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benispunk · 3 months ago

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Who's that girl?

Chapter 3: Stuck With You

The trio hangs out for the first time outside the apartment.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, mentions of dark backgrounds.

A/N: third chapter!!! this one is really short, sorryyyy...but I'll post another fic as well as a new chapter this week to compensate, I pinky promise!! this explores the trio's dynamic again but do not worry, things are coming 🫡 alright I'll leave you to it!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part / Next Part

The sun hung low over the city, casting golden light over the streets. Y/N had spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around her new neighborhood. It had been a week now, and between settling down and work she hadn’t had the time to walk around the streets. Wade had recommended a few places that he thought she would like. She strolled through narrow alleys and wide streets, passing cafes, small bookshops, and one bustling market. There was also this cute park a few blocks down where she stayed for lunch. It was all new, yet there was something comforting about this quiet exploration.

She hadn't quite figured out how to navigate the subtle rhythm of her new life— but she would managed. Everything’s going to be okay, she reminded herself.

When the evening chill began to creep in, she made her way back to the apartment. She was looking forward to spending time with Logan and Wade; the three of them had started to form an unexpected bond. As she climbed the steps to the apartment, she wondered if they were home yet. She could already imagine Wade cracking jokes, Logan rolling his eyes, and her somewhere in between, soaking up the dynamic. She already loved them so much.

The second she unlocked the door and stepped inside, Wade's voice boomed from the kitchen.

" And she returns!" He leaned against the counter, grinning. « So? How was your little solo adventure?".

Y/N smiled, closing the door behind her. "Amazing. I visited all the places you recommended and I’m definitely going back as soon as possible". Wade pumped his fists in victory with a little "Yes!", which made Y/n smile even more.

Logan appeared in the living room, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You got lost?"

"Only once or twice," she admitted, tossing her bag onto the couch. "But it's nice around here. I loved the park— I might check it out more later this week."

Wade clapped his hands together. "Perfect. Now that Dora the Explorer is back, we can finally head out to the bar. My set starts in an hour." His eyes sparkled mischievously. "And you're both coming, right? Because what's a gig without my loyal fan base?"

Y/N grinned. « I can’t wait! »

Logan just shrugged but nodded, clearly used to Wade’s antics. "Yeah, alright. Let’s go."

———

The bar had a laid-back atmosphere. Dim lights flickered over dark wooden tables, the low hum of conversation mixing with the occasional clink of glasses. They found a booth near the stage, a perfect spot to watch Wade’s performance later.

Y/N slid into the booth, Logan following after her while Wade grabbed drinks from the bar. She glanced around, taking in the crowd. People were laughing, chatting, and enjoying the night.

"This place is cool," she commented.

Logan nodded, leaning back in his seat. "Wade performs here a lot. Thinks he’s the star attraction."

She laughed. "Well, I guess we’ll find out tonight."

A moment later, Wade returned with drinks, setting them down on the table. He plopped down on the seat across from them, a wide grin on his face. "Alright, Y/N, prepare yourself for the best comedy set you’ve ever seen— or, well, at least the best one you’ll see tonight."

Y/N grinned. "No pressure."

They sipped their drinks, the conversation starting off light. Wade was in his element, cracking jokes about the people around them, the bartender, the state of the world. It was easy to laugh with him, the energy infectious, and even Logan cracked a few smiles in between his usual deadpan responses.

As the night wore on, Wade excused himself to get ready for his set, leaving Y/N and Logan alone at the booth.

"You think he’s nervous?" Y/N asked, watching Wade walk toward the stage.

Logan shrugged. "If he is, he hides it well."

They shifted their gazes to the stage as the lights dimmed, and Wade took the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Wade’s voice boomed through the speakers. "Give it up for me!" He winked at the crowd, earning a round of laughter.

"But seriously, thanks for coming out tonight. I hope you’re all ready to laugh, because I’m in desperate need of some validation!"

Y/N and Logan laughed along with the rest of the audience, Wade launched into his set, his energy filling the room. He was good—better than Y/N had expected. His jokes were sharp, his timing perfect, and he knew how to work the crowd. Y/N found herself laughing harder than she had in a while, and even Logan seemed to be enjoying himself.

———

After Wade’s set, the three of them were back at the booth, drinks in hand, a warm buzz from the alcohol and the laughter still lingering in the air.

Wade took a long drink from his glass and leaned back in his seat, satisfied. "Not bad, huh? I’d say I killed it."

Y/N grinned. "I have to admit, you were pretty great."

"Pretty great?" Wade put a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "Come on, I was spectacular."

"Sure, bub" Logan deadpanned, taking a sip of his beer. "Spectacular."

Wade waved a hand. "I’ll take it."

"It was fantastic, Wade, really." Y/n declared and Wade grinned, before thanking her.

The conversation drifted into the easy banter that had become familiar between them. They teased each other, joked about the people in the bar, and laughed at some of Wade’s stories from previous gigs. It felt good— natural.

At some point, after a pause in the conversation, Y/N found herself staring down at her drink, feeling the weight of the day. She hadn’t meant to go there, but something about the night— the warmth, the comfort of being with them— made her want to share more.

"You know, I’m really glad I found you guys." she said quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "I never thought I would ever get along so well with people. I mean, that fast. You really welcomed me into your family and I’m grateful. So, thank you for that."

Logan and Wade both smiled at her, their expressions softening.

"God, what did I say about making people want to cry?" Wade said, wiping a fake tear from his eyes.

Y/n chuckled and joined his act, "I’m sorry, I need to break some rules too!"

"Too?! What are you insinuating ? You’re a teacher, you should be ashamed of yourself."

They all laughed before the tone became serious again, "I don’t want to talk in Logan’s name, but, I'm going to anyway— it’s a real pleasure to have you. Like, you’re a perfect roommate. And you survived a whole week with us? I know people who would die just thinking about it— "

"Okay, that’s enough," Logan intervened, "but he’s right. We’re glad to have you too. And if you ever feel like you’re tired of us, please, don’t keep it to yourself."

Y/n smiled softly, "Thank you."

They talked again for a while, about their day, their week, anything that would come to mind. Somehow, the conversation wouldn’t stop.

Y/N took a slow sip from her drink, her smile lingering but her eyes distant, as if a thought had crossed her mind during the conversation. Logan noticed first, tilting his head slightly.

"Something on your mind?" he asked gently.

Y/N glanced up, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. "It’s just... talking about being part of your ‘family’— it got me thinking about mine."

Wade, who had been busy throwing peanuts in his mouth while telling yet another story, paused and looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Oh, are we diving into family history now? Because I’ve got stories that’ll make your childhood look like Disneyland."

Y/N chuckled but shook her head softly. "No, it’s just... my family’s complicated." She took another sip, as if to steady herself. "I had a great childhood, really it was perfect. I mean, I know nothing’s perfect and 'normal' doesn’t exist, but it was great. Until it wasn't, of course."

Logan leaned in slightly, his expression soft but attentive. "What happened?"

Y/N’s fingers absently traced the rim of her glass again. "My parents divorced when I was 12, I think? It was a mess. They were fighting over who would keep the children. My brother was already in college and his dream was to leave the country, so, it was only me and my parents. In the end, I would stay at my mom’s during the week and my dad’s on the weekend. You know the drill. Anyway…"

Y/N sighed softly. "Even after it was done, they would still fight. And I realized they weren’t even fighting to keep me anymore. When I was at my mom’s she would only talk bad things about my dad, and vice versa on the weekends, and I felt so lonely. So, it’s kind of like my deepest fear now, to be alone. I mean, I can be alone of course, but to feel like everybody abandoned you and you’re just by yourself? That feeling, well, you made me forget it."

There was a silence for a moment, a contemplative pause. Then Wade spoke, his tone unusually serious. "Yeah. I get that." He glanced at Y/N, then at Logan. "My childhood was... rough. I’m not going into details but, yeah, I was alone for other reasons. And I still had to go to school and because of what was happening at home I guess I developed my own medicine for that. Humor became my way of dealing with it. I learned that if I could make people laugh, I could hide what was really going on."

Y/N felt a pang of empathy for him. She hadn’t expected Wade to open up like that, but it made sense. The humor, the constant jokes—it was his armor, just like she had her own ways of coping.

Logan shifted in his seat, his gaze focused somewhere beyond the table. "I’ve got a brother," he said, his voice low. "Victor. We don’t really talk anymore. Haven’t in a long time."

Y/N and Wade waited, sensing there was more.

"Things went south with him a while back. We were close when we were kids because…some stuff happened, but... yeah." He trailed off, the unsaid heavy in the air.

Wade took a sip of his drink, his usual bravado softened by the seriousness of the moment. "Family, huh? It’s a mess. But," he added, flashing a grin, « You two? You’re both stuck with me now."

Y/N laughed, and even Logan’s lips quirked into a small smile. The heaviness of the conversation lifted slightly, but the bond between them felt a little stronger after that. They didn’t need to dive deeper right now— they all knew the weight of their stories, and that was enough for the moment.

The night carried on, the trio falling back into their rhythm of jokes and teasing, but something had shifted. The laughter was still there, the lighthearted banter, but now it was layered with a deeper understanding.

XXX

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 6 months ago

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from the flames | b. blake

masterlist

summary: season three — to signify the newly recognised alliance between the sky people and the grounders, a celebration is held within polis’ market square. a bonfire, alcohol, and the bawdy pulsation of drums is a sure-fire recipe for a stimulating night. add a watchful bellamy blake and his dancing muse into the mix, and, well… i’ll show you the consequences of such a potent combination.

pairing: bellamy blake x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: i haven’t recently been watching the 100 so the timeline and characterisation may be a little off. also, ik this took me a long ass time, but i’m gonna try and make sure the next two parts come out a little quicker <3 i love y’all!

word count: 2.5k

“People of Kongeda and Skaikru, tonight we gather as one, united by a common purpose and a shared future of alliance. Before us, this bonfire symbolises more than just a flame; it is a beacon of hope, an opportunity to cleanse old grudges and pain that has divided us for far too long.

“Let this fire signify a new beginning and serve as a reminder that unity is not our weakness, but our strength. Let it be known that from this day, we join not as enemies, but as allies, and anyone set upon spilling the blood of our allies is spilling the blood of us all. Let it be known: Jus drein, jus daun!”

“Jus drein, jus daun!”

As much as Lexa’s words intended to inspire harmony, the crowd massed below the second-floor balcony of the dominating tower she resided on reacted in any way but. Fierce declarations of worship were cried out; large fists were pumped in celebration; and misty clouds of brew and saliva were sprayed into the tepid night air.

All was well, for the first time since we landed on Earth.

“Happy Unity Day,” I murmured to myself, taking a sip from the metal cup in my hand. I was standing on the outer edges of the unruly crowd of dark, rugged figures, who were surrounding an unlit wooden mountain and raving as it abruptly burst into vociferous flames.

The monstrous tepee of sticks was raging at the centre of Polis’ trading square, an open area bordered with stalls and operating food vendors that infused the air with a salivating meaty aroma. Glimmers of light chipped away into the familiar starry night above and an orange ambience was cast throughout the square, seeming to blaze beneath the skin of those who orbited the fire.

It was a somewhat perplexing scene: to be together as one people, celebratingratherthan being at war with one another.

A pensive mechanic stepped in beside me, eyeing the mixed crowd of Grounders and Sky People.

