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grimesgirll · 3 months

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going horseback riding with rick has to be one of your favorite pastimes.

sometimes you ride side by side, other times you’re wrapping your arms around him and gallivanting through the woods on one of the horses your group had rescued.

with gas becoming more valuable than gold, your community opted to hop on the saddle to hoof it wherever needed when possible. you got a bit more up close and personal with walkers but you didn’t mind; they could be outran. that time out on those makeshift trails with rick is paramount to you however.

rick grimes is a busy man, so having an intimate trail ride with him is everything to you. time to talk, have your arms around him and a perfectly legitimate excuse.

and rick didn’t mind at all. not when the two of you typically wrapped up at the stables with your back flush against the outside of the stall, lips landing frenzied marks all over you.

“noticed your hands on my waist as we were ridin’,” rick admits. “you couldn’t handle yourself enough to wait?”

“not around you.” you reply playfully, tugging at his bronzed curls. “you’re like a living, breathing fantasy.”

rick pulls back from the kiss and you think you’re being too mushy but the pressure of his horsecock on your thigh puts your mind at rest.

“what was so fantastic about it?” the sable haired man asks, hands resting on your waist.

“you as a sheriff - on a horse.” you answer, barely containing your blush but it’s not like he holds back his smirk.

“really?”

“mhmmm,” you confirm. you cock your head to the side, exposing your neck slightly. “did you ever have to ride a horse as a sheriff? like for your job?” you inquire curiously.

“only a few times and it was really pageanty,” he remarks with a twang that has you melting into his embrace as he sears kisses onto your shoulder. “these rides are a lot better. help me clear my head,” he mumbles against your skin.

“you help me clear my head.” you think out loud. you don’t have the room to be ashamed because rick is right there and he’s in the same boat.

“happy to be help, ma’am.”

“you know,” you muse, your turn to smirk. “i feel like its only chivalrous, only right for a sheriff to help a damsel in distress.”

rick laughs. “and you’re a damsel?”

“definitely in need of some serious help,” you emphasize with a roll of your needy hips. the predictable dampness of your underwear only grows as he strains against you.

“and what is it that you need, damsel?”

“i want you to bend me over that hay bale,” you request with doe eyes between breathy moans.

the sheriff snickers. “you like the idea of gettin’ fucked in a barn?” the sunlight turns his dark locks copper and you’re hanging on to his every word as you stay locked in his deep blue gaze. “wanna get fucked like an animal down in the hay?”

you nod excitedly and the two of you are scrambling towards the more secluded section of the barn. rick tackles you onto the bundle, nearly ripping your pants on their way down your thighs.

before you know it, his brown jacket is slung off and he’s clutching you close to him, lifting your hips to place the garment beneath you. he takes advantage of the proximity to plant a hand on your thigh. sandwiched between rick and the hay bale, you’re surprised by how easily he drags your panties down.

rick has to hold back from whistling at the sight of your sopping cunt.

“have i got you worked up, sweetheart?”

you’re whining in response, looking back to meet his fascinated stare. “why wouldn’t you get me all worked up? you know i love a cowboy.”

“really? too bad i don’t have a hat.”

“maybe we’ll have to find you one,” you jest before the man hovers above you to lock lips.

a hand palms the small of your back while another snakes around to the weeping bundle of nerves beneath you. his fingers finding your clit is all you need to be begging for him to fuck you into this hay bale.

rick doesn’t waste any time; he’s rolling his pants down and teasing your entrance with the thick head of his cock. you don’t have the chance to register that his belt is down before you’re thrusted forward, palms sinking into the hay.

the first inch has you clawing, grasping at the bedding and feed you lay atop of as rick eases himself into your snug entrance. allowing you a moment to adjust, he unbuttons your sturdy top to reveal the square neck tank top underneath. with a slow push of his hips, your button up falls to the side of the bale.

rick distracts you from his horsecock plunging further into your when he rolls a nipple beneath his sturdy fingers. you’re puffing your cheeks at the sensation, and rotating your pelvis in full circles when he seizes your breast in his hand, squeezing as he stuffs you full of him.

the impact of his heavy balls swinging against you from behind has you arching your back and babbling as your cowboy effectively clears your head. faced forward, you wonder how the fuck he’s angling his thrusts to tease you so deliciously, inside and out.

“how’s that feel, honey?” he asks, checking in as you respirate like a winded smoker under him.

face scrunching from how you full you’re feeling, you hum. “better than on the bed,” you crow in the fuckdrunk tone you’re only slipping into to with rick around.

“fantasy over comfort, huh?” your leader teases with an especially filling thrust.

“rick!”

“how many times do you think i can make you come on this hay bale?”

“at least…fuck,” you pant.

“that’s not a number, sweetheart.”

you help when you feel a blush staining sting on your rear.

“how many times do you wanna come on this hay bale, honey?”

you whine. “i think i can handle two.”

“i didn’t ask how many you can handle,” rick points out with a snap into you. “now, how many times do you want to come, baby?”

with rick bestowing purple, puckered kisses onto the nape of your neck and kneading the flesh of your hip deliciously, you’d let him overload you all afternoon. you know he wants a number though, so you manage a, “three,” and allow him to tighten his grip into your sides, grazing your g-spot when he surges into you again.

then he’s agreeing, slamming his hips flush with your ass and muttering, something about the best things coming in threes?

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kidvoodoo · 2 months

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He never should have gotten lost

Truthfully, it was not Bojan’s fault. The caravan was hurried across the icy roads in fear of the approaching blizzard, the mounted guards pushing the desperate people and stock animals alike. It wouldn’t matter, they were doomed across the Käsivarsi, it was always too treacherous for a band of inexperienced Traders. The panic and hurried chaos found some of the wagons sliding and the animals pulling them spooked and scattered. The guards shouted for the rest to grab the horses lest they be lost in the wilderness.

And so he found himself here, lost in the frigid woods following hoof prints that disappeared under the freshly falling snow.

Bojan shivered as he moved silently as possible through the trees, afraid to whistle for the missing animals lest he attract unwanted attention…

“Susia,” the gruff voice of a bearded hunter warned, they had stopped briefly in a village overlooking the Kilpisjärvi. “Wolf packs. They travel together, hunting animals like your horses. Will kill you in your sleep, they stay away from fires. Sleep in shifts.” The guards took any advice from the locals, trusting their knowledge of the wilds.

“And boy,” the hunter addressed Bojan who startled at the sudden attention. “You watch for Väki. He hunts for people like you. Foolish people.”

The guards all snickered at that, Bojan huffed and pulled his coat tighter, stomping out of the hunter’s shack.

Foolish indeed, he scowled as his fingers and toes froze. He could find the road again, to hell with the horses-

BAM

Something slams into his back, throwing him face first into the snow. For a brief and panicked moment he thought one of the horses had charged him, the force was so strong it knocked the wind from his lungs, but as he scrambled to crawl away, he heard a deep growl.

Wolves

In his panicked state he let out a yell and felt a powerful grip grab at his shirt collar, wrenching him onto his back.

Oh God it’s gonna tear my throat out-

The cold press of metal against his windpipe startles his screwed shut eyes open.

Green.

Bright, glowing, inhuman green irises bore into his hysterical brown ones. A deep snarl, like a wolf erupts from human lips. Human?

No, not this creature.

His skin is a pale greyish-blue and his ears are pointed and curved, he’s shirtless save for a thick cloak of pelt’s around his neck and shoulders, strong and powerful looking arms level a curved and pockmarked knife to Bojan’s throat. The creature’s other arm is raised, his hand not flesh and blood but a twisted claw of tree roots and bark, fingertips hooked and wickedly sharp. His expression is pulled into a fierce glare, dark brows furrowed over even darker eyes that hold two glowing orbs at their center, a hypnotic and terrifying stare meant to shatter the bravery of any foolish man who strays from the path…

Just like Bojan did.

“P-please-“ Bojan stutters, grasping his barely-there knowledge of the Finnic language to attempt to communicate. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to trespass-“

“Caravan.” The creature growls back, Bojan spots sharp, canine-like teeth behind his scowl.

“Yes! Yes I am with the Caravan on the road, we only need to find our horses-“

“Horses gone.” The strange being spits, slowly pulling the long knife away from Bojan’s throat. “They run far out in the forest, wolves will chase them down” He moves to stand back, not letting his guard down or stowing his weapon. “You not find them in time.”

Bojan slowly pulls himself up out of the snow, his back now soaked with melted snow and making his breath catch from the cold.

“Y-yes. You are probably right, I will go back to my people, I-I’m so sorry I disturbed your territory-“

“Not mine.” The creature says, Bojan sees now that he’s actually taller than the creature, but it doesn’t make him any less intimidated.

“You die before finding horses, too cold for your kind.” The stranger huffs and sheds his wolf pelt cloak, handing it to the shaken human. “Take. I find your horses”

Bojan looks dumbfounded, shivering hands grasping the cloak.

“But-“

“I bring them when your people asleep. You tell no one about.” The being glares, his burning eyes piercing through Bojan. He raises his twisted root hand and curls his fingers open, Bojan swivels around to the sound of cracking wood and stares in awe as the forest’s dense trees bend open to reveal a path.

“Follow, your people not too far away.”

Bojan shakes himself out of his gawking to turn and thank the creature-

But he’s gone.

His gaze darts around for any signs of the strange being, but not even footprints are left in the white blanket of snow. He is pulled out of his shock by a harsh shivering of his frozen body, quickly pulling the thick coat of furs around himself.

Warmth.

It’s unnaturally warm. Smelling of thick pine and iron and something undefinably sweet. He burrows into it further.

As he goes to follow the path in the parted trees, he spares one more glance behind him, a small smile on his face.

“Thank you” he whispers to the empty air.

<><><>

I’ve been reading all about Finnish folklore lately and what better way to express my excitement than to make an au no one asked for :D

#my art #kidvoodoo #käärijä #jere pöyhönen #bojan cvjetićanin #bojere #new to this fandom please be nice to me lol #it’s a meetcute with folklore creatures and traveling merchants way out of their depth :D #apologies if the Finnish was terrible I am pulling from some books on national parks lol #also I’m so sorry this will never be a full fic because I am not a confident writer :( I will make up for it by drawing more pictures tho

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miguel-owhora · 6 months

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referring back to my war deity!mreader/harbingers!141 ,

yk how gnome came up w the wonderful idea of 141 having an animal form? in my little opinion, their harbingers form? well, what if you had one, too?

sometimes, when war ravages on, you take the form of the angry storm clouds up above, the lightning that crackles in the heavens like a whip your laughter and chant for more, for a continuous, as you watch the mortals tear each other apart. you are the smoke that dances with the soldiers, slipping into their lungs and blocking their vision, whispering into their souls and pushing them onwards.

only when you leave the mortal plane does the smoke disappear, too, revealing the consequences of war in all its beautiful glory. corpses laying around the fields, torn and shredded, dead with no real glory. houses and fields burning, gunpowder and other toxins contaminating the water and crops. all a pointless war, all another day, your harbingers descending on the land and raking their viciousness through the world, leaving a wake of trembling destruction and a repeating pattern.

sometimes, however, you take another form, one when the aftermath of war has made you greedy and vicious yourself. a towering, large, thick-furred boar with harsh eyes and even harsher tusks. the blood of the mortals, gods, too, coating your thick fur, your hooves leaving trails of bloody hoof prints behind as you ravage your way through another war, your boys following right at your heels and spreading the consequences all across the lands. there is only death and destruction when you take the form of an boar, one that lingers decades after, that leaves everyone weak and scrambling to find hope.

perhaps that's why mortals are so cautious around wild boars - though they forget you exist, there's a deeply engraved instinct in their brains that make them cautious ; a gift from the gods, a reminder that actions have consequences.

a reminder that it's in their best interest not to provoke the wild boar.

#task force 141 #tf 141 x reader #141 x reader #141 x male reader #john price x male reader #simon ghost x male reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader

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johnwickb1tsch · 5 months

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Young!John Wick x Model!Reader Imagine

Imagine you are the love of John Wick's life...

You meet in Paris when he’s a young man. You spend a mind-blowing night together, and watch the sun rise from Sacré-Coeur. He disappears, and you’re devastated because no one has ever made you feel that way, and you’re certain you’ll never see him again. But throughout the years he keeps finding you as you travel for work. He kisses you silly in the Gamla Stan of Stockholm, makes you cum on his fingers in a dark club in London, and when he leaves you utterly wrecked in Rome you know that you’re in love with this man. You don’t know exactly what he does for a living, but you’re not stupid. You’ve memorized every inch of his body, and you notice as his collection of scars multiplies over the years. You are half convinced he's a spy, but then there are the tattoos...ominous as they are captivating, they suggest membership in a darker world than the shadows of international espionage. You cannot reconcile it. How can this sweet man, this man who makes you laugh, who brings you joy and such exquisite pleasure, be a part of such a violent occupation? When you finally get up the courage to ask him he just shakes his head, and says it’s better you don’t know before kissing you in that way that utterly scrambles your brain cells.

-It all started in Paris with a broken heel... You nearly fell into traffic, but a strong arm around your waist snatched you back from death.

You hid against his chest for a long moment, even though he was a total stranger, because he felt so safe. You were in Paris for your first Fashion Week—and you were so lost. It’s the 1990s, a dark age in which we didn’t have handheld computers to pleasantly tell us where to go, and we used archaic documents to find our way known as paper maps...And you’d left yours in your hotel accidentally.

You look up to see kind brown eyes fixed down on you. “Are you alright?” You hate to think it, but you are so relieved to hear an American accent. You have been yelled at no less than three times in French that day, and even if you totally deserved it, you're a bit gun shy now.

“Yes. Thank you. Jesus, I...” You look at the traffic barreling by at breakneck speed, a chill running down your spine. “Thank you,” you say again. You look up at him, really look at him, and realize you're in the arms of the most handsome man you've ever seen—and you work in fashion.

“You're welcome.”

He seems as taken by you as you are by him, and for a stretch of long moments you just stand there staring at each other like moon-eyed idiots. He looks down, suddenly shy. It's totally endearing. “Sorry,” he apologizes, releasing you slowly. You teeter on your broken heel, and you can tell he is ready to grab you again if he has to. This protectiveness makes a surprising warmth bloom in your heart.

