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deadsetobsessions · 4 months

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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]

As someone who lived in the middle of nowhere, Amity, the ocean both terrified and enthralled Danny Fenton.

The first time his parents took him to the beach, it was the middle of the day and he’d been stuck in the prototype GAV for hours upon hours on their “quick, ghost rumor hunting field trip.”

It wasn’t quick, and they caught exactly zero ghosts. When Danny saw the expanse of sand underneath the summer sun, he and Jazz both bounded out of the van like feral little monkeys. Danny and Jazz sprinted down the sand, their parents ambling behind them with their arms loaded up with towels, a first aid kit, and an ungodly amount of mildly ecto contaminated food that they already fought before getting onto the beach.

Danny had splashed into the water, yelped at the freezing temperature, and then promptly found a shell to keep. His mom taught him how to swim with the waves, having come from Surf City herself, and his dad taught Jazz how to dive.

It was a day full of fond memories, especially the memory of the Great War of Sand-Castle Crushing he and Jazz waged against each other.

They stuck around for the sunset, the ripples of colors and peacefulness that swept across the vast waters caught Danny in its hold.

He hadn’t forgotten that moment. Not even when he died.

After a particularly hard day as Phantom, Danny would fly to the coast and loose hours just sitting on the sand and watching the waves lap against the shore. And when those nights were clear? It felt like a slice of his own personal heaven, with the stars shining on his shoulders and the encompassing crash of the waves sheltering his heart.

And on some days, when being Danny left him frustrated, Danny would fly out to the coast and use his intangibility to walk beneath the waves. Near the coast, it’s cloudy with swirls of moving sand and disturbed waters. He walked, and walked, and floated and floated beneath the waters, taking contentment from the way the moonlight of his stars filtered through the water. He admired the way light would glint on the scales of fish and crustaceans alike as he floated beneath the surface. On those days, Danny would pick up trash and polluted things and bring them to shore, to place in the trash cans and all of the recycling cans. He picked up shells and decorated the beaches he frequented, because if it were decorated, perhaps people would refrain from chucking their waste into the sea.

Well, usually, it’d be trash.

Danny watched speechlessly, jaw cracked open just a smidge, as an explosion happened right over his head. The distortion of the water did not hide the fact that there were large chunks of plane pelting down at him, a different figure flying away from the explosion. Danny went invisible and intangible as large metal pieces plunged into his current water space.

“Gosh, people these days,” he huffed. “This is gonna take forever to…”

Danny trailed off, seeing a humanoid shape crash into the water, clearly unconscious. Danny didn’t hesitate before shooting towards the drowning person, glowing green and fully visible again. The stranger’s eyes- holy shit, that’s Batman- turned towards him before closing behind cracked open lenses. Batman slumped falling unconscious. That’s not good.

Danny rocketed out of the water with the vigilante in his arms. If it weren’t for his supernatural strength, there’s no way lanky teenage Danny would have been able to carry Batman’s grown ass built like a tank self to the shore. Likewise, if it weren’t for his strength, Danny wouldn’t have been able to start chest compressions through the layers of armor.

Danny leaned back with a sigh as Batman coughed out only a bit of water, because Danny hadn’t taken all that long to get to him, and held up his hands in a “I don’t have weapons” way as Batman whirled to him.

“Hi. Are you alright?” Danny asked, ectoplasm and instinctive ghost speak fuzzing his words a bit. Damn, Batman must have nearly died a lot. He’ll freak out about meeting Batman later.

“You saved me,” an awkward pause. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. The other guy went that way.”

Danny waved vaguely.

“…What are you?”

“Oh my god, Batman, you can’t just ask someone what they are!” He immediately replied, inwardly smacking himself for the joke. He watched Batman’s face, watching for any sign of discrimination against ghosts, or any sign the man had a sense of humor.

“…”

Neither, apparently, was the answer.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just here to clean up the beaches. You humans really like to pollute the beaches. It’s quite rude, you know. That plane of yours, well, it’s not your fault,” he amended. “But it’s gonna damage sea life. And I don’t know if you’re in the habit, but please don’t litter on the beach or in the water, especially with your unconscious body. It’s tedious to clean.”

“…I see.”

“Stay. I’ll take out your plane. Make sure it doesn’t stay on the sand, alright?”

With that, Danny stood. Unaware of the way the moonlight lit up his hair like white flames and accentuated the sharp points of his ears, Danny turned away and flew back to the plane site, dragging the pieces up with ease.

Batman sat on the sand, likely exhausted from his fight, and watched him carry the pieces of the aircraft up.

“Here. All done. I gotta get going,” because Danny has school and this just lost him two hours. “Will you be alright?”

Batman nodded once, sharply.

“Good.” Danny went invisible, watching Batman sat up straighter, glancing around in a suddenly visible awareness. Oh, well. Tucker’s gonna freak out.

——

Three years later, Danny’s moved to Gotham for university.

And after midterm season, Danny went for a ghostly walk, but this time, in the waters surrounding Gotham.

When he surfaced, Batman was crouching on a lamp post, waiting for him.

“Oh, it’s you,” Danny said. “Hello. Did you know that people are polluting these waters with bodies too?”

“Yes,” Batman said, graveled voice resounding on the shipping containers around them.

“You should do something about that. Do you like places that are polluted?”

Batman sighed. “What are you?”

Danny hears a small, tinny voice by Batman’s ear, coming from a comm.

“Oh my god, B, you can’t just ask someone what they are!”

Mind flashing back to the night Danny drug a waterlogged Batman out of the ocean, Danny cracked a smile.

“Phantom,” he said, decisively. And, because this isn’t Amity anymore, “the Beach Clean Up crew from the flip side.”

——

Bruce, waking up on the sand: wtf

Bruce, seeing a child next to him who probably saved him: wtf (in “adoption”)

Bruce, seeing Danny’s skin glitter like stars, hair aflame, and pointy ears: wtf (in “I can adopt fae folk, right?”)

Bruce, seeing that Danny doesn’t leave any footprints: wtffff (detective mind goes brrrr)

——

Bruce, after Danny leaves: *donates 20 mil towards beach clean up efforts and anti-pollution causes*

——

Bruce’s Goggle Search History, documented by Oracle:

Sea spirits

Sea vampires

How to parent supernatural kids

How to thank your sea child

Are shells a good gift?

Ocean conservation efforts

Sea spirits that glitters under moonlight

Sea spirits that cleans up beaches

Wayne corporation waste disposal

Companies that dump trash into the sea

*outgoing call to Lucius Fox*

What is “mean girls”

——

Bruce, learning “current pop culture” from his kids:

Bruce, remembering the kid who saved him and realizing he’s probably as old as his own kids are: *adoption tendencies intensifies*

#batman #danny phantom #dc x dp #Danny picks Batman up like a waterlogged shoe #like this isn’t supposed to be in the sea #I live near a beach #please do not litter on a beach #I saw someone leave one of those plastic mesh bags for oranges and a seagul got stuck in it #beaches are precious #fight me #bamf danny phantom #bruce wayne #Bruce Wayne: I’ve seen a sea spirit #Danny Fenton: Batman is littering on the beach with his plane #dc x dp crossover #oracle #oh my god Batman you can’t just ask someone what they are #sea cryptic! danny AU

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getodrools · 3 months

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 STAR GIRL | Satoru + Suguru.

synopsis. He had the right to brag! Even though he knew it was wrong – it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to get with the golden girl everyone wanted. ( wc. 587 )

warnings. mdni | f! cheer! reader | sws, ( college ) football au, they r gross n’ talk about reader, solo masturbation ( getou ), getou is desperate and gojo is cocky ;c, reader has a tat near her ass ( nothing else is specified ).

“So uh.. heh-- you guys fuck already?” Getou flung his hand around, as if dismissing his own question coolly.

Gojo chuckles — damn boys. “Hell yeah. Yo, y/n’s pussy is so fuckin’ tight-- barely takes my dick man.” You were the golden girl in college. The cheer captain.

Everyone wanted to be you or be with you. But dreams are just dreams, because it seemed – rightfully, aligned for you to be reserved perfectly for the one and only football champion, the Satoru Gojo. The golden boy.

Vice versa too! — he had every damn right to brag, having the one and only star girl everything in pants begged for.

And his best friend could only dream.

“Really? Bet she can't ride then huh?—”

“She's a freak dude! Cheer really does something ‘cause y/n loves watching herself bounce on my dick— that pussy even creams.” He drags out his words and Getou was struck in daze when Gojo continued, “She's got the most perfect set of tits too, man-killer of an ass… So fucking hot when she's fresh out the shower– pussy just wet and shining.” His hands dazzle the air.

Dork.

Getou laughs a brute-covered animosity, but he couldn't help feel blood rushing more lower, “I bet. I heard she got a little tat on her ass?” He was scraping the barrel.

“Yep ah. Kiss it every damn night.” Gojo throws his hands back, a smug grin plastered wide, and it doesn't help the lip gloss you smeared earlier still glimmered.

Getou takes note.

Those oceanic eyes tumbled with waves towards his long-haired friend – curious, “Wish you could, huh?” Satoru smirks, leaning up with novelty before Getou could respond – only his mouth hangs open, “Who doesn't though.” Gojo sighs and kicks his feet back up; long legs crowding the rest of the bench.

Getou squints at him. More than annoyed now, but looking back at you in the field, he could only think of what it was. Was it heart? Or a pair of lips? Maybe cherries. Damn, either or, he'd kiss it every night too.

“Wanna see?” Satoru flings his hand into his back pocket, fishing for his phone to swipe at before Getou could process the question – only processing the cute ass glaring on his friends screen.

A few photos of you flashed before him, some of you posing with cute panties on or nothing. Just bare-ass flaunting at the screen with a cute jiggle. And the tattoo he always fantasized about was confirmed to be only a small star. Almost fitting too.

“She got it at a frat party. It's still cute though.” Gojo chuckles, still swipinging ‘till he found his favorite video of you both.

Suguru’s lips are almost as shiny as Gojo’s now. Even dick harder than before, admiring how your legs were spread by Gojo’s hands, watching how he'd clasp the two doughy globes with a firm grip. The tattoo inked into your skin smeared with skin as he stretched you open. Like a damn shooting star he could wish upon, gazing how you let your ass bounce on a thick pole of cock meat so easily.

Getou swallows down hard, pushing back that groan aching to jump out. His hands cross over his lap with his helmet.

The video seemed so short, but the fidgeting you kept squirming with kept replaying in his head. Only small glimpse of your face showed when you tossed your head back; sometimes you drooled and eyes fluttered crossed when the camera would pan closer to the sweet heat between your legs...

Gojo hums, “She's so hot.” And Getou agrees, watching how your pretty pussy stretched around Gojo. A cute string of slick webbed down his base, only to be quickly swallowed up again, and the shine of the camera light caught all of it.

“Yeah… Don't tell her I showed you these, she’d fuckin’ kill me.” They both laugh and Getou almost whines when the sacred phone gets jammed back into his back pocket.

He didn't mean to close his eyes, but he tried hard to keep that image in his head. Gojo smirks.

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, “Never.” but he knows deep down he won't stop reminding and telling his damn self...

ᯓ★

Suguru’s hand pumps his cock. A strong, languid stroke and a quick twist at his too hard tip.

Thinking of that tight pussy Gojo is so whipped about sitting in his dick instead... That mere image was warped into his every thought. So delusional, he kept replaying it in his head ‘till he could only see himself in that video instead.

He frowns.

You only looked good with Gojo. And he's nothing compared to him. No way in hell he'd ever get a little peak either… but he still dreams, coveting if you’d watch his dick sheath entirely into your warmth instead.

Wondering how you'd bounce on his cock that he spits on, wondering if that cute star would shoot up and down like a dream if you did...

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: JJK MASTERLIST –>

#🌐 𝐿𝒜𝒱𝐼𝐼 𝒲𝑅𝐼𝒯𝐸𝒮!#ᝰ satoru gojo!#ᝰ suguru geto!#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto x reader #geto smut #jjk gojo #jjk geto #satoru gojo #suguru geto

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ahhhwomen · 3 months

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I don’t know why I bite.

Vampire Empire

Part 1

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: We are going to ignore how long I disappeared, okay thank you. Also, y/n will not be in a proper relationship with the girls, she will very much be viewed and treated like a pet not a partner, but she will obvi still get the love.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), also this is not a Carol positive fic (I have nothing against her, but I needed a villain), death (later on)Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Your Master is a cruel woman, but you would never stand a chance against her, but what if they can?

Word Count: 3.5k

The keys jingle in a pattern.

With each step, the clash of metal calls out. It changes tune, depending on the day. If she’s tired, she drags her feet, it’s a slower melody. When she’s angry, there is a harshness to the smashing of the chain against her belt and a thud to her heavy boots.

You don’t know what her happy steps are, you think the sound would be smooth. Maybe, like she´s floating?

You wonder if you are ever going to hear it? If you are being honest with yourself, you don’t really know if you want to. At least her other behaviors are predictable, you can handle predictable, uncertainty however, that is an entirely different game. Not one you are very keen on playing.

Today, her steps boom like thunder, and her keys shriek like lighting.

Chills run down your spine; you press against the cold concrete wall. It scratches your skin. You press harder and cower closer.

You are shaking as she sweeps around the corner of your prison; she’s frowning today.

But…?

It hurts.

From yesterday. It still hurts.

She always gives you a day.

It still hurts.

You need a day.

It doesn't matter. You know you can’t stop it.

You close your eyes and submerge yourself in the void. You don’t like the dark, but she doesn't like it when you see.

Your cage opens with a shriek. You flinch as she touches your face, she is breathing down your neck and you feel yourself panic as she struggles with your collar.

It's never good when she takes away your collar.

Before you do something stupid, like fight back, a soothing voice guides you. It’s a whisper, that only you can hear. Drag in slow breaths, in for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Rinse and repeat. You do as they tell you.

You're in a sunflower field.

The heavy feeling in your stomach is from the big dinner you had, half an hour earlier.

The sun is setting, and you are smiling and laughing as you run through the field of flowers. They're ginormous, almost bigger than you. There is a weight to them as you push past. They scratch and irritate, but it's only temporary, so you keep laughing to yourself.

There is a whip to the wind, the sound loud and frightening. The flowers are louder, so you pretend not to hear. They rustle and dance in the harsh wind.

It's dark, but the yellow glow of plant life guides you. You don’t know where you are running to, maybe home, maybe the ocean. It matters not. You are happy, just you and the flowers.

When the wind calms and the sun peaks over the horizon you know it’s time to leave.

You trek through the soil and ignore the sharp stones that prick your pale skin, you wish you could stay, but it’s time to return.

You open your eyes when she leaves. She almost killed you today.

It's okay.

You deserved it.

Tomorrow, you rest.