Raven folded her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think the fact that the Ark originally had thirteen stations and the coalition now has thirteen clans is kind of…”

“Unsettling?” I finished for her. “Yeah. Probably best not tell these guys the story of how Polaris got blown out of the sky. Don’t want to give them any ideas.”

“Polaris… Polis…” she continued contemplating. “Think there’s anything equally unsettling about that?”

I looked at Raven. She looked back at me.

I sucked in a sharp breath—“I’m not drunk enough for this conversation”—and tipped the harsh contents of my cup down my throat. The liquid was molten in both its ferocity and colour and was infused with some potent earthly spice; it was a blow to the stomach upon consumption.

“Is that such a good idea?” Raven asked, judging me as my head craned back to capture the last few drops of throat-scorching goodness. “I’m all for pouring a glass when the occasion calls for it, but these people have stomachs lined with steel—what do you think yours is made of?”

I grimaced at the taste. “You tell me. You’re the genius.”

The roll of her eyes was deafening. “I’m just saying, they’ve probably spent decades perfecting their drinks to suit them, to match their tolerances. I mean, even that human fountain over there couldn’t handle it.” She nodded towards a cluster of barrels where a titan of a man wearing armoured shoulder pads and breastplates was hunched over, violently emptying his stomach onto the cobbled ground.

I swallowed my own stomach at the sight.

“I just assumed you wanted to spend the night somewhat differently,” she said, a sweet undertone of provocation twisting her words.

My brows furrowed, and I turned to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her lips twitched at the corners—never a good sign.

The thing was, I knew exactly what she meant. Her unspoken words had already been circling my mind for days, weeks, months even, increasingly accumulating with both heat and fervour.

As ironic as it was, I think it’s fitting to compare my situation to that of a star’s formation.

There I was, a delinquent sitting stagnant in a cold nebula of misery in the Sky Box, parted from my family and friends, sent hurtling to Earth to die, only then to have my cold, miserable cloud intruded upon by a fiery presence, a head of tousled brown waves and a pair of rich, dark chocolate eyes.

An awakener. An activator.

This intruder began filling my head with his words, his laughter, his brooding stare. The weight of his presence began to grow; thoughts of him consumed me. From the most surprisingly vulnerable conversations to even the tensest arguments, he had a heat inside me swirling and it was sweltering to unfathomable heights. It showed no signs of stopping.

Raven’s malevolent brown eyes were pointing plainly at something far behind me as if to answer my question. I knew what I would see even before turning around to look, but moronic as I was, I looked anyway.

Chin hovering over my shoulder, my eyes wandered through the scattered crowd of Grounders and Sky People alike that loitered the bonfire’s outskirts. There, sandwiched between Lincoln and an unoccupied trading stall, was a face that not only had my stomach contents lodged in my throat, but my heart as well.

Bellamy.

He was standing with his arms crossed, each one concealed beneath his distressed guard jacket. And although his stance screamed ‘Don’t talk to me,’ his face said otherwise. He and Lincoln were engaged in some high-spirited conversation, much unlike themselves (although the supply of drinks may have been to blame). Bellamy was speaking through one of his overconfident half-grins while alternating between gesturing to-and-fro with a single hand and tucking it back under his opposing bicep.

My chest was burning; the bonfire somehow must’ve seeped into my heart.

It should be stated here that when a nebula accumulates enough particles, it turns into a protostar—not a main sequence star like our sun, but something that holds the potential to be. At this point, the formation is at its most precarious. If a sufficient amount of mass is not acquired, the protostar will fail to stabilise and will cool into a brown dwarf, forever existing in the cold, lonely expansion of space as a reminder of what it could have been.

Bellamy’s head gravitated in my direction. Our eyes met through the asteroid belt of rugged figures between us. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned back around.

A reminder of what it could have been.

Sometimes I worry my insufficiency has damned me already.

“Oh, my god.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Oh my god, Raven, why would you put me through that?”

“In the hopes that you’ll finally grow a pair and do something about it,” she replied, taking a sip of her drink to conceal her smirk.

“About what?” Now I was just being evasive.

She let out a frustrated huff and folded her arms over one another. Her countenance was a reflection of impatience: the raised eyebrows, the slight downward tilt of her head, the pursed lips. I almost laughed at her theatricality; then again, I almost cried because I didn’t want the reason behind it to be true.

I wanted Bellamy Blake.

The confession was boiling inside me; it was burning the tip of my tongue, and I knew I had to let it out to cool. And if the words were never spoken to him, then they at least had to be expressed to someone else, even if I never admitted them in the exactness I felt, for the exact words would be so heinous, so—hedonistic, that if anyone were to hear them, I’d be thrown into lock-up for the rest of my days.

“Fine, I guess I’m… attracted to Bellamy,” I spoke slowly, cringing at my own words. Raven’s face immediately lit up like an overzealous Christmas tree, her smugly curved lips parting to no doubt release an incongruous stew of condemnation and encouragement, which I stopped before it could even start. “Anattraction that I am not going to act on, Raven; our friendship is rocky enough as it is. I mean,” I scoffed, “have I even told how we first met? I held a pocketknife to his neck our second night on the ground because he threatened to pry off my wristband in my sleep. And he actually tried! You know that tiny scar he has on his cheek? That was from me!”

“Yeah, sometimes I forget how much of a self-righteous dick he was for a while there,” Raven mused. Her face then screwed with confusion. “Wait, how did you two even become friends? Because when I came down, you were at each other’s throats every single day over one thing or another, and then out of nowhere, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.”

Ah.

The day the slate had been wiped clean.

A thick blurriness blanketed my vision as my mind withdrew from the present. You know when you get run down with some kind of sickness and your mind gets all scrambled and foggy? Like a fever dream? That’s what that day seemed like to me. Too many unimaginable things had happened, too many emotions and losses were felt, and I’d only shared them with one person before.

“You still there?”

My gaze flickered to Raven momentarily. She was staring at me, half with impatience, half with concern. “Just—” I raised my hand slightly in front of me “—give me a second.”

I inhaled. One, two, three. And I exhaled. Three, two, one.

A vulnerable creature of some sort nestled in my brain, softening the tone of my voice as I hesitantly began, “It was the, uh, the day the Exodus Ship crashed. My dad was on it,” I said, my last words barely audible. “Knowing that he was gone was one thing, but watching the ship crash? That messed me up for a good while.”

Raven, taken aback, muttered her apologies. I just shook my head in return. I sucked in a sharp breath, forcing the memory into the cobwebbed corners of my mind, and then continued, “Bellamy had found me in the woods that night. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. I think that seeing me in such a vulnerable state forced him to set aside his asshole-ry for a while because he actually managed to… comfort me.”

I remembered the tone of his voice, so shockingly gentle yet hardened in his trademarked sort of way as he reassured me endlessly that I would be okay. I remembered the warmth of his body as I lay crumpled and sobbing in his lap on the forest floor, clinging onto his arm as if it kept me from plummeting into a bottomless pit. I remembered his hands, swiping away the thousands of tears that streaked my face, the hair from my eyes.

I remembered our brief conversation as we walked back to camp: “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he had said, to which I whispered, “Thank you,” and after a short pause, he spoke again, “We all need someone sometimes. I know we don’t have the best history together but… I can be that someone if you ever need,” and then, once more, with an unwelcome flutter in my stomach, I whispered, “Thank you.”

A small, bittersweet smile lifted my lips. My voice sounded distant to my ears as I continued speaking. “We still nicked at each other here and there after that—that tension between us has never really disappeared—but there was also this new mutual understanding. And somewhere from mutual understanding came a rough-around-the-edges friendship, and then friendship turned into something else.” I paused to recollect my thoughts. “Well, for me, at least.”

Between the moment I started speaking to the moment I stopped, my gaze had wandered sheepishly to the toes of my boots. I felt so exposed, like the outer layers of my being had been cracked open to reveal a part of my soul to a girl I hadn’t even known existed until two months ago. Suddenly I remembered why I didn’t drink often.

I stood awkwardly, waiting. The weight of my confession and vulnerability were looming above us.

Raven was quiet; she made no witty remark or tease. Her eyes had only softened with understanding, shifting back and forth as my words were mulled over in her brain. And it was only from her foreign silence that I realised what her next question could be: why don’t you just tell him?

I began, “I don’t want to ruin—"

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she finally interrupted, shaking her head as if to dismiss my unspoken sentiment. “The age-old ‘I don’t want to ruin what we have right now’. But what exactly is that?” Her eyes once again interrogated mine. “Because I’ll make it clear to you right now and say that what you two have is not just friendship. Come on. You and Bellamy?” She shifted her head to catch my drifting gaze. “Anyone with eyes can see something is there, but clearly, neither of you have a pair.”

Talk about tough love.

A harsh outflow of air exited my nose, and I pushed my hair back out of my face. Everything was much more complicated than I thought it was. Was I really as blind as Raven said? I would have already seen what she does if it were true, right? Did Bellamy really feel the same?

Am I drunk?

I glanced behind me once more, catching a glimpse of Bellamy tilting his head back to finish his drink, exposing the sculptured column of his neck. Heat flushed through my cheeks.

Christ. I couldn’t let this one go. There wasn’t a chance.

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, still watching him.

An uproar of hoots and howls exploded throughout the square as the sound of drums and horns began to play, bringing my attention to the second-floor balcony of the Commander’s Tower where the noise floated down from. Drums pulsed with bawdy rhythm; horns bellowed with lewd backbone; a woman purred tribal vocalisations.

Bodies began swaying in disharmonious synchronisation around the bonfire, in pairs, in groups, individually. What tethered them was the raunchiness of their movements and the subtle carnality of their interactions with one another. I’d never seen anything like it; as I looked over at Raven and saw her similar intrigue, I knew she hadn’t either.

That was my mistake—to even acknowledge her in such a moment, especially after speaking about our previous topic. Her lips began stretching and stretching into a particularly wicked grin, and she turned to me. The devil was burning in her dark eyes.

Her answer to my question: “Give his eyes something to look at.”

part two

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake smut #bellamy blake fluff #bellamy blake imagine #bellamy blake fanfiction #the 100 #bob morley #bob morley smut #bellarke #bellamy blake x clarke griffin #wife of all dilfs ✍️#bellamyblake #raven reyes #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake x you

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anlian-aishang · 5 months ago

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Levi with an (Episodically) Depressed S/O

Tags: levi x reader, angst, hurt-comfort, gn!reader Word count: 900

Levi invites you to shower with him, making the obstacle less daunting and much more attractive. In his black robe, leaning on your bedroom door, two towels slung over his arm indicate the knowledge that you will say yes and accompany him. The way that he looks, the low plea in his voice, how could you say no?

It would be more accurate to say that he was bathing you, but he does not phrase it that way. Instead, he is humble, letting his actions speak louder than words. He does not tell you that he will shampoo your matted hair, does not flaunt how deliberately he exfoliates your limbs, he just does them for you. Some days, even just tipping the bottle or pumping some soap into your hand can seem mountainous. On those days, he sees those activities not as tasks, but as privileges. It is his honor to be the one looking after you in your most dire time. He would always prefer someone to take care of rather than someone to miss.

Showering together not only ensures that you stay clean, but his company prevents you from those timeless sessions sat on the tile floor. At the moment you look refreshed but before you become sleepy, he jerks the handle to the left and halts the devastatingly relaxing rain.