“Do you...need help getting somewhere?” he asks. You wonder if it’s that obvious you’re lost. Usually you'd be wary of that question from a stranger. You've dealt with so many creeps throughout your life. But somehow you sense that he’s sincere.

“I guess I'd better get back to my hotel.”

Sebastiano was going to kill you. You broke a $600 pair of heels...well maybe Gucci should have made them better, the lazy bastards.

“Can I get you a cab?”

With your broken heel, you guess you’re not hoofing it back. “Sure.” He hails one down, and you’re delighted when he climbs in with you, speaking to the driver in perfect French, bless him.

“Where are we headed?” You give him the name of your hotel, and he repeats it the way it’s supposed to be said. Oh. No wonder the previous drivers gave you such contemptuous looks… You took Spanish in high school, ok? You can read French but have zero experience speaking it.

When you arrive at the hotel your savior thrusts a wad of Francs through the window before you have a chance to even open your purse, and helps you out of the cab. You are totally leaning against his arm more than you have to. You can feel the hard curve of his bicep beneath the fine fabric of his suit, and it makes you a little giddy. Only once you’re safe in the lobby does he seem willing to release you, though somehow your hand has ended up in his, and you find you don’t really want to let go. “Are you doing anything later?” you ask boldly, before he can disappear back into the bustle of Paris and you’ll never find him again.

He pays you a melancholy smile that squeezes your heart for some reason. “Unfortunately, I have to work,” he says. You make a pouty face that draws his attention to your lips. The intensity in those dark eyes is thrilling. “Maybe if I finish early…I could join you?”

You know you grin like an idiot at this suggestion. “I’ll be at the Versace afterparty. I could…have your name put on the list?”

This seems to amuse him for some reason, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “I can find you,” he says, and your heart flutters. In fact, when he presses his lips to your knuckles, your heart attempts to flutter right out of your chest.

He turns to go but you call, “Wait!” He pauses. “What’s your name?”

The smile he pays you is heart stopping. “Jardani,” he answers quietly. “But everyone calls me John.” You bite your lip, nodding, very pleased with this new bit of information, sensing that maybe he’s told you something just for you. “I hope I get to see you later.”

He nods too, touching your cheek lightly. “You will.”

It sounds like a promise.

-You should be beside yourself with excitement because you’re walking your first runway in Paris, and this could be the moment that makes or breaks your career, but the real reason for your nerves is the hope that you’ll see him again.

-The show goes great. You kill it. Sebastiano, your friend and the designer you’d modeled for, can hardly contain himself. But you find you’re just watching the clock ticking down the seconds until later.

-John does find you later. You have a drink, and you dance, and from the adoring way he looks at you, you feel brave enough to ask if he wants to go someplace quieter. You go for a little walk, and even though it’s the wee hours of the morning you feel perfectly safe with this man. He kisses you on the Pont Alexandre, his hands in your hair, and your fingers curl in the lapels of his jacket to hold him to you. You ask if he wants to go back to your hotel, and he agrees. This man looks at you like you are something irreplaceably precious, and you don’t know how you’ll let him go.

-He is strong. In your hotel room he picks you up by your thighs and presses you into the wall, kissing you senseless before carrying you to the bed. His hands are calloused, but he’s so gentle with you. He touches you like you were made for him, like he was born knowing how to make you see stars. He claims you with his hands and his mouth and his big, beautiful cock deep inside you, and you know you’ll never be the same after this. You’ve been disappointed so many times that you almost don’t know how to handle an encounter going this well.

-When he stirs in the blue light of pre-dawn your arms tighten around him. You’re not even awake yet, but you don’t want him to leave. He kisses you behind the ear and you practically purr. “Want to see the second most beautiful sight in Paris?”

“Yes,” you agree.

“Bring your camera.” You’d told him about your interest in photography. Maybe modeling was paying the bills, but you’d actually majored in fine art, and minored in literature. Naturally, your interests make for shit at paying bills.

Sleepily you get dressed. It takes a little longer than usual because you can’t stop kissing each other between pulling on garments. Soft, slow kisses that curl your toes. You sense deep down that every one of them is infused with apology, and goodbye. It breaks your heart, but greedily you’ll take every second with him you can get.He takes you to Sacré-Coeur in the heart of Montmartre, the very roof of Paris. You sit on the steps and watch the sun rise over the city, fiery oranges and pinks painting the sky and rendering the buildings aglow. It truly is beautiful, but you don’t lift your lens to try to capture it. You sit with your arm linked with his, and experience this moment with him as fully as you can. You want to remember everything.

“You didn’t take a picture,” he teases once the sun has cheerfully risen above the horizon.

You pull out the camera and frame him in your lens, his sleepy smile and bed-mussed hair. You feel something shift in your heart as your finger depresses the button. Click. You’re not sure if it’s the camera in your hand, or something settling into place in your heart that has always belonged there.

“Now I have the first most beautiful sight in Paris,” you say.

He laughs at that. “I meant that was you,” he insists, lacing his fingers with yours, kissing the back of your hand. He takes you to breakfast, and you enjoy dark coffee and delectably crafted pastries with your legs tangled together under the table. Afterwards he takes you back to your hotel, and in the gilt-appointed lobby somehow you know what’s coming.

“I have to go,” he says sadly. You actually believe his regret isn’t an act.

You nod, leaning into his large hand on your cheek.

“I’ll never forget you, y/n.”

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you close your eyes. You are not going to cry.

“Likewise, I promise you.”

You don’t exchange any further information. You know that if it was possible to see him again, he would have offered it to you. There is something mysterious about this man. Something almost…forbidden, and a part of you knows that the little time you stole together was a precious gift.

He kisses you one last time, a passionate, soul-rending thing that leaves you utterly weak in the knees. He says nothing more, pressing his forehead to yours one final time before turning to go. You watch his tall, dark form exit the hotel into the Paris morning, and you know he’s taking a piece of your heart with him as he goes.

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tbc because goddamn this got long...

part deux >>

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #ok so maybe you are helen?#but its written from your pov so you're welcome lol #john wick x helen #keanu reeves #keanu x you #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #ernff i just saw JW4 last week #that sunset tho #fucked me up

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firefirefruit · 5 months

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Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Nineteen

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Nineteen: Daemgar

You are everything and nothing all at once.

Your consciousness floats within a void, seeping through under the cracks like the act of spilled fluid. You do not remember who or what you are, where you’re going or what you’re doing within this darkness. But the one thing you’re absolutely sure of is the firm pressing of something gripping at your skin.

Skin. You have skin?

A faint spark of consciousness sets off within you, your chest rattling back to life in the process – but at the same time it arrives, it’s gone again, and you’re back to slithering black fluid.

“Do it again!” A low voice echoes furiously from somewhere in the corners of your darkness. It rumbles your body into ripples, spreading you further across the floor like dancing ink.

In an instant, a panicked, slightly higher-pitched voice joins into the darkness.

“The defibrillators!” He shouts. “Take her shirt off!”

“She deserves privacy for this!” A furious voice intervenes. A faint stream of cigarette smoke trickles into your void, releasing itself like a pile of distressed ribbons.

“Fuck off, cook!” The first voice barks back, with so much intensity and panic that all the echoes go silent. “Chopper, do it right now or I’ll do it myself!”

Another pressure traces across your form, holding you down at your core. A draft of wind hits against you, making you curl up into a ball of stressed fluid.

“You’re not going anywhere, Swords.” The deep voice murmurs on your skin, unsure of what else to say, uncertain of what else to do. The only thing he can do is hold onto your darkness with both calloused hands and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.

An intense undercurrent of electricity surges through your skin, singeing every one of your blood cells into revival mode.

A creak in the darkness paves its way to you, spilling in a blinding light that even your form tries to shy away from. Your lips open, taking in a desperate gasp, trying to curl yourself away from its shine.

“Keep going!” A female voice urgently pierces through the crack, spilling in strands of orange hair in the stillness of the air.

The same zooming sound of something charging resounds after the command, the tense taste of apprehension colouring each of their voices. When the electricity sings to full charge, you feel a set of fingers shakingly move your fabric away and you’re, again, convulsing from the burn of revival.

You gasp again, your ink pulsating like a grenade toppling over the ground, before, finally, you explode.

There’s black everywhere and nowhere all at once.

You are everything and nothing all at once.

With an aggressive start from your chest, your eyes blurrily blink open. Once, then twice, then three times, before you jumpstart into breathing heavily, as if you were just saved from a typhoon.

Chopper is curled over you, staring at you as you stare back at him. You can tell he’s trying to keep his expression as calm and doctorly as possible, but still, his eyes betray him. A slight sheen of moisture masks over them as his small body expands from a breath of relief.

“Raya!” Nami screams out, grasping at your palms. “Raya.”

“No!” You moan out, scrambling away from her. Your blackened arm screams in pain when Nami accidentally touches it, making you writhe and shuffle panickedly away from all of them.

Painted with fear, pain and confusion, your orientation is merely a fragment of what it once was; your brain being too slow to comprehend, while, on the other hand, your body being too quick to do so.

Chopper presses a hoof against a worried Nami and Luffy, who were just about to inch in on you, and glares at them with a sternness that you’ve never seen him express before. “Stop. Give her space!”

As you continue to confusedly scramble backwards on your two hands, your head aggressively collides against something firm, and in immediate response, a pair of calloused hands come into view from behind to securely hold you down.

As you tilt your head, your gaze meets Zoro's. His expression softens as your eyes lock onto his, his dark expression searching yours for any sign of recognition. His hands, though firm, are gentle as they hold you in place, pressing down on your shoulders like a grounding force.

"Hey," he murmurs calmly. "You're okay. We've got you."

"You’re..." The recognition of the person before you escapes your lips in a whisper, making you bunch up your eyebrows. How is he alright? Where did the Shaman go? What happened when you fell? What is happening?

"Yeah, it's me," he confirms, his voice tinged with slight relief. His eye, usually sharp and focused, now hold a different shine to them that you've never seen before. It's as if he's relieved to see you awake, as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“Swords…” Luffy grins, lightly ambling towards you despite Chopper’s panicked demands to him to stay away. He kneels down, staring at nowhere but your eyes as he slips his fingers across yours. “I knew you’d be okay.”

He smiles, this time with more intention. “Let's get you back home.”

Your mind’s a tempest of conflicting emotions, each crashing against the shores of your consciousness with relentless force. Upon awakening, you can't deny the flood of relief coursing through your being, nor can you ignore the warmth of Luffy's smile or the steadiness of Zoro's grip. But beneath the surface, a current of fear runs deep, threatening to pull you under.

Your gaze flickers from face to face, searching for understanding, for solace, but finding only mirrored concern. Nami's eyes widen with worry, her lips pressed into a thin line of apprehension. Chopper's furrowed brow betrays his professional facade, his hooves fidgeting with nervous energy. And then there's Luffy, unwavering in his determination, his belief in you unyielding, despite your doubts.

"I can't," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. "I can't stay."

Luffy's smile falters, replaced by a furrow of confusion. "Why not? You’re a part of us.”

Your heart clenches at the word, ‘us,’ a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. How can you explain the danger you pose, the darkness that lurks within your very being? You can't risk their safety, not after everything they've been through together.

Zoro's grip tightens imperceptibly, his gaze avoiding yours, finding solace in gazing at the horizon in view. "You're not going anywhere," he states firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "You still have some swords of mine to fix.”

But you shake her head, your resolve hardening with each passing moment. "You don't understand," you insist, your voice betraying you with anguish. "I can't control it. I'm a danger to all of you."

Silence descends upon everyone like a heavy cloak, the weight of your words hanging in the air between them. Luffy's expression softens, his eyes searching yours with a depth of understanding that takes your breath away.

"We'll help you," he says simply, his voice carrying the weight of a promise. "Whatever it takes, we'll face it together."

Before you can respond, Chopper's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, his tone urgent and grave. "Before you make any decisions, maybe you should see this."

Turning as one, you all follow his gaze to where he stands, holding a small silver tome in his paws. The title gleams ominously in the dim light, a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounds them.

"It’s in ancient text." Nami scans over his shoulder, her voice hushed with awe. "What does it say?”

Robin nods, staring down at the book. “It’s the same text they use in poneglyphs. Loosely translated, it writes, “Blood and Mythics.’”

Chopper looks straight at you. “Robin and I raided the Shaman’s den and found it. Raya, I have a feeling that this,” he closes in towards you, showing the contents of the tome, “is the answer.”

“So do I,” Robin nods, crossing her arms. “Something feels different with this tome. And with both of us knowing the language, it’s easily decipherable.”

As the weight of their words settles over them, a sense of foreboding washes over you like a tidal wave, and despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your consciousness, a flicker of curiosity ignites within you.

"Blood and Mythics," you repeat, the words tasting foreign on your tongue. "What does it say?"

Chopper flips open the tome with delicate care, revealing silver dusted pages upon pages of intricate script. Robin’s eyes dart across the text over Chopper’s shoulder, deciphering the ancient language with an insurmountable level of sophistication.

"It's... it's a chronicle," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "A record of ancient bloodlines, myths, and legends. But there's something more... something else written within these pages."

Nami leans in closer, her eyes scanning the text with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. "What do you mean, something else?"

Chopper's brow furrows as he turns another page, his gaze tracing the intricate patterns of the script as Robin’s leans even closer to the text.

"There are mentions of... entities," she explains slowly, her words laden with uncertainty. "Entities of immense power, bound to the bloodlines of certain individuals. It's…It’s not about demons, but I can see how the Shaman misinterpreted it."

“Whad’ya mean?” Luffy frowns, scratching his head. “Mis-inter-prat what?”

Robin’s eyes flicker up from the page, her lips pursed. “’Daemgar.’ It has a variety of meanings. Otherworldly, Winged, Blinding, Feathered."

60 notes · View notes

mimi-ya · 2 years

Text

countdown ~ zoro x reader

2,900 words | she/her, f!body | nsfw

summary: he's been waiting his entire life for this moment (timer that counts down to soulmates meeting)

a/n: @missallsundayy do you even remember requesting this? well you did, and i had so much fun with it!

masterlist | soulmate event

Zoro was starting to worry his crew.

It started when Nami noticed Zoro was spending his nights in the crows nest. And then Chopper became concerned when Zoro had upped his exercise regime to inhuman amounts. Sanji was getting annoyed when the moss head barely took a break to eat. Even Luffy had taken notice.

