#at least when black sails hurt me it was because of good writing

[savventeen]

~ savv's writing masterlist ~

{ fic requests are currently on pause as i work on commissions ♡ }

key:

fic [☼] drabble [☽] smau [✧] other [✩] requests/commissions [🜲] ask game fills [♖] 'things you said' prompts [✑] fem!reader* [▽] masc!reader* [△] *all fics have a gender neutral reader unless otherwise indicated

♢ choi seungcheol ♢

[☼] our ending is made for each other ✑ 🜲 ⇰ 1.1k [fluff, humor] ⇰ while at their best friend's wedding, seungcheol brings up the fact that he wants to marry reader someday. reader proceeds to have a little bit of a breakdown (the mostly good kind)

[☼] carmen cygni ⇰ 1.7k [angst, mcd] ⇰ while out searching for supplies, you get bit trying to escape a small hoard of zombies. seungcheol is forced to do the unthinkable.

[☽] you've always had cold hands ⇰ 0.1k [fluff]

[☽] kintsugi ⇰ 0.4k [emotional h/c]

[☼] purple, white, grey, and black ⇰ 2.9k [emotional h/c] ⇰ you're asexual and proud, and have been for a while. so why does seeing ace pride posts sometimes churn something within you? or, the one where reader talks about where/if their asexuality and trauma intersect.

♢ yoon jeonghan ♢

[✩] mr. perfectly fine ♖ ⇰ 0.5k [angst]

[☽] until next time ⇰ 0.3k [emotional hurt/comfort] ⇰ you've never had to say goodbye like this before. jeonghan tells you that maybe you don't have to

♢ joshua hong ♢

[☽] can you guess why they call it fall? ⇰ 0.3k [fluff] ⇰ joshua loves fall and also the reader

[☼] heart is full of fairy lights ���� ⇰ 1.3k [fluff] ⇰ you finally return home to your apartment after studying abroad, and your roommate joshua can't seem to let you out of his sight. some potentially maybe-more-than-strictly-platonic feelings are had.

♢ wen junhui ♢

[☽] you haunt my melody ⇰ 0.9k [angst, past mcd] ⇰ once upon a time, wen junhui played the pipe organ for a traveling circus. once upon a time, you were an acrobat. once upon a time, he lost the love of his life in a tragic accident and let his grief consume him. now, you think it's time for him to let you go.

[☽] aye aye, captain ⇰ 0.4k [humor] ⇰ being in love with the captain has its perks, except when he sails the ship into a kraken. (it kind of still feels like a perk, tbh.)

♢ kwon soonyoung ♢

[☼] places we've been torn (i'm always, always yours) 🜲 ⇰ 1k [emotional hurt/comfort] ⇰ you and soonyoung have been lying together for who-knows how long now, going back and forth asking each other about the various scars you both have. the stories have been mostly silly or stupid (or both), but it's as the night is winding down that soonyoung asks about the one scar with a story you're not sure you're ready to share.

♢ jeon wonwoo ♢

[☽] i think i'm going deeper ⇰ 0.8k ⇰ wonwoo escapes his noisy, hectic life for a vacation full of solitude and quiet. it doesn’t go exactly as expected.

[☽] take it easy (slowly carve out my heart) 🜲 ⇰ 0.8k [angst, mcd] ⇰ wonwoo's assignment: become your husband and bide his time until given the command to kill you. a simple mission, really — one that shouldn't have been hard. except, he never accounted for the fact that he might actually fall in love with you. too bad he's the perfect little soldier.

[☽] everything but words ⇰ 0.3k [fluff] ⇰ wonwoo's actions have always spoken louder than words. you finally decide to do something about it.

♢ lee jihoon ♢

[☽] untitled woozi drabble ("jihoon is exhausted") ⇰ 0.5k [fluff]

[☽] mr. sandman, bring me a dream ⇰ 0.8k [emotional hurt/comfort] ⇰ jihoon overworks himself (again) and gets secretly cuddled by reader

[☼] to build a home ⇰ 3.7k [fluff, humor] ⇰ on the train ride back to meet jihoon's parents in person for the first time, you realize you don't really know what it's like to have a childhood home — at least, not in the sense that most people seem to have. but it's okay, because you've found a home in jihoon instead.

[☽] untitled jihoon love language drabble ⇰ 0.3k [fluff]

[✩] woozi + mutual pining (the mixtapes one) ♖ ⇰ 1k [fluff, mild emotional hurt/comfort]

♢ lee seokmin ♢

[☽] untitled dk imagine ⇰ 0.3k [fluff]

[☽] the D in DK stands for Dihydrogen monoxide ⇰ 0.5k [fluff] ⇰ seokmin just wants to make sure you stay hydrated :(

[☽] untitled dk smut [mdni] ⇰ 0.8k [smut] ⇰ you’ve always fallen in love with people’s laughter first.

♢ kim mingyu ♢

[☼] what dreams must feel like ⇰ 1k [emotional hurt/comfort] ⇰ mingyu comforts you after a nightmare

[☼] break the curse, break my heart ✑ 🜲 ⇰ 5.1k [angst, hurt/comfort] ⇰ what's supposed to be a simple hex job turns into something much deadlier, and suddenly the two of you are fighting just to stay alive

[☼] this sad ending needs a chaser ⇰ 1.5k [angst] ⇰ you and mingyu broke up. mingyu's having a hard time moving on.

♢ xu minghao ♢

[☼] you glow pink in the night ▽ ⇰ 1.7k [fluff] ⇰ you and minghao are in a long-distance relationship, and minghao returns to his apartment after meeting you in person for the first time. he finds a surprise you left for him in his luggage

[✧] pretty u ✑ 🜲 ⇰ 1 post (7ss) [fluff] ⇰ seungkwan asks minghao who he thinks the prettiest person in the world is and he answers: you. but how could he say that when he's never seen what you look like?

♢ boo seungkwan ♢

[☽] a rose that blooms in winter ⇰ 0.7k [fluff] ⇰ walking home with you on a snowy winter evening, seungkwan decides to be brave.

[☽] feelin' thorny ⇰ 0.4k [humor] ⇰ florist seungkwan receives a bouquet from his rival — emotions are had

[☼] you say the stupidest (sweetest) things ✑ 🜲 ⇰ 4.5k [fluff, humor] ⇰ you say stupid shit on the best of days, so when seungkwan comes over when you're having a bad bout of insomnia, the last thing he expects to hear from you is an accidental love confession

[✩] seungkwan + marriage of convenience ♖ ⇰ 0.5k [angst, humor]

♢ hansol vernon chwe ♢

[☽] take in the view ⇰ 0.9k [fluff] ⇰ vernon takes reader on a ride on his dragon; it ends up being pretty great

[✩] vernon + bad at art (the project partners one) ♖ ⇰ 0.6k [humor]

♢ lee chan ♢

[☼] got my heart in my feet ('cause they lead me to you) ✑ 🜲 ⇰ 2.4k [emotional hurt/comfort, fluff] ⇰ reader has a bad day, and they unintentionally find themselves falling apart at their best friend chan's door in desperate need of a hug

[✧] .|X| THANKS FOR PLAYING |X|. ⇰ 34 posts [angst, horror, (kinda) mcd] ⇰ finals are finally over, and all you want is to keep yourself entertained on the lonely train ride home since your best friend crush isn't coming with you. you don't expect to find yourself becoming the main character in a horror story.

♢ ot13 ♢

[✩] breviloquent masterlist 🜲 ♖ ⇰ my series of fics that are 50 words or less

[✩] svt as bits of my unfinished poetry ⇰ 0.7k

*updated 2023.09.03*

#svt x reader #svt x you #svt x y/n #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen writing #masterlist #savv writes

[starkblazer]

WIP Game

I was tagged for the WIP game by @asterofthevoid, thank you my dear ❤

Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

---

these are only my black sails wips but here they are

Operation Rumble Tumble in the Jungle

Silverflinthamilton modern au

Aftermath of John drowning cause i hate myself

Flint actually jumps after Silver when he drowns in 4x01

silver's rescue in 4x03

Modern AU Silverflint meeting

Black Sails Pacific Rim AU

Black Sails S2 fix it - time loop

5 times flint's crew didn't defend him + 1 time they did

Who's Billy

Vampire Flint canonverse

rainy evenings spent inside his London house with Miranda and James. Spending their time wrapped in blankets in their bed, trading kisses and book passages, sharing heat and red wine.

demigod flint

fire creature flint

the captain needs a nap (or a fuck)

time traveler silver

silver can read flint's mind - soulmates au

the peple you love leave a mark on your skin au

the creation of captain flint

van gogh dw episode with silver

identity porn

we keep wishing flint had met max or at least interacted with her more but that is just not possible,

where are you, my dear

i want to write a fic where flint is the man he is believed to be, ruthless, violent and, dark.

Everything happens so fast, Flint shouting a ragged

John knows he's staring, but he can't help himself.

He is so tired of fighting and everything hurts. As he sinks, he spares a thought to Miranda, but they never say how good it feels.

S1 Silver gives off strong come-fuck-me vibes and I like to imagine S4 Silver still gives off those vibes and Flint takes him up on it.

It doesn't feel real, nothing that's happened feels real.

If I was dying on my knees

James is hardly a small man, yet, Thomas' shirt hangs loose well past his thighs.

why bother with the truth when lying feels much more truthful to my character

this is a ghost story

James doesn't remember his parents.

i also have a bunch more like a couple of leverage fics, some da vinci's demons, one kingsman and some others.

QuinnxEliot

Series - Eliot FUCKS

Leario Fic

LorenzoxLeo

Merwin-Merhartwin Outlander Au

Detroit Become Human - Everybody dies

The Losers Comics jensenxcougar fix it

Martin Riggs - Lethal Weapon

Post Canon OT3 Lost in Space Christmas fic

Post Canon OT3 Lost in Space The kids find out

Post Canon OT3 Lost in Space A soft morning

Post Canon OT3 Lost in Space John's flinthamiltons experience

Ineffable Husbands - Why do you never kiss

Bucky killing howard not-cacw-compliant aftermath

The best apology is a changed behaviour Tony char study

MCU Rewrite

Tagging whoever sees this post on their dash because I am certainly not tagging 50 people so please if you are a writer seeing this post, consider yourself tagged by me :))

#i write stuff sometimes #stuff in progress

[findsilver]

how i wish they just gave mcu clint his comics personality. or any personality.

#you know what i know it's not all about ships #also like i multiship i don't really care that much #but imagine having iconic widow romance with both clint and bucky #and they actually did plan originally to put her and clint together #but you're like actually sike and put her with bruce randomly ?? who tf knows why #they did natasha so dirty from the beginning to the end and like i can't even enjoy her solo movie #that should have happened ages ago #BECAUSE THEY KILLED HER FOR NO FUCKING REASON #she didn't even get a funeral #once again i am reminded that mcu bad #why can't i leave #at least when black sails hurt me it was because of good writing

[impostoradult]

I finally figured out why it feels like Supernatural murdered a unicorn (AKA why you need to STOP telling me to watch Black Sails)

I’ll start by saying, everything everyone else has been saying CERTAINLY bothers me: 

- the queer-baiting - the bury your queers - the undermining of Dean’s character arc  - the wasted opportunity for a certain kind of overall narrative closure - the flat out disrespect to Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles

 All of that bothers me tremendously. 

But there has been something else rather ineffable about this that has left a horrible taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite pin down until last night. Bear with me, if you will, because this will require some set-up. 

*** This is not the first show to ever disappoint me in a spectacular fashion, nor will it be the last, I suspect. And one of the ways I’ve always coped with that disappointment was to remind myself that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right. (”It” being any number of things from just pure narrative emotional coherence to not burying your queers to not stringing along your queer audience and then yelling fuck you to them on the way out) 

But somehow that assurance -- that there will be other stories, other characters, other chances to get it right -- has rung particularly hollow in this instance, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on why until yesterday. 

I kept asking myself, why do I still have this feeling, deep in the pit of my stomach, like something was lost here that can never be recovered? 

Because something was lost here that I am doubtful can ever be recovered, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talking about this aspect of it at all. 

***

A few months ago, TV critic Maureen Ryan did a great interview piece with Mike Schur (of Parks & Rec/The Good Place) discussing the death of long-form TV in the streaming era. They explore how the longer seasons and longer runs of traditional broadcast/cable TV provided an opportunity to tell particular kinds of stories that you simply can’t when seasons are 8-10 episodes and series typically run 2-4 seasons (thanks Netflix).

One key thing we’ve all lost in this new era of highly condensed TV storytelling (and of prestige TV narrative styles)? The traditional (several season’s long) slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance. Not only is there simply no longer the time or space to write such romances, it has also come to be seen as hacky, manipulative, cheap, artistically impoverished, low-brow, a embarrassing vestige of the era before TV became art™. 

Everybody is trying to be Fleabag now. No one wants to be Frasier. (”It’s really more like a 10 hour movie” they all like to brag)

Obviously TV still has romances, even ‘drawn out’ romances. But ‘drawn out’ in 2020 is like 2-3 seasons, maybe. More commonly it’s like half a season. Take Schitt’s Creek. The number of episodes between when David and Patrick first meet and when they first kiss? Seven. Seven episodes. Half a season. If you watched it live, it took less than 2 months for them to move from introducing that dynamic to consummating it. And I’m not bagging on Schitt’s Creek; I think the David/Patrick’s story is very lovely and well-written. 

But Niles & Daphne (Fraiser) had to wait 7 years and over 150 episodes before they finally got there. Josh & Donna (The West Wing) had to wait 6+ years, and 145 episodes. Mulder & Scully (The X-Files) had to wait 7 seasons and 143 episodes. Booth & Bones had to wait...you see where I am going with this. 

And my point is (and I can’t believe I never realized this explicitly until now): there has NEVER been a queer slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance of that type on TV ever. EVER. 

I’m going to say that again, because I think it bares repeating:

There has never been a queer, slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance that fits the 100-150 episode paradigm of delayed gratification on TV. 

Not ever.  

I can’t think of ONE example  Not a single, solitary one. And I know queer TV pretty well. Arguably the closest we’ve ever come is Legend of Korra, and that ran 50 episodes, a THIRD of the length of old school will-they-won’t-theys like Booth & Bones or Josh & Donna. 

Queer people have had a fair number of canonical romances on TV by now, even fairly long running ones. But we never got a primary/front-and-center romance that you had to root for for 100+ episodes before you got any kind of canonical consummation.

That is a particular kind of TV experience that queer people and queer characters were just 100% shut out of until it was too late. And because of how the TV landscape has changed in the last 10 years, I don’t know that that opportunity will ever come back around in our lifetimes. 

***

Dean and Castiel are/were a legacy of an earlier era of TV, an era that still contained the possibility for a will-they-won’t-they of that particular mold. There were other shows that could have also filled this gap at one time - Rizzoli & Isles, OUAT, House MD, etc. But one by one all of them were killed off, their queer romances unrequited, until Supernatural was the only one of its’ generation left standing. 

And they should have acknowledged that they were a species about to become extinct. 

There are plenty of other valid and compelling reasons Supernatural should have gone full Destiel, don’t get me wrong.

A) It would have been the most emotionally satisfying ending to the series and to those characters (and that would have been reason enough). 

B) It would have stopped the manipulative queer-baiting of the (disproportionately queer) fanbase (and that would have been reason enough). 

C) It would have been queer representation of middle-aged men, of bi men, of queers who came to their queerness later in life (and any/all of those would have been reason enough). 

D) It could have been a glorious subversion of the bury your queers trope, considering how often they’ve died and been resurrected (and that would have been reason enough). 

But point E) on this list is the reason this one hurts in a singular way that no one even appears to be acknowledging. 

Almost all of the other wrongs and missed opportunities contained in this Supernatural debacle have the possibility of being rectified (at least to a degree) elsewhere. I can and I likely will get more bi male characters from TV as time goes on. I can and likely will get more middle-aged queer characters. I can and likely will get more queer characters coming to their queerness later in life, and starting queer romances later in life. I can and likely will get more queer characters who aren’t killed cheaply and prematurely. I can and likely will get more genre TV shows with sprawling myth arc plots that are resolved in a coherent, satisfying way. I can and likely will get Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles involved in other projects that value their work and their talents. 

All of those other things are at the very least POSSIBLE, and many are even likely. 

But a queer 100-150 episode slow-burn romance a la Mulder & Scully or Niles & Daphne or Booth & Bones? That is the one baton Supernatural dropped spectacularly that no one else even has the possibility of picking up again for the foreseeable future. (They don’t even write those types of romances for heterosexuals anymore!) 

Seriously. It was a TV unicorn. And rather than letting it run wild and free, they stabbed it with a rusty nail. 

***

Given the monumental shifts in the TV landscape that have occurred in the last decade, I don’t know that TV will ever go back to the slow-burn/will-they-won’t-they romance spanning 100-150 episodes. Today it is a miracle if you can get ANY show to last longer than 50 episodes in the first place. 

And that is the piece of this that makes it feel (to me) like they murdered a unicorn.  

Because queer people have gotten a lot of things from TV, and they will get a lot more as time goes on. But that one? That one could very well be a totally extinct species.

