke up. You had actually scrawled down ‘hates having fun’ but you knew what it meant. That little entry in your list had sat right between ‘might be fucking his best friend’ and a big, all-caps, double underlined ‘anger management issues’. The list and every one of its bullet points are still very fresh in your mind. 
So, only a month after forcing yourself to finally break it off with Katsuki, and only about two hours into allowing your friends to drag you out to start your “hoe phase”, you are locking eyes with your ex from across the bar.
All things considered, the look on his face when his gaze finally meets yours is priceless. You probably should’ve made a run for the nearest exit as soon as you’d spotted him, but there has always been something amusing about watching him from across the room. His perpetually pissed off expression sometimes punctuated by a composing deep breath, or a sudden square of his shoulders, or a pointed scowl when somebody turns to address him — it’s always been funny to watch, endearing even. 
But back when you were together and he’d catch you staring like this, his expression would soften, as if he’d finally found what he needed to relax, to soothe the agitated thing that always seems to be trying to claw its way out of his chest. And that does happen this time, but only for a moment. Sharp carmine finds you and the edges soften for a split second before realization hits, and then Katsuki is gritting his teeth so hard you think they may crack. 
And that’s only funny to you because your break up had not been exactly… amicable. Plus, you’re a few drinks deep. You might as well find something entertaining about the situation. 
You smirk at him, reveling in the movement of his jaw as he angrily grinds his teeth. A shot is suddenly shoved into his hands by one of his friends (Sero, you realize) and, without breaking eye contact with you, he downs it. The ice in your glass clinks lightly when you raise it towards him in a sarcastic toast, and then he’s snatching another shot from Kaminari’s hand and mimicking you. You both throw your drinks back, and a burning pain spreads in your chest – something more than just alcohol bubbling there. 
Fuck Katsuki, is all you can think. Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him. 
Why is he even here? He never liked going dancing with you when you were dating and now, suddenly, he’s a fucking party animal? On the night that you’re supposed to be out having fun and forgetting about him? It’s like he’s always on a mission to piss you off. You’re not going to let him ruin your night – fuck that. In fact, you’re going to have some fun. 
Running into your ex at the club was probably the worst thing that could’ve happened tonight. Deciding, in your riled-up drunken state, to do everything in your power to make him jealous was definitely a close second.
The thing about you is, you love playing with fire. That’s why you liked Katsuki in the first place – the unbridled passion, the way you could make it flare if you added just the right kindling. The intensity of it all was fun and sexy, and intoxicating. But the other thing about you that you hadn’t realized before, is that you and Katsuki are very similar. So somehow you were both the kerosene and the match, and so was he, and there was always an open flame between you. 
The moment the two of you came together was an explosion, and even though it burst bright and hot in your connection and your love and your sex, it was a volatile eruption in your arguments. One explosive screaming match after the other slowly chipped away at both of your sanity – until a real explosion, one that blasted a small hole into the wall of his apartment just inches from your head, brought everything crashing down.
And even though you know you shouldn’t, you’re once again playing with fire, the way you love to do.
Rolling your hips back, you grind seductively on the man you’ve chosen as your plaything for the night. Not knowing that you’re currently dangling him in front of an actual wolf, the man pushes back against you, leaning down to say something in your ear that you can’t quite hear over the bump of music. You sip on the drink he’d bought you and glance over to where Katsuki is currently staring holes into you. 
Mouth set hard into a thin line, eyes piercing and blood red, he watches. Watches you shake your ass on another man in your tight little dress, watches you provocatively lick at the sugared rim of a drink another man bought you, watches you giggle and run your fingertips along another man’s forearm as he wraps himself around you. Katsuki doesn’t think he’s ever felt so jealous, so furious, so utterly beside himself as he does right now.
And yet, his jeans are getting tighter.
His friends had given up on distracting him already, Kaminari and Sero opting to just keep refilling his cup at their table while Kirishima stands by nervously, ready to either do blow-up damage control or carry his buddy out of the club (whichever happens to come first). But now they’ve all had their attention stolen by the group of girls that have invaded their table and are flirting shamelessly with the young heroes.
Suddenly, Katsuki realizes one of those girls is talking to him and his focus snaps away from you.