And Luffy never notices anything.

“Zoroooo!” Luffy rolled across grass, “C’mon, I’m bored!”

Zoro didn’t take his eyes off his sword, slicing the air with practiced precision, “Training.”

“What about later?”

“More training.”

“Ugh!” Luffy cries, gaining the attention from his crew, “Why are you training so much!”

“My fight is next week.” Zoro swings his sword.

“Fight?” Luffy pops up, “Who are we fighting?”

The rest of the crew stopped what they were doing, looking to the swordsman for his answer. This dramatically increased training had been going on for almost a month without an explanation until now. They each lean forward, obvious interest written across their face, only to be disappointed when Zoro answers-

“Don’t know.”

Luffy lets out an annoyed groan, melting back into the ground.

“Then how do you know there’ll be a fight?” Chopper appears at Zoro’s side, and his question finally gets Zoro to put down his sword for the first time all day. Zoro’s always had a soft spot for the reindeer.

“It’s my time.” Zoro says, bending at the knee to show Chopper his timer.

“Are you kidding me?” Nami screeches from her lounge chair, “That’s what you’re talking about?”

“But Zoro?” Chopper puts a hoof to his chin, “I don’t think you’re supposed to fight them.”

“I have to.” Zoro answer. He can’t be the greatest swordsman if he hasn’t beaten the one destined to fight him.

“Don’t listen to him Chopper!” Nami stomps over, “Zoro doesn’t know what he’s talking about and in a week he’s gonna look like a huge idiot!” She gives the swordsman a flick to the forehead for good measure.

“I don’t have time for this, witch!” Zoro spits, grip tightening around his sword.

“You’re really going to challenge your soulmate to a duel?” Nami crosses her arms, “That’s not what they’re for!”

“I think it’s sweet.” Robin pipes in, setting her book down in her lap, “There’s no conclusive explanation as to what these timer’s indicate. Why, I think our captain is a perfect example of that.”

Robin sprouts an extra hand from Luffy’s back, earning a laugh as it takes his wrist to show off the dozen timers, a majority of which have already counted down to zero.

“They can be our family, friends, loves.” Robin’s eyes slide to Franky who’s tinkering with a metal contraption, “A sense of belonging. And for Zoro,” She looks back to the swordsman who’s returned to his exercise, “His greatest fight.”

Zoro sits on the edge of the cliff and waits.

The day he’s been anticipating is finally here.

After years of preparation, he’s as ready as he’ll ever be. With his swords laid out in front of his crossed legs, a refreshed body and mind, there’s nothing left to do but wait. And wait.

And wait.

He supposes he could look at his timer. He had covered it up a few days ago, willing to give you the element of surprise.

Zoro smirks to himself. It was the least he could do.

He’s broken from his thoughts when a scream cuts the silence of the forest, “Ahhhhh!”

“The hell?” Zoro grabs a sword and gets to his feet, spotting a small dot in the sun rays.

“Ahhhhh!”

He squints, “Wait a minute.” Is that dot getting bigger?

“Ahhhhh!”

“Oof!” Zoro grunts, getting thrown to the ground when something collides into him.

The person on top groans, squishing Zoro’s face as they try to sit up, “Thanks for breaking my fall.”

Zoro snarls, quickly pushing the person to the ground as he scrambles to his feet. He readies his sword faster than he ever has; the blade pointed at their head.

“You here for a fight?”

The man on the ground lets out a pained moan, “Fight?” He rolls over to meet the stare of Zoro’s sword, knocking it out of his face, “I just finished getting my ass kicked.” The man groans pitifully, throwing an arm over his face. His body is already marred with bruises and cuts, tears in his clothing.

He isn’t the one.

Zoro growls, “I don’t have time for this.” He sheathes his sword, “If you’re not here to fight then get out of my way.” He walks back towards his spot, ready to continue his mediation until his opponent arrived but of course-

“Is it them?” A voice whispers from behind.

“Why aren’t they fighting? I thought they were supposed to fight.”

“What’s he doing!”

Zoro scowls as the voices carry from the bushes.

“Idiot probably wised up.”

“Impressive.”

Zoro’s patience finally snaps as he turns to the forest, “I can hear you!”

Not a moment later Luffy bursts out of the foliage, “Zoroooo! This is taking too long and I’m hungry.”

“No one said you had to be here! None of you have to be here!”

As if on cue, the rest of Strawhats pop out of their hiding places.

“Nice catch, moss head.” Sanji croons, giving the man on the ground a nudge with his foot.

“It’s not them, you shitty cook!” Zoro growls back.

“Oi.” Luffy pokes the man in the cheek, “You come from Sky Island?”

“Luffy!” Chopper slaps his hand, “Knock it off!” The little reindeer turns his attention to the man, “Are you okay? Do you need your injuries checked?”

“Hah?” The man looks at Chopper, “A talking racoon dog? She must have knocked me out harder than I thought.”

Chopper lets out a noise of indignation, stomping his foot, “I’m a reindeer!”

Robin takes a step closer, “Did someone cause you to land here?”

“That damn restaurant boat.” The man sits up, rubbing at his head, “Thought I could take her on myself.”

“A restaurant boat?” Sanji and Luffy perk up.

“Please no.” Zoro mutters, examining his blades, “Last time we went to one of those we got stuck with a shitty cook.”

Sanji lets out a growl, “Won’t need to wait for your soulmate cause I’ll kick your ass right now!”

“I could use a warm up!” Zoro shouts back, but before they can go any farther Nami pushes between them.

“But there’s no boats on the coast except ours.” Nami crosses her arms, waiting for an explanation.

“Oh!” The man laughs, unsteadily getting to his feet, “Hades Blade is on the other side of the island! I think this is the furthest she’s sent me flying so far!”

“Thought you said it was a restaurant boat?”

“Oh, it is!” The man dusts off his feet, “Doubles as a fighting pit too! My third time trying to win a meal from that chef.”

“You can fight and eat?” Luffy’s eyes go bright, and he latches on to Nami with drool down his chin, “Oh, can we go? Can we go? Can we go?!”

“Why am I here again?” Zoro groans, following the rest of his crew onto the deck of Hades Blades.

The ship is painted a deep red, black sails rolled up to the top. There are dozens of people milling about. Some looking worser than others, and a few knocked out cold on the ground.

“Cause we’re gonna win!” Luffy exclaims, punching a fist into his hand, “Oi!” He screams into the crowded deck, “Who do I gotta fight around here for some food!”

Silence falls over the ship as everyone turns to stare at the newcomers.

“Uhmm Luffy.” Usopp whispers, “Maybe we shouldn’t draw attention like that.”

“But I’m hungry!” He screams out.

Too quick for most notice, a person leaps out from the crow’s nest.

But Zoro spots it.

They swing down on a rope, a blade drawn as they head right for Luffy’s back.

“Oi! Watch out!” Zoro calls, shoving his captain to the ground with not even a second to spare before the person lands right where Luffy was standing.

“Someone hungry for a fight?” You release the rope, letting it sling upwards. With a hand placed on your hip and a smile for the boy who’s face first on your deck.

“Hey!” Luffy cries, jumping up from the ground, “What’s that about!”

You cross your arms, “You called for a challenge, didn’t want to leave you waiting too long. Timeliness is a quality of a good chef.”

Luffy frowns, “Well I already have the best chef!”

“Is that so?” Your eyes quickly pass over the bunch before landing on the boy again, “So you a captain or something?”

Luffy pulls himself to his full height, chest puffed out, “Captain that’s gonna be king of the pirates!”

You raise a brow at his little show, “Alright. And what’s that got to do with you disturbing my patrons?” The knife twirling between your fingers, eyes narrowed.

A loud stomach growl cuts through the tension. Those surrounding the boy let out various groans of their own, one even slapping a hand to her head. “Uhh. Well, I’m kinda hungry.” Luffy slumps with a hand pressed to his stomach.

Laughter bubbles up from your stomach. This boys tenacity is something else, “I only cook for those I deem worthy of my food.”

Right as Luffy opens his mouth someone pushes him to the side.

“A real chef cooks for anyone who’s hungry.”

“Oh?” You stop your knife twirling, “And what would you know about being a real chef?”

There’s a guff of laughter but you don’t pay it any mind as the blonde man in front of you seems to light on fire with determination.

Oh, this was going to be easy.

“Well pirate king.” You glance back at the boy who started all this commotion, “If your little chef here can best me, I’ll let you eat your fill.”

“It’s on!” Luffy wraps an around on his chef, “Sanji’s can cook better than you ever could!”

“Who ever said anything about cooking?”

“Oh c’mon!” You scream over the cheers, “You all talk or what?!”

And here you were looking forward to a good fight.

Everyone else who had come to you over the last week had been pitiful at best. And you could see this man hand some skill to him. The entire crew probably.

But of course, now that the two of you were in the ring, your regulars cheering around you, he just had to back out.

Thought the two of you were going to cook, he said.

What a joke.

“A chef should only use his hands for cooking.”

You hold up your knife, slicing it against the cage just to hear the sweet sound of metal, “Sounds to me like you don’t have much confidence in your culinary skills.” A grin spreads across your lips, “Vegetable, fish, man. It all cuts the same to me.”

Sanji shoves a cigarette in his mouth, a shaky hand flicking at the lighter, “If you weren’t a lady, I’d flay you for the insult.”

“Oh?” You cock your head, “A failure of a chef and a fighter, I see.”

Jeers and boos fill the room, realization dawning on everyone there wouldn’t be a fight today.

“Ah, shut up!” Sanji screams in return.

Zoro watches as the stupid cook turns his back on you, and you easily kick him into the cage.

“If you’re not here to fight, get the hell out of my kitchen.”

“Sanji!” Luffy cries, shaking the cage fence, “You said you would win!”

Sanji stumbles down the steps, a crisscrossed imprint on his cheek from the metal wiring, “Yeah, well that’s before I knew I’d actually be fighting her.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Zoro smirks.

“Of course, you’d say something like that you brute!”

“Well, Strawhat?” You call from inside the ring, “I promised all you could eat if one of you could win!”

Luffy growls, ready to jump to his feet. He’ll take on anyone for food!

“Let me handle this one, captain.” Zoro presses a hand into Luffy’s shoulder, throwing a smug look at Sanji, “Show ya how it’s done.”

“Fine.” Luffy crosses his arms, “But you better do it fast, I’m hungry!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Zoro answers, pulling out two of his swords. No need to go all out on you just yet.

The crows cheers when they see Zoro walking up to the ring.

“Oh?” You turn with a smirk, “So someone from your crew is willing to fight?”

Zoro mirrors you with a feral grin, “Someone willing to win.” He corrects you.

You stand up a little straighter, both of you acknowledging the aura of strength coming from one another.

It sends a tingle down your spine, a heat that spreads throughout your entire being. Had a fight ever made you feel like this? Feel so alive?

But it’s not the fight that’s invoking this energy. When you move to slice your knives together, you notice the timer has counted down to zero.

A small gasp escapes your lips, and your head whips up to the man across from you.

His feral smile widens when you meet his challenged stare. Like he expected this to be your meeting.

The grin slowly creeps back onto your face. Alright. If it’s a fight he wants, it’s a fight he’ll get.

Your back slams against the wall with a gasp, “I totally won.”

“The hell you did.” Zoro growls, laying a trail of biting kisses down your neck.

“Had you pinned- hnng.” His leg finds a cozy spot between your legs, “In five minutes.”

He traps your hands against the wall, “And look at you now.”

“So, you admit it.” You grin, “Greatest swordsman my ass. Couldn’t even pair against my steak kni- oh fuck.” A groan escapes your lips as Zoro pushes his leg up further, rubbing your center over his muscled thigh.

“Quickest way I could get you here.” He mutters, his eyes trained on your face.

This is not how he was expecting his day to go.

The fight started off how he anticipated. Neither of you able to get an edge over the other, a continued clash of blades. But then there was a moment and he slipped up.

You had almost got him with that damn vegetable knife. If he had been half a second slower, it would have sliced right against his cheek. And instead of planning his next move, he thought of getting you a proper sword, showing you how to fight with something more capable than a kitchen tool.

It was this slipup that cost him the fight.

Not a second later you had kicked him to the ground, pouncing on him with both knives pointed at his throat and he had nowhere to go.

It was at that moment that he thought of something else.

“I think I’ll take my reward.” You twist your wrist against his thumb, easily freeing your hand from his hold. Fingers pressed into his shoulder, you push him to his knees.

“Fuck.” Zoro groans, working your pants open without complaint. Your fingers card through his hair as he helps your foot out of a pant leg.

And like all things in life, Zoro dives in headfirst. Literally.

“Oh!” Your voice is a squeak and part of you is angry this man could pull such a noise from you so quickly, but the feeling is quickly replaced with need when he slings a thigh over his shoulder.

Zoro groans into your cunt, his tongue quickly moving over you. He’s never been so reaved up in his life. Whether it’s you, the fight, the timer, or combination of all three, his pants are becoming unbearably tight.

Finger digging deeper into your thigh, Zoro positions his mouth over your clit and gives a hard suck.

With a cry your head hits the wall behind you, hips rolling against his face as you chase your pathetically quick finish.

Zoro drinks up everything you give him, thirsty for more as he doesn’t let you out of his hold despite your squirming.

“Please!” You whine, trying to pull back but it’s impossible as your stuck in your position.

And Zoro’s too consumed to notice, not that he would care much either. He’s overwhelmed with your taste and smell, mind filled with thoughts of getting you bent over that kitchen counter so he can really get a feel for ya.

But before he can get any further, a harsh shove casues Zoro to fall to the ground. He doesn’t miss a beat as his eyes ravage your body and tongue licking his lips.

You reach for your pants, quickly pulling them up your shaky legs.

“That it?” Zoro asks, not moving from his spot on the ground but smugness dripping from his word.

“I have a restaurant to run.” You button your pants, “I can’t be leaving my customers hungry.”

“And what about me?”

“What?” You cock your head with a smirk, “That meal wasn’t enough?”

.BONUS.

“I don’t get it.”

Zoro pinches the bridge of his nose, “We leave behind shitty cook and take her with instead!”

Luffy frowns, “But why can’t we have two chefs?”

“We don’t need two chefs.”