That is the larger missed opportunity here that has left this feeling especially hollow and destructive. That is the thing that makes me balk when people tell me to go watch Black Sails or Pose or whatever other prestige TV show is doing this representation ‘better.’ Because that’s not really the loss I am mourning here. I KNOW there is ‘better’ representation elsewhere.  

But the will-they-won’t-they/slow-burn romance is a qualitatively unique thing that queer people literally just never got. Ever. There is no substitute, no alternate, no other show I can turn to with that kind of build-up and pay-off for a queer couple, and there probably won’t be in my lifetime. Not unless the TV industry undergoes another monumental evolution similar to the streaming revolution that shifts the incentives back to telling those types of stories again. 

All those shows you want me to displace Supernatural with? None of them can give me the one thing I uniquely wanted (and could have gotten) from Supernatural. THAT ALTERNATE SHOW DOESN’T EXIST. It doesn’t exist. And I have no reason to hope it will ever exist in my lifetime. 

So stop telling me to look somewhere else; you don’t understand what made this one a unicorn. 

***

Addendum: The only other possible show that could perhaps fill this gap is It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (re: Mac/Dennis). But I’m hesitant to say it exactly meets that criteria, for a number of reasons:

1 - It’s far less serialized relative to Supernatural and (except for a handful of stand-alone episodes) very little of the story is grounded specifically in Dennis/Mac’s romantic dynamic (unlike SPN, where it is absolutely central to much of the narrative)

2 - IASIP is fundamentally satirically in nature/tone which makes it much harder to have genuine romantic pathos (not impossible, but harder) 

3 - All the characters on IASIP are fundamentally crummy people who you aren’t exactly supposed to root for. Which doesn’t mean a romance between two of them can’t have its value/charm/worth but it’s not the same as when it is between characters who unequivocally deserve nice things/happy endings

#Supernatural #Destiel #queer representation #sorry this is long

[amor-immortalem]

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch.5

Previous

Warning(s): yelling, mentions of past abuse

taglist: @mediocredetective

Before either of them knew it, two weeks had passed and now it was time to decide whether they would go back home to the Devildom or remain in the human world. Mammon had been thinking rather hard on the decision. He had been enjoying the reprieve from his brothers, but there was another part of him that desperately missed his brothers. As much as they put him down, insulted him, degraded him, they were his family. He knew they loved him deep down.

Part of him knew as well that it was only a matter of time until his older brother came looking for him. That would only lead to another struggle, so what does he choose? His own happiness or his brothers? Why couldn’t he just have both?

“You alright, Love?” Arella’s voice is soft as she sits beside him, a cup of tea nestled carefully in her hands.

“Yeah, jus’ thinkin’ really hard about what I wanna do.” the demon sighs, running a hand through his snowy hair. “What’s the right choice?”

“Whatever you decide will be the right choice.” She smiled. “I’ll be right by your side no matter what you choose to do.”

“Argh, that’s not helpful at all, Babe!” Mammon slumps back against the couch as he lets out a slight huff. “Can’t ya just tell me what ta do?”

“I can’t. This has to be your choice. Only you can decide what’s best for you, you know?” Arella sets her cup down and leans against him. “Only you can decide which outcome will make you happiest.”

“Which one would make me happiest?” He asked, “If I were deciding based on that, I’d choose you- choose to stay here with you.... I love my brothers and I’d like ta say they love me too despite all the trouble I cause ‘em but sometimes it hurts when they say or do the things they do. What would you do in that situation?”

“I don’t think I’m the best person to ask for advice about that...” She picks her cup back up and takes a cautious sip. “Because I would walk right back into a situation like that with no hesitation.”

“Whatcha mean by that, Treasure?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it... Not yet at least.”

Mammon only blinked curiously at her before leaning his head on her shoulder. “I want to stay here... I want to stay with you... Forever.”

The human smiles as she pets his head and the demon purrs happily.

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

Two months. Two months Lucifer let this little game continue- this charade of free will his brother thought he had. It had to end. The first born was more patient than he should have been with waiting for Mammon to come to his senses about this situation- that he didn’t belong in the human world.

Why? Because Lucifer thought Mammon was smarter than this, but as always, the second-born is always finding new ways to disappoint his older brother. In truth, after his phone call with Aubrie two months prior, it didn’t take the Avatar of Pride long to find them. These past few months were just spent observing Arella’s daily routine. The last thing he needed was her standing in his way of bringing Mammon home- of reminding the Avatar of Greed of his place in this world.

It was the middle of the day when the demon approached the house the runaway pair had been staying in. Arella should be away at her job for the rest of the day so there shouldn’t be that much of a struggle. With a couple knocks at the wooden door, he waited for his brother to answer.

As the door was pulled open, Mammon froze in his tracks like a deer in headlights. The two brothers stared at each other for what felt like hours until Lucifer barged his way into the house and Mammon stumbled back as the door swung shut behind his older brother. This couldn’t be happening.

“What are ya doing here, Lucifer?” The white-haired demon stepped back further.

“This game has gone on long enough; I’m taking you back to the Devildom where you belong.” The first-born replies. “Or did you forget you’re not just some regular demon but the Avatar of Greed. The human world is not where your place is.”

“No. I’m not goin’ back. I want to stay-”

“What you want is not important, Mammon. Your presence is needed in the Devildom just like rest of us. I’m sorry, but you don’t get a choice here. You’re going back and that’s final.”

“I said no!” Before Mammon even realizes it, his demon form is manifesting itself and Lucifer responds in kind.

“No? You’re defying my orders?” Black to red gradient eyes narrow in annoyance, “I wanted to do this peacefully, but if you’re insisting on being so difficult, I don’t mind beating you down and dragging you back home by your wings. This is your last chance to come peacefully. Think carefully about your next move.”

“Lucifer, I’m happy here! I’m loved here! Don’t take that away from me!”

“You’re loved at home as well. And if you don’t believe that, then Arella has been putting foolish ideas in your head. How could you let a simple human lead you so far astray? Did you not learn from Lilith’s example?”

“This is nothing like what happened with Lilith.” The white-haired demon growled. “What you do to me- how all of ya treat me- isn't love! How can beatings and broken bones be love? How can name calling and degradation and snide remarks be love? How is any of this love?!” As he yells hot tears streamed down his cheeks. “I did everything I could to help all of ya after we fell while you hid away in your damn office! I kept our family together and ignored myself and my needs to take care of our brothers until my sin had eaten away at me to the point where I couldn’t control it- couldn't hold it back anymore! And what did I get for it? What did I get besides beatings and whippings and days of being hung up from the ceiling? All I wanted was for one of ya show me even a small fraction of the love I had shown you! But no. No, I don’t even get that much. I’m just the family punching bag. That’s all I’m good for, right?”

“Are you done yet?” Lucifer’s gaze is cold. “You’re not getting out of this with simple tears. Now, let’s go. And don’t make a fuss.”

And just like that, all the wind was taken out of sails. He practically just poured his feelings out to his older brother and it was met with cold disinterest. Mammon’s demon form dissipated as he bowed his head with a dejected look carved into his features. As Lucifer turned to open a portal, he looked back at his younger brother. He knew this would hurt Mammon but their family was suffering from his absence. This was for the good of the collective family unit and in time he hoped Mammon would come to realize that.

“Can we at least wait for ‘Rella? So she can come with us?”

“No. Arella won’t be allowed back to the Devildom for quite some time due to this little stunt she’s pulled.”

“How long?”

“That’s to be determined. She can come back once I’m sure she won’t pull something like this again.” The demon turns to his brother, ushering him through the open portal.

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

Next

find more writings on my masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date? #obey me fluff #obey me angst #mammon fluff #mammon angst #obey me mammon #mammon #obey me oc #arella

[jlalafics]

"The Long Weekend"-Part One

Happy belated birthday @keelaree!

Hope you enjoy this first part. Thank you for being such a wonderful part of my writing life, and an even better friend. Can't wait till we can reunite in SF, so we can tea time together and eat soup dumplings.

Love you!

Summary: Two assistants who barely tolerate each other. One snowy cabin. One very long weekend.

Oh, and one bed.

-----

“I’m making the turn now, Haymitch,” Peeta told his boss as he navigated the icy road. “Should have everything prepped and ready by the time you and Effie arrive.”

“Thanks,” Haymitch replied over the speakerphone. “I should tell you that I did ask for someone to help you out. Someone who knows Effie better than I do sometimes—”

Peeta slowed his car as he spotted the cozy cabin in front of him. However, he grimaced seeing the red Jeep already parked on its side.

“You didn’t.”

“Peeta, Katniss knows Effie very well,” his boss said calmly. “Just like you know me. I know that you two don’t get along—”

“Understatement of the year,” Peeta replied as he parked roughly.

“This is important. I’m proposing to Effie and I want it to be perfect,” Haymitch explained. “Katniss knows all the foods she likes to eat, and how to decorate the place to make it comfortable yet romantic. Effie and I are finishing up our meeting with Mr. Snow then we’ll be making our way up to the cabin for the holiday weekend. I’ll call you when we’re on our way so you and Katniss can take off—that is if you haven’t murdered one another by then.”

“I’m only doing this because I’m your assistant,” he called out.

“You could at least like me!” Haymitch joked. “I pay you an obscene amount for an assistant.”

“Katniss probably gets paid more.”

“Well, she picks up tampons for Effie without being asked so probably.”

“Everything will be ready by the time you get here,” Peeta promised. “And I’m doing this because I like and respect you.”

“Thank you, Peeta. Call you soon.”

++++++

Peeta Mellark sighed as he stepped out of his car, bags in hand. The snowy wind picked up and he wrapped his parka tighter around himself before rushing up to the porch. It was getting worse up here, and he hoped that the soon-to-be engaged couple would make it safely.

Getting out the key that Haymitch lent him, Peeta unlocked the door and quickly stepped in to keep the cold air from entering with him.

“Oh, you’re finally here.” Katniss Everdeen sailed into the room, placing a charcuterie board on the coffee table in the center of the sitting room. “I thought you died or something.”

Peeta gave her a wry smile, placing the bags on the floor before shaking off his parka and hanging it on the hook by the door.

“Thought or hoped?” He searched his bag before pulling out the champagne that Haymitch asked along with the two glasses. Going to the table, Peeta placed them on the table before going back to the bag for the champagne bucket. “Is there ice?”

“The fridge has an ice machine,” Katniss informed him tersely, nodding her head towards the left. “I’ve already gotten their dinner started.”

“Not surprised.” Peeta walked into the kitchen, heading to the stainless-steel fridge. “You’re so anal that you’ve probably carved those little radish flowers for garnish.”

“They’re in the fridge so they’ll be fresh.”

Peeta wasn’t sure why they didn’t get along.

For one, Katniss was admittedly attractive with her long dark, and almond-shaped grey eyes. The first time he saw his stomach had definitely done a little flip. She had been walking alongside Effie, notebook in hand, wearing a fitted black dress with a peter pan collar and paying scant attention to anything else around her.

She literally knocked him to the ground.

Katniss had apologized, holding out her hand to help him up.

And Peeta had fucking tingled at her touch.

Over the next few days as he learned the ropes of being Haymitch Abernathy’s assistant, Peeta noticed her across the hall. Effie Trinket’s office was directly adjacent to his boss’ and Katniss’ desk was in the same spot as his.

She kept her head down, never acknowledging him, so wrapped up in her work or answering her phone.

So, Peeta asked around.

“She’s an ice queen,” Cato, who was in Marketing, informed him. “Never wants to hang out with anyone or even join in during happy hour. It’s important here to form relationships with everyone. Panem Industries is all about workplace harmony and Katniss embodies none of that.”

“Yeah, she’s snooty, too,” Clove from IT added. “I once asked her something about her family and she replied that it was none of my business. Like I was just trying to get to know her!”

“Wow. I guess if Katniss is that much of a head case, then I shouldn’t bother to ask her for help,” he told the two.

After that, during any interaction, she treated him indifferently…cold even. Peeta couldn’t help but be disappointed that Cato and Clove’s words were true.

And that was the end of his fascination with Katniss Everdeen.

“You want to get out here and help me or was the ice machine too hard for you to maneuver?” Katniss suddenly called out.

Peeta quickly filled the bucket and stepped out.

Katniss was bent over the couch, arranging the pillows, and he felt a heat rush through his skin.

There was also the slight twinge in his crotch at seeing a firm apple-bottom in tight ski pants.

It seemed that Katniss Everdeen had a bigger effect on him than he realized.

++++++

Peeta Mellark had a huge effect on her.

Katniss struggled to keep the heat off her cheeks as she fixed the pillows that she bought for the cabin. Effie loved those cheesy sayings, so she went on Etsy and ordered custom-made pillows with her favorite quotes.

No one should spend so much time arranging pillows, but Katniss could feel his stare on her. It made her nervous…and tingly.

However, these feelings didn’t belong—especially in a work situation and she needed this job.

Taking a breath, Katniss turned…to find Peeta right behind her.

He jumped back, startled by her abrupt movements.

Whoa—was he checking her out?

“Why were you so close?” she blurted out.

“Sorry. It looked like you were confused about how pillows worked,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “You were there for a millennium.”

“Funny.” She sighed at the amusement in his gorgeous blue eyes—stop it!—and steeled her expression. “Do you think you could help me set up this romantic dinner for our bosses instead of standing there like an ass-licker?”

“You mean asshole.”

“I stand by my words,” Katniss replied and was surprised when he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he did. She couldn’t help but let her mouth rise. “The table is in that closet next to the door. I got some table linens from a vintage shop that Effie likes last week.”

“Wow, you’re really on top of it,” Peeta remarked, going to the closet. “How do you have time for a life?”

She didn’t.

As in, Katniss didn’t have a life.

She had work, she had a home, but a social life was non-existent. Katniss knew what everyone said about her; that she was cold and distant, never wanting to be part of the team. It never bothered her because she did have her reasons.

So, she was surprised at how hurt she was when she heard Peeta call her a headcase.

Katniss hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, only passing the breakroom to get to the copy machine. However, she stopped at the mention of her name.

Cato’s words were no surprise, though he failed to mention that her iciness was due to him inappropriately putting his arm around her and telling her that they should get to know each other on a personal level. Katniss also didn’t trust Clove for shit; she was the office gossip.

It hit hard to know that the one person who had made her tingle was so easily influenced by two douchebags.

Katniss had decided, then and there, that if Peeta didn’t see past her exterior, then he must be like the rest of them.

“I’m very organized,” she replied. It came out harder than she intended. “I have to be.”

Peeta had already set up the table in front of the fireplace.

“Well, it’s in your favor,” he told her. “You’re a good assistant.”

Katniss looked up in surprise. “You think I’m a good assistant?”

Peeta snorted. “Like you didn’t know it—where are the tablecloths?”

She handed him a beautiful fuchsia tablecloth followed by a cream lace one.

“Fuchsia first then layer it with the lace,” she told him. “I always hope I am. Effie is a great boss and she’s so supportive about work-and-homelife balance. I want to make sure this is all perfect for her.”

Katniss helped Peeta straighten the cloth, smoothing it down and making sure that there were no wrinkles. They settled into a light conversation about working with their respective bosses while setting the rest of the table. While Peeta worked on the place settings, he told her about how he admired Haymitch’s down-to-earth attitude despite being one of the most successful people in the company.

She arranged the florals in the center of the table while telling him how she had worked two jobs prior to getting this one.

“I was a waitress and housekeeper before this,” she revealed. “I was working a crazy lunch rush when I met Effie. We got to talking because she noticed how I met her coffee exactly the way she liked it despite my ragged expression—her words not mine. Effie kept on coming in, and a month after we met, she offered me the assistant job. Said she like my gumption.”

“That’s really cool,” Peeta said. He set down one of the forks he was cleaning and met her eyes. “You know, this is the first time we’ve really talked. I kind of believed you thought of me as your enemy.”

“I thought the same thing.” Katniss placed a folded napkin on the plate in front of her. “You called me a head case.”

His blue eyes widened, shocked at her words. Slowly, she could see in his eyes, the memory of his words.

“I didn’t know you heard that,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine!” Katniss stood up abruptly. The pain of his words churned in her stomach. “I know that everyone talks about me. In my defense, Cato was completely inappropriate when we first met. I thought acting like a bitch would stave him off. Clove has no filter—”

Peeta’s brows furrowed at her sudden coldness.

“I realize that now—one year later…is that why you completely ignore me? Why you act like the sight of me makes you sick?”

“I do not!” Katniss cried out into the room. “You avoid me at all costs!”

“Because the one time that I attempted to ask you a question—you brushed me aside!” he shouted. “If you had bothered to talk to me, I wouldn’t have believed what people said in the first place—” Peeta’s phone rang, and he quickly picked up, seeing his boss’ face on his screen. “Haymitch? You on your way? What? No, I haven’t looked outside—”

Katniss rushed to one of the front windows, pulling back the curtain.

White everywhere.

She couldn’t even see her car and it was bright fucking red!

“They’re not coming.”

Turning, Katniss found Peeta putting his phone in his pocket as he approached.

“The snowstorm came unexpectedly, and the roads are blocked. They’re staying at Effie’s to wait it out while we…are stuck here until it passes.”

++++++

The good thing was that the house was fully equipped. Food was stocked in the fridge since the couple had planned to stay for the long weekend. Both he and Katniss had even brought Haymitch and Effie’s luggage so there had clothing.