Always, your clean clothes are already folded atop the bathroom counter, waiting for you. Some times, you fail to remember that you did not put them there. Other times, you notice the sign of his relentless consideration, but are artificially silenced from expressing your gratitude. No matter in his mind. You are clean, clothed, and out of bed, and that’s already better than you were before.

Without one complaint, Levi scoops your dampened towel and old clothes from the wet bathroom floor and drops them in the hamper for you. He has seen the piles that can amass, and if it were anyone else in any other circumstance, the clean freak would be quick to chastise, but any sight or thought of you disintegrates any instinct to discipline. You are sat in the living room, admiring the ivy that swirls around the balcony’s posts, thumbing the petals of the bouquet vased on the coffee table. White-gold rays move just a tad west to cast your figure in therapeutic light. You’re too tired to move away from the sun, and for once, Levi finds your fatigue favorable. As the morning temperature rises, he can see that your resting smile does as well.

While you are entranced with the scenes of summer, Levi swiftly searches for and alleviates the areas you have left neglected. He dumps your sock drawer upside down and mends the pairs that you have discarded as singles. In your closet, he finds the clean pile and dirty pile and either folds it or washes it accordingly. Under your bed, on your nightstand, in your bedside drawer, he discovers the dirty dishes that have been missing the sink and returns them to their proper place.

Between those tasks, he rolls his shoulders back or rubs the side of his neck and allows himself to sigh. It is difficult - not to bandage these tiny wounds - but to see the harsh bruises left by the illness. Sure, you were forgetful, and not quite as tidy as he was, but still - the mounds of laundry, hidden dirty dishes - this wasn’t like you. Levi lives for your joy - not the superficial smile, your peace - not the misleading silence. He lives for you - in sickness and in health. The times you forget your worth, that is when he whispers it in your ear. When the world is overwhelming you, he lets his touch communicate it.

Once your space is in order, he can start to work on getting you to leave it. Rather than annoying reminders or obligations, he mindfully manipulates the steps of treatment into desirable invitations. Rather than Do you want to… or Would you like to…, his proposals are statements, taking the responsibility out of your hands. Concerts in the park this afternoon. Let’s go to the farmers market. Apple orchard just opened.

Or even less far away.

Plants look thirsty, water them with me? Rain just cleared, read on the porch with me? Full moon tonight, stargaze with me?

To you, with me frames the activities, frames your presence as favors for him, and even in your lowest state, you are always keen to help him with anything. To Levi, it is no framing, your relationship is the greatest gift that fate has bestowed on him, and he treats you as such. It is in his selfless actions and his careful words, but it is more than that, traits you can’t quite categorize. The near flat, subtle smile you wake up to in the morning. The tight yet painless combs through your hair that leave you feeling divine. The low, calming timbre of his voice, decorated with a tender tone that he reserves for you.

Even before the haze you’re in now, you’ve never been able to label those qualities of his, and instead settled: it’s just who he is.

Like the sentiment that motivates his care: it’s what you deserve.

// masterlist //

#Optional A/N: I've been away from tumblr for a while. I had absolutely no expectation that anyone would notice #so please don't feel bad if you didn't notice! <3 #i was going through - and am still going through - some intense health problems; mental and physical #so that's why i was gone~ but i've started mental health medication and it's starting to help me.#i can tell because today was the first day that i wrote fanfic in all of 2024 <3 oh how i've missed it #but i've missed the friends i have here more.#sorry for my random leave. please know it was not you - it was me #and my neurons originating in the raphe nuclei located in the midline of the brainstem that failed to make sufficient serotonin :')#anyways thank you all love youuuuuuuuu #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #snk x you #2024 #angst #headcanon #my writing #anlian writes #alias's #depression tw #tw depression #depression #mental health #tw mental health

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artficlly · 7 months ago

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smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked.

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents.

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets.

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense.

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight.

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications.

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would.

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen.

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you.

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice.

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog.

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat.

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal.

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal.

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness.

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash.

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.”

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves.

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink.

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found.

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his.

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots.

“Sit.” He commands.

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you.

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth.

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone.

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery.

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men.

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes.

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers.

Rot.

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity.

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace.

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it.

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine.

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words.

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more.

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them.

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood.

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time.

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle.

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences.

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax.

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper.

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots.

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down.

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table.

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling.

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest.

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.”

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed.

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more.

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger.

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks.

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile.

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin.

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off.

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips.

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails.

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck.

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him.

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place.

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding.

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock.

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet.

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb.

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve.

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns.

“Chaos magic?” He questions.

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin.

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain.

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon.

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort.

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes.

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct.

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent.

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly.

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy.

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs.

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things.

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him.

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look.

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders.

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive.

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull.

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon.

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol.

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull.

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours.

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest.

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap.

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh.

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants.

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds.

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm.

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt.

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him.

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady.

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles.

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted.

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk.

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips.

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully.

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock.

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you.

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers.

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation.

“Please—” you gasp out.

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place.

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit.

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin.

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath.

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy.

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased.

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual.

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre.

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp.

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt.

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain.

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

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niceonet · 6 months ago

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TRAİLERDB - DEVASA+ (2)

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starhaloeklypse · 11 days ago

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I tried to make a mock-up of my own alternative take On My Little Pony: Generation 5.

I had a lot of fun designing these, I won’t lie. The main idea was to bring back the mane (main) cast of characters all having drastically contrasting, strong personalities and color palettes. I think that was what G4 succeeded best at, and would probably (I’m no expert) increase marketability and make people want to buy the toys more.

I took inspiration for the new art style direction from an MLP G4 manga cover , not sure if it’s official or not, but I like that style a ton, I think it’s super cute and would be a good direction for a new show. This is of course operating under the assumption the new generation would just stay 2D instead of branching to 3D animation. I tried my best to mimic the style , I don’t think I did the best at that, but that art style on the manga cover is what I think they should go for. Maybe with a more pencil-textured brush for the outline. Feels unique from G4, but still cute in my opinion.

Instead of Friendship or Unity, the unifying theme tying all the characters together would be Artistic creativity and using it to express yourself. All the characters would represent a different form of art. The main villain being a bat-pony with wings and a horn, a mad scientist type who builds robots and gadgets to fight the main cast with the goal of stealing their art and feeding it through big, industrial machines to pump out hodge-podge mashed together copies and create her own art museums to profit off of them. They have to fight to take back their art and create works that express who they are without it being stolen or mass produced by machines and robots. She’s kind of inspired by Opaline but I tried to give her an alternative design. I also took a bit of inspiration from Dr. Eggman from the Sonic franchise. In general my take on this generation is kind of inspired by Sonic with these animal characters fighting against robots and industrialization. Specifically the Sonic Boom Cartoon with the beachy setting and vibes.

We also have the main character, Aqua Seastar, a yellow unicorn who’s got a very curious, inquisitive, detective type personality, ( very clearly my version of Zipp from the Make Your Mark Cartoon, because I actually liked the personality they gave her there, a lot) she’s constantly trying to solve all the mysteries that crop up around the island and poking around to learn new things. She’s also an aspiring animator who wants to make a cartoon about a detective squirrel inspired by her own adventures.

Speaking of characters from G5 I’ve based these characters on, Cloudy skies is basically my version of Izzy. A very similar personality, ( particularly how she’s characterized in the movie A New Generation, I think that’s where she’s at her best) just with the added twist of her being the motherly one of the group and a bit protective and neurotic about other’s safety. Also inspired a bit by Wammawink from Centaurworld or Ragatha from TADC. She’s the arts and crafts pony , with yarn and sewing needles in her hair. She’s also a Pegasus and I swapped her mane and coat color cause I figured we needed a blue pony.

Shellda is basically my answer to Sparky, a baby sea turtle who was orphaned and no one in the sea cared for her because she couldn’t keep up and would just “slow them down” . She eventually gets adopted by the main cast as a little sister figure and starts off shy but really comes into her own over time, gaining more confidence and becoming a watercolor painter. Also she can talk. She’s more of a toddler than a newborn.

I tried to imagine this setting as playing into being on a beach / island way more . Maybe coral reefs instead of trees on the surface , mythical creatures the ponies could encounter like in G4 , but specifically based on sea and marine animals. Like crabs made of rock or something. A stage in the center of town for GlimGlam Hot-Trot to perform on that looks like a giant clam. Whenever they travel off the island they could do it on a big pirate ship instead of a hot air balloon or a plane. Stuff like that.

This generation would also have modern tech but mainly for the sake of creating art, like art tablets and programs . As well as Dr. Nightwing and Terra Byte being inventors who create gadgets.

Overall , I have way too many ideas to go over in one post but I put a lot of thought into this and I hope you guys like it. What are your thoughts ? Do you have any questions about any specific characters or anything ? Let me know, cause I love MLP especially G4 and I had a lot of fun making this. Might be using these characters again sometime, soon.

If you would like to support me , feel free to check out my Kofi page , I offer commissions and you can also just donate if you’d like to , but please don’t feel pressured. I hope you enjoyed the art and have a good rest of your day ! 💕🧡

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janzoo · 3 months ago

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FFXIVGlamtober2024 Day 8

🍛Ilsabard🏝

When Drakyr took Lakelta to the Azim Steppe, they started by taking an airship to Radz-at-Han. Naturally, they had to hit the market and pick up a few souvenirs and gifts; here they are discussing what to get. Being the more frugal of the two, Lakelta is undecided on something due to its price, while Drakyr insists that she can cover it, being the Warrior of Light with Warrior of Light-levels of cash. But still...

They're both wearing rainbow hyacinth corsages that Drakyr made as a symbol of their bond, even when they're far apart. Lakelta often uses her conjury cane as a walking stick due to her leg injury, though she does also have a magitek leg brace if need be (she'll still limp a bit). Lakelta's finger is supposed to be tapping the cane as she considers her options, but this isn't animated so you'll have to use your imagination for that.

🐲FFXIVGlamtober2024 Masterlist🐘

Glam details in the readmore~

If I don't mention a dye, there isn't one.

Drakyr:

Weapon: Empty/Emperor's Head: Rainbow Hyacinth Corsage Body: Thavnairian Bolero (Dyes: Soot Black, Blood Red) Hands: Thavnairian Gloves (Dye: Soot Black) Legs: Thavnairian Sarouel (Dye: None, Blood Red) Feet: Palaka Pumps of Healing (Dye: Soot Black) Earrings: Palaka Earrings of X Neck: Empty/Emperor's Wrist: Empty/Emperor's Right Ring: Empty/Emperor's Left Ring: Empty/Emperor's

Lakelta:

Weapon: Plumed Yew Crook (Used as a walking stick/cane here) Head: Rainbow Hyacinth Corsage Body: Palaka Vest of Casting (Dye: Rose Pink) Hands: Thavnairian Gloves (Dye: Rose Pink) Legs: Thavnairian Sarouel Feet: Thavnairian Babouches (Dye: Rose Pink) Earrings: Palaka Earrings of X (Not that you can see them :( ) Neck: Empty/Emperor's Wrist: Empty/Emperor's Right Ring: Empty/Emperor's Left Ring: Empty/Emperor's

#janzoo plays ffxiv #ffxiv #ffxivglamtober #ffxivglamtober2024 #my wol #my ocs #oc: drakyr saovine #oc: drakyr saovine (events)#oc: drakyr saovine (relationships)#oc: lakelta saovine #oc: lakelta saovine (events)#oc: lakelta saovine (relationships)#oc: drakyr saovine (lore)#oc: drakyr saovine (glam)#oc: lakelta saovine (lore)#oc: lakelta saovine (glam)

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warningsine · 4 months ago

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If it was ever possible to maintain the illusion that good work will attract an audience simply by virtue of its quality, it isn’t now. In 2017, there’s simply too much out there to guarantee that the best series will attract the biggest audiences. It’s a miracle, then, that Halt and Catch Fire, a show originally meant to fill the hole left by Mad Men, has managed to make it to the end of its fourth and final season, which concluded this weekend in the US.