“I don’t know Zoro, I can eat lot.”

“Luffy, you’re missing the point.”

#zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader

613 notes · View notes

iexistapparantly · 9 months

Text

'What the fuck is this supposed to be?' -Human!Reader X Madness Combat-

TW: Strong language, blood, violence (obviously)

Short stories, yay.

It's the dead of night, the dimly lit street stretches ahead, a solitary path occasionally punctuated by the distant hum of passing cars. You've just wrapped up another long, exhausting day at work. Your sister, in her infinite wisdom, decided this was the perfect time for a meetup at some bizarre restaurant you've never heard of. Gripping your phone like a lifeline, you mutter to yourself. "Why couldn't she pick a normal place? She always has such weird taste”

You squint at your phone's screen, the glow reflecting in your irritated eyes. With your pockets feeling as empty as your bank account, you decided to save gas and hoof it. Just your luck, though – as you walk, the weather decides that no, you may not have a good day. A tiny, singular drop of water plips on your nose. Then another lands on your phone. It's not long before multiple tiny raindrops start pelting down. You groan, pulling the hood of your jacket over your head. "Great, just great. I'm soaked already. This can’t get any worse."

But wait, there's hope! You're not entirely helpless; you had the foresight to bring an umbrella. Blessings upon blessings for not being a total dolt. However, your moment of self-congratulation is short-lived. As you're strolling along, raindrops gently bouncing off your trusty umbrella, things do indeed get worse.

Your foot snags on a crack in the pavement and you unceremoniously plummet face-first onto the concrete, your phone catapulting off into the nearby bushes. With an exasperated sigh, you pick yourself up, your now damp and filthy clothes clinging to your skin like glue. Cold, wet, dirty glue. "...I should have kept my mouth shut" Grumbling and swiping at your now mud-stained clothes, you begin your quest to retrieve your precious phone. You gaze around for a sign of its whereabouts, your frustration palpable. "It’s dark as shit out here, I can’t see anything- wait." Your eyes zero in on its location, and your heart drops as you realize it landed in a ditch.

Without a moment's thought, you lurch forward, desperation propelling you as your shoes kick up mud and leaves. You scramble toward the edge of the ditch, praying you can reach your phone before it meets a watery grave. But alas, you're just a hair too slow. It splashes into the water and floats away into a tunnel within the mountain. With a helpless gasp, you watch as your beloved slips from the ledge and disappears into a yawning tunnel leading deep into the mountain.

Panic surges within you. You unleash a shout of frustration. "No, no, no!" Ignoring the darkness and your complete lack of a plan, you blindly plunge into the tunnel, your hands frantically sweeping the water's surface. Your heart races as you grope through the murky depths, searching desperately for your precious device. You keep scrambling along in the never-ending tunnel, feeling like you're stuck in some sort of bad dream.

Your fingers scrape against the wet ground as you scuffle along on your hands and knees. It's dark, creepy, and your heart is still racing from the loss of your phone. You squint through the murky tunnel and spot a faint red glow. Your heart skips a beat. You squint your eyes further, your face scrunching as you step forward, hoping for a miracle. As you approach, the only thing you are able to see is the large hole your phone is floating towards. Without thinking, you lunge forward, thrusting your arm through the hole to snatch your phone before it slips away for good.

But your fingers grasp at empty air, and you're left with nothing but failure. "Damnit!" Frustration fuels your determination, and you stick your head out of the small opening. The first thing that hits you is the sand, and not in a fun beach way. It flies right into your face, getting into your eyes, your nose, and your mouth. You grunt and stumble backward, falling back into the water with a splash.

You're now completely drenched, adding insult to injury. “Great. Just fucking fantastic.” You try to get the sand out of your eyes, but it feels like your eyeballs have turned into scratchy sandpaper. You curse your luck once more, all while sitting in the water, soaked to the bone and feeling like the universe decided to just take a massive shit on your life. Tears mix with the sand on your face as frustration consumes you. You're drenched, irritated as hell, and your eyeballs feel like they've been through a desert sandstorm. But you can't give up, not when your precious phone is at stake. The files stored in that thing are irreplacable.

You take a deep breath, wiping your face with a soggy sleeve. "Alright, let's do this." After a quick check to ensure you can get back out of the hole, you stick your legs through and awkwardly plop down. The rocks dig into your skin as you slide through the narrow gap. Your hood gets caught on the jagged edges, exposing your midriff to the cold wind as you slide through. With an undignified yelp, you dangle in the air for a moment before dropping down onto your butt with a grunt. A small smile of relief graces your face as you retrieve your phone and attempt to power it on. That smile very quickly falls into a scowl when, with trembling fingers, you press the power button, praying for a miracle, but nope. It's as dead as hell. No matter how many times you jab at the power button, it refuses to cooperate.

You let out an indignant sigh, looking around the semi-lit cave you've ended up in. Your body goes lax in defeat and you decide it's time to climb out of this strange, semi-lit cave. But just as you're about to make your move, something catches your eye. An exit, a little farther away, bathed in the same eerie red light that you just fell through. But this one, it's definitely the source of that crimson glow.

You pause, your eyebrows furrowing as you take in the unsettling scene. The silence in that direction is deafening, save for the occasional flutter of sand in the stagnant air. But that's odd; there shouldn't be any wind down here to stir up the sand. Your gut twists with unease – something isn't right. You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge as you contemplate your next move. Your curiosity led you into this mess and it's not about to let you walk away now.

You're faced with a dilemma: A) Climb back up and save your precious sim card, or B) venture into the weird glowy exit. The answer is as clear as day, at least to your curious, slightly daft mind. You choose the latter. Crawling low to the ground, you cautiously poke your head out of the exit once more, squinting your eyes this time to block any sand. What you see makes your jaw drop "What the hell is this place supposed to be?!"

Before you stretches an expanse that can only be described as a whole ass desert. Well, you think it's a desert, given the vast amount of strange black sand, sandstone formations, and tge complete absence of trees. You're no expert though, so this might just be some really, really fucked up cave system. It’s an ominous change to the lush foliage back in your town. What truly boggles your mind is the sky – it's this strange, otherworldly shade of red.

You don't hesitate for long. You squeeze yourself out of the hole and stand up, fully taking in the surreal landscape before you. It seems almost endless, like you've stumbled into some sort of bizarre world. And you, being the curious (stupid) soul you are, feel compelled to explore it.

As you wander through this odd terrain, you start to notice more peculiarities. There are what appear to be tattered pieces of metal scattered about, and you catch glimpses of small skeletal remains poking out from beneath the sand. A heavy sense of dread gnaws at your stomach the whole time, that sense of dread soon becomes unbearable, intensifying with each step away from the cave exit.

After just a couple of minutes, you can't take it any longer, and you decide to turn back. But there's a problem – you can't find the cave. Dread sets in as you try to retrace your steps, only succeeding in getting yourself more lost. Everything looks the same, and there's not a single recognizable landmark in sight. You mutter to yourself, "Of course, this had to happen." You're in full-blown panic mode now, and that overwhelming sense of dread has you sprinting like your life depends on it. But let's be real – you're not exactly running far, just sort of scuttling in circles, hoping to stumble upon something familiar. Spoiler alert: that doesn't happen.

It becomes painfully obvious that logic is not your strong suit as you continue your amazing plan of walking in random directions. You start to question your life choices and contemplate just what made you decide to enter an unknown, dangerous looking and unexplored area with no second thoughts. "Why am I like this?" you mutter between panicked breaths. Finally, you spot something up ahead. Is that... a wall? Yep, it definitely is. You approach it, taking note that it's not particularly imposing.

It reaches up to your head in height, and you can't quite gauge its thickness. It's constructed from an odd mishmash of small metal scraps, toothpick-like poles, and a generous sprinkling of menacing barbed wire. The dread in your gut grows, but so does your curiosity. A sensible person might think twice before attempting to hop over such a fence. But are you a sensible person? Hell no.

You decide to defy all reason and logic you've chastised yourself for not having a few moments ago. Instead of listening to that tiny voice in your head that's just trying to look out for your well-being, you opt for the best route possible. Circling around the wall, you scout out a sturdy rock, clamber onto it, and attempt to scale the makeshift barrier like a newborn baby learning how to stand. Spoiler alert again: it's not the most graceful climb. Your utter lack of upper body strength becomes painfully evident, and you end up resorting to rolling onto your stomach, then flopping down onto your back, landing on the ground with a resounding THUNK.

Gritting your teeth and grunting in pain, you squint your eyes open, half-expecting to find yourself in some sort of absurd fever dream. But instead, you're met with the sight of a large... city? Well, it's not exactly "large." In fact, it's pretty damn small, but there's a whole lot of it, considering it's dwarfed by your presence.

You sit up, wincing as you rub your sore back with your palm, and take a closer look at your surroundings. Most of the buildings around you reach only up to your shoulders. "Well, this is one way to feel tall," you mutter with a bemused grin, not quite processing the absurdity of it all. Your eyes drop to the ground where you landed, and you're met with the sight of a tiny truck. A really tiny one.

Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you crouch down to examine it more closely. That's when you notice something oozing out from the crushed vehicle. It's... yellow? And is that... blood? Your eyes widen, and you can't help but exclaim, "Wait, what the hell?" Your gaze locks onto a severed hand lying amidst the gruesome mess. It's not attached to anything, and it's got an odd light gray skin tone.

You can't help but mumble words of confusion as you pick up the surprisingly heavy miniature truck and inspect it more closely. In an utterly bizarre turn of events, when you lift the truck, the hand that shouldn't be attached to anything follows it. "No way, this can't be real," you mutter, pinching the disembodied hand between your fingers and tugging at it. To your bewilderment, there's resistance.

After a few moments of perplexed contemplation, you muster up the courage to pry open the crushed roof of the tiny truck and peer inside. Your heart races as you're met with the sight of a very squished, bloody, and rather unpleasant-looking pile of mush. Or at least you think it's blood – it sure as hell smells like it. You recoil, scrunching up your nose in disgust.

Panic sets in once more, and you start to freak out. Did you accidentally squash some bizarre mutant rat creature? Where the hell even are you? And why in the world are these buildings so ridiculously small? Questions swirl through your mind as you stand there, completely bewildered and utterly freaked out.

Before you can wrap your head around the bizarre mushy encounter, the soft thuds of approaching shoes catch your attention. You whip around and lock eyes with... well, whatever the hell it is that's staring right back at you. Your jaw drops, and so does the, uh, "rat," for lack of a better term. Your eyes widen like saucers as you take in this unprecedented sight. This creature is like nothing you've ever seen – not even in your wildest nightmares. It doesn't possess any eyes, but you can feel its gaze piercing through you. It's an eerie shade of gray, maybe about 16 inches tall, or possibly even smaller. The weirdest part? It has no limbs to speak of, just two floating hands and a pair of shoes awkwardly stuck to its lower body. Its clothing is oddly fancy – a snazzy suit that's completely out of place. Its "face," if you can call it that, is just a cross on the center of its head, topped with a pair of sunglasses. Sunglasses! It doesn't even have a nose! Oh, was it mentioned that it has floating hands? Because it totally has floating hands.

Your mouth hangs open in shock as the creature points at you and screams in bloody horror. It makes a break for it, disappearing into the miniature cityscape. Honestly, you can't blame it. You would run like hell if you saw a giant, homeless looking stinky ass homosapien too.

"Wait!" Without thinking, you scramble to follow, your curiosity now competing with your terror. But your curiosity takes a backseat when you round a corner and come face to face with a gaggle of more of these bizarre beings – all of them brandishing tiny guns.

"Oh, shit."

You stumble backward just as a hail of tiny bullets whizzes past you. Surprisingly, it hurts – like getting pelted by a thousand miniature sandblasters that actually penetrate your skin and make you bleed. Your flight-or-fight instincts kick into overdrive, and you choose the latter. Again.

You spring forward, channeling your fear and a touch of anger into a dropkick that sends one of the creatures soaring through the air, colliding with the miniature buildings. But the rest of them? They don't run away. Instead, they seem even more determined to kick your ass. You quickly become outnumbered, losing count of how many times you feel one of them mounting you and stabbing at your skin with their blunt instruments.

Realization dawns on you – you can't win this way. So, in a desperate bid for survival, you do the smartest thing you can think of and should have done originally: run like a bitch. But the situation takes a turn for the worse as more of those little shits start swarming in, all armed to the teeth and refusing to let you escape. The worst part? A much larger version of these creatures joins the fray, their guns looking closer in size to what humans use. You don't want to find out what it feels like to get shot by one of those.

That's it. No more curiosity. You want out. Your clothes are shredded, drenched in blood, you're riddled with pain, hunger gnaws at your gut, your phone is still a dead weight, and you're scared shitless. You'd give anything to be anywhere else right now. So, you leap over the wall and sprint down the empty, dark desert, leaving the madness behind. Even when you've put a good distance between you and the chaos, you can still hear their war cries echoing in the distance.

Just when you thought things couldn't get any worse, you come across a larger building, looming ominously in the distance. Instead of approaching it, your instincts scream at you to stay as far away as possible. Unfortunately, the residents inside don't seem to share your sentiments. A tiny red dot appears between your eyes, and you have mere moments to react before a bullet slams into your skull. It doesn't pierce the bone, but the force of the impact sends you tumbling to the ground, your vision blurring. You groan, blood now mixing with the mess of dirt and sweat on your face.

You manage to prop yourself up, your hand clutching your now even more bloodied and injured head. Gazing up at the roof of the building, you spot another one of those little creatures perched on the edge, aiming a sniper rifle right at you. This one looks different from the others, with what appears to be a black mask, red goggles, and... is that a fucking mohawk? You can't be entirely sure from this distance.

Another figure with circular goggles appears beside the sniper, smacking the rifle's barrel away from you. A spark of hope flickers in your heart, but it's quickly extinguished when the creature slides down the wall, using a knife to slow its descent, and starts sprinting toward you with a katana in hand. Mercy is clearly not on the menu.

You scramble to your feet, but your many injuries slow you down. The adrenaline surging through your veins helps, but it's still a challenge to get up and run for it. The creature proves to be surprisingly swift, easily closing the distance. Its first target: your heels. It slices through the tendons of your foot, sending you tumbling to the ground once more. With only a spare second to react, you instinctively cover your neck, anticipating the worst. Your arms are nearly shredded as the creature's blade flashes down in a millisecond.