“What?”
The girl smiles, leaning forward more and giving him a perfect view down her top. “I was just pointing out that your drink’s empty.”
“So?”
“So,” she laughs good naturedly, “I was gonna refill it for you. If you want.”
His brow furrows, the booze already swirling in his brain like a vat of heavy molasses. Before, when he was laser-focused on you and drowning in his own fury, he hadn't noticed just how drunk he was. Now that he’s been pulled back to reality, everything seems a bit more warped. But even in his state he can tell that the girl is hot, and she’s definitely eye-fucking him. 
Well, if you’re going to play dirty then he’s going to get filthy.
The next time you look over, bile rises in your throat. Your line of sight to your fuming ex boyfriend is now obscured by a body. A girl's body, in a barely-there form fitting outfit, perched on his lap with her arms hanging around his neck. One of his hands rests on her thigh, and the other moves to sweep her hair away from her ear, his chin tilting up to say something in it. She giggles, and a sly smile pulls at the corner of his mouth as his eyes slide over to you.
You should be able to handle this — this was a game you started, after all. But you just can’t. The heat rising to your face threatens to melt you down to the bone. 
Another girl, sitting on Katsuki’s lap. Her pretty, painted face smiling down at him. Her hips wiggling against his crotch. Her small hand swatting playfully at his chest. 
You want to scream, throw your drink, pluck the girl from his lap by her hair and crack your fist into her cute little nose. You want to feel the sick crunch of the bone breaking against your knuckles and keep going until the blood is running down her neck and staining the edge of her top. You want to feel her wriggling between your thighs as you straddle her, arms reeling back and shooting down on their own to make contact with her face over and over until your hand aches. You want to feel Katsuki’s strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you off of her while you kick and scratch and make a scene. You want to make a scene. 
You want to make a scene.
But you don’t. Instead, you turn on your heel, slam your glass down on the first surface you pass, and throw a side door open with a bang. 
The cold night air feels like nothing against the burning heat of your skin. Your heels click furiously against the concrete, rage carrying your feet towards where your car is parked. Images flash in your mind; Katsuki’s hand grazing the girl’s bare thigh, his neck adorned with her arms, his lips inching closer to her jawline. 
A hand wrapping around your wrist wrenches you from your thoughts, and you whirl around, pulling sharply away from the touch. 
“Holy shit, relax! Where are you going?!”
The man you had been dancing with all night puts his hands up in surrender, eyes wide with confusion. You huff, turning back around to continue on your path, mumbling about going home.
He grabs at your wrist again, this time with more force.
“We were having fun and now you’re just leaving?! Did I do something wrong?”
You try to pull your arm away again, but he doesn’t let go this time, his grip painfully tight as he pulls you towards him. 
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, I just need to leave. Let me go!”
“Well, let me drive you home or –”
“No! Fuck, let go of me!”
You push at his hand, panic beginning to set in as you struggle against him. This man is much bigger than you, looming over you, the smell of alcohol invading your senses the closer he gets. His confused expression twists into anger the more you try to pull away, and the heat you previously felt suddenly dissipates, replaced by an icy fear pricking at your skin. 
“This some kinda fucking joke?! You’ve been rubbing on my dick all night, I bought you like two drinks! You can’t just –”
“HEY!”
Bodies move against each other in a flurry of colors, the force of the man’s hand being suddenly pulled away making you stumble forward. You hear the thump of a body against concrete followed by a strangled cry. Regaining your balance, you’re finally able to look up.
Katsuki has the man pressed against the wall, his arm twisted painfully and pinned behind his back, his face smashed into the concrete.
“Jesus, bro, you can have her–”
“Shut the fuck up before I break your arm!”
He leans in to continue, voice low and full of grit. “Touch her again and I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”
Katsuki pushes the man’s face hard into the wall once more for emphasis, then releases him, stalking back. The man rubs at his cheek, eyes darting between you two, who are both staring back at him quietly like a pair of street dogs assessing a threat, prepared to bite. He finally backs away on shaky legs, grumbling something about how you both are ‘fuckin crazy’, and turns to retreat. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and Katsuki turns his face to you, eyes ablaze, forcing you back into the reality of the moment.