Maybe.

Natasha smirks over the rim of her whisky glass. One would think the blonde would be professional after almost a century of doing business, yet she still stomps around like a child throwing a tantrum when she doesn't get it her way. The redhead almost feels bad for the poor pet that was going to be at the end of Carol's rath tonight, almost.

“Knock, knock.” Wanda stands in the doorway, her knuckles lightly tapping against the dark oak.

She’s dressed modern today. Her suit is fitted to perfection, it hugs her waist and expands her hips. She also went for a smokey makeup look, her eyeshadow a mix of dark brown and black, her lips a deep amber, just like her suit.

If attraction could kill Natasha would be one dead woman.

She smiles at her wife before signaling her in with a wave. She’s surprised to see Wanda, her wife comes by occasionally, and she has always dressed nicely, but this is new. Due to her desk stealing her view, Natasha can't see, but she can hear her wife's high heels as she passes through the threshold. Same color as the suit she imagines.

“What brings you here?” Natasha questions as she pours her wife a drink.

Wanda settles herself in the plush chair in front of her wife before bothering to answer. “Do I need a reason lovely? Maybe I just want to see my beautiful wife in her place of work.” Wanda grins while the other redhead hands her a glass of whiskey. Neat, just how she likes it.

Natasha scans her wife with suspicion, she wants something. She can tell by the way Wanda leans her body slightly to the left while her lips lift into a flirtatious half-smirk.

The shorter redhead lifts her eyebrow. “As nice as that may be, why are you really here?”

Wanda deflates slightly at her wife’s accusatory tone. She is right, of course, but Wanda was hoping she could butter her up a little before getting to that. Wanda will have to ask her out on a date soon and make herself a little less predictable.

She is ashamed to say it's been a while since their last dinner date, or movie night for that matter. However, it's hard to find the time when you have been married since the eighteen hundreds, and you both work more than any human would be capable of.

Which brings her to her point.

Wanda pulls in a breath, “I want a pet.”

Before Natasha can get a word in Wanda continues to ramble all in the same breath, “And I know, I know, we have already gone over this. But I'm lonely. The business has been slow since the Stark clan agreed to our peace offering. And while you are busy here, I want someone to come home too.” Wanda keeps her tone open and light.

She wasn’t here to accuse her wife of not giving her enough attention, they both knew that their different work would keep them apart, but while Wanda would spend long nights in her home office, Natasha would spend them in her company office on the other side of the city.

Natasha drums her fingers sharply against her desk, she wants to shut the idea down immediately.

Having a frail human pet would mean having a weakness. Natasha knows her wife well. She knows her wife will get attached, and she knows it will never end well for either of them.

On the other hand, she understands her wife's needs. Natasha spends most of her days in the office, working to uphold their cover, while Wanda spends her days all over the city settling their other business. Their schedules never align either, Natasha works days, Wanda nights. She has to admit, it doesn't sound half bad to have someone to come home to the few nights she can afford it.

Wanda is waiting with bated breath as her wife concludes.

“You have already set up the meet, haven’t you?”

Wanda gapes slightly but conceals it before her wife sees. She knows her too well indeed.

She slumps into her chair, “Yes.” She lifts her finger to stop Natasha from commenting, “In my defense, I was coming here to get your approval.” Natasha chuckles to herself.

“And if you didn’t get it your way?”

Wanda smiles bashfully, “Then I would go without you.” Natasha has to blink away tears from how hard she laughs, she is gripping her stomach, wheezing while answering, “I would expect nothing less my love.” She rights her posture and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. She glances at her wife hiding her blush behind luscious red locks.

She can never say no to her.

Clapping her hands together, she responds. “Fine, you win.”

Wanda practically shines with mirth and joy, “But,” her companion eyes her carefully, nodding to confirm she´s listening. “I get to pick the name that goes on her collar.”

The other redhead huffs, “Fine, but it better not be something stupid.”

Natasha shrugs and her wife leans over the table to slap her shoulder in warning. Natasha smiles all the same and shakes her head, “Yeah, yeah, nothing dumb.” As much fun as she is having with this, she is a busy woman.

She runs her hands down her black suit, thinks of what paperwork to finish, and mumbles a question about when they need to leave while sorting through the latest update about their progress on Project X. Wanda, without missing a beat, states a simple, “Now.”

Nat drops her pen and pinches the skin between her eyebrows. Wanda shrugs half apologetically as Natasha fixes her with a hard glare.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha grumbles a short, “Right, we better get going then.”

It's been almost a decade since she has set foot in one of these shitholes. Nothing has changed, the cages are just as small, and the odor stinks the same, alcohol, blood, and fear.

Wanda shifts uncomfortably as they wait for the salesman to get his spreadsheet, Natasha silently watches from the sideline as he sorts through a mess of paper and fast-food containers to find what he is looking for. She chastises Wanda for not finding a better establishment. Back in their time, this was the usual, but nowadays they have far better alternatives.

Wanda leans against Natasha to whisper, “It was the only place by a few miles Tash, and it’s the only place we have time for.” Natasha stays unimpressed. Wanda smirks at her wife and tucks a strand of loose hair behind the other redhead's ear before discreetly licking the shell of it and whispering sweetly, “I will make it up to you.” Natasha shivers under the attention and the salesman grunts a weak, “found it” before leading them into the main hall.

The ocean swishes in the background as you lie on your blue, shark-themed blanket in your modern bikini. The sun gleams over your head. Your skin stings and you shift onto your stomach, you must have forgotten sunscreen again.

Nonetheless, you purr under the shine of good weather; you wish you had taken a book with you. Maybe next time. For now, you stretch out and lay your bare arms against the warm sand. It will be stuck in every crevice, but it's nice.

A light breeze passes you.

You suck in a big breath, it burns, but you ignore it. It smells of salt and….. salt… and….?

Ice-cream.

It smells of salt and ice cream.

You think you may stay for a while today. You might visit tomorrow, but you would rather not.

If it doesn't burn too much, you hope to sleep tomorrow through. After all, if you are really lucky, you may not wake up again.

This place is even more depressing than Wanda had anticipated.

She and the other redhead had been to a similar place a few decades ago, but this was just sad. Not even the potent scent of blood can get her to ignore the uncomfortable sound of churning, empty, stomachs.

If they lived in a different city she would have taken her wife to a more humane operation, but with limited time comes limited opportunity.

The male and female sections are separate, in the left hall she can smell the odor of young men eager to please, while in this hall she can see the curious and smell the fearful. The gruff man showing them around had introduced them to a few pets by now, but she had to admit they were not what she was hoping for.

There had been one pet she took a slight liking to; a young woman, in her mid-twenties, she was in the puppy section, an enthusiastic little thing. But in the end, she was a little too pushy for Wanda’s liking, Natasha hadn’t seemed too keen either, so they left it there.

The kitten section wasn’t too bad, but every time she thought she was building a connection, Natasha would step into the pet's line of sight and they would cower away one by one. She knows her wife is putting on a stern face to test the poor little things, but it was starting to piss her off big time.

Wanda rolls her eyes as the feeble man struggles with yet another lock, she lifts her suit jacket and checks the expensive gold watch ticking away, fifteen more minutes or they will have to come back another time. Given that this was the only available time she and Nat had had in a few weeks the dire truth of not getting a pet today was settling in.

“Here she is, now she's not much to look at, but since you wanted to see them all,” the man shrugs and Wanda has half the mind to bite his head off. Before she can do anything of the sort Natasha takes her by surprise by stepping into the cage before her.

Nat ignores her wife as she steps into your cage, she has seen you before.

You were Carol's pet, or at least she thought you were. But it seems you were a less permanent part of the blonde’s life. Your cage was different, it was slightly bigger, the poorly dressed man had said something earlier about you being a leased pet.

You look horrible. She is studying you from a few feet away and she can still see the horrors you must have been through.

She knows Carol is violent, it's why she has spent so long trying to negotiate with blondie. Their clans were never on the same page and yes, threats were constantly made, but this was something else. Natasha would never think the pathetic woman would do this just because she could.

She hears Wanda step in and gasp at the sight of you.

You are lying on the hard floor with your back turned to them, a rag the size of a hand towel barely covering your bottom. Your hands are stretched out under the lamp, the only heat source you have, you have been beaten to a pulp. There are deep lacerations covering you, your entire body is one big bruise, and dried blood covers every crevice of both your skin and even part of the walls. But that was not what caught either of their attention, no, it was the lack of life they could sense from you.

Natasha kneels a few feet away from you and studies you carefully. Her hand rests against her cheek as she tries to focus on your heartbeat. It beats, but there was something off about it. It's slow like you are asleep, but she can hear in your breathing that you are still conscious.

She tilts her head and talks off-handedly at the man behind her.

“Is she sick?” She hears him scoff but ignores it in favor of closing her eyes and trying to feel you.

“Of course not-“ He waves his hand, “all that,” he gestures at your body, “was her own fault.”

Before Natasha has time to reprimand the pig, she hears a crunch behind her followed by a heavy thud.

She huffs and raises herself slowly before opening her eyes and looking at her wife with her peripheral vision. “I thought we agreed to not kill anyone today.”

Wanda stares at her with empty eyes. “No. We agreed on not killing any innocent people tonight. As far as I am concerned, I am just following his logic, after all this was all his fault.” Wanda gestures at the dead man's body.

Natasha turns to her wife while rolling her eyes.

Wanda ignores her wife's sass and looks past her to take you in once more. “Who is she?”

Natasha shrugs and gazes at you over her shoulder. “She was Carol´s plaything, but I guess Carol never owned her like I thought.” Wanda raised her eyebrows in surprise and stared at Nat, “That’s y/n?”. Her eyes move down to you again, “last time I saw her she sure as hell didn’t look like that.”

Natasha nods and crosses her arms in thought, “well it seems Carol is an even worse owner than she is a negotiator.”

The last time Wanda had seen you was when she joined one of Natasha’s meetings a few months ago, you were a new thing back then. You had scars, but they were pink and healed, you were a skittish little thing, but you ate, you had some color to you, and you sure as hell didn’t feel like this.

You could feel their eyes all over your body. You hated it, you never liked it when people looked too hard or thought too long, it always meant the same thing. They were assessing whether or not you are a feasible option as a pet. You know you aren’t, you know they will scoff and turn their backs to you as if you disgust them, like you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.

You get it though, they are probably right.

Usually, such a thing wouldn’t bother you, you are used to it by now, but there was something about their scents that put you off, you felt out of place even more than usual, and you hated it.

You were too focused on pretending to be asleep to assess what the heavy thud against the concrete could have been.

Whatever it was, must have had something breakable inside of it as you could hear a clear crack as something bounced off the floor. You decided you didn’t care, you only cared about the sudden voice that took over all the space of your enclosure. Powerful enough to command any and every room, you know this voice. It belongs to one Natasha Romanoff, and suddenly the voice behind her made sense too. You had only seen the redhead once, but you would remember her anywhere, just as commanding as her wife, and even more scary, Wanda Maximoff.

If you weren’t scared before, you were positively shitting your nonexistent pants now.

You try to keep your breathing even so as to not show any hint of awareness, you have no idea what they could be doing here. Had Master sent them? Were these the last moments you would have, were you going to die in this tiny, claustrophobic hellhole?

You were panicking, and you know they can sense it. Feel it. No matter how many times Master called you such, you weren’t an idiot. You know what they are, you know what they can do, what they will do.

As you hear one of them take a step closer you turn into a stiff board. You stay completely still as you feel your lungs start resisting the air you desperately try to force into them, you have this sudden need to flee or to bear your neck and beg for them to finish it quickly. Right after the thought passes your mind you shrink in shame, Master will kill you for ever thinking of bearing your neck to another.

You can hear them pause for a moment as you feel their eyes on you again. You have been made.

You don’t know what comes over you, you don’t know where you suddenly find the strength, but before you even know what you are doing you are leaping towards the women, your hands ready to claw out their eyes if need be.

You know they are stronger, faster, and smarter than you could ever wish to be, but this is a survival instinct, nothing makes sense, nothing matters. And as you collide into a warm body and start ripping into it, to the best of your ability, you realize, you have no idea what you are doing.

Natasha knew what you were about to do, possibly before you, and as you crashed into her and started scratching and ripping at anything you could get your hands on, she realized that maybe you still have a chance at this life. For the first time during their little visit, she can feel something in you, it’s small, scared, abused, but there is a will there, a will to live, a will to fight. That is more than most in this bleak city.

She holds you gently as you rip apart her coat, tear at her skin, and bite her hands. She hears Wanda take an uncertain step toward the both of you, unsure of what to do. But Natasha waves her hands nonchalantly and asks Wanda with a calm voice to stay back.

Natasha understands that to her wife you must look positively rabid. You were in the kitten class, but you were fighting Natasha as if you were a fighter dog. All teeth and claws. However, compared to Natasha, you might as well have been a mite.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t pierce her skin, can’t topple her balance, you can’t win.

Your fingers dig into the soft skin, your nails gripping and tearing, but nothing happens. There is no skin underneath your nails, no blood, no sight of damage against pale skin. You bite the hands that hold you, and you can hear your jaw creek as you strain your weak body, but the skin doesn't break, the only blood you taste is your own.

You are scared, you don’t know what to do, there is no sunflower field to hide behind, no sea to drown in, you feel powerless, even more so than she makes you feel.

You don’t know what they want, you don’t want to die like this.

Even after all your effort goes to waste you can’t give up, you have to keep trying, you have to-

“Stop.”

Wanda looks at you with an unreadable expression, you look up in terror as you realize you can’t move your body. One simple word, in one simple tone, has made you paralyzed.

#dark!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader

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sssammich · 2 months

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fic: let there be another day

inspired by this fantastically angsty gifset of a supercorp AU. happy supercorp sunday yall

thanks x

---

The days transform steadily, selfishly, into weeks. Until the weeks have amounted to six months of nothing. Nothing between them but a phantom line of what they’d been to each other, once upon a time.

There is a crater in Lena’s heart, a botched excavation of the way she’d willed herself to forget Kara, to protect the two of them from the ruthlessness of her family. So she’d cored herself first, hoping to beat her brother and mother to the punch. Yet Kara had dug herself further into her heart, straight into her marrow.

So she failed, in the end, to rid herself of the woman she’d loved with her whole being.

But it’s gotten easier, in a way, existing in this reality where she had to deny herself the chance for happiness if it meant her happiness could live.

Her family has continued to terrorize her, but she’s acclimated. Expected it, really. Their efforts of trying to eliminate the few people who have been able to reach the fortress of her heart have now since changed to recruiting her into the fold of the family business.