“Well, dinner must be ready,” Katniss informed him with a sigh. “If you want to get more comfortable, you can probably change to something of Haymitch’s. I have a call to make before my phone dies and then I’ll pull the food out of the oven.”

Peeta nodded numbly, grabbing Haymitch's duffle and going to the opposite open door where the bedroom was. He tossed the bag on the bed—

The one bed.

Turning, he rushed out of the room to look for his female counterpart. “Katniss!” He found the sitting room empty and headed into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she spoke quietly into the phone. “Just be nice to Johanna, okay? I’ll be home soon.” Her voice sounded completely different, light and happy—even affectionate. “I love you, too. Good night.”

He knocked on the archway and she turned to him.

“We have a problem,” he told her. “There’s only one bed.”

“And the couch is really just a loveseat,” Katniss mused as she pulled the food—steak with roasted asparagus and potatoes. Her expression was pained, and she blew out a breath. “I don’t really want to think about this right now. Why don’t we just eat?”

Peeta quickly nodded in agreement, rushing to the sitting room, and grabbing their plates.

“Why don’t you let me set this up?” he told her, seeing how frazzled she seemed. “Have a seat. Open the champagne—”

Katniss laughed and the sound of her lightened the load on his chest.

“You trying to get me drunk, Mellark?”

Peeta smirked. “If it makes you like me, then yes.”

“Fine, fine…” Katniss sauntered off towards the doorway. She stopped at the archway and their eyes met. Her gaze was nervous, but he could see the warmth in her greys. “You’re not my enemy, Peeta. And…I like you more than you think.”

Katniss disappeared, but not before he spied the blush on her cheeks.

Peeta felt another twinge. This time—in his chest.

++++++

Instead of sitting at the table, Katniss grabbed Effie’s luggage, a classic Louis Vuitton that cost more than her old Jeep, and brought it to the bedroom.

The one bedroom. With the one bed.

A sudden image of herself spooned contentedly against Peeta in that very bed rose in her mind—

“Stop tripping off him!” she chided herself.

Distractedly, Katniss opened the bag, sorting for something remotely comfortable in her boss’ luggage. However, it looked like Effie was expecting some sort of kinky weekend. The only sleepwear she had was a tiny red number that Katniss would probably bust out of; Effie was a tiny but fierce woman.

Maybe she could borrow something from Haymitch’s pile—

“Katniss?”

“I’m coming!” she called out before stuffing Effie’s lingerie back into the back.

Walking back into the room, Katniss saw that Peeta had already placed the plates on the table. He stood waiting for her, looking obnoxiously handsome as he had the day they met.

That first time, she had knocked him to the ground so caught up in following with Effie’s rapid pace. When Katniss held out her hand to him, she was caught up in the open smile he gave her. Then it was the gold waves along his forehead, which Katniss desperately wanted to brush back and the blue of his eyes—they had a tinge of grey in them.

For a moment, she was just a girl, and he was just a boy. Peeta didn’t know anything about the rumors of her iciness or how someone like her, with no college degree, managed to get a position like hers.

In that moment, Katniss was pure.

“You alright?” Peeta asked, interrupting her moment down memory lane.

“Yes.” She let him help her into her seat. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Was it the one bed thing?” he joked. “I’m fine with sleeping on the floor—”

Katniss held her hand up. “Let’s be grownups. It’s a big bed and we can put a pillow between us.”

“Very to the point,” Peeta replied, holding up his champagne glass. “To being grown-ups.”

“To being grown-ups.” She clinked her glass to his and took a full gulp. The liquid bubbled through her, making her laugh. “Wow, that’s some good shit.”

Peeta guffawed. “We’re going to have some fun.”

END OF PART ONE

#Happy birthday keelaree! #The Long Weekend #Everlark #everlark fanfiction #there was only one bed

[holykillercake]

Barrels, Bets and Balls

pairing: Zoro x Drunk!Reader

word count: 1.9k

summary: The Straw hats are presented with millenary rum from an Ancient Giant Tribe and, well, no one is giving you that anymore. 

higlight:  ¨And then you said ¨maybe I should wear your underwear.¨

warning: Don´t read and drive. 

notes: HOLD MY BEER! Hi, guys! This was a lovely request from @roronoatrash for a drunk s/o! I have to say this is my first time writing a drunk character so I´m a bit nervous hahaha I really really hope you like it! Have fun and drink responsibly! <3 @vemuabhi​

𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘, 𝖗𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊!

¨Agh!¨ you mumbled when you tried to lift your head from the pillow. It felt like the Thousand Sunny had run over you a thousand times. 

¨Hm?¨

¨Regret ... mhbeh ... thing...¨ your mouth was so dry that talking became almost impossible.  

¨What´s that?¨ Zoro asked, definitely amused by your deplorable state.

¨Hmmm... I don´t... regret... anything.¨

¨Of course you don´t. You don´t remember anything.¨ he shifted on the bed, making it look like a black hole was opening in the mattress. ¨Here, take this.¨ He handed you something.

¨I don´t need your pity... ma-marimo.¨

¨This is not pity, Y/N. This is a painkiller. Come on, you´re gonna feel better.¨

When he helped you to sit on the bed, you noticed something stuck to the window, preventing the sun from entering and blinding you. The greenette removed a few locks of hair that laid plastered across your face before helping you with the herculean task of taking the pill.  

¨If the stupid cook is not dead he must have made coffee.¨ he stood up, grabbing your slippers and placing them in front of you. 

In the meantime, your mind tried to gather whatever useful information you had to understand what had happened, but everything was a void blank. 

¨You ok?¨ he asked, hand on the doorknob. ¨Do you want me to bring it to you?¨

¨No, it´s ok...¨ you pinched the bridge of your nose, making one last effort to remember at least a crumb of the previous hours. You were fast to give up, though. ¨What happened?¨ 

¨Uhhh, you got drunk and passed out.¨ he said like it was no big deal. 

¨Hmm, ok...¨ you took a few seconds to digest his words ¨but when you say ´you´ you mean ´you me´ or ´you guys´?¨

A chuckle left his mouth ¨Come and you´ll see.¨ 

The sun shone high in the sky, forcing you to wince back into your room like the time you had your shadow stolen. You stumbled and lowered yourself to the floor, crawling away from the light. 

¨You go!¨ you said dramatically, covering your eyes ¨Run away and leave me! Tell everyone... that I fought until the last moment!¨

Zoro scoffed at your poorly performed scene, walking closer to you and squatting, back turned to you. ¨Hop, soldier. We don´t leave nakamas behind, right?¨

Your cheeks reddened with his gesture, and you hid your hungover smitten smile on the crook of his neck. ¨Hold tight, Y//N.¨

Oh, I will. Ouch, my head!

As soon as you reached the main deck, your eyes widened, ignoring the bright sun, and your mouth fell in a perfect O. 

¨Oh my freaking... what happened here?¨

If it weren't for the countless barrels, you would have easily thought that you had been chewed up by a sea king. 

The Straw Hats were scattered across the deck, mixed with garbage, blankets, and rolls of toilet paper. Their unorthodox positions would definitely grant them a stiff neck.

Zoro carried you to the kitchen where you found Usopp and Chopper talking at the kitchen table.

¨... like I fasted in a desert for forty nights, and then I survived... a buster call. And like... all of the battleships were pointed at me. And I was catching fire before that.¨ you heard Usopp whine to the doctor, who wrapped some bandages on him. 

¨Oi, who made coffee?¨ Zoro asked purposely loud.

¨SHHHH!¨ you and the sniper hissed at him.

¨Sanji did.¨ Chopper answered ¨Oh, Y/N, how are you feeling?¨

¨Like my heart is beating in my head.¨

¨At least there´s a heartbeat.¨ the swordsman replied, putting you close to a chair so you could take a seat. ¨Hm, Chopper, I saw the cook dead outside.¨

¨Yeah, he made coffee and then passed out again.¨ Chopper discreetly pointed at Usopp´s bandages. 

¨He passed out and spilled hot coffee on me!¨ he roared, stopping midway to whine. 

¨But you two look pretty good, though.¨ You referred to Chopper and Zoro. 

Not Usopp, definitely not Usopp. 

¨Night watch. I didn´t drink last night.¨ the doctor sighed, relieved. 

¨And I can handle my alcohol.¨ the greenette bragged, placing a steaming cup of coffee in front of you. 

¨What happened anyway?¨ 

¨Oh! You don´t remember too, Y/N? That millenary rum was really strong!¨ Chopper asked, fascinated by the effects of the beverage. 

¨Millenary rum?¨ 

¨Yeah! It was a gift from an Ancient Giant Tribe!¨ 

¨Giant tribe?¨ you kept repeating every word he said, double-checking to see if you were not hearing things. 

¨Y/N, what´s the last thing you remember?¨

¨Hmm, let me see...¨ you rested your elbows on the table, hands covering your eyes. Wow, even thinking hurts.

                                                <~>

¨I swear to God, Tony! When Luffy falls into the water, you can not jump after him!¨ you yelled, panting from climbing back to the ship and soaking wet of salty water. 

He pouted and whined. You only called him ¨Tony¨ when you were upset with him. 

¨So-Sorry Y/N... AaaAgh...¨ his voice trembled, and you couldn´t help but soften a little. 

¨Ugh, forget it.¨ you laid down on the grass and sighed, the reindeer on your belly ¨Are you alright, Chopper?¨

¨Y-Yeah...¨

Zoro emerged a few seconds later, carrying Luffy on his shoulder. 

You had engaged in a fight against some bandits who were causing trouble on an island called Gran Brabados. From what you could understand, they were descendants of the Ancient Giant Tribe who emancipated from Elbaf after years of conflict. 

¨I don´t wanna be rude, but¨ Usopp spoke to one of them ¨I thought giants were warriors. Like Broggy and Dory. Those guys fought for over 100 years!¨

¨Well, most of us are, but some are not. That's why we left Elbaf.¨ the giant said ¨We're not interested in war, we're interested in rum!¨

All of you stopped for a second, wondering if you heard the same thing.

¨Eh?¨ you spoke.

¨We don´t make war! We make rum!¨ he threw his huge hands in the air, chest puffing out of pride.

¨Oi, really? Give us some!¨ Zoro immediately threw Luffy on the floor and ran towards the giant. Next thing you knew, the giant burst into laughter. 

¨Gabababa!¨ he hunched as he laughed ¨Sorry, but tiny people like you can't handle it! Gababababa!¨

You were not sure what offended you the most, he calling you all, who just saved their asses, weak or having to dodge the huge drops of saliva that came out of his mouth. 

After insisting a lot, he ended up giving in, presenting the straw hats with barrels and barrels of millenary rum. Yeah, millenary. Rum distilled for one thousand years, or at least that is what he said. 

The celebration didn´t take long to begin. Because Luffy had decided to set sail that same day, you would all be bathed with a pleasant sunset as you partied.

¨Wow!¨ you shouted after chugging the first tankard. ¨Oooohh, this is good booze!¨ you shook your head, already feeling the kick. 

¨Girl, you should go easy on this. It´s super strong.¨ Franky said, making you scoff at him, possessed by some waspish Viking demon.

¨And here I thought you were hard-boiled.¨ 

¨What?¨ 

¨O-Oi, Y/N...¨ Usopp said, worried, sipping his drink. 

¨Haven´t you learned anything with Tom-san?¨ you clicked your tongue ¨Meh, I guess I´ll be the one making things with a DON around here!¨ you chugged more of the rum. 

The shipwright glared at you with a red beam coming out of his left eye. You remember questioning yourself for a second. Maybe you had said too much, but it was just for a brief second before you insulted someone else. 

Back at the kitchen table, flashes of the events from the last night began to pop in your mind. Guilt and embarrassment gushed over you, making you twist and cringe. 

¨And then you said ¨maybe I should wear your underwear.¨ Chopper shivered as he quoted your words.

¨Nooo...¨ you cried out.

¨It gets worse, Y/N.¨

¨What?! How?!¨

¨Because after that,¨ Zoro started to speak, and you saw him struggle to stop a smile from cracking. That was not a good sign. ¨you said "your balls are so small Robin could have grabbed them with one hand!¨ 

The men laughed and slapped the table as you looked for a place to bury your head or a knife to stab yourself in the heart. 

¨WHY DIDN´T YOU STOP ME?¨ you yelled, pulling your boyfriend by the collar and shaking him. 

He placed a hand on your forehead, a silly thing he did every time you got too nervous. ¨Oi, you´re a big girl. You know what you´re doing.¨ 

¨Noo, obviously I don´t!¨ He smiled. 

He would not be the one to tell you, but he did have to stop Franky from Radical Beam-ing the hell out of you several times. For some reason, you were very keen on insulting the cyborg's masculinity. 

Another thing he wouldn´t tell you was that he didn´t touch the rum in the last night. He decided to remain sober and look after you, making sure you would not kill someone or get yourself killed. 

However, despite all the trouble you gave him, he recognized your strength. Straw hat after straw hat, you managed to defeat everyone in a stupid drinking contest. 

The biggest achievement was to drag Luffy into the game since he dislikes the taste of alcohol. When he denied being part of it, you teased him by saying,¨I think you are just scared, Luffy. You know what, maybe I should be the Captain of this ship! Maybe, I will be the Pirate King!¨

That was about the sixth punch Zoro took for you. Or because of you. 

The darker the night fell, the wilder you all got. And then insults began to come from every direction to every direction. You were arguing, then laughing, then crying and apologizing. If it wasn´t for Zoro, Chopper would have had a heart attack. 

¨Nami, you thief! Give me back my queen, or I´ll be forced to shoot a Bidori Moshi at you!¨ Usopp yelled, holding a bunch of cards in his hands. 

¨Oi, Usopp! How dare you speak with a lady like that?! I´ll kick you in the face!¨

¨Bring it on, Sanji! I eat eggplants like you for breakfast every day! AND IT´S GOD USOPP FOR YOU!¨

¨Zoro...¨ Chopper cried, falling close to where the swordsman was sitting. ¨W-What are we going to do?¨

¨Uh? Ah, sit back and relax. You know these guys, they are ju-¨

¨Y/N-san, may I see your panties?¨

¨Well, too bad for you I´m not weari-¨

¨OI! Y/N!¨ Zoro dashed over, throwing you on his shoulder. 

That was about the first punch Brook took for you. Or, again, because of you. 

And then, as the number of biological hazards began to decline, managing the situation became easier and easier. Chopper took care of the fallen drunken, and Zoro threw blankets over them.

In the end, it was you and Luffy. You were still arguing about the things you said earlier. Both of you were exhausted but didn´t want to give in. The argument only ended when you withdrew your words, saying that he would be the one to become King of the Pirates.

Luffy fell dead asleep immediately, and Zoro took the cue to approach you. ¨Hey, Y/N. Our time, let´s go?¨

You turned to him and nodded, red cheeks and tired eyes. He had to scoop you up and carry you back to your room since your legs were not part of the equation anymore, and you would let go and fall every time he tried to carry you on his back. 

¨Heeey, you´re not drunk!¨ you whined, almost falling asleep. ¨Why aren´t you drunk?¨

¨Cause you drank everything.¨

¨Noo, I can find s´more.¨ you uncovered yourself, trying to get out of bed.

¨I bet you can.¨ he said, covering you again and pulling you closer.

The warmth of his body, altogether with his hand gently rubbing your back, made your system shut down. 

¨You know... I can kick your ass... in a drinking contest...¨

¨Yeah,¨ he chuckled ¨I bet you can.¨

That was definitely not true, but for you, well, for you he could pretend it was.

#one piece #oneshot #worst generation #zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro x reader #franky #usopp #chopper #luffy #nami #brook #thousand sunny #elbaf #rum #pirate king #opfanfic

[meat--grindr]

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

·       Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

·       Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

·       Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

·       Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

·       Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

·       When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

·       It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

·       You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

·       Thump.

·       You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

·       Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

·       You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

·       Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

·       You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

·       Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

·       From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

·       It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

·       You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

·       While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

·       The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

·       Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

·       With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

·       “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

·       The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

·       At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

·       Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

·       The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

·       His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

·       His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

·       The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

·       Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

·       You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

·       You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

·       He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

·       He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

·       But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

·       The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

·       But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

·       You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

·       You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

·       So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

·       He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

·       When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

·       His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

·       You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

·       When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

·       He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

·       You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

·       He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

·       A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

·       “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

·       “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

·       You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

·       That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

·       Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

·       “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

·       “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

·       Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

·       You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

·       He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

·       “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

·       His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

·       “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

·       His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

·       “F-Fuuuck…”

·       “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

·       To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

·       You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

·       Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

·       You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

·       Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

·       Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

·       A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

·       “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

·       It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

·       “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

·       “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

·       “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

·       He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

·       You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

·       Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

·       He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

·       Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

·       You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

·       He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

·       “What’s wrong, honey?”

·       He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

·       “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

·       He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

·       “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

·       “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

·       “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

·       There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

·       You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

·       He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

·       He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

·       “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

·       Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

·       He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #im so sorry this is so late #i couldnt figure out how to wrote brahms in a way that i liked :/ #enjoy i hope #im off to bed #also ive never written het smut before so...i hope its alright #ripper fics

[neoptolemid]

Neoptolemus super doc ? ??