You glare at him, and he glares back at you. You turn to leave, and, of course, he follows.
Katsuki is close behind as you stomp around another corner, your car keys indenting rigid shapes into your palm with how tightly you’re gripping them. The clack of your heels and the thud of his boots intermingle with your raised voices, filling the night with the sounds of your mutual disdain.
“Just leave me the fuck alone, Katsuki!”
“Oh yeah,” he barks back, “‘cause that was going so fuckin’ well for you!”
“I can handle myself!” 
He laughs, loud and humorless. “Bullshit! Unless you call actin’ like a fuckin’ whore ‘handling yourself’, then I guess you’re a pro!”
“And what the fuck do you call what you were doing?!” You yell, throat burning from the strain, “Had that bitch on your lap to ask what she wants for Christmas or–”
“You started that shit! You mad that I beat you at your own game?!”
Finally reaching your car, you turn, glowering up at Katsuki as he stops in his tracks right in front of you. 
This isn’t the first time you’ve seen this – Katsuki’s rage directed at you. This isn’t the first time he’s seethed down at you, practically steaming in the cold night air. It’s not the first time you’ve watched him curl a lip up at you in disgust, felt the sting of his insults. You know this picture so well – the jump of his jaw muscles, the twitch of his brow, the flare of his nostrils, the hatred in his eyes. You know that he’ll suck his teeth at you, and you know that he’ll rake his hands through his hair and tug hard at his own scalp. 
You also know, sometimes, he’ll throw a punch at a wall in a fit of rage, and the blast will leave your ears ringing for days. 
You know his anger as well as you know every other part of him. And something sick inside you feels comfort in seeing the familiar grotesqueness of it, as opposed to seeing nothing at all. 
You wonder if he thinks the same about you, about all your tells, and all your vile words, and all the ways you twist into something hideous in these moments. You wonder if he feels the same about you – hopeless in loving this ugly in you.
You want to ask him all of these things, want to reach out and touch him tenderly and just ask, but instead you bare your teeth at him and say,
“Fuck you.”
Katsuki’s lip curls up, eyes alight and piercing. “Fuck me, huh?”
You match his gaze, chin jutting up at him defiantly.
“Yeah, fuck you. You’re an emotionally stunted, violent asshole. And I’m done with you.”
“That’s how you really feel, huh? That’s what you think?”
You narrow your eyes at him, refusing to answer. Knowing the answer, but unable to say anything that isn’t full of malice.
“You know what I think?” He continues, voice caustic, “I think you’re just a fuckin’ attention whore. This the attention you wanted, huh?” He moves forward, and you step back, his hulking frame casting a shadow down on you as he backs you into the side of your car. 
“Or you want attention like that guy was givin’ you back there? Should I give you–” A muted thud as he plants his hands onto your car on either side of you, muscular arms trapping you between them. “—this kind of attention?”
The cold of the metal seeps through the thin fabric of your dress and sends a shiver up your spine. Katsuki’s eyes bore down into you, intensely hot — burning with anger, and something else that smolders.
Longing.
He looks beautiful like this, you think, face lit by the moon and fierce with his contempt for you. Even with his face painted by all his ugly emotions, he’s still porcelain underneath. Pretty and perfect.
His voice is lower, huskier when he continues. “And I don’t think you’re really done with me. Are you?”
XXX
The metal frame of your car rocks and squeaks in the night. Condensation fogs the windows, the heat inside thick and stifling like a weighted blanket. The heat on your bodies is even thicker, stickier. Burning hands roam over one another and searing kisses press into each other’s skin, like you’re trying to brand each other. Leave your marks, make sure neither of you can forget.
“Seems like you missed me.” 
Rough fingers dig into your hips, grinding you down on him, forcing small whimpers from you each time his cock presses deeper into you.
“Shut up,” you hiss, trying your best to keep your tone icy. It’s hard to stay angry when he’s touching you like this, maneuvering you with his strong hands, sucking and biting at your chest the way he knows you like. Leaving bruises there for you to press your thumbs into later. 
A hand snakes up your back until it finds the base of your skull. His fingers swim in the hair there before gripping hard, sending a jolt of pain down your spine as he yanks your head back and snarls into your throat. 
