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florencemtrash · 6 months

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Flame, Shadow, Beast : Flame

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Fluffy Eris x Reader and our favorite monster, Bryaxis, makes an appearance.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was a cruel irony that winning a war was the easiest part of ruling. Eris thought about it often, doubts invading his rare moments of quiet; Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe the lives of thousands of Autumn Court members - both those loyal to him and to his father - hadn’t been worth the weight of the crown now sitting on his head.

The wood and gold had been harvested from the body of one of the Old Gods to whom some of the rural folk still owed their ultimate allegiance; the rubies had come from a land beyond the western seas as a declaration of war back when they’d been ruled by a more ancient race of beings - the predecessors to the Blood Rubies the Summer Court was so fond of doling out. Eris wondered if he’d ever get used to carrying so much history on his body.

The sun had barely crested over the treetops, blanketing the forest floor with streams of liquid gold, when he came across your village. The first fae he saw - a female with short elk horns extending gracefully from her temples - nearly dropped her basket at the sight of him. Eris gently bowed his head in greeting and her face flushed as crimson as the red garment dye that stained her hands.

“My High Lord,” She breathed out, dropping to her knees despite the prickling straw that perpetually littered the roads.

Heads of varying shades of chestnut and scarlet appeared behind closed windows like candlights. During the harvest months everyone woke and slept with the sun.

One by one fae streamed out of their homes, each of them carrying tribute in the form of freshly baked bread, baskets of apples and peaches, sheepskin cloaks, and barrels of mead.

“Stand.” Eris gently commanded them as they fell to their knees, “We’re just passing through.” He could see the hesitation in their eyes. They feared disrespecting him.

Eight years of being High Lord and he had yet to perfect the delicate balance between distance and familiarity with his people.

Halvor coughed from beside him, eyes raised from beneath the shadow of his bronze helm.

Get off your horse and talk to them. His eyes said, repeating the mantra that you liked to say around the royal pair.

Eris understood and dismounted with grace and power. With his scarlet and gold riding cloak, flaming hair, and ruby crown he looked like the spirit of Autumn come to life - all sharp edges and burning stoicism. He was a living fire.

But fire could give warmth as much as pain - nurture and grow as much as it could raze the world to the ground. So Eris took his time to speak with the people. He sampled their mead and ale, complimented the pixies who wove threads of warm oranges, yellows, and reds with their nimble fingers, and visited the rolling fields of corn, barley, and wheat that waved in the brisk breeze. The gray-tinged sky above tasted of power and freedom.

Under Beron’s reign, the fruits of the fields would have fallen entirely under the purview of the High Lord with little remaining for the people who tended the long grasses. Now that they were allowed to own their own land and keep what was due to them, the air was lighter here, happier. It was the first harvest in a long time where they’d feel comfortable enough to celebrate properly.

The mask ebbed away, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in ages as he walked through a town.

A familiar face stared out from behind the small crowd that had gathered by the wheat fields. Talk of this year’s harvest festival rose in the air until everyone could taste the spiced rum, roasted pistachios, caramelized apples, and pumpkin with fresh cream on their tongues. It was still months away, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get excited now.

Eris broke away - an easy task when they parted ways for him like a hot knife through butter - and approached your smiling figure.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long.” You said, clasping your hands behind your back and smiling at Eris.

“So you came all this way just to investigate?” Eris arched his brow. You were no stranger to these people (and much beloved), but you preferred to keep to your little cottage beyond the town.

“Surprisingly, yes. For you, I would come all this way. And,” You shook the small parcel in your arm, “For Aliona’s candles.”

He grinned and offered you his arm, which you accepted, and quietly began to walk back to where Halvor had been dutifully waiting with the horses… and taking more than a few samples of drinks from beside his stead.

“I also wanted to make sure he hadn’t killed you in your sleep yet.” You said, tilting your head towards his brother.

“Careful, Y/n.”

Halvor was the youngest of Autumn’s trueborn sons, and had grown to become Eris’s second over the course of the war and the years that followed. Cruelty was still hammered into his bones - a disfiguring mark left by their father - but disloyalty was not one of his many negative traits. He’d been the only one to come to Eris’s aid in the war, and subsequently the last of Eris’s brothers to survive. That counted for something in your book.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it seriously, but I could’ve poked fun in a better way.” You said softly, gently leaning into his side. He forgave you quickly. He could never stay angry at you - he wasn’t even sure it was possible.

Halvor tipped his head towards you, eyes the color of freshly brewed coffee staring at you with mischief.

“My Lady.” He said half-mockingly, sweeping out his arm into a shallow bow.

You rolled your eyes. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“Why not? Is my brother not a good enough romp for you? If you want better company I could-”

Eris cut off his words with a growl of warning. Halvor only tipped his head back and laughed - a grating sound that eight years of peace under Eris’s rule still hadn’t managed to file away.

“We’ll be walking to her home from here.” Eris said, slipping into his High Lord voice, “Try and keep your distance and be on the lookout.” Halvor nodded, turning serious at the shift in his brother’s voice. There were countless enemies who would be happy to snatch the crown away from a new, as of yet untested, High Lord.

He followed obediently, keeping his distance as you and Eris both bade farewell to the townspeople.

You lived on a patch of land too far to even be considered the outskirts of town, but you were a familiar face to everyone. A healer by trade and Eris’s most trusted advisor and friend, you were the one they called upon in the dead of night when evil whispered nearby or sickness fell upon them.

Evaldre, they called you in one of the Old Tongues. The exact meaning had been lost to time, but it spoke of someone cherished and highly regarded. Some of the bold ones even went so far as to call you “Our High Lady.”

Ten years ago uttering those words would have meant the swift swing of a sword on one’s neck. If High Lord Eris knew of it, he never seemed to mind.

Bryaxis waited for you on your doorstep, pleasantly lounging in a patch of light and watching the gentle fall of crisp leaves from the trees above. Both Eris and Halvor’s horses groaned low in their throats, hooves pressing into the soil to stop before the clearing. Halvor whistled at them to move forward, but they refused.

“It’s that devil dog of yours,” Halvor said, dismounting and tying off the pair on a low hanging elm branch, “Makes them anxious.”

He whispered words of comfort to them, sliding his hands along their thick necks until they stopped bucking against the reins. Eris had his dogs and Halvor had his horses.

“He’ll stay inside then. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk back to the Forest House with your tail between your legs because you lost the horses.”

Eris smirked when Halvor threw an obscene gesture your way.

The dog in question, black as night with shining silver-blue eyes, stretched and nuzzled into your outstretched hand as you reached your front door, Eris following closely behind.

“Will you be long?” Halvor called out to Eris, raising his eyebrows suggestively with his hyena grin.

“Go home if you’re so impatient. I can make it back on my own.”

“I’ll wait til noon.” If Eris was finished by then, it would mean they took care of business… if Eris wasn’t finished by then, it would mean they were taking care of other business, business Halvor would do no good sticking around for. He snorted at the thought, then lost himself in imagining the other females he might be able to seduce back at the Forest House.

You both passed through the enchantments woven into the wood of your home, feeling a rush of power pour over you like water over stone.

Eris snapped his fingers and the candles you’d placed on your dining table and mantle burst to life, fluttering about like dancers. The fireplace followed suit, sending a wave of warmth throughout the house. Firelight bounced off the rich velvet and creams that adorned your home - a cleaner mimic of the Autumn lands that existed behind the walls and flooded in through the open windows.

The Forest House was a place of luxury, massive enough that it would take you an entire morning just to walk from one end to another, and filled to the brim with treasures of gold, bronze, and enough precious jewels to sink a ship. It was a palace fit for a High Lord. But this was a home, so he took off his crown and hung up his cloak.

“What happened to him?” Eris said, kneeling on the ground and giving Bryaxis a well-deserved scratch behind the ears. The millennia-old creature closed his eyes in satisfaction. “The last time I saw him he was a cat.”

You chuckled, bustling about in the kitchen for a tea set that would match and piling pastries on a plate. The smell of browned butter and strawberry rhubarb jam waltzed in the air.

“He’s been experimenting with new forms.” You said, smugness and pride warming your chest. Not so long after Eris had freed you from the mountain and given you a new home, Bryaxis had found you, drawn to your power. Twin bargain tattoos snaked up from the bridges of your feet to your ankles like vines up a trellis - the first promised that you would do no harm to one another in exchange for dual protection, the second allowed you to take a portion of his power, giving him to opportunity to mold his being into a form that could experience the world in a more physical sense.

Gone was the shapeless creature of shadow and nightmares. Enter Bryaxis the wolf-dog (and occasional housecat) who still radiated enough power to scare away any creature (wicked or otherwise) that dared to disturb the peace of their home. But he could curl up by the windows and watch the night sky uninhibited, and in his heart he was a creature of violence and simplicity in equal measure.

“I like this one better than the cat.” Eris said with a grin, for the monster had copied the shape of one of his prized hunting dogs. Bryaxis seemed to growl in appreciation when Eris straightened up.

He sighed in contentment, feeling the stress of his crown melt away when you wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the scent of cedar, smoke, and cinnamon.

“Hello.” He murmured softly, turning in your arms and pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Hello.” You whispered, brushing your lips against his with a sigh, “I missed you. Where have you been all this time?” The finished reports on your desk, much like your empty bed, had been waiting patiently for Eris’s next visit.

He hesitated, pulling away to look at you. He brushed aside a few stray strands of hair that had fallen out of your braid. “The Night Court.”

You stiffened, “Keir?”

He shook his head, frowning, “Rhysand.”

You blinked, and he saw darkness pass through your eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”

Twelve years.

You’d been Beron’s prisoner for decades before. Then you’d escaped and managed a couple of years of peace. You’d found a home and a family… or so you thought. And then twelve years ago you’d been betrayed - handed back to the now deceased High Lord on a silver platter and trapped beneath the mountain for four years. It made your blood boil to think about the people who helped put you there.

“You’ve been dealing with them for years now,” You forced out in a diplomatic tone, “It’s good for you to have allies, especially strong ones like them.”

“Y/n-”

“You should've told me. I don’t want you to worry about my feelings when it comes to these things. Autumn comes first and-”

“I’ll always worry about you.” Eris said, tilting your chin up and catching the moisture gathering in your eyes that you’d furiously tried to blink away, “And there’s no choice between you and my Court. You belong here. To protect Autumn - to protect you - are the same thing, my love.”

Your cheeks burned at the careful way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice he reserved solely for you in moments like this.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Y/n. I promise it won't happen again."

Fury burned in his stomach, a continuation of the anger that had steadily been eating away at his patience during his visit to the Night Court. To see the Inner Circle look so safe and happy in the bubble they’d carved for themselves in Velaris, naive to the pain and suffering they’d caused you, had made him want to burn The House of Wind to the ground. Alliance be damned.

He hated them nearly as much as he had hated his own father.

“I don’t want to think about them.” You declared, setting your jaw and smoothing away the lines of anger that had formed on Eris’s forehead, “To hell with them.”

Eris smirked, loving the determination that settled in your eyes as you dragged him over to the living room and finished setting up the tea that had started to whistle on the stovetop. You would carve out a space for yourself in this world and be happy, even if it killed you.

“To hell with them.” He repeated.

Business and pleasure. The two were impossible for him to separate, which is why he cherished time spent with you. The pair of you spoke easily together, seamlessly transitioning from discussions of grain reports, treaties, and trade deals to banter about the Harvest Festival and the latest court gossip. Halvor was long gone, and Bryaxis off hunting, when the talking ceased and Eris found himself comfortably spread out on your velvet couch, shirt unbuttoned, and head resting in your lap as you wove your fingers through his hair.

He opened his eyes, lazy and slow, and quietly took in your features - the slope of your nose, the gentle curves of your cheeks and lips as you smiled at him, the contentment in your eyes that shifted into deep thought.

He waited for you to share them with him.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.” You said carefully and he froze beneath your hands.

“You-you have?” Eris swallowed and sat up, keeping his distance even as he dared to hope. You’d both been keeping your relationship secret, visiting each other under the guise of court business and court business only. It had certainly started out that way, but things had quickly shifted into something far more intimate and worthy of secrecy… Then Eris had asked if it could stop being so secret.

You nodded, searching his face for something more than the neutral mask every High Lord learned to master.

You moved onto his lap, laying your hands on the sides of his face as his eyes widened ever so slightly, “My answer is yes.”

“Yes?” He asked in disbelief.

Yes to living with him. Yes to going to court with him. Yes to showing the world that he was not alone in his duty. Yes to being by his side wherever either of you went.