She now only functions to keep L-Corp as an entity of good despite her family’s best attempts at compromising her work. It’s fine, because she has accepted that her work will be her life. Her love—her grief—has become the shape of late nights in front of her computer, of half-filled decanters as she oversees expense reports, of dry-cleaned power suits and a lethal red lipstick as armor worn in superfluous business meetings.

It’s worth it, she reasons, when she catches sight of Supergirl zooming past her window to save the day once more.

—

Lena should have known that Lex and Lillian are simply biding their time until they strike. The last couple of months of relative quiet was not a sign of reprieve. So when the glass of her office doors break and splinter into tiny crystalline pieces, her heart aches not in fear, but in disappointment.

She’s never had a death wish and would never wish this hurt upon herself, but the amount of threats to her life has surpassed her age. She thinks that maybe if both Lex and Lillian simply just got it over with, that she can get some goddamn rest. But she knows why she fights and why she keeps going. If only to spite her family, if only so that her sacrifice isn’t in vain.

Another explosion erupts and throws Lena partway across her office, her head hitting the corner of her desk with a thud. She opens her eyes and her vision blurs, her head throbbing with pain, her body tense and sore all at once. Distantly, she can hear the fire alarm go off just as the sprinklers start shooting off water and flooding her office.

She attempts to stand and find an exit, but her body betrays her intentions, buckling under her weight as she’s sprayed with water all around her. She falls onto her knees and subjects herself to crawling towards the exit with only but reckless determination and an almost-extinguished hope that she will make it out of this alive.

Before she can take another step forward, there’s a whooshing sound that fills her already ringing ears and suddenly, warmth envelopes her.

She sighs in resignation and gratitude when she feels the familiar weight around her. Lena knows before she opens her eyes what has engulfed her so safely, so securely. It cuts her heart just as it heals it, and she is in a loop of pain and joy.

She wants to open her eyes, truly, to look into ocean eyes and a field of golden grass. But she is in pain and she is hurting. Her only course of action is to keep her eyes closed as strong arms grab hold of her—gently, always so gently—and whisks her out of her now compromised and ruined office.

—

When she comes to, she finds herself in a secluded and private examination room of the National City Hospital, discretion of the highest priority as a prominent public figure. It’s one she’s been in before, from a past attempt at her life. It’s almost something like a comfort, this familiar space that has seen her bruises, cuts, and scrapes.

The door swings open and she hears Kara behind her begin to make her exit. She doesn’t look up but when she catches sight of the red cape just by the bed, she holds up a hand and stops the movement altogether.

She only lets go when the doctor looks down from her clipboard and settles on the rolling stool, the creak of the leather as she rolls closer to Lena.

She allows the doctor to do what she does best, intently listening to the sound of the squeaking stool and the crinkling of the paper of the examination bed as doctor works.

A mild concussion, some cuts and bruises. It could have been worse, she’s told. It always could have been worse and she wants to yell at Dr. Shapiro that this feels pretty close to the worst. Still, she listens carefully as her doctor explains how fortunate she is for surviving after the second and third explosions completely decimating her office.

“Third explosion?” she asks, this information brand new to her.

“Mm,” the doctor hums. “The second blast was the reason for your concussion, but according to reports, the third blast was close to you and would have knocked you prone and done serious damage had you not found cover.”

Lena tries very hard not to twist her aching body and look over her shoulder.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The doctor looks at her meaningfully before glancing over Lena’s right shoulder and placing a hand on hers, squeezing, and then letting go.

The door closes with a quiet click, but instead of an exhaled deep breath, she holds herself tense. She shuts her eyes and listens to the way the superhero makes just enough noise so Lena knows where she is. First, from the chair she’d been occupying, then the sound of boots against the linoleum flooring, then the swish of the cape as it catches against the corner of the examination bed and back down again.

“Where can I take you?”

She opens her eyes to the setting sun, to saltwater ocean, to a small smile she hasn’t allowed herself to witness in six months.

She doesn’t know what’s safest, what her family is planning, what the total damage is. She needs her phone, she needs access to her company, she needs—

“Can I go with you?” is what she says.

Kara studies her, like the horizon staring back, and nods. She opens her hand, the thumb loop of her suit wrapping around her palm, and offers it to Lena.

She takes it, sliding her unsteady hand in place and breathes when Kara clasps their hands together.

—

Kara’s apartment smells the exact same.

She does not comment on this, though it’s the most prevalent thought in her mind. Kara lets her walk in first, speeding to the lamps and switching them on until the apartment is bathed in faint golden light. Fitting.

“Get cleaned up. I’ll have some spare clothes for you right outside the bathroom.” Kara passes her a towel, and she hugs it to her chest.

The water scalds her skin, stings the open scratches and cuts. And she revels in it, her alabaster skin reddening under the downpour of it. She savors it until the shower sputters a little and the hot water becomes tepid then becomes cold. She squeals and jumps away, hitting herself against the side of the shower stall and knocking half of the soaps and hair products off the shelf.

Kara is there in an instant, opening the door and getting soaked herself, trying to protect her.

Naked and broken, she looks up to the setting sun that is Kara’s concerned face, and then she starts laughing.

“I—the hot water ran out.”

Kara exhales, that cold water matting down her hair on her forehead as she protects Lena from the downpour. “Sorry, I never did call the landlord about it.”

She turns off the water behind her and steps out of the shower stall to pick up Lena’s towel for her. She opens the towel and turns away.

You’ve seen it all before, she wants to say, but doesn’t. Instead, she takes the towel and wraps it around herself, the cold beads of water from her hair clinging to her neck, her shoulder blades.

Kara steps aside, offers her a shy smile, and leaves wordlessly. Lena listens to the way she walks around the apartment, the clattering of the plates on the table.

She steps out and smiles when she finds spare clothes placed on a stool right outside the bathroom door.

When she next steps out of the bathroom, she is wearing Kara’s oversized shirt with a faded cartoon drawing of National City State Fair on it and a spare set of her pajama pants that she didn’t realize she’d forgotten, she'd thought Kara would have gotten rid of.

The spread of Chinese food on the coffee table is modest, but familiar.

She takes a seat in the spot she once proclaimed as hers, and accepts the plate from Kara’s grasp. They eat in silence with only the sound of the television playing on in the background.

Kara watches her—studying her, Lena’s sure—but doesn’t say anything. She talks about her week because Lena had asked, and so she gives it to Lena. They clear their plates, then she trails after Kara to the kitchen, parking herself on the kitchen island. Kara seems to anticipate her and passes a pint of Cherry Garcia towards her with a spoon on the lid.

“Good for concussions, I heard,” Kara offers, a twitch of a smile on her lips.

She laughs at that, surprised, but accepts the ice cream, opening the lid and taking a spoonful. “That’s tonsillitis.”

Kara shrugs but takes a spoonful of her own Rocky Road on the opposite side of the kitchen island. So much of right now exists superimposed to how things had been before, how their lives had been so entwined, so integrated. It is unnerving as it is comforting, and Lena accepts that for today, at least, she has to accept the disorientation.

Eventually, “here. I charged your phone. I’d call Sam first, then Jess.”

There is distance between them, far greater than the kitchen island in front of her, and it shows itself for the first time now, here. After everything.

“Kara, I—”

“I need to fill Alex in on everything. Let her know you’re alright. I’ll be right outside.”

She nods, glances at her phone and the laptop that Kara slides across the kitchen island, and watches as Kara walks out the front door.

For a solid hour, she works through everything she can considering her mild concussion. She touches base with her assistant, with her team, and finds that they have taken care of everything for her. She sighs in relief, shuddering into her hands when Sam and Jess let her know that they have everything handled, that all they want for her is to rest, that the investigation into her family’s attempt at assassinating her might finally have some legs with some information they’d discovered during the cleanup.

She sighs, sniffling into the back of her hand and tells them goodnight before she closes her phone and sobs into her hands, the day finally wearing her down.

She doesn’t startle when arms wrap around her, the press of a strong body kneeling in front of her as she cries into the crook of Kara’s neck. She grabs fistfuls of Kara’s shirt as her tears soak through the cotton.

Kara only holds onto her, rubbing her back and gently cradling Lena in her arms. Soft shushing filters through Lena’s ears and she sobs further into Kara, hoping Kara can just absorb her entirely, as if that’s the only thing that can protect her—from her family, from the world, from herself.

Her sobs lasts and lasts, a never ending fountain of all the tears she’d shoved back in, a dam bursting now that she’s allowed herself.

—

Kara carries her to the bed, quietly ushering her under the covers just as she sits on the edge of it.

“You saved me,” she says, her voice coming out slightly congested.

Kara brushes her hair behind her ear. “That promise has never changed.”

“They’re never going to stop, are they?”

Kara shakes her head.

“I thought by letting you g—” she huffs, turns away. “I thought I was protecting you. I was trying to do the right thing.”

Kara grabs hold of her hand and places it on her lap, her fingers fiddling with Lena’s palm, but doesn’t quite look at her.

“I’m afraid that the only times I will see you, I’m trying to save your life. And I—it worsens when I think that I can’t make it.”

Lena watches Kara’s beautiful profile, the expanse of her forehead, the slope of her nose into the curves of her lips and down her jutting chin, trembling slightly in the faint light outside the bedroom curtain. Then she sees the bob of Kara’s throat, a single tear falling into the center of her palm.

Kara’s facing her now, and Lena brings up her other hand to wipe Kara’s cheek.

“I missed you, Lena. And I don’t know what I will do if I can’t make it to you in time, I—”

This time, it’s Lena who pulls her close, wrapping the arm that Kara’s been focusing on around her front as she cradles Kara in her arms. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

Kara then turns in her arms and they embrace one another, both hiding in each other.

The tears stain and soak her neck, but she lets it, welcoming Kara’s weight after months of being so untethered.

“Please, just come back to me,” Kara says into her skin, muffled words that hold so much promise. “Let me take care of you. Let me protect you,”

Lena pulls back slightly. “You’d still—you’d still want me?”

“Let me love you again, Lena.”

Unable to hold her own tears back, Lena pushes forward until their lips meet. She angles her head and Kara kisses her back, the pair of them holding each other.

There is an ache to their reunion, but there is healing, too. And Lena remembers, unbidden, Dr. Shapiro’s words. It could have been worse, she’d heard.

But Lena wants it to be better. She deserves at least that, for all of her troubles, and if her family will aim for her and all that she loves, then she can’t hide herself in the shadows.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Tomorrow, she thinks, after the whispered declarations and the promises of more, of better, of a new day. Together.

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you, too. I’m here.”

#samfic #supercorp #inspired by a gifset #i'll post this on ao3 at some point i don't have time for now #anyway please enjoy #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x lena #karlena #supercorp sunday #god this is riddled with mistakes #i fixed most of them now #god will i ever write the things im supposed to #listen listen i promise i'm working #ok love u bye

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naffeclipse · 4 months

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I've been musing over a few thoughts inspired by this ask about a mafia-ish style of Apex Polarity without it being too close to Pearl Eye, and after watching a few videos of Orcas hunting their prey (which included dolphins), landed on a sort of Mafia inspired Apex Polarity AU

Also not to add another Y/N to Orclipse's growing collection but this Y/N is a white-beaked dolphin. Look! They're so beautiful!

Sirens are cunning, brutal, and take everything with teeth and claws. The strongest kill and maim at a whim. As a siren who's not particularly strong, though incredibly agile, with a tail streamlined and dark gray with white patches, fins curved and mostly black, you're somewhere at the bottom. You're doing your best to survive and avoid trouble. You pick your battles and you pick your escapes, and most importantly, you stay alive.

But then you do something really stupid: you venture where you shouldn't have.

You don't usually swim so far up north but you're hungry, and the thought of a few tasty squids distracts you from the silent waters and vast, blue emptiness. You realize a bit too late that you're not the only one hunting.

You catch the first orca siren in the distance as a dark figure, and then another. Two who immediately cut through the water, charging straight for you like shadows. Though you turn tail and bolt, you quickly spot them in the corner of your vision. They easily keep pace, their size and strength overwhelming as they flank you on both sides, wide grins flashing their deadly teeth. You can hardly look at the mismatched color of their eyes as you dodge and weave, diving down only to be cut off by one with midnight blue colors at the tip of his flukes, and shooting off to the left just to almost be snatched by the black-bone claws of a siren with bright yellow fins framing his head.

They're toying with you. You know that for a fact in how they just barely keep back, corraling you onwards, draining your already spent energy, and picking at your panicking pulse. You have no choice but to avoid the edges of their jaws and the tips of their talons, and swim in the direction they want.

You near a field of ice floes floating on the water, and though you cut into the jagged structures dipping into the sea, the orca sirens never lose you. A desperate need for air pushes you onward. One small drop of hope still burns in your chest. Despite the aching of your muscles, you steal a gulp of oxygen and dip back down once more, charging away—

Only to run smack into a third orca siren.

This one grabs you, his burning red and orange colors filling your vision. The other two orcas join to help their kin keep you in place long enough for you to truly regret ever venturing here. Between the three of what you can only assume are brothers, hands hooked over you shoulders, claws clutching your wrists, and palms pressing into your hips, you're a fish caught in a net.

You brace for a voilent end. It never arrives. Instead of digging into your sweet meat, the sirens offer you a deal. The tips of sharp fingertips trace your jawline and the soft inside of your arms and down your slick tail while they explain.

You keep watch for human ships and report back when they're getting close, and in exchange, you get the best food you can imagine, the entire Arctic Ocean to swim, and anything else you'd like. The best benefit? You're under their protection. Of course, they expect utter loyalty from you. You are no one else's. Failure to devote yourself to this work and the brothers would mean a grisly fate, but hey, you're nothing if not eager to not be torn apart. So you agree.

You have a few questions about this whole arrangement, struggling to understand why they, powerful orca sirens, bother with a smaller fish like you when they could rip you limb from limb and be done. What's with the human ships? Why task you to this? Are you just fodder so they can keep their fins nice and unscabbed? They reassure you that they'll explain in due time (the sunny one booping your nose, much to your chagrin), but for now, all you know to know is that the human ships are a problem, and you are their solution for it. You've never really encountered humans before, but they've never really encountered sirens, or so you thought.

The burning red one lets you go, but you don't slip away too far before he tugs on your flukes and tells you to follow him. It's not a request. The darker blue one leaves for a moment, jetting away as the other two guide you to a nice resting place on an icy shore. They introduce themselves, and then their brother reappears with a squid in hand, half dead, and an insistence that you eat—they could tell during the chase that you didn't have all your energy.

And that's how you unwittingly join a very powerful pod of orca brothers who may or may not be teasing and taunting you simultaneously.