A tech drama that takes place entirely between the first iteration of Microsoft Word in 1983 and Windows 95, Halt and Catch Fire kept its focus squarely on the haze of an emerging field, without any of the fist-pumping moments that might have come from a show focusing on the rise of Google or Facebook. The characters never achieved lasting success or transformation, perpetually stymied by the major players in a nascent and clunking industry. Instead, they faced an endless, thankless series of intractable workplace decisions about integrity, product quality and business logistics.

These seemingly pedestrian moments dominate the show’s central relationship between Donna Clark (Kerry Bishé) and Cameron Howe (Mackenzie Davis), two women who attempt to found a tech company and spend the next few years discovering what they’re willing to sacrifice in the effort. Eventually, it’s impossible for people this committed to their work to separate their personal values and their professional ones, and while that conflict might sound cliche, in the hands of Halt and Catch Fire’s cast, it’s enthralling.

Over the course of the series, the characters’ business interests range from building personal computers at Dell competitor Cardiff Electric to videogames, web-based chat, and e-commerce at Cameron and Donna’s startup Mutiny to antivirus software at MacMillan Utility to, finally, early search engines at Comet and Rover. (All of these companies are fictional and, with the exception of Cardiff, are founded by the characters themselves.) Halt and Catch Fire’s cast is full of classic Silicon Valley résumé – they’re perpetually successful enough to keep working, and to live more or less comfortably while pursuing other ventures, but they never quite strike it big, whether that’s because of conflicts between the partners, technological limitation, or, most often, the presence of an enormous corporation capable of choking the market.

Every major character on the series contains multitudes. Donna is a hard-assed businesswoman, but she’s also a practically minded, savvy person who wants to do her best to create a thriving company with an innovative product. Cameron’s myopia is frustrating, but it’s part of why she’s such a successful coder. Steve Jobs-style visionary Joe MacMillan (Lee Pace) is also, to varying degrees, a charlatan, and tinkering softie Gordon Clark (Scoot McNairy) becomes irritable when he has to leave his comfort zone.

Those relationships contained a staggering number of stories. In just the fourth season alone, Halt and Catch Fire handled a teen coming-out story, the fallout from a divorce, a marriage, several mid-life crises, and a sudden, heart-rending death. But none of these stories are the defining features of the characters; they’re simply facets of their lives. Where another drama might end with the consummation of a romantic pairing, or the strengthening of a family, Halt and Catch Fire ends with Donna having an idea, and pitching it to Cameron. We don’t hear the idea, but that’s not important – the point is beginning the cycle anew.

In this respect, it’s similar to the Mad Men finale – but where Mad Men is ambivalent, at best, toward the bolt of inspiration that leads Don Draper to create the “I’d like to buy the world a Coke” ad, Halt and Catch Fire maintains a single commitment: ideas are what we have. That’s why the show could never have become a smash hit, why it got renewed by the skin of its teeth, and why it’s highly unlikely it will ever be brought back by an ambitious investor. With so many self-consciously explosive series vying for your attention, Halt and Catch Fire played a different game. It kept itself contained, forcing the audience to match its subdued, mesmerizing rhythm. Eventually, the audience and the characters learned the same lesson: sometimes, it’s worth putting in the work.

#halt and catch fire

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conchcronch · 9 months ago

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Making a Mess Part 3

Sanji x Zoro

Sanji’s vow to stave off drinking comes to a swift end when he finds himself in the red light district being handed free drinks. Yet another night of drinking with Zoro leads to them repeating their first night together.

If you haven’t already, please read part 1 and 2 before continuing, otherwise it won’t make much sense.

NSFW below the cut.

Spotify Playlist for the Vibes

“Sanji, you’re gonna’ come ashore with us right?” Nami asked him as he collected the empty glasses he had served the girls’ drinks in.

”How could I turn down an invitation from such a beautiful lady, my sweet Nami,” He smiled.

”Even if you’re still taking a break from drinking it’ll still be fun to have you!” Franky added from where he was playing volleyball with Usopp, Chopper and Luffy on the deck of the Sunny.

”I was thinking of stopping at the night market, I’ve heard it’s got some rare ingredients I’d like to try to get my hands on.”

“Get me more sake, Curly,” Zoro called as he climbed down from the crow’s nest.

”Get it yourself Moss-For-Brains!” Sanji bit back, his demeanor immediately changing at the swordsman’s words.

“At least I’ve got brains, all you think about are tits and-“ Zoro expertly dodged Sanji’s first kick before grabbing his second one. He held it tightly, finally meeting the cook’s rage filled gaze, smirking for a second before lifting the leg he held as high as Sanji’s muscles would allow it. Clearly not expecting Zoro’s attempt at a counter, a gasp slipping past his lips as Zoro winked before letting his leg go with a slight shove to push him off balance, giving him time to walk away before Sanji could get another kick in.

Frustration built in Sanji but he opted to let Zoro be, choosing to silently collect the last few cups from his crewmates and hoping no one noticed the wink…or how flushed his cheeks were after.

They avoided each other like two positively charged magnets until they all went ashore. Avoiding each other wasn’t new, it had been a daily occurrence but after that night, things had changed. Sanji found Zoro sitting in his kitchen, sometimes even napping in the booth while he prepped in between meals. They hadn’t talked about that night, but it was apparent they both remembered it, the wink made that very clear.

Once everyone got to town, people began walking in pairs. As Sanji walked in the direction he was told the night market was, he felt someone close at his heels, turning to see Zoro. He shouldn’t have been surprised but he was, even more so when the man spoke “Want help?” They kept walking, now side by side as they maneuvered the growing crowds of this town’s tavern scene.

“N-No I’m alright, don’t let me get in the way of your drinking.” Sanji waved him off but Zoro’s pace never faltered.

“I’ll drink after, figured you’d need someone to carry your bags since you’re so dainty.” Sanji felt his brow twitch in annoyance but before he could come up with a retort they noticed the crowd thin. Zoro looked around, pulling Sanji to the side while he pulled a small notebook from his back pocket to look at the directions he had hastily wrote when someone a few islands over had told him about it.

“Says it should be around here,” Sanji looks up from the pages and scans the surrounding area. “I guess we’ll keep looking.” Sanji grabs Zoro’s forearm, knowing that if he let go now, Zoro would surely get lost. The swordsman didn’t fight this, not agreeing that he would get lost, but the feeling of Sanji’s hand wrapped around his exposed arm had his blood pumping more than he’d want to admit.

They kept walking, turning down an ally when Sanji thought he smelled meat being cooked. As the sun finally dipped under the horizon they turned a few corners and found themselves on the edge of town. The streets were lined with dim lanterns that cast a flickering red glow as they walked under them. Sanji still had his nose in his notebook, as though the directions would appear only for a second and he’d miss it if he looked away. A smile spread across Zoro’s lips slowly as he looked around at the bars and the people who were along the paths, taking special interest in anyone who would make eye contact with them. Zoro hastily wrapped his arm around Sanji’s waist, forcibly pulling him to the side of the path and coming to a stop. “Okay, not that I’m complaining, but this definitely isn’t the kind of night market you’re looking for.” Sanji looked around, it took a bit for it to sink in, but when it did his face flushed. “Come on Curly, we walked all the way here, might as well take in the sights.” Zoro smirked, grabbing the cook’s tie and pulling him towards the nearest bar. Sanji managed to wrench his tie from the other man’s hand, stopping just outside the threshold. There were a few scantily clad women walking along the building, trying to make eyes at Zoro who paid them no mind.

“I’m not sure I wa-“ Zoro grabbed the tie again.

”Stop doing that!” Sanji groaned, trying to pry the larger hands off the fabric while being led into the crowded bar. Zoro stopped and pulled enough Berries from his pocket to pay the cover for the both of them before tugging on the tie again. “I’m not a dog!” Sanji had to yell over the music, finally ripping the tie out of Zoro’s grasp and tucking it back into his buttoned blazer. They quickly found a pair of stools at the bar, Zoro immediately ordered two shots as Sanji was looking around the bar, but he didn’t know what or who for. He just wanted to look busy even though he could feel Zoro’s eyes burning holes into his back. Sanji’s gaze fell on a small stage that he could just barely see over the crowd that had gathered there, it wasn’t until he watched a woman wearing a dress that left very very little to the imagination that he realized the type of club this was. He watched as she dragged herself along the single golden pole before spinning around it as she ran her free hand up and down her body.

“Oi, Curly,” Zoro said close enough to his ear that he felt his lips brush along his lobe for a fraction of a second. He turned to look at the man who handed him a shot.

“So much for not drinking for awhile,” Sanji attempted to yell over the music that had suddenly gotten even louder. The drink burned the entire way down his throat as he tried to recall the last time he had done a shot…if ever. He hadn’t even been holding the empty shot glass for 10 seconds before Zoro replaced it with another full one before tossing back his own. “What’re you, made of money?” Sanji had to yell over the music but Zoro couldn’t hear. Just as Sanji was about to repeat himself, louder this time, Zoro pulled Sanji’s stool as close to his own as he could before leaning so close he could feel his breath on his neck. That, paired with the alcohol rushing through his system, was a problematic combo.

“They’re free,” Zoro yelled, voice gravelly. Sanji could just furrow his brow in response. Zoro nodded over his shoulder towards a guy sitting at the end of the bar, he had been staring since the two sat down. “Don’t put too much thought into it, just take it and say thanks.” Zoro put another glass in Sanji’s hand before holding his up towards the stranger even going as far as to shoot him a wink before tossing it back. Sanji mimicked him, minus the wink.

Sanji could feel the alcohol warm his thighs, his cheeks felt hot as he watched the woman spin around the pole. Zoro said something but Sanji didn’t catch it so he leaned into him, feeling his body sway into the other man’s who slung an arm around his shoulders and brought his lips right against his ear. “You wanna go somewhere quieter?” He nodded, forcing himself up, Zoro’s arm slipping down to his waist.

“Where would that be?” Zoro tugged him, leading him away from the bar and up some stairs. “How do you know where we’re going?” They got to another floor and the swordsman started peaking into rooms, ignoring the closed doors. The music thumped downstairs while moans could barely be heard from the closed doors.

“These places are all the same,” He muttered, finding an empty room and tugging Sanji inside, closing the door behind them. Both men flopped on the curved couch, Sanji’s eyes glued to the silver pole in the middle.

“You come to these places a lot?” Zoro picked up an abandoned glass of clear liquid, sniffed it before drinking it.

“Gotta’ blow off some steam sometimes, y’know,” Sanji nodded. “No you don’t.”

“The hell do you mean I don’t?”