No more hiding in this house on the outskirts. No more being afraid of what had happened in the past. No more loneliness.

“Yes.”

He shuddered under your touch and suddenly he was everywhere. His hands roamed the expanse of your back, pulling at the fabric of your bodice. Red locks as vivid as flame got knotted beneath your fingers, and his body pressed flush against yours, desperate for any contact as his chest continued to shake with laughter.

You stayed with him on that couch, neither of you wanting to bother with the effort of walking the extra twenty steps to your bedroom, as articles of clothing were hastily torn off and allowed to float onto the floor in crumples of fabric.

A growl from just outside your front door, low and gravelly enough to shake the ground, woke the two of you up. The sun was kissing the horizon on its way down, lateral rays of light streaming through the window and splashing onto the bookshelves and walls like gold paint. Eris groaned with displeasure, pulling you flush against his chest when you dared to draw yourself up on your arms to look at the door.

You giggled against him, pulling a rare smile from his lips when he felt your laughter.

He was all warmth and color beneath you as you shouted at Bryaxis to give you more time alone. He could practically hear the rolling of eyes with the huff that Bryaxis gave out. But he eventually trotted away to find a patch of soft grass from which to watch the sun set.

“It’s good to know a murderous beast like him still has a sense of humor.” Eris quipped, practically humming with pleasure when you melted into him. “You would know. You can be funny sometimes.”

“Sometimes?!”

“Sometimes!”

“You must give me more credit than that.”

“I will not.”

“You must. Your High Lord demands it.” Eris said, puffing out his chest and deepening his voice.

“Your High Lord demands it.” You parroted in a silly voice that made Eris chuckle and kiss you again.

You laid in the silence for as long as you could, until the sun was once again buried in the ground and the calls of the Forest House could not be ignored. With every piece of clothing Eris pulled back on his body, the vulnerable joy that came from being with you seemed to dim.

Was he a lovesick fool for asking you to come to court and be with him? Was the protection of a High Lord worth the dangers that came with it? Lucien had been the first of their brothers to fall in love and he had paid for it dearly. Sometimes Eris had nightmares that you would suffer the same fate.

Eris watched you as you laced up your bodice with quick fingers, fixed your hair, and smoothed your skirts. You looked heavenly in the light of the fire. You were everything he could have dreamed of and more… because you were real… and you loved him as fiercely as he loved you. Which meant he could lose you.

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention. You drew close to him, pressing your forehead against his as he took a deep breath, “What you’re agreeing to… you know what it will mean, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. This was no light decision and it was why you’d taken three months to come up with an answer for him.

“It will mean people will come for me, and never stop coming for me, just to hurt you and to hurt this Court.” Eris flinched, but you wouldn’t let him open his mouth to dissuade you. You’d given this much thought, and your decision was made.

“It will mean constant scrutiny from the other Lords and Ladies. A life spent in a house known for its history of cruelty and disloyalty. A life that will never fully be my own.”

Eris was beginning to think he’d truly made a terrible mistake in asking you to be with him. But before that cold mask of his could fall over his features, you grasped his face in yours hands and forced him to look at you.

“But it will also mean a chance to be with you. A chance to lead alongside the first person to give me a real home - a real family. A chance to continue to build and protect what I love. I love you, Eris, and I love Autumn, and I’ll be damned if I don’t protect what I love.”

Eris clenched his teeth, holding back the emotion that threatened to spill out like a ruptured damn.

“I won’t be like this at the Forest House.” He said, hating the truth of the words that fell off his tongue, “I won’t be able to show who I truly am when I’m around others, at least not for now. They’ll call you foolish, or cruel, or wicked for being with me. I can’t promise you an established and worthy court. I-”

“Then we’ll build it ourselves.” You said fiercely, pouring your power into the words, “We’ll build a new court, a new life for ourselves and everyone here. I know you’ll do everything you can to fix things, even if it breaks you.” You whispered the next words reverently against his lips, “Let me help you. Let me do it with you.”

Eris let the tears run rivers down his cheeks, even as he set his jaw, and stared resolutely into your eyes.

“Let’s do it then. Together.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's note:

*shouts from the mountaintops* I just want Eris to be happy! And I want him to have someone he trusts that can rule alongside him!

That's it. That's the note. Oh and let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy

#eris x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris fluff #eris vanserra #eris x y/n #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #eris acotar #autumn #autumn court #night court #the night court #the inner circle #azriel angst #eris angst #acotar #acotar fanfiction #bryaxis

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skunkox · 2 months

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Darlin's Jacket Headcanon

Been sitting on this for weeks , so just hear me out rq.

Dalrin's jacket was a gift from Asher. It was a present to cheer them up while they were on punishment when they were young. Possibly a birthday? Grades? Faught a kid? Embarrased their parents in front of the pack? Havent worked out the details.

It's a letterman jacket from a band they were really into. But the issue? It's a gooddam Unisex XXL, and the twerp of a Tank is like, barley 14 with not real muscle mass yet. My Tank at least is 13 when they make the move and join the pack in Dahlia while the main shaw pack kids are 14.

▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎

"Ash. Remind me again why you dragged us to Hot Topic." Milo asked, reluctantly following a brace faced Asher into the cramped, and dim lit store.

"Cause Half-pint, your comrad in short arms has been looking miserable. Or at least, more so than normal." Asher snickered, slowly getting more, and more side tracked as he wandered farther into the store. It wasn't long before David grabbed the boy by his collar and dragged him to the back of the store. Milo flashed him a cocky grin while Asher stumbled behind David.

"We got a problem. You said it was this one, right? It's too big." David released Asher to nealty pick up the jacket. "I mean, I know it's the thought that counts, but it's just not practical, Ash."

Asher was already looking through the piles. Wanting to be 100% sure they weren't missing anything. Starting to feel defeated. There was no way Asher was going to ask the clerk if there would be another shipment. Nor would he be willing to wait for a possible restock. Milo looked at his friend. He could tell those puppy dog eyes were gonna start bulging soon. A huff escaped his lips, and he stood straight with his hands on his hips. Trying to seem cool and a little bit taller.

"It's not like they're done growin'. And a jackets a jacket. If it's coverin', it's good." Milo couldn't stop the noogie barreling his way.

•●•●•●•

The handoff was swift. Just as the troublemaker was mounting their skateboard outside their middle school's gate, a familiar truck rolled up. From the truck's bed, Asher gave a quick "Heads up!" Before giving the equivalent of a basketball pass with a heavy black bag. A cackle could be heard, and the truck road off. Leaving them bamboozled.

It wasn't until Tank got home that they viewed the contents of the bag. The biggest, and goofiest smile spread across their face. They couldn't give two fucks about the size. It was from their favorite band. It was a gift. Someone cared enough to gift them something. Anything. But the fact that the few times they did speak, they were actually listened too. It nearly brought the runt to tears. It did. They won't admit it though. That's just embarrassing.

Really embarrassing. They were given a jacket by a boy. An upper classmen boy. A boy who was a part of their pack. Who they'd have to face on a regular basis. They did the jacket at the back of their closet. Still in it bag.

The disappointment in Asher's face really couldn't be hidden. Mostly for the fact that though the week of quick pass bys,they didn't wear the jacket. But he noticed at their next pack meeting, they'd give small waves now. Small smiles were attempted. This continued until Tank would inevitably start sitting near Asher during meetings. Or willingly go on group outing. This snowballed to the occasional video game or movie hangouts.

Still mostly lingering around Ash, or him leaning on them. When he did so, Tank would get flustered. But in true Tank fashion, would give his sides a punch or his legs a kick. Never hard enough to leave heavy bruises. What can I say? They play hard.

As oblivious to this Asher was, it was almost too embarrassing a site for the other second gen pack members. Cristian would poke his fun while Asher was away before Amanda could put him in check. Milo genuinely wanted to see how things would play out. David called them the "Disaster Duo" for a long while.

In true 2008 middle schooler cringe, Tank was convinced that the might have had the tiniest crush on Asher. But they denied it. Denied it so much that the others couldn't be convinced it wasn't true. There were lots of little arguments that summer. But Tank would immediately shut up when ever Asher came around.

•●•●•●•

Freshman year was something......

The teasing started to get out of hand. Asher would definitely hear the snickers and teasing. Especially now that it was directed towards him by his classmates. Asher would deny it during classes and lunches that they were just his "Lil Buddy." It's not like he really helped the situation. Hitting a growthspurt over the summer, it was easy to see him from down the hall. He'd wave and call Tank's name out into the crowd. His little buddy was drawing in a sea of students.

He'd elped them get to their classes by becoming a meat shield. Tank was just barely able to keep up. Asher once thought I'd be funny if he could heave them over his shoulder like a cheap, stringed gym bag. Tank was flustered but kicked and punched all the same.

The teasing one again grew when Tank finally decided to wear the damn jacket during school pictures. Not wanting to be remembered in the preppy outfit their parent picked out for then, they stowed the jacket away in their backpack.

The little smile on Asher's face couldn't have been bigger when he saw them in it. He was on his way to take pictures, and Tank was headed back to class. He pulled them off to the side of a couple half functioning vending machines.

"Sooooo? How're liking the jacket? I know it's too big but you said you like listening to the band. That, and I've never not seen it in your discman. I'm sorry I got it so big. It was t-." Asher's lip got stuck on a braces bracket, and he began to fumble his words. Quickly second-guessing if Tank even really liked the damn thing.

Giggling could be heard from a couple kids passing by. A light shove was made by another to Ash. A quick "Dork." was thrown his way. Heat rose in his face. In Tank's too. But out of frustration. Asher didn't do anything wrong. He was just trying to be a good friend.

And it clicked for the freshman. Why overthink and cause trouble for Asher if they could be a friend? That could be comfortable. They wouldn't have to avoid him like an unwanted puppy. He'd been their friend. Or at least trying to be. Shit didn't have to be weird.

"Hell yeah, bro! It really saved my ass today. My parents wanted me to look like some sort of outstanding citizen or some shit. Can't wait till I can bulk up some, though. I'll totally be able to take on David one on one." Tank beamed and jabbedAsher in the arm with quick fist. This was the loudest they had ever been as far as he knew. His goofy ass grin was back on his face. Before Asher could get out a word, Tank ran past him.

"Thanks dude!" They called out from the crowd, not looking back and focusing on making it through the herd of upper classmem.

•●•●•●•

The following years, Tank continued being bro-y with Asher. He laid off of a lot of physical contact in turn. But this was comfortable for them. Not real close like he was with the others but it was what Tank wanted. They seemed happier that way.

Tank absolutely wore the jacket every chance they got. Around their waist if need be. Ruined absolutely every single yearbook photo. Every pack meeting. Every fight. Even when they felt there was no one to run to for comfort. That jacket had been through hell and back. However, you can only stich fabric so many times.

It looks ratty, but there is no way they're giving it up any time soon. Even if hugs are always offered or dare I say mandatory.

Tank was now yelling at Asher for kicking their controller from their hands during their match of Mario Kart. Hands were thrown, but carefully so. The group of 8 were hanging out at David and Angel's after all. There was no way either of the two were willing to take beating from David. At the very least, another ban from the house. Laugher roared in the home from all sides. Of course, Sweetheart, being an opertunist, took first place of that round.

David and Sam had been in the kitchen, taking a break from the roundy bunch. He had asked Tank about the jacket on multiple occasions, but never gave a straight answer. He'd at least wanted to get it professionally fixed up. Tank had gotten used to all the stains and tears. Saying it was like "The scar that protected their scars." And was proud of it for always being there.

David was willing once again, shed a little light on the troublemaker. Sam let out a chuckle. The next round was starting, and he wanted to make sure he wouldn't be playing doctor that night. The two men returned. David taking his corner seat next to Angel. Same made his way to the recliner. His Darlin' not missing a beat, taking a seat on the beanbag they claimed earlier in the night between their mate's legs. All the while, raspberries were exchanges between them and Asher from across the room. His own mate laughing at their childsh antics.

This was all the comfort they could ask for.

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Jacket really be a security blanket, tho. Sorry for the shit grammar. Caught some kind of cold, and my vision is absolute shit.

Bromance anyone?

#milo greer #redacted david #redacted sam #redacted tank #redacted darlin #david shaw #shaw pack #redacted milo #sam collins #redacted headcanons #redacted audio #redacted asmr #bromance #they're just friends

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im-only-here-for-the-fandom · 11 months

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Dead Twins

so a dpxdc idea that’s been floating in my head for a long time.

i’ve seen jason and danny being each other’s alternate selves from another reality or father and son, but never as twins, i’ve seen danny being a twin or look alike to all the other batboys (mostly damian) but never with jason.

so they could be the children of the fenton’s but it’s easier for me to write them as children of willis and sheila, willis taking one child and sheila taking the other so she can get child support or something and once she’s done with him she dumps him in an orphanage, where tye fenton’s pick him up as a friend for their daughter jazz.

jason and danny both grow up never feeling alone due to a twin bond between them, when one was feeling sad the other would send happy feelings to cheer the other up, but they couldn’t tell each other’s thoughts or location, their bond streched thin from their separation. so when jason dies, danny feels the bond snap and he feels jason’s last moments, his sadness, his fear, his feelings of betrayal and helplessness at his situation, and it sends him into a depression spiral that not even his sister or friends can get him out of. he could feel himself dying, slowly fading from existence his body failing him at every turn, it wasn’t just depression, it wasn’t just in his head as his sister tried to tell him, it was physical he could tell .so when his parents machine fails and his friends ask him to go inside to take a picture he doesn’t argue even though he knows how dangerous it could be, knows that many of his parents inventions malfunction or backfire in horrible ways. so he doesn’t notice the protruding wire on the floor and trips pushing the on button on the wall as he tries to stabilize himself. he dies and comes back not knowing that when he came back his brother came back with him.

the bond comes back but it’s weak barley stable only assuring the other that they were alive. both being connected to death, to ectoplasm, danny a halfa and jason a resurrected revrent with a core.

their reunion could go several ways:

1. The Ghost King Way

enter world ending threat that the JL can’t defeat and need to summon the ghost king to defeat. danny apears in all his space obssesed ghost king glory, and instantly feels a connection with this strange man wearing a red helmet standing at the back the same bond he has always felt since he was born. jason also feeling this stange bond is very confused as to why his bond leads to the ghost king. they end up hanging out as their alter egos neither knowing that they are in facr twins, their bond strengthening the longer they spend time together. they first start out hanging out at the watchtower but later start hanging out in gotham, jason finaly has himself declared alive again which makes into the paper, that danny ends up seeing.

2. The Jazz Way

Jazz ends up working at arkham asylum much to her brother’s dismay and manged ti make him promise her not visit for at least a month. que her bumping into jason at the library or a coffee shop and sees what she thinks is danny (who she can also sense because she’s liminal) stalking her after explicitly told him not to follow her to gotham and she is furious, she pulls jason by the ear and starts to lecture him in the middle of the road, ‘i trusted you’ and ‘how could you’ and ‘you promised me’ and ‘why did you dye your hair like that’ ,and jason is like ‘lady who are you?’, his siblings are standing to the side laughing at him. jazz realizes that’s not her brother, she shows them a picture of danny and they all agree that they ate identical, and agree to set up a meeting. when they meet they realize that that’s who their bond conects to.

3. The Ellie Way

ellie is traveling around the world visiting all the famous places and decides to visit gotham and ends up seeing jason thinking he’s danny she barrels into him sreaming ‘DADDY’ and jason is very confused, like WTF, she soon relizes that this isn’t danny despite their ecto- signature being almost exactly the same if not for the weird corruption jason has, but decides to be a troll anyways and pretend that jason is her dad danny. she pretends to be very upset that her daddy doesn’t remember her, and shows them pictures on her phone of her and danny doing father daughter things, cuddling, playing. jason on the other hand thinks ‘oh my god did i have a daughter that i forgot about’. they take her home and run a dna test just incase (ellie is just waching the chaos, she also wants to know why he feels so much like danny) and while not a match for a father it is for a close relative like an uncle. with the her act done ellie tells them about danny and how he was adopted and they realize that their related.

-ellie could either be aged up by vlad or rescued and raised by danny before she was aged up.

*** or it could be dan too, actually it would be way funnier if it was dan. grown ass man proclaiming that you are his father, with photographic evidence. they might think he’s from the future or something. dan it just doing it for shits and giggles.

*** or both, both together is also funny, because they would squabble like the siblings they are and jason would have to act like a dad to make them stop.

4. The Ellie Way 2

in this one it’s better that ellie is not aged up.

after danny let her go on a camping trip with his parents while he goes on a business trip or to attend ghost king duties, ellie is kidnapped by meta children traffickers, after seeing her float for a bit. maddie and jack don’t want danny to worry or be disappointed by them try to find her without telling him. ellie ends up in gotham and ends up rescued by jason, senseing his ectoplasm that feels almost exactly like danny, and clings to him fully believing that he is her dad danny, and the only reason he didn’t find her straight away is because his ecto became corrupted. jason is now stuck with a little girl that insists that he’s her father going off of nothing but that he feels like her father so he’s her father. he ends up taking her to the manor and takes off his helmet and tells her “look at me, do i look like your daddy” to which she insists that yes he is her daddy. so they ask if she knows her dad’s number to which she answers yes, they call danny and tell him that they found his daughter, danny is predictably worried and furious because his daughter had been kidnapped and his parents didn’t tell him, he rushes over and the batfam is like omg they look really identical. of course the reunion between danny and ellie is tear filled, lots of hugs and kiss.

5. The Vacation Way

they go on a vaction to lets say the beach, with all their family, jason with the batboys and batgirls and danny with his parents sister and dan and ellie included.

*** jason and danny go to a food truck to get food with steph and ellie. because of the large amount of food they’re carrying they can’t see so they need some one to guide them back, que ellie and steph taking the wrong twin back to their area. both jason and danny ate very confused, who are you people. both families think that something must have happened because neither twin knows who these people are. danny is confused but all for having more siblings and another father, while jason doesn’t understand why a teenager (ellie) and a full grown man (dan) are calling him dad. they both go back to the food truck so that they could maybe trace the problems back and end up meeting.

*** or they could be swimming and end up in each other’s area.

*** or a volleyball game that got too intense, either from the trained batfam or ghost strenght/ectoplasm enhanced family.

for this it’s funnier if ellie and dan were older.

6. The Business Way

danny started a company with sam and tucker, and is heading to a meet with wayne enterprise in gotham. he gets there a few days early just in case, and goes around site seeing and end up meeting memebers of the batfam along the way, he doesn’t know who these people are but they’re very friendly and it’s freaking him out, meanwhile the batfam are very sad that jason is pretending he doesn’t know them even though they had finally put away their differences. it isn’t until the meeting that they realize no that is not jason. or tim who is ceo could think that jason showing up for the meeting is a very elaborate prank

-random snippets that could fit anywhere-

danny telling jason that he felt him die.

for angst both jason and danny having Y shaped scars.

when talking about their death they find out that when when danny died and came back jason came back with him (i got this from a fic where jason and danny were soulmates on ao3, i don’t remember the name if anyone knows that fic tell me.)

the batboys and girls acting as uncles and aunts to ellie and/or dan.

comparing crazy family shenanigans.

/each way could be an entire fic really but im to lazy to be fully invested in writing these as actual fics with good grammar and consistent updates./

feel free to use these ideas, but tag me if you do i really wanna what others come up with.

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #jason todd #batfam #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jazz fenton #dpxdc #dpxdc au #dp x dc fanfic #Dead Twins

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viridializard · 2 months

Text

Barrel. Barley.

Stone and stave.

Wind and water.

Misbehave.

#bast the big good wolf......#the narrow road between desires #kingkiller fanart #bast kingkiller

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agent-cupcake · 2 months

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum.

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice.

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror.

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now.

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence.

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense.

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours.

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening?

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here.

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling.

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny.

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you.

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?”

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you.

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.”

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.”

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.”

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?”

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide.

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.”

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder.

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight.

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again.

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.

Think.

You had to think.

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance.

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals.

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror.

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy.

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch.

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately.

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover.

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else.

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question.

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty.

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled.

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship.

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense.

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet.

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.”

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above.

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess.

This was real. All of it.

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache.

But that relief never came.

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue.

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what?

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground.

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding.

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home.

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand.

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?”

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him.

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do.

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another.

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was.

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence.

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl.

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified.

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame.

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you.

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that.

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again.

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?”

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.”

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.”

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?”

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good.

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.”

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again.

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible.

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair.

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt.

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.”

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.”

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?”

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question.

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.”

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?”

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.”

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air.

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed.

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees.

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?”

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.”

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face.

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you.

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?”

So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin.

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink.

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up.

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain.

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine.

Woah.

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders.

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you.

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward.

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place.

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down.

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…”

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.”

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with.

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.”

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…”

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit.

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?”

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.”

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting.

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.

“What was that?”

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer.

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.”

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.”

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot.

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity.

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs.

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?”

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.”

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse.

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration.

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.”

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants.

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…” while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t.

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.”

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead.

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there."

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture.

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets.

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream.

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure.

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe.

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.”

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?”

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.”

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you.

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back.

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance.

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper.

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward.

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself.

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.”

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made.

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again.

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust.

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else.

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away.

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you.

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening.

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form.

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-”

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts.

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs?

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?”

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again.

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful.

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy.

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something.

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him.

Buggy was already asleep.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #tw.dubcon #not sfw

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plumb-bob-keep · 2 months

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February Updates!

Sunni's NPC's Remastered - "Private School and University"

Sonikku3

"Repo what you Bow" - Lama's AC Crossbow as a Repogun DR

Sonikku3

Oblivion Inspired Emperor Robes

Spellbloom

Female Sleepwear & Underwear Recolors

NathanialRoyale

Alchemy - A Biotech Station Default

Fire_flower

"That's a Wrap" - bubodydiaper default (TA12 Mesh, Hat Txtr)

Sonikku3

"Fit for an Infant" - Medievalized Baby Clothing Rack

Sonikku3

Morrowind Terrain Paint Project: Part I

Tipsypixel

Let them eat Bread! Barley Bread as Custom Food and DR

Tipsypixel

Bottom of the Barrel - A (Fixed) Trash Can DR

Fire_flower

#sims 2 #ts2 #ts2cc #sims2cc #pbk update #plumbbobkeep #medieval #sims 2 medieval #ts2 medieval

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specialagentlokitty · 5 months

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Carol Danvers x reader - you never came

Part two:

Pushing yourself up from the ground, you looked at the burned skin on your arm and hissed a little bit, grabbing the basket from the porch.

“You’re hurt, at least let me help.” Carol said.

“I said get lost.”

You walked inside, slamming the door behind you, and Carol sighed.

She’d come all this way, and she wasn’t stupid, if she left now you would leave and she probably never be able to find you again.

That was your skill, if you didn’t want to be found then you wouldn’t.

She was amazed that shield had been able to find you, and part of her wondered why you hadn’t left the moment they did.

She had a lot of questions, and she wasn’t sure what exactly she was supposed to do in a situation like this.

Carol reached out, hand hesitating over the handle of your door.

She thought about it for a moment before she tried it, finding it unlocked and letting herself in.

Slowly closing the door, she looked around the bare home.

There wasn’t many decorations, if any. A coat hook, a book case, that’s all there was in the hallway.

The living room wasn’t much better, a few places to sit and a fireplace, more bookshelves scattered around the place which seemed to be the common bit of decoration to fill the room.

You barged into the room, hands on fire again.

“Get out!”

“No! There’s something wrong and I want to help!” Carol snapped back.

You took a swing for her and she barley dodged it, but she did feel the intense heat of the flames graze her skin.

You tried again, and she dodged it once more, trying to grab your hand, but she couldn’t catch it.

“Stop!” She yelled.

You pulled back, shaking your hand a little bit, smoke rising from your skin.

You cursed quietly, walking to the kitchen grabbing some burn treatment.

Cautiously Carol followed you, watching what you were doing.

“Why does that keep happening?” She asked.

You said nothing, and you carried on treating the injury.

“You didn’t have this power?”

“That was years ago, what do you know?” You scoffed.

“I know that you were a soft and gentle person, and I know you never had any superhuman abilities.”

Carol gestured to your upper arm which was covered heavily in burn scars.

“And you weren’t covered in scars like that. Why are your powers doing this to you?”

You chucked everything in the side, and you walked to your cupboard, pouring yourself a drink before sitting down in the kitchen table.

You couldn’t fight her and you knew that, and right now you couldn’t keep burning yourself trying to scare her away, it just wasn’t worth it.

So, instead you sat there watching her as you took a sip from the alcohol in your glass.

“You also didn’t like whiskey.”

“People change.”

Carol took the other chair from the table, and slowly sat down, carefully looking at you.

She examined you, looking at the scars she could see.

“Did you know that if I drink enough alcohol I can light myself up like an oil barrel sparked by a match.”

“Given how your body is reacting to such little power, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You shrugged a little, taking a sip from the glass.

Carol sighed.

“I can hardly recognise you…”

“Avoiding a person would do that. People change Danvers, accept that.”

“No, I won’t. Because I refuse to believe this is all just in spite of me going missing.”

You slammed your hand on the table, breaking it.

“Missing?! I thought you were dead! I grieved for you! I wasn’t even allowed to keep anything of yours they took it all!”

“I’m sorry… I.. I had no memory..”

You scoffed, gripping the glass tightly.

“But you got them back right? It’s why I’ve heard word of you all over the place, returning every now and then.”

“How..?”

You set the glass down.

“I have contacts Danvers, I may be out of touch with the world but I know people who things and tell me them.”

“What the hell does that even mean (Y/N)?”

You kicked your feet up on the table.

“It means Danvers, don’t fuck with me and get lost.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere so suck it up.”

She copied you, kicking her feet on the table and she took your glass, taking a sip from it.

Grimacing a little, she set the glass down and looked at you.

“That taste horrid.”

“Not all of us have money like you. Must pay to be a superhero.”

She leant her head back against the wall.

“Seriously? Let’s just talk about this, please?”

You got up, walking over to your sink, you grabbed your medication and looked at her, gesturing to her.

“Fine, talk then leave.”

“What’s that for?”

You tossed the box over to her.

“Your friend from shield brings it to me.”

Carol looked at the box.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen this before. It’s to help contain the affects of inhuman abilities that can injure the user.”

Carol set it down.

“What happened to you?”

You ignored the question, sitting down.

“I just want to help you, I want to be here for you and I can’t do that if you won’t let me…”

“I don’t need your help or your pity.”

“I know you love me, we were supposed to get married.”

She reached into her pocket, pulling out an engagement ring from her pocket, showing it to you.

“Nick gave it to me, he found it a few years ago and knew it was yours. He said you gave it to him and told him to return it.”

You said nothing and she sighed softly.

“I never stopped loving you…”

“Well, maybe you should have.”

You walked away, back outside into your garden, and you sat outside.

Carol followed you, sitting next to you, setting the ring on your thigh.

You looked at it, the way the sunlight gleamed of it a little bit.

“No matter what happens I want to be with you. I want to make up for lost time, I want to show you I’m sorry.”

Carol got up, crouching in front of you she took your heads, resting her forehead in your knuckles.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

Her voice cracked a little bit.

And despite how angry you were her, how much you hated her and wanted to scream and shout at her right now, it broke your heart.

You never could stand the sight of seeing her cry.

Carol took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you…”

Carol moved her head away, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I just.. I don’t understand what could have happened…”

“You were gone a long time.” You said.

Carol looked up at you, tears in her eyes.

“Things happen, that’s all there is to it.”

She shook her head, taking one of her hands from yours, wiping her tears.

“Not like this… tell me.. or I’ll ask Nick for what he knows…”

“I’ll be long gone by the time you come back.”

“Then tell me, please.”

“There’s no point Carol don’t you get it? There’s no point. In a few months, maybe years if I’m lucky but eventually my body will give in to the pressure of my powers.”

“Then why do you keep using them?! We can help you, figure a way to stabilise it.”

You scoffed a bit.

“I may as well use them if they’re going to kill me.”

“No…”

Carol stood up, gently cradling her face and she leant forward pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Okay, you don’t want help. Just let me stay here..”

“Fine.”

You got up, and she stepped away.

“I’m going to sleep, do whatever just stay away.”

With that you left, and she waited for her chance.

The moment you were fast asleep she was going through your home, trying to find anything she could in order to figure out how to help you.

She couldn’t find much, some paperwork for some cars, books, nothing of any importance at all.

She went through some more draws, and she found a box.

Slowly pulling it out, so took the lid off and softly smiled.

It was photos of you two from years ago, all keep sakes from every date you two had ever gone on.

It was a memory box.

And it was filled with things after as well.

That’s when she saw it.

There was a 6 year gap in the dates of everything, so, what were you doing for those 6 years? Where did you go? And was it related to why you were the way you were now?

#marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #captain marvel x you #captain marvel imagine #Carol Danvers #Carol Danvers x reader #Carol Danvers x you #Carol Danvers imagine

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petrichorandarson · 1 month

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Hozier Unheard Liveblogging Time

Too Sweet

wake up dark as a lake- no yeah that is SUCH a good description

oh the way the instruments drop out before the first chorus- OH OH OHHH

sit in a barrel- no yeah this. this is how i feel about making friends with people who aren't traumatized or neurodivergent, like. we are not the same i'm so sorry but you'RE TOO SWEET FOR MEEE

yeah this is everything I was hoping for based on the teaser

those BELLS

Wildflower and Barley

BIRDSONG!!!! cherry wine my beloved

wow i can SMELL this song. it's sweet and warm sunshine and a little sultry, maybe? and peaceful. it's also got some like 70's vibes?

thAT'S THE TITLE-

this feels like summery depression and executive dysfunction and trying and trying. gosh i'm obsessed. i want to take a nap in the sun.

Empire now

i'm SO excited fuck colonialism

OH THE HIGH NOTE

a world that's easy now- shout out to "freedom from england" being the most celebrated event worldwide

so bright it's burning- empire in which the sun never sets, global warming, optimistic and sarcastic at the same time! i'm FERAL

Fare Well

love how it's two words, not just goodbye but genuinely wishing one to fare well

oh ho hoo i love what he's doing. devastated about the animal metaphors tho.

ah yes desperate, potentially-self-destructive searching for relief. my old frenemy.

in conclusion:

mr hozier sir i am unwell. and you wrote about it????? i am now even more unwell! thanks i'm listening for 5ever

#hozier #unheard #hozier unheard #too sweet #fare well #wildflower and barley #empire now #laurel posts

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atlantis-just-drowned · 29 days

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Can you do a barley x reader fic where the reader calls him “Barrel” as a nickname? Not even to tease or be mean, that’s just what they call him? And trader just fuckin LOVES him and loves cuddling him because mans is perfect for cuddling.

A/N: Thank you for this request!! I'm so sorry it took me so long, I'm a bit of a slow writer and had some things going on, but here it finally is! I made it a gn!reader haha I hope you'll like it ahberhfber-

Snowy day

Please reblog this post to show support! Reblogs are what keep me going!

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. It was too early in the morning to be your alarm and classes had been dismissed, but just from the ringtone, you could already tell who was calling.

Opening your eyes with a groan, you reached a hand out of your blankets and grabbed the flat screen on your nightstand, before looking at it with your eyes still half-closed. You blinked as your finger slid on the answering button under the name of Barrel Adventurer of Tomfooleries.

You brought your phone close to your ear as you groaned an interrogative "Yes?" with a morning voice.

This whole nickname thing has started dumbly, really. It went back to when Barley and you were only friends: one time, your tongue went astray, and the two of you had laughed so hard about it that it stuck around.

It was still fun - even though you didn't even need to see the contact name on your screen anymore since he has his own special ringtone, it didn't stop you from calling him that, on a daily basis. Maybe just a bit embarrassing to explain to strangers and friends. But who didn't enjoy some little banters here and there?

"Hello, beautiful thief." You heard from the other side of the line. For a second, your eyebrows furrowed in half-asleep confusion at the strange nickname, before you remembered.

Oh, yeah. This.

You forgot this cute idiot liked to call you by the class of your Quest of Yore's character.

"Do you have anything planned for today?" Barley spoke again.

You looked by the window of your bedroom. Snow was falling abundantly - the reason why classes had been dismissed for the entire day - and the whole neighborhood was already covered white.

"Uh... Not really?" You answered as you finally sat up in your bed correctly. "It's snowing too much to do anything anyway."

As you finished this last sentence, you felt a small chill on your arms because of the coldness outside of your blankets. If your bedroom felt that cold, you couldn't imagine how much colder it must have been outside. Yeah, today was definitely going to be an in-house day.

"Anything? Really? You're underestimating me I think." he spoke playfully, making you giggle a bit at his jest.

"I'm not!" There were still a bit of a laugh in your voice as you answered him. "But I'm begging you not to go out right now for some sort of adventures. You're going to catch a cold."

You heard him laugh in amusement at your warning, before he reassured you. "I didn't plan on going outside, actually."

Exaggerating a sigh of relief, you made him chuckle a bit, and he continued joyfully. "I was more thinking about... Coming to your house? Would it be too far to go in your opinion?"

"Too far?" You answered with slight disbelief, cracking an amused smile at his jests. "Barrel you're literally calling me when I live just next door!"

His laugh resonated again from the other side of the line and made an endeared expression grow on your face. No matter how many time you heard it, you could never get tired of his laugh.

"Well, you got me! Does that mean I can come over?"

"Uh..." Looking around the room for a second, you were still in your sleepwear, and you didn't even got up yet. You didn't really want to welcome him like that.

"Give me 10 minutes, okay?"

You could practically hear him smile.

"Okay, will be there in 10. Be prepared! Love you."

In his eagerness, the elf barely gave you the time to answer with an endeared smile and a soft "Love you too!" before he hung up and left you to a sped-up version of your morning routine.

Of course, Barley kept his promise: precisely 10 minutes and 3 seconds after he had hung up the phone, he was ringing your doorbell almost impatiently. You suspected he had been waiting at your door for a couple of minutes now, just to make sure he'd be on-time, and the thought drew an amused smile to your lips.

Swinging the door open, you welcomed him as his face lit up at your sight. "Hey Barrel!"

He didn't even pick up the nickname, instead moving forward into the house and close to you, planting a kiss on your forehead as he took away his coat. "Hi again, beautiful."

The jacket was left in the corridor while you smiled in endearment at the sweet gesture, and only a couple of minutes later, you were both cuddled into the sofa of your living room.

"Is there anything specific you want to see?" You asked, looking up at him from the place on his chest that you were resting your head on, while the young elf was pointing the remote toward your TV's screen and looking through the available programs.

Humming, Barley wrapped his free arm tighter around your back, his hand resting on your own arm. He continued to look at different movies as he answered you. "Not really, I was hopping you'd have some suggestions for us."

You couldn't really tell why, but the simple thought that he had come over without anything to do, just to be by your side, brought a delighted grin to your lips. You couldn't even stop your cheeks from warming up as you looked at him again. You knew he loved you - it wasn't a secret to anyone, really. He was making it incredibly obvious, on an almost daily basis. But still, each and every one of his sweet little gestures made your eyes sparkle and your heart race, turning you into an absolute love-struck idiot every time.

"What's going on?"

You blinked as you realized he was looking toward you, his expression half-way between interrogative and amused as he raised a brow at your staring. Surprised at first, your expression quickly came back to one of pure affection as you smiled at him, and answered:

"Nothing, I just think you're beautiful."

Barley melted at your words, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks the same way it did every time you graced him with one of your sweet compliments. He simply couldn't stop himself from falling further in love with you, as he cuddled you against his chest and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead.

"And you're the most magnificent person I've ever seen, sweetheart."

#onward #barley #barley lightfoot #ian lightfoot #small story #pixar onward #onward pixar #whispers from atlantis #answered #author is terrified the quality might be bad and terribly sorry for the time it took him to complete this shit #please please please be nice #if you saw weird phrasing no you didn't #french writer #*throwing this into the wild* PLEASE DON'T HURT ME I AM SIMPLY AN INNOCENT NERD #barley x reader #gn!reader #x reader

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verdantlyviolet · 8 months

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Adeia 2023: Modern Festival to Demeter

On a global scale, we’re dealing with a climate crisis that is putting food sources at risk. On a more local level, conflicts and abnormal weather are creating risks of bad harvests, resources shortages and/or inflations. We are aware that not everyone is impacted directly by the current ongoing issues, but we hope that this festival (or at least the idea) can be useful beyond these and be seen through a wider scope of praying for food security at large. We named the festival Adeia, from the ancient Greek ἄδεια, which conveniently can signify both “abundance”/”plenty” and “freedom from fear”/”security”. All things the festival aims for. - @thegrapeandthefig’s original post

With El Niño threatening, a positive Indian Ocean Dipole, and record warmest winter almost Australia-wide, the upcoming summer is looking to be dry, hot, and ripe for bushfires.

The gods I am propitiating for my Adeia are Demeter Soteira (saviour), Herakles Alexikakos (averter of evil), Zeus Hyetios (moist/fertilising rain), Hermes Nomios and Apollon Nomios (protectors of pastures and shepherds), Olea (nymph of my garden), and Djarlgarra (local river god).

My menu includes:

Butterflied pork sausages with garden flowers and parsley

Flower shaped oranges with cranberry centres and honey on a bed of barley

Bread on a bed of garden parsley

Rain water in a pitcher

We call upon you in our time of need Benevolent gods, givers of good.

Crises threaten world-over and hardships befall many, and now again we raise our voices in plea.

If these smoky offerings please you, and these sweet drinks warm you, look well upon us. Kindly gods, bless our coffers and larders again, and see abundance flow to our house. And should strife visit our doors, grant us the fortitude to endure.

May Demeter’s lawful eye oversee policy development, so great changes can sprout in years to come

May Zeus meter his life-giving rains, so dry or soggy fields remain moist year-through

May Hermes keep a watchful eye on the flocks and farm-hands, that flystrike and heatstroke never hinder them

With outstretched arms I sing praises to you, bold Djarlgarra, he who holds moisture for our sun-stricken land

And to sweet Olea I gift equally sweet fruits, that you may keep my rain barrels at bursting and my garden fertile

#Adeia #adeiafestival #shrines

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

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ruined | frank castle

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 5.6k

warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (fingering, oral m receiving, blood kink kinda, mxf intercourse, kinda dom frank/ edging? hes a sweetie in my eyes so even when hes rough hes nice) canon typical violence, mentions of death, graphic description of blood and injuries, general gross shit

a/n: this is a lil darker than I usually go so idk how good it is but i could not control myself, IDK BYE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Another sniper shot whizzes past your head and you hear the crack of a skull as it finds its target. You see the victim fall to his knees, blood pouring from the bullet hole where his eye used to be.

Fucking Frank.

He’d been on your trail for weeks now, interrupting your little revenge stunt, and he was impossible to shake. Of the four meetings you have had with The Punisher, he had won two, and you had won two.

When you say won, it wasn’t really a victory, both of you bloody and barley breathing in the aftermath, but one of you always ends up on top. You dont know why he didn’t kill you last time, he was all threats and close shots, but as soon as he held you down, forcing you to stare down the barrel of his pistol, he didn’t take the shot.

You think its probably the same reason you didn’t tear his throat out after he ruined your entire mission, blowing up the factory you were meant to break into, destroying all the information you were so desperate for. You couldn’t help the little burn in your stomach when he held you down, and even though you spat at him, and he swung his fists and hurled insults at you, neither of you made a move to end it.

Right now, though, you think you could fucking kill him.

Shoving the dead weight of another corpse off your legs, you roll to cover, loading up your pistol and firing a couple of warning shots. You would not miss this chance again, not when the man you were after was so close. You hear a door open downstairs, and you take a quick look over your shoulder, not seeing the tiny reflector of Franks sniper. He’s moving, which meant you were already behind.

Cursing, you smash through the exit door on the roof, taking the stairs three at a time. Four guys wearing matching red jackets burst through a door below you, and the gear is practically a target on their backs.

That jacket was your red herring, and you dont even blink before firing, three of the four going down before they even see you. Dropping down a floor and landing on the railing of the stair well, you swing your legs and wrap them around the last guy and use your entire body weight to yank him to the side. You feel the crack of his neck under your thighs, jumping off him and continuing down the stairs, and when see his lifeless body drop down the stairwell, your eyes follow it and you spot him.

Franks crew cut is unmistakable to you now, you almost recognise him faster than your own reflection. He smashes a guys face into the railing and you see the splash of blood on the wall. You stop at the set of stairs above him, a wicked look across your face. He drops the head of the now dead man he was beating on, and finds your gaze.

“We gotta stop meetin’ like this.” He growls at you and you launch, hearing the click of a gun but its too late, your already on him. Using the momentum of your jump, you smash your knee into his chest, finding the bullet proof vest with the white skull painted on the front covers more of the blow than you would like. It doesn’t even give him pause and he swings, a giant fist colliding with the side of your head.

If you hadn’t brought your arm up to block it you knew he would have knocked you out cold, and you can hear the shuffle of feet on the floors below you. Pushing away from Frank you jump down the stairwell, landing and taking off after the man you were here for. You can see the briefcase swinging in his hand as he darts across the street and into the building Frank was sniping from. You raise the pistol and fire at the guys ankles hoping to knock him down, only to hear the click of a blank, and you might as well of aimed it at your fucking head.

You hated guns, and this was why - unreliable. You throw it on the ground and sprint, sliding across the incoming car. You can hear the beat of helicopter blades and you know you dont have long before he gets in it, and whisks away your only chance at ending them.

You race up the fire escape, and you are about to take on the last flight of stairs when a bullet scrapes past you. You swear you could feel the kiss of cold metal from its casing it was that close, and you dont have to look to know who could place a bullet like that. Frank wanted this guy dead, but you needed him. He was the only one with information on your brothers death, and you would be damned if some giant hulking idiot shot you before you got to it.

You can hear him coming up behind you when you reach the roof top, the wind from the incoming helicopter buzzing around you. You see the man with the brief case, his eyes widening when he sees you. Its only when his eyes flick behind you and he screams that you realise whats about to happen.

You have about two seconds to decide. You either let Frank shoot this guy and hope you can reach him fast enough to force him to tell you what you need to know, but you know Frank doesn’t miss - unless he’s shooting at you.

Your other option is frustrating, and makes you burn with anger, but you know its the only one. You have to keep this mother fucker alive, and even if it means he escapes this time, you’ll have to rely on your shitty tracking skills to find him.

Seething, you turn and kick Frank right in the balls. Its a cheap shot and shows nothing of your expert training, but the slightly pained grunt that comes out of him works well enough. As soon as you turn you see the briefcase disappearing into the night sky, your entire plan for the next few weeks going with it.

Frank still stands behind you, and he’s off guard. You smash your elbow into the side of his head and grab him by the black and white vest, slamming him into the wall, his head colliding with the brick. He spits out blood when the wind gets knocked out of him, and its not enough, not nearly enough after what he just cost you.

This night took you weeks to figure out, hours and hours of tracking schedules, watching shift changes, and here he comes with a sniper and a few years of playing soldier and fucks it up. You punch him again in the gut, and you tell him so.

“You know what you just fucking cost me?!” Your right fist smashes into his cheek bone. “Do you know how long this took me?!” You swing again, but he dodges and your fist collides with the brick. Your bones shatter and you cry out, Frank sweeping his leg under you, letting your body hit the concrete.

In an instant he’s on top of you, and your arms swing at him. You dont care how much it hurts, how the throbbing of your shattered hand shoots up your arm, so painful you nearly pass out, but you keep swinging, anger blinding you and charging your movements.

“You tryna’ save that piece of shit? Huh?” He goes to punch you in the face but you dodge, and his thighs tighten around your waist, limiting your movement.

“I need his fucking briefcase and the codes for it, which I cant get if I let you shoot his brains out!” You are screaming but no one can hear it but you and Frank, and your just so damn angry at him. The knife in the side of your shoe is sliding closer and closer to your shattered hand, and you can only hope you have enough strength left in it to grab ahold of it. You try to shimmy it out of your combat boots but Franks body holds you in place, only allowing about an inch of movement every breath.

“You are full of shit.” You swallow hard, and he picks you up by the front of your jacket and slams you back down, a strangled breath leaving you. It hurts like hell and your brain starts to fuzz, the gritty concrete digging into the cuts and bruises on your back. Blood from Franks mouth drips on to your forehead as he snarls down at you, holding you tightly to the ground.

“Fu-fuck you, Frank.” Is all you can get out. You cant hear the helicopter anymore, and you know its going to take you so long to find them again. They are travelling by air, and you dont even have a car. They could have travelled miles by now, and the exhaustion paired with the beating Frank was dishing out is starting to catch up. Fuelled by desperation and a little bit of fear about the way he was staring down at you, you make one final move for the tiny knife, feeling the blade slip into your hand. You grit your teeth and wrap your broken hand around it and you shove it into Franks ribcage.

He grunts, and one of his hands instantly reacts by grabbing your throat. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches to his side and rips the knife out, you thrashing underneath his hold. He brings it up in front of both your faces to inspect it. Theres only a little blood on it, his vest stopping it from doing any real damage, but you can tell it hurts, and you smile at him, blood staining your teeth.

“You think you’re gonna kill me with this, sweetheart?” You just keep thrashing under him, the tight hand around your throat only allowing you enough air to suck in shallow breaths. “S’cute.”

Your eyes widen and for some reason the words he uses sends fear and heat swirling in your stomach. Maybe its the lack of oxygen to your brain, but the way he looks at you - his anger is obvious, but theres a little hint of something else, and it sends painful shivers down your spine. You swallow against his hand and you feel his fingers shift around your throat allowing you the space.

“You ruined this. This is your fault.” You manage with the tiny space he’s allowed you, and he drops the blade next to your ear, the clattering of the metal against concrete piercing your ears. Only when the blade comes to a rest next to your face do you feel how hard Frank is breathing, blood seeping through his shirt and dripping down the arm that holds your throat, the small droplets sliding down your skin and mixing with your own.

You are both a complete fucking mess, Frank bleeding out of multiple holes in his chest, you with a shattered arm and piercing pain with every breath. Blood and sweat mix on your face and you dont know how much is yours, but the cool breeze lets you know theres a lot of it.

“I ain’t ruin shit. You saved him.” he growls between breaths and you struggle under him, not admitting to yourself that you do so with less enthusiasm each time.

“I need him alive. Once I get the-” you gurgle a breath and Frank drops your head to the side, allowing you to cough up the blood pooling in your mouth and spit it out before bringing you back to him. “- the codes. I dont give a fuck what you do to him after that.” His face doesn’t change but his stare is just so intense that you break eye contact, staring at the stars that twinkle in the dead black sky, framing his giant figure above you.

“Thats what all this shit is about? Some damn computer codes?” He shakes his head and looks off to the right.

“They aren’t just some fucking computer codes. They killed my brother, and those codes are gonna lead me straight to the guy who gave the order.” His eyes snap to you, surprised. “So when you try to kill my chances, I’m going to try and save them.”

“By kicking me in the balls?”

“You fucking deserved it.” You growl, all that anger flooding back.

He shuffles on top of you, and you feel something big and hard rock against you. It has to be a gun, a hidden rifle that he’s going to pull out and finally kill you with. You look down the centre of your bodies, seeing his giant legs on either side of you, the hold of his hand on your neck preventing you from seeing anything further. Your brain is throbbing in your skull and every part of your body is straining, the fear of your impending death seizing every muscle.

He follows your gaze, and you see his eyes catch on your chest, then the small part of skin exposed where your shirt has come up. It goes past where you can see, and when his eyes find yours again, he smiles a sick grin.

“What you lookin’ for?” He shifts against you again, and you still your movements. Its not a gun you feel, and at this angle theres no denying what it is that is pressed against your thigh. His grip is a little less aggressive and you realise what he’s doing.

His thighs no longer box you in, his hand so loose you could easily switch your positions. He knows how good you are, and even with your hand bleeding and bruised you could take him out with these kind of vulnerabilities exposed. He is bleeding out of his side, all it would take is a hit with your good hand and he would be on the ground. You could even kill him, take the blade next to your head and jam it into his throat.

All of these thoughts buzz in your head, and yet you dont move. Not even a twitch, a spasm of your muscles, you stay deadly still because you dont want to give the illusion that you dont want this.

Want him.

You have no idea whats coming over you, you should hate him. You do. You do hate him, with a burning passion, and its exactly the reason that when he shifts on top of you again, you let out the smallest whisper of a moan, and he laughs.

Blood covers his face and hands, cuts and bruises panting his face a multitude of colours you can only see under the reflection of the moonlight. Even with all the shit smothered across him, he was so fucking sexy. His thumb comes off your throat and brushes the blood and spit off your lower lip, keeping it there and sliding it into your mouth, pressing the metallic taste to your tongue. Your lips wrap around his thumb, tasting yourself and a hint of dirt and salt as you suck him into your mouth.

“This what you were after, sweetheart?” His thumb comes out of your mouth slowly, dragging a wet line down your chin and throat. You just look up at him, sucking in a few deep breaths, trying to get your head on straight so you can absorb this moment for as long as possible.

He grinds against you, and theres no mistaking he wants this as bad as you do right now, his erection against your heat making you release a strangled moan, and he must feel how wet you are because he laughs at you again.

“Fucking dirty. You this wet after I beat the crap out of you?” He repeats the movement and it feels unbelievably good. It shouldn't feel like this, your body is still reeling from the pain and you both have so many layers between you, but the friction his hips create make you shudder in pleasure, and you have to blink a few times to focus on his words.

“Maybe it turns me on to punch you in the face. Looks like I got a couple good ones i-in.” Your throat is scratchy and his hand is still cutting off your air, loose enough for you to breath easy but the pressure in the tips of his fingers making you deliciously high off of him.

“That right? That what gets you goin’?” You nod a little and he smiles, head hovering directly above yours. “I’ll let you kick the shit out of me if it means I get to fuck you like this.” He moves again, and the mere idea of feeling him closer than this makes you moan again, the sound a stuttered yelp. He moves his head down, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. One of his hands grabs your hips, and the one on your throat finally releases and you gasp in a breath, the oxygen filling your lungs feels so good you sigh into him.

“Need to hear you say somethin’, anything.” His lips ghost your cheekbone, whispering in your ear before dragging them up to your forehead, where he kisses you, so soft you dont even know if he meant to do it.

“You fucking... I dont...” You cant think, no words come to your brain as his head floats so close to yours, but as soon as the stumbled negative comes out of your mouth, Frank pulls off you, pushing himself up with his arms and shuffling back, leaning on the wall. You are confused for a second, wondering if this is part of his game, but then you figure it out.

He thought you were going to say you dont want him. He heard the word ‘dont’ and that was it. You immediately miss the warmth of him, of his body on top of you, of his hardness against your core. If this was anyone else you would ask him to keep going, beg him to kiss you, touch you, be close to you. But this was Frank, and you honestly dont know how to get him to come back to you.

You stand, still a little dizzy from exhaustion, but its when Frank looks up at you, eyes glazed over with lust and a little fear, fear that you would walk off this rooftop, fear that you didn’t need this as badly as he did. Those stupid fucking eyes that made your knees buckle as you stood over him, straddle him and kiss him; hard.

His hands find you, pulling at clothes and skin and anything they can find, and your kiss is dirty and desperate. His bottom lip is busted and you can taste his blood in your mouth, so when you take it between your teeth and pull, he groans in pain and pleasure. His hand grabs your face, and the cut on your cheek pulls a little under his grip.

“You think you’re gonna be in control? Trying to fuckin’ hurt me, huh?” Your eyes widen as the hand not grabbing your face grabs your waist, pulling you right on him. “I know what you want, but you gotta treat me nice and sweet if I’m gonna give it to ya.”

“Fuck you.” You seethe under his hand and he just smiles, kissing your mouth slow, so slow that you cant think of anything but him. You feel his other hand slip into your underpants and immediately start touching you, you dont even have to say anything, he knows exactly what you want and where you want it.

“We gotta do something about that mouth.” He grumbles against your neck, his soft kisses a mind numbing contrast to the way he fucks you with his hand, and you can already feel the coil in your stomach wind up.

“You like that?” He whispers in your ear, heat sizzling down your neck

“Fuck. Y-Yes shit I-” He just ‘hmm’s and brings his mouth back to your lips, feeling his tongue slip against yours, surrendering to him as soon as he puts up the slightest bit of resistance. You cant help it, he’s making you feel so fucking good and warm, and when his fingers speed up, hitting that exact spot inside of you, your mouth falls open against him and you moan his name.

“Sound so pretty sayin’ my name like that. Could get used to it.” He catches your eyes seconds before they flutter closed, your release building, so consuming that you feel it in your throat, small gasps the only way you can get any air in.

“Frank I’m gonna-”

“You close? Already?” He teases you and you can imagine the smile on his face, which is why your air flow nearly cuts out when his hand rips away and your hips buck against him, your moans turn to whimpers as he keeps kissing your neck.

“Ask me nicely.” You can feel the smirk on his face against your skin and you scoff between shudders of your close call.

“Dont tease me.” You move your hips, hoping to create your own friction but he pulls his lips off you and both his hands come to your hips.

“Ask. Me. Nicely.” You shake your head. No way are you letting his ass have this, your shivering jaw betraying your defiant stance. He just sighs, and your head falls back when his hand finds you again, that same brutal pace pulling out strangled sounds that crash into the wall behind him.

You can feel the sparks flying off you as your orgasm builds again, and you moan his name into the silence of the rooftop. You’ve never felt this desperate, this hot and heavy and fucking close, so when he rips his hand away again, its hard not to let go of a sob.

“Frank! Fucking mean...” You whimper into the crook of his neck and he turns to kiss the side of your head.

“Say please.” His breath is hot in your ear, and his bullet proof vest is still wet with seeping blood, but it somehow only makes you more desperate. Your shaking and his hands, big and soothing, run traces up your thighs trying to calm you down.

Only it has the opposite effect, and just makes you want him more, more.

More.

Maybe you can say it once.

Just this one time and he will give you what you want. You can get him back later.

“Frank.” He lifts your head with one finger and looks at you, expecting. “P-Please. Let me come.” He kisses you again, and you notice how soft his lips are against your own as he dives his hand back into you, that beautifully fast pace making you cry out.

“Good fuckin’ girl. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” Your mind is spinning and your entire body feels electric as his fingers curl up into you, that familiar burn overriding your senses.

“Sh-sh-shut up.” He just laughs, your forehead resting against his and you keep your eyes shut to avoid the embarrasment.

“You don’t mean that.” You make a sound, enough to get him to keep talking because he’s right. “Nah, I think you like it when I talk. I like it when you talk.”

You can feel the slow, torturous circles his thumb drags around your centre, and you let your teeth drag over his shoulder.

“Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“So good, Frankie. So g-Oh!” His thumb starts tracing faster circles on your clit, your hips stuttering to meet them. He mumbles, and you only know he says something because you feel it vibrating against your skin, but your cries of his name are too loud.

“Thats it, baby. Goddamn beautiful.” He’s kissing every inch of skin that is open to him and he goes as fast as he can trying to keep up with the movement of your hips, but the small space in your jeans doesn't allow him a lot of room. You dont care, your head drops and your eyes roll into the back of your head. If he stops you think you might actually start crying, so you say the one thing that will secure your release, your desperation overriding your pride.

“Please! Please, dont stop! Dont stop.” The legs that were holding you up no longer feel attached to your body and Frank holds you up effortlessly.

“Too damn perfect. Cant stay mad at you. You can have this one, bein’ so good. You gonna give it to me?” You nod vigorously and for a moment your whole body locks up, and then the wave crashes and slams into you, your chest falling into Frank as you collapse into your orgasm.

Frank never stops moving inside of you as you crash and fall and crash again, your core exploding under his touch. You can feel your slick coating his hand as he pulls out of you when you start to come back to your own mind, and he stares at the evidence of your orgasm on his hand before locking eyes with you and cleaning himself off with his own mouth.

Your eyes cant quite fathom the sight, of Frank, the same Frank who was shooting at you just an hour earlier, the Frank you hate with everything you have and also makes you hotter than anyone you’ve ever met, watching that man taste you on his fingers, and hearing a little satisfied moan come from his mouth as he finally pulls them out.

“Taste as sweet as I thought.” Those words are your final straw, and you shimmy off him, just enough so you can start to undo his pants. Not thinking and body still elated from your intense orgasm, you go to use both hands to undo the belt, and instantly you suck in a breath through your teeth, the pain searing hot, and not in a good way.

Frank stops you, taking your injured arm in his hand gently, and he examines it, making sure not to touch you too hard.

“Broken. Gotta set these right after.” He runs a feather light finger over your knuckles, and you wince at the thought. “Wont hurt too much. I’ll distract you.” Your gaze meets his and he smiles, kissing the tips of your fingers. Your other hand goes back to his pants and he holds you there. “You dont gotta..-”

“Dont think you can last long enough, Frankie?” You turn the tension back on, the emotional vulnerability scaring you straight a little. Hate fucking you can do, but facing the fact that this man elicits such a strong feeling in you that it might be more than pure hatred, that was not a conversation for right now.

“What happened to my good girl, hey? Fix that fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He undoes his pants for you and your uninjured hand palms him through his boxers and he groans. You cant take it anymore, and you pull him out, the pre cum beading on the tip of his cock. Your thumb runs over the tip, and you bring your face down, spitting on his length and stroking him up and down, the grip you have on him a little tighter than normal.

He seems to like it a little rougher, his hips bucking up to meet your slow strokes and his eyes close, face screwing up and little groans tear from his throat. Its the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, and knowing that you are the cause makes you take him into your mouth, Frank strangling out your name as he hits the back of your throat.

“P-Put that dirty fucking mouth to good use.” His hand finds your hair and he pulls, tangling a strong fist into the knotted strands. “So good like this.”

He mumbles under his breath and the praise makes you wetter than ever. You forget anything but how he tastes, how he feels inside you and you moan around him. Your broken hand moves to take more of him in your grasp, but Frank gently nudges it away, the small sting reminding you that the adrenaline is numbing your pain. He just tastes so good you cant even breathe, and you bob up and down faster.

You swirl your tongue around his head, giving yourself a second to admire how ruined he looks at the feeling of your mouth around him. His hand is still in your hair and you take him as far as you can, gagging on him and creating the most vulgar sounds.

Frank moans out your name, repeating it into the night, and you feel him start to tense. You keep him in your mouth, wanting every drop of his cum inside of you but he pulls you off by your hair, saliva running down your chin as he lays you down on the concrete, yanking your pants down as he crawls on top of you.

“Hows my girl feelin’? Feelin nicer?” You nod, your previous bravado slowly dwindling as he runs the head of his cock through your folds. “You looked so good with your mouth full of my cock. How it should be.” He still doesn’t slide into you, and you have a feeling he’s gonna draw this out, and the thought makes your body shake with need.

“What do you want, Frank?” He comes down to kiss you, the blood on both of your faces beginning to dry out under the wind.

“You know, dont you?” You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. You know, but he ‘tsks’ as you and peppers sweet kisses on your forehead and nose. “Yes, you do baby. Ask me for it.”

“What... What makes you so sure I want that?” He laughs against you, vibrating your very bones with his breath.

“The way you were taking my cock down your throat; I know you want this just as bad as I do, pretty girl.” Your mouth hangs open and your cheeks flush despite the cold. “Still want to hear you say.”

His eyes are on you, and you dont know if its the jolts of pleasure every time he runs the tip of his cock over your clit, or the warm fuzzy feeling that spreads all over when he tilts his head at you, but you cave anyways.

“Please fuck me, Frank. Please, please, pl-” He grinds into you, you feel yourself clenching around him, muscles flexing and you shimmy your hips trying to take more of him in. Both of you moan in unison, and he comes all the way back out of you and slides back in again recreating that perfect moment over and over, the feeling multiplying every time.

He sets a slow pace, but what it lacks in speed he makes up for in brutality, slamming into you and reaching parts you didn’t know could feel so good. As he fucks you, you cant keep your eyes open, and you only feel the movement of his cock inside you, and one hand sliding to your hip, the other cupping your face. His thumb strokes along your cheek bone and you feel every groan and sigh he makes against your closed eyes.

“God you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” You are lost in the feeling of him, his words the only sounds clear enough to break you.

“Please, please, please...” you babble to him desperately. You are willing to throw your ego and self worth aside if he keeps fucking you like this, hard and heavy, the pains in your body completely gone and replaced only by how good he’s making you feel.

“There you go. Good girl.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, and guides your good hand down to your clit, showing you how he wants you to touch yourself as he fucks you. “If I knew this was how good you were gonna be, would of fucked you straight a long time ago.”

All you can do is whimper and cry out his name, and he swallows every single noise you make, meeting them with his own. You didn’t know Frank could make sounds like he is now, he sounds strangled and as desperate as you and it makes it ten times hotter, knowing he is as invested as you.

“Frank, can I- please I need to-”

“S-shit baby. So good for asking.” He plants a kiss on the tip of your nose. You dont want to think about what you must look like, eyes crossed and head moving only in response to Franks thrusts, but your back arches as he gives you permission, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge.

“M’gonna cum with you. Feel so perfect.” You can feel him twitching inside of you, and your hand works faster at your clit.

“Fuck yes, fill me up, Frankie. Please. I wanna feel it.” The string of words doesn’t even sound like you, but when Frank comes as soon as you finish speaking, you are right there with him, the feeling of him finishing inside of you sending you over.

It feels too good. Too fucking good to be real. Your head feels light and everything is burning hot, Franks stuttered thrusts and how he moans your name as he finishes etched into your mind forever, and you force your eyes open just to see how beautiful he looks.

He slumps on top of you, careful not to land on your broken hand, and you both stay deadly still for a while, neither of you wanting to leave this moment. You know when you do you will have to face your actions, and the feelings it may or may not have stirred in you. He felt fucking amazing, of course, but you look down at him now, face all fucked up and bloody, eyes closed as he tries to catch his breath, and you cant stop your hand from running through his hair, admiration for the asshole laying on your chest warming you up in the cold.

His eyes flutter open to your touch and he nuzzles into your hand, both of his arms pulling you upright on his lap as he sits up and leans against the wall. As you come down from your highs, you both start to move uncomfortably, the pain of still fresh wounds catching up to the both of you. You lean your forehead on his, and his arms wrap you closer.

“My fucking hand hurts.” You mumble, looking at the inflamed skin already a bright purple colour. He places a quick kiss on your lips.

“Gotta set it, or it’ll heal all messed up.” You nod, happy to talk trivial shit and avoid the very real conversation you both have to have.

“Hows your ribs?” You run your fingers over the small puncture wound, still bleeding through his vest.

“S’fine. Tiny knife.” You laugh and he looks up at you, and you watch the small smile he grows light up his eyes. “Come home with me. Let me fix you up.” You just nod, too exhausted to tell him how very badly you want that.

“I still hate you.” He huffs and you giggle as he picks you up, carrying you bridal style down the stairs of the building and out the door. He puts you down, but keeps a tight arm around your waist, both of you using the other to stay upright.

“So, how hards it gonna be for us to find Briefcase after tonight?” Frank talks as you pass under a street light, and you look up at him, confused.

“Us?”

“Yeah. I’ll come for him eventually, but you can get your fuckin’ codes or whatever.” You cant hide the grin stretching across your face.

“Are you suggesting we team up? Fightin’ bad guys?” He huffs again, and you have to laugh at his grumpiness.

“Somethin’ like that. Whaddya’ say?”

“I dont know, Frank. Something tells me you dont play well with others.” A teasing smirk meets his face and he raises an eyebrow.

“Guess I’ll have to show you how well I can play.” He whispers in your ear, and the fuzzy feeling from before spreads across your face. He keeps a tight grip on you as you walk down the dark street, the pain in your hand subsiding as he holds you tighter.

You dont know how this will go, and you are sure there will be a thousand more nights like tonight if you decide to team up, but even the idea of spending another minute pretending you hate him, well that hurts way more than a broken hand.

#frank castle #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank x you #frank x y/n #frank x reader #the punisher x y/n #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #the punisher #jon bernthal #marvel tv #marvel #frank castle smut

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themultifandomgal · 10 months

Text

John Shelby- Can’t Lose Someone Else

Between John and I we have 5 kids. 3 from his previous marriage 2 from mine. When his wife died from an illness and my husband passed away from the war, Tommy Shelby decided that we should marry. John be father to my kids and I be a mother to his kids.

John was handsome, of course he was all of the Shelby's are good looking, but I wanted to marry for love, like I did the first time. So when John and I got married and moved into a house together I slept in one room while he slept in the other. We hardly knew each other barley spoke to one another. He's not cruel by any means, he takes care of me and my kids, but he's very distant. That all change the day I walked into the betting shop at the wrong time.

The day started out as any other. I woke up to an empty bed, got myself ready then got all of the kids dressed and fed

"YN, where's dad?" Katie Johns eldest daughter asks

"I assume the betting shop why?"

"He's just never home"

"I know but he's a very busy man"

"To busy for his own kids" Katie mutters. Before I can reply Katie gets everyone ready to leave for school.

I decide that I need to speak to John about this so I head to the betting shop. When I arrive it seems a bit to quiet. Frowning I open up the door and see a man holding a gun pointing it at Tommy

"YN leave, now" Tommy says looking at me, but the man quickly points the gun at me before I can leave

"No she can stay" the gunman smirks and a shiver goes down my spine "pretty little thing" the man walks over to me and brushes the back of his hand over my cheek

"Don't touch her" John shouts

"Ah well we figured out who she belongs to. Now" he places the metal barrel against my forehead "forfeit the race or I kill her"

"Ok ok. Just let her go" Tommy says

"I want your word"

"You have my word" the man lowers the gun and that's when all hell breaks loose. I'm thrown on the floor hitting my head on something. Gunshots ring through my ears

"John? YN ok?"

"Yeah, bumped head but ok"

"Here" John hands me a wrapped up frozen piece of meat to place on my head

"Thanks" I give him a small smile "sorry I came in at the wrong time"

"Don't apologise YN, but why did you come into the betting shop?"

"This morning Katie said something that upset me a little"

"Katie? As in my quiet daughter Katie?"

"She said that you no longer had time for her and the others. Referring to how you are never home"

"Shit"

"I just wanted to tell you that maybe you should come home for dinner in the evening"

"Do you know why I'm out all of the time?" I shake my head no "it's because I can't lose someone else that I care about. I thought if I kept my distance that I wouldn't care about you and that way my heart doesn't shatter like it did when Martha died"

"John..."

"You nearly getting shot scared me. I thought I was going to loose you when I barley know you and I really want to get to know you. I'm sorry YN I've been a bad husband"

"I understand. I wanted to get married because I loved someone not because of circumstance, hence why I've kept my distance"

"Maybe we should start small"

"Like?"

"How about I cook dinner?"

"You can cook?" I raise an eyebrow

"You have to learn how to with Aunt Polls cookin" I laugh shaking my head "so what do you say? tomorrow night I cook our dinner?"

"I'd like that" I smile up at John. Maybe this is the start of a relationship or even just a friendship. Maybe we can both be content with the decision the Tommy made for us. Maybe he's secretly an amazing match maker.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders reader #john shelby x you #john shelby x reader #john shelby x oc #john shelby x y/n #john shelby imagine #john shelby #John Shelby x wife

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oscarisaacasimov · 1 month

Text

Unheard lyrics from Hozier

Too Sweet - Gluttony

If you're drunk on life, babe. I think it's great But while in this world I think I'll take my whiskey neat My coffee black and my bed at three You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate The rest of you like you're the TSA Pretty as a vine As sweet as a grape If you can sit in a barrel Maybe I'll wait

.........................................................................................................................

Wildflower & Barley - Limbo

This year, I swear it will be buried in actions This year, I swear it will be buried in words Some close to the surface, some close to the casket I feel as useful as dirt, unreal unearth

.........................................................................................................................

Empire Now - Violence

After all, darlin', I wouldn't sell the world For all the gold or sterling If it falls, I would hold on for all it's worth The future's so bright it's burnin'

.....................................................................................................................

Fare Well - Ascent

Let the sun only shine on me through a fallin' sky I'll be alright Joy, disaster, come unbound here I'll deny me none while I'm allowed With all things above the ground

#hozier #unheard #unreal unearth #fare well #empire now #wildflower and barley #too sweet

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agentwhiskeysdarlin · 1 year

Text

Glitch

Pairing: Logan Delos x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW 18+

Warnings: (there are a lot) me barley knowing a thing about Westworld or how it works, Westworld typical violence, robbery, Logan comes with his own warning, reader is a bit of a could care less badass, use of a gun, people being k worded, the use of the nickname Princess, (y/n) being used a few times, consumption of alcohol, Logan’s filthy mouth, slight angst, smutty good times, saliva being used as lube, p in v sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub undertones, mentions of drug use briefly, little bit of fluff, reader’s dad is an asshole…I think that’s it

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Notes: Well it’s been a minute but here is another fic I have had written but never posted. This was another Midnights fic and the second I heard this song Logan was the first person to come to mind. This was so fun to write and I hope to write more for this guy in the future. Massive thanks to my editor @clint-aww-no-barton and to all of you for the love. I hope you enjoy this! I am going to be using the last taglist on a Ben fic I have. If you want to be added to future fics or removed please let me know!

song link

ao3 link

This work is intended for adult eyes only. By continuing, you agree that you are 18 or older

We were supposed to be just friends

You don't live in my part of town but maybe l'll see you out some weekend

Depending on what kind of mood and situation-ship l'm in

And what's in my system

The sun’s rays held a brutal heat. The only shade, was what little, the wagon gave you as you rode. The town you had just left was growing smaller and smaller and your plan was starting to come together. You grinned to yourself, feeling that adrenaline building in your stomach that you loved so much.

Westworld had become a place for you to let loose. Your father was an investor and you were always the good little girl, who did everything she was told. Not here. Here you were ruthless and didn’t give a fuck. There wasn’t a single person who would report back to your father, and it was the most peace you’d felt in your life. As twisted as that was.

The wagon came to a jolting stop and your eyebrows knit together. You glanced around the side and noticed four people, guns in hands, a robbery. Not on your watch. You turned, moving the bandana around your neck over your mouth to hide what little of your face that your hat didn’t cover. You held back as the confrontation unfolded, and then you noticed him. Dramatically dressed in all black and clearly the leader of his little pack, a gun held tight in his hand. You smirked. This was going to be too much fun. You jumped off the wagon and rounded it, coming to the end of the barrel of his gun.

“Now what’s this?” He spoke, and confirmed just who was standing in front of you.

“This here is my wagon, and I’ll be damned if I let some fucker like you take it from me,” you leaned on the wagon, a smirk hidden.

“Call me a fucker one more time,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his face also mostly covered.

Not those wild brown eyes though. You let out a laugh as he came closer to you the gun almost to your forehead.

“Oh you’re fucker alright, but you won’t shoot me Delos,” you pulled your bandana down, revealing your face, a smirk on your lips.

“Well I’ll be damned. You’re the last person I thought I’d ever see here.”

“Surprise,” you laughed. “Help me get rid of these guys? I’ll let you have half. I’ve got a guy in the next town who needs some of this. We trade for a roof over my head while I’m there.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Logan Delos stuck his hand out and you shook it, smirking up at him. Logan was the main investor in Westworld, and pretty much ruled the entire thing. He was set to take it over eventually which was just fine. He’d become sort of a friend over the years, your fathers having worked together on other projects. Logan knew your other side, way better than he knew the ruthless woman that stood in front of him, and it excited you even more to show him.

Logan backed up with a smirk and a wink thrown your way, and the fight was on. Gunshots rang out all around you, and you pulled your own pistol from its holster on your thigh, taking two of the guys down. One of the guys in Logan’s posse was down, but you knew all too well he would be fine.

“(Y/N) you can ride up with me on the wagon. William and Dolores get him up and go get the horses. You can follow.”

They almost argued, then their eyes glanced around and they thought better of it. Smart people. You knew the man sitting next to you was dangerous and wild. Most people didn’t know to get out of his way, but you did. You knew Logan would never lay a finger on you, no matter what, and that brought you comfort.

“What in the world are you doing here?” He spoke after you set off again.

“Oh just experiencing,” you smirked looking at him.

“I know there’s more than that.”

“I come here to let loose. I get so sick of being the good girl. So I come here, where I know no one will report back to my parents. I let it all out here.”

“I never knew you had it in you,” Logan smirked. “I like it. Plus what happens in Westworld stays in Westworld.”

“I like that philosophy,” you smirked as you looked at him, catching his eyes.

“We’re going to have so much fun here, Princess.”

You both smirked, before Logan snapped the reins and the horses moved forward quicker.

****

I think there's been a glitch, ah-yeah

Five seconds later I'm fastening myself to you with a stitch, ah-yeah And I'm not even sorry

Nights are so starry

Blood moonlit

It must be counterfeit

I think there's been a glitch, ah-yeah

The sun was almost down when you made it into the town you always settled in. It was small and usually not a lot of trouble made its way through. Logan climbed off the wagon and came around, holding his hand out for you. You took it with a smile before heading into the saloon.

“(Y/N)!” The bar keep and owner called, as you walked in, the eyes of every person inside turning to you.

“Henry how are you?”

“Doin good. Did you get it?”

“Now that’s a silly question, of course I got it. It’s out here in the wagon.”

“Damn you’re good. I’ll come take a look with you and bring some guys I trust to unload it.”

You gave him a nod, a proud smile plastered on your face. He walked out with Logan and yourself, checking everything. Him and Logan talked through the split and soon everything was unloaded and the wagon was hidden in a safe place.

“My room available?” You leaned over the bar.

“Of course it is and there is another one for your partner.” Henry nodded toward Logan, and the others he had been traveling with.

They had settled at a table all drinking. Logan was already up, being social and you watched as he flirted with a table of other guest. You scowled to yourself, trying not to let it get to you. You were crazy to ever think Logan would look at you as more than friends. You may have dreamed of it for years, but you knew better. He didn’t go for girls like you and you knew that. The small hope that things could be different here, evaporated with the sight in front of you.

“Thanks Henry.” You gave him a soft smile and he frowned at your change of mood.

“You got it.”

Henry had helped you the first time you came to Westworld, and got yourself into some trouble. He’d patched you up and been kind. He was a host, but he was the only one you didn’t mind and would do anything you could for. You gave him a nod and walked over to the table, throwing the other key down.

“I got y’all a room. Stay if you want.”

Your words curt, before turning and heading upstairs to the rooms. You glanced over at Logan, who leaned on a table smirking away. His eyes glanced up and you caught them for a brief moment, before you turned away and took the stairs. You walked to the last room on the right. which had become a familiar safe place here. You unlocked the door and walked inside, feeling yourself slightly relax for the first time all day. You hadn’t gotten far inside, when there was a knock at your door. You let out a sigh before turning to open it. There was Logan, leaning on the doorframe looking devastating.

“What do you want?” You didn’t mean for the words to come out snappy, but they did.

“I was coming to check on you. You looked pissed when you came up here.”

“I’m fine,” you turned leaving the door open giving him the option to stay or go.

“You’re also a terrible liar Princess,” there was that damn nickname he loved to use on you.

You turned to him and looked him up and down, before catching his eyes. His tongue darted out wetting his lips slowly. His own eyes raked over your body and you might as well have been naked.

“You jealous I was flirting with them folks downstairs?” He cocked his head, before stepping slowly into the room.

“No,” your eyes darted away and you wanted to kick yourself.

You watched as he kicked the door shut slightly too hard making you jump. Again you wanted to mentally kick yourself.

“Now Princess, you know there’s not a single person in this damn place I would rather sleep with than you.”

You stood in pure shock for a few moments, a smirk growing on Logan’s face.

“I’m sorry did a host take you over? Is this place glitching? Never in a million years did I think you would ever even think about sleeping with me.”

“No glitch Princess, just the honest truth.”

He stepped forward and you stepped back until you were against the wall across from the door, past the foot of the bed. His hand came up and he took your chin firmly but still gentle.

“I’ve wanted to devour you ever since we met, and being here makes it so much worse. I’m about to make you scream so loud this entire town will fucking hear you.”

You couldn’t speak, you could barley breathe anymore. You looked up in his eyes panting, trying desperately to collect yourself.

“Then do it,” you didn’t even care that the words came out low and broken.

Your usual confidence was gone, and you were at the mercy of the man in front of you. He smirked before he crashed his lips to yours. It was hungry, passionate, wanting, everything faded away and nothing else mattered other than what he was doing to you in this very moment. He reached to undo the top you had been wearing. You had opted for easier to move in clothes, instead of the usual dress you wore when you came to Westworld. He had it off in seconds, leaving your chest bare. He had only moved his lips from yours long enough to discard it, and then he was back. His hands came up, cupping your breasts, and you let out a gasp your lips falling from his. You panted and looked down, watching as he kneaded at your breasts before pulling your nipples between his fingers. You let out a yelp.

“Fuck can we just skip the fucking foreplay please,” you begged him, going for his jacket and shirt, shoving them to the floor.

“Oh it would be my pleasure. We have time for that later,” Logan agreed with a chuckle.

The next few moments were nothing but a mess of clothes hitting the floor, and then he had you down on the bed your legs hanging off. He pushed your legs apart and you let out a giggle you couldn’t help. The sight in front of you was unreal, and you thought you would wake up at any second. He leaned forward and spit on your pussy, making you gasp and then smirk. Then he was entering you to the hilt. You threw your head back as your hands fisted at the sheets.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned loudly.

“Fuck you feel so good,” Logan panted out.

He started to move slowly at first, getting you used to the wonderful stretch he was causing you, and then he began snapping his hips harder and faster. You fell into complete bliss. A man had never made you feel this incredible, and you never wanted it to end. Logan reached down, his hand coming to the back of your neck and his fingers fisted in your hair. He jerked you up, pulling a yelp from you, but you were met with him bending closer so your foreheads pressed together. Your eyes locked with his as he fucked you into oblivion. He picked up on his speed which you didn’t know was possible.

“Fuck Logan!” You all but screamed.

“That’s it Princess. Let them all know,” he laughed as he reached down with his other hand and started to rub at your clit rapidly.

Your legs started to shake and you snapped, cumming so hard it made you dizzy. You screamed as your head went back, making Logan lose his grip on you slightly. Your pussy grasped his cock like a vice and soon he was cumming deep inside of you, letting out his own groans and curses.

“Holy shit,” you panted after you came down from your high.

“That was incredible. I can’t believe I waited that long to do that,” Logan smirked as he pulled from you.

The both of you winced slightly at the loss of each other. You lay there for a few more moments, until you thought your legs could carry you, and you walked into the bathroom. You cleaned yourself up quickly, before returning finding Logan already under the covers in bed. You smirked and shook your head at him.

“I can’t believe you waited that long either. I’m still shocked it happened,” you slid into bed next to him, and he pulled you to his chest.

You turned on your stomach so you could look up at him, and idly let your fingers brush at his chest.

“Why are you so shocked I wanted to sleep with you?” Logan asked as he propped his head on his other arm.

“I didn’t think I was your type. I’ve seen the women you’ve been with before. I’m nothing like them.”

“You’re not,” he paused and your eyebrows knitted together. “You are so much better. You’re actually good for me (Y/N).”

“I don’t know about that,” you scoffed softly.

“I do. You’re the only woman I want a clear head with when I’m around you.”

You looked at him in shook and awe. Logan had been doing drugs and drinking for as long as you knew him, which was heartbreaking to you. You enjoyed your drink every now and then, but you tended to stay away from drugs.

“Does this,” you motioned between the two of you. “Fall under the philosophy?”

“The, what happens in Westworld stays in Westworld one?” Logan questioned.

You simply nodded your head. Your stomach was in knots with the slight hope this could continue outside of this.

“No it doesn’t. When we go back I’d like to take you on a real date, if you’ll have me?”

“I would love that Logan,” you smiled almost too brightly at the idea.

He leaned down and kissed you more gently than the time before.

“Now let’s rest so we can cause more hell together tomorrow.”

“They are going to end up calling us Bonnie and Clyde,” you let out a laugh.

“That’s perfectly alright with me Princess.”

“Me too.”

You smirked up at each other. You settled your head back down to his chest and soon you were fast asleep.

*one week later*

I was supposed to sweat you out

In search of glorious happenings of happenstance on someone else's playground

But it's been 2,190 days of our love blackout

(Our love is blacking out)

The system's breaking down (The system's breaking down)

A week of pure bliss passed you by with barley any acknowledgment. Logan and yourself had spent the week fucking each other’s brains out, and being outlaws. You had killed together and laughed afterwards. You had stolen from multiple people and rode off into sunsets without a single care. It had been the best week of your life. Now, unfortunately, you were separated but all for the cause.

Henry had asked for another delivery of explosives, and now you sat high on a cliff on your horse, staking out the path the wagon would take. After your robbery of the first shipment a week ago they had gotten smart and decided to take, what they thought was, a hidden path. Little did they know you knew about it, having taken it yourself before. Logan was somewhere across the desert doing some scouting of his own. You would meet back in the morning and form a plan to get the shipment.

“Let’s go girl,” you knocked your feet gently against your horse and turned her.

The sun was starting to set and you needed to get back into town before it completely left the sky. Logan had decided he would spend the night out and you knew he would be fine. He was smart and you swore he knew this place better than you did. You rode in content, not being met with another soul. It was rides like this that made you love this place even more. The action and the letting go was fun, but the silence that sometimes came with the desert was incredible.

You rode back into town, sliding off your horse in front of the saloon. You walked her around back and tied her to the small barn Henry had. You gave her some extra pets and then made your way through the back door. The saloon wasn’t as crowded as it normally was, which was a little odd to you but you didn’t think much of it. You walked up to the bar sliding into a seat.

“Just give me a water. I ran out halfway back,” you gave Henry a smile.

“Do you think you can get it?”

“Such little faith in me. Of course I can get it. It will be all about trapping them within that back pathway they think no one knows about. Then we’ll be golden. Plus I’ll have some extra firepower on my side this time.”

Henry gave you an excited smile. You chuckled before taking a decent gulp of your water and turning in your stool. You watched the other people bustle about the bar, music coming from the man playing the piano in the corner. You smiled once again to yourself. The only thing that could make this night perfect was if Logan was next to you. Then you heard it. The thunder of a galloping horse coming into town. You turned and looked at Henry who shrugged his shoulders.

“Be ready. That doesn’t sound friendly.”

You felt a chill go up your spine and prickle the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was about to go down and you didn’t know what, but it was putting you on edge. The horse stopped in front of the bar, everyone else watched the door closely but went on about their business, trying to stay out of trouble. You kept yourself leaned against the bar nonchalantly, watching the swinging door. That’s when the last person you thought you would see here burst through, and charged straight for you.

“Well look at what I found.”

Your father. He was angry to a point you had never seen him.

“Daddy what are you doing here?” The good girl act went up like a wall.

“Had a fellow…business colleague tip me off you were here. So I came to bring you back home.”

Your stomach dropped. Had Logan somehow gotten word back to your father you were here? Was this all a set up? You wanted to scream, cry and kill him all at once. You gulped, trying to push back the emotions you knew were clearly playing on your face.

“Let’s go. Now!”

“No. I’m not leaving.” You stood your ground, holding your head high.

“Oh yes you are,” he spoke between gritted teeth as he stepped forward and grabbed you, and started to pull you toward the door.

“Stop! You’re hurting me!” You called out, not a single person leapt to your defense.

“Now what the hell is going on here?”

Logan stepped through the door, coming face to face with your father. They stood too close and the look on Logan’s face could only be described as pure fury.

“Oh of course you’re here. I can assume you’re the one corrupting my daughter?”

“Where are you going?”

Logan’s eyes softened when they looked your way. You knew in that moment he wasn’t the snitch, and you felt yourself release a breath you had no idea you were holding.

“Home,” the voice came out still as a tremble.

“Let her go.” Logan spoke with a curl of his lip and a loon on his face that told you he would kill your father in a second.

The entire room had fallen into complete silence.

“She’s my daughter. I don’t think I will.” Your father stood up against Logan.

“You do know I can completely ruin you right? I can put your business under so far you’ll never dig yourself out. Her on the other hand…” Logan nodded at you. “She would be sitting pretty by my side getting everything she ever wanted and more.”

“Are you threatening to blackmail me?”

“Oh no. I’m promising to. Now. Let. Her. Go.”

Everyone was still for a long moment and then your father released you. He glared back at you, but didn’t speak a word. You had no idea what would happen if you ever left this place and it sent more panic up your spine. He pushed past Logan roughly, and after a few moments he was riding away. The bar slowly went back to normal and Logan came over to you. He pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head.

“Are you okay?”

You could only nod your head. You could feel the tears trying to spill and Logan must have sensed it.

“Let’s go to our room.”

Once again you simply nodded, and keeping you held close, he walked with you upstairs and into your room. You let your self shatter, turning away so he didn’t see you cry.

“It’s okay,” he turned you back and pulled you to him once again.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave here.”

“I’ll help you in any way I can. I’ll take you home and stand by your side and if he decides to show his true colors and kick you out you can come stay with me.”

“Wait. Really?” You looked up at him.

“Of course. Although I do believe a few more promises will keep him from even looking at you, with any bad intent.”

You didn’t stop the chuckle as it fell from your lips. You leaned up and he met you, kissing you gently.

“Thank you Logan,” you spoke the words softly as you pulled away.

You never knew that this man would end up saving your ass, but he had, more than once. Who knew the man painted the villain would end up becoming your hero.

I think there's been a glitch

Tagged: @mswarriorbabe80 @all-art-is-quite-useless @whatevermonkey @whichdirection @pascalisthepunkest @all-hallows-evie @artsymaddie @vvpoisonous @not-too-tall-for-trick @audreyshepbvrn @noushbitesback @kaqua @wheresthesunshinesblog

#logan delos #ben barnes #logan delos fic #ben barnes fic #logan delos smut #logan delos x reader #Logan delos x female!reader #Logan delos x f!reader #westworld #I have no idea what to tag this fic

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