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hezuart · 10 months

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LN Channel Change AU Sequel: “Seven” {1} {2} {3} {here/final}

And they lived happily ever after. Or did they? We've established our main characters Mono (TV/space-time) and Six (Soul Sucking) have strange supernatural powers. I wanted Seven to have one too. (Hydrokinesis aka water bending)

Notes for how I came up with Seven's powers and the deeper meaning behind his interaction with Mono:

1. Each child has nightmare prophecies (something to do with Mono's time loop?) at the beginning of their stories. Six's is the Lady, Mono's is the door that leads to the Thin Man, and Seven's is being pulled underwater. Six and Mono's nightmare visions are fulfilled at the end of their stories; revealing that the thing they dreamed about, they essentially become or usurp. Seven's differs. His dream resolves in act 1 and he kills the Granny, the creature assumed to be the one pulling him underwater in his nightmare. But what if Seven's dream prophecy was still valid... even post-Granny? Being dragged underwater... for a different fate?

2. Seven is the only main cast character shown with the ability to swim. 3. "Seven Seas" anyone? Water is a symbol of purification & life, hence, Seven gains his new powers after he survived and Mono broke the timeline loop to start fresh. "Washing it away" so to say. 4. Water is a liquid; passive in nature, but powerful in circumstance. Seven is kind and sneaky but kills the Granny when continuously attacked and threatened by her. He does the same to the Octopus monster.

5. Water molecules have adhesion and cohesion, meaning water likes to stick to itself, and stick to other things. Seven has an attachment to Nomes. He is always drawn to other people and other creatures, wanting to help them. His belief is that survival chances are higher amidst a group. Water is also known for containing life, no matter how strange or deep, such as ocean fish that often travel in schools/packs often to confuse or fight off predators, thus, another reference to Seven's new life, and his teamwork with Nomes and Mono.

6. Seven is often in fandom depicted by a circle. A water droplet. 7. Seven collects flotsam; typically boat debris, but in this case, bottled messages that come from the sea. Yet another connection to water.

All this indicates heavy implication and well-fitting power to bestow hydrokinesis onto Seven. I was inspired by the INSIDE game's drowning chapter and Stanley and Stanford's secret boat hide-out on the beach from Gravity Falls. Which is why I have selected Mono, Seven, and all their future friends to a lovely and sunny (future) beach house, far away from everything they've suffered. And living near the largest body of water on the planet with a kid with hydrokinesis? ...Certainly has its perks!

But Seven gaining powers is important to not only their survival but also him. He was still nervous about Mono. He knew Mono was very powerful and mysterious. In more ways than one. Mono is stronger than him and can also use telekinesis on objects on the beach. He's a better food hunter and seems more like a leader. Seven also likes to lead, but he felt outshined by Mono. (I don't portray that well in my comic) Seven is weaker and defenseless. His only shining quality in comparison is his ability to swim, but even that can only get him so far. He risks his life for his Nome friends and loses his life doing so. Or so he thought. By a miracle, his powers over water awaken. He drains the monster of its water, beaching it. He walks to Mono in a new light. It's a new him. He holds up his hands as if to say "See? I'm like you now." He's leveled the playing field. (It also helps that he now has jurisdiction over power Mono cannot interact with) Now they are truly equal. Two kings; one of land, one of sea, both ruling the island in equal standing. Seven will never again feel like a burden left behind. (Seven's powers activating also has something to do with the fact he bit the Octopus creature to save the Nome. Mono and Six both consume their powerful prophesized enemies to gain some of their power, if they didn't already have some before. Seven biting into the Octopus's flesh and unknowingly consuming some of it may have jumpstarted his power deep within him, on top of him encountering Mono; supernatural kid extraordinaire that brought him through a tower wormhole to escape the city)

~~~

A threequel is planned, and maybe the last addition to this series, but the next one is not fully fleshed out yet so it may be another year until I can really touch upon it yet. Otherwise, hope you guys enjoyed!

#little nightmares #little nightmares 2 #channel change #channel change au #LN #LN AU #LN mono #LN seven #the runaway kid #mono #seven #comic #long post

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inoreuct · 4 months

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been thinking about asura zoro lately.

possibly a prince sanji au where sora’s kicked her shitstain of an ex-husband out of the kingdom and his siblings are going through behavioural therapy,,,

at any rate, sanji’s wandering across the grounds one afternoon and he sees someone sitting beneath his favourite apple tree in the middle of the field. he thinks it’s yonji at first, but no— the hair’s too short and the wrong shade of green. less neon than his brother’s electric lime and more like… moss.

the man has one leg propped up with his arm resting on his knee, an apple clutched loosely in his hand. he turns as the grass rustles with sanji’s steps and sanji notes the vertical scar over his left eye that cuts through his brow and down his cheek. “you’re in my spot.”

“hm,” the man says, completely unbothered. he lifts the apple to take a bite and his open robe shifts with the wind, the hilts of the three swords tucked into his sash knocking gently against each other.

sanji narrows his eyes. “move.”

a slow, lazy grin. “no.”

“you—!” the prince is just about ready to boot this guy in the ass. “you do realise who i am, don’t you?”

“no,” the man repeats, shrugging a shoulder and peering down at his apple before taking another bite.

that gives sanji pause. everybody knows who he is. it’s inescapable— queen sora’s kindest son, with the golden hair and a heart to match. ocean eyes and the hands of a chef and legs steadier than any sailor’s. he has a duty to fulfil and an image to uphold, and it’s—

well. it’s just that sometimes, he thinks that he wasn’t made for this life at all— that he was meant to be out there, on the ocean, skipping over the waves with the wind in his hair and the sun on his brow, feeling the grit of sand between his teeth. he has satisfied himself with the comforts of royal life, with the orchards and the kitchens, but something pulls at him still. it tugs his heart towards the coast and whispers for him to shed the courtly graces he wears as tangibly as the cloak over his shoulders.

sanji is quiet as he reaches up, swallowing over the soft click of the clasp before red velvet falls into his hand. he drops it to the grass and lets it pool, puts one palm on the ground before settling against worn, rough bark and letting the pattern press into the skin of his spine.

“it’s peaceful here.” the man’s voice is low, slipping beneath the soft sigh of wind. “quiet.”

“it hadn’t always been,” sanji says, before he can stop himself. he has no reason to be doing this— to be saying anything at all, much less sitting down. he should be yelling for the guards and then taking this guy out himself. he’s a stranger who’d somehow made it onto royal grounds, through the extensive defences they had; one with three swords and scars, sanji reminds himself as he eyes the gnarly line of pearly tissue running diagonally down the man’s chest. he’s, by all definitions, a threat.

and yet, sanji hasn’t felt anything at all. no hostility, no fear— just… stillness, if he had to put a word to it. a sort of calm.

“the king… he was cruel,” he continues softly. “he treated my siblings and i like lab rats to be used. my mother was nothing more than a pretty thing to fill a space beside him. this palace, this kingdom used to be filled with war and pain and noise.” sanji chances a glance up to find the man already looking at him, and he quickly looks away. “sometimes, he’d come back from war stinking of blood and death. even worse was when he’d bring my siblings with him. he forced them to fight, see— didn’t even give them a choice, because of his experiments.”

the words are bitter as he spits them out, and sanji feels his hair bunch when he tilts his head back against the tree and blows out a breath. “i was always the failure.” the grass is damp with dew as he rubs a few blades between his fingers. “the weak one. the useless one. and i was the one who dragged him outside the city gates and told him that if i ever saw him again i’d take his head.”

he’s no longer as angry about it, he thinks. sanji has spent enough of his life being angry. the thought just carries a muted tone now, satisfied and a little victorious but also resigned— sometimes he looks at fathers in the squares and the markets, carrying their children on their shoulders and indulging them in the smallest of things, overpriced candy and tag on the dusty cobblestones, and his eyes burn. he should have had that. he never did, and he never will.

sanji lets his eyebrows flash up, swallowing against the tightness in his chest. “i don’t know why i’m telling you all this, anyway,” he says with a light, forced laugh. “i don’t even know who the hell you are.”

“nobody important,” the man hums. “not yet. but one day i’ll be the greatest swordsman in the world.”

the prince believes it. he feels something now, at least— a presence of sorts, like pressure from all sides, present but not pushing. just there. “i think… i want to get out of here.”

again, he doesn’t know why he says it. he has the urge to slap a hand over his mouth as soon as he does, in fact. because everything’s fine now, everything’s finally going well; judge is gone, his siblings are safe, his mother is safe, and he should be happy. he is happy. he gets to cook all he wants and he’s—

he’s not. he’s not happy. he wants to go, wants to— to grab a boat and disappear, sail to the edge of the horizon and then beyond. it aches in his chest like someone’s squeezing his heart, fingertips digging into tough muscle, and he rubs the heel of his hand through the fine weave of his shirt.

the man bites into his apple again, and the crisp crunch cuts through the still air. sanji lets his eyes slip shut.

“where do you want to go?” the man asks.

sanji laughs, a soundless exhale. “the all blue. it’s an ocean with every kind of fish you could imagine and then some. i want to open a restaurant. a place of my own where nobody will ever go hungry.”

a pause, and then the man turns to look at him. “do you know why i’m here?”

“no.” sanji cracks an eye open, sighing impatiently. “why?”

“the change. all this place has known for years was turmoil and war and chaos. and then suddenly… it all went silent.” he eyes sanji unreadably. “somebody took notice.”

somebody, huh? if sanji’s dealing with a religious nutcase, he might just burst into laughter. or knock this guy out. maybe both. “you believe in god, then?”

“no,” the man says flatly. “and even if one did exist, they didn’t help you then. they won’t help you now.”

the blonds’s eyes narrow as he sits up straight and slowly raises an eyebrow. “if that’s supposed to be a threat, mosshead, i’m not scared of you.”

“mosshead?!” the other splutters, the first sign of real human emotion sanji’s seen on him, and sanji laughs.

“it fits!”

“it’s—”

“blasphemous? disrespectful?” sanji teases, somehow more at ease than he’s felt in ages. he doesn’t know who this man is, and who he is doesn’t matter— he’s free to run his mouth, and he damn well will.

“you should be scared of me, you know,” the man says, voice gritty, and sanji smirks.

“why so?”

and— oh.

that presence from before increases exponentially, until he feels sweat bead beneath his collar. dirt gathers beneath his fingernails as he scrabbles backwards, instinctive, throat bobbing as he counts three, four, six arms, and three heads, and three grey eyes glinting like watered steel. wind whips through the clearing, shaking the branches of the tree— sanji reminds himself to close his mouth as he sits beneath the rustling, as black tendrils of shadow snake through the air, swelling around the man’s silhouette, silky and molten. it’s not just that overwhelming, omnipresent aura; he’s got to be two heads taller than a normal man at least.

sanji’s breath is stuck in his throat. and then he looks down; that half-eaten apple is still there, shiny and red. the man’s swords — nine of them, now — clatter gently by his hips, and his earrings jingle with something that almost sounds like gentle laughter, and his hair is still impossibly green.

“…is this supposed to be intimidating?” he offers, climbing to his feet with a bored cock of his hip. “i mean, it’s impressive and all, mossy, don’t get me wrong, but—”

the man’s form snaps back to normal in an instant, leaving him with an almost comical look of disbelief on his face. “you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

“i’m traumatised,” sanji corrects, cackling. “after my bastard of a sperm donor, i doubt i could be scared of much else. besides, you haven’t done anything but talk to me. that’s a lot more kindness than most people can say they’ve shown.”

he watches the emotions flash across the man’s face like a play-by-play until his strong features finally settle on something not dissimilar to determination. “we’re going.”

“huh?” the sudden subject change throws him. “where?”

“the all blue,” is the impatient answer as the stranger crosses his arms. “didn’t you say you wanted to go?”

“yes, but—” sanji makes a series of exasperated noises as he tries to find his words. “i can’t just— go! i have responsibilities, i need to—”

“you need to be free,” the man grunts, and sanji stops short. “can’t keep a bird caged and expect it to be happy.”

the prince bites his lip, heart pounding. this is crazy. this is insane, it’s how kidnappings happen, he shouldn’t even he considering this. “…if, even if we were to go— how would we get there? how would we even find it?”

“we’ll figure it out?” the man pins him with a look that says duh, like it’s no big deal. “i know a witch who’s a navigator, she owes me a favour. and a guy who works in a shipyard. it’ll work.” he looks like he’s about to start tapping his foot, but then his expression softens. “one day,” he says, eyes skating across sanji’s face. “we go for one day, sunrise to sundown, and if you don’t like it i’ll bring you right back.”

sanji’s chest aches. his breath trembles against his teeth. “why?”

his stranger swallows, gaze tilting down as his fingers drift to the hilt of the white sword by his side, like it’s a comfort. “you aren’t scared of me.” his eye is a flash of silver as he looks up again, bottled starlight and iron. “maybe that’s more kindness than i’m usually shown, too.”

maybe sanji’s losing his mind. maybe he’d lost it a long time ago. because he finds himself nodding slowly and breathing, “okay.”

a sharp, sure nod. “we leave tomorrow. settle your affairs and meet me down by the beach at dawn.”

“alright.”

sanji watches the man turn and amble away, in no apparent, rush, before a thought strikes him. “wait!”

green hair shifts in the sunlight as he twists back around, one scarred palm by his ear. “hah?”

“what’s your name?” sanji yells across the clearing, and the smile that’s sent his way is blinding.

“meet me and i’ll tell you, curls!” the man yells back, and then he’s gone. just— disappears, like he’d been a figment of imagination.

an apple core tips against sanji’s ankle, pale and clean.

(sora takes one look at his face when he asks and lets him go.

“you’d always been restless,” she tells him gently, as she helps him pack his things into a burlap satchel and sets his spice tins carefully into their case. she says he’d been loud even as a baby, wailing right out of the womb with eyes the blue of cornflowers and summer skies and the water, riotous and gentle and vast like his heart.

she sends him off with a kiss to his forehead, hands cupping his face as she smiles against his skin, and this time sanji welcomes the burn in his eyes.

he finds zoro by the beach like something out of a fairytale, skin bronzed in the light of a new day, glowing with the orange dancing off the waves. he has a boat waiting, barely big enough for two, wrist draped over his sword hilts as he yawns and scratches at his head, and sanji grins so hard his face hurts.

his palms on the lip of sealed wood have his heart pounding hard enough to feel it against his ribs, his shoes sinking into the sand as they push the dinghy out to sea and jump on, and he shoves his hand in the water just because he can.

“zoro,” the man says abruptly, two extra shadows framing him in the sunrise like a mirage, and sanji’s lips curl up at the edge. “that’s my name.”

“okay, mossy,” he sing-songs, and bites down a laughing scream when zoro rocks the boat so hard he nearly falls out.

he does tell zoro his name, when he decides that he’ll stay. they’re still on their little boat; it’s sunset now, and the green-haired man is taking up all the space in his other form, stretched out with his hands folded behind his head. “i’m sanji, by the way,” he offers, offhand, and watches zoro crack an eye open to grunt in acknowledgment.

he pretends not to see the soft smile that the other man flips over to hide. zoro hardly ends up using it anyway, the brute.

sanji really doesn’t mind.)

#don’t know WHERE i was going with this #like feeling around a wall in a dark room with paint on my hand #call that ABSTRACT ART 😏👍🏼#one piece #zosan #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #zoro #ino writes #this is an au where sanji meets zeff out there i guess… as of now the poor babygirl still thinks he’ll never get Fathered™#JUST YOU WAIT SANJI JUST YOU WAIT #mmkay goodnight yall #and happy 初二 to those who celebrate cny muakss

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dr-ferdisaur · 2 years

Text

Ocean Field fake cover [Mystery Incorporated Style]

No context at all but if you’re new around, Ocean Field is my JJBA (mainly SBR) AU

#jjba #jojo #jojos bizarre adventure #steel ball run #jjba fanart #jojos bizarre adventure fanart #jojos #art #digital art #fanart #johnny joestar #jojos bizarre adventure steel ball run #jjba au #ocean field #ocean field au #scooby doo #scooby doo mystery incorporated #jojo au

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the-witchhunter · 3 months

Text

DP x DC ramble: Types of power

Now, in this particular fandom, there’s a tendency to make an OP Danny

That’s a neutral statement, a lot of people just happen to like and post OP Danny

For the most part, not my taste but it can be fun in some contexts, but overpowered Danny isn’t my default

Now, Danny is physically strong. His abilities are combat focused and he can hold his own in a fight. He probably has a little less physical strength than you’d think since he uses gravity nullification to lift heavy things, but it’s impressive regardless. He has a goodly variety of offensive and defensive abilities that make him formidable is a fight

But the strongest characters in DC aren’t necessarily strong in that way

Superman is physically very strong, incredibly powerful, but he’s still nowhere near the level of the actual strongest characters, because their power is a very different type

Like I’m talking reality manipulation, omniscience, abilities that involve power over people’s very souls (and a ghost is a human soul) and where they end up. Psychopomps and some much more. I’m talking about beings that can mold the flesh of humans to remove something like a cancer and repair damage with barely a thought

And they’re mainly held in check by rules, mostly just being polite, sometimes Divine laws

This is a type of power Danny is not equipped to handle

It’s a very different game than Danny is playing. He can physically throw down, he might have an army if it’s Ghost King AU, but this is “can kill you with a literal snap and the snap is just for dramatic effect” territory

Danny is playing high school American football, these characters are playing Professional soccer aka what every other country calls football

It’s a very different game, and if he’s trying to play with them, he’s going to struggle

And that’s fine, he can still be OP and not be playing on the same field as Lucifer, or the Spectre, or various demon lords and so on, because it’s a different kind of power

But just arbitrarily saying he’s more powerful really undersells why they are powerful. Being able to punch good is not the same as a character that can just send him to the afterlife. Someone being able to reshape Danny’s body at their will isn’t going to be concerned about his ecto blasts

A Tuna is a big fish, but the ocean is VAST and DEEP

All this to say you’d have to drastically alter Danny’s actual power set to make him able to compete, otherwise you’re just de-powering the actual strongest characters, which is less impressive since it missed the point of WHY they were strong

Just because you can solve a sheet of math problems doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to ace a three page essay on the poetry of Keats

This has been my thoughts on the matter, be sure to grab a souvenir from the gift shop

Also just going to sneak this in:

Danny should probably be more concerned about magic users

Magic clearly can affect him, just look at the Freak Show incident from season one, that’s not even getting into the reality gauntlet. Now add in the fact that there’s a variety of magic items/artifacts in DC and a slew other of magic uses and occultists that can summon and bind ghosts, spirits, and demons to do their bidding

Danny is firmly in the category of beings that magic specifically deals with, he should probably be a bit more concerned about magic users

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dp x dc ramble #just some thoughts #I’m very much a show don’t tell kind of guy so I do get disappointed if I’m only told Danny is OP #since a lot of things are very powerful in very different ways #and being just told he’s more powerful just comes across as everything else was made weaker to accomplish it #and if you look into some of the actual most powerful characters in DC #you can see why Danny being more powerful is questionable #since it’s a different type of power we’re talking here #beings that can remove lung cancer from someone and reshape the flesh to repair it is def not the same as punching #it’s like intelligence #a person can be good at memorizing things #but that might not help in a puzzle solving competition #the difference between math homework and a three page literature essay #being good at one doesn’t mean you’re good at the other

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vulpisnocturna · 8 months

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Hello there, I hope ur havin a great day ♡ may I ask for Gojo x virgin!reader w voice kink, if it's ok w u obviously 🖤 I just think he would be sooo sweet to his darling 😌

Of course lovely :)

15) free space (voice kink)

NSFW - MDNI

Warnings: virgin reader, voice kink, praise kink, dirty talk, experienced Gojo, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, safe sex (on this blog??? crazy I know), Lawyer AU because why not, soft dom Gojo

His cerulean eyes were truly what people described and more. They had the effect that the Bernini statues had had on you when you had first seen them: awe and wonder at how an artist could carve marble to look like flesh and silk, how fingers curling on stone could look so soft and powerful. Gojo Satoru’s eyes were the same: they left you in marvel of the specks of hundreds, if not thousands of hues of blue, from the deepest depths of the ocean to a forest stream to the summer sky, all the way to the richest sapphires and the July fields of cornflowers in a meadow. They were framed by snowy eyelashes like snowflakes on ice, and try as you might, you could not accept that they were covered by sunglasses most of the time.

The first time you had seen them, you had forgotten how to speak. Now, because Satoru was a bit of a prick, he never did let it go. Once he had caught onto the fact that you had a crush on him, he had asked you out on a date. You were a lawyer green as grass at the firm he was partner at, fresh out of law school, looking to make a name for yourself in the law scene and make a change. Though his methods of arguing were unorthodox, Gojo Satoru was regarded as the best lawyer in the city. He talked way too much and often got cheeky with the Judge, which always made you slump in your chair and cringe inwardly like all the bones in your body had turned to soup, but somehow, his charm always managed to appease both the Judge and the jury.

Nanami-san said that if anyone other than Gojo tried his methods in court, they would be held in contempt in the span of five minutes without even having the time to utter “Your Honour”. He could do what he did because he was Gojo Satoru, but you still admired his speeches, his compelling motions, the way he could turn a case around at the last minute of the closing arguments as though it was second nature.

It was after a full day in court where you had had to cross-examine a very important defence expert witness that Gojo had kept you in the cafeteria at the afternoon break. You were sitting on a bench, trying to relieve the pain in your feet after wearing stilettos and standing behind the podium for hours, and drinking the watery coffee that did not taste like much just to keep yourself going just for another two hours, when Gojo had approached you.

‘That cross was quite the show’ he had commented, devouring a pastry, licking his lips when the strawberry jam inside it painted his mouth bright red.

That had been when Gojo had first taken notice of you. After that, he had insisted on getting a morning coffee with you, buying you lunch on the break and had even invited you to a dinner with the firm partners, and despite you feeling really out of your depth, he had managed to make you feel like you belonged with his easy jokes and cheeky compliments.

One week after the dinner, he had taken you on a beautiful date at a bar in the bustling centre of the city, where cocktails were served with smoke billowing from the glass and even just bartending looked like full-fledged artistry.

And now, after your third date, you had had a couple of glasses of red wine, and you had felt courageous enough to take him up on his offer to go back to his place. As a starting practitioner, you were living in a small flat near the courthouse, one where if you opened the sofa-bed, you would not be able to reach the kitchen unless you crawled over the bed. And now, you were in a penthouse with windows surrounding the living room, overlooking the skyline and the city centre. It was... extravagant and showy, two adjectives you would immediately choose when talking about him. And he was currently embracing you from behind, kissing your throat, sending your heart pattering like hailstones on a car windshield.

You hadn’t had the guts to tell him you were a virgin. You were out of your depth here as you had been at the dinner, but this, this felt so much more personal. This was... embarrassing.

Perhaps because you had been so busy with law school and then work, trying to stay on top of bills and rent, you hadn’t had time to date. You felt as though you had missed a big part of your puberty and early adulthood, and at some point, it had gotten to a point where “waiting for the right one” had turned into not trusting anyone enough with the embarrassment of still being a virgin. You had never been fully naked with someone, never done anything more than making out and shirtless dry humping. And he... well, he had a reputation as a womanizer. He looked like the type to have commitment issues, and God, you should not be involving yourself with him to this point, you should not give out your first sex experience to someone who might just want a one night stand with no baggage, but he had won you over like he won all of his cases.

And now, you were afraid to admit that you loved that peculiar, flamboyant man, and you wanted him to be your first.

But you did not know how to come clean with it. And so you were stuck in that predicament, turning into putty in his hands and growing more and more tense by the minute as his lips ghosted your jaw and your throat, his hands splayed on your stomach, holding you in place.

‘You are so pretty, sweetheart. You smell so sweet- you look so innocent, just want to see you look at me with your pretty teary eyes underneath me’ he murmured against your ear, and a shiver ran up your spine, your eyelids fluttering at the mere sound of his voice. He sounded... tantalising. It was as if his voice alone was enough to render you unable to think, enough to make your lower stomach drop and force you to press your thighs together to alleviate the throbbing between them. The huskiness of it, the sweet but sensual tone, his words... they were all making you dizzy. You could just hear him speak in your ear forever and you would never need to have sex to know what it felt like.

‘Satoru-‘ you breathed, licking your dry lips, and he turned you, picking you up and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His lips clashed with yours, hungry and enticing, soft and ravenous as they sought to brand you and burn their likeness in your mouth. His tongue was warm and demanding against yours, and he tasted faintly of mint and spiced rum, a lingering tribute to the last drink he’d had. His teeth sank in the pliant flesh of your bottom lip, and he sucked, tearing a whimper from you that made him groan.

The sound that came from his throat did nothing to quell down your lust, rather, it poured gasoline on a forest fire, to the point where you were squirming and gyrating your hips against his erection in an attempt to find reprieve.

‘Eager, are we, baby? I like it’ he chuckled, and you burnt from embarrassment and sheer lust, gulping when you found yourself in his room, which seemed to be bigger than your flat, on a king-sized bed with the softest mattress you had ever felt underneath you. He was quick to take off his shirt, giving you a view of his flawless alabaster skin and the lithe body he was blessed with, one that was nonetheless quite toned and muscular for someone who spent his day arguing with people. He climbed above you, looking at you with those cobalt eyes that seemed to make the world stand still.

‘C’mon, sweetheart, relax. I’m not going to devour you- unless you ask nicely’ he winked at you, making you burn at the embarrassing joke and the connotations of his words.

‘I- I haven’t... had sex before. Ever’ you decided to rip the band-aid and hope for the best. Satoru’s reaction was not what you had expected. He looked perplexed.

‘You’re a virgin? You? You must have had a crowd of fanboys following you for years. Were none of them up to your standards? Were you waiting for me?’ he teased, smirking, almost as if he was trying to put you at ease with his light humour. You gave a nervous laugh.

‘Uhh, I was... busy- and never really got to that point’ you stuttered, wishing his stupid extravagant bedside table lamps weren’t on so he wouldn’t see your face.

‘Well, I am flattered you chose me. I’ll have to make it worth your time, yeah?’ he said, seemingly falling back into his charming self as he ran the pad of his thumb across your lower lip, making you hold your breath as you waited for his next move.

He cupped your face, drawing you in for a slow, sensual kiss that made your stomach drop and pebbled your skin with goosebumps. The touch of his fingers was a mere caress across your ribcage, your waist and hip, but you could tell that he was holding back, and he would have likely been much rougher had he not known that this was your first time.

His feverish lips traced a line to your throat, and he took his time savouring your skin, kissing and licking and nipping at your skin until you were sure you were nothing but a pliant ragdoll in his hands.

‘I’m going to make you feel so good, baby... going to make you addicted to this, make you my good girl’ he crooned against your skin, and your breath faltered, your teeth pulling on the corner of your bottom lip. He sounded sinful, alluring, like he was casting a spell on you. His voice alone, hearing him say that, the drop in his tone, the way his tongue seemed to caress every word like his fingers were ghosting your skin... it was already becoming too much to bear. You needed to feel more, and you did not want him to treat you like you were a fragile thing who would break at the slightest touch.

In your fantasies, ones you would take to your grave, he would just take you as he spewed filth to you, praising you and making you feel like you were the only thing he ever saw and wanted. You wanted to be his.

‘Satoru... you can be rougher with me’ you murmured, and his eyes seemed to gleam in the orangey glow of the lamps, a grin spreading across his reddened lips as his fingers curled around your hip.

‘Careful what you wish for, pretty girl’ he said, his hand skimming your body to settle on your ass, under your skirt. He was fondling the pliable skin there, his tongue dipping out to lick your cleavage. He helped you out of your top, his eyes devouring every inch of your skin, making you feel truly attractive and seductive as you watched him take in your features like he couldn’t get enough of you.

Satoru ran his willowy fingers over your breasts, ghosting over your stiff nipples, circling them before he pulled down the straps of your bra and snaked his hand underneath your back to unclasp it and toss it away.

You would have felt self-conscious, were it not for Satoru’s immediate enthusiasm as he dipped his head and kissed the skin around your nipple, his hand kneading the other breast as his tongue flicked your nipple and he sucked it. You arched your back into his eager mouth and skilled fingers, wishing he would touch you between your legs, because you couldn’t take it anymore.

‘So pretty- you’re so sensitive, baby. You want me to take this pretty little skirt off?’ he asked, voice almost mellifluous, and you nodded almost too eagerly, immediately averting your eyes and feeling your cheeks heat up with warmth as you watched him smirk. He unzipped your skirt, easily slipping it off you, and his fingers ran up your thighs, which parted for him instinctively. He hummed in self-satisfaction, eyes locked on your face as he cupped you through your underwear, making your breath falter and a desperate mewl escape you at the much needed friction, which still did not feel like enough.

‘You’re such a good girl. So wet for me’ he crooned, dragging his fingers along your labia, pressing slightly until you were squirming underneath him.

‘Please, Satoru- need...’ you whined, and he chuckled, lowering his head to plant a kiss on your clothed pussy, his tongue mischievously flicking you where your most sensitive spot was.

‘What do you need, sweetheart? Want me to take your panties off and lick your cute little cunt?’ he asked, so impossibly lewd and alluring that you could not help but moan, nodding desperately.

‘Yeah- need you to touch me’ you breathed, and he smirked, cerulean eyes bright and impish as he hooked his fingers on the hem of your panties and dragged them down your thighs, discarding them and immediately touching your bare skin, teasing your wet labia and kissing your thighs, inching closer and closer to your cunt.

He dipped one long finger inside you, and you were already clamping and throbbing around it, but when he curled it, you could not help the breathless, wanton moan that poured out of you. It felt too good to be true.

‘Such a tight little cunt. Need to get you used to my fingers before you can take my cock, m’kay?’ he cooed, and your head spun with the sheer desire that man could induce in you with just his voice and a single finger.

But when his tongue joined his hand and he flicked your clit, you swore you saw stars. Your hands shot to his snowy hair, and instinct made you try to squirm away, but Satoru would not let you. He pinned you down with one large hand and let out a gravelly groan, circling your clit with his tongue.

If you had known oral sex felt this good, you would have sought someone out years ago. But perhaps it was just Satoru, and he was annoyingly good at everything, including sex.

You were reduced to a sobbing, wanton mess as Satoru tormented you in the sweetest way there was, coaxing whimpers and moans from you as he sucked your clit in his searing mouth, added another finger inside you and pumped them, slowly at first, and then deeper and faster.

His fingers were so much different from yours: they were longer and thicker, and he knew what he was doing even better than you did. And his tongue... God, it was torturous.

‘Cum for me, pretty girl- cum on my face’ he said, and you were undone. Your orgasm rocked through you like a surge of electricity, making your body tense up and your thighs tremble, your ears ringing and your eyes full of tears, white splotches dancing in your vision as the tight knot in your lower stomach released.

You were bleary, worn-out and breathless when he finally lifted his head and slipped his fingers out of you, unable to even form words after the orgasm he had just torn from you. Your dazed eyes followed him as he lifted himself off the bed and unbuttoned his trousers, taking them off along with his black boxers, until you stared, eyes slightly wide as his cock slapped against his lower stomach, thick and long, the reddened skin contrasting with the neatly trimmed white hairs of his crotch and the pale skin of his stomach.

He reached to the drawer of his nightstand, grabbing a condom and ripping the wrapper with his teeth. He unrolled it over his cock, smirking at you and hovering above you, kissing you and rubbing the tip of his cock over your labia, making you whine and push your hips against him to get him to push in.

‘Shh, shh. I have to be gentle, don’t want to hurt you, baby’ he murmured, looking as though he was struggling to restrain himself too as he pushed in a little bit, until the tip of his cock pressed inside you, tearing a whimper from you. It already felt thick and as though it was filling you and stretching you, and you did not know whether you would be able to withstand any more.

However, with coaxing and shushing from his part, he was able to push a few more inches inside you, moaning as his head dropped in the crook of your neck, his breath uneven. Your eyes scrunched up and you gritted your teeth at the burning sensation inside you, taking small breaths and trying to relax your muscles even though your instinct was to tense up.

‘Fuck- you’re so tight. You can take it, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. Just a little more’ he praised, kissing you, forcing you to relax and distracting you from the pain you felt as he pushed. You gasped at the sudden pang of pain, raking your nails down his back, but the sting did not take too long to fade away.

The first push of his hips after the pain went away felt so good you could not hold back a loud moan, and your back arched into him, your eyelids growing heavy with pleasure.

He let out a groan, gripping your thigh, lifting it around his waist, deepening the thrusts until you were squirming underneath him, whining and pleading with him.

‘Good girl. You feel amazing. You sound so sweet, baby’ he crooned, slapping his hips against you, until you could barely breathe and were rendered incoherent by how good it felt, how it pressed against all the right places, how his words were guiding you through it, heightening the pleasure.

‘’toru- please... I’m so close’ you moaned, and he gave you an impish grin, pulling you into a sloppy kiss, his hand snaking between your bodies to roll your clit between his fingers, until you were quivering and writhing underneath him, gasping for air when your lips weren’t interlocked with each other.

‘That’s my good girl. Cum for me, baby. I’m close too’ he said, getting rougher, pushing deeper and harder into you, lifting one of your legs on his shoulder, his bright blue eyes burning into you, seeming to sear the image he was seeing into his brain.

A string of curses and slurred pleas left your mouth as it got too much to bear and the knot in your belly released, making you tremble with your orgasm, your field of view obfuscated with white, your muscles weak as his hips stuttered and his rhythm broke. He came with a breathy moan, his head thrown back in bliss, his lips slightly parted.

Satoru slumped next to you, a light sheen of sweat making some strands of snowy hair cling to his forehead, his skin almost glowing in the dim light of his room.

You dared to reach to his face and brush them away, and he closed his eyes, almost as if he was revelling in your touch. It made your heart tighten in your ribcage.

‘Shower with me?’ he asked, smiling slightly, and then his lips stretched into that charming, roguish smirk, ‘I can’t promise I’ll behave, sweetheart’

#i apologise for any law inconsistencies #gojo imagine #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader

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alistairsmonstercafe · 5 months

Text

SFW 141 With a Dolphin Hybrid Reader

NOTICE; GN/Male Reader

ADDITIONAL; I don't mind Fem/Fem aligned readers reading but don't feel insulted/complain that I strictly don't do Fem reader, not my cuppa tea mate.

INSPIRATION; @/Bluegiragi Monster AU on Twt and Tumblr

NOTE; To them you probably sound like a person who gets high off poison lets be honest.. Fuckin' Dolphins.. (I love them)

When Price first recruits you, he instantly knows you'll be a fucking great swimmer with those tail and fins, and marvels at the fact you're able to still breathe out of water.

Price takes notice of both your playful or reserved nature, and while he doesn't mind it, it'll be hell once you meet Soap.

Price is sure to train you for more on land situations, after all, there aren't as many missions in the water compared to the land, and he hopes you don't catch him smoking. He isnt sure how well your lungs could handle it on top of being on land.

Although Price gets a little concerned when you get a little too close to the pufferfish nearby on tropical missions..

Soap takes notice of you pretty early on, his nose is sharp when he smells the ocean on you, and gets excited at such a unique scent. And if you're as fast as you say, you know you'll both be racing around the militarys pool. (You, often win of course, but Soap still attempts it.)

Soap hears of the way you consider your family a pod, as he considers the 141 a pack. Purring at the thought of possibly hunting together for the group sometime!

Soap isnt as vocal with his sounds like Gaz in comparison to Price or Ghost, but still loud enough. He sounds like a motor engine, purring and cooing at your little clicks, whistles, and squeals.

Soap who also notices you have like, no fucking body hair. Like hello? You dont seem to have much of an odor and not much hair, lucky bastard is all he can grumble out, but he doesn't mean it to much to heart.

Its Gaz who's able to almost mimic your sounds back, he's trilling and chirping to you happily while the other guys watch in mild interest at your little chirp fest. It's only unless they get interrupted that Gaz returns a little more reserved with a grin on his face after what just happened.

Gaz who admires your personal whistle, its sharp and keen, almost like his own call, and you two are both quick to use it during missions.

Gaz who notices how much you eat, and hell is amused compared to concerned and even urges you to eat more, unaware of your second stomach. Its until you tell him that hes surprised that one stomach is for storage and the other, actual consumption.

Gaz who notices your echolocation in the water, marvelling at the sharp and precise echo as you maneuver through the water quickly and cleanly.

Its Ghost who obviously, takes time to watch you, you're the kind of lad who needs a team to function. He can respect such a thing, after all a majority of 141 is created of hybrids who work together, and surprisingly well.

Although Ghost's a little surprised at your horrible sense of smell compared to, say, Soap, or even Price and his old nose.

But Ghost appreciates your sense of logic. After all Dolphins are considered smarter, and he puts that to the test at times with quick questions on the battle field of what to do next. If he deems it a good answer he may apply it to the battle tactic.

In the end, the 141 loves their local dolphin.

#cod #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #gn reader #male reader #monster au #alistair writes ☕️

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ahhhwomen · 1 month

Text

You can say no?

Vampire Empire

Part 6

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: This is not my best-written chapter I won't lie, but it will still hurt if you are looking for a little angst fix... Yeah no, this hurt a little... I won't lie. Also, peep the tags, I had to make a change for this one...

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Human pets, abuse, violence, possessiveness, probably incorrect vampire lore, angst, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, kitten play (?), death, alluded rape/non-con Minors DNI 18+

Word count: 1.8k

Taglist

Your hands weave through cold water, their damaged nerves trying desperately to hold on to something, anything. Waving against unfamiliar territory, you paddle and struggle against heavy waves, they push and pull, and you heave for breath between the swishing walls.

The water is chilling and gloomy.

The expansion of the ocean, vast, and intimidating.

You never realized it until now, with your feet kicking and struggling against the currents, but-

you don’t know how to swim.

There was a woman, long before Master entered the picture.

She was the only one to take an incline of pity on your small shaking frame as she dished out the punishment for eating before you were given permission.

Your chest struggles against the hammering of your heavy heart as the older woman looms over your small frame, sitting in the chilled freezer, your hands clamber around the rough wool sweater she instructed you to put on.

“Here.” Her voice is estranged and lost within time, but you remember the way she would hand you a little flashlight and a painting she had observed your eyes drift toward while you stayed with her.

Even at your young age, there had been something about that painting that drew you to it. The delicate brush strokes were perfected over time. You could almost see the progress of the artist within their work. Some lines were thicker, and rougher, as if they were made with an inexperienced hand. Yet, toward the end, the last final touches among the petals were as beautiful as could be.

The first painting she ever brought inside the cold metal box was your favorite. It helped fend away the thoughts of your stiff, shaking body, inside the locked freezer.

It was a field of sunflowers.

You claw against gruff hands as he holds you under the freezing water.

The cold hits you and you can’t help but try and gasp for air, the only reward you're given is water forcing its way into your lungs and dragging you down even lower.

Your vision darkens and you know.

There is nothing you can do.

As you squint up at the man, the water obscures the view, it morphs and moves, and his blond hair almost reminds you of the sun.

Your airways close as his hands tighten, despite the ice-cold water, blood pools inside your head, heating you up from the inside out, as your body numbs.

His horrid vanilla perfume penetrates your senses much like the chilling liquid that surrounds you.

You never tasted vanilla before… this may be the closest you will ever be to it.

In a blurry of delusion and hallucination, you dream of the beach. With the real sun, instead of his blond hair, peaking over the horizon.

And as you lose conciseness you picture a warming light and delicious ice cream with real vanilla.

The forceful grip of chill has been both a friend and a foe over the years. When you woke up that morning, you didn’t think it would be different from any other day. And you didn’t really care, even if it was.

On one side, the cold numbs you and lessens your senses until you can’t feel the burning pain of a harsh hand or even harsher canines.

Yet, on the other hand, with the lack of mobility, you can’t protect yourself. It’s not like you ever had much of a chance against your masters, to begin with, but that one night.

You curl into yourself, your muscles are weak and tired, but you try to hide from the outlash of thoughts and memories.

If you weren’t so damned cold, maybe it would’ve played out differently.

Maybe you could have spoken up before she had them remove that ability altogether.

“HOW DARE YOU!” You whine and turn as two hot weights settle you back in place. Something strokes your side in a gentle up-and-down motion as searing flashes of the past bombard your senses.

“YOU ARE A PET!” Army boots are the only thing you can focus on as she forces you down to your knees in the snow.

Your leash is wrapped around one of the boots, the weak material fraying around the edges as her heels dig into the ground and force you even lower. With your face flush with the dead grass that is layered with frozen water, she stares you down.

“YOU ARE A SLAVE!”

The last leverage of your knees is quickly kicked out from under you, and you fall with a heavy thud. Your eyes force themselves closed as the snow invades your nervous system.

“YOU DON’T GET TO SAY NO TO ME!” The harsh breathing of the older woman is slurred and hissed. Which is how you know her sharper teeth are out.

Your eyelids slowly peel open, and with a determined turn of your head, you stare up at her in wonder. What did you do?

“DID YOU TELL HER NO WHEN SHE DID THIS TO YOU, HUH!?”

Did you tell her no?

You can say no?

Before the vision can continue, you startle as soft whispers sneak past your eardrums. The words are hard to make out between the intense tone of the blond woman and the horrid chill of the surroundings.

You can only make out parts as the gentle strokes return to your side. A warmth, unfamiliar to you, presses itself closer to you as you can feel their grip tighten against your flailing body.

“Hush, it’s okay…”

Is it?

“You’re okay baby.”

You?

You are, okay…?

Aren’t you drowning…?

Yeah.

You are drowning.

“Shit, she’s getting worse.” Wanda curses under her breath as she closes the distance between the two of you even more, even going so far as to pull Natasha closer by the arm wrapped around your midsection.

Both she and the other redhead lay on their plush carpet in nothing but underwear as they clutch you close while the fireplace burns and crackles to the left of you.

After Natasha had carried you into their home, earlier that day, the vamped-out redhead had quickly ordered her wife to strip down, her voice harsh yet monotone. At the time, Wanda had been riddled with confusion, Natasha had never spoken to her in such a manner before, much less with a demand like that.

The way her words had drawled over each syllable, the air hissed against prominent canines as her tongue clicked at the roof of her mouth. It oozed authority, a clear disrespect toward the older vampire.

There are ranks within the vampire world and rules to follow such ranks. Wanda was the Wanda Maximoff, clan leader of the Maximoff clan. As far as the vamp rule applied, Wanda was at the top of the food chain.

Natasha is strong, always has been, but if she were ever put up against the command of a clan leader her free will would cease to exist. Of course, the powerful redhead would never do such a thing to her wife, but that didn’t mean a vampire´s rage was something that could be stopped.

And Wanda should be angry, she should be outright offended that a lesser vampire would ever speak to her in such a manner. Had Natasha been someone else, Wanda would’ve ripped her head off already.

Yet here they were.

Natasha laid you down gently in front of the fireplace, her hands were already moving to start the fire before she could register what she was doing. Strong, orange, flames licked her upper body as the wood caught ablaze. The heat sizzled and the wood groaned. Previous charcoal that had laid forgotten on the ashpan glowed and flourished with the newfound heat.

Then much like she expected Wanda to do, she stripped down to her underwear. It’s as if she couldn’t get the clothes off fast enough, with every glide of expensive fabric that loosened and fell, she just became more irritated. She doesn’t know how long you have been like this, but the window for action was closing by the minute.

The scent of blood from your scratched elbow drifted through the mansion, yet it was the last thing on the redheads’ minds.

Crawling over to the couch Natasha pulled down every blanket she could get her hands on, and in a jiffy, she was back at your side.

Wrapping you both up like a burrito as she buried herself under the blankets with you.

An audible hiss could be heard as Natasha first laid her front flat against your bare back. Your skin could rival a piece of paper for the bleakness. But it wasn’t just that, you were beyond cold. If Natasha didn’t know any better, she would think you were a corpse.

The thought made her shudder, in a moment of need for a distraction, her eyes started their journey toward a hotheaded redhead.

Natasha knew the significance of demanding anything from her wife, to be frank, it had just slipped, and as her eyes connected with her lovers, she was expecting to see anger flaring within them.

Instead, when her eyes disconnect from where they had been staring at your greasy hair, they glance up to see Wanda stripped down and standing protectively over the both of you.

So, after being let into your little burrito, they both wrapped themselves around you and waited with bated breath.

There was an unspoken understanding amongst them. You were special, whether they wanted to believe it or not.

Close to an hour later, you started whining in your fever-induced sleep.

It all went downhill from there.

(On the other side of the city)

Carol huffs as yet another problem arises, she could never get any peace.

Walking out she can finally breathe as the cold city air flows into her. Her lungs expand and contract as her eyes slip closed for a second. If she wasn’t so fucking angry, she may have enjoyed the silence that hung in the crisp air.

Pulling her phone out she goes to check your location, she hadn’t planned to run off like that, but one of the idiot goons had started trouble with another clan. If she hadn’t stopped it then and there, they were all as good as dead. It had been an ally of the Maximoff clan after all.

“Urgh” pinching her eyebrows Carol groans in frustration. She is going to get an earful from Thor once she gets back to work.

If her mood wasn’t sour before, it most definitely was now.

She was only half-heartedly checking your tracker, too busy wallowing in self-pity, that is until she saw the house, or more like a mansion, where your collar now resides.

Glass shatters, small pieces of melted sand, scattering and clinking as a mastered craft meets asphalt.

She is going to kill you.

Taglist:

@thinking1bee @tobiaslut @esmeseasle @skittlebum @tia-thesimp @maximilfsworld @leenasayeed @scarlethexelove @itsalwaysskorpioszn @observeowl @tekanparadiae @alexawynters @adelareys @anqyuicka @ichala @thalia-is-not-ok @lovelyy-moonlight @wandamaximoff-simp @opossumking03 @confidant-thoughts @delivery-bird @esouliie @geydumbbetch @dorabledewdroop @mousetheorist @herwagonempathkid @mommysfavouritegirl @auroraromaximoff @roman0ffsheart @morganna-la-faye @kaosrsing @marvelwomenarehot0 @lizzieswife101 @og-kxsh-420 @chibilauren @sgm616 @cyber-juipter @falloutboy-lover @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @likefirenrain @cole2907 @rahhhha @taliiiaasteria @mommysfavouritegirl @dehydratedcoffeeaddict @viktoriaromanovaa @julz2000

#wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #vampire!natasha romanoff #vampire!wanda maximoff #dark!wandanat #vampire empire

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desert-fern · 8 months

Text

Ring Around My Rosie - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Nurse Reader (WWII European Theatre AU)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

Warnings: blood, bullet removal, mentions of Nazis (it is a WWII AU so…), probably inaccurate depictions of wartime nursing, most likely factually incorrect WWII history, fluff so fluffy I gave myself a cavity just writing this, 1940s Bradley Bradshaw (yes, he is a warning)

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: If you can’t guess, this oneshot is a WWII AU inspired by a cover of Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan that I have linked here! I’m 90% I fucked up my Spotify Wrapped for this fic so I hope you enjoy!

===

Well, I met him at Guy's in the second world war

And I was working on a soldier's ward

The scent of blood was thick in your nostrils as you dragged yourself out of the field hospital in Les Annais, Belgium. The Germans had been menacing your location for weeks, baiting your troops and sending fractions limping back into your capable hands.

You knew nothing of the tactics being used, very few did. You were here as a nurse, not as a tactician, not as anyone of note, save for being the longest serving nurse at the 51st Field Hospital. The others had bailed out as soon as they could, doing their duty but the gruesome fighting months earlier at the Battle of the Bulge had sent many fleeing.

It wasn’t like you could blame them.

You were still new, having joined up as soon as you could convince your father and while you were a month shy of 23, you had never experienced anything like this. Your grandmother had told your father off, reminding him that it was his own stubborn streak that raced through you.

But you were unprepared for everything you would have to do out here, hundreds of kilometers away from home, with the least amount of training that they could spare. At the beginning, you could only offer comfort to some of these men, being unable to save them from their wounds, as they cried for their mothers, wives, children, begging for the pain to end.

Sometimes - well, most times - these men were boys your age or younger. Lives that had only just begun were snuffed out in the most violent of ways and you were left to piece together your shattered heart day after day.

So you closed yourself off, choosing to help as many as you could. The conditions were brutal, the wounds you saw even more so. A year and a half ago, you didn’t know how it felt to hold down a screaming man so a doctor could try and save a septic leg. You were a shoulder to cry on, a smiling face despite the bleakness, and more often than not, an object of flirtation and admiration.

The sky was a miserable gray, like it always was. It seemed like the sky was trying to match the color of the tents scattered around the outside of the main camp, doing its best to hide you from the prying eyes of the German aerial patrols.

The Luftwaffe were always around. Luckily for you, they couldn’t aim for shit, but you couldn’t deny that the German movements had been far more frequent. Sometimes a young man crawled through the borders surrendering to the English and American forces and begging for help.

No one else would treat him, refusing to even get close to him.

You had chastised them all, reminding them of their promises to help those in need, and slowly you had gained some help in the care of these young men, though they were few and far between.

Shouts caught your attention, sending you racing through the muddy field back to the hospital. A group of soldiers, Americans by the sound of them, were calling for help and you would be a hypocrite if you didn’t help.

Hurrying through the door ahead of them, you saw a small group, maybe seven or so men approach. They were muddy, beaten and bruised, but your eyes fell upon the man being held up by his compatriots. “What happened?” You asked, quickly replacing a red headed man and half-carried the brunette towards the only open bed in the corner.

“A bunch of Krauts caught us by surprise, caught Rooster here with a few shots and some ass- pardon me ma’am, idiot jumped out of a tree and landed on top of him,” the man explained, helping you lay this Rooster on the bed.

You focused on the brunette’s bloody uniform, eyeballing the few bullet wounds in his arms, but you were the most concerned about the broken leg. It only took one infected wound and that limb would be gone. Not today, you thought. “Dot, I need the suture kit and a basin. You,” you stated, standing up to face the man standing next to you.

“Mulligan, ma’am,” he told you, standing up straighter. “Lewis Mulligan, US Navy.”

“Lewis, can you help me hold him down? I can’t stitch him up and hold him down at the same time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dot hurried over with the makeshift kit, placing it on the bed along with a basin of water. Unbuttoning his shirt, you found that two of the three bullet wounds still had the bullet in them and that the third had begun to clot against his shirt. Pulling the scissors from the pants pocket of your uniform and cutting the shirt away, you finally had a better view at what you were working with. “Fucking Krauts. Guess they must be really desperate to keep using shitty ammunition,” you remarked dryly, dipping a set of tweezers in a basin of cheap spirits.

Lewis didn’t say a word, clearly stunned by your foul language. “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you turned to face him. “Lewis, I need your help holding him down. The longer this takes, the bigger the risk of infection. I can’t do that if you are going to be shocked when I cuss and swear. Can you help me or not?”

He nodded, coming to stand on the other side of the unconscious man. Hands placed on his friend’s shoulder and hip, Lewis gave you a nod and you began.

The bullets were soft and slippery. They slid out of your tweezers more times than you could count, but you made it work, finally prying the two out of his shoulder and side. Lewis wasn’t looking at you, his face green by the time the last bullet clinked into the porcelain tray. “I can take it from here, Mulligan. Go back to your group, tell them…”

“His name is Bradley.”

You gave him a smile. “Tell them Bradley should be okay unless he does something stupid.”

He left you alone, perched on the side of Bradley’s bed, stitching him up. You saw his eyelashes flutter as you finished the last stitch and quickly stood up. If he lunged at you, you had to be standing. Enough men had grabbed at you when they woke up and you had quickly learned not to make that mistake again.

Too many bruises, too many sprains, too many punches thrown.

To your surprise, Bradley let out a groan and his eyes slowly blinked open. That groan turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to sit up. “Stay down,” you said gently, approaching slowly with your hands up. “You’re in a field hospital in Belgium.”

His eyes flicked to you, taking in your bloody uniform and trailing over your face. “The others?” He said in a panicked voice. “Where are the others?”

“Lewis and the redhead are outside, they carried you here. Seven of you came up to us, that’s all I know Bradley.”

A nod. “Thank you Ma’am.” Relief was written all over his face, in the way his eyes fell closed for a moment and his shoulders dropped.

“I just finished stitching up your chest, but I need to look at your leg. Can I do that?”

“Anything for you doll,” Bradley replied with a wink as he tried to lay down. But he winced and you were there, your bloodstained hands firmly holding his shoulders and neck while you guided him back down.

Never had I seen such beauty before

The moment that I saw ya

You moved quickly to treat his leg, finding that thankfully it was just a broken ankle and not somewhere further up. The number of men that had come in with a broken leg and left with one and a half was a number that you didn’t like to think about. It was far too high.

But Bradley wouldn’t be one of them and you couldn’t help but send up a prayer of thanks. The minute he’d opened his eyes, you’d been transfixed by the deep amber of them. A deep brown like the whiskey that was saved for special occasions and sparkled like a polished gun barrel or belt buckle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen handsome men. Quite the opposite. You saw all kinds of men at their worst. Lots of them lookers, but you hadn’t felt a connection to one until him.

His gaze made it hard to focus as you fumbled with his boot lace, finally undoing it after what felt like hours. The smell still made you recoil a little, even after nearly a year in the nursing corps. Regardless, you still had to do your job. So you worked quickly, removing both boots and socks and compared both sides to assess where the break was.

A soft touch to his foot had him chuckle and you glanced up at him curiously. “Sorry, just ticklish, is all,” Bradley said sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at his mustache.

You gave him a smile before returning to work, splinting his ankle and cleaning the blood, sweat, and mud from his skin. “Better now?” You asked him, tucking a blanket over his body and helping him into a clean-ish shirt.

His eyes met yours and despite being in pain, Bradley shot you a small smile. “Better now that I can see my guardian angel.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that one, sailor? More times than you’ve used that line on anyone in stockings.”

Bradley just grinned at your retreating form and let his eyes slip shut. The pain in his body was getting to be too much, but as he dozed off, he found himself listening to your voice as you reprimanded a soldier barely older than yourself for getting out of bed. You intrigued him, that’s all.

He said I was his yellow rose

And we got married wearing borrowed clothes

Weeks had passed since that first interaction and both you and Bradley had been writing to one another as often as you could spare. While in the hospital, you learned that he and his friends had been separated from their landing crew as they made their way inland from the coast. He’d been on Omaha Beach during what had become known as the “D-Day” landing in Normandy.

Not that he’d been allowed to tell you that, but he had anyways, trusting you implicitly. He’d had to leave after nearly a month under your care, but made a promise to come back.

You hoped he would, but neither of you knew what would take place.

The fighting had drawn closer to your hospital as the Allies fought for Belgium, liberating it in 14 days and wrestling it from German hands. There had been some celebration amongst your ranks, but your heart ached for Bradley, praying every night that he came back to you.

For now though, you had to settle for letters. Bradley’s smooth voice seemed to read every letter aloud to you, each word wrapped in that gentle, flirtatious tone he had used every day you had looked after him.

Doll. My darling Rosie, the most recent letter began. They usually started out with some endearment, God knows he had used enough of them as he tried to win you over despite your colleagues warning him that you wouldn’t fall.

You remember Lew? Well he told me that writing to you was a waste because I wouldn’t get any letters back, but I know you. You wrote me back like you always do. Means I’m going to have a nice big stack of letters waiting for me the minute the post catches up with us.

We’re still marching. It’s been hell on my ankle, but you patched me up nice and neat so I’m not too worried. At least the view is nice. I think you would like it where we camped tonight, crickets are chirping now as I write this and it’s peaceful. Kinda like those nights you spent sitting with me when we’d talk about everything and I would always get worried that you would get sick of me jawing and talking your ear off, but you never did. Spoiled me for a good listener. The boys here don’t talk much. Battle fatigue is crawling all over them and it is always quiet around these times cause no one says a word.

It’s awful lonely though, sweetheart. I miss your laugh, especially how you would have to cover it when it was the middle of the night. Closest thing to home I had in a while. I hope you can hear my voice in this letter because I know I hear yours every time. And I mean every word, Doll, I hope you know that.

When I come back, I want to take you somewhere nice. Get you all dressed up in something pretty but you would still be the most beautiful dame I ever saw if you came out in your uniform that I know you are wearing now. Maybe I’ll take you dancing like you talked about, holding you close for song after song and if I’m lucky we would be going steady after that. That kiss on the cheek you gave me before I left is just haunting me because I had a taste of the future, if you feel the same of course.