“Say it. Tell me how much you missed me.”
“Fuck you — ah!” A well-timed rut of his hips sends pleasure shooting through you, pushing a moan from you that fills the space of the car like a ringing bell — a bell that signals to the fact that you’re all his, that despite how much you know you shouldn’t, you love the feel of him. You need it like a drug.
He starts moving faster, hot hands groping at the fat of your ass and spreading you open wide as he bullies himself inside you. Your head falls back, mouth agape, face flushed — a sight Katsuki wants to commit to memory, keep all for himself. 
“This pussy belongs to me,” he growls as he fucks up into you, brain clouded with a wild possessiveness.
Your gaze comes back to meet his. His eyes are dark, animalistic, watching you intently, drinking up your expressions. You want this to be yours too, all of his attention, all of his desire — yours, yours, yours.
“Then this cock belongs to me,” you counter, hand coming up to grip his jaw tightly between your fingers. 
“Yeah?” 
You both feel it – the toxicity that bubbles up between you. It makes your heads reel, gets you both higher than you’ve ever been. You want to drink it up, feel it burn at your throat and dissolve the muscle there, want to let the fumes consume and suffocate you.
All his pain, and anger, every virulent thing that eats him up inside, you want to taste it, want him to spit it into your open mouth. And you want to do the same to him, make him swallow it so he can hurt too.
Your thumb brushes along his bottom lip, kiss-bitten and pretty. You encourage his parted lips to open wider, wider with the pad of your thumb.
And then you gather your spit, all that poison swirling in your mouth, and purse your lips. You let it drop, long and sticky and bubbling, onto his waiting tongue. 
“Fuck,” he breathes, and then his lips are crashing into yours again, messy and hungry, hips smacking harder against yours as he plunges his cock into you from below. 
Your tongues explore each other feverishly, swapping spit between you, so much it coats your lips and chin until you're both slippery. Katsuki breaks away and grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips are pushed open. “Open wide.”
You obey, tongue coming out in anticipation as you open as far as you can, and you watch his cheeks suck in and his chest rise, readying himself. He spits, hard, into your mouth – so forceful that some splatters on your lips and cheek.
Letting his glob of spit mingle in your mouth, you lean back, hand coming down behind you to brace yourself on the center console. Katsuki watches, stilling his movements as you raise your hips up. His thick cock slides out of you part way, glistening with your juices, splitting your pussy apart around it. 
Keeping your eyes on where you’re connected, you crane your neck down. And then you push out all of the liquid in your mouth, your spit and his, warm and mixed together on your tongue. It falls in a steady flow down onto your clit, glittering in the light. It drips, drips, drips, until it’s rolling through your folds and down the length of his cock, gathering in the mess of blonde curls at the base and traveling down his balls onto the leather seats.
‘Ravenous’ is the only way to describe how he fucks you after that, his strong hand wrapped tightly around your throat and keeping you leaned back against the console, feet planted firmly to the floor so he can fuck up into you hard and fast. His hips go at a brutal pace, snapping into you and making your whole body bounce from the contact.
The feel of your silken walls gripping around his cock, your wetness soaking him and spreading in sticky strands every time he pulls out, the jiggle of your tits and stomach and thighs each time he thrusts back in – it’s all so good, too good. Katsuki knows he’s going to cum soon, can feel his balls tightening up against him, but he needs you to make more of a mess first. 
The hand around your throat trails down your torso, squeezing roughly at your tits before coming to rest between your legs. He thumbs at your clit, rubbing circles into it, slipping easily over the swollen nub with all the slick coating you both. The stimulation is delicious, the knot in your core winding tighter until it’s threatening to break. 
“This is where you belong, bouncing on my cock, makin’ a mess just for me.” He’s grunting, voice breaking with his movements.
Strangled moans are forced out of you as your eyes squeeze shut, his filthy words mixing with the pleasure in your brain and sending you closer to the edge.
“Fuck, look at you, such a slut for me, just for me.” He smacks your ass then grabs it hard, the heat of his hand leaving the skin red. “Right? Say it, say it’s just for me!”
“I-it’s just for — oh god!”