“You never blow off steam.” Zoro leaned back against the couch before stretching his arms above his head, his shirt pulling up enough to show off his treasure trail.

“You don’t know what I do.” Sanji began digging through his pockets until he pulled out a cigarette from one and his lighter from the other, taking no time at all to light it and inhale deeply. Exhaling directly in Zoro’s face.

“I know that you popped a boner the moment I held you against that wall.” Zoro beamed with a cocky grin. If it hadn’t been for the alcohol coursing through his veins he would have been beyond flustered, but instead he felt a competitive burst.

“I had drank a lot.” Zoro reached both arms back, resting them on the top of the couch back, his knees spread wide as he smirked at the other man.

“Yeah, like it wouldn’t happen again.” He said sarcastically, Sanji opted to stay quiet knowing that Zoro was probably right. Sanji inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with smoke, holding it for a few seconds before pushing it out his nostrils. When a few more seconds went by Sanji finally met Zoro’s eyes,

“Why’re we here?” Sanji asked, resisting the urge to crunch the cigarette between his front teeth in frustration. The urge only growing when he watched Zoro shrug.

“You’re the one that dragged me across this town, I’m just trying to make the most of it.” Sanji’s eyes scanned over the other man, taking in the way his white shirt was stretched across his large chest, the fabric struggling to hold when his chest was at the apex of an inhale.

Zoro could barely handle the way Sanji’s eyes slid over his body, lingering on his thighs before slowly making their way back up to his chest. He watched as Sanji unconsciously ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip leaving a shine over them. It was becoming too much for the Swordsman who pushed himself up, the alcohol tingling in his loins as he used his foot to nudge the blonde’s knees apart enough to be able to stand between them.

Sanji would be lying to himself if he tried to say he didn’t love the way the other man towered over him. If he had a few more drinks in him, he’s fairly certain he would have leaned over and mouthed at his covered semi but thankfully for his ego he maintained his relaxed posture, puffing a cloud of smoke up at Zoro who remained unmoving. “What’re you waiting for? Or did you forget what you were doing?”

“Big talk from someone who can’t admit that they want me.” Sanji rolled his eyes, leaning forward and around Zoro to tap the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back again, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Like you said, it’s just blowing off steam.” He knew it was probably more than that, he knew that it was something to do with who he was dealing with that made him keep putting himself in positions to repeat their first night together. But he would rather never cook again than admit that to anyone.

Something in Zoro changed but Sanji was too dumb to notice. Zoro reached out and grabbed the cigarette, pulling it from his lips and snuffing it out on the table before handing Sanji one of the shots that had been on the table when they got here. “Smoke tastes terrible.” Sanji begrudgingly did what was silently instructed to him before putting the shot back on the table. Zoro still didn’t move.

“Jesus Marimo, are you waiting for an invitation?!” Sanji was getting frustrated, his dick was half hard in anticipation and Zoro was fully aware of that, that was part of the reason he wasn’t going to give in so quick.

“I want you to say it.” He bent his leg just slightly so it could ghost over the bulge.

“Say what,” Sanji knew exactly what Zoro wanted, he wasn’t a complex person and even less of a complex lover. But Sanji wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be so free with his words, especially when it involved him admitting how much he craved the swordsman he swore to kill one day.

“Say you want me.” Sanji huffed out a laugh.

“I don’t need to say shit, I could go downstairs and find 5 people that do what you did ten times better.”

“That may be true but at least I won’t infect you with something that would give our poor doctor a heart attack.” Zoro reached behind him for the other glass of unknown alcohol and knocked it back. “Just say it and I’ll give you what we both want,” he reached his hand forward to grab Sanji’s tie, tugging him forward a bit.

When Sanji stayed silent Zoro shrugged as he stepped away from Sanji, letting the tie slip from between his thick fingers before walking around the table in the center of the room towards the door. “Have fun jerking off in a private room, I’m gonna go find a good fuck.” And just like that, Sanji was alone with his half hard dick and alcohol clouded brain.

He couldn’t force himself to get up yet, practically praying his dick would go down enough that it wasn’t noticeable so he could get out of the bar and back to the ship without risking unwanted attention. He carded his fingers through his hair, silently cursing himself for not being able to just swallow his pride and say something.

After a few minutes Sanji had finally deflated enough to start heading back to the ship, only half concerned about whether Zoro would find his way back or not.

But before he could even make it to the exit he saw Zoro with the guy who had been buying them shots earlier. The man was still sitting on the bar stool and Zoro was standing between his knees, arms thrown around his neck, eye staring at the stairs where Sanji now stood. He could tell Zoro saw him by the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk as he kissed the man.

“Fuck.” Sanji grumbled, balling his fists as he cleared the distance between them in a few long strides, he grabbed the front of Zoro’s shirt and yanked him away from the stranger. Zoro smiled the biggest Sanji had ever seen, knowing he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Sanji pulled him back up the stairs, but only made it to the landing before he slammed Zoro into the wall like the swordsman had done all those nights ago.

“Say it.” Zoro said, hands already on Sanji’s chest and snaking around to the back pockets of his pants.

“You’re a lot of work”

“Not what I meant.” Sanji used his height to his advantage and lowered his head so he could smell the gin on Zoro’s breath. Zoro’s hands on Sanji’s ass pulled him close, so their crotches were pressed together, neither of them surprised by the other’s hard on. “It’s fine,” Zoro nipped at what little of Sanji’s neck was exposed under his one undone button. “I’m sick of waiting, I’ll have you begging in a few minutes,” Zoro pushed him back with one hand before using the other to grab the front of his shirt and pulling him back to the room they had been in moments earlier. Zoro slammed the door shut and all but threw Sanji into the couch. He landed sprawled out, barely having a second to get his bearings before Zoro straddled his lap.

“Sounds like a challenge,” Sanji smirked, his bangs pushed out of the way of his eye so he could see Zoro in his full glory.

“Not a challenge, a promise.” Zoro leaned down and started to mouth at his neck, one hand gripping the back of the couch to hold himself up while the other worked on unbuttoning Sanji’s shirt. One of the lower buttons got stuck and instead of pulling back from Sanji’s neck, Zoro tore the fabric apart.

“What the fuck!” Sanji went to push him off but before he could, Zoro’s hands were all over his chest. They slide painfully slow up his chest, they were wide enough to almost wrap around Sanji’s sides. Zoro was sitting watching the cook’s expression as his thumbs brushed experimentally over each of his nipples, watching the way Sanji’s lips parted before he caught his lower lip between his teeth just in time to stifle a moan that was about to slip out. He kept his left hand where it was, lazily teasing the cook’s nipple while the other hand slid up to his neck as he admired the hickies from their first encounter that were just barely there. “If you think this will get me begging, you’re sorely mistaken.” Sanji managed to say without his voice wavering as much as he expected. Zoro huffed a cocky laugh.

“If you think this is me trying then you’re sorely mistaken. I’m just thinking.”

“Oh god, don’t strain yourself Marimo,” Sanji smirked half a second before Zoro’s grip in his neck tightened, his thumb biting into the chef’s windpipe just enough for him to feel it.

“God, it’s like you want me to leave you again.” Zoro adjusted himself on Sanji’s lap, making sure he was still painfully hard, earning a whimper from the man under him was just a bonus. Zoro leaned over Sanji, his lips a few millimeters away from the other’s and slowly began grinding against him. Zoro was quickly getting irritated the longer Sanji managed to keep his mouth shut. He could tell that he was enjoying this, he even felt his cock twitch every so often. Zoro dragged his lips along the chef’s cheek, along his jaw and down to his neck, hoping he would get some sort of reaction.

He began sucking the skin roughly, surly turning it red and purple. He could feel Sanji’s jaw clench and as Zoro shifted his weight and moved his leg from beside Sanji’s to between them, pushing his knee as high as it could go he heard the whisper of a moan. He kept going, doubling down with some moans of his own which worked wonderfully.

Sanji was moaning and whimpering like a whore, even when Zoro pulled away to look at him he kept whining, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Please,” Zoro grinned.

“Please what, Curly?” He asked while grinding more against him, groaning a bit while doing it.

“You know what.” He pleaded.

“I really don’t, remember I’ve got moss for brains.” He could hear Sanji whine a bit and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Zoro slipped his hand into his pants as if it were something he had done a thousand times. His hand was immediately covered in precum, he wrapped his calloused hand around Sanji’s burning hot cock and began to stroke him. Sanji all but cried at the contact before Zoro felt two sweaty hands grab his forearm, bringing his attention up to the other man’s face. His eyes were glassy, lips red from him biting them and he shook his head slightly. “You don’t want me to?” Sanji shook his head again but then swallowed hard and in a very raw voice said,

“I want nothing more than you to, but I’m gonna’ cum if you don’t stop,” his voice was shaky and cracked as he spoke. His grip loosened as Zoro pulled his hand from his slacks and sat up. There was a heavy silence as both men were trying to figure out what to do next, neither wanting to look at the other.

After a few minutes, just before Zoro was about to get up, Sanji sat up. He slowly pulled his legs from between Zoro’s thighs, unbuckling his pants and feeling relieved at the lessened pressure. He looked over, seeing the last of the abandoned shot glasses left by someone before them. He reached over, knocked one back before turning his attention back to Zoro who had become very invested in the cracks and dents on the wall behind Sanji.

It wasn’t until he felt Sanji’s hand on his chest, applying just enough pressure to tell Zoro that he wanted him to lay back. “I…I didn’t like the thought of you making me…and never offering anything in return.” His face was burning up but it was impossible to tell if it was from the alcohol or the sentence that left his bitten lips.

“You don’t have to…” Sanji was on top of him now, looking down at him. Zoro so rarely saw both of Sanji’s eyes that when he did he couldn’t look away.

“I want to, I know you’re dumb but you can’t be that dumb, right Marimo.” For some reason that name, that name that had always pissed Zoro off didn’t this time. The way he said it was different, the gentle touch of his hand in Zoro’s hair and the way his lips felt pressed against the Swordsman’s. It was sloppy, sure, it tasted of nicotine and gin but Zoro didn’t think he had ever been kissed like this.

At first, Zoro grabbed his waist, pushing his dress shirt up enough to feel skin. But as Sanji continued the kiss, the swordsman found himself wrapping his arms around the smaller man and pulling him flush against him. His hands went from his waist to his ass, loving the way the muscle fit into his palms. Zoro barely registered Sanji’s hands pulling at the bottom of his T-shirt, signaling that he wanted it off. Zoro reluctantly let go of his ass so he could sit up, straddling his hips like Zoro had done only a bit ago to him. Sanji pulled his shirt off of him then struggled off the tattered remains of his own. While he was doing that, Zoro unzipped his cargo pants but didn’t take them fully off. Sanji reached into the open pants and only a bit clumsily groped Zoro’s aching bulge. Even though it was clear Sanji was unsure of himself a heavy groan fell from Zoro’s lips as his head fell back against the crusty cushion.

Feeling emblazoned, Sanji awkwardly tries to wrap his hand around Zoro’s cock through his underwear. He fiddled, hoping for it to feel right in his hand but without much overthinking he yanked the underwear down and under his balls so it would stay. His hand wrapped slowly around Zoro’s shaft, stroking it with unsure hands, trying to get used to the feeling. Zoro on the other hand, was trying to control himself. He wanted nothing more than to tell Sanji how to do it, tell him to tighten his fist, cup his balls and for the love of god go faster. But he resisted, knowing that Sanji was still getting used to this and was going at his own pace.