Call me a flirt, doll, but I’m just sweet on you. I’m doing everything in my power not to go AWOL and come all the way back to find you, but I hope this letter finds you well instead.

Thinking about you, my English rose.

Yours always,

Bradley.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you carefully folded the letter back up and placed it with the others. They were all like that, yearning to be back here instead of wherever he was, thoughts of the future and he always, always, signed it off with “Thinking of you,” or lately “Yours always.” Every letter gave you hope and while you knew some of yours had likely been delayed, you always jumped up like you’d sat on a tack whenever the post arrived.

Dot had started teasing you the second that Bradley left, but one reminder of Lewis and she too was blushing. The two of you sat in your quiet fear, praying that neither one of you would get a letter from one of their unit mates saying that one or both was gone.

Your next letter went out the same day.

Hopefully, it would all be alright. So for now, you let yourself dream of dancing in Bradley’s arms, Glen Miller playing softly in the background as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hundreds of miles away, huddled under a thin blanket, Bradley pulled a creased letter from his pocket, finally having the chance to read it. As the letter slid out of the envelope, a sweet smell burst free and filled his nostrils. He recognized your perfume, the scent having filled him with joy every moment he spent by your side as he recovered.

Shifting a little and adjusting the blanket, he opened it up, catching a second page that tried to escape in the sudden breeze. Bradley moved his lantern over and began reading your tight script that had his heart skipping a beat each time he saw it fill a page.

Bradley,

I received another letter from you today and I thought I had best get writing so I don’t miss the post truck. I do remember Lewis. Hopefully he remembers Dot because she is patiently waiting for a response to her letter. I don’t think it matters, the sentiment is still the same and I would rather see you at the end of this harrowing ordeal than have you replay thoughts on paper.

I had been meaning to ask about your ankle. If it ever gives way, splint it like I showed you. I don’t want you to break it again, even if that would mean you have to come back to me. But for the moment, I am glad for your letters. They make me feel closer to you. Describe the view for me, please. I see nothing but muddy fields, canvas walls, and wounded men. Is it raining a lot on your march? I know your boots were ruined when you were brought here. Did you ever find new ones? He had, but the source of them sent his stomach twisting in knots. Pulling boots off a man killed in battle felt savage, like they didn’t matter as a person.

I miss our talks as well. I learned so much about you so quickly and I feel like I know everything about you. I miss the snort you make when you laugh, especially when I told you that the other nurses called me Rosie because I was the only English nurse here. I was worried you would stop breathing some nights the way you clutched your chest as you laughed like you had never heard anything so funny. But I would give anything to see your smile, the one where it reaches your eyes and it seems you swell up with joy. I know there isn’t much time for smiles now but if I could just give you one of mine, I would.

Send my love to the boys with you. War is hard enough without having to deal with loneliness at the same time and you all are in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you terribly and find myself daydreaming of you every spare moment I have, which is not often anymore, but I drift off to sleep with your past letters in my hands and your words in my mind.

Your confessions for after this war sound like heaven. I hadn’t let myself dream too long about what will become of us. We have both heard the stories of wartime romances often enough to know how precarious they can be, but if you have hope, dearest, then so do I. I’ll wear my best dress and you in your uniform, we will be the best dressed pair at the dance hall. Nothing sounds better than dancing close with you. I don’t care how presumptuous it is, the way my heart yearns for your nearness, I can give my answer to your most secret hopes without hesitation.

If you asked, dearest, I would be yours in a heartbeat. So long as you are mine as well. Bradley breathed out a laugh, trying not to wake his comrades. He had been kicking himself ever since he had sent that letter, hoping you felt the same and by the grace of God, you did. I may be English but we aren’t always prim and proper when angered. I could and would write a million pages with barely any thought, but the truck is waiting for me, so I must end this letter here. I hope my words keep you warm in this autumn weather and please, if you can, come back to me.

Stay safe, dearest.

Your Rose

The letter crinkled in his grip as Bradley bit back a wide grin. You were okay. You wanted to go steady. You cared for him. Fuck the war, he though. His doll was waiting for him back in Belgium and not for the first time, he hoped that the war would end for purely selfish reasons. You were waiting and his mama had raised a good boy who never left a woman waiting, he wasn’t going to start now.

The radio in the small hospital crackled as the BBC broadcast announced Germany’s surrender as Russian troops poured into Berlin. Cheers went up amongst the nurses and the men they were caring for, but you knew that the casualties were high on both sides. The United States still fought with Japan in the Pacific, chasing them back towards their island, and you knew that the fighting would go on for a long time.

The only thing? You hadn’t heard from Bradley in months, not since March of this year; 1945. It was now May.

The worry in you grew every day, trying and failing to hide it from Dot and the others around you. It hadn’t affected your work, but it affected nearly everything else. You were hardly sleeping, rereading his letters so often you had them memorized. “Thinking of you” was written in his neat handwriting against the back of your eyelids, and everytime you blinked, you thought of him.

A few days went by since that monumental announcement of the war’s end and some fighting was still happening but Germany’s surrender had a lot of Nazi sympathizers fleeing like rats. But world leaders were acting quickly and you knew that while it would be some time before you would return home to England, it would also not be enough time for Bradley to come back to you here in Les Annais.

So, like always, you went to work. The soldiers around you were still flirtatious, some even outright admitting that they were sweet on you, but you politely told them that you were waiting for your man to come back to you, and that while you were flattered, you just couldn’t.

Sweet smile after sweet smile. Bed bath after bed bath. Infected wound after infected wound. And still, no Bradley.

Then you heard your name shouted from outside. You had been packing your things, having received your letter to head back home, when Dot yelled so loudly you thought a hoard of Nazis were marching toward you. Racing outside dressed in your one non-uniform dress, you saw a Jeep full of men pull up. They too were yelling, and when you ran up, you saw a familiar face not half a meter away.

He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair longer than you had seen and his cheeks were covered in stubble like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was still your Bradley in every way that mattered. “Bradley…” you breathed, coming to a stand-still with your hands over your mouth. You stood stock still, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you took him in disbelief. “You’re safe…”

“Hey doll,” the rasp in his tone gave you shivers as you met his eyes. They were still the same color as the whiskey you all had drank the night the war was declared over, the same sparkle twinkling like the stars as he took you in. “Look at you. You look beautiful.” Bradley clambered over Simon, nearly elbowing him in the face in his haste to get out of the Jeep. “Prettiest picture I ever saw.

You blushed, ducking your head a little at his compliment. Bradley’s heart soared as he took you in, marveling at how his imagination had been unable to capture the picture perfect moment of you in that dress. You had lived in his thoughts for months, each letter sending pangs of loneliness through him as each moment without you passed. Now, standing in front of you, your hair curled and dressed like a million bucks, Bradley felt his love for you grow infinitely larger.

“You…” you began, looking up at him, your eyes wide in shock. “You came back, sailor.”

“‘Course I did. What kinda man would I be if I left my best girl waiting.”

Dot and the others were still watching intently, keen on seeing what happened when you both finally let your resolve snap. “Come on Rosie! Give your man a kiss!” Lewis hollered from where he stood with Dot in his arms. “He’s only been dreamin’ about this since forever!”

“Mulligan, I swear to God, shut your fucking yap for one minute,” Bradley yelled back, shifting his focus from you to his friend. “Sorry doll, Dot, shouldn’t have said those words with you around. Can you forgive me?”

Shooting Dot a wink, you caught his hand. “If you kiss me hard enough, sailor, I just might forget the whole thing.” You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it was worth it when Bradley’s face lit up.

“Is that right?” He said in a low voice. “Just one kiss?”

You shrugged as your gaze fell from his amber eyes to his lips and back again. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

That was all it took because next you knew, Bradley had picked you up in his arms and let his lips fall against yours, kissing you so soundly your breath left you in a rush. His hands around your waist held you so securely you didn’t fear falling. Your own hands cradled his face, subconsciously brushing away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He set you back on your feet, but his hands didn’t leave your hips. “So, did you forget about it yet?”

Smiling cheekily back at him, you replied “Forget what?” He chuckled and you let your palms slide down his neck to rest on his chest over his heart. “All that being said, dearest, I leave today. And I know you aren’t down yet.”

“We got separated from the Navy landing crew, doll. Kramer sent a telegram to the high ups and they are sending us on leave for a little while. Especially since we weren’t supposed to be in Berlin,” Bradley told you, a big hand running up and down your back. “So as long as I get to port at a reasonable time, I’m still doing my duty.”

“And when is that, Bradley?” Toying with his jacket, you found yourself chewing on your lip in thought.

“Hey.” His gentle tone had you looking up at his face that was filled with compassion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it in writing and up here,” Bradley told you, tapping his temple. “My mama always said I had a mind like a steel trap.”

You leaned up onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m still going to worry, Bradley. I don’t know how not to. But I trust you. If you say you have it, then you do.”

Bradley leaned down to kiss you again, this time the fierceness of the gesture had you gasping against his mouth. “God I love you.”

The world stood still as you looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Rosie. Unless you have some other beau running around London that I don’t know about.” He paused, looking down at you. “Wait, you don’t have a beau waiting on you, do you?”

Looking shocked, you shook your head. “No. No, I don’t. My sister was the looker of the two of us.”

By now, Lewis and Dot had run off somewhere and the other men traveling with Bradley had scattered throughout the camp offering help to the pretty young nurses still there.

The two of you were alone.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your tent. “I have something to show you.”

“You could lead me off a cliff, Rosie and I’d follow you happily,” Bradley chirped, relishing in the pretty blush that dusted itself across your face. His body hurt from sleeping sitting up, he hadn’t had a shower and probably smelled terrible, yet even just being near him flustered you to no end.

And he loved it. Maybe not as much as he loved you, but how could he deny you? Your grip on his hand tightened as you pulled him to you, your other hand coming to rest on his jaw. “I didn’t want to do this in public, but I’ve been daydreaming about you kissing me like I’m all you have ever wanted, Bradley.”

The words raced through him, excitement building as he let you guide his face to yours. The first gentle touch of your lips to his had him smiling broadly, and he knew that you were smiling just as hard by the way you pulled back just a little. The next attempt went similarly; the two of you too giddy in the other’s nearness to kiss the other properly.

But he made it work, catching your chin and kissing you soundly. The gasp that fell past your lips gave him an opening and he took it, slipping his tongue past your lips.

Bradley had anticipated some kind of resistance, the feeling probably new to you, but he found none as he continued to kiss you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. If anything, you brought in your own fierceness to the gesture, your tongue tangling with his.

When you finally pulled back, cursing your need to breathe real air and not just Bradley’s closeness, you found that his eyes were still screwed shut. “Pinch me,” he breathed out. “This has to be a dream.”

“This is real, dearest,” you replied with a giggle. “Would I lie to you?”

“You promise?” The tone of his voice seemed so young to your ears, reminding you that for all your 25 years, and his 27, he was still too young to have seen everything he likely had seen.

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered open, shining brightly with unshed tears. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I had imagined you.”

“I’d say that you have a very vivid imagination then, dearest,” you replied softly, turning his face back to yours. When he’d looked away, you didn’t know, but you loved the sight of those warm eyes looking down on you and you would do anything to keep them in your life. “Besides, where would I go then? If I weren’t real, as you say.” Your fingers ran along the back of his neck, gently playing with the short curls. That was something else you hadn’t noticed until now; the natural curls that had emerged once his hair had a little length.

“Marry me.”

You froze, shock filling you from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rosie. I don’t have a ring, hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a home when I get back stateside.” The words poured out in a rush, but the emotion in his tone was palpable. This wasn’t just a wartime distraction to him. “All I know is that if I don’t tie you to me, if I don’t make every effort to keep you near, I’ll regret it forever doll.” Bradley’s eyes held nothing but sincerity, truth seeping from every pore as he held you, his big hands pressing you to him.

A deep sigh left your lips, the silence thundering in Bradley’s ears as he waited. You glanced up at him, your eyes misty with tears. “If I say yes,” you began, swallowing thickly. “If I say yes Bradley, you don’t get to leave because this is hard. I would be your wife, and you my husband. We do this together or not at all.” Tears had begun falling and you didn’t know if this was an accumulation of emotion from finally having him close or if it was fear. Fear of being wed and left in a heartbeat.

“Rosie, I would find the Chaplain now if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you. I would march to the Pacific now to end this war if it meant I could marry you faster. I fought for us just as much as I fought for my country and my mama would come down from Heaven like a shot if I even so much as thought about leaving you behind.” Bradley had ducked his head down, holding your teary eyes with his own. In the growing darkness, you could barely make out the ring of his honey-coloured iris, but you knew that he meant what he said.

How could he not?

“So, doll. What do ya say, hmm? Feel like being Mrs. Rosie Bradshaw?” The usual humor in his tone returned when he saw the meaning behind his words sink in. You understood him and trusted him deeply, after all he’d come back, hadn’t he? In what world would he do all of this and not mean it, not swear by it? Bradley had taken a step to close the distance between you both for the rest of time, pulled his heart out of his chest and held it out to you.

You met him halfway. “I’ve certainly been called worse, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased gently, as you toyed with the collar of his jacket. “What makes you think I’ll come running when you call that name?”

“Because I’ll come running if you promise to call me that everyday, Rosie doll.” A giggle broke loose from your chest and the matching smile seemed to split your face in two as you watched Bradley’s face light up once he heard your reaction to yet another sweet name he could drop. “You never did answer my question, doll. Are you gonna leave me standing out in the cold like some sort o’ schmuck or are you gonna let me in to get all the good lovin’ my weary bones need?”

You slapped his chest, cheeks burning under his attention. “My mother raised me to never let a man starve nor grow cold, therefore I believe I ought to marry you, dearest. How else am I to go on living when I have a very handsome sailor practically begging for my hand?” You were still smiling broadly and as you watched your words get processed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bradley let out a whoop of joy, grabbing you suddenly before picking you up and twirling you around the yard. “Well dammit all! Rosie said yes!”

Cheers broke out from around the hospital. Nurses and the G.I.s were clapping and whistling in celebration that only got louder when you brought your hands to his face and kissed him so hard you could feel your lips bruise from trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it. “God, I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

Setting you back on your feet, Bradley dipped you over a strong arm, bringing you into another sweet kiss that had you wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself as close as you could to his chest. “So,” Bradley mumbled. “When I find my mama’s ring, it’s yours. She would have loved you, Rosie. My pop too.”

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m certain that they’re very proud of you, Bradley.” The softness of your tone combined with the sincerity filling every word was a shot straight to his heart. Tears sprouted in his eyes and Bradley brought you back up, hugging you tightly.

“I really lucked out, didn’t I? Meeting the most perfect girl this side of the Atlantic.”

A week later, you married Bradley William Edward Bradshaw in a simple ceremony at a small chapel outside London. His mother’s simple diamond and gold ring had slipped into your finger on the voyage across the English Channel while you had been staring out at the ocean around you.

You had scarcely noticed it at first, but when your eyes fell upon it for the first time, you swore that your heart had nearly fallen into your shoes at the sight. Bradley had laughed at your reaction, pulling you close and wrapping you in his arms for the remainder of the journey, all the while watching you trail your eyes over your hand time and time again.

It was all he could do not to press a kiss to your left hand every time he saw the ring catch the light, which was often, especially by lantern and lamp light.

Needless to say, the pair of you were very happy, and while Bradley had been tapped for deployment into the Pacific theater, his ship had only just made port somewhere in Spain before the US detonation of their super weapons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese emperor had surrendered almost at once and from your position in London, you couldn’t blame them. You had always hated the unnecessary violence, the casualties just because and this was no different. The innocent civilians hadn’t needed to die in such a way as they had, though you couldn’t see a way of changing the course of the war.

But Bradley was safe and on his way home to you. In the end, you couldn’t help those affected by the tragedy any more than you had during the war in Europe. You would be trying to wrap a wound made by a cannonball with a tiny sliver of fabric, so you set about waiting for him to come back to you.

Now though, you needn’t worry as much. You were Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw and he had made many a promise yet never broken a single one. So the mere sight of his form on the dock eased it all.

Today started the rest of your life.

We got eight children now growing old

Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run

Don't care about religion

I'm gonna marry the woman I love

Down by the Wexford border

She was Nancy Mulligan

And I was William Sheeran

She took my name and then we were one

Down by the Wexford border

===

A/N: So, I hope your heart has a big ass cavity in it and that you enjoyed the cotton candy level of fluff that I just threw at you! Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for being the best beta reader ever and @sarahsmi13s, I’m sorry for making you sob when I was sharing snippets

Read Roo and Rosie’s Christmas fic here!

Tagging: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @@eli2447 @nobody7102 @gigisimsonmars @dcyllom @bobgasm @multifandomlover4life @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#fern writes #Ring Around My Rosie #wwii au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #American Sailor Bradley X English Nurse reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

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