He pinches your clit harshly. “Say it! Always runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth, I know you know how to use your words!”
You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes — from the pleasure or the pain, you’re not entirely sure. “Just for you, Kats,” you manage shrilly, “it’s just for you!” 
“Damn right it is, good girl,” he growls, a low rumble of praise that makes your cunt clench — just like he knew it would.
“Need you to cum on my dick, baby. Fuck yeah, make a mess on it, show me this pussy is mine. All mine.”
Like everything between you, your release is a fiery blast — white-hot and overwhelming, turning you into the image of destruction. Your hair sticking to your forehead, your body arching back, your makeup smearing across your face, you cum. You cum so hard for him that it makes your legs shake, but Katsuki doesn’t stop. He pounds into you harder, reveling in the way you fall apart for him.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy you,” he tells you, so low and gravelly that you wonder if it’s even for you, “gonna pump you so full of my cum, ruin you so nobody else will ever even want you.”
It’s wrong, but you want that. You want that so bad, for him to lay his claim on you in the worst way. It’s not love, you know that somewhere deep down, but it’s the most intoxicating kind of infatuation. The kind that wants to possess, hold so tight it leaves bruises, digs its nails in so roughly it leaves scars. You want him to wrap you up so tightly in him that you crumble. Make you so full of him that you burst.
You tell him how you want it, you want to feel him again. You want all of his cum, every last fucking drop.
“Fill me up, fill me up, fill me up. Wanna be full of you.”
“Gonna give it all to you, baby,” his voice cracks, face screwing up with pleasure, “it’s all yours, all yours — fuckfuckfuck—”
It’s impossibly hot — his hands squeezing too hard, his cock buried to the hilt, the cum that spurts out — always impossibly hot. His touch sears your skin, and yet you never want the pain to end.
With his head fallen back on his shoulders, hands squeezing absently at your hips, Katsuki pulses inside you. Thick lashes flutter against his cheeks, broad chest rising and falling with each ragged, fucked out breath. Your hand comes up to stroke his face softly, brushing away the hair that’s stuck there. His eyes finally flutter open at the touch.
“I love you,” you tell him.
His eyes search your face for a moment, quietly scrutinizing in that way that he does. Finally, he tells you, “I love you, too.” 
He pulls you into him, and you rest your cheek on his chest, not minding the dampness of it, enjoying the sharpness of burnt sugar in your sinuses.
It’s not love. You know that somewhere deep down. But, in this moment, it’s all encompassing. It’s scattered pieces, the aftermath of war, glass and smoke and rubble all around you. It’s holding onto each other too tightly amid the destruction, hoping that the other will stay despite you each being the cause of it.
If it is love, it’s been marred and twisted, bent so out of shape that it makes you cry out in agony. It’s a love so sick it makes your stomach hurt, and yet he’s the only one who can soothe the pain. It’s a love so destructive that it’s blown down every wall and exposed you to the cold. And he’s the only one you want to keep you warm.
Katsuki drives your car back to his apartment with you curled up in the passenger seat, hand resting possessively on your thigh the whole way. He gathers you in his arms, one arm cradling your head against his chest, the other wrapped under the crook of your knees, and carries you inside. 
When you pass by the wall where the blast had happened, your sleepy eyes open, heavy and misted. You notice the hole has been patched up and painted over, but the colors don’t quite match. 
There, in the dim light, something glaring and discolored remains where the damage once was.
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amazeingartist · 6 months
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ok art’s not working rn but I still wanna share ghostsoap in my zombie au here too after seeing a bunch of the cod zombies stuff on twitter (I’m very autistic about zombie and since tumblr doesn’t really have a limit y’all will get more info. depression works hard, but autism works harder /j)
anyway tags for any of y’all who don’t vibe with this type of content
CW: zombies, so cannibalism, body horror (mutation based zombies they’re not the rotting kind), gore mentions, a little bit of death (not proper mcd)
(Will update if I’ve missed a tag)
AU CONTEXT:
SO the timeline is set far into the future of the zombie apocalypse where anything zombie related is very normal and apart of everyday life with relics and stories to the old word. Humanity is kinda thriving, there’s technology, medicine, secure food sources, water, functional cities & towns, overall the quality of life is pretty good, it’s a lil sci-fiy but not overly so.