ARE WE ABSOLUTELY SURE,, , ,, ,

uh okay, I pull together my super document of Pyrrhus, have pardon cause it's a bit old and i'm gonna spread it through like 3 or 4 posts probably , , so uh enjoy and I'm sorry for all grammatical errors

Skyros

Pyrrhus was born by the name Pyrrhus and this was based either on his red hair or due to Achilles name of Skyros being Pyrrha.

When it comes to appearances I generally describe him as a good mix of both Deidamia and Achilles’ traits, having inherited Deidamia’s red hair and Achilles Blue/teal eyes. He is around the middle of both of his parent’s height as I make Achilles 6’0 and Deidamia 5’3 when full grown, Pyrhhus rounds out to be 5’6. He also has a number of beauty marks which are similar to Achilles’.

It is unknown how long Achilles stayed on Skyros or when Pyrrhus was born. Either way Achilles did know about his son, we know this from the fact Achilles makes references to his son within the Iliad and Odyssey.

I like to believe that part of Pyrrhus growing up with his mother and aunts is that he has a lot of appreciation for women’s crafts and what they do. That he as a younger child would simply sit and be by his mother and/or aunts as they worked enjoying their company.

He would try his best growing up to join into their songs and dances, and at least once dressed himself in girls clothes to show his mother and aunts which got a good laugh out of them.

From Quintus ‘Fall of Troy’ we are informed that learning to fight and it was Odysseus and Diomedes who came with their black sails to ask him to join the war cause. He was promised to marry Menelaus’s daughter Hermione, he was also promised to have Achilles’ armor and gold, riches, and glory for coming with them.

While work will generally age him to being a young man or simply portray him to be very well spoken, if you follow along with the time line it is very possible that Pyrrhus is only 11 or 12 when he leaves Skyros, I tend to write him as being 13 for my own comfort.

Another thing to note form Quintus’s piece on Pyrrhus is they depict this being especially sad for Deidamia, she is written as having weeped and weeped. She doesn’t want him to leave because she doesn’t want him going to war and leaving her. She doesn’t want him hurt and she doesn’t want another person she loves leaving her again.

Deidamia Pyrrhus’s mother is written as loving him and I interpret bits of this story as Pyrrhus is the only tie to Achilles she has. Generally I prefer the idea that Deidamia did care for Achilles and so it did break her heart that he left and she had hoped that he would return eventually to her and their son.

Over the years she understood more and more that he would not return, so all she had was her son, and then eventually they come and take him from her as well.

Mattering on the version of the story, it is fully possible that Deidamia may have never seen her son again once he left the island.

Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew; and on her son's broad breast she cast herself, and bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, as when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills seeks through the glens her calf, and all around Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; so on all sides from dim recesses rang the hall; and in her misery she cried: "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing to follow strangers unto Ilium the fount of tears, where perish many in fight, yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt the ways of war, which save men in the day of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide here in thine home, lest evil tidings come from Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death -- he, mightier than thou, mightier than all heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son -- but was in battle slain, all through the wiles and crafty counsels of these very men who now to woeful war be kindling thee. Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, for never heavier blow on woman falls than when her lord hath perished, and her sons die also, and her house is left to her desolate. Straightway evil men remove her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, setting the right at naught. There is no lot more woeful and more helpless than is hers who is left a widow in a desolate home."

Lemnos

Pyrrhus agrees to go with them and on the way they stop by the island of Lemnos to get Philoctetes. Odysseus makes Neoptolemus lie to Philoctetes because he knows that he hates Odysseus because he is the man who abandoned him on Lemnos and he knows that Philoctetes doesn’t want to go to Troy but back to Greece and to his home.

This causes a Pyrrhus strife because he has been taught to be noble up until now, in the play Philoctetes by Sophocles we are shown multiple times how this causes him strife because he is having to lie. Philoctetes also considers Pyrrhus to be a friend because Pyrrhus lies and says that he wants to go back home to Skyros because of the way he is treated by the other Greeks even though he hasn’t met any of them yet to our knowledge.

Good lines from this play that I personally characterize him are

‘It would have been better if i had never left scyros. Everything around me oppresses me ..’

‘He’ll (odysseus) claim i’m too soft-hearted’

‘I can’t. It is right and in our interest to listen to those in authority’

Some of the best development to see from this is how he was raised to be noble and how he doesn’t want to trick people or lie, he wants to be honest.

Another thing I find interesting to read from specifically this play is how Pyrrhus is very rarely called by his own name, he is almost always referred to ‘son of achilles’ and also in this play he is often referred to as ‘child’ or ‘boy’.

While none of these things are brought up as an issue in the play I do think it is a detail you can play with, like how it might weigh on an individual to be always referred to by your famous father or how people don’t recognize you by your name but by your father’s.

I think these are things that would weigh on Pyrrhus he wants to live up to his father but it also oppresses him to be referred in such a way. He wants to be like his father but he is still his own individual which he doesn’t feel recognized by as people continually anything but his own name.

To the idea of playing into the fact he is also often called ‘boy’ or ‘child’ These could be names that eventually upset and anger him. He is being dragged into this war like he is old enough to fight, which he is not and yet he is not recognized as such by those around him.

It is a case of a child feeling indignatinge by being called terms which denote being naive, though I like to think there is some justification for his anger because this isn’t just a small thing but he is being taken into a man's world.

In Philoctetes he is referred to by the name Neoptolemus, he was given this name by Phoenix, a man also considered to be a father by Achilles. Phoenix is one of the oldest men in the Trojan war and he is either involved with Pyrrhus coming from the island to Skyros to the war or some time later down the road. He gave him this name because it means ‘new war/warrior’ it is meant to reflect how Achilles himself was a young man when he entered the war.

It is honestly more common to see Pyrrhus referred to as Neoptolemus by the Greeks and Pyrrhus by Roman sources to my knowledge. (i’ll be using Pyrrhus just for simplicity)

Troy

There are a lot of various stories that have to do with the fall of Troy, we have records again from Quintus “Fall of Troy” and the “Aeneid” by Vergil. There are also a number of plays by the three tragedians of Ancient Greece(Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus) that have to do with the end of the war and various stories of the aftermath.

While Pyrrhus doesn’t appear in these very often they still help to give more insight to his possible character.

Pyrrhus makes a minor appearance within the play of ‘hecuba’ and is in the background of ‘andromache’, he makes no appearance within this story but he is directly related to things happening in the play.

Back onto the subject of the fall of Troy, he is regarded as the killer of both Astyanax and Priam. These are generally agreed upon details and sometimes Odysseus fills the role of Pyrrhus when the story decides they don’t want to introduce more characters.

He is generally described as being ‘battle-eager’ ‘Fierce-hearted’ and a few other epithets relating to fighting. In general he is not described as being worse than anyone else. The fall of Troy is a greek work and all the Greeks within this work are killing and fighting people. He is by all means a competent fighter within the text.

In the Odyssey when Odysseus goes into the underworld and speaks with the dead, and when Achilles comes to speak he asks about his son.

Odysseus describes him as

‘but I can tell you all about your son Neoptolemus, for I took him in my own ship from Scyros with the Achaeans. In our councils of war before Troy he was always first to speak, and his judgement was unerring. Nestor and I were the only two who could surpass him; and when it came to fighting on the plain of Troy, he would never remain with the body of his men, but would dash on far in front, foremost of them all in valour. Many a man did he kill in battle- I cannot name every single one of those whom he slew while fighting on the side of the Argives, but will only say how he killed that valiant hero Eurypylus son of Telephus, who was the handsomest man I ever saw except Memnon; many others also of the Ceteians fell around him by reason of a woman's bribes. Moreover, when all the bravest of the Argives went inside the horse that Epeus had made, and it was left to me to settle when we should either open the door of our ambuscade, or close it, though all the other leaders and chief men among the Danaans were drying their eyes and quaking in every limb, I never once saw him turn pale nor wipe a tear from his cheek; he was all the time urging me to break out from the horse- grasping the handle of his sword and his bronze-shod spear, and breathing fury against the foe. Yet when we had sacked the city of Priam he got his handsome share of the prize money and went on board (such is the fortune of war) without a wound upon him, neither from a thrown spear nor in close combat, for the rage of Mars is a matter of great chance.'

In general from the greek sources he is described as nobly.

He is noted for killing quite a few people during the fall of Troy but his most notable kills are Priam, who he kills within the throne room (to my knowledge) and Astyanax who is killed after Troy has fallen.

In the Aeneid by Vergil he is described in ways that frame him a more villainous or evil way

‘The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,’

During when Pyrrhus is about to kill Priam there is a line that I believe characterizes him as more of a tragic character than anything else. Before killing Priam, Priam berates him about how Pyrrhus is about to treat Priam because of how Achilles showed him humanity and how Achilles gives Priam his son’s body back. This is partly brung up because Pyrrhus getting into the throne room kills one of Priam’s sons in front of his face.

The line basically translates out to be Pyrrhus telling Priam that when he dies and sees his father to tell him of the terrible deed of his son, of how terrible his son is.

In the translation that I read they use the line ‘Tell him of degenerate Neoptolemus’

When in the context of the Philoctetes I think this paints Pyrrhus as being a rather tragic and sad character, because prior to going to the island of Lemnos Pyrrhus tried to act most noble, he wants to be noble like his father. When on Lemnos he has his morals questioned and is forced to go against his morales at the hand of Odysseus.

I interpret this as him vocalizing how he might be upset with himself as he is forced to look at the reality of war which isn’t noble or glorious at all. He wants to live up to the noble idea of his father and everything he is forced to do makes him feel terrible.

I personally think that Pyrrhus probably doesn’t know a lot about the terrible things that Achilles has done or he tries to ignore them. When fighting in the war he might realize his idea of his father might not truly be acturte, he was raised on stories from his mother telling him of his outstanding father.

In terms of justifying his actions during the war because going off my own headcanon he probably wouldn’t be so interested in killing so many people, I imagine he kinda just turns off his head and acts purely on his emotions and just acts like that of a soldier. (Is this PTSD?)

He follows the orders given to him and acts without questioning and lets all his emotions out. I personally don’t assign Pyrrhus that much pride but I like to think he inherited some of his fathers famous anger. All of his anger at what he is being forced to do comes out when he is forced to fight.

That is where the brutality of his portrayal within the Aeneid comes from.

#super doc sorry #my thoughts #my terrible terrible thoughts of my boy #I am sorry some of these thoughts are kinda old and need to get updated lol #neoptolemus #pyrrhus #the iliad #(I guess) #my super doc of all things

[lover-of-skellies]

Song prompt with Connie?

Alrighty broseph, here ya go. I dunno if this really counts as horror, but hey. It's got angst at least, I guess

It's been a while since I've done any writing prompts like this, so I might be a little rusty ^^" gonna offer a tiny warning for nonconsensual kissing in the first part, and then character death toward the end

The song(s) that I used as prompts were "Bloody Mary" by Lady Gaga and "No Hero" by JT music

"Listen to me, Connie. Please. I'm not lying to you."

Conquest shook her head, her sockets wide in horror as she stared at the demon's outstretched hand. In his palm was a single black apple, and as he took one step closer to her, she took one step back. The demon let out a deep sigh, "Just eat the damn apple, will you? You desperately wanted everything to be perfect again, and this is how you'll get that. This apple will fix everything for you, all you have to do is eat it." Connie shook her head again, meeting his bright blue gaze, "No, I can't. I know what they really do, Othni. Retribution already told me about them, and I can't do this." Othni made a face, his tail flicking behind him in irritation, "Fine. Allow me to lend you a hand, then."

The rider stared at him in shock as he lifted the apple and took a bite of it. Before she even had the chance to run, brilliant blue magic pooled at her feet, and they felt as though they'd become rooted to the ground. Othni closed the distance between them, raising a clawed hand to firmly grip her jaw. As he leaned down, orange tinted tears began to prick at her sockets. The demon pressed his lips to her teeth and her sockets widened further. Conquest gripped his shoulders, her grip almost becoming painful as she squirmed and tried to push him away. His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her head, holding her in place, and she began to tremble, letting out a muffled sob as the chunk of black apple was pushed into her mouth.

Othni pulled back, narrowing his eyes at her when she refused to chew the mouthful of apple. He dug his claws into the back of her skull and she whimpered, still trembling as he hissed, "Eat it. If you don't start chewing, I'm going to break open your skull." She very hesitantly began to chew, visibly shaking as she watched the demon. Othni stared at her as she chewed, and when she stopped, he hummed, "Did you swallow it?" She nodded quietly, and his gaze hardened, "Prove it. Open your mouth so I can see that there's nothing in there." The rider opened her mouth as instructed and he peered inside, "...Good, it looks like you did. Now we can move on to bite number two." Her eye lights constricted in fear and she began to plead with him, "Please, don't make me do this! I don't want anymore! I don't want this, Othni, please st-"

He shoved the apple partially into her mouth, effectively silencing her. More blue magic gripped her wrists to keep her from resisting, and she shook as he covered her nose, murmuring lowly, "If you want to breathe, you'll start eating." Orange tears dripped down her face and she sobbed, sinking her teeth into the fruit.

Sleeping soundly in bed beside Geno, Death was oblivious to the shift in the atmosphere. There was an odd creak here and there, but the house was old, so the sound wasn't of any concern. Slowly stirring, Geno yawned and climbed out of bed, making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. He grabbed a glass and held it under the sink, filling it halfway before shutting the water off. Turning to exit the kitchen with his drink, Geno froze, letting out a startled sound at the sight of a figure standing in the doorway. He drew in a shaky breath and tried to calm himself, "Death?... What are you doing out of bed? It's really late..." When there was no reply, he frowned, ".....Hello?"

A set of eyes opened, but only one golden-orange eye light could be seen. Recognizing the color, he furrowed his brow bones, ".....Connie? What are you-?" Behind her, a set of bright blue eyes opened, their owner noticeably taller than the rider. Geno took a slow step back, "Connie, what's going on?" Still shrouded by darkness behind Conquest, Othni purred, "I apologize, but she's not the Connie you knew... Not anymore, at least." Geno's frown deepened and he eyed the rider, setting his glass of water on the counter, "Connie, if you can hear me, I need you to say something." Finally responding, she let out a deep sigh, "What is there to say, Geno? You betrayed my trust and took Death from me, and that's that."

He blinked in surprise, "But... I thought things were ok with us now. What happened that changed that?" She tilted her head, her tone almost bored as a set of four tendrils sprouted from her back, "Nothing. I'm sick of having to talk to you every day, and just looking at you pisses me off. I should never have introduced you to Death." Geno stared at the tentacles in shock, unsure what to do. Othni hummed, "You should dispose of him before he tries to get in your way again. If you let him go, he'll only be a problem later on." Conquest made a sound in acknowledgment, "I know. I don't recall ever asking for your input though, Othni." The demon's content, vaguely amused expression shifted into one of confusion. What was going on? He'd done what he was supposed to, and he was told that she wouldn't give him any problems.

Geno swallowed the slowly forming lump in his false throat; Conquest was his friend. He had no idea what to do about her. He could try to fight her off, but he didn't want to hurt her. If he did too much damage, he could risk killing her. If she died, what was he supposed to tell Death? She began to walk toward him and he backed up. He could... Try to run, maybe? If he could wake up Death, then the situation might get back under control. As if Conquest could tell what he was thinking of doing, she hummed, her voice an octave or two lower than normal, "Don't tell me you're thinking of running from me, Geno. Surely I'm not THAT scary." Geno sputtered for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, "N-Nah, you're not scary. I just... Let me go get Death, and the two of you can-" "Don't." He yelped as a tentacle shot forward, curling around his neck. As he struggled to get free, she scowled, "I will face him when I'm ready. At the moment, I need to deal with you."

He stumbled over his words, desperately trying to breathe as the tendril tightened little by little. As Conquest stepped out into the light, Geno's socket widened and he froze. He took in her now goop covered form, the golden-orange tinted sludge covering one of her eyes. Atop her head sat a crown, likely the one that Retribution carried for a while. Her single eye light remained fixed on him and he shook; With the state she was in and the way she was looking at him, she gave 'fear' a whole new meaning. Conquest tilted her head in consideration, "Let's see... I could snap your neck. I could break your ribs and then shatter your soul though, too. Which one do you think I should do?"

Othni perked up, slinking across the kitchen and taking his place beside her, "I vote for whichever is more painful." Conquest slowly shifted her gaze and looked up at him, almost growling in annoyance, "Did I ask you, Othni? No. I was asking him. Bother me again and you'll be next." The demon was momentarily taken aback, "You can't be serious. As if you'd ever do that to me!" She narrowed her visible socket, a second tentacle coiling around his throat and squeezing, "Do you really want to test that theory right now? Because I'm getting tired of you always trying to worm your way into things that don't concern you." He growled, beginning to claw at the tendril, "I made you what you are, you stupid monster!" She glared at him, "Maybe so, but keep in mind, I told you NO. Now do us all a favor and fuck off before I actually kill you."

He fell silent and scowled at her, and she turned her attention back to Geno. In a last ditch effort to get free from her tendril's grasp, he relinquished control of his body, allowing Error to take over. The glitch immediately reached for his sockets and Connie arched a brow bone in amusement, a third tentacle catching his wrists with ease. Error glared and snarled, "Let me go, you disgusting anomaly!" She rolled her eye light, "How about no?" The black skeleton's body glitched, and in that split second, he slipped his hands out of her hold. His hands flew upward to his face and he produced a multitude of blue threads, which quickly ensnared the corrupted rider. She cried out in surprise, and then hissed, narrowing her socket again, "If you really want to fight, then so be it. That's all you worthless glitches understand, anyway."

The tentacle that held Othni suddenly snapped forward, and he yelped, finding himself sailing toward the glitch. Error's threads went to work and ensnared the demon as well, and he cursed, stepping aside as another tentacle shot toward him. He bound it in blue threads, his body jerking as the corrupted rider began hysterically sobbing, her speech incoherent. He furrowed his brow bones in confusion, and then froze as he noticed Death standing in the doorway, his eyes wide in shock as he took in the sight before him. The reaper glanced at Error, taking in his uninjured form and choosing to go to Conquest, who continued sobbing.

Death cautiously approached her, taking in her new appearance, "Connie? What happened to you?!" She shook her head and cried, "Othni forced me to eat a black apple, and I turned into this. I came here to see if you could help me, and then I got attacked by Error!" The reaper glanced in Error's direction again, "Error, you need to let go of her." Error frowned and hesitated, "I can't! She's lying, Death! I'm only fighting her because she attacked Geno first!" Death's voice gained a sharp edge that caused Error to flinch, "Error, I'm asking you to let her go. Fucking do it already! We need to make sure she's not hurt!" The glitch reluctantly loosened his threads, and the instant her tentacles were free, her sobbing came to an immediate halt. One tendril shot toward the glitch again, and Death's eyes widened as it broke through the glitch's ribs. Error's eyes widened as well, as he began to glitch, looking down at his hand and watching in fear as it began to slowly fade. Rather than dust, scattered zeros and ones floated around it, and Death immediately understood.

He looked at Connie, tears in his eyes as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" The corrupted rider looked up at him, her eye light constricting as she burst into laughter. When he didn't receive an answer, he backed away from her, summoning his scythe. Her tentacles captured his arms and neck, tightening until his grip on the scythe loosened and it clattered to the floor. He was dragged back toward her as she stood, and she sighed, reaching out to touch his face, "I did what had to be done. You came along and stole my heart, and then you got me pregnant, decided after a little while that you didn't want me anymore. Then to top it off, you left me for Geno, who was my FRIEND. I tolerated the pain because I loved you, but as of right now, I'm done playing nice. You played games with me, so now it's my turn to play games with you." The reaper stared at her, sky blue tears beginning to drip down his face, "Connie... He didn't have to die. Neither of them did."

She hummed, "No, I don't think you understand. They DID. Now they're finally out of the way." He tried to blink back more tears, his voice soft, "...What do you want from me? What'll it take to make you stop?" All traces of her amusement vanished and her grip on his face tightened, "I'm glad you asked... I want some apologies from you for all the pain you caused me, and I want you to admit how pathetic and useless you are. As soon as you do those things for me, I'll do something for you." He furrowed his brow bones, "Like what?..." The corrupted rider offered him a twisted grin, the warped happiness not quite reaching her gaze, "Well, you always complained about not being able to die and experience reincarnation, so I plan to fix that little problem. You do what I asked, I kill you, and then I take over your team. It's as simple as that."

#writing #isnt-that-something #asks #i tried #^^" #conquest.exe #othni.exe #death.exe #riderverse geno #riderverse error #riderverse #riderverse au #undertale #undertale au

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 10

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Mild smut in this chapter.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Tony fluff, Tony snark, Tony sass and Tony smut (finally!). My & reader's brain be like: tony tony tony tony. A request for my readers: do I write a believeable tony? Is he in character, more or less?

My beta @miscmarvelwritings - she's not into Tony but even then, she was finally excited about them finally getting down & dirty. The patience of this woman...

"Tony, could I borrow, like, a hoodie or something?"

He eyed my attire critically for a moment, seemingly coming to the same conclusion I did minutes earlier, and made a beeline for the couch in the back of the lab. Picking up and examining a black mass of fabric, deeming it satisfactory, he tossed it to me. "It's clean enough, I guess."

The thin straps of my mesh top rubbed against a lot of tender skin, leaving pink lines in the wake of it. A sigh of relief escaped me involuntarily when I removed it -

"Woah, woah," Tony squeaked, covering his eyes with an exaggerated gesture. "Warn a man!"

I honestly didn't see what the big deal was. "Tony, chill. I'm pretty sure you've seen it all and then some." I snorted, stretching briefly, shrugging on the slightly oversized hoodie. It smelled like the lab - like Tony, too, but mostly like motor oil and iron. Beggars can't be choosers, however - I had already devised and executed the plan that will let me keep the hoodie.

"When you put it that way..." He smirked, briefly returning to his usual self and giving me a salacious eyebrow wiggle.

I laughed in response, wiggling my hips, feeling the hem of my skirt swish against my thighs. I considered removing the fishnet tights, too, but a brief look in the reflective wall divide between Tony's and Bruce's labs got me pulling out my phone to take two dozen selfies. I looked great with Tony's clothes on.

The engineer chuckled at my antics, coming up behind me as I sat on the floor with my knee raised, chin resting on it. The amber liquid sloshed over the top of his glass, dripping down his fingers. He sat behind me.

"Weller Full Bourbon?" I asked, bringing my nose closer to his fingers to get a good whiff. The distinctive vanilla notes in his whiskey were unmistakable. "Good choice," I made a serious face. "Fancy."

"I can afford it, darling," He snarked back, devoid of malice.

He was so close. And so warm. And I needed a new screensaver. Shuffling back, I reclined against Tony's chest, carefully wedging my head in the crook of his neck.

God help me.

I felt his breath hitch. The dark, magnetic pools of his eyes stared at me from our combined reflection. Tony's eyes were the most expressive, he could fake a smile, he could charm the press and countless investors, but his eyes only spoke the truth. Always. I loved working with Tony because his gaze would light up. It was akin to seeing a little kid on Christmas.

A muscular arm snaked around my waist, pressing my back to his chest. The metal of his arc reactor jabbed uncomfortably between my shoulder blades but there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

"You're filming, Princess," He interrupted my Moment.

"Sure," I answered, not caring. There could be another alien invasion happening and I wasn't able to give a damn.

I felt the vibrant chuckle more than heard; Tony snatched the phone out of my hand without permission. I noticed the furrowed brow when he opened my Instagram and saw the unmistakable evidence of my frequent partying, yet he didn't comment on it.

"Tony, the press is going to go nuts," I raised my eyebrows, seeing what he was planning to do.

"They've seen me doing worse things," He scoffed. And took a photo of us ‘just chilling’ in his lab, hugging. He picked out a filter and everything., and then posted it.

"First of all, I am pretty awesome to be 'doing', I've had only good feedback," I scoffed at his dismissive attitude, using my free hand to make quote marks. Then I turned my head to stare him square in the face. "Steve's going to be pissed and Ms. Potts is going to call to yell at you." I punctuated the statements with a raised eyebrow.

There was really no innocent way the press could represent the photo that he posted. I didn't care for it, my parents wouldn't give a damn (my father probably would encourage it, the free publicity and all). Tony himself didn't seem like the kind of man to care much about some gossip articles, if anything, he enjoyed provoking them into a frenzy. Or at least, he used to.

"I'll put them both on hold. I like to watch the line blink," Tony winked, smirking. "I've been told the press expects me to have a midlife crisis since my last breakup," Eyes darkening, the man swiftly finished off his drink.

Midlife crisis seemed such a bitter way of putting it. Considering my own preferences in romantic partners, I couldn't help but feel offended at the way people offhandedly dished out labels - "midlife crisis", "daddy issues" and so on and so forth. The briefest part of me traveled back to Mr. Davies' living room where - no, I am not going there.

"Huh," I said, coming to a conclusion. A sad one at that.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Princess, but you don't seem like the kind of girl who thinks about pesky things like reputation or consequences," Tony mused idly, coming to a conclusion of his own.

"Nope, I don't give a fuck," I agreed with his opinion wholeheartedly. "If I would have a publicist, they would quit on the second day."

"I pay mine, uh, twice the average amount and they still quit. We're doomed, baby," Tony's gleeful face was mere inches away from my own, whiskey-tipsy and glowing.

I snorted, sliding lower to further burrow into his arms. Tony's sudden touchy-feely mode wasn't lost on me. My own touch starvation overrode any common sense that I had left. The totally-PG (well, not quite) embrace, one armed hug brought me more satisfaction than any of my sexual partners had ever achieved to give me.

"Why are there so many messages from Banner? Are you staging a world domination plan and forgot to include me? I'm hurt!" Tony exclaimed suddenly, a whiny tone to his voice.

"Thor's space yeasts have corrupted our minds with their spores. Soon all will become... Mushroom!" I deepened my voice for the dramatic effect, flailing my arms on the last word for the extra flair.

The man wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye; his eyes were sparkling, laughing even. "I'm evicting Thor and his supremely selfish yeast. How dare it ignore me."

"I vouched for you, I really did," I kept up the silly game. "But alas, the yeasts deemed you too... Boomer," The pride in my voice could barely hold back the laughter threatening to spill.

"Did you just..?" Tony gaped. "Did you just call me old?!"

I attempted to get away, shrieking when the tips of Tony's fingers squirmed along my midsection. "It was the yeast! IT WAS THE YEAST!" My resistance proved to be futile. The engineer had mass and strength on his side, years of piloting and maneuvering the Iron Man suits showing just how quick and nimble he could be when the situation demanded it.

"Take that from an old man!" He exclaimed triumphantly, using his arm to hold down both of my hands from grasping at him. One of his legs held down my own; we were a squirming, writhing mass of limbs in the heat of a tickle fight.

The cocaine in my blood, the mild buzz from being drunk on Tony - my body reacted to the close proximity of the man who occupied my fantasies. I was blushing, breathing heavily, and it wasn't just from the exertion. It should have affected me less, but I struggled to keep my eyes from Tony's face; his own flush, the moist part of his lips.

I wondered how a deer in the headlights felt. Was it hot, like it's body was suddenly alight, or was it cold, liquid nitrogen freezing in its veins?

"Fuck," I mumbled half-coherently.

"What was that?" He arched an eyebrow, clever eyes carefully watching my own.

"I'm in trouble," I chuckled weakly, looking away, pretending to struggle against his arms.

"You're trouble," He announced, grinning. His fingertips slowed, skimming gently along my sides now.

I retaliated with a tentative brush of my foot along the softness of his jean-covered inner thigh. It was euphoric, seeing Tony shudder, the thick eyelashes fluttering for the briefest part of a second.

"We should stop," He whispered suddenly, making a move to disentangle us both. Mixed signals, we've got em, ladies and gentlemen.

"Why?" I was tired of this dance. It was fun but painful. My firm decision of the past still stood: I won't be the lovesick fangirl, I won't be another notch in his bedpost. The resolve was crumbling but it was still there, to some point.

"You're not sober, this is wrong," He mumbled. "I'm more than twice your age, Princess."

That ship had sailed, Tony. If only you knew... "Do you seriously expect me, out of all people, to find common ground with someone my age? Someone like Peter? Jeez," I tried to be amused. If it came out more pleading, I pretended to not notice it. It was the moment of truth. It needed to be said. "I'm FUBAR, Tony. I'm lucky if anyone at all will want to put up with me, much less someone I can stand. I'm spoiled, I'm selfish, and annoying. I know that. I just thought we were friends and you'd be...kinder about it." My mumbling was met with a somewhat perplexed stare.

"I..." His eyebrows threatened to have a close encounter with his hairline. "What the fuck? Are you dead set on giving me a stroke today? I have a heart condition," He yanked me back towards his chest, unceremonious and indignant. "You can be so smart yet so stupid. Gosh, where is the world rolling, I'm quoting Pepper now." He seemed to be muttering to himself.

"Pot, kettle." I didn't resist the urge to snark.

"Right," Tony rolled his eyes. "You're beautiful and all that jazz. You deserve much more than this." Uncharacteristically sad, he pointed to himself, again. "I'm an old man with more issues than Playboy magazine."

"And I'm an angsty teenager with daddy issues, we're a match made in heaven."

"Hell," Tony was eyeing our combined reflection with a sort of petulance. It was hard keeping track of his microexpressions; his eyes and face held fleeting, half-finished thoughts, just like when he was creating, inventing something new.

"Works for me. Lucifer's hot," I answered with my brain on autopilot. He caught my eyes in the shiny glass, trapping me in his calculative gaze.

"The Netflix one or the Supernatural one?" Tony asked, equally absent from the conversation. Neither of us were able to break eye contact, breathing laboured and hearts thudding in our chests. I felt Tony's pulse fluttering under my palm where I'd rested it on his wrist.

The organ that dutifully pumped blood through my own veins and kept me alive threatened to escape my body, jump out of my chest, make its way out my mouth. Tony's unblinking stare penetrated my skin, seeped into the hollow behind my eyelids, ignited a flame within me and froze my thoughts.

"The one with the detective kink," I answered breathily. "I have an affinity for brown-eyed, narcissistic, sarcastic men with self-destructive tendencies," The last part of my sentence was swallowed by Tony's lips.

My brain shorted out, just like that. Bourbon on his breath and a new dose of snark on his tongue, he licked into my mouth with the grace and finesse of years of experience. It was sudden, it was rough, it was fantastic. His beard left marks on my face and I craved the burn of it.

"Fuck," I moaned when we were forced to surface for oxygen. My hips had moved, pressed against his own, prominent arousal digging into the small of my back. Tony had me moaning and grinding into it in mere seconds.

A hand rested on my face with surprising tenderness, turning my face to look at my own reflection. My hair was a mess, lips puffy - Tony wasn't looking any better, hunger and lust in plain view. It was a good look on him.

"Watch," His breath ghosted over the shell of my ear, lips traveling to the nape of my neck to attach themselves to the very sensitive flesh of that area.

I obeyed, gazing at the scene with lidded eyes. Keeping them open was a struggle. My body was flooded with sensation, riding the waves of pleasure like a rollercoaster. I wanted to please him, needed to obey him, to feel him.

My thighs quivered at Tony's touch. There was no warning, no preamble as he wedged a firm hand, separating them quickly to follow the heat. His biceps flexed deliciously. Under my skirt, through the fishnets and the tiny, lacy panties I wore.

"Fucking shit," The man moaned loudly, finding me, predictably, soaking wet. It was one hot, sticky mess between my legs.

The keen that left my mouth might've been embarrassing, yet it only spurred Tony on. Gently parting my lower lips, he gathered the moisture, suddenly withdrawing from me. My confusion met his amusement in the mirror as he stuck the two fingers in his mouth, moaning obscenely and loudly at the taste.

The corners of my mouth lifted, happy. "To-ony," I whined, my pussy aching for more. Now that I had felt the relief and pleasure of his touch, I didn't want it to end.

"Princess," He replied, seriously and sternly. I shuddered at the scratchiness of his voice. The hand that I was missing returned, stroking over the outside of my pussy with broad, soft motions. I arched, presented myself into the touch. "So eager," Tony mumbled into my shoulder, catching a bit of my skin between his teeth.

His fingers dipped deeper, delving in between the puffy, engorged flesh and stroking once, twice, before finding my clit. The pads of Tony's fingers were rough, hardened by manual work and hours spent in front of his inventions, making, tinkering, creating. The friction was perfect. I followed each stroke with a fluid motion of my hips.

"Tony, fuck," I slurred my approval, needing him to know how amazing he made me feel. Tony's form pressed closer, both of us melting, molding into each other.

"Baby girl, what do you need?" His raspy voice tickled my neck. I was sure there would be an array of marks decorating me come morning and absolutely loved the thought. I belonged to Tony Stark, in body and heart and mind and soul.

"I want to cum," I had no shame left. "I want to feel you."

He groaned, rutting into me. A squeak was all I managed to emit as two thick fingers plunged inside of me with a wet squelch. My pussy immediately took hold of the situation, squeezing and rippling around them. I was so close, my nerves pulled up taut like an overtaxed string. The effect this man had on me was positively unholy.

My clit throbbed under his thumb. Tony somehow managed to reach every single sweet spot on my body, effortlessly, easily, like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Ohmyfuckinggod, Tony," I came hard, shuddering, drenching the fingers inside of me. The moment I began sagging in his arms was the moment they tightened around me; I felt Tony grind helplessly against me, saw his own eyes slam shut and his brow furrow.

The hand that was in me withdrew rapidly as he hastily popped the button on his pants, freeing his cock and giving it several desperate tugs. I couldn't see it; I had to settle for the sensation of his hand, his hips rubbing against my clothed back.

He came quickly, with a loud shout. My curiosity got the best of me and I used the brief moment of his weakness to turn around, take a good look at him.

Tony was a fucking mess with a fucking gorgeous cock. Thick and veiny.

My face was level with it before he could have opened his eyes. I wanted, craved to know how he tasted. With gentle kitten licks, I collected the stray drops of cum running down his hand, careful of the rapidly softening, sensitive flesh.

His eyes popped open in surprise. I smiled at him, unseeing, collecting as much of him as I could.

"Fuck, Princess," He breathed. "I'm just a man, I'm pushing fifty," Gently pulling my head away but holding it mere inches from his cock. Indecisive.

I reached over for his hand with my own, popping finger after finger in my mouth, collecting every drop of cum like it was nectar. I could be good...I If properly motivated. The salty musk was all the motivation I needed at that moment. He pulled me in for a filthy, sloppy kiss once I was done, both of us humming, vocalising the shared pleasure.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub ​ @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @as-i-layhereinyourbed @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney

As always, feedback is welcome and this blog is keyboard smash & emoji friendly.

#tony stark smut #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x you #bun writes #party favours #TONY NEVER SHUTS UP YO

[mxrstar]

hi i love ur side character quiz!! do u have a doc of all the results?

putting them here under a cut!

dumb and lovely brings you breakfast when the world ends

this is for characters who are dumb and lovable and who make you emotional when you least expect it. very often, they are used for comic relief. sometimes the narrative flattens them into a simpler version of themselves, but i find there's always more to them than meets the eye. [i won't lie, one of the main inspiration for this result is launchpad from ducktales. never forget the multiple gender neutral partners who were all lucky to know him.]

doomed sidekick is evil for nebulous reasons

you have all heard this one. among the antagonists, there is just someone who is really weird. maybe they have a complex, layered story that brought them to where they are, but not enough time is spent unpacking it. i feel like these characters are either just, compellingly odd, or a little sad. very often both. very interesting to read meta about people like this. have fun with your blorbos

dead before the story starts has a grave full of roses

this is a character whose life we only learn of in retrospect. it's the tragedy of never making it to the other side and leaving behind a legacy that shouldn't be forgotten but wouldn't have existed hadn't it been for so much hurt. sometimes, they get to be somewhat important for the story. others, they don't have a single spoken line. in both cases, godspeed to anyone writing long recovery fics about people like this. you all are my favorites

[bursts open a door] "hi guys, thought you might need this. i haven't slept in a week"

this is the background scientist who spends the entire movie in their apartment furiously comparing notes with their three best friends. this is the love of my life. this is the "hi i have here the umh. the solution for the issue you are all yelling about" person with messed up hair and highly technical knowledge of some science related bullshit. it's the feeling that LIFE goes ON in MYSTERIOUS WAYS and sometimes a sleep deprived idiot saves the word but no one gives them any credit and they literally don't give a shit. 10/10

someone who is always making everyone dinner tells you how you should get your shit together

this is very often someone old and quiet that doesn't interfere with the main storyline. they are the lighthouse, the refuge, the one who watches the kids when the adults are gone and who cleans the house so people will sleep with clean sheets. sometimes they have one good scene with the main character where they try to comfort them and scold them into getting up again and trying one last time. i often end up wondering about their life--what it must have been like, what lead them here. no one is that wise on accident, i think

[screaming about a truly interesting perspective from behind a door]

these are the side-characters who should not be side-characters, or who, at the very least, should have a bigger role. i feel like sometimes they are people who offer a more nuanced perspective on the main storyline (or who speak from a complex and/or marginalised background) and very often they only get a few scenes and you are just. reaching towards the screen like please. please give me more. eme and julius black sails looking at you. if any of you is implementing them in fan work, you are doing the lord's work. thank you very much

desperately trying to escape a personal prison is only freed when the whole story is saved

these are characters who are sometimes very important to the story but whose tragedy is either partially forgotten or sidetracked because there is just not enough space to go into it. at times, it's people who spend the entirety of the plot trapped somewhere, and who can only offer insight or support at one point of the narrative, only to show up at the end weakly waving in the distance. i like thinking of them because it's a way to re-imagine the story in a way that totally redfines it [fun fact: this category was done entirely because of caramelinda rocks from d20]

powerful legend with a ridiculous sense of humour categorically refuses to be the main character

these are people who could do whatever the fuck they like. they could end the story in 0.5 seconds. and yet, they just want to smoke a cigarette with a long time best friend. they just want to tell a lot of dad jokes to an unassuming middle schooler who finds them insufferable. why would you bother them? no one should disappointed if The Legendary Hero is just some guy eating cake at a mid-tier restaurant. they have retired. go home and follow their lead

#thank you for the ask <3 glad you enjoyed my quiz #uquiz #soccer

[lessthandivine]

promise that I’ll meet you halfway | lm x r

pairing: lou miller x you

warnings: light angst, swearing, tsundere!reader, shameless theft (obviously,) suggestive dialogue, stubborn idiots, no beta we die like men

word count: 4672

based on a writing prompt: look, we could keep pretending you hate me, or you could kiss me.

summary: having joined the team at debbie’s request, you do recon for the marauding eight. it’s all smooth sailing, save for a certain blonde that distracts you to no end. swords clang, but you realize where you stand, just in time.

Lou.

Even thinking about her made it hard to breathe, and you swallowed, shaking yourself. Every time she looked at you, with that narrow, cocky gaze, you just couldn’t stand how annoyingly attractive it was. How ridiculously hot it was when her eyes tracked down your body every so often. How infuriatingly smooth and low her voice was when she praised your plans and diagrams, mentioned how important the pages upon pages of valuable information you’d painstakingly collected were. All of that, on top of her irritatingly charming smile and exasperatingly endearing kindness, wit, courage, and intelligence.

You couldn’t stand it.

Shutting the door quietly behind you, you sighed as you took off your coat, shaking your hair out from it’s bun. The loft was quiet, empty, and the clatter of your boots, untied, of course, echoed through the space when they hit the floor. Hanging your coat on the peg, you rubbed your tense neck and rolled your wrists. Walking slowly to the sitting area, you wondered if there was anything stronger than a beer in the kitchen—you could feel the tension in your shoulders, sore muscles and sore joints. Side effect of the occupation, you thought wryly. Recon involved a lot of things, one of which was staying in one place. Small spaces, often. For long periods of time. You were too young to have joints that hurt. No stranger to stress, it didn’t faze you, but none of that made it easier.

You paced a little, fingernails scratching the pad of your thumb, a nervous habit from university. Today, you’d scouted out several locations, none of them leaving much room for comfort. Work always pulled you in several different, sometimes dangerous, directions. Collecting intel, too, involved mind games. You also had to go see a potential ‘client,’ to try and wriggle some information out of. He was the usual sleazy type, of course, and you had to resist the urge to break his nose when he leaned in close and put a hand on your knee, instead carefully plastering on a cloying smile. And while that was your specialty, it was hard. You didn’t like to admit it—everyone played their role in the heist, and you knew you were a key part, but damn if it didn’t take a lot out of you.

You had a reputation to uphold, and this new project at the Met just had so much on the line, you knew you had to do the best you could. And more. Even after the whole affair, while everyone was celebrating, you took the time to scope out a few places that the team had mentioned they might hit next. Your teammates were all so confident and experienced, while you were relatively new in the field, only working on the side or behind the scenes. Especially Debbie, who’d been in this for years, and her right hand woman, Lou.

Lou.

Even thinking about her made it hard to breathe, and you swallowed, shaking yourself. Every time she looked at you, with that narrow, cocky gaze, you just couldn’t stand how annoyingly attractive it was. How ridiculously hot it was when her eyes tracked down your body every so often. How infuriatingly smooth and low her voice was when she praised your plans and diagrams, mentioned how important the pages upon pages of valuable information you’d painstakingly collected were. All of that, on top of her irritatingly charming smile and exasperatingly endearing kindness, wit, courage, and intelligence.

You couldn’t stand it.

It also made the heist planning much more difficult than it already was. You thought it would be better after the team successfully pulled the whole plan off, but even now when it was all over, those stupid feelings were still there. It pissed you off just thinking about it. The weird, irksome fluttering in your stomach, the kind that made you feel simultaneously sick and elated, never failed to come around when Lou was there. It was impossible, really, to handle. Whatever it was, you weren’t familiar with it, and you absolutely hated not knowing.

And it was horrible, worsened tenfold by the fact that you couldn’t even talk to her normally. Work, though difficult, was made easier by the fact that you, her, and the whole team had something to focus on. That forced you to calm down and function properly, for the group dynamic. But anything else, anything personal, almost always resulted in a row, or at least a snarky, unnecessary comment. You always had some sort of sarcastic remark, and Lou, being Lou, always had one in return. It was never so explosive that it would break the team apart, but it definitely made everyone look twice.

You forced yourself to relax as you heard someone coming down the stairs. You’d thought you were alone, the rest of the team out at some sort of… mini golf drinking game course? But you turned from where you’d been pacing a path in Lou’s living room floor to see Debbie.

You smiled instinctively, something tight and too at ease to be real. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself, kiddo,” Debbie called back, slumping down onto the couch. “You okay?” You and Debbie had been acquaintances for a while before she called you to work on this, knowing you were the best person for the job. She’d helped you out of a tight spot more than a few times, so you trusted her. It only made sense that she could read you, could see the nervous tick in your jaw.

You shrugged. “I’m fine,” you said, a little more roughly than you needed to.

“I believe you, sweetie,” she said soothingly, knowing you didn’t mean it. You looked at her, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but she just smiled and you knew she knew.

The loft door opened, a familiar stomping on the wooden floors making you sigh. Even without looking, you knew that Lou was back, pulling off her boots and throwing them aside. Without undoing the laces. Didn’t she realize how easily she could fall like that, and break her arm or something?

Debbie bit back a smile. You really had no idea how similar the two of you sounded, coming in the loft in your boots. When you came in together, it was nearly impossible to tell which one of you was which until one of you complained about the other’s coat on the hanger, or something equally inconsequential. And she knew, by virtue of having been around the two of you separately for various amounts of time in past years, that neither of you would bother to untie the laces putting them on, or taking them off.

Soon enough, Lou came strutting in like she owned the place (which she did, you granted) in her damned black leather jacket, black leather pants, pulling her bike helmet off her head. It left her hair tousled, and as she dragged the back of her hand across her forehead, a bit of bike grease smeared.

She should’ve kept the helmet on, you thought dumbly, as your eyes lingered around the smoky black that made her slate blue irises seem to glow, the smirk she always wore, the few strands of hair plastered to her face, and you couldn’t help but keep watching as she shucked off her jacket, revealing a customary button down (in zaffre, today.) Was it impossible for her to wear a shirt like that without having half the buttons undone? It looked stupidly good, and you forced yourself to resume your pacing after giving Lou a nod.

Lou glanced at you, and then at Debbie, who shrugged. She dumped her helmet on the table by the couch, and you turned at the noise, inwardly sighing. As Debbie asked Lou if Tammy and the others were still at the course (they were,) you crept quietly around her, picking up her helmet carefully from the side table. You were halfway to the foyer, where things like this were supposed to be, when a shuffle made you pause.

“Can you not move that all the time? I put it there for a reason.” Lou’s voice, definitely annoyed, carried through the loft. Behind her, where you couldn’t see, Debbie shot her a careful look, which Lou ignored. You hated it when she put her helmet there, because there was always other stuff that needed to be there, and she knew it. And you knew she knew, so why didn’t she just keep it somewhere else? There was plenty of space, and it would be easier for everyone. You were silent as you could hear her footsteps coming up behind you, stopping a good distance away.

“I wouldn’t have to, if you didn’t leave it in random places all the time,” you finally said, needlessly curt. You knew you sounded childish, but it was easier than turning around and coming up with a response where you’d have to look her in the eye. You knew that those strange feelings in your chest would come back, the ones that surfaced whenever you were around Lou. She stared at you for a moment—you could feel it burning into your back—then scoffed.

“Nobody asked you to clean up after me,” she replied, just as caustic. You were about to retort, but you paused, choosing to set the helmet down on the shoe bench.

From her vantage spot on the sofa, eyes flickering between the two of you, Debbie sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You two fight over everything, even the most stupid things. Just quit it already.”

You didn’t say anything, ducking your head. Guilt swelled up in you, over disrupting the dynamic, over doing something you didn’t need to do and saying things you didn’t need to say, over how you just couldn’t get your head straight. You couldn’t bother to apologize as you hurriedly slinked away to the kitchen, missing Lou looking over at you, confusion masking the hurt in the furrow of her eyebrows.

You might’ve missed the look, but Debbie didn’t, leveling Lou with a deadpan expression, unimpressed.

“You two,” Debbie started, but Lou cut her off.

“Shut it, Ocean, I already know what you’re about to say.”

Debbie continued quietly, ignoring Lou’s protest. “You two dance around each other in the worst way. She hurts you because she doesn’t know how to recognize her feelings, and you hurt her because you’re too stubborn to make the first move.”

Lou glared at Debbie, hating that her best friend was so perceptive, and hating that she was right.

Debbie sighed, waving Lou off. “Whatever. she’s young, maybe this is the new mating dance.” Lou laughed dryly, crossing her arms. “Anyway, do something, or not, soon. There’s a betting pool, and I can’t lose to Constance. Again.” With that, Debbie stood and walked out. Lou stared at the spot where she’d been, hearing the loft door open and close. There’s a what? On us?

Lou ran a hand carelessly through her already messy hair, groaning. Contrary to what you probably thought, she’d seen the tension in your too-straight back, and she inferred that the day’s missions must’ve been stressful. She knew where you’d gone when you left all those celebration parties early. Why did you always have to work so damn hard all the time, running yourself into the ground? Didn’t you know how to take a break and relax? You worked just as hard as everyone else, sometimes harder, but Lou knew that because you were younger than most of the team, you felt the need to make up for it. How stupid, she thought. Your work was impressive as it was, were you really so blind as to overlook how important you were to the team?

Lou tried to avoid thinking about how important you were to her, a familiar frustration already coming to her mind. The two of you traded barbs, always, but sometimes, it made her wonder. It made her wonder something she wasn’t willing to think about, not right now.

You weren’t often seriously moody like this—though you were stressed half the time, you really were a fun person to be around. You were incredibly witty and charming, even (especially) when you were shooting some annoyed comment in Lou’s direction. She’d send one back, and you’d parry, just as quick and dry. She enjoyed it, almost too much, because she’d never met anyone quite on par with her, for verbal sparring. Until you. 

Until you. That summed up everything, didn’t it? All the girls that came before, Lou had never really felt anything for them. She thought she did, but it all went out either with a bang or a whimper. Until Debbie brought you in one day, in the early stages of the Met heist, and you had so much information, detailed insider plans, and a brilliant mind to match. Plus, you’d looked something incredible in your Tom Ford sunglasses, thick Armani cable knit turtleneck, Brioni jacket, Gucci wool coat (‘it’s rather grand, though, isn’t it?’ you’d replied when she’d playfully commented on how tacky Gucci could be,) elegant Cartier watch, crisply pleated Savile Row (Richard Anderson) trousers, shiny Jimmy Choo oxfords, and Target socks. It all totaled, easily, up to twenty. Twenty thousand, Lou had figured. Euros. There were no logos, but she could just tell, from experience. The fact that you hadn’t paid for a single item made it all the more attractive. How she could still remember all that, and the way you’d gestured, the passion of the work really setting into you, was remarkable.

As the plans and projects continued, you’d always been there for the rest of the team with easy advice, and you were never at a loss for what to say that would make everyone laugh. At first, Lou had a hard time with it. Having real feelings for someone was scary, everyone knew that. Especially you. But the sweet sense of inevitability with which she was drawn deeper and deeper into you? That was something she couldn’t ignore, instinct told her. She’d looked upon your bickering with a sort of fondness, that went with how she felt about the rest of you.

Maybe. Just maybe, Debbie was right. Lou was fairly sure that you were attracted to her, that much was evident in the way your eyes lingered on her. It was a familiar thing for Lou, but when it came to you, your attention made her skin flush and her blood thrum. She’s Lou Miller, for goodness’ sake, She could get a girl (or two) easily. But you? You were something else entirely. And Lou Miller was never one to miss a chance.

The loft was empty now, except for you and Lou. You’d heard Debbie leave from where you’d escaped into the kitchen, pouring yourself a stress maté. You just needed a moment to calm your nerves, then you could hopefully make yet another escape upstairs, to go mope under the guise of working on plans. Sighing, you sat down at the table, wondering if ‘destressing’ was even possible, at this point.

Without her boots or heels on, Lou really was as silent as a cat, and you nearly jumped when you looked up from your tea and she’d materialized in the doorway.

“Jesus, Lou,” you said dryly. “Do you always tip toe around like this?”

Lou sighed, unknowingly imitating you, carefully watching you at the table with one of your stupid tea drinks in front of you. There were shadows under your eyes, and your shirt collar (Louis Vuitton, today) wasn’t as neatly tucked as it usually was, and your lips were set in a thin line.

“A good evening to you too.” You nodded at her greeting, casting a furtive glance at her. Moments of silence passed, where she stared at you and you alternated between looking at her, and looking away. God, did she really have to wear that eyeliner she always wore, the one that made her grey eyes look all sultry and alluring? It was just stupid, you decided.

“We fight all the time,” Lou started, blatantly ignoring your scoff. “Don’t you think it’s messing with the team?”

You shrugged, replying without thinking. “Does it really matter?” Even Lou was a bit taken aback at your blasé answer. You were nothing if not intensely meticulous and almost foolishly dedicated to the work they did, but she could tell you immediately regretted your words.

She walked over to stand opposite you, in front of the counter. “I know you don’t mean that.” The words came out sharper than she meant for them to be, and your returning gaze was almost doleful.

“You don’t know a thing about me.” At the sudden, hastily suppressed flinch from Lou, you cringed, biting your lip. She did know you. She hadn’t come to pick you up from one of your scouting locations, in the dead of night, long after you were supposed to come back, because she was bored. Even if she did, almost physically, drag you from your spot, silently kicking and screaming, and even if you complained about it the whole way back, you appreciated it. Sometimes, only Lou, not even Debbie, could tell how tired you were, and sent someone else to go with you to collect intel, to take the pressure off. You regretted your slip, more than you’d regretted your former feigned carelessness, because it just wasn’t true.

“Don’t I? You don’t even know yourself.” You deserved that, you knew.

“Watch it, Miller.” But you said it without malice, in a borderline teasing way. You’d both overstepped, but something in the air wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable, it was just there. Barely normal.

“We fight all the time,” Lou said again, quietly. “But you don’t really hate me, do you?”

At her question, you looked up, startled. You gazed right at her, tired and sad in the slump of her shoulders, leaning against the counter, in the way she looked at her feet instead of at you. The sight sent an oddly unpleasant shiver through you, and your heart twisted with guilt. Of all things, you weren’t expecting that, at all. Surely, Lou knew that you respected her, right? That even though your conversations weren’t always the best, you admired her hard working manner, her advice, and her input.

But that’s not what she asked, is it? Your rough words sent all the wrong messages, you knew, but she’d never let it affect her. Or at least, she hadn’t let it show. Had it hurt her this entire time?

“I—“ you swallowed, licking your dry lips. “I don’t hate you. at all.” Quite the opposite, in fact. The thought made you pause. You didn’t want Lou to think that you hated her, because it wasn’t true at all. You really, really wanted her close, closer than you’d ever wanted anyone, and it terrified you. You didn't hate her at all. You just didn’t know how to deal with just how much you liked her, how much of a place she had in your heart and mind. How much you had grown used to Lou’s presence, Lou’s easy, witty dialogue, even when bickering with you. Lou. That, all of those annoying, little, petty fights, what you were used to, it was the easiest way for you to just talk to her. To ignore what you really wanted with her. That was all so much simpler than confronting the yawning void in your chest that you knew would gape open if she somehow wasn’t in your life anymore.

“Then why do you—“ Lou’s voice caught in her throat, and you couldn’t stand the, for once, openly conflicted look on her face. You looked away, guilt clouding your eyes.

“Lou, I don’t hate you, I just—“ you stopped, your own voice failing you. I just need you, more than I’ve ever needed anyone, and it terrifies me to no end, that I could take the chance and fail, and break us, and I—

“You just what?” You didn’t miss the defensive, almost… hurt? tone her voice had taken.

“Fuck.” Even without looking at her, the shame creeped into your stomach, twisting and winding. “I never know how to talk to you.” Had you caused that, all because you didn’t know how to confront the way you felt?

“You don’t know how to talk—“ Lou scoffed, crossing her arms. “That’s rich. You? Don’t know how to talk… you’re one of the most well spoken, eloquent people I’ve ever met. Quit the excuses, doll.”

Even now, the feelings returned to your chest, both at her acknowledgement and that dumb term of endearment, the one that lodged itself firmly in your memory. Does she really think that?

“To you,” you said softly.

You looked back up at Lou, not bothering to hide the look in your eyes. Her own face was uncharacteristically vulnerable, making her seem young and afraid. She met your gaze, and the feelings, already rising from her just being there, suddenly shot up, especially when she let her eyes flicker down to your lips.

Lou came over to you abruptly and leaned across the table, propping herself up with a hand dangerously close to yours. You felt your heart jump as she locked gazes with you, as if looking for something, but you didn’t dare move. Her searching scrutiny was intimate, welcome, even, because you could feel yourself on the edge of something bigger than just you.

“Look...” Lou said lowly, eyes stormy but clearing by the second. “We could keep pretending you hate me, or you could kiss me.”

You could only look up at her, back into those turbulent grey eyes, startlingly close. Your mouth parted in surprise. And god, you could see everything swimming in those eyes, anger, anxiety, frustration, hope... fear. Everything inside of you toppled over, and you made up your mind. You just needed a little push.

She straightened up and turned away without a word, jaw tightening. You knew you’d waited more than you should’ve, but it wasn’t too late. You stood to move to the other side of the table, and before Lou could register what you were about to do, you grasped her wrist, gently, spinning her around into your arms. She gasped, hand coming up to rest on your waist, steadying herself. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, eyes fluttering shut—you two had never been this intoxicatingly close, only pressed shoulder to shoulder when working on plans. This was something else entirely, as Lou was so warm, so close, that you could even see where her mascara had left little sooty smudges on her cheeks. You thought to yourself, god, I hope I haven’t gotten this all wrong. The next instant, you brushed your noses together, feeling your own breath come out in a shudder as your lips brushed hers, ever so slightly. Lou’s arm tightened around your waist, the other rushing to cup the back of your neck possessively. Tilting your head away, you let yourself pause, eyes still closed, breathing tremulously with all the hope, devotion, and understanding you held in your arms.

“Tell me to stop.” Your voice was strangely quiet in the thrumming air, and almost immediately, she pulled you in so her hips pressed against yours, breath coming out in hungry pants.

“Don’t.” Lou’s answer snapped something in you, and you lurched forward, sending your weight into hers, lips flush. Tangling your hands in her hair, you couldn’t resist, all slow and soft and fast and hard. She moaned into your mouth at the tension, and everything you’d tried to push away, lock away when you were with her rushed to the surface like tears in glossy eyes. And you let it, you let it rise into the air, into your chest, into the fingertips that caressed her scalp. And Lou, in turn, felt you against her, hot, heady, and held you as close as she dared, then a little closer, because you were always more, always lovingly, gorgeously more.

You could taste the coffee and cigarettes on her, and it felt so much like the right place to be that you smiled, a happy, effervescent hum bubbling up in you. You two broke apart, breathing hard, and you bit your lip, grinning so wide that your cheeks hurt. Lou raised an eyebrow at your expression, resisting the quirk that pulled at the corners of her kiss swollen lips.

“What’s so funny?”

Her demand sent a flush through you, and you just laughed again, pulling her in again for another kiss, chaste and playful this time.

“Me.” You gazed easily up at her amused face. “I was so stupid. I spend so long thinking about how I felt in my own head when I could’ve just thought about you, how you felt, and that would’ve given me an answer better than anything I could’ve come up with.”

Lou’s eyes softened, and it was her turn to press her lips to yours, gentle and giving, so unlike the bruising urgency of before. But no less welcome. “It doesn’t matter how you got there, what matters is that we’re here now.”

You nodded, tucking your face into the crook of her neck. You were a little shorter than her, so this was easy for you, and you felt her cheek against your hair.

“God, I—” you swallowed, inhaling deeply. She smelled like her bike, something clean and warm at the same time, and strangely enough, tequila, though you hadn’t tasted any of it. “I’m really sorry, Lou, I shouldn’t have handled… all of this… like I did.” You worried your lip between your teeth. “It hurt the both of us, it hurt you…”

Lou chuckled, thumb tracing circles just under your earlobe. Dropping a hand from your waist to find yours, she pressed your knuckles to her forehead, her cheek, her lips. “Darling, I said it doesn’t matter, didn’t I?”

I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Sighing, you pulled back, looking into her easy smile, her bright eyes, and you cupped her face to kiss her. You tried to put all you didn’t know how to say into it, and she seemed to understand, groaning softly into your mouth.

“Did you have fun at the course?” You asked quietly, pulling away.

“It was alright,” she replied noncommittally, swaying a little with you in her arms. “I’m sure they’re all drunk as all hell right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, surprised. “You didn’t drink?”

“Nope.” she shrugged. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You were about to reply, a smile playing itself on your lips, when the loft door flew open. Voices filled the loft, a few tipsy shouts accompanied the clatter which you knew was the coat stand tipping over. You felt Lou tense a little up a little beside you, but you didn’t bother to move from your sanctuary in her arms. She relaxed again, also not bothering to separate herself from you.

Debbie walked in with the group, reaching the kitchen first. Upon spotting the two of you, arms wrapped around each other, she broke out into a wide grin.

“Constance, you owe me five!” She yelled, turning back to you. I’m happy for you, she mouthed in your direction, and you just smiled, leaning your head on Lou’s shoulder.

“Seriously?” You could hear Constance stumble her way to Debbie, a flush on her cheeks. She groaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. “Come on!”

“Five thousand, hand it over.” You giggled at Debbie’s smug expression, and without looking, you knew that Lou was amused too, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I knew it.”

“Wait. you knew? You fixed it, you fixed the bet!” Debbie dragged the protesting Constance away, sending a wink in your direction. The rest of them had made it over to the kitchen by now, Tammy rolling her eyes with a ‘jeez, about time,’ and Rose giving a shriek as she spotted you.

“Lou’s got herself a girl,” she sang, Aminta joining in. Daphne and Nineball sported twin smirks as they passed by, giving you a little salute.

“Come on,” Lou whispered in your ear, making you shiver. “Let’s go out.” You felt her arm tighten around your waist, leading you towards the door. Passing by the group, you chuckled at their cheers, shaking your head when Lou leveled a mock glare at them. Feeling the warmth bubbling in your chest chasing away the guilt of the past months, you reached for her hand and interlaced her fingers with yours.

a/n: title from ben platt’s ‘honest man.’ hope you enjoyed! comments, reblogs, asks, etc. are always welcome :)

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all works are crossposted on my my ao3

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, or take from my work in any way without express permission. thank you!

#fanfiction #ocean's 8 #oceans 8 #oceans8 #lou miller #lou miller fanfiction #lou miller x reader #lou x reader #cate blanchett #debbie ocean #rose weil #daphne kluger #wlw #fluff #angst #wlw fanfiction #lgbtq

[jeffwittekcuts]

Reckless Desires (J.W)

Or where Sebastian is with Yn but in a turn of events Jeff and Yn give into their reckless desires and get caught.

Here’s Part Two of The Butterfly effect series, if you haven’t  go check out Part One right here.

It had been a long time since he last dreamt about her, but it had been a couple of hours since he had thought about her, God he wished he could dream about her again, only then could he tell her how much she meant to him, that she should be with him, that his body ached for her, but for now his hand and imagination would do the trick.

Sebastian slowly caressed y/n’s face, he thought she had the most angel-like face when she slept, even though she strongly disagreed with him , he still liked to wake up and think he was in heaven laying next to an angel.They had just barely started dating but he felt like he knew her from a thousand past lives, he was so infatuated with her, he had slipped and “I love you” to her which he cooly played off, but he was dying for the day he would actually tell her.

Y/n had awakened from Sebastian’s small chuckles, seeing he liked to pretend she was an angel and he had woken up in heaven next to her.When he first told her about it she could feel her heart melting, no man had ever made her feel that, not even Jeff, who from time to time she thought about, there was something about him that a small piece of her could not get enough of.

Friday came along quite quickly, since when she least expected it Zane was already asking what club they'd be going that night. Y/n was thrilled about the idea of going out, because although they pretty much go out every week, she'd spend most of her time with Sebastian, and there was really nothing wrong with that, she just missed getting shit faced with Natalie and Zane and not feel guilty about it. See now that Sebastian was in the picture she had limited herself to a few drinks , that way he would not have to worry about her. Seb was out visiting some college friends so she knew she'd make the most out of it.

Y/n had opted on wearing a red top, a black skirt with slits and some platforms that made her feel real tall.She was pretty much done with her glam and then she remembered she had nobody to look after her, immediately Jeff came to mind, she felt kind of awkward asking him, it's not like they didn't talk, but ever since she got with Sebastian things had been different.She debated herself for a few minutes and then she decide to text him

“Hey, could you keep an eye on me tonight?” she wanted to be straight forward rather than doing the whole fake “Hey how's it going” scenario, quickly Jeff replied

“No Seb?” he asked to which se briefly replied

“Out of town, you in?” 

“Yeah, for sure, count on it”  Jeff could feel his heart start to pound faster, he was very nervous, this was his chance and he was going to take it

The night had started Y/n, Natalie and Zane had pregamed more than usual, but they were sure as hell feeling themselves. The clock had just hit 12 when Jeff made his way into the club, he would have gotten there sooner if he wasn't as nervous and had to drive slower than normal. Zane and Y/n were mid dance when she spotted Jeff talking to David, her heart started to race, she couldn't understand why she felt this way, but it is nothing she'd ever felt before with anyone. What happened next shocked her even more, it was as if an electric feel took over her body and had made her run towards Jeff in excitement, like a golden retriever seeing its owner.

Jeff was just asking David if he knew where Y/n was, when he saw her running towards him and in a matter of seconds she had thrown herself onto him and wrapped herself like a monkey, giving him probably the best embrace he'd ever experienced in his whole life.She hugged Jeff fro what felt like a lifetime, still wrapped around him , she stared deep into his eyes and hugged him one more time. Jeff started right back, her eyes were so intoxicating, she looked so beautiful he didn't want to stop looking at her, but she quickly hugged him one last time before letting go.

“Jeff, I missed you so much, God it really has been forever!” There it was again that electric feel she couldn't explain. “How’s it been?” she asked very ecstatically

 “Everything’s good, glad we could see each other, I missed you too, kid.” God he had sounded like an old man calling her kid, but his mind had crashed and he could not get his words right, her beauty had him under some spell making him forget everything.

“Kid? Jeez you're just a couple of years older than me” Now he really felt embarrassed. “Come on old timer let’s dance, just don't break a hip on me ” she said jokingly, making him laugh in response.

Dancing with Y/n felt great, just like when they were friends with benefits. Watching her drink was fascinating, how such a little lady like her could hold so much liquor, she was most likely going to puke it all in a matter of hours and yet he was happy he was going to be there for her. Remember that matter of hours? Make it minutes he could tell she had started to feel sick, he rushed her to the bathroom ignoring her complaints of her being fine. Making their way into the toilets he spotted one at the very end as empty and once aging rushed.

“Jeff, really I'm fineeee, I just got a little dizzy, that's all, don't even worry about it babe” as soon as that word left her mouth she tried to play it cool, God! Why did she say that? And why did it not feel wrong but so right to call him that, Sebastian! For fucks sake, that's her babe not Jeff, that ship had sailed a long time ago, right? “Let get you washed up then” he quickly said as he got off his trance and helped her off the bathroom floor, babe, she'd never called him that, but God had it felt right, his heart once again could not stop beating fast specially after she called him that.Quickly making their way to the sink, like most girls, Y/n decided to sit in the sink after cleaning up, and rest for a second. “Why do girls always do that?” Jeff asked out of sheer curiosity “I don't really know but it's really cool and feels good you know? She answered, why did she get up there? Another question she would never know its answer like why she had called Jeff babe.”Hey your mascara is kinda running down, let me help you real quick” Jeff said as y/n looked in the mirror she had just been laying on,“Shit, I look like a raccoon” as soon as the words left her mouth she could have sworn she heard Jeff said “Yeah a cute one”. Shit! Jeff cursed to himself and hoped she didn't catch that, he hurried and got her some toilet paper, not without getting a few looks from girls, but quickly dismissing them and getting back to Y/n.

Jeff got back with the toilet paper and quickly wet it and started cleaning up her residual mascara.Y/n did not realize how close they were until she could feel his and her breath crashing, and when she least expected it she started to stare at his face almost like she was analyzing him. He could feel y/n staring, he really didn't mind, it felt good, like everything else did with her that night. He wanted to kiss her so badly, his whole body was aching for that kiss and he knew if he didn't take his chance he'd never have one again. Getting as humanly close as possible to y/n’s face he stayed there, he felt her rest her forehead on his, nervously in a whisper he asked “ can i kiss you?” everything went quiet for a second before she weakly let put a “y-yes” and without wasting time he kissed her.

Adrenaline was rushing through their bodies, making sure no one saw them Jeff picked y/n up and took her to a stall, wasting no time he only took her panties off and thrusted into her causing y/n to moan in pleasure. Sweat dripping, heating bodies and the sound of their moans filled the room, they fucked as if the world was ending, it had been a while and finally they both climaxed. Quickly dressing up, Y/n and Jeff looked at each other giggling like teenagers. 

As they got out of the stall, there was Sebastian standing in front of them, tears streaming down his face, Y/n felt herself frozen, her pulse dropped as well, like an epiphany she realized what she had done.Then it all happened so quickly, Seb throwing himself at Jeff, punching each other aggressively like in the Rocky movies. Security and the squad rushing in the bathroom, both men being dragged out as they yelled profanities at each other, everyone staring as the whole shit show went down, y/n rushing behind the whole thing in an attempt to explain herself, but feeling herself sick and before collapsing the faint, hurt whisper of Sebastian saying “ How could you?”.

Thank you guys for being so patient, I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I did writing it :)

#jeffwittekcuts #jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagines #vlogsquad

[groundcontrol21]

Landfall (Black Sails, M, 1/2)

Y’all had to have known this was coming 😈 I am utterly appalled at the lack of Black Sails recognition. So, to remedy that, have some Sick!Flint. If you have not watched Black Sails, watch it. I purposefully avoided spoiling anything major in this fic because it is truly the best show I have ever had the pleasure to watch and I do not want to spoil that for anyone. If you want queer characters, ships, pirates, badass women, ships (did I mention those already?) and show writing that feels like the best of literature, watch this show. That said, if you have seen it, this takes place before the show starts, when Captain Flint is building his image as the fearsome pirate he is when we meet him.