Sanji was quickly getting more accustomed to the feeling, deciding he wanted more than this, he crawled up from between Zoro’s thick sun kissed thighs. He moved up along his sculpted form, leaving a trail of wet kisses that turned into him dragging his tongue along the man’s salty skin. Without so much as a first, second or third thought, he latched onto the swordsman’s nipple, flicking it with his tongue and feeling Zoro’s cock twitch in his grasp. He looked up through his lashes at Zoro, pleased to see his head was thrown back and a heavy sigh left his parted lips.

While Sanji was distracted by teasing Zoro, his hand had slowed to barely stroking his aching cock and Zoro was boardering on feral the longer it went without any motion. Sanji detached his lips from Zoro’s nipple and nibbled his way up to Zoro’s chin, loving the way he could feel his laboured breath against his face. “Jesus, Curly,” Zoro all but grunted, causing Sanji to pull back and look at him with a slightly concerned expression. “You’re fuckin’ killing me.” Zoro reached down both of his hands, leaning forward a bit to reach, he covered Sanji’s hand with his own and started guiding him to a pace that was less frustrating. “Need you to go faster.” Sanji sat back on his haunches, giving the other man’s cock his full attention now. Loving the way the girthy cock looked wrapped in three hands. Zoro watched Sanji who’s breathing was quick and his cheeks flushed, when he noticed Sanji nod, he let go and leaned back. A long groan left his lips as Sanji maintained the exact speed and pressure Zoro had set, he couldn’t help but blindly reach out for contact of any kind. He managed to find Sanji’s face, pulling his attention up to his face he sighed out a “Fuck, just like that.” Sanji moved his head so he could catch Zoro’s thumb between his teeth before closing his lips around it and sucking, his eyes fluttering closed. “Such a good boy,” In any other situation, Zoro would never have said something like that so early in their sexual relationship, but when he saw Sanji’s clothed cock noticeably jump he made a mental note to call him that more often.

As Sanji kept jerking Zoro’s cock with one hand, he reached into his briefs pushing them down so he could finally give his dick the attention it so desperately craved. Zoro quickly notices, grabs the waist of Sanji’s now open slacks and tugs him a bit. “Come ‘ere,” He says, wanting Sanji to straddle him.

Once Sanji resumes his position on Zoro, Zoro bats away Sanji’s hand that was still on his cock and replaces it with his, encircling both of their dicks and holding them tightly against one another. With one hand occupied, he uses his free hand to grab Sanji by the throat again, pulling him down until their lips are smashed together.

Zoro’s pace is fast and rough, and the kiss mirrors that. It’s all teeth, tongue, and moans which normally Sanji would be against but he is reveling in it. “P-Please don’t st-stop,” Sanji whines into Zoro’s mouth, biting the swordsman's bottom lip instead of his own.

“Told ya’ I could make you beg.” Zoro grunted, the corners of his mouth upturned in a cocky grin.

“Fuck you,” Sanji says, his tone was meant to be harsh but it came out as a whine.

“Would love it if you did” Zoro growls out, his pace on their cocks increasing until Sanji finally snaps, his cock spilling on Zoro’s stomach. He goes as limp as he can without getting his stomach covered in their cum, Zoro lets go of his neck and very subtly moves over so Sanji can collapse onto Zoro’s side to avoid the puddle. Zoro loosens his hand enough that Sanji’s cock is freed from the feverish pace he is going at to try to reach his own peak. It isn’t until he feels Sanji’s hand replace his own, mimicking his pace bringing him closer to his edge. Zoro can feel Sanji’s warm breath on his neck, and paired with the attention his cock is getting he doesn’t last much longer, cumming with a groan from far back in his throat.

They both laid there for a bit, enjoying their afterglow together. Zoro fidgets enough that he can wrap his arm around Sanji, pulling him even closer than they already were, given how narrow the couch is. Neither of them commented on this intimate gesture, both chalking it up to the post cum fog.

Zoro gropes the sticky floor blindly until he manages to find his forgotten t-shirt, using it to wipe up the cooling mess on his abs. Sanji took this as a signal to squirm out of the cramped spot he had between the back of the couch and the larger man, sitting up and watching Zoro, taking him in for a few seconds. Loving the way he could see his tan chest, minty treasure trail that was now slightly crusty with dried cum.He could even see some prominent veins leading down to his cock. “You always leave your cock out after sex?” Zoro joked, lifting his ass up enough that he could pull his pants back into place before stuffing his deflating cock back in.

“Do you always use your clothes to sop up your cum?” Sanji countered as he sorted himself out, watching as Zoro stuffed his soiled shirt in his back pocket so it dangled as he walked.

They both made their way out of the bar, Zoro pulling Sanji through the crowd towards the exit. The moment they were out in the cool sea air, Sanji fished around his pocket for a cigarette, lighting it before having to quickly grab Zoro as he started off in the opposite direction of the boat. They walked silently back to the ship, neither of them bringing up the fact that their hands had been intertwined since they had left the bar.

The silence was broken by Sanji just as Zoro was about to start climbing the ladder onto the Sunny, “They’re gonna know.” His gaze following the trail of hickies he had left all over Zoro’s chest and neck, some even going down to his hips and below the waist of his pants. Zoro managed to catch the slight shake in Sanji’s voice, squeezing his hand ever so slightly before letting it go and shrugging.

“We’ll just tell ‘em we found a set of twins or some shit. No one will ask you, and if someone asks me, I’ll make up something.” He started climbing the ladder, looking back at the blonde man who’s fingers were seconds away from getting burnt by the ash gathering at the end of his cigarette. “It’ll be fine, Curly” He winked and climbed the rest of the way up once he felt the other man begin to climb behind him.

#one piece smut #ao3 #sanji x zoro #one piece #zoro smut #sanji smut #zosan

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amaretigris · 9 months ago

Text

The Sea Witch's Curse

Taglist: @hopeisrising @daydreamerwithnohobbies @luna2034 @notagreekgal28 @mylittlemermaid221 @justagirlthatlovedtoread @freyagallileaevans

WARNING: EXPLICIT

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Epilogue | 1k words | Smut & fluff

Your pale, sensitive skin was getting red and warm. You recalled your feelings of dread and despair at this sensation merely a month ago. How different things had turned out now. You smiled at that thought, letting your fingers swirl and poke the flower petals and bubbles in your bath. You were in your private bathroom in the castle. Your cast iron clawfoot tub was positioned directly in front of a set of balcony doors, overlooking the ocean. You loved this view; you could watch the sunset from here if you so desired.

A brisk knock on your bathroom door pulled you from your peaceful thoughts.

"Come in," you answered.

The only ones who would be knocking on your bathroom door would either be the palace staff assigned to you or your wonderful husband.

Turning your head back to look as the door opened, you were pleased to see Eric's bright blue hues come into view. A smirk twisted his lips as his eyes traced what he could see of your figure.

"My dear wife, I have come to let you know that I've returned from the market. Rosa let me know that you were in the bath. I couldn't risk your safety. I had to come see for myself that you were okay."

"Oh?"

You pinched your brow and feigned innocence.

"My dear husband, I can assure you that I haven't drowned," you replied with a smug smile.

Bracing your arms on the side of the tub, you stood straight up. Water and bubbles dripping off your naked form drew Eric's hungry eyes. He suddenly closed the distance between you, pressing your wet body to his. His rough hand tenderly cupped your cheek as his arm circled your waist.

"What ever will I do with you, my princess? I only want to keep you locked in this castle with me. I'm afraid no one outside will ever see you again," he whispered, brushing his lips to yours.

You felt goosebumps erupt on your skin at the feel of him. You lazily wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I have no answer for that, my prince. I only ever want to be locked in here with you," you answered before beginning a trail of open mouthed kisses on his neck.

Eric let his head fall back and closed his eyes, melting into your touch. After a couple minutes, however, Eric straightened, lifting you from the tub entirely, and carrying you to the bed. You giggled and kicked your feet before Eric threw the comforter back, and planted you on the sheets.

"What are you doing? I'm soaking wet. The sheets-"

"Can be changed," he gruffly interrupted.

"I have to have you now, (Y/N). You have no idea what you do to me," he responded while kicking off his pants and throwing his shirt over his head.

Climbing on top of you and settling himself between your legs, Eric lined the tip of his member up at your sopping entrance.

"Speaking of wet," he smirked, leaning down to your ear, "you're always so ready for me, (Y/N)."

One push and Eric slid inside you. Groaning and trying to center his breath, Eric pumped in and out of you.

"Oh, one day you'll have my children, (Y/N). But for now, I want you all to myself," Eric moaned as he slammed back into you.

Your mouth fell open and you nodded your head frantically.

"Anything for you, Eric. Anything," you sputtered out.

Waves of ecstacy washed over you, and you lost yourself in the pleasure. When you finally came out of it, Eric was lifting your hips, pounding into you at an alarming pace.

"God you're so beautiful when you come undone for me," he practically whimpered.

You nodded, rubbing your hands along his back, and flexing your pelvic muscles. That was all it took to sent Eric spiraling.

Lying in the sticky aftermath, you hummed happily, running your fingers through Eric's curls. His head lay on your chest, and you loved playing with his hair.

"(Y/N)," Eric suddenly spoke.

You looked down at him, keeping your fingers in his locks.

"Do you want to have kids someday? I've realized that we haven't actually talked about it."

You smiled.

"Of course, Eric. I would love to have kids with you. I just think we shouldn't rush into things. Let's enjoy our life together before we introduce someone else into it."

Eric lifted his head to meet your eyes with a smile.

"You've saved my life in every way, (Y/N). You're the kindest person I've ever known. When you're ready, you'll make the most wonderful mother to our children," Eric gushed.

Feeling heat flare on your cheeks, you giggled, poking at Eric's dimples.

"So cheesy," you teased.

Eric's face turned serious for a moment.

"Oh, there is something else. I received a letter from Scuttle today. Since he missed me in Sicily, he wrote me a letter with the information I was looking for," Eric paused.

At your curious expression, he continued.

"I had asked him to find information on the ship and crew that killed your mother, (Y/N). That's what I was meeting him for, before the Sea Witch got to me," he grimaced at the memory.

You swallowed.

"What did the letter say?"

Eric sucked in a breath.

"Scuttle said that the ship went down at sea. None of the crew survived," he answered, waiting for your reaction.

You gave him a soft smile and threaded your fingers back through his hair.

"It's okay, I knew. My father told me. He took revenge on them for my mother's death. He said he stopped living when she died. That's why he sent me back to you. He didn't want me to end up the same way," you shrugged.

Eric nodded, letting his fingers trace over your cheek.

"You know that I'd give my life for you, right (Y/N)? You've done it for me already. And I will spend my life making sure that you never regret that decision," Eric's eyes drifted back up to yours.

"I know, Eric. I never could."

Pulling him in for another kiss, you thanked your lucky stars that the sea brought you to this man.