The specific zombie strain to is a mutation based one, so there’s different zombie types and it affects all living things; herbivores are the only type of infected that’s non-aggressive unless provoked, while all carnivorous/predatory animals and certain omnivores are always hostile. Regardless of aggression, the disease can be easily transmitted via blood, bites, scratches, ingestion of contaminated products, and saliva depending on the zombie type. (fun fact—zombie cows are a thing and are used to deter attacks on living/healthy livestock)
GHOAP TIME
Anyway, world building context done (for now), Ghost & Soap are partners in “community security”, meaning they are to deal with threats to the livelihood/safety of people. They mostly work with towns since towns have less means to protect themselves—cities have fences and walls which are patrolled whereas towns outside a city might only have a simple fence and a couple zombie cows—from the hordes, raiders or particularly bothersome zombie types, while occasionally doing specialised work in the cities.
Ghost is blight, a humanoid zombie that has retained their human consciousness despite turning, while Soap is a delayed, a immune human who’s blood can used to suppress the affects of infection for via regular prescribed shots. Both are incredibly rare btw, (for both human and zombie) and are literally an ideal working pair because blight’s are highly infectious to the point where their drool is a safety hazard (one of the reasons they’re muzzled), but since Soap’s immune there’s no risk. Blight’s are also susceptible to unexpectedly going feral which Soap prevents by keeping Ghost in touch with his humanity; literally Soap’s lack of fear of Ghost is what helps them be a perfect working pair (that and Ghost genuinely enjoying Soap’s company).
So yeah, they patrol for raiders and redirect any wandering corpses frequently, with the occasionally job from some regular folk that’s too dangerous to do themselves—just all things that genuinely help people keep and feel safe.
Unfortunately for Soap, when dealing with zombies he can’t hide or mask himself as easy a regular person, a problem Ghost, unless displaying aggression, doesn’t have on account of being an actual zombie. Soap does abuse his immunity though, throwing himself in front of others to act as a meat shield and protect them from infection. Cause of that though his body is littered in scars of bite and scratch marks (zombies that harm Soap usually don’t exist for much longer if Ghost’s around)
As a blight, Ghost’s mutated state is centred around his human base but has elements of other zombie types; from pale and dark veiny skin, his jaw and throat are split into mandibles which Ghost needs a custom compression mask to be able talk, his arms have exposed boney spines/blades that are both retractable and can be used as projectiles (throwing knife equivalent), his nails are basically claws + are also somewhat retractable, and over certain parts of Ghost’s body are have bone plating as armour. It’s unclear the exact limit of Ghost’s capabilities as it’s near impossible to test him as he hates doctors/labs, (the reason he’ll consistently stepping into a lab for is for a blood transfusion/feed).
[^^^may be updated as I think more about this au]
Little Ghoap moment, but Soap will help Ghost in his upkeep of himself by either filing down Ghost’s claws or brushing the rows and rows of sharp teeth for any bits of stuck flesh and to keep an excess buildup of bacteria from forming. It’s literally something only Soap can do, both cause he’s immune and because Ghost only feels comfortable letting Soap help. It’s not an process that should take very long, but Soap is meticulously and after holding Ghost’s mandibles awkwardly extended for some time, he’ll gently massage the muscles; despite the horror it’s actually a pretty sweet gesture. When they’re off duty Soap’ll unlock Ghost’s muzzle and massage his face after being compressed for a couple days too (Soap’s one of the few people with the authority to unlock Ghost’s muzzle)
and uh yeah. I think that the end of that for now, hope it’s enjoyable. I’m combing my current hyperfixation with an idea/project I’ve been working on for years and is quite dear to me so there’s a lot of information to share lmao. feel free to ask any questions if there are any, preferably via the asks but comments are fine too (just I can tag asks together)
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melrosing · 1 year
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sparknotes for ep 2 of my made up Robert's Rebellion adaptation because I don't trust HBO :) this part is more detailed because the introductions are over and I am having fun. once again, some changes: Rhaegar and Joncon canonically meet when squiring together, but I want to introduce him slightly earlier so now they'll first meet with Joncon as a page at the Red Keep (so he's maybe a little younger than Rhaegar). also, spot bonifer hasty - this is just before he finds jesus Prev Part - Episode 1
Next Part - Episode 3
Episode 2: The Boys Are Fightinggg
It’s been five/six years since ep 1. We open in the library of the Red Keep, where a fourteen year old Rhaegar Targaryen sits reading a heavy tome, brow pinched. After a moment, he shuts it carefully and rises to walk to a window overlooking the training grounds. A maester asks if he’s alright, and Rhaegar answers “it seems I must learn to fight” (cryptic lil fuck)
Opening credits roll. They’re the same as GOT except the music is caramelldansen
Joanna Lannister at Casterly Rock, sat in her solar with Genna; she’s visibly pregnant. A maid enters the solar looked panicked, and insists she speak to Joanna alone. Joanna allows this, and the maid confides something (guess what) concerning the twins. After ascertaining the maid won’t speak (and maybe issuing a tiny little threat), Joanna dismisses her with a bag of gold
Joanna confronts her children one at a time. Cersei is belligerent, insisting it was only a game. Jaime is distressed, unable to comprehend why what they were doing was wrong. Joanna states she will be placing their rooms apart, with a guard on Cersei’s etc - and don’t make her tell their dad. Both children look utterly horrified by that prospect, and Joanna seems uneasy threatening it
Aerys and Tywin at the King’s council. Lots of matters on the table etc. Some guy called Denys Darklyn is asking for a charter for Duskendale (it's clearly not the first time), which Tywin dismisses. Some Kingsguard has died, and they need a replacement. Tywin makes some suggestions of his own, and asks Aerys which he would prefer. Aerys is not really listening, only waving his hand over the flame of a candle. Tywin interrupts his musings, and Aerys burns himself in surprise. Asking the King his input on some matter, Aerys has little to offer. Tywin says something faintly facetious regarding the King’s attention span, and Aerys thinks he sees Pycelle smile
Rhaella, also pregnant, is in the gardens at the Red Keep, sat beneath a memorial statue of her parents. She grasps a bunch of flowers that she presumably means to lay at their feet, touches her bump and looks uneasy. Watching on is a castle guard who stands at the garden gate; Rhaella meets his eyes, pleading him closer, and they hold one another’s gaze for a long moment. Ultimately the guard breaks it, and looks down to his feet. Rhaella, looking away in despair, stiffly but violently shreds her flowers, and drops the remains beneath the statue before rising and leaving the garden
Anime boy Rhaegar learning to fight in the training yard. He seems a little surprised if reassured by his own skill, overpowering the master at arms at one point. Young page Jon Connington watches on, looking like he’s about to burst into applause. Aerys himself looks on from a high window, and looks Intensely Bothered
Aerys walking through the halls past a small crowd of men. He hears one say that Tywin truly rules the Seven Kingdoms, and turns abruptly to see the speaker - one Ilyn Payne, who looks shocked to see Aerys there. Aerys looks violent, like he might do something for a moment, but is ushered onwards by Barristan Selmy
Rhaella and Rhaegar at the dinner table in the royal… chambers??? whatever lol. Rhaella says she’s heard Rhaegar is fighting: that is good. Rhaegar is not super responsive to this praise. Rhaella then asks her son if she thinks the baby will be a boy or a girl. Rhaegar looks at her sadly
Aerys arrives belatedly to ruin dinner, decides he dislikes how quiet and miserable his family looks. Cracks a shit joke, doesn’t like the way his son looks at him, reads judgement in the kid’s eyes. Aerys is about to escalate in this sudden disagreement with his son, when Rhaella begins panicking - there’s blood pooling beneath the table. As Aerys realises what’s happening his anger abruptly turns to Rhaella, and he looks like he might strike her - then Rhaegar stands between them, and silently warns him off. Aerys is furious, but it works, and he storms out
Now Aerys is storming into the throne room, where Tywin sits his throne, listening to the grievances of some visiting lord. Aerys identifies Ilyn Payne at the sidelines, calls him over, and orders his tongue ripped out. This is appropriately grim :) Tywin looks on, displeased but unable to say anything. Aerys orders him off of his throne then takes it himself, and announces that as king he is ordering a tourney: the winner will join his Kingsguard
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maelstrom-of-emotions · 7 months
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BakuDeku fic idea
Okay, so I had this idea, and it's been nagging me for like, forever, so, naturally I gotta talk about it.