All you can see are two glowing red dots staring down at you and the fluttering of a coat. Before the creature can bring the blade down on your eye, you swing your injured arm out, but it's too late. The creature leaps and dodges your rather pathetic attempt, landing on your face and impaling your left eye with its katana.

Pain surges through your body, and you let out a guttural cry. Pain engulfs you as you scream, the creature's weight pressing down, creating a scorching heat from its blade searing through your flesh. It's a level of agony you've never known, and it feels like your world is being consumed by fire.

The blade twists to the side, mercilessly slashing through your skin like it's cutting through butter, running down your eyelid and part of your cheekbone. Tears pour uncontrollably from your only good eye, the sight of the blade lifting, poised to strike your other eye, reigniting your survival instincts.

This time, when you throw your hand out, it connects with the creature, and you manage to hit it off your face, its back hitting the ground harshly. Another cry escapes your lips as you clutch your injured eye, trembling and shaking uncontrollably. Scrambling backward, you avoid the creature as it stalks slowly toward you, its gloved fingers twirling the now bloodied blade in its hands, clearly relishing in your fear, panic, and pain.

Your back hits the building you had been trying to avoid, and you look up, catching sight of the other creature observing from above. Desperation courses through you, and in a swift, instinctual movement, you reach up and grab the head of the creature in your hand. It's a race against time, and your grip tightens as the creature attacking you hesitates. "I-I swear," you stammer through your sobs, your voice quivering with fear but laced with determination, "I'll crush his damn skull if you come any closer! Back off!"

The creature slowly backs off, still harboring a desire to attack. Meanwhile, the one in your grip struggles fiercely, its strength surprising you as you grapple to keep it restrained. There comes a point when it manages to draw a knife and stab your fingers, but you refuse to relent. If you let go now, you'll lose your other eye and, quite possibly, your life.

With your fingers aching and bleeding, you slowly step backward, tossing the creature's weapons aside. Once you're a safe distance away, you pivot on your heels and break into a limping sprint, faster than you've ever run before, adrenaline coursing through your veins like a raging river.

You glance over your shoulder, confirming that the creature is still in pursuit, and the other one is struggling to free itself. Gunshots ring out, and most of them seem to find their target. Despite the searing pain you feel with each hit, you refuse to stop running; you only push yourself harder.

You take as many twists and turns as possible, desperately trying to shake off the relentless pursuer. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you succeed in losing the creature on your heels. As soon as you're out of immediate danger, you lean against one of the many rocks scattered across the desert, clutching the creature tightly to your chest for comfort.

Overwhelmed by fear, pain, and helplessness, you can't hold back the sobs that wrack your body. You tremble uncontrollably as you wallow in self-pity, tears and blood streaming down your face. You clutch onto the tiny creature tightly, your nose pressed against its head, the hair on its scalp tickling your skin as you choke out pitiful hiccups and sobs. The creature in your hands is now silent, having given up its futile struggle a little while ago when it realized escape was highly improbable. After your intense sobbing fit subsides, you find yourself sitting in the desert, still clutching the creature you'd been struggling with moments ago, the searing pain in your eye still has not faded.

The adrenaline has left your body, leaving you drained and trembling, but you manage to regain your composure. Taking a few deep breaths, you turn your attention to the creature in your arms. "What the hell are you?" you manage to croak, your voice shaky.

The creature stirs slightly in your grasp, and it's deep, resonant voice cuts through the eerie silence of the desert. "Call me 2Bdamned," it responds bluntly.

“I said what are you?”

2Bdamned shifts his body, trying to adjust into a more comfortable position, “a grunt.” You blink in surprise at its straightforwardness.

"A grunt? Like from some weird fucked up animal?"

"Something like that," 2Bdamned replies, his tone cold and calculating. "But I've never seen anything like you before. What are you, and how did you end up here?" You take a moment to collect your thoughts before you begin recounting what you are and your bizarre journey, starting with the inexplicable fall through the tunnel and ending with the chaotic encounter with the other creatures.

"I honestly have no idea where 'here' even is," you admit, your voice tinged with frustration. “This whole situation has just been so fucked up.. And now I've lost a damn eye because of it.” 2Bdamned remains silent for a moment, processing your story.

"You’re in Nevada. You will never find anything but ‘fucked up situations’ here." he explains, sounding almost bored.

You nod, beginning to grasp the gravity of your situation. "Is there a way I can leave..?"

2Bdamned's voice remains as cold and pragmatic as ever. "Escaping Nevada won't be easy, but it might be possible if I figure out what brought you here in the first place." As you continue your conversation with 2Bdamned, you realize that despite the chaos and uncertainty that surrounds you both, he may be your best chance at navigating this surreal realm and finding a way to break free from the grip of Nevada's relentless madness.

As you sit there, trembling and lost in the madness of Nevada, 2Bdamned appears to grow tired of your sobbing and finally acknowledges your existence. His cold, calculating demeanor slowly gives way to a begrudging curiosity about what exactly you are. "Fine," he mutters with a resigned sigh, his reluctance palpable in his tone. "I'll help you, but don't expect any hospitality." You readily accept his offer, your eagerness to find a way out of this nightmarish Nevada outweighing any concerns about his demeanor. Together, you make your way back to the building, where the atmosphere is anything but friendly.

Inside, 2Bdamned confronts Hank, the grunt who had originally attacked you, his voice carrying a stern message, "Don't do that anymore." Hank, visibly displeased, gives you a death glare that could curdle milk. Despite his clear displeasure, he begrudgingly listens to 2Bdamned's command. You can practically feel the waves of bloodlust radiating off him, sending a shiver down your spine.

While you're sitting outside the building, anxiously waiting for some glimmer of hope in this bizarre desert, 2Bdamned finally emerges with news. He informs you that Deimos, another one of his mercenaries, is poring over the data and information he had provided, desperately searching for any anomalies within this bewildering desert to locate an exit, or something like that.

But in the meantime, 2Bdamned decides he should patch you up to prevent you from bleeding out and to prevent infection. With surprising skill, he tends to your wounds, you still wince and grimace at the pain like a complete baby. But you're grateful nonetheless, considering the alternative would involve a lot more bleeding and a lot less being alive.

When he's done, he offers you a miniature hotdog, which you can really only lick, it's like a damn crumb. It's a tiny snack for a big problem, but it'll have to do. As 2Bdamned starts to ask you questions, another grunt unexpectedly pokes his head out of the building. He’s wearing a cute little visor, the cap shifting as he flicks it up with his finger and eagerly informs 2Bdamned of his findings. But when he spots you, towering over both him and the entire damn base, he stares, slack jawed, "...what… the fuck…?" 2Bdamned simply gestures for him to leave, and the unfamiliar grunt’s cross scrunches with what you can only imagine to be irritation and a bit (a lot) of surprise.

Not one to pry into matters that don't concern him (for now at least), he decides to keep his questions to himself and retreats back into the building. 2Bdamned, a little bummed that his conversation got cut short, heads back inside to review the information Deimos brought him. Soon enough, he returns with a tracker and a map, indicating that it's time to embark on your journey.

The walk is excruciatingly slow, thanks to the vast difference in stride length between you and the grunts. After some time, you decide to take matters into your own hands – literally. You pick up 2Bdamned and ask him to point you in the right direction, much to his chagrin. Meanwhile, Hank, who had decided to tag along uninvited, scuffles up to you (without asking) and opts for a more unconventional mode of transportation, climbing onto your foot for the ride. (again, you did not offer. You still haven’t forgotten what he’s done to your eye and ankles.)

Eventually, all three of you reach the familiar cave entrance. You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to have found your way back. At this point, you're exhausted beyond belief, and passing out seems like a very tempting option. You express your gratitude to the grunts for their assistance in finding your way back and for patching you up.

You turn to 2Bdamned and give him the best smile you can, though it does end up looking like a grimace, "Thanks a lot, 2Bdamned. Your help means a lot." 2Bdamned grumbles in response, still not quite fond of wasting his time on such inconvenient and meaningless things, but he does offer a nod of acknowledgment. Hank, on the other hand, has been silently staring this whole time, his unblinking gaze locked onto you. It's a bit unsettling, to be honest. You decide to give him some recognition too, albeit in an awkward manner.

You give Hank a small wave, "Uh, thanks, Hank. You...uh, did a great job not attacking me again." Hank remains silent, but he does cock his head to the side, which you take as a sign that he acknowledges your thanks in his own way. Or maybe he's just silently mocking you. It's hard to tell with this dude.

The cave entrance looks similar to the way you remember it. The walls of the entrance is barely big enough for you to fit. The air is damp and filled with a strange, earthy scent that lingers in your nostrils. With the less than pleasant goodbye to your.. Companions? Acquaintances? Weird midget alien frenemies? You're not really sure..

You take a moment to survey your surroundings. Sending a final wave to 2Bdamned and an awkward nod in Hank's direction, you decide it's time to make your way back into the cave. You leave the two grunts to their own devices, whatever those may be, and begin your journey back through the dark, damp tunnel.

Limping your way through the ditch, you can still feel the persistent drizzle of rain soaking through your clothes. It's as if the weather has decided to join in on the absurdity of Nevada. As you finally emerge from the tunnel and take that crucial step onto the surface, rain once again greets you. The shower immediately intensifies, turning from a drizzle to a downpour. You can't help but roll your eye at the timing. "Great," you mutter to yourself, drenched and shivering from both the rain and the bizarre events of your journey. "Just what I needed." Through the entire experience you just went through, you can say for certain.. You’re never walking into weird ass caves again.

Edited - 12/16/2023

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littlecactiguy · 12 days

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and we're finally back with a Malevolent 'John is a horse girl au' writing exercise! (should I come up with a better name for this au? probably. Will I? no.)

here's the first scene if you're interested

also here's a bedsharing one

I'd also like to start branching out more with writing these characters, so I'm open to suggestions if anyone has any.

“It’s no trouble. I’ll—”

“I’m fine, Arthur,” John snaps, his voice full of warning.

Used to it, Arthur opens his mouth to continue pushing, but the weight of a hand on his shoulder stops him. “Maybe go sit down, yeah?” The horse riding instructor they hired tells him quietly.

Arthur considers arguing, but John has taken his momentary distraction as opportunity to mount his horse. Arthur hears no sounds of distress, or the horse bolting off, or John falling off, or something else bad happening, so he acquiesces. He feels his way to the bench by the side of the arena and sits. Then, he twitches. One foot beating out a rhythm against the ground.

His attention is keenly tuned to listening to the hoof steps of John’s mare. The animal is, that is to say, her personality fits John. Perhaps a little too well. Despite being a quarter horse (a breed with a reputation of being easier to work with, according to Arthur’s research), she’s stubborn, and perhaps somewhat too clever for her own (or John’s) good. Not that Arthur dislikes her, he never would have agreed to the purchase (and all their money is still in his name while they figure out the logistical elements of setting up a legal identity for John) otherwise. It’s simply that it took so much to get here. To be separate. Their own individuals finally.

Arthur would much prefer John didn’t injure himself or die within the first six months of having his own body.

“You’re very protective of your partner.”

It takes Arthur a beat to realize he’s being talked to. The voice of the instructor had come from his right, so that’s the direction he turns his head. “Oh, um, yes, I suppose.”

“In my experience, and don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s usually the other way around,” the instructor goes on, and Arthur is scrambling to figure out how he deduced everything until the man adds, “The seeing partner worries about the blind one, I mean.”

Ah, right. That. John’s departure from his body not heralding the return of his sight had been a disappointment, but Arthur, at that point, had grown used to not having his eyes. It had been more of an adjustment to stop addressing John as the voice in his head, especially when he wasn’t actually in the room.

That said, he’s been without his sight longer than John has had his own body. All things considered, Arthur doesn’t see his concerns for John as unfounded. Their time together, if anything, may have perhaps permanently skewed John’s perception on how much damage a human body can reasonably take.

“Look,” the riding instructor continues on, oblivious to the thoughts in Arthur’s head. “He’s going to fall off—”

“What?!”

“Let me finish. Yes, he’ll fall off. It may not be today. It may or may not be tomorrow. But, it will happen. You can’t ride horses and not fall off at some point and, most of the time, if you’ve prepared for it, you’ll be alright.”

You have to trust him, is the quiet undercurrent Arthur hears in the words.

You have to let him go, the twisting whirlpool of doubt in Arthur’s gut rebels against.

#malevolent podcast #arthur lester #john doe malevolent #malevolent fanfic #jarthur #private eyes #more implied really #a little cactus wrote this

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goldenamaranthe-blog · 1 month

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Protector AU idea

Charlie and Vaggie taking a nap after all the running around together. Lucifer comes to check in on them and they are cuddling while asleep and Vaggie has her wings covering Charlie and Charlie has her tail wrapped around Vaggie. Lucifer has to stop from squealing them awake. It’s the first picture for an album of the two

Hi, silencetheloudsound!

Well.... now comes part 2....

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Protector 2: First Night

Lucifer: *carrying two very tired little girls on his hips as he makes his way to Charlie's room and the connected room adjacent to it* I didn't ask to be a single dad. Much less a single dad of two. The next time I see that fat f- udger, I'm gonna throttle him.

Charlie: *nuzzles into Lucifer's shoulder* Daddy... too noisy.... seepy time now....

Vaggie: *passed out over Lucifer's shoulder after being chased by a toddler demon princess with unadulterated crackhead energy for three hours* zzz..... zzz... zzz....

Lucifer: *shoulders open the guest bedroom and sets Vaggie down on the bed, tucking her in with one hand* There. Your brand new bedroom, and it's right next door to Charlie's.

Charlie: *blinks blearily* Daddy, won't she be scared when she wakes up? This is a new place.

Lucifer: I'm sure she'll be fine, sweetie. Now, let's get you to bed.

Later

Vaggie: *wakes up groggily and freezes as she takes in her surroundings. Tears prick at her eyes and a scared whimper escapes her lips*

Charlie: *still awake and reading a fairytale book* Hm? Razzle, Dazzle, did you hear that?

Razzle: Baa! *points to the door leading to Vaggie's room*

Dazzle: Baap! *scrapes the door with his hoof*

Charlie: *worried eyes as she stumbles out of bed and toddles over to the door, opening it a crack and seeing Vaggie hugging her knees in her bed* Vaggie?

Vaggie: *jumps and turns to Charlie., wiping her eyes* P-Princess! W-What are you d-doing here? Is there danger?

Charlie: *climbes up into Vaggie's bed* I heard you crying. What's wrong?

Vaggie: *blushes at being caught* The room.... scared me....

Charlie: What? How did the room scare you?

Vaggie: *pokes her fingers together* I'm not used to having a room to myself.... it's so empty.... lonely...

Charlie: Lonely...... *grabs Vaggie's hands* You can come sleep with me!

Vaggie: W-WHAT?!?!?!

Charlie: Yeah! You won't be lonely anymore! Razzle, Dazzle, and I will be with you! *pulls Vaggie off the bed and drags her to her room* Come on!

Vaggie: What!? Princess, I don't think this is a good idea. I'm just your guardian. I shouldn't be- yipe! *gets literally tossed up into the bed*

Charlie: *scrambles onto the bed and covers them both in her fluffy comforter, dragging Vaggie down so they're cuddling face to face as Razzle snuggles into her and Dazzle snuggles into Vaggie* Better?~

Vaggie: *blushing harder* .........Y-Yeah........

Charlie: Good! *yawns* Goodnight, Vaggie.

Vaggie: ........Goodnight, Princess.....

Next Morning

Lucifer: *opens the door quietly* Charlie, it's time to wake up- OH!!!

Charlie and Vaggie are still cuddled together on the bed. Charlie's tail is wrapped delicately around Vaggie's waist while Vaggie's wing is covering them like a blanket.

Lucifer: *teary puppy eyes as he snaps a million pictures*

#protector au #kid charlie #kid vaggie #adorableness #princess charlie #protector vaggie #chaggie #part 2

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marinvolk · 7 months

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Since grandmaster honorary queer man David Jenkins taught us all that things like genre and tone are apparently irrelevant now, I’d like to bless you all with my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction. I present to you:

The Night is Dark and Full of Muppets

Stede threw his arms up. “You can’t blame Izzy every time you smash something when you’re upset, Ed!”

“There’s a darkness inside me,” Ed said from the dining room table, glaring daggers at the broom handle lying in two pieces on the floor; he’d broken it against his knee when Stede had mentioned wanting to talk about his anger management issues. The broom had been in his hands because he’d been sweeping up a broken kettle, which he’d broken because it had been ‘giving him a funny look’. “Izzy won’t let me be Ed. He wants the Kraken. You wanted me to be Blackbeard. Remember when you said how fugly I looked without my beard?”

Stede rolled his eyes. “I did not say that. Come on, Ed.”

“Your eyes said it. They looked at me and said, ‘you look so fugly, not-Blackbeard.’ It’s Izzy’s fault I broke the broom.”

“Really, Ed? I don’t know if you remember, but we buried Izzy. It quite literally cannot be his fault—”

“Then it was Pop-Pop’s fault.”

Stede did a double take. “Who is Pop-Pop?”

“My fisherman dad. He and my fisherman brother—I never gave him a name because I never actually had a brother—took me in when I left you at the docks. For a time, I was happy again, loved, content.” Ed’s eyes watered. “I was Ed.”

Stede scoffed. “Ed, you were gone for a night.”

Ed banged his fist on the table. “I was Ed! Pop-Pop made me go get my leathers!” Ed sobbed. “Pop-Pop made me!”

Stede’s face crumpled into a very muppet-like expression. “What?”

“You just don’t want me to be Ed, do you? You think Blackbeard’s better! Pop-Pop told me to go do the only thing I was good at, so I had to go be Blackbeard again! It’s all your, Izzy’s, and Pop-Pop’s fault that I can’t be Ed!”

“I want you to be Ed, I just don’t like when you throw all our things at the wall!”

Ed snapped, “I wouldn’t throw things at the wall if they weren’t there when I get mad! Maybe we just need a maid!”

“Christ, Ed! We can’t afford a maid because we bought too much fishing equipment—”

They both stilled as lightning split the skies beyond the window of the shitty inn by the sea, darkness falling like a heavy shroud. The candles went out in a hissing puff.

Stede glanced to the door. “Do you hear that?”

Something on the porch. A footstep? No, something thumping. Strange. That had almost sounded like…

The door creaked open.

Silhouetted against the moonglow, a man stood clad in black. A seagull perched upon his shoulder with knowing, very hex-filled eyes.

A voice that sounded like someone was whispering cigarettes said, “The night is dark and full of muppets.”

Stede glanced at Ed. “That isn’t…?”

Ed swallowed, taking a step toward the door. “Izzy? Is that you, man? How? We buried you!”

“You took my ring. You took my cravat. You took my leg. You took my redemption arc. You took my family.” One gold-painted unicorn hoof slid forward as a familiar face loomed from the darkness. “Now, I’m taking it all back. Edward Teach—born on a beach—prepare to taste lead!”

Izzy whipped out an AK47 from the darkness. A maelstrom of bullets thundered through the inn, peppering Ed’s body until he was flailing back and forth like Kermit the Frog. Meanwhile, Stede hurled himself to the floor and scrambled under the table as Buttons shot laser beams from his beady seagull eyes, destroying the remnants of a porcelain vase that Ed had hurled against the wall only just the night before, when Stede had yawned too loudly for his liking.

The whisper-cigarette voice said, “Stede Bonnet, you fooken twat. Get up, muppet. We got a ship to catch.”

Stede crawled out from the table, staring up at Izzy with wide eyes. “What are you, oh, sea prince who was promised?”

“Me?” Izzy pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and said, “I’m the motherfooken unicorn.”

No, I will not be taking any critique, you media illiterate cretins. This is 100% plausible because DJ never actually said that seagulls in this universe can’t shoot laser beams from their eyes. Also, the fact that Izzy knows a song from the 1940s is in fact proof that he’s also a time traveler, therefore the AK47 is officially canon appropriate. In fact, this is so plausible—remember, genre and tone are no longer important—that it’s basically just the new ending.

#ofmd critical #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd izzy #ofmd izzy critical #ofmd fanfic #behold my genre bending magnum opus #ofmd #izzy hands

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ashinbloom · 2 months

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Mechvore 1

Your head is pounding as you blink awake, the distant sound of artillery shell explosions and gunfire slowly filtering in. You squint and hold your head as your vision slowly comes into focus. Where are you? What happened? You were on a transport with your squad, you think, en route to rendezvous with the Mech division.

Shouting.

Panic.

Explosion?

Was the transport attacked? You decide you can hash it out later when you get to safety. You were expecting another hour on the transport so you weren’t geared out, but your pistol… You pat your hip and sigh. You left your pistol in your bunk.

You try your radio, but get no response. Only static. Your legs still work, as far as you can tell, so you decide to hoof it until you can get a read on the situation. Maybe reach higher ground and get a signal. So you start walking.

You’re still a ways off from the fighting, but that’s your safest bet. Ironic, you think, that running into gunfire and explosions is the safe option, but you push those thoughts aside. The forest, or maybe it could be considered a jungle, is quiet but that doesn’t mean it’s desolate. You march on for some time, wary of every twig or feather flutter you hear over the sounds of war, until you hear an unsettling but familiar sound. Your blood runs cold as you spin around, trying to pinpoint where it’s coming from. It could be anywhere, the way it’s echoing around you, but the sound is unmistakable.

A Mech.

You had been enamored with the Mech division when you joined up with the Corps. They were the best of the best behind the helms of giant, cutting edge, bipedal war machines that served as paragons of everything the Corps stood for. You were so excited when you passed the exams, when you were deemed to have a compatible personality profile, when you watched the live fire demonstrations. You were going to be a Mech Pilot and you were so ready.

Until you learned what being a Mech Pilot means.

The mechanical tromping gets closer and closer still, and you scramble in what you think is the opposite direction and hunker down on the other side of an embankment. You keep your head down, feeling the ground shudder under you and against your back as it gets closer. Closer. Closer. Wincing with each step until it stops. You can’t help but foolishly peek up over the bank.

There it is. An old FX Series Mech. It stands in the clearing, its back to you, but you can see its blue laser grid scanning wherever it looks as it scans from left to right as it says “Searching for Pilot.”

You duck back down, grabbing the pendant on your necklace and trying to breathe calmly and quietly. Perhaps you pray, if you’re that sort of person or just the desperate type. In any case, you just hope that it doesn’t find you.

You watch as the grid comes into your view on the thicket of trees to your left, slowly panning rightward. You hold yourself, make yourself as small as you physically can, as the grid moves in your direction. But you’re in luck and you can see where the grid picks up, leaving you hidden in the shadow of the embankment. You still hold your breath, though.

To your relief, the grid passes right over you. You stay still, daring not even to breathe as you listen to the Mech’s hydraulics and servos and its foodpads in the dirt as it walks away.

You let out a sigh of relief and before you can even get it out you gasp in shock. The grid is back over your position and a burning red.

“Acquiring Pilot candidate,” the Mech says. The FX series always had a synthesized voice that was pleasing to you, soothing. Maybe even a bit arousing, if you were being completely honest. But now it’s the most terrifying sound in the world. You clamber to your feet, scrambling as you dive away just in time to avoid the massive metal hand demolishing the bank you were hiding behind.

You bound across the stones in the creek, slipping from them half way across and trodding with sodden boots to the other side and into the treeline. The FX pursues you, a deluge of water spilling from the creek as it stomps through and onto the shore behind you. You make your way further into the forest, running toward the sound of gunfire the whole time, hoping that the trees will slow the Mech, or at least obscure you from its scanners.

The sound of cracking timber and grinding metal behind you tells you that your hopes were in vain.

You barely manage to dive away from a falling tree as its shadow grows around you, adrenaline allowing you to push yourself back to your feet as quickly as you hit the forest floor. The natural flow of the land funnels you downhill between two peaks as you run for your life. You don’t know where you are or where you’re going, but eventually, you run against a craggy rock wall. You try to jump and reach the ledge, you try to climb the jagged rock face.

You can’t.

You freeze as the red gridlines of the FX Mech’s scanner trace up your body, silhouetting you against the wall.

“Pilot candidate acquired,” its smoky synthesized voice affirms that you’ve nowhere left to run. Nowhere to hide.

You slowly turn around, hands raised about your shoulders to show you’re not a threat. You aren’t a threat, after all. “Please, I’m not a pilot,” your run-ravaged voice ekes out.

The Mech’s scanning field narrows around you. “Evaluating Pilot candidate.”

“I’m not a pilot!” your voice croaks out, as loud as you can make it. “I don’t want to be a pilot!”

“Irrelevant,” the mech’s disturbingly alluring voice says, “This unit requires biofuel.”

“I don’t care!” you plead, “Just… just let me go.”

The mech remains silent as it stands before you, its scan field shifting from red to green as it traces up one leg, briefly turning red again where it moves over your trick knee, then stays green as it traces up the other leg, up your torso, and down your arms. The light seems to sparkle and flash as you look into the single standard “eye” of the FX Series Mech as it scans your head. It feels like an entire rainbow flashes by before the scanner turns off.

“Candidate compatibility: Eight-seven percent,” the synthetic voice says. “Congratulations, Pilot.”

“No, no!” You press yourself against the wall, holding your hands out defensively. As if they’d be any defense against a war machine. “I’m not a pilot! I don’t want to be a pilot.”

“Irrelevant. The Pilot requires protection.”

“I don’t want your damn protection!”

“Irrelevant.”

The FX lowers itself while white steam rises from a seam around its front. A terrible stench like burnt meat and rot permeates the air as the hatch to the cockpit loses its hermetic seal. The mch leans forward, the hatch turning into a ramp as if it expects you to just climb inside. When it does, a gut-wrenching rattle rings out as the yellowed bones of the previous pilot tumble down the diamond steel walkway to the ground in front of you. You quiver where you stand, the soaked insole of your boot squelching with every bounce.

You know you can’t escape. You know it’s useless. It doesn’t stop you from trying. You run to the right, only for the Mech’s hand to slam into the rock wall beside you. You run left, and the other hand misses you by a hair’s breadth.

“Stop, please!”

Your pleas fall on deaf ears as the hands close around you, lifting you from the ground.

“Please remain calm, Pilot.”

You can barely even manage a feeble ‘I’m not a pilot.’ as you’re shoved into the cockpit and everything goes dark.

#mech pilot #mechposting #mecha #hornyposting #mechslut #mechpilot #to be continued #second person pov #bad ending #pred/prey

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breannasfluff · 11 months

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Wolf Pack - Swimming

The road to the split mountain takes the group up and over some hills, then back down to the edge of a lake. Without the map from the tower, Twilight has little idea where they are. Wild doesn’t mind, he scrambles up small cliffs and ranges through the short grass, collecting anything he can get his hands on.

The slate seems to have no limit to how much it can hold which is…good for now, but probably a bad thing considering how much the Cub collects.

Leave it! Time’s faint growl has him glancing over; Wild is attempting to yank a stubborn carrot from the ground.

Mine! Wild’s wail is far too much like a stubborn pup and he heaves with both hands. The carrot top–never made to put up with such abuse–breaks off. No! No! No!

Twilight waits out the mini tantrum, before stepping up to help. Eying the carrot’s location he sets to digging, softening the dirt enough Wild can pull it out. It is bigger than expected and the hero’s eyes glow as he holds it aloft. Apple, who’s meandered after them over the hills, pricks her ears at the sight of the vegetable.

Wild notices and gives the barest growl, holding it to his chest. Apple blinks back placidly; used to this sort of behavior now. The rancher isn’t sure why a deity would bless this particular horse, but one must have. She’s too calm in the presence of wolves and feral hylians. The rate at which the cub climbs up and down her back; swings onto her neck, or darts under her belly ought to have him flat on the ground with a hoof kick to the skull.

Instead, Apple patiently endures it all and then some.

Twilight noses the carrot. Share? He tilts his head at the horse, then at Time, trying to get his point across. Wild looks between the two, then stores the carrot in his slate. Well, he tried.

The pack continues, dipping down to a lake. A thin strip of water reaches toward them and further out some trees break the surface. Not too deep, then.

Wild squeals and runs for the water because when he’s not being forced to bathe, he enjoys splashing around. He doesn’t take off his clothes, just speeds toward the water. Time throws himself in the cub’s path just in time. Wild goes down, face buried in the dirt before popping up with a snap.