#the little mermaid 2023 #jonah hauer king #prince eric #jonah hauer king imagine #prince eric x reader #prince eric imagine #prince eric smut #prince eric fanfiction #prince eric x y/n #prince eric x you #prince eric x fem!reader #my stuff

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monsterfloofs · 9 months ago

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Luxe (Genderfluid Concubus) x Anonymous Reader (Sfw) Part III

Part I ♡ Part II

(Hewwo! It has been a while since I have updated Luxe's story! And I have... poked and prodded and rewrote this section quite a bit! There is. . . a lot here in this part ♡♡♡ I hope you guys enjoy it! You also get to meet the Lord of the castle, Luxe's boss ehehehe, who was honestly supposed to be the other love interest in this story! So if folks are interested in that addition to this story ahh let me know! <3 )

With how lost you had been in your thoughts, the travel through the forest roads felt like a blink. Hours melding into dreamy minutes, while your feet moved towards town. Your mind's lens remained frozen, reliving the time in Luxe's bedroom. The echoes of the past making blood pump loudly in your ears. The cobbled path beneath your feet overlain with the grainy image of your hands pressed against the door to the bathroom. The stillness in that room amplified every breath, every sigh. A relief bloomed in your chest as the first signs of the town peeked through the woods, the emerging of large stone walls that surrounded the village. You pick up your pace, eager for a distraction, pushing down the memories as far as you could manage. They sit at the back of mind, gnawing at your subconscious.

The town had a set of large iron gates that were drawn open to accept merchants and travelers during the day. You slow and eventually pause at the threshold between the little town and the deemed threatening outside world. Your hand reaches out, fingertips passing over the bushy peony’s, long stalky daisy’s, sprigs of lavender and abundance of other flowers that someone had planted there. It made the entrance of the walled village look more inviting to those who traveled the roads. Yet the walls were there wherever you looked. Looming down with its promise to keep out what lurked outside of its embrace.

When you previously lived here, this little garden was your favorite spot to venture to. It symbolized the very cusp of the outside world, as far as you dared travel into the great unknown. That is, until you had gotten a little older, and had begun to stray into the woods, foraging for edible plants and berries to sell for an extra profit.

And now, you lived within the sinister forest itself, completely on the other side of the story. No longer some sleepy forest villager who lived and breathed the tales of adventure at the only cozy inn in town. Folk surrounding the crackling fire, hats pulled low, trading forbidden secrets. You walked and spoke with legends of your own, albeit none of the tales you could spin, were anything like the ones you used to hear. However, you did now recieved the same looks any newcomer may get. The glances of admiration, fear, and something else were given both furtive and openly as you passed market stalls. How funny humans were, when you stood on the other side of the narrative. It made you wonder how much of those old tales were true, and how much was procured from flights of fancy and fear.

”Hello Ma,” you paused, casting a glance behind you as you settled in front of the stall of baked goods and treats. Ma was a portly lady with a round face, who was as close to the mother of the town as one could be. She fed the strays of everything, cats, dogs, and kids. She also had a habit of adopting said strays, and had taught many a child the love and versatility of bread.

You tensed as she pinched your cheek, “You look thin sweet pea, have a scone.” It made you laugh and feel like a small child again.

“I have been working very hard!” You proclaimed, as she shoved a tray under your nose.

“Eat.” She said in an admonished tone. “Hard work deserves good food.”

You put down a couple of coins on the counter, and reverently took a scone. Closing your eyes and chewing slowly to savor the warm bakery treat.

”I miss your foragables,” Ma lamented, “You will have to tell me where you found the little blueberries, not a day goes by without someone pining for them.”

You thumbed crumbs away from the corner of your mouth, lips pulling into a smile.

”Those were very good,” You agreed. Thinking back to warm buzzing summer days in the forest shade, shoving pockets full of tiny berries and eating handfuls more.

”If I find the patch again, I will pick all that I can for you.” She beams as you fish a list of supplies from your pocket.

“You have grown up to be so kind, always a kind soul, mind you. But my, I am ever so proud seeing you leave the nest to do good in the world.”

Your smile fades a little, as something bitter replaces the sweet taste on your tongue.

”Thank you,” You say earnestly, though you wonder, would you think so highly of me if you knew the likes of whom I consorted with?

You left with a few more uneasy thoughts on your shoulders, and a satchel filled with the few supplies the castle occupants couldn’t seem to receive without these trips to town. With it being months since you had even set forth in your old home, you also had bought a small box of pastries as well. Because bringing treats home felt like it was a necessity. You had bought baked goods when you had first arrived at the castle as well. An attempt to start off your new job right and raise a hand of friendship to the castle staff. Yet, you winced at the memory, as that hadn’t gone as you planned. It had gone so awry in fact, that you had accidentally smashed a baked good into the face of the head butler. That certainly wasn’t a good look for a newcomer, even if it was an accident. Luxe had blinked, their expression painted in utter bewilderment before seeming to laugh it off. That day, moments before you assaulted them with pastry, you could have sworn that they had been going to kiss you. You scratched your head, feeling your pulse jitter. You had a lot of thoughts about them. . . in general. Times where you wondered if they were only teasing you because it made you fluster. Yet also, the times where they had been kind and honest.

Now.

Now you weren’t sure what to think. They never did tell you why they were determined to woo you. They had given you the opportunity to find out, with a strange little deal that they offered to you, a mischievous glint in their eyes. A kiss for a secret split. The ease in which they tugged your heart strings into a befuddled mess. . . You pressed the tied bundle of baked goods to your chest. With your gaze focused on the ground you hear the sound of hooves slowly coming closer. You glance up and begin to move to the side of the road as a horse drawn coach trundles along the main street.

You are surprised as the coach comes to a halt before you, and the door is flung open with a bang. Inside is a well dressed man, who eyes you with a glare."

"You."

You turn your head looking at the others, as the folks on the street do the same. Confusion scrawled across their visages, one of us was in some kind of trouble, and it made the citizens on the street nervous.

The man crooks his finger towards you impatiently.

"Me, sir?"

"Yes, for heaven's sake, hurry up! I need a word with you."

There were many things you could have said in response to this rude man. A quick witted Luxe would have batted away this comment with an haughty flick of a wrist and a remark with their own sharp wit. You wished more than anything you had that ability right now. Your legs felt like lead, frozen to the spot as your voice died in your throat, mind churning like molasses. You couldn't think of what to say, and more than ever you felt eyes, so many eyes, looking you up and down as you stood rooted to the spot. You knew this man by reputation mostly, one of the smaller Duke's that flaunted the streets at their leisure. You weren't a part of this town anymore, and this beast of a man shouldn't be able to scare you, you didn't have to listen to a word he said.

He doesn't own you. An angry voice whispered in your mind. Don't listen. Go the other way.

And yet, and yet, and yet. That wasn't what you did. You glanced around, nervously looking at the bystanders who watched on with blank faces. No one was going to step in and help you, you hated the way you walked towards that coach. Hesitant and meek, as if you were compelled.

"Yes, sir?"

It happened too fast, a hand shooting out to grab your wrist once you had gotten too close. Like a snare that snapped shut, you were dragged unceremoniously inside and the door slammed behind you.

Your eyes had gone wide breathing in shallow gasps as you looked around, suddenly there was nowhere to go, and the crack of a whip outside had the coach jerking forward.

You rise onto your hands and knees, glaring at the man who was sneering down at you. You took in his cold eyes, the way his forehead puckered and the way his face was flushed in rage.

"There was no need for- '' You started before he cut you off and you purse your lips tightly together.

"I do what I please. I owe this village. You best remember that."

You seethed inside your head, taking a deep steadying breath. Picking up your spilled parcel and giving yourself extra time to force your mind to work again. You sit back on your knees, feeling the wheels of the coach sending vibrations up through the floorboards.

"What. . . do you want."

You spoke slowly, anger and anxiety making your hands shake.

There is a thud that slightly rocks the coach, and the man's face turns even redder.

“Where are you hiding them?”

“Hiding. . . what?”

“Those beasts!” He hisses, losing patience altogether, grabbing your shirt collar and pulling you close. “I know you come from that wretched castle! Where. Is. It?!” You turn your head as spit hits your cheek. Then, there is a thud, the wild eyed man jolts, his eyes darting from your face to look around.

The coach stopped and the air was still.

"Driver!" He bellows, "I didn't say you could stop!"

In response, a sharp crunching sound comes from above. A sharp heeled boot piercing through the top of the coach and splinters of wood fall down, you duck your head to brace for the falling splinters. Holding your bought supplies to your chest.

“It’s rather rude,” A voice chimed up from above, “To take a person without their willing consent.” Luxe’s face leers in as the boot retracts back. “Are you alright darling?”

“Luxe!” You squeak, “Foul demon!” Shrieks the man, his gaze fully on Luxe. You grab the mans wrist and twist. Making him shout with pain and reflexively pull away, you take this moment to scramble to the other side of the coach.

“Isn’t that a pity," Luxe responds lazily, twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers, "That a so-called infernal creature has more tact than you? If I were you, I would be ashamed."

“Filthy creature,“ He sneers, he reaches towards you, yet he pales as the top of the coach is peeled back like an onion.

”Don’t you dare, lay a hand on them.” Luxe voice drops to a silky deadliness you have never heard come from their lips. “Or I will be happy to gut you here, and now.” They wrap a crystalline whip around their hands. It glints in the sunshine from above, winking with a cruel promise. Each chink in the frame has little barbed flourishes that run the length of the whip. Like thorns on a deadly rose.

”Darling, the door if you please.” Luxe tilts their head towards the coach door, as their gaze stays locked with the man. You fumble with the lock, and slide from the coach. Luxe jumping down easily briskly interlocking their arm with yours.

You see the man, no longer fearing for his mortal life, spitting mad more than ever, screaming from the doorway.

”Don’t listen.” Luxe murmurs, pulling you closer so that the two of you walk leaned into one another. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” You whisper quietly,

"Thank the stars. I was afraid I arrived too late.” her jaw worked, unspoken fears had you holding onto them a little tighter.

Luxe kept her head swiveling left and right, a constant surveillance until she was sure that there wasn’t anyone following. “Hold on,” She whispered, raising a finger, she cut a line down in the air, and a strange window with an ornate frame materialized in thin air. “Easy,” Luxe murmured gently as your body jerked, “We’re going to step through it, and get to the castle faster this way. It’s a little shocking to look at, but this way you won’t have to walk all the way back. The demon gently urges you through the archway. Before stepping through themself.

It was like stepping through a doorway. The threshold of one room, into another. Taking a tentative step you now stood in a room you have never seen before. It made you feel small with things that looked oddly too large. A chair that towered above you.

“I am sorry, my Lord. Forgive our passage through your room.” You turn your head looking towards Luxe and your eyes slowly raise up, up, up.

Whatever you had expected Luxe's lord to look like. . . the being that was lounging upon their throne looked nothing like it.

“Darling, this is Iridyne, the lord of this castle.”

Iridyne was a giant figure, but not abysal black or red like hellfire. Iridyne was pallid, with a softness like freshly fallen snow. When they shifted in their seat, a very faint prismatic rainbow would move upon their skin. Multiple bright blue eyes peered intently down at you. With great horns that had the appearance of being wrought from diamonds haloing their head.

"Our human," Their voice sang like a chorus, three voices intermingled and harmonized with one another, causing your skin to prickle at the strange echo.

"Yes," Luxe replied, showing no sign of being inflicted by the strange hum of voices. "They had been attacked on their way to market, I would like to arrange someone to accompany them next time. I fear it may no longer be safe for them to travel alone."

Iridyne blinks and hums, three distinct voices flowing from them, each talking evenly, and layered one on top of the other. You tried to twist your mind around the layering of words and separate each sentence from one another.