So, maybe, years later, after they've gotten married and all, Katsuki is organizing Deku's desk because for all that the damn nerd is a genius, he's terrible at organizing things.
And then he comes across Deku's notebook collection, the notebooks that Katsuki would swear up and down were practically an extension of Izuku's soul.
He opens them, having seen them occasionally when Deku would get nostalgic and turn the paces, tracing the intricate lines with a sense of wistfulness, or when he would get right into Katsuki's face saying ‘I figured out where I saw that quirk Kachaan! It was here,’ but he's never flipped through them, despite having Izuku's consent to do so.
And so for the first time, he flips through them, starting from the first, of course, because Katsuki is many things, but he's no madman.
The first one is all bright and wide-eyed, filled with sketches of All Might and other top heroes, and Katsuki can't help the fond smile that spreads on his face as he sees the small doodles of himself dotting the margins of the notebook. It was like staring at a damn kindergarten art project. Deku's admiration for them practically oozed off the pages.
The leading notebooks that came after that were filled with scribbles, points and additions, edits and mentions, but it was all still pretty wholesome (and so Katsuki may have taken a photo of a particularly adorable sketch of a chibi him, with the words 'Lil' Victory upon it, so he can make it into a custom keychain, sue him.)
And then, out of nowhere, they get intense. The sketches were detailed, showing fights, strategies, and damn, even the villains. And the proud smile that grows on his face is entirely deserved, because, that was his nerd, alright. It was like seeing inside the mind of a madman but in a good way. Deku was getting serious, that adorable little nerd.
Somewhere along the way, Deku had begun to record the injuries caused by the quirks. The pages were stained with reds and purples, like some kind of twisted canvas. Bakugou winced, remembering the pain that had carved itself into Deku's skin. The scars on Deku's body had a story, and they were all right there, etched in ink.
(He hates the fact that he had been the cause of most of those scars. Hates the thought of Deku, staring at the scars on his body and copying them on paper, having been familiar with them for so long, that he doesn't even need to double-check. Hates the way that it brings tears to his eyes.)
The notebooks after that were a whole new world. he sketches were practically alive, the movements fluid and precise. It was like watching a damn animated movie. This nerd was on the edge of genius.
The points on quirks had improved too. Notes on how they worked, weaknesses, and strategies to counter them. It was like Deku had cracked the code to every damn hero he'd ever faced. Bakugou couldn't decide if he was impressed or annoyed. Probably both.
That notebook was the culmination of everything Deku had ever learned. The battles were fierce, the strategies ruthless. This was Deku at his damn peak.
He's just about to put them back, telling himself that the tears in his eyes were due to the dust when he sees the last notebook. It's the newest notebook, the cover bright and glossy.
He opens it and expects another one of Deku's meticulous quirk analyses, but this...this was something else entirely.
Page after page was filled with details about their friends, their likes and dislikes, little facts that even Bakugou didn't know. It was like Deku had become some kind of damn detective, gathering every scrap of information he could find.
And then he turned a page and was greeted by an explosion of orange and black, and there it was. His name, his figure, drawn in causal clothes, with little notes written in beautiful handwriting.
The details hit him like a damn sledgehammer. There's an arrow pointing to his middle finger 'wears a ring on this one.' An arrow to his clothes with the words 'prefers soft clothes (best hoodies to steal),' there's one pointing to his neck followed by 'wears a locket with parent's photos' and on, and on, they go. His eyes start to water at 'rich laugh' and 'bright grin.'
He pauses at the one written in red ink with the words 'softest heart' written right next to it.
This damn nerd, he knew him better than anyone else. Knew the quirks and intricacies that made up Bakugou Katsuki.
He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. Maybe, just maybe, Deku wasn't so damn bad at understanding people after all.
And if Izuku finds himself bombarded with bowls of Katsudon, well, that's nobody's business but his own. Even if the nerd cries when he sees the keychain.
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