Whywhywhymean!

Time nips at the clothes. Off! No wet!

The hero sticks out his tongue–a gesture neither of them taught him–but starts pulling at the shirt and pants. He throws them at Time, who looks supremely unimpressed with a pair of pants draped over his head and ears.

Twilight can’t resist a wolfish laugh as he trots over. Pretty Sun, hello nice morning sky, silly Dawn.

Time’s gaze says shut up just as clearly as any hylian.

Read the rest here!

#wolf pack #lu wild #botw link #lu twilight #lu wolfie #lu time #wolf time #linked universe #linkeduniverse #breannasfluff #my writing

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 months

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📖"Merry & Bright"

Part 3 - Family Fun Night

Merry & Bright Masterlist

Rated: Teen

Pairing: Bucky x Steve

Tags: a/b/o, omega Bucky, alpha Steve, kid fic, Karens

Summary: Bucky and Steve go to their daughters' school play.

(If your name is Karen, I'm sorry and sending warm hugs)

Bucky’s been able to ignore the encroaching Holiday season for longer than usual this year.

Between the warm-ish fall weather and his continuing therapy appointments, the ceaseless calls from his publisher and that guy from Warner Brothers, and the move and the overwhelming demands of a newborn, it’s just hard to believe that it could already be Thanksgiving next week.

Steve’s next text coming through just about drives a bulldozer through that delusion:

Steve: Hey, I’m at the store right now. You want me to pick anything up for this ‘Friendsgiving’-extravaganza? I know Jarvis said he’s got it handled, but I feel like we should have backups for the girls? Just in case Tony’s picked out some sort of weird, avant garde menu? Becs really has her heart set on pumpkin pie. And Sarah, well …

Bucky: You could ask Pepper. I think we’re safe as long as there’s mac ‘n’ cheese and rolls. Anyway we’ve got over a week to sort it out.

Steve: … Babe, today’s Tuesday. We’ve got two days.

Bucky immediately checks his phone calendar, and sure enough, Thanksgiving is this week, not next. Fuck.

“Ohshit,” he breathes, eyes bugging out of his head as he realizes that this means tonight is the school play, not next Tuesday. “Fuck. Shit!” In his hands, his phone chimes.

Steve: So, pie?

Bucky texts back a harried ‘yes’, thinking that he’s got to get his butt back to the tower immediately. He very suddenly has only about nine hours before his children need to be fitted with their (as of yet not even near-to-finished) homemade costumes. Becca’s paper mache drumstick still needs spray painted, and Sarah’s supposed to be a scoop of mashed potatoes that Bucky still needs to find something to act as the pat of butter on top.

“Jarvis, help.” Bucky says as he hoofs it back in the direction of the tower.

Jarvis’ voice emanates from his phone: “Mr. Rogers. How can I be of assistance?”

Bucky rattles off the craft supplies they’re going to need. “And if you know anyone on Stark’s payroll who’s good with a needle and thread, that wouldn’t hurt either.”

It seems like only yesterday they were dressed up as Buzz and Woody, letting Bo Peep and a very bossy Jessie drag them around from house to house. They’d trick-or-treated in the Cobble Hill neighborhood where they technically don’t live yet but will soon, once the house is finished being refurbished. Bucky had carried Gabe strapped to his front as one of the Little Green Men alien squeaker toy thingies, and Steve had pulled a wagon along for when one or both of the girls inevitably became too tuckered out to—

Anyhow, point is: it feels like they were trick‘or’treating all of two seconds ago.

And now Thanksgiving is in two days? What the everloving fuck?

Bucky spends a very brief amount of time that afternoon being irrationally mad at his husband, as if it’s Steve’s fault that his pregnancy brain has apparently extended into the postpartum period and allowed him to lose track of time. He grumps privately that Steve should’ve somehow magically known that he was mentally operating in the wrong week, and should have thus alerted him that the holiday was imminent! Stupid Steve. What the hell is the alpha good for, anyway?

Later that evening of course, he realizes how ridiculous that is. He comes to terms with the fact that he’s actually upset with himself—partly because of the mad scramble he’s left with to get ready for Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy’s family fun night, but even moreso because of the 5k he now has to face up to in less than forty-eight hours. (What real, qualitative difference one more week of jogging in the park was really going to make, Bucky can’t say, but he’d been counting on it to help him work his confidence up about the whole ordeal.)

It’s not like he wouldn’t back out of it if he could, but he absolutely cannot back out. This is the first ever Brooklyn Bridge American Heroes Turkey Trot, co-sponsored by Stark Industries and Barnes Prosthetics (yes, Bucky is the genius who thought it’d be fine and dandy to plan a 5k less than half a year after giving birth). Together, he and Tony have started a foundation for veterans and civilian victims of the regime years, to help provide them access to the high quality, bio-integrative prosthetics that Bucky’s company makes.

Since it’s not exactly cheap to weld a robot arm onto somebody, Bucky and Tony have partnered with Wounded Warrior Project for this charity run; done to raise funds for vets who don’t happen to have a spare ninety grand lying around to fund their surgeries. The limbs themselves are, of course, all provided free of charge by Barnes Prosthetics, and the overall costs are at least somewhat ameliorated by various amenities provided by Stark.

As the visible face of the charity, Bucky’s got no choice: he needs to show up, show off, and show support. He’s expected to be there to make nice with all the other amputees who’ll be running, and to show off how happy and perfect his life is now that he’s got the Asset IV prototype cybernetic implant attached to his body. It is a bitchin’ arm, and Bucky is excited to get to hand one of those gigantic cardboard checks over to the Wounded Warrior guys, but he really, really wishes he’d thought to postpone the Foundation’s first run until next Thanksgiving.

At least he’ll have Steve there with him, he thinks. His Alpha has promised not to outpace him to any embarrassing degree, Darcy is fine with keeping Gabe until they get back, and Tony has even arranged to have the girls set up for the Macy’s parade with a disgustingly VIP viewing situation on Central Park West. But aside from those few hours on Thanksgiving morning, Bucky’s daughters will remain under his purview for the holidays this year.

And the hubbub begins with Family Fun Night that evening.

Bucky alone has to deal with Sarah’s anxiety problems leading up to the curtain call for this stupid fucking school play. “Hold still, Honey,” he begs, speaking past the safety pin he’s got held between his lips as he kneels there and uses both of his hands to try and do a last minute costume fix. “Sarah I said hold still.”

“Fix it daddy, fix it!”

He’s crouched next to his youngest daughter in the school’s hallway, trying to better secure the pat of “butter” (a folded yellow tea towel) to the top of her not-so-great mashed potato costume. Steve is off somewhere with the drumstick, helping her to not be scared about walking out on stage. “Baby, please. I can’t fix it if you keep moving around,” Bucky growls, but his frustrated tone only makes Sarah get more hysterical about her role in the play being messed up by a floppy tea towel. She starts to cry about how she doesn’t want to do this anymore.

“Sarah Winnifred, I swear to God, if you don’t hold still, you’re gonna have a new hole poked in your head!”

He and Steve sit proudly in the fourth row back and watch the play that their children’s overpriced prep school is putting on before it lets out for Thanksgiving break.

At the end of the final song, when all of the students are lined up on the stage like a demented paper-mache buffet of human-sized food items, bowing hand in hand, Steve and Bucky rise with all the other parents for a standing ovation, humongous smiles plastered on their faces. Steve tries to do a finger whistle with middling success, then he leans over to Bucky’s ear and cheerfully whispers, “That was so dumb!”

Bucky laughs, still clapping and beaming with absolute pride for his daughters. “Yeah it was friggin’ awful!”

The curtain falls, and he and Steve exit the auditorium to go backstage and congratulate the girls. A very excited drumstick and mashed potatoes run up and start talking over each other to tell their fathers all about the play that they just performed. “Papa! Daddy! Did you see me?! Did you see my song?!!”

“What about meee?!”

“Sure did, Becs. You were really good!”

“The best turkey drumstick ever.”

For being such excellent thespians and to celebrate their acting debut, they present the girls with two foil-wrapped tulips that they bought out in the lobby. Becca especially, seems very proud of her flower, twirling in her drumstick costume and holding it to her nose again and again. Bucky’s smile wavers with emotion as he gets that warm, shot-of-whiskey feeling once again, and he remembers that Life is Good. He catches Steve’s eye from over top of the mashed potatoes, and they share one of those silent “I Love You” moments. Steve shoots him a wink.

It being family fun night, Darcy appears as planned and ushers the girls away to go change back into regular clothes before they head over to the kids’ party in the gymnasium. Meanwhile, Steve and Bucky go to the reception that’s been put together for the parents. Bucky isn’t super keen on attending, but he promised the girls that they could play games with the other kids for at least an hour, so he and Steve make an admirable attempt to mingle amongst the other parents.

Coulton-Chestor Preparatory Academy is an exclusive elementary school on the Upper East Side. Due to its sheer proximity to Stark Tower, and since bussing the girls all the way to Brooklyn for an entire year would’ve been too much of a hassle, Steve and Bucky chose to enroll them there. It’s only temporary, until the renovations on the Cobble Hill house are complete and they’re able to move back to Brooklyn. Bucky is looking forward to being able to walk his children the two picturesque blocks between their house and the neighborhood school each day.

But until then, it’s the more snobbish parents and overzealous PTA moms of Coulton-Chestor that he has to navigate at functions such as tonight’s. Bucky’s been taking some time off work ever since things got very pregnant-and-miserable in about month eight, but he still considers himself a working father, and as such there is an awkward disconnect between him and the more … involved stay-at-home parents who surround him at the reception.

At least there are hors d’oeuvres and cocktails, which give him something to do with his hands. Steve starts chatting with a few of the parents who are running the silent auction, and Bucky avoids getting drawn into bidding on overpriced theater tickets by heading over to the refreshments table. He’s just finished loading up on a bunch of mini quiches and cocktail weenies, when the one person he’d hoped to fully avoid at this function makes her attack. Bucky turns around with his little plate of foot and startles as he’s suddenly faced with a familiar, blonde-haired woman.

“James!” She’s got a tea-length dress, an overly-whitened smile, and a ponytail that’s been curled to within an inch of its life. It’s Karen.

(No, her name is literally Karen.)

And in Bucky’s limited experience with her, she has an uncanny ability to make every social interaction the exact opposite of what Bucky would like it to be. It’s just a gift some people have.

She swoops in with two other omega parents by her sides, introducing them as “Jill” and “Nate.” Bucky plasters on a smile to match hers while she air kisses his cheeks in that way that rich people who think they’re cultured always do.

“You made it,” she coos, acting pleased to see him. In all fairness, she might be. Bucky’s never point blank told the woman that he finds her insufferable, and she always seems to make a beeline for the more well-to-do parents. Ever since she found out that Bucky and Steve not only rub shoulders with Tony Stark, but are actually living with him, she’s been eager to make Bucky one of her besties. “It’s been too long. How are you, darling?”

“Oh, you know,” Bucky says, gesturing with his plate of cocktail weenies. “Hanging in there.”

“And how is that gorgeous new baby of yours doing?” she asks, nudging Jill to announce, “James is married to Commander Rogers. They have three children.”

Jill and Nate make a polite fuss over that, while Bucky tries to act gracious and think of a way to correct Karen that “Commander” isn’t Steve’s title, and if he ever hears her referring to him as such, he’ll be offended. “How is your family doing?” Bucky asks, more to get the topic off himself rather than due to any real interest.

Like most of the Coulton-Chestor moms, Karen is married to a well-to-do Alpha, has precisely one child, and spends her time trying to climb as high in Manhattan “Mommy” society as possible. Having a living child at all is automatically a foot up in terms of social standing, Bucky’s learned, and the moms of Park Avenue lord their accomplishments higher than most. Most times Bucky’s met her, Karen’s been wearing diamond solitaires with designer workout clothes and brandishing her own fertility like a damn merit badge.

Karen brags about her son for a few minutes, and when it seems like everyone in their small group is necessitated to take a turn with regards to their own offspring, Bucky throws some random fact out about how the girls have been doing. Jill and Nate start gushing over Bucky’s grand accomplishment of having three kids, which is practically unheard of.

“You must be so proud. How lucky to have three healthy children!”

“What were yours in the play?” Jill asks, and she seems friendly enough so Bucky makes an effort to tell her about how he’s responsible for the turkey leg and the mashed potatoes. She giggles and nods and says her son was one of the pumpkins.

“Oh, ha, yeah. They had quite the little dance routine, didn’t they?”

Bucky’s smile turns annoyed when Karen feels the need to point out, “Yes! And your little Rebecca kept up alright, didn’t she? She seemed able to follow along with the other kids quite well!”

“Yes,” Bucky says peevishly. “She’s very talented.”

“Isn’t it wonderful here? I just love how inclusive Coulton-Chestor is,” Karen simpers. She turns to the other moms and starts telling them about how Becca is in her son’s “regular” class, and how she’s always so sweet, and so helpful to the other students. She talks about Becca like she’s a little mascot, or a class pet, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve to no end.

Since the fertility crisis began, there’s been more stigma placed on children with any sorts of disabilities, and Bucky’s had to deal with a lot of thinly-veiled prejudice due to his daughter’s special needs ever since he started advocating to get her into the same high-quality school programs as Sarah. The public school system still hasn’t recovered, and with limited slots available in all childcare-related fields these days, people are more ruthlessly competitive for their children than ever before.

“Yes, we like it here,” Bucky agrees. “Though we’ll be switching to a different school next year, when we move to the new house over in Brooklyn.”

“You’re not leaving The Tower?” Karen gasps, as if that’s the most horrible, ludicrous decision. Given that she makes it sound like Bucky and his family are choosing to move out of friggin’ Buckingham Palace, Nate and Jill predictably get curious and ask:

“The ‘Tower’?”

“Stark Tower,” Karen chirps, excited to tell the other two omegas, “James and his husband live there.”

Nate’s eyebrows go up. “They live there. In the tower?”

“Oh yes! Didn’t you know? Why, they’re friends with the Starks.”

“Really? Oh, I’ve heard such good things about that Pepper Potts,” Jill gushes. “Seems like a lovely woman. How do you know her?”

Bucky smiles, pained. “Actually I knew Tony first. We work together.”

“You work?” Nate sneers. Bucky ignores him.

“Yeah, I met Tony back during the, ah … well, during the regime years.”

“Gilead? Oh. Huh.”

(“Wonder what the Starks were doing, back then? Were they married then?”

“You never do hear what celebrities got up to during all that, do you?”

“No, you never do.”)

Bucky hums, not intending to get into a conversation about it, but Karen forces his hand by volunteering, “Wasn’t that all in your book though, James?”

“Um,”

Karen enthusiastically tells the others, “He was one of those resistance fighters, can you believe it? That’s how he lost his arm.” (Everybody’s eyes not-so-surreptitiously fly to where Bucky’s left hand is sticking out of his sweater, holding onto the plate of hors d'oeuvres.) “And he was a vessel. His husband was one of the commanders down in Washington. That’s where they met!”

“Really?”

“Steve wasn’t a real commander …” Bucky hedges.

“Oh he wrote a whole book about it! You really must read it.” Karen rattles off the title and both Nate and Jill make sounds of recognition.

“Ooh. You know, I’ve heard of that book.”

“Great,” Bucky mutters. He has to smile along politely and answer them as they start asking him fascinated questions, with Karen supplying details every time he tries to demure and change the topic to something less sensational.

“He’s just being modest!” she simpers, laying her hand on Bucky’s arm in an overly familiar way. “James, tell them about how you were on the View.”

Bucky reluctantly does, and Jill and Nate nod along, enthused to hear about how he’s been on television and met the hosts of the show. “It really wasn’t all that exciting,” Bucky insists. “I wasn’t the main guest. They had, you know, real celebrities that went after me. Reese Witherspoon and stuff.”

“You met Reese Witherspoon?”

“No, no. I didn’t. I was only there for like, two minutes. It wasn’t even important.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Karen prods smugly. “A little birdy told me that Netflix was trying to buy up the film rights to your book.”

Bucky doesn’t even care, he openly shoots her a withering glare this time. “I can assure you that’s not true.” (It’s HBO, and it isn’t Bucky’s fault if she doesn’t have her details right.)

Karen continues to gab to the other two parents about it anyway, insisting that some omega heartthrob actor whom Bucky has never heard of would be the ideal casting choice to portray him in the film version of his book. “And Chris Hemsworth. Oh! Wouldn’t he just be perfect to play your Steve?”

“Nobody’s making a movie out of it!” Bucky snaps, fed up with her incessant gossiping. “It’s not happening.” He looks around awkwardly at the end of his outburst, aware of Nate and Jill’s surprised expressions. “Um, I just mean: the studios were shopping around,” he mutters. “But I said no.”

Of course this is very disappointing to Karen, and she tries to tell Bucky what a mistake that is, talking about how interested everybody would be in the subject matter. “I just saw an episode of the Dr. Phil show where they were talking about it,” she says. “They had wives and some of those vessels on. Even a commander.”

Bucky hums dispassionately. “Sounds like trash tv to me.” He’ll be damned if he lets Karen know he was asked onto that program as well. “Just people trying to make a spectacle out of it.”

Karen titters awkwardly and agrees, but Bucky can tell that she’s annoyed at him for shutting her gossip down. “Well, it’s all very controversial, of course,” she excuses. “And a commitment like that would just be so much more on your plate.”

Bucky nods, glad that she’s dropping it. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“After all, you’re already a working mother,” she says, saying ‘working’ all hurriedly and quietly, as if it’s something not to be mentioned. “I’m sure you just want to focus on your family, now. With the new baby and all.”

“Congratulations,” Jill gushes. “Did you have a boy or a girl?”

“A boy. Gabe. He just turned four months old last week.”

“Oh, how wonderful.”

“Another omega for your family?”

“No, Karen,” Bucky says, annoyance audible in his voice. “We haven’t had him tested. We’re just going to wait and find out the old fashioned way.”

“Oh. I see.”

They all seem taken aback, because it’s very rare for a newborn not to be tested for designation these days. Much to Bucky’s chagrin, gender roles only seem to be becoming more emphasized than ever. Jill chuckles awkwardly and tries to lighten the mood. “Well, that’s so progressive of you. Dan had our little Archie in an alpha playgroup by the time he could crawl, I swear.”

They all titter over that, and Bucky tries to scan the room for any sight of Steve without being too obvious in what he’s doing. He spots him over by the punch bowl. “Um, I’m sorry,” he excuses. “I think I see my husband calling me.” He starts to make his escape, but Karen grabs him just as he’s turning.

“Oh, James, wait! We wanted to ask if you’d help us plan the Winter Gala.”

“Oh, I uh.”

“We’re going to have the children do a nativity scene. And I was thinking a candlelight service. Wouldn’t that just be picturesque?”

Bucky makes a face. “Sorry, Karen. My family isn’t very religious.”

“Oh, no but it’ll be interdenominational!” she insists with a big grin. “You celebrate Christmas, of course!”

“No.”

“... No?”

“Not really,” Bucky grunts. “I mean, we do a tree and a menorah and all that, but ..."

“Menorah?” she says, and the way she squinches her eyes sets Bucky’s nerves on edge. “You’re not Jewish?”

Bucky pulls his arm back to himself. “Culturally, yes. Steve’s family is Catholic, mine’s Jewish. But we’ve decided that organized religion isn’t what’s right for our family.”

“Oh! But you can still come to the church service!” Karen says brightly. “It’ll be—”

“We’re not religious,” Bucky blurts out, sick of stepping around the issue and having lost his patience. He’s tired of politely fielding other people’s invitations for him and his husband and children to come and check out ‘this congregation’ or that, and figures he’ll just squash any chance there might be of him actually getting roped into planning holiday festivities with the Coulton-Chestor evangelical set. “We’re pretty much raising the girls Atheist,” he tells Karen, watching as her smile flickers like a bulb hanging on by its very last filament. He feels a degree of nasty satisfaction at having perturbed her.

Disturbingly, the Christian Right has continued to grow in popularity—culturally, if not politically—these past few years, and Bucky has very little tolerance for it (he tried to show tolerance before the regime, and look how that ended up). He knows his family is in the minority, and it’s very apparent how this information makes the friendly light in even Nate and Jill’s eyes dim somewhat.

“I’m sure you’ll plan something great, though,” he excuses brightly, turning around to go and find Steve and see if it isn’t too early to make their escape. “It was nice catching up!”

Masterlist

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This has been a fill for:

@steverogersbingo

Card: SB3088 || stark-contrast

Square D3: Slice of Life

@marvel-smash-bingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky

Square I5: Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

@stuckyversebingo

Card: sarahyellow / sarah-writes-stucky

Square C4: alpha/omega relationship

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drunk0nheat · 5 months

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Beast's Labyrinth [NSFT]

made out to @milkygothgf <3

Your party was recently hired by an anonymous client through a fixer to enter the tomb of an ancient arch wizard and retrieve its legendary hoard! If you can pull this off, the fighter will be able to afford better armor, your barbarian can get a new axe, your ranger can buy information on their long lost mother, and YOU…

Well, you're just a humble cleric. You have no need of indulgent earthly possessions beyond your vestment and your staff. Not even the temptations of the flesh can pull you from the righteous path of your goddess's darkness, and this strength allows you to offer your services to your party without becoming distracted.

Since your grandfather was a minotaur, you have special traits that give your… "roar" special energizing properties for your allies, and makes your… "secretions" especially revitalizing. Your devotion to the Goddess of Darkness has granted you boons that drastically strengthen these properties, allowing you to heal even the most egregious wounds simply by feeding the wounded from your round, soft, pillowy breast. Disciples of Midnight are also trained to grant day-long boosts to strength, speed, and awareness by awakening an individual with oral stimulation to their sexual organ.

Your sexual organ, however, remains untouched, save for a ritual giving your virginity as an offer of devotion to your beloved Goddess of Night which marks the end of your induction into the sisterhood.

Or at least… it was.

What your benefactor failed to mention about the tomb he was sending your party into as that a large section of the interior was a labyrinth… a labyrinth which held a beast imprisoned within.

You're separated from your party, gasping for breath as you stumble through the maze. Your knees ache and your hands struggle to keep hold of your staff, your revealing vestments failing to protect you from the scratching sand every time you stumble. You feel like you've been running for hours, and you don't know how much longer you can manage it… but you have to try.

You can hear it.

Boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom!

It's getting closer.

The Minotaur.

You turn to look behind as you run and trip over your own feet, falling on your back with a yelp as your your staff clatters on the ground away from you. You lay exhausted, desperate to just breathe for a minute, but the momentary respite proves fatal as you look up and see the minotaur rounding a corner. It freezes as its eyes land on your lying and vulnerable form. You've always felt comfortable in your vestments, but right now, you've never felt more exposed. It makes eye contact with you, gives a heavy huff, and paws the ground with its hoof before barreling toward you. The sudden burst of speed reignites the panic in your chest as you scramble to your feet, but your poor, life-giving udders finally prove to be too much and cause you to lose your balance, giving the monster all the time it needs to snatch at your leg and drag you close.

You whimper and struggle with futility as it takes hold of your arms and pins you down. It leans in, an ineffective loin cloth barely covering a swinging bell-ended cock. Your face goes clammy underneath its hot, putrid breath, then it sniffs. It pushes its snout against your face, then into the crook of your neck, then into your bust. It huffs into your cleavage, then looks up into your eyes, its breathing growing heavier and heavier. The loin cloth is torn apart by the gradual stiffening of it's ridiculous cock. It's shaped like a human's, but no one smaller than this creature could lug around such a monster. The sight of it terrifies you - you can't take that thing! - but the smell… you've never smelled another hucow's pheromones so much before. It's so much, it makes your head dizzy, and despite everything, you feel yourself getting warm and wet.

Something inside you enjoys this, and you hate yourself for it.

The minotaur smells you, you know it can. You know it knows how wet you are now, how much the primal, desperate, starved cow inside you needs to be filled, stuffed, and broken. You can practically feel your goddess's disapproving glare as your resistance weakens and your eyes glaze over. The shame fails to push you to the glory of darkness, and you let your instincts take over.

The beast, intelligent behind its animalistic gaze, feels the moment your defenses break down, and loosens its grip. It moves its powerful hands down to your legs and gently cups the underside of your calves, straightening its back to lay its cock on your stomach and give you perspective of how deep it would go bottomed out. Your heart leaps and you shudder, squirming underneath it. Your legs shift in its palms, and its fingers close around your shins to hold you in place. A guttural growl emanates from its throat and it begins to roll its hips, sliding its length up and down your bare stomach. It isn't long before you feel covered in its scent, your soft skin glistening with the beast's sweat.

Your mind is submersed in a fog of steamy pheromones that leave you breathless. You find yourself panting as much and as heavy as the minotaur, its eyes following the rise and fall of your encumbered chest as warm cream leaks from your swollen udders and soaks your robes. It lifts and pushes your legs until you're folded in half, your toes touching the cold stone beneath you and your tits being squeezing between your knees. Its cock twitches in reaction to your whimpers and gasps. You feel your tight fitting, drenched underwear hugging your pulsing, needy pussy.

It won't fit. It can't fit. But god, you want it to. You want it. You want it to try. You try to lean forward over your own suffocating, soaking tits and you catch a glimpse.

Those balls. Those swollen cum tanks. It knows how fertile you are. You know its seed wants to be inside you. You're so hungry, starving. You can't resist. You don't want to. You need it. You feel so empty. You need to be full. You need to be filled.

Breed me.

The words escape your lips on a whimper. Once they're spoken, you can't think anything else.

Breed me.

The beast pulls its hips back, lining up with the thin barrier preventing it from entry, and presses forward. You haven't even masturbated since your induction ritual. You haven't even been touched there since then except when you were cleaning yourself. So when that heavy, bulbous tip presses against your heat through that thin fabric, your entire body seizes. Your heart thunders against your rib cage, and you say the words again.

Breed me.

You're nearly hyperventilating as the beast presses forward harder and harder, more forceful, pushing the fabric inside you and tearing through with one solid, brutal motion. You writhe beneath it, tears stinging your eyes as the overstimulation makes you squeal. It's so big, pulsing inside you, spreading you open wider than you ever bothered to consider you could go.

Your body is tainted.

You are corrupted.

You feel the cool, comforting shadow of your goddess leave you to the mercy of heretical depravity.

You have never felt more alive.

The gargantuan behemoth above and inside you grunts and grumbles, pulling and pushing its hips back and forth clumsily. This is too much. You've only just barely taken more than the tip and you're practically impaled.

But you need to be filled.

Faster.

And harder.

And deeper.

Your screams echo and bounce off the walls of the labyrinth. If your party is still inside, they can certainly hear your cries of agony, and how they're broken up with cries of pleasure. The pace quickens and it drills deeper inside. Your moans are guttural and clumsy, you're breathless as tears streak down your face and drool rolls off your tongue. Your eyes roll crossed and your tits start to throb, momentary spurts of milk spraying through your robes and soaking your entire chest.

The minotaur humps away at you with reckless abandon, as though trying to split you in half as it huffs and growls with pleasure. And with need. Need to cum.

Need to cum.

Need its cum.

Breed me.

The words leave you again, repeating themselves over and over, begging the monster to force a brood inside you. It understands them, holding you tighter, pinning you down with its entire weight as it pushes the final inches through your cervix. The pain knocks the wind from you and forces you to sob… and yet you smile. Because as this happens, you feel it.

Bursts and gushes of thick, potent bullseed flood your womb. You could have practically heard the gooey sloshing if you weren't squealing so loud. You can feel your guts shift to accommodate your swelling uterus, your belly expanding and making you look several months pregnant already before the pressure builds enough for the flood to spill out around the beast's still-twitching shaft.

It pulls out, its cock slowly softening. Its removal allows the cum inside you to ooze out in a thick flow. Your legs are released, and your bottom half finally gets to relax, falling limply in the pooling cum with a dull splat as the minotaur lays back against the wall, catching its breath and closing its eyes.

By the time you regain full awareness, your belly as shrank down, having been mostly emptied, but there is still a visible bulge. You… decide to keep it inside. For now. You look around, and the minotaur is nowhere around.

Likely after the rest of your party.

Good.

They should be allowed this blessing as well.

#nsft #shy-writes #I need more tags lol #the sexy adventures of sister milky

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