"Who would you recommend?"

"Does the human want someone specific?"

"Are they alright? They look shaken."

Luxe glances at you, before raising a gentle hand, "One thought at a time my Lord, I don't believe they can understand you so quickly."

Iridyne settles back into their seat, eyes blinking slowly, first the two, then the third that was positioned like a diamond on their forehead. They begin again, at a much slower and deliberate pace.

"Squishy human, do you require rest? Are you injured?"

Your eyes raise, your eyes meeting theirs for a fraction of a second before looking away. You shake your head.

Iridyne swivels their great head back towards Luxe again, speaking again in three voices, all humming with different words and rythmn. You chose not to fight the current, to attempt to untangle the flow of words, but let the voices wash over you like waves in the ocean.

"Thank you, my lord." You heard Luxe's own silken voice smooth through the hum. You felt a hand on your shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze. "You are most kind, yes, I will look after them, they will be able to rest soon."

You were gently led out, feeling your mind twinkle with a starlit dizziness as your thoughts shuffled about to clear your head. Focusing Luxe's concerned features.

"Are you alright?"

You nod, giving a weak laugh, "I think a spot of tea will do wonders for me."

Luxe's eyebrows creep up, a tense smile twitching upon their lips as worry lines creased their forehead. "I shall make you some darling."

You sat at the kitchen table as Luxe cooked, their gloves laying on the table at their side. Sleeves rolled up to their elbows as she tended to a sizzling pan chopping vegetables. It was strange seeing them dress down. A part of your mind had been sure they could have done anything and still kept those white gloves spotless.

Food dished onto a plate and settled down in front of you, a heaping of pan fried potatoes, with chicken and broccolie covered in a glaze.

"A simple meal," Luxe tutted, setting down a cup of tea, before pulling up a seat for herself. "But you should try to get a little something in your stomach."

You nod, and bow your head, "Thank you. . . I really appreciate it. . . everything I mean. For coming to find me and for the meal."

"Of course dear, I know I haven't exactly been gentile about the way I have displayed my affection for you. . . but please believe me when I say that I wish to be someone that you can trust."

Your fingers curl slightly, before your hand slowly reaches across the table, fingers closing around their hand. You feel a brief return of pressure, as a comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You ate quietly, hand closed around theirs until the plate was empty.

—

The next day you took lunch outside. Sitting on a wide spread blanket. With sweet lemon tea cakes and cucumber sandwiches that burst with the flavor of cream cheese and dill. Chores had been minimal today, while the head butler had tittered over you and your well being. You hadn't decided what to do about the subject of needing some kind of escort the next time you would leave for the village. Yet you hadn't been rushed into making any decisions and you were glad for the quiet day, despite feeling guilty for relaxing.

You began packing up the dirty plates, setting them neatly into the basket to carry them back to the castle. A small furry creature bounces toward you through the grass, a laundry basket balanced on the top of it’s head.

”Would you mind taking these inside?” The small fluffy creature asked, many large eyes blinking up at you. “I have a lot more work to do down here, I would really appreciate it”

You take the woven basket with a smile. “Of course, whose clothes are these?”

“The head butler!” The little being fluffs as a purr makes it’s small body quiver with delight. “Thank you!”

You watching the being bounce back towards the clothes line, where there were set of wooden stairs and more of the small beings hanging clothes to flap into the wind. “Oh. . .” You’re heart sinks a little, looking at this new basket that you have in your possession. You leave the grassy sunshine and enter the quiet house, your steps feeling too loud as you made your way across polished floors. The last time you were in their bedroom. . . you felt your stomach drop and squeezed your eyes shut. Once again the echoes of your accidental snooping bubbled up into your forethoughts, it felt both shame worthy and something else. Something that made your knees press tighter together.

You knocked on the door of their bedroom, waiting a few heart beats before shuffling inside, once you were sure that Luxe wasn’t there.

As you put the laundry down on the bed, you cast your eyes quickly away from the sheets, and the ghostly image that was burned there. The splayed legs, with a soft hand creeping downwards towards the navel. The sounds the glimpse of what you had seen, was quick to resurface and a lump formed in your throat.

You chose to look at anything but the bed, so your eyes darted nervously around the room. You turned on your heels and your gaze fell upon a strange mirror. It was elegant and very tall, resting against the opposite wall. Roughly the size and shape of a door. Yet where normally the mirrors in the castle shone bright and glossy in their swirling wood frames, this mirror's reflection was not just dulled, but black, a black that let in no light.

You tilted your head, trying to see any light, even the smallest of glance reflecting in the frame. But no, it was as matte as could be. You took a tentative step closer, without thinking you traced a finger against the sooty appearance. As if it were merely paint and scratching a soft nail against it could reveal the vibrant echo of the room.

"Hello?" The soft upward lilt of the voice startles you, and you turn to see Luxe hanging in the doorway. You did a quick survey of their appearance. Not looking inherently feminine today, nor masculine, something in between the two.

"Hello," You mutter shyly, standing still and casting your eyes downward. Edging away from the door meant edging nearer to the bed. It was hard not to feel guilty, especially in this room. Did you look guilty?

Luxe voice comes considerably closer, polished shoes appearing in the rim of your focus.

"How are you doing?" Their voice turns soft, consolable, and it makes your heart squeeze uncomfortably. There was no hedging around the thoughts now. Knowing you had done them a misdeed when their time alone was so precious, and then they had helped you in a moment of trouble. It made your mind sink inches deeper into the mire of bad thoughts.

"I," A breath of air, a thought, an apology on the tip of your tongue before you flapped your arm weakly. "I brought your clothes. I didn't mean to intrude." You glanced a peek up at them, but they were studying the mirror, a pensive finger drawn to pursed lips.

As your eyes lingered they turned to look at you, a funny expression on their face. "Would you like to hear a story about mirrors?" A smile quirked their lips, as you stared on taken aback.

"I. . . I wouldn't mind." You answered finally.

Luxe looks back at the mirror putting a palm to it, and you watch with wonder as the black fades away leaving your reflections in its wake. "Humans have lore about covering mirrors when their loved ones die, you have heard that, yes?"

"Because the spirit is said to get trapped there, yes."

Luxe smiles evenly, "Something like that. It started with an oral tradition that was passed down from a true story about the yearning of the heart."

You watched their face, focusing on their eyes, how intently they studied their reflection.

"So someone. . . saw their loved one in a mirror?"

"Possibly," Luxe replied, "No one is sure who the entity was, whether the mourner conjured the spirit of their loved one, or their sadness called to something else in disguise. Needless to say, whoever it was spirited them away. So enraptured by the appearance of someone they had believe to have lost, took their

hand, and stepped through the mirror."

A chill wriggled it way down your core. "That's. . . terrifying."

"Is it?" Luxe pulls their eyes away to smile at you. "I think it speaks about the strength of desire. One can want so deeply that it can affect the world around them, and mirrors are quintessentially, vessels that reflect. So they are one of the easiest objects that can reflect desire.

"Isn't that. . . how magic works?" You murmured skeptically.

"Indeed it is." They raise an amused eyebrow. "And you think humans cannot do magic?"

They scoff at the look you give them, before holding out their hand. "Would you like a demonstration? This mirror is used to seeing and reflecting upon desire."

You feel your nerves bunch, "I don't think…"

Luxe tuts lightly as your hand slides into theirs. "Think of a place."

You frown, "A place. . .?"

"Somewhere that makes you happy," The urge affably, "Be it a garden, or forest, or even perhaps a bakery. I know you enjoy those."

Your palm presses against the cool glass, as a place drops into your mind. A garden, but not a big garden exactly, the little colorful area of flowers and plants that grow outside the gates of the town. You feel your palm begin to sink into the glass and you give a yelp, snaking your hand away to stare dumbfounded at the mirror. The reflection in the room had fade away, and what stood in it's place was a perfect portrait of the garden outside the gate into the village. Your mouth only gaped as the portrait moved, flowers fluttering in the breeze. The mirror had not become a painting, but a window.

You briefly see Luxe reach towards through the glossy sheen, before the gloved hand disappears into the dappled sunlight. The mirror's surface rippled as if a stone was thrown into a pond. When Luxe's gloved hand pulls back, a one of the hardy daisy’s is grasped in their fingers. Your heart beats a thunderous roaring in your ears as they softly tuck the flower behind your ear.

"It's very simple." Luxe says, eyes bright and shimmering. "And now you know how I get around so quickly within the castle." They chuckle, averting their eyes as their fingers slip past the shell of your ear. The touch makes you shudder.

"I. . . I see." You look back to the window. The sunshine and the bright flowers. The floor of the bedroom became the floor of the dusty path with only the frame of the mirror sat between them. The cheerful picturesque spot was only a step away, was that why many of the mirrors were of the castle sat upon the floor?

You lick your lips nervously, wanting to know more but unsure what to ask.

"Mirrors can show and do a great many things," Luxe continues, "They can show you loved ones, and goodness are very useful in transportation, though many of them usually need a sister mirror to shine before they can become a doorway. This one is one I have had for a long time, and has been used enough that it can travel to places that do not have a link." Luxe's eyes have a twinkle of mischief, "There are not many of these kinds around. Due to the trouble people have gotten into with them. Stealing mostly. The desire to get into treasuries was too much for some folk."

"There's a mirror like that. . . with Lord Iridyne too?"

Luxe smiles and nods "There are two in the castle, though our Lord usually just likes to watch the world go by within the glass."

"You said. . . they function based on desire? What do you usually see?" The expression of Luxe's face makes you backtrack. "That is I mean, where do you like to go? If. . . If it works like a door."

Luxe's expression turn thoughtful. "I typically use mirrors for travel within the castle my dear." Your face falls and they smile sweetly. "Not very extravagant, I know. A portal at your doorstep, one that can take you wherever your heart desires and it is used for butling. It is very practical, and I would be more than happy to teach you how to go about using them." They peered at you and the smile turned into a grin. "Would you. . . enjoy that?"

It was hard to keep the enthusiasm from making your body spring with joy. Learning magic, the ability in which one hop, skip or jump could take you into any room you may need? Could there be any other answer? "Yes! I would adore that!"

"Perfect. Then we shall start on that tomorrow then. I am sure there are other tasks you must do today, ah yes, and thank you for fetching my laundry darling."

You beam and nod, walking out with the demon feeling very pleased with the promise of learning a new skill. Luxe closing the door behind the both of you.

There was a newfound spring in your step, looking forward to learning.

As the door closes, Luxe glances at the mirror. The picture shifts and coalses to a new image.

You are in the depths of the ornate frame walking down the hall and heading down the hall, expression cheery but looking tired.

Luxe's face twists into anger and snaps a finger at the frame.

"Cast out this image. Now."

The image cracks, a long dark chink running up the sides before the break widens, the smooth glass has dulled back to it's matte black and the darkness overtakes the picture. Luxe unceremoniously falls back onto the bed, hands laced over their stomach as they let out a tight breath.

"What do you usually see?" An eager expression with curious eyes that made their heart shudder. They groan, placing their hands over their eyes as their spaded tail slaps against the bed with agitation.

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Enjoy what I write? I have a tip jar! I also take writing and art commissions on kofi! ヽ(*ᵔ▿ᵔ)ﾉ

#monster x reader #monster x human #exophilia #demon x reader #demon x human

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