This was actually incredibly hard to write, both because I felt such an intense pressure to do these wonderful characters justice and because Flint is just an impermeable wall. Like this man could just take a cannonball to the face and not bat an eye. So I tried my best to stay in character and still let him suffer a bit :) Onwards! Hopefully a bit more sneezing in the next part.

They had made landfall in Nassau in the evening, just as the sun was beginning to set. The storm clouds that had then been rolling into the harbor quickly from the interior of the island were now unleashing a torrential downpour upon Captain Flint as he urged his horse faster inland through the mud. It had taken them long into the night, well after the rain had begun to unload all the cargo they had taken, and as such he was as soaked as though pulled from the ocean. Though being so wet would doubtless not do well for the headcold he was brewing, neither would spending the night at the Guthrie’s tavern do well for his headache.

When he arrived at Miranda’s home, he tied up his horse in the stable and limped into the house, his leg aching from the ride or the fight for the ship or the weather or God knows what else. The wind blew the door shut with a loud crash behind him. Flint stood for a moment, water dripping from him like a personal rainstorm, breathing heavily and not altogether successfully keeping himself from coughing. In the hearth, a dying fire cast its dim light on the room. He hung his coat, more wet rag now than anything, beside the door, when he heard a shuffling from the bedroom.

Miranda emerged in her nightgown, her hair mussed slightly from its updo in sleep. She smiled at him but Flint, upon seeing her hands empty, did not return it.

“Where’s the pistol I gave you?” he growled. “To protect yourself.”

Turning her back to him, Miranda went to stoke the fire up higher. “I left it behind, seeing as though I know there is only one man mad enough to ride out and barge in my door at this hour and in this weather. Thank you, by the way. For the puddle.”

Miranda pulled a stool out in front of the hearth and Flint sank into it, the wood creaking as his weight melted into it. “Homecoming gift,” he gritted out.

“There’s blood in it.”

“Eh?”

“In the puddle. Mixed with the water.”

“My leg, probably. Haven’t really had the chance to look at it yet.” He spared a glance at his thigh; the light was low, coming only from the fire, but he thought he could make out a glisten of red somewhere along the sodden black fabric of his trousers, as well as a tear. He coughed to clear his throat. “There’s a book. In my cloak. Probably soaked through, but it’s there. Erasmus.”

“Good that you had the time and the sense to raid a bookshelf.” Flint picked up on the unspoken and not tend to your leg and he did not care for the accusation of it, but he did not rise to the bait, simply too exhausted to do so. His head and limbs ached, and now that the promise of a hearth and true dryness was so near he could scarcely stand the wet scratch of his clothes against his skin.

Miranda disappeared to the kitchen, no doubt to boil water and prepare a salve to clean his wound. They had fallen into this rhythm, such that Flint himself could recognize which cloths and jars she pulled down based only on the direction of her footsteps and the squeaking of the cabinets. The farthest to the left of the stove was the highest pitched and it was there she kept her lavender soap which, for reasons unclear, she used only on him. He heard her open it. It would be wasted on him tonight, not that it ever wasn’t, for he was too full of cold to consider smelling it.

He gave three shuddering sneezes, the wetness of his hair snaking around his temples chilling him further. Briefly he considered going to his coat to retrieve his handkerchief, soaked as it no doubt was, but when he looked up he saw Miranda re-enter, holding a platter full of bowls and bandages to treat him, and he knew he would get a row for getting up again to bleed more on her floor.

“Dutch merchant ship with a hold full of spices and tobacco,” he told her as she set the tray down with a soft clang on the coffee table beside where he sat. She lit a candle “Enough to keep the men satisfied for a while.”

“How long is that?”

“Two months at least. Enough for us to ride out the worst of the winter storms on la--Careful!” Flint jerked back as Miranda pulled at the tear in his trouser leg, ripping it open to expose the gash on his thigh.

“Hush, they’ll have to be sewn up again, anyway.”

“At this rate, they’ll have to be replaced!”

Miranda sighed as she took in the extent of the injury, fresh blood gleaming deeply in the candlelight, then gave an airy chuckle. There was a sadness nestled deeply within it, almost imperceptible, that hurt Flint far more than the wound did. “I suppose I should have pegged you as a man who cared more for his clothing than for himself.”

Flint talked around that sadness, as they always did. “Says the woman who is more worried about bloodstains on her floor than what put them there. I think I could come in without a leg and you’d be particular about what I bled on.”

Miranda smiled, almost to herself, as she wet a cloth in the bowl of soapy water and wrung it out, before placing it on Flint’s leg. “If you had a home to clean and take care of, you’d be particular as well.”

They fell silent after that, the only sounds being the crackle of the fire and the melodic repetition of Miranda dunking the cloth in the bowl, the droplets pittering as she wrung it out, the soft squish as she pressed cloth gently to his wound. It was not unlike the cadence of a ship, the rushing waves and heaving creaks, and Flint lost himself in it, the sting of the soap as she scrubbed the only thing keeping him from drifting to sleep.

His sniffling grew more insistent as the fragrance of the soap loosened his congestion. He sneezed again, twice, jerking away from Miranda as she was wrapping a bandage around his thigh.

“You’ve picked up a cold, too, on your voyage,” she observed, not pausing her pressure on the wound as she continued to wrap it.

“It’s nothing.”

“Well, yes, compared to the gash on your leg a great number of things are nothing.” Her hands paused in tying the bandage, holding the pressure there as she looked up at him, the question unsaid burning like an ember behind her eyes. In London, she would have asked—she had asked when he had come around with a split lip from a bar fight or a bruise from his training—but since they had come to Nassau there were a great many questions she had stopped asking.

Flint met her eyes for the briefest of moments. She would not ask how he had come by this latest set of injuries, but she knew enough to fill the gaps, perhaps even enough to construct a story close to the truth. She was a smart, smart woman and Flint did not deserve her.

Her voice softened as she dropped her gaze, wiping away with a clean cloth the blood that had already seeped around the edges of the bandage. “Please, try to take care of yourself a bit, James.”

Flint made a sound in his throat, an attempt at a grunt or a scoff perhaps, but it caught and turned to a rough cough. Miranda said nothing, but set to gathering the bloody cloths and filthy bowls back on the tray. The sight of the blood, the dirt of his world infiltrating and infecting hers, made his chest burn in a way that had nothing to do with his illness.

Miranda hesitated and cupped his cheek briefly before picking up the tray, bidding him look at her. The firelight flicked across her eyes. “Allow me to do what I can. I know there are…” She broke their gaze for a moment and swallowed. “Limits to what I can do, what I can understand, but please. Let me be here for you.”

Flint smoothed a stray piece of her hair back behind her ear and studied her a moment, beholding with a sinking stomach the lines on her face, lines that had been from ceaseless smiles back in London turned lines sour with stress here in Nassau. He owed this to her, owed her the world after what he had put her through.

“I only mean you needn’t trouble yourself over this,” he said. “Over me, over a headcold, over a cut on my leg. It’s nothing that I haven’t experienced before and I’ve borne it--”

“The men aren’t here to see you,” Miranda said abruptly, and damn her for always knowing his mind even when Flint scarcely knew it himself. She carried on, her voice softening. “Any weakness you think you might display, they are not here to see it. There’s no need to be Captain Flint in this house.”

With that she turned back for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder that she would bring Flint a towel to dry himself while she made up the spare bed. Flint coughed again, knowing that if he had had the energy to follow his instinct he would have yelled at her for some senseless reason, perhaps for the sin of cutting through to the core of the very armor of ferocity he was trying to build for himself. Shame burned in his belly, and he took a small measure of comfort in the throb of his injury and the fire in his throat, as a twisted form of penance or punishment. He had become an angry man since leaving London. He had always been subject to passion, to being overcome, to loss of control. The accursed Admiral Hennessey had even observed as much. But the raw permanence of his anger, burrowing deep within him and taking up hold like a parasite, was something altogether new and different. In quiet moments such as this, he loathed himself for it.

Miranda returned to him with a towel and a handkerchief before departing to the bedroom. Flint made judicious use of both the items, his sneezing assaulting him with a vengeance as he became dry, as if to punish him for having gotten so wet in the first place. He had been ill all manner of times and in all manner of places: belowdecks in the Navy, at port, on land, even once prior on the Walrus. And this present headcold of his, while decidedly uncomfortable and a nuisance as all headcolds are, certainly ranked among the least of these times. Were he alone or at sea, he would have treated it as he treated all minor ailments: by simply going about his business as usual, perhaps indulging in a bit of rum to take the edge off the soreness in his throat. But, it was undeniably relaxing, freeing even, to know that he would sleep in a bed tonight and not have to wake to maps and ropes and captaincy in the morning. Flint felt his shoulders fall at the realization, felt the muscles in his jaw unclench, until the strain of sailing and fighting to take the Dutch caravel was as much in the background as the soft sputtering of the fire in the hearth.

His eyes slipped shut, and perhaps he had even fallen asleep briefly sitting up, when Miranda shook his shoulder gently. She nodded at him and he nodded back, feeling stupid and disoriented with fatigue. Doubtless sensing this, she led him by the arm to the spare bedroom that may as well become his as much as his own cabin at sea.

“I’ve left you an old nightshirt, in the drawers.”

Flint was overcome by a fit of sneezing and coughed a bit when he had finished, prompting Miranda to pat the pillow and add, “And handkerchiefs, tucked underneath.”

She turned to leave but he caught her by the wrist and brought her fingers to his lips. They were warm, and even through his congestion he could smell the lavender soap upon them. “Thank you,” he rasped. For everything. If ever there were a time for her to read his mind, it was now.

Miranda leaned forward and placed a ghost-light kiss on his cheek. “Try not to get too much blood on my sheets. It is absolutely beastly to get out.”

She left him, then, with a smile, and Flint gave one of his own to the empty room before collapsing on the bed and falling asleep almost instantly, uncaring of damp clothes or soaked bandages or words he should have said but lacked the courage to voice.

#black sails #fanfic #sick flint #flint and miranda #fetishblog #sick #snez #whump #my writing

[iamvegorott]

Salt Of The Sea Ch. 19

Foresight

“Go ahead and prepare the ship, I’m going to visit…a friend of ours,” Dark said to Wilford after stepping out of Celine and Damian’s house. 

“I was hoping you’d visit him,” Wilford said with a chuckle. “Alright, boys, let’s get the crew and find our fish.” Wilford laughed as he lead CJ and RJ away. 

“Don’t call them...whatever.” Dark sighed and started walking the other way. “Good morning, Ms. Applegate.” 

“Morning, dear.” Ms. Applegate gave Dark a bright smile. “How have we been?” 

“I’ve been good.” 

“Oh, Dark, you know you can’t lie to me. You’re troubled, I can tell.” Ms. Applegate went up to Dark and placed a hand on the pendent of his necklace. “You’re seeing him today, right?” 

“Yes. I have some questions.” Dark said. “I don’t really believe but-”

“Again with the lying.” Ms. Applegate giggled. “Make sure you do what’s best for you, Dark, don’t let others get in the way.” 

“Maybe I should be paying you instead of him,” Dark said.

“I make jewelry dear, nothing more.” Ms. Applegate gave Dark’s chest a pat before moving away. 

“I’m sure Celine says the same.” Dark hummed before continuing on. 

“Was there a festival or holiday or something yesterday?” Dark overheard a merchant say. 

“Why are you asking?” Another merchant said. 

“There were fellas walkin’ around covered in paint. Little drawings on ‘em.” 

“That’s strange, maybe we missed something.” Dark waited and watched until the two changed the subject and were now discussing prices. Dark was thankful he didn’t have to step in, he didn’t need to waste any more time. Dark went up to a large, tan-colored tent. A teenage girl was sitting at a little homemade desk, perking up when she saw Dark.

“Perfect timing Dark.” The teenager giggled. “He currently doesn’t have clients in there. But I bet you already knew dad would have that planned.” 

“Thank you, Annalise,” Dark said. “I’ll try to be quick.” 

“Quick? Take your time, why does everyone always want to rush things?” Annalise propped her feet up and started filing her nails. “Nothing wrong with being sure.” 

“Not at all.” Dark slipped into the tent. 

“Hello, Dark.” The greeting came from a man with a blindfold over his eyes, and an almost black coat, three-sizes too large, shrouded his body’s form as he sat at a small circular table. 

“Hello, Host.” Dark greeted back. “I assumed you were expecting me?”

“Your energy is strong and it has grown.” Host’s face was towards a crystal ball, hands resting on it and moving ever so slightly as he spoke. 

“It’s grown?” Dark went to the chair on the other side and sat. 

“Grown or changed.” Host said. “Something new is happening in your life and it’s affected you deeply.” 

“It’s causing me annoyance.” Dark adjusted himself so that he was comfortable, slouching even. 

“Then why keep the change? You’re not one to let a burden stay in your life, not after the ones you’ve already had.” 

“Gold.” 

“Gold?” Host repeated with a chuckle. “If that’s the tale you want to tell.” Host lowered his hands from the ball and crossed them on the table. “Do you wish to go through your usual checklist?” 

“Always to the point, but, yes, how’s Wilford?” 

“His energy has grown as well, similar to how it’s been two times before. Is his new addition part of the burden on you?” 

“Is he happy?”

“His energy is positive.”

“Then it’s not.” Dark chewed on his lip for a moment, hesitating and knowing that Host wouldn’t continue without the question. “How is the other?” 

“He’s alive.” Host said in a flat tone.

“Of course he is.” Dark sighed.

“He’s alive and his energy grows with curiosity and grows near as well.” Host’s hands went back to his crystal ball. “But first you need to deal with a new energy that will be joining you all soon.” 

“Again?” Dark groaned. “Any tell on who or at least what they are?” 

“All I can see is that the energy is similar to the new happenings of your life.” Host’s brows scrunched. “It’s more inclined towards the new happenings. It’ll affect them more than you.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“I can not tell, I’m sorry.”

“Any guess on when?”

“Very soon, very very soon. You need to get to the ship. You need to go now. I am trying to look beyond but it’s fighting back.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Dark stood up and placed his hands over Host’s. “Thank you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Host allowed Dark to move his hands away from the crystal ball. 

“Don’t apologize, you always do more than expected.” 

“You should go. Tell me daughter I need rest.” 

“Of course, I’ll see you again Host and hopefully it won’t be as long of a break and I’ll get to stay longer.” 

“I look forward to your visit.”

“Goodbye.” Dark tapped the top of Host’s hands twice before leaving the tent, waving down Annalise. “Host needs rest.”

“Did you make him push himself again?” Annalise asked, shoulders going tense and looking ready to fight. 

“He’s fine, I promise. I’m just relaying the message.” Dark held his hands up and moved away, hearing Annalise going to the tent and scolding her father. Dark went towards the ship, flashing Ms. Applegate a quick smile as he passed and was soon stopped by an, out of breath, Bim. 

“We gotta...we gotta...the ship…”

“Let’s go then.” Dark took off first. Bim groaned and took a few quick breaths before taking off as well. 

“Dark! There you are!” Wilford called from the top of the ship. “We have an emergency!” 

“Who’s hurt?” Dark asked, boarding the ship with Bim. 

“None of us but-”

“It’s Mad,” Google said, coming out from the navigation room. 

“What about him?” Dark asked, seeing that the others were getting the ship ready to sail. 

“He sent us a message.” Google glanced over his shoulder and saw Bing coming out of the room as well. 

“We need to get there as soon as we can, he says it’s getting worse,” Bing said.

“What’s getting worse?” Dark snapped his fingers to get everyone to look at him. 

“Mad said they found a Siren trapped in one of his fishnets,” Google said.

“Okay? And that affects us because?” 

“He says he looks like one of our Sirens and speaking of them, they already left without us.” 

“They left?” Dark scoffed, ignoring the strange pang in the pit of his stomach at hearing the Sirens having abandoned them. 

“We’re going to follow them, right?”

“I don’t-”

“Aren’t you the one that said you wanted Mad on our side?” Bing’s sudden interruption threw everyone off. “Mad needs help and if we ignore him, he’ll never help us again. He’s the one that gave us this communication and this map, we owe him.” 

“Fine. We’ll go.” Dark pointed at Bing. “And if you speak to me like that again, you’ll be sleeping below deck.”

“Yes, Captain.” Bing saluted before going back inside. 

“As soon as the ship is ready, set sail,” Dark called out his order as he went up to the second floor. 

“Yes, Captain!” The crew called back. 

“A new energy similar to the new happenings…” Dark said to himself as he watched the others below. “I hope they’re at least helpful.”

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

Tag List: (let me know if you want added)

@takethepainawaybae @shadowkitten0321 @adverseflyer909 @constantgaycrisis @m0th-goo @rainymae523 @rukus-kiss-my-lips-platonically @robot-intestines @phonenix @vociferous-chaos @batsam19 @bapbee @walking-mess25 @voonespelle @madallice329 @grnpurplgrmln @graveyardlettuce @aoimatsurika @nightwillow18 @the-writing-from-space-world @teenwithaphone @hakuna-matata-666-13 @a-star-with-a-human-name

#danti #salt of the sea #siren tales trilogy #we gonna be seeing a hero next chapter >.> #and we got to see Host!!!