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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 23 days ago

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Death Wish 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

The car ride is silent. You don’t mind. You have nothing to say.

Your thoughts race to a fury. This is it. It’s over. You’re in trouble. Not the sort that would have you sobbing under your blankets. No, it’s the kind you don’t walk away from.

You replay that night in your head. Why did you do it? There was nothing different about that night. Nothing excessive. No, you were just tired of it.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe the solution isn’t getting rid of your father. Maybe it’s you. It’s always been. He always hated you. All of you.

Shadows flow over the car like waves in the ocean. The sky dims as evening deepens around the city. The wheels roll on with the silence. Tense and wrought. Driver nor passengers make a noise.

Rogers drives beyond the city limits. You’ve heard your father tell the stories. He laughs with his accomplices about the latest snitch or thief. They die alone and begging.

The warehouse stands like a skeleton against the moonlit sky. The shattered windows twinkle like the stars and the desolate lot sprawls like a swathe of black satin beneath the tires. The brakes lurch you forward and you catch yourself against the seat.

“Out.” Rogers says.

You don’t linger. You undo your seat belt and get out. There’s someone waiting to take care of you. To end it. Your eyes fill with tears. You’re not sad for yourself, you’re sad for your sisters. They’ll miss you. You didn’t tell them you loved them.

As you stand outside the car, Rogers drives away. You’re left alone in the midst of the cracked pavement. You hug yourself with one arm and look around.

Will it be a quick shot? Will you be tortured? You remember your dad cackling about a man who had his nails removed from his fingers and toes.

You flinch and whimper as metals rolls on a pulley. You look over as a large door opens upwards on its gears. A dark figure stands before the low glow from within. He signals with a hand.

You go to them. Your heart pounds as you think of running. Of racing into the nothingness of the land. You won’t fare any better.

As you near Barnes, he watches you calmly. He doesn’t look angry. He doesn’t appear as a man about to murder you. He seems entirely unbothered by your misdeed. You went above one of his men. You showed disloyalty. The worse sin among his ilk.

He touches your arm as if he were welcoming you into a house party, “doll.”

You look at him in confusion. Your eyes skim away from him. There’s a sheet of plastic hung from the ceiling. Behind it, a light shines although the curtain obscures it like oil in water. There’s a chair on the other side. You notice another sheet on the floor.

He’s silent as his hand slides down your arm. He squeezes and lets you go. He yanks the chain to lower the door. The squeak is jarring in the silence. There’s something else. Like a hiss and creak.

You startle again as he places his hand against your lower back. He walks you forward. Your steps are rigid and clunky. He takes you closer to the plastic curtain.

“Please, my sisters...”

He hushes you. You sniff back your voice and your tears spill over. He leads you past the curtain. You turn to look at the chair and find more than that. A man sits, bound and gagged. Your father.

Your heart plummets and your legs shake. Without meaning to, you lean on Barnes. He runs his hand up your back and clutches your shoulder before he draws away. He makes you stand on your own weight.

He marches toward your father. He squirms in the chair as the boss rounds him and stands behind it. He faces you, his eyes mellow against the fraught scene he presents to you.

“I thought on your request. I don’t often linger on things. I...” he pauses and thinks. “I make decisions. Tough ones and I make them quickly, otherwise, people get hurt.” He grips your father’s shoulders and pulls him to sit straight. The bound man grumbles and tries to thrash against the cord wrapped around him.

“I can’t kill him for you,” Barnes declares. Another tide of confusion swells over you. Why are you here?

Barnes steps away from the chair, his eyes pinpointed on you. He comes closer as he flips the small strap of his holster open. He slides out his pistol. You brace yourself. It’s a twisted game.

“Doll, you don’t ask for stuff like that. That’s not how it works,” He lifts the gun, offering it with the muzzle down. “You do that shit yourself.”

You bat away the tears as they dry up. You stare at him then look down at the gun. The silver but gleams under the glow of the hanging lightbulb above. The metal cage around it casts lines across you like a prison cell. He's dangling the key before you.

Your breath clogs in your throat.

“I did what I could. He’s right here. You get what you want but I don’t do your dirty work, doll,” he pushes the gun toward you. “You know how to aim?”

You shake your head and peel your dry lips apart. You look him in the face. You beg him with watery eyes.

“I can’t-- I’m not--”

“You came to my office and you said you want him dead. You don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” He snarls.

“I’m sorry-”

“Ain’t no apologies that can undo that,” he snips. “You get it?”

Your lip trembles. You don’t know what to do. What to say. It’s you or him. You dreamed of, you wished your father dead for years, but it was never real. Barnes is right though. You don’t say it out loud. You can’t take back those words.

“I saw what he did to you. It’s still there.” He lifts his free hand and touches the scab on your lip. “And he did the same to your sisters, didn’t he? And your ma before she died.”

“Stop,” you beg him.

“You got a choice. He knows what you asked for. He leaves this place and you won’t make it far,” he says. “Think about it. This is what you asked for. It’s what you didn’t say that night. If I do it, you get nothing. No closure. You been through of life of his torture. This is vendetta. He killed your ma. All those years, all those beatings...”

“No,” you whisper.

“No? So what happens? You go home to your sisters. I untie him. He’s not far behind. And they suffer too because he’s gonna think you worked together. Because you always do.” He says. “He won’t just get you, he’ll get them too.”

“No,” you shove his chest without thinking as you shriek. “No!”

He’s solid, unflinching against your force. You can tell by the grit in his jaw that he’s tolerating it for the sake of the moment. You pull your hands away and look past him.

You stare at that man. At that monster. Your boogeyman. Your abuser. And you know that Barnes is right. Your mother died a slow death at his hands. You can’t let the same happen to you or your sisters. You prayed for a way out. This is it. One chance.

One shot.

“Show me,” you put your hand on the gun, teeth chattering. “I don’t know what to do...”

He bows his head and pushes the gun against your hand. He looks down and moves your grip around it. “Like this.” He helps you grasp it and he moves around you. “Put your arms up.” He guides your arms up, “You wanna look down your arm, down the barrel.”

You see your father at the other end of the gun. His eyes are wide and gleaming. He wriggles against the cords. He grunts around the gag. The chair does not move. He’s trapped. Just like the little girls hiding in their closet as he bangs on the outside.

He’s scared. You’ve never seen him afraid.

Barnes explains but you barely hear him. Your heart surges with adrenaline and you stiffen with instinct. You’re ready. You’re ready.

“Then, you pull the trigger...” he says.

He lets you go and backs up. You sense his shadow behind you, then it fades away with the rest of the place. It’s only you and your father. The end.

You take a breath and move your finger to the trigger. You steady your hands as you brace the pistol with both, just like Barnes said. And you squeeze.

The bang is deafening and the force knocks you back. Your father lurches then his head slouches to the side at an unnatural angle. You gape at the sight of the hole beneath his cheek. Your arm drops and the gun hits the floor.

You stagger as your legs shake then fold beneath you. A new silence surrounds you in the echo of the single shot. The period at the end of the sentence.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #drabble #au #mob au #death wish #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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sinofwriting · 2 months ago

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Sparks - Ollie Bearman

Words: 833 Word Prompt: Sparks

Masterlist | Support Me! | Sin’s Sept. Blurbs

Her hands come together, clapping, as she jumps up and down cheering.

She lets David guide her, keeping himself between her and some of the PREMA team members as they watch Ollie stop the car behind the number one spot and then get out. More cheers erupting from the movement.

He throws himself into the team and her smile somehow grows wider as she watches them all grab and pat at him, beyond happy with him. She even spots Kimi in the crowd of mechanics despite his poor race, having gotten put into the wall by someone in an overzealous move on lap three.

Ollie makes his way down and she feels David’s hands fall from her shoulders as he pats Ollie on the back before Ollie pulls her up and into a hug. She makes a squeaking sound as her feet leave the ground, but clutches at him back, his grip on her unbelievably tight and she just knows he’s going to be shaky when he gets back from the podium.

“Last weekend in F2 and you practically pulled a grand slam!” She shouts and can just barely hear Ollie laugh, his fingers tightening somehow, refusing to let her go. “You did amazing, Bear!”

He laughs again, full of disbelief and then he’s slowly and carefully putting her down to yank off his helmet.

“You’ll stay here with my dad for the podium right?”

She nods, eagerly. “Of course.” She glances at David who looks somehow even prouder of Ollie than he usually does. “David won’t let anything happen to me.”

David pats her shoulder. “Not a single hair will get touched on her head.”

As she just a few minutes later watches Ollie on the podium she can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with her best friend than she already was. He looks so happy and relieved that this is how he’s finishing out his career in Formula 2, not with a bad run of races, but with two wins, a pole position, fastest lap, and fastest in practice. It was like a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

When he finally comes back to the small drivers room that Ferrari had given him in their garage, his dad pats him on the back, ruffling his hair before excusing himself and the door shuts behind with a soft click, leaving just the two of them alone.

“You did so well, Bear.” Her soft voice makes him break, a strangled sob leaving him and she quickly wraps an arm around him, pulling his head to rest in the crook of her neck. “You did so well.” She repeats, tears of her own coming to her eyes as she feels him shaking in her hold.

“I can’t,” he sobs. “I can’t believe it’s over. I’m so fucking tired.”

Her heart aches, she knows how much the media and fans saying it was odd to see him promoted when his F2 season was so poor, even after his two excellent drives in F1, had hurt him. And she knew that it had been a matter of time before he broke. She wasn’t expecting for it to happen as soon as he was out of the car and away.

She continues to hold him as he cries, her skin hot and soaked from his tears and her hips feel squeezed from the tight circle of his arms, but his sobbing has stopped, his crying is slowing, his shaking no longer.

“I don’t want to watch the race.” He mumbles against her skin and her pulse jumps. “Or debrief.”

“You’ll have to do a debrief, but I’ll message Jock. And maybe your dad can talk to Rene about an informal debrief, just an email sent out tomorrow.”

“That sounds nice.” He says, pulling just a bit away as he stands up straight, wiping at his face to clear it from the tears that spilled. The movement makes her hand fall away from his hair.

“I’ll text him and see what he can do.”

“Can you hold me still while you do it?”

Blood rushes to her face at the question, “I think it will be more of you holding me, but I’ll do my best.”

Pulling out her phone, her breath hitches as Ollie now tucks her into him.

It’s a brief text and she tries to show Ollie, but he shakes his head with a grumble and tells her to just send it. David’s response is a quick on it which she relays to Ollie.

As she puts her phone away, Ollie grumbles again and then sparks seem to fly across her skin as he puts his hands under her shirt, pressing her somehow even closer. It makes her head tilt back with a gasp.

“Bear,”

Her name comes out just the same and then he’s leaning in, eyes staring into hers, both of them holding their breath and she gives a slight nod and then his lips are on hers.

#ollie bearman x reader #ollie bearman imagine #f2 imagine #f2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader #sins fics #Sin's Sept. Blurbs

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endlessthxxghts · 1 year ago

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Animals

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈2.5k

Summary: Joel randomly calls you and tells you to meet him outside. Your parents are home though, and you can't necessarily tell them that Joel, your father's best friend, is asking you to go with him somewhere. Do you give a little white lie and leave, or do you wait until it's safer?

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified, but legal). Reader still lives with parents but she is an adult. Nosy and controlling ass parents to their child who's a grown ass adult. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Inappropriate car activities while driving. Handjob. Blowjob. Pulling into a parking lot in broad daylight to do some stuff... P in V unprotected. ✨Save a horse, ride a cowboy (in a parking lot)✨ Reader has bit of a size kink. Cum swallowing... Is there a term for kissing with semen in both y'all's mouths??? (Don't look at me...). Possessive kink. Spanking (just once though). Getting caught... Exhibitionism...😵‍💫 I think that’s as much as I can say without spoiling anything, so! After you read it, let me know if there’s anything that I should put in here that I missed out on!

A/N: One of my all-time favorite songs is Animals by Nickelback. As of lately, though, with all my Joel brain rot, I can't NOT think DBF!Joel every time I play it... so... here we are... I recommend listening before or when you read, just to really add to the experience hehehe.😈 @javierpena-inatacvest I hope you’re hungry!😋 Enjoy, y’all!!!

MASTERLIST

You’re beside me on the seat,

Got your hand between my knees,

And you control how fast we go by just how hard you wanna squeeze.

“Two minutes, get your ass outside.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. You blindly brought your phone up to your ear with your parents in the room with you, not taking the time to check the caller ID.

“I-” you start as you head to the bathroom, not wanting your parents to overhear anything. “I can’t just leave right now, and especially not with you.” He scoffs over the phone. “I was at the dining table with my parents, jackass.”

“But you’re not anymore, right?”

“No.”

“And they didn’t question you?”

“Didn’t give them the chance to.”

“Just get out here. I’ll drive off quick, no one will see,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Joel,” you say, your tone betraying your logical responses.

“Now,” he says before ending the call.

Your heart racing, you peer at yourself in the mirror, making sure you look semi-presentable even though you know Joel’s intentions are going to ruin your appearance anyway. You leave the bathroom, heading for the front door as fast as possible.

“Who called ya?” your dad asked.

“Going somewhere?” your mother followed.

“Just a friend. And I’m gonna step out real quick, I’ll be back in a bit,” you say nonchalantly, not trying to raise any suspicion. Your mother raises her brow at you.

“I really hope you both find the value in respecting people’s privacy,” you say, stepping out the front door as you speak, erasing the chances of any further commentary. That may have come across more harsh than you would have liked, but even into adulthood, the three of you have gotten into huge fights for your whereabouts. It’s not like you left them in the dark all the time or kept them up late waiting for you to get home. You were living under their roof, so you still respected their time. Yet, it was never enough. And you were too wound up thinking about Joel to bite your tongue.

He parked a house away, and you’re practically running at the speed of light to get into the passenger side so he can pull away before your parents decide to make it to the window to gain any more information they can.

As soon as you get into the passenger seat, though, Joel has different plans as he immediately puts one hand around your waist and the other on the thigh closest to him. You’re barely able to shut the door before he pulls you into the middle of the bench seat of his truck, your body flushed against his. You squeak out at his quickness, his strength. He smirks at it.

He lets his hand on your thigh drag up your body and situate itself on your jaw, turning your face to his and kissing you deeply, all tongue and teeth and thickened spit due to how fucking turned on both of you are.

You pull away, breathless, “Baby, you need to drive off, now.”

“Shit, sorry,” he says, releasing his hold on you. “Stop distractin’ me,” he playfully scolds, a smile full of trouble across his face as he pulls out of the neighborhood.

You scoff at him now, perplexed at his audacity to tell you that you’re distracting him. It makes an idea pop in your head. You’ll show him a distraction.

You shift your body to face him. Your hand lands on his thigh, running up and down lightly, getting closer to his hardened bulge that’s been begging for your attention since he dialed your number.

His grip on the wheel tightens, his jaw twitching, “Darlin’,” he grits. “What are you doin’?”

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean in closer, licking a stripe up his neck, your mouth at his ear. “Just,” you cup his erection, “being a distraction.”

His hips push up into your hand. He is painfully hard right now, his entire neck and face a bright red from your ministrations. You unzip his jeans, pulling it and his underwear down to let his cock free. You moan at the sight.

“I’m warnin’ you, girl.”

“Want me to stop?”

Silence.

He moves his arm closest to you to sprawl along the back of the bench seat, giving you complete access to him as he attempts to drive you two to God knows where.

You scoot closer in, and let out a content giggle. You place a wet kiss at his pulse point, whispering in his ear, “Thought so, baby.”

You bring your hand up to your mouth and let your spit pool in your hand, bringing it back down to his length, spreading it all over before you wrap your fingers around him.

“Joel, baby, fuck-” you moan in his ear as you slowly begin pumping him, “look how fucking big you are in my hands,” you whine. “Can barely wrap my hand around you,” you say as you nip at his neck again.

Joel begs his eyes to stay on the road, knowing that if he were to look down right now, he’d lose every ounce of his control — on both his self restraint and his damn truck. But, God damn, the slapping sound of your hand on his spit-soaked cock as you whine and writhe at his side has him desperate. He glances down for barely a millisecond, and he can’t help the groan that leaves his throat, his head threatening to throw itself back in utter pleasure.

“Am I doing good, baby?” You ask him. “A good distraction?” You add, your lips ghosting his jaw with each syllable.

“F-fuckin H-hell, baby,” he stutters, hips softly meeting every push and pull of your hand. “G-gonna make me c-crash this f-fuckin’ car.”

With his admission, your grip gets a little tighter, pumps get a little faster, and you're giving extra attention to the head of his cock. He’s pulsing beneath you, breathing erratic, and you can’t stop the urge to lean down and take him into your mouth.

On instinct, Joel’s foot falls a little heavier on the gas, causing him to drive a little roughly over a bump on the road. His dick pushes deeper into your mouth, causing the tip to hit at the back of your throat.

The spit that forms from your gag reflex gives you an easier ability to devour him just as he likes—warm, wet, and sloppy. Your head begins to bob faster, your hand still supporting the base of him as you periodically cup him below, and he’s an absolute mess.

You pull away for one moment in a choked breath, your hand now jacking him off, and you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I know you’re close, baby, I feel it,” you gasp out as your hand squeezes a little more, at the pressure you know makes him break. “Need you to cum, baby, need you to fill my fucking throat,” and with that, your mouth is back on him.

“Oh, f-fu-…” Joel nearly growls out, immediately pulling into some random parking lot, thankful the nearest slot was empty. The second the car is in park, he’s shooting his load down your throat, his hand flying to the back of your head to keep you stuffed full of him.

The way that you’re so turned on right now just by giving him the sloppiest head he has ever experienced has you absolutely dripping—an absolute moaning mess, vibrating him into overstimulation. He pulls you off, and you can’t help the blissed out smirk that forms on your face as you swallow almost everything he gave you, residue dripping down your chin.

He brings your face to his, and his tongue collects up his own spend, feeding it back to you in a desperate, sloppy kiss—if you can even call it that.

As your lips tangle in a nasty embrace, he’s quick to rip your bottoms off as he settles you on his lap. The feel on your pussy of his spent cock slowly getting erect again has you moaning into his mouth, your hips grinding down onto him, arousal coating him, urging him back to his full, hard length.

“Sh-shit,” falls from your mouth as his trails further down, leaving kisses down your throat. Joel brings his hand down to pump himself a few more times, ensuring he’s at full attention. Your hips lift up on instinct, Joel notching his tip at your soaking entrance.

You lower yourself onto him, going in with ease with how wet both you and him are, the stretch of him still providing that delicious burn. No matter how prepared or lubed up either of you are, that burn will never go away. You never want it to. It flips a certain switch of lust within you—an animalistic need—knowing just how fucking big he is, knowing that it’s all for you.

Usually when you’re on top, he’s extra sensitive, and you wait for him to give the signal for you to move. That need is there, though, and you can’t wait. As soon as your hips are flushed with his, you’re immediately lifting back up and dropping down on him again, maintaining a brutal pace that has you both uttering incoherent filth.

You place your hands on either side of his head, gripping the back of his seat to give you better momentum as you bounce on him. His hands are gripping at the globes of your ass, guiding your movements, fingertip-shaped bruises threatening to form. “Fuck, sweet girl,” he lets out, “just like that, baby.” His face is nuzzled in between your breasts, nipping and licking at them with every bounce of your thrusts.

His words cause your pussy to flutter, a possessive feeling gliding down your spine. Your one hand releases the chair and grasps at the curls on the base of his neck. “T-tell me,” you stutter, “t-tell me who my p-pussy belongs to,” you get out, licking into his mouth before you let him answer.

His hips begin to meet your movements, his pubic bone providing the cherry on top to unravel you. His lips are against yours, breaths intertwining into the thick air, windows beginning to fog. “Mine,” Joel growls. Your hips speed up, the truck shaking and squeaking with every movement. “This pussy is mine. You,” he breathes, “are fuckin’ mine,” a stinging pain fills your senses before your brain registers the slap to your ass.

Your thighs begin to shake and your body goes rigid, your climax teetering against the edge.

“Joel,” you cry out.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, let go for me,” he coos. And just as he’s about to hold you down to fuck up into you, a car parks right next to you, door immediately slamming as the person gets out and urgently peers into the driver’s side window.

Both of you are too close to stop your movements, the person’s face outside the car falling into pure horror and shock at what’s going on inside.

“Oh!” you scream out, both of you using all your strength to stop but unable to.

“That’s my dad outside the car!”

Oh please, the keys, they’re not in the ignition,

Must have wound up on the floor while we were switching our positions.

Before you know it, you’re pulsing around his cock as he fills up another one of your holes with thick, hot ropes of his cum.

Neither of you realize just when your father scrambled back into his car and drove away, but the idea of getting caught turned both of you on more than you’d ever admit.

You don’t get off of him just yet, both of you sitting in each other’s sweaty embrace as you let your breathing and heart rates return to normal.

“So…” he says, rubbing circles on the small of your back.

You look up at him, chin perched on his chest. “So,” you giggle.

“What the fuck do we do?” he asks, wordlessly referring to the mishap with your father.

Not as worried, you mess with him before giving a serious answer. “Mmm,” you say as you place a light kiss to his chest, “I was thinking you give me your boxers since you ripped the only bottoms I have on me, and you deal with the jeans chafing your balls until you get back home.”

His eyes go wide, completely forgetting that he did that, and silently cursing himself for doing something so stupid. Luckily he decided to actually wear underwear today.

“Oh, fuck, baby, I’m so sorry, I just-” he pauses for a moment. “You fuckin’ distracted me!” he says before he completely busts out in laughter, a deep howl filling the car. You smack his chest, your laughter following suit.

“You motherfucker,” you say, sitting up a little straighter, pulling him in for a chaste kiss.

He smiles at you, pure warmth and adoration in his eyes. He clears his throat, his face a little more serious. “I, uh, I was actually talkin’ about your old man, though.”

“I know,” you say, completely unbothered.

“Are you not worried?”

You shrug your shoulders. “No.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna try and wring my neck out?”

“Baby,” you laugh, “no, he’s not gonna wring your neck out. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

“Oh, gee. Thanks,” he deadpans.

“I promise you, I’ve got it taken care of.”

His fingers grasp your chin, pulling you in for another kiss, a little longer than the last. “I trust you.”

As soon as you enter the front door, you see both your parents at the dining table again. Though, this time around, instead of controlling and angry, they look pale and embarrassed.

You stroll to the dining table, not caring to sit down, and you get straight to the point. They can’t even look you in the eye.

“So? Did we learn our lesson about-”

“Yes,” your parents say in unison, “please just,” your mother continues as your dad starts to retreat anywhere else but here. “Let’s not talk about it.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles in your chest.

“You’re a grown woman,” your mother says, rigidly. “It’s really not our business what you do anymore.” You peer at your father. He throws a thumbs up at your mother’s words, eyes still trained on everything else but you.

“Glad ya guys came to your senses,” you say, offering a smug smile. You can’t help it. If catching you having the steamiest sex in an older man’s car is what causes them to stop breathing down your neck, then so be it. You’d have intentionally done something like this ages ago if that’s what it took.

You start heading to your room when your dad finally speaks. Still unable to look you in the eyes. “Tell Joel I don’t give a fuck what he does—what y’all do—just,” he pauses to take a breath. “Tell him not to address any of this with me. Ever.”

“Deal.”

No, no matter where we go,

‘Cause everybody knows,

We’re just a couple animals.

End Note: Well. That killed me. The amount of laps I took writing this...🥴 Thank you all so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, etc, — all your support means the absolute world to me. I wouldn’t be able to do this without all of you. Thank you so so so much. There are genuinely not enough words to express my gratitude. As always feedback for my stories (at a technical sense) is also super super helpful whether it is constructive or positive! Anything helps me to be the best writer that I can be. All my love! Xo

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

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flemingsgirl · 2 months ago

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Bundle of joy

Her sweet wife's expecting and her teammates being just like family.

Viviane Miedema x freader

Tw: Mention of vomit and a swear..

Wrapped in your coat only your eyes and scrunched nose looking out you sat behind the bench of her team; Viv organized you a bandage for the seat. When the team walks back to the locker room Katie and some other wave at you and as Vivianne makes her way past you she stops at the railing. “Look at you all freezing up, just wearing gloves, what are you hoping for,” you laughed and she rolls her eyes. Her hand reaching for yours intertwining them, “You okay?” She knitted her brows. “you’re quite passive just some jogs.”

“Yeah, yeah, someone kicked me against my shine.”

“Nasty.”

“You can say that loud. Are you alright?” her eyes wandering from yours down to your abdomen.

“I’m fine, we’re fine” her lips curl up and her dimple visualizes on her cheek. “You’re rocking it Anna,” you squeeze her hand, the goner laughed, and you showed how you have her finger crossed, she gives you another radiant smile before disappearing into the dugout.

When the game ends her eyes search for you on your designed seat. “You good Miedema?” her thick accent filling the air.

“Yeah just looking..”

“For Y/N? I think she left ten minutes ago.” The woman takes off as the words left katies mouth.

Banging on the several doors in the restroom she hears heavy breathing behind the last one. “Schatje,” she raises her hand and knocks hesitantly on the door, “can you let me in?”

“It’s open,” you mumble, and she slowly pushes the door open. “It hit out of the blue, couldn’t even watch the end.”

Her hand rubs over your back, her other holding your hair back, “it’s alright, it wasn’t even important.”

“Every game is important for me, seemingly not for her.” Your head rests in your hand as you take deep breaths in.

“She cannot quite understand it,” Viv lets out a chuckle and takes your cheek in her hand.

“Don’t, I stink.”

“So, do I.”

“You don’t wanna kiss me with all the vomit.”

“I’d always kiss you but if you don’t feel like it it’s okay.” She rises to her feet holding out a hand for you, “you wanna come into the changing room and wait for me?”

“I don’t know I’m not sure if the nausea is gone,” you take her hand, and she helps you on your feet.

“Good, small steps, okay? So how are we?” leading you out of the stall and towards the sinks, getting some water in her hands she attaches it to your skin, a prickling feeling runs through your body. “You’re doing so well.”

“I’m just standing.”

“Yeah, and that’s enough,” she places her hands on your tummy which is hid in your coat. “We’re almost done, only a few weeks.” She pecks your cheek, then the other and at last your forehead. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, my love,” you bring your arms around your neck and snuggle into the crock of her neck, the sweaty smell almost calming you. “I’m ready let’s get this done.”

She guides you into the changing room where you’re meet with cheers and shouting from her mates, Beth almost jumping you to the ground, Viv could catch the two of you before worse could happen. “I can’t believe only a few weeks,” she squeaks still jumping up and down. Two strong arms sling around your body as Katie pulls you into her embrace “Can’t leave before aunty Katie said hello,” she lowers her head to the bump, “Yo hello bud in there, it’s your favourite don’t upset your mommies they’re doing their best and beyond. Can’t wait until you’re here.”

“Oh, girls you’re so sweet,” tears built up in your eyes and your bottom lip trembles they’re taking the cue and hold you in their embrace until Vivianne is ready to go home. “Okay guys see you tomorrow,” she waves for them, and you both step out.

The first days back home with your little bundle of joy was everything besides joy, screaming, crying, vomiting, pooping, people who say it’s easy peasy lemon squeezy should rod in hell. Hectic that was your new normal. Don’t get this wrong the birth of your baby girl was next to your wedding day the best day in your life, Heleen is a sweet girl and looks just like her mom but then she got this cold in the first days being home, she gets fuzzy and screams almost the whole day, neither of you could keep an eye shut, your hearts breaking at her being sick.

After this bumpy start the three of you fell perfect into the family routine and life. The only thing that was a topic that you discussed with your wife was football. She paused training with the girls the first month of Heleen’s life, she needed to get back on the pitch, stay in form, train for her to be part of the squad but that wasn’t as important to her than her family.

“Viv, it’s been a month you can’t stay home and workout here.”

“Why so?

“We don’t have the capacitate nor the girls to push you. You miss them. I know,” you caresses her cheek as you step closer to her in the rocking chair. “They need you. We got this; you still have half of the day with us my love.”

“But what if I don’t want to leave you?”

“I don’t want it either but there are some things we can’t change. We’ll come around as much as we can,” you peck her cheek and rest your head on hers as your hands hold her face. “You’re not a bad person, it’s your job.”

Marking her tenth month she was the first time in the stadium with you, the noise cancelling headphones on her head as she cradles in your arm eyes sparkling as she observes her surroundings. “Quite lovely innit Hel?” you kiss her occipital. “Look there’s mommy,” you point towards your wife who walks behind Beth onto the pitch, she squeaks and jumps in your lap. Heleen fell asleep around the twentieth minutes.

Viv scored twice that day and sent you a heart each time. Your daughter wakes before them and sees them as well, so you think cause she somewhat claps her small hands together, making you giggle. When the games ends you moved closer to the pitch with your daughter tight pressed into your body.

“Look who’s there,” you turn her in your grip, “your favourite aunty.” Katie sees you and runs over to you almost crashing into some other player.

“Look at you, all proud of aunty to win,” she raises her hands towards you, and you hand your daughter to the other woman.

“But careful Katie,” one brow raised, and your pointing finger dared on her.

“You know me.”

“Yeah, the biggest argument.”

“Let’s get you to your mommy,” she coos and walks over to Viv who was wrapped in a conversation with Beth and Caitlin.

“Oh, who’s there!”

“Our biggest fan!”

“Hartendief,” Viv tickles her side, and she wiggles in Katie’s grip and then she takes her off her aunties arm and into her body. “I scored for you have you seen that?” she whispers into her little ear, “I’m very happy you’re here.” She pecks her forehead and joins the conversation again, a smile plastered on her lips.

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multi-fxndom446 · 1 year ago

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You came? You called.

Scenario: John Price, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, John ‘soap’ Mactavish and Simon ‘ghost’ Riley

This is part one to three parts. All of these include the, “you came…you called.” As different scenarios I saw them being used in for these characters.

Honestly I can do a part two to this or even do an individual one-shot for a specific character. So if either of those sound interesting please please request it.

All of these were written in mind of different tropes but pretty much boil down to you both love each other. (Sorry if some of these are ooc I did my best😭)

Part Two Part Three

Captain John Price

Warning: blood, pretty open ended 👀

“Does anyone have eyes on Y/n?” Price asked after several minutes of silence from you. He had been trying for what felt like hours to get in contact but you either couldn’t hear him or you were in a place you couldn’t respond.

There was a third option but he didn’t even want to think about it being a possibility.

“The house straight ahead of you,” ghost gruff voice cut through the silence. “Looks like backup was called over there.”

Price took a deep breathe, his eyes zoned in straight ahead. You had to be there.

As he opened his mouth to start giving off orders the sound of a soft whisper came through. So soft none of them caught it the first time.

Then it came again, “captain..” it was your voice. You were whispering like you were scared of getting caught by someone.

He felt his entire body tense at the way your strained voice finally clicked in his head. “I’m going to get her.”

Before his men could even argue price was running toward the house. He could hear a small curse and more footsteps joining not to far behind and he knew his men were running to join him.

“Price. I don’t know if I can get out of this one alive.” You words had him speeding up and with the help of the rest they cleared the house in no time.

Price found you not even a second later, you were trying to put pressure on a wound and he could tell you lost a lot of blood from the way you couldn’t focus your eyes on him.

You went completely limp the moment he picked you up in his arms like you knew you were finally safe.

It’s all he could think about while he stood outside the medic bay. He carried you inside and handed you off to let them take care of you so all he was left to do was wait.

But only a few minutes later your voice came back to him louder as you screamed his name from inside. He could hear the nurses trying to calm you down but you kept screaming for him.

He rushed in and as soon as your eyes connected with his you immediately stopped struggling. Your body slumping into the mattress as you looked at him.

“Price.” You sighed out smiling weakly. “You came.”

He knew you weren’t just talking about right now but about him coming after you even if he wasn’t sure you were going to make it out alive.

He was at your side in a second his hand grasping yours softly. It felt colder. “You called.”

You didn’t respond but he could see the way your eyes started fogging over. “You need to let the nurses fix you up yeah?” He asked gently, squeezing your hand as your soft gaze continued to stare up at him like you were committing it to memory.

“I just needed to see you.” Was the last thing you muttered before he was ushered out.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Warning: injury, your hinted at being a nurse here. Friends to…

It was late when Price and Soap all but dragged Gaz into the medic bay. Heaving him carefully onto a bed which squeaked slightly from the sudden pressure.

He watched his captain tell the nurses what happened but none of them were who he wanted. “Soap.” He groaned out turning to his friend who was at his side. “Give me your phone.”

Soap did so without question and sat in silence while Gaz called you, unaware of the time. “Hello?” Your voice came through a few rings later. Slightly groggy but still twinged with worry. “Soap?”

“Y/n.” Kyle breathed relieved to just hear your voice. “Nice to hear your voice.”

“Kyle?! When did you get back? Why do you sound like that? Are you hurt?!” He could hear shuffling on your end like you were running around. “Damn it Gaz the one time I don’t take a night shift.”

That caused him to pause. He pulled the phone from his face to look at the time and winced when he saw the small 4am in the corner. He felt worse knowing you didn’t sleep very well and he probably woke you up.

“I’m okay, just needed to hear your voice go back to sleep.” He hung up before you could respond. His hand suddenly feeling too heavy to hold the phone to his ear.

“Stay with him.” Price pointed to soap as he marched out, most likely to finish reports before he came back.

Nurses were bombarding him with medical talk and sticking him in every which way. It was more annoying than anything.

Only a few moments later the doors slammed open and there you stood, chest heaving as you scanned the room almost instantly finding him.

“Y/n.” He smiled weakly, the blood loss mixed with the hit to the head making him woozy. “You came.”

You looked at him like he was an absolute psychopath to even assume you wouldn’t after the call you just had. “You called!” You exclaimed marching towards him. “Did you fall out of another damn helicopter?”

“Definitely not-“

You looked to Soap pointedly who nodded his head solemnly. “It’s part of my charm I feel.” Gaz muttered, sighing in relief when your hands took over the work of the other nurses who left as soon as you came in, knowing you could handle the rest on your own.

“You’re gonna kill me one day Kyle. I swear to god.” You whispered as you dressed his wounds, freezing when you felt his hand graze your cheek.

“Don’t say that.” He frowned. “I never want to be the reason of your pain. Let alone death.”

You almost told him you were joking but in the next second his eyes closed and his hand fell to his side.

You almost panicked till you saw his chest rise and fall in soft breathes. The injury taking all the energy he had left.

“Damn it Kyle.”

~~~

John ‘Soap’ Mactavish

Warning: toxic ex, abuse, protective Johnny, best friends to…

Your phone was on two percent when you called Johnny in the middle of the night. You swore you almost started crying when his voice broke through the storm in your head. “Lass?”

“Johnny.” You sobbed into the phone before the call cut short. You pulled the phone from your ear only to see it shutting off and you felt all resolve start to crumble.

After the fight you and your now ex boyfriend just had you needed him.

You needed his help. You needed him.

In all the years you’ve known Johnny you can almost count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen him angry.

You’re sure it happened often given his occupation but never in front of you. He hated you seeing him like that.

Which is why you’re almost surprised when you open the door only ten minutes later to see Johnny standing there, a frown adorning his usually smiling face.

“You came.” You all but sobbed in relief.

“You called.” He said as he let himself inside. He closed the door behind him and grabbed you into a warm embrace. “What’s goin on-?”

His confused gaze immediately hardened further when he pulled back just enough to see the red mark on your cheek. Delicately he traced his thumb over it, examining it. “He do this?” He seethed and you could only nod.

“Where the fuck ‘s he?” He demanded but you just shook your head and stepped away from his grasp.

“I don’t know he left after the fight but he’ll be back he has nowhere else to go.” You spoke as you led him further into your apartment. “I need help getting some stuff and leaving before he does. Can you help me?”

“Course I can Bonnie.” You didn’t even need to ask him, he would walk through fire if you needed him to. “Tell me what needs ta come.”

You led him to the bedroom and pointed things out to him and within ten minutes he was finishing packing all the essential things you needed.

You were in the living room grabbing anything sentimental when the front door slammed shut. Instantly Johnny was marching his way to where you. Where he saw you were being crowded into a corner of the wall as your ex got in your face.

Johnny saw red the moment he saw your body trembling beneath him. In a second he was in front of you, shoving your ex back who looked shocked for only a moment before he scoffed.

“You’ve a lotta nerve comin’ back ‘ere.” He ground out, jaw clenching when he felt you clutch onto his arm.

“Of fucking course it’s you.” You ex seethed taking a step closer. “You’re the one she cheated on me with aren’t you? I fucking knew it. I always knew there was more between you. The fucking way you look at her like a lost puppy gives everything away.”

He took a step toward you both again and Johnnys arm moved to shield you further behind him. He had no idea what was going on but he knew you would never do something like the man is accusing. You loved him with every fiber of your being and it’s something that killed Johnny everyday.

“You’d be wise to take several steps back.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll fuckin’ kill you. You’re lucky I don’t kill you now for what you did.” Your ex seemed to finally understand the glint in Johnnys eyes and instead of saying anything more, just shook his head and walked back out the front door—pictures rattling from the slam. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I didn’t-“ he paused when he heard you try to speak. “I didn’t cheat on him. I never would’ve-“

Johnny hushed you as he pulled you into another hug. “I know Bonnie I know. Even if you did he had no right putting his hands on you.” He pulled away only to grab your things and lead you out the door. “You’re gonna stay with me fer awhile aye?”

You could only nod.

(Soap part two- 6 Months)

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Warning: none really. Pretty tame for my boy. Exes to…

You called him in the middle of the night on a random day of the week, whispering a soft “Simon?” Into the receiver that went unanswered.

You waited for a moment longer wondering if he would say anything but when he didn’t you just sighed and continued to speak. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from right now but I-“ you paused to take in a deep breathe. “I can’t sleep without you.”

It felt like a heavy confession and it made you feel weak to even speak it out loud but it was true. You couldn’t sleep, not since he broke it off only a month ago. And in the time you couldn’t even get an ounce of sleep without him next to you.

Silence continued to fill the amtosphere and you almost wondered if you even pressed call. But with one quick glance you knew you did and he in fact did answer, just refused to speak.

“Sorry.” You sighed, resigning to the fact that you just may never sleep again. Being in the military it was hard to find something that made you feel safe enough to sleep but you did and it was Simon. He broke whatever was going on off. To scared that one day you would wake up and realize he isn’t the one that you should be with. “Forget I called.”

You hung up immediately after. Your heart couldn’t take the silence coming from him any longer instead you went around your small room and got ready for another sleepless night before you were sent back into the field early the next morning.

You had just turned off the lights and tucked yourself into bed when a rough knock echoed in the silence that was drowning you.

You let out a sigh and rolled out of bed already annoyed. You swung open the door ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of your mind but instead you stood there frozen.

“You came.” You were shocked to see Simon was the one standing on the other side, eyes boring holes into you.

“You called.” He muttered before glancing behind you in silent question to which you immediately let him in.

“What-?”

Before you could even ask he was already taking off his shoes and pulling off his hoodie, which he hung next to yours on the door. A sense a familiarity washed over you. “You have a mission tomorrow. You need to sleep.”

You didn’t ask how he knew that information or where he even got it from. Instead you followed him to the small bed in the corner where he was already making himself comfortable. “You don’t have to do this Simon. I’m sorry I called.”

“Lay down.” He ordered and you obeyed quickly melting into his warm embrace as his arms tightened around you.

You didn’t know how he managed to do it but in only a few minutes your eyelids became heavy and slumber was quickly taking over. “I’m sorry.” He whispered softly but you didn’t register why nor did you care about what he was sorry for.

You only cared he was here now. “I miss you.” You mumbled and you swore you could feel his arms tighten further.

(Ghost part two- Say don’t go)

Next parts to include,

Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, Valeria, Alex, Keegan and Konig :)

And I will post the rest tomorrow I’m too tired to do this again tonight.

#call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #cod x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost cod x reader

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thesassypadawan · 6 months ago

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Closing Time (Leo x FemReader)

Summary: Who doesn’t love closing time? Especially when it’s with your very handsome, very sexy coworker.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Closing time fun and… Leo’s big, fat dick.

Notes: I would love to hear what all you, lovelies, think! If you would like to see more of Leo! If so...I already have another idea in mind! ❤️

- Closing time, your absolute favorite part of your shift. Well, that and getting to work with him.

- You’d be lying if you said you aren’t attracted to him. Those sparking blue eyes, that brilliant smile, tight butt… It was easy to see why you drop a slice of pizza or spill a drink at least once a day…

- “Angel… Angel… Earth to, angel…”

- “Oh, Leo!” You squeak in surprise, broom clattering to the floor.

- Kicking yourself internally, you scramble to pick it up. Trying to act like you weren’t just totally spacing out, watching him prep the dough for tomorrow. Rolling, kneading it…fantasizing it was you instead. “Um, d-did you need something?”

- The sound of his gravelly voice comes floating from the back, a shiver running down your spine. “Yeah, if you’re done cleanin’ up front; I could use some help back here.”

- Popping up, you’re met by the sight of him standing there. Arms crossed over his chest, a mischievous look on his flour smeared face. “Made a real mess.”

- The heat instantly rushes to your cheeks and other places. “O-Okay, I’m com-”

- “Comin’?” He chuckles, eyebrows raised slightly. “Knew I’d get ya to.”

- Flashing you a grin, he returns to his work. Leaving your heart pounding, walls fluttering. Just like always, damn him.

- With a soft huff, you quickly scamper around the counter. Keeping yourself turned away him, you get to sweeping. Minding your own business, doing your best to not focus on the fact that you keep getting closer to him with each brush of the broom.

- Due to the cramped space, you two inevitably end up bumping into one another. Turning, you begin to frantically apologize… “Opps, sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

- …when suddenly he crowds you against the small island and captures your lips in a searing kiss. Nipping, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Hard cock pressing into your stomach. Dirty hands making their way down your sides, streaks of white left in their wake. As they come to settle on your hips; giving them a good, firm squeeze.

- Breaking apart, he mutters in your ear, “Been waitin’ to do that.” Before hoisting you up, sending anything and everything crashing to the floor.

- “And what else, huh?” You giggle, watching Leo fumble with his belt and zipper. While you eagerly shimmy out of your leggings and panties. Eyes growing a bit wide when you see what he’s been sporting this whole time.

- Slotting himself between your legs, he cages you in with his strong arms. Lips trailing over your neck, fat tip running through your wet folds. “I think ya know.”

- Your hands come to rest on the back of his head, knocking his baseball cap off. A needy mewl escaping you when you feel him line up with your entrance. “Don’t tease me.”

- Smirking, he snaps his hips forward. Stretching you out so deliciously, pounding into you wonderfully. Teeth biting at your sensitive skin. “Never tease…not with ya.”

- Speeding up, his thrusts grow stronger. Your body bouncing with every movement and all you can do is hold on. Fingers gripping his shoulders, pussy clinging to him. Panting and moaning like crazy.

- The noise of skin slapping together fills the air, his dick driving deeper. Hitting that lovely little spot inside you over and over. Pushing you swiftly and dangerously close to the edge, along with… “Fuck… Sweetheart… Fuck…”

- One last hard slam and he has you seeing stars. Whole body clamping down, a string of cries flying from your lips. As you gush all over his cock, while he paints your walls white. Some leaking out, mingling with the flour beneath you.

- Slowly coming back down, he presses his forehead to yours. Both wearing the same stupid smile, you can’t help but tease. “Wow, you really did make a mess.”

- “And I’m about to make it into a bigger one,” Leo growls. Mouths colliding, hips starting to slowly rock again.

Tag Lists: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @kenobiskywalkerkestis, @loverforoldermen, @lunarnightt, @adorbzliz, @ahano, @kenmaiica, @freezerbride95, @lunarnightt

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wood-white-writer · 1 year ago

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"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels.

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside.

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him.

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did?

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched.

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?”

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known.

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours.

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours.

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own.

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't.

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon.

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't.

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same.

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles.

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life.

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed.

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag.

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal.

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest.

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off.

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe.

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest.

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious.

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?"

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him.

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard.

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen.

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people.

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?”

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be.

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked.

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder.

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt.

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —"

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you.

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him.

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is.

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence.

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy.

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-...

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight.

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now.

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either.

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter.

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes.

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs."

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself."

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share.

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse.

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls.

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row.

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses.

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks?

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words.

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not."

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs."

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories.

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable.

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this.

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining.

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time.

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back.

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either.

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro."

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun.

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter.

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense.

Assholes, the lot of them.

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious.

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island.

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that.

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it.

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side.

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once.

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

#buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #buggy x you #one piece #buggy the clown fanfiction #buggy x female reader #DMTMYHB #didn’t mean to make your heart blue

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milkcryy · 7 months ago

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thinking about sinister mark and sigh.

hopping on the bandwagon. i have some choice Thoughts about him that id like to air out.

(keep in mind that i am NOT A DARK BLOG!!! stuff i say in this post is Very close to toeing the line of being borderline SCARY TO ME. im a soft bitch) also no non/dubcon bc consent is important to me.

minors dni with this post cause it gets a little spicy under the cut..

these dark blogs kinda make me see the sinister mark vision.. like..... theres so many possibilities when it comes to him

CW: he eats you out while youre on your period + more. it gets bloody.

that is a man who KNOWS what he wants and GETS it. so desperate and borderline animalistic about you that when he rushes in a blur to pin you to a wall, it cracks. muttering and panting in your ear about what hes about to do to you, and you just know both of you wont make it out of this without blood being involved. hes pressing up against you, still in his stupid suit. smooth as the material rubbed against your back, stinking with his sweat.

hed start out considerably gentle with it, hands shaking from holding himself back from the worst of what he was fantasizing of doing to you. pinning you hips down to keep you from squirming despite your quips about you being on your period. he'd lick his lips, his heart racing even faster when he pulls down your pants. even better, he rasps, dragging his hands down your thighs and leaning in close between them. you couldnt see his eyes through how opaque and dark his goggles were, but you could tell his eyes were blinking heavily with lust just to swallow you whole without remorse.

and maybe you let him, spreading your legs for him. like a bunny letting a wolf clamp its jaws around the other's neck. he was going to drain you dry.

he wastes no time eating you out, lips and tongue working at your sweet spots in the best way possible. something something his grip on your hips bruising you. something something he haphazardly spits on your clit as if it wasnt slick enough, the room filling with the biting scent of metal. mercilessly tonguing you even after youre finished, thighs squeezing around mark's head, unable to compose yourself when every nerve is ridden with overwhelming pleasure.

before you know it, youre forced on your hands and knees. a rough hand at the back of your head forcing your face down onto the bed when his tip rubs at your bloody, dripping entrance. he mustve ripped the crotch area of his suit off, you barely have time for the thought to process when he's hurriedly pushing his dick inside you, when the tip presses just a little painfully against your cervix, he relishes the squeak you let out, muffled by the bedsheets.

mark wastes no time with this, hips moving at a relentless pace, coaxing - no - forcing moans and squeaks from you as if he were pulling the pathetic sounds out of you with his bare hands. and his grip was a vice, merciless thing. though there was no relief when his hand lets go of the back of your head, arms shaking and struggling to prop yourself up. licking your blood off his lips, mark leans in, his chest pressing against your back. grunting in your ear. your eyes shoot open to the feeling of mark's teeth clamping harshly down onto your shoulder. you cry out, whether in pain or pleasure, you didnt know, but the harder his jaw clamped, you were sure it was some mix of both. your skin gave way, sharp canines piercing your shoulder like he was some feral dog. the small drops of blood that slithered from the wound were quickly lapped up by a rough, bloodthirsty tongue.

when both of you are finished, you dont stop leaking his cum from your hole for a whole day. you body is practically covered with livid bruises and bite marks. and whenever you see them in the mirror, you brandish them like its a shining, bright fucking gold medal.

#mark grayson x reader #mark grayson smut #afab reader #mark grayson x afab reader #ignore how clinically insane i am about him #i think to think im better than those dahmer fangirls then turn around and pull this #is it goofy that hes doing allat in his stupid ass suit? goggles and everything?#no set up. just sex.#hes the typa guy to ask you if youre ready to be a single mother

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ticklytums · 9 months ago

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A Different Duel

Lucifer and Alastor can turn anything into a competition.

Anything.

(Lucifer and Alastor friendship/radioapple if you squint. Niffty and Alastor father and daughter relationship. This ended up way longer than I meant oops)

The halls were adorned in even more tacky circus decor than before. Frankly, Alastor was surprised there weren’t as many ducks as he feared there’d be. Maybe Charlie had downgraded the King’s obsession to just a few.

He hadn’t really been out to see the new, lavish and fully renovated Hazbin Hotel yet, having just crept out of the depths of his tower after several weeks of healing. He’d made himself scarce and barricaded anyone from entering.

Life had gone on it seemed. It was early morning and most of the hotel were out. Lucifer had commanded a grocery trip to stock the kitchen, and it seemed only he and Niffty were in the lobby. Alastor was quite blindsided to find the tiny maid at eye level as he stood by the railing.

He peered down and his grin stretched into a snarl when he saw Lucifer hoisting her up as he flew with all six wings.

“High enough, Thumbelina?” he asked the little lady, doing a figure eight in the air with her as the little cyclops squealed in delight. Alastor’s claws clenched into the railing.

“Higher, Luci! I want to go higher, I still need to reach the ceiling!” Niffty giggled and feathered the king’s face with her duster, prompting a string of giggling.

“Allow me then, little miss!” Alastor’s voice came out with a bit more of a bite than he intended, as his tendrils were quick to snatch the squealing tick from the angel’s arms. He hoisted Niffty up higher than Lucifer had, and grinned all fangs as the man scowled at him.

“Petty little bitch. You saw that I was holding her up to the chandelier. I was managing it just fine.”

“Ohhh maybe!” Alastor agreed. His tendrils absently rolled along and weaved through the air, bouncing a squeaking and laughing Niffty. “But can your wings do this?”

“No,” Lucifer deadpanned, and he snatched Niffty right back. “I can do this though!” He kept himself airborne with a few wings (although it certainly threw off his weight), and one of his wings fluttered at the girl’s belly.

Furious and jealous static crackled from Alastor at the tick’s laughter, and he yanked the girl right back again. “Oh please! You really wish to get the little doll to laugh?” His tendrils wriggled along her sides and squeezed at her knees. “You’re going for all the wrong spots!”

Tendrils still tickling a laughing Niffty, he swung the girl possessively up onto his shoulder. “I’ll thank you to stay away from the little lady, Your Highness! You already have one of your own.” He started towards the stairs. Stay the fuck away from mine.

“What’s wrong? Afraid I can make her laugh easier than you can?” Lucifer shot back smugly, only pleased by the enraged static that crackled from the stag.

“Oh please!” Alastor scoffed and his staff reached out to fish the little bug up by her poodle skirt. “It is remarkably easy to make Niffty laugh! I prefer a more difficult game myself. What’s this trivial nonsense matter to you anyway?”

“Oh nothing much. Personally I just want to see how many things I can best you at.” Lucifer disappeared in a flash of gold and was suddenly inches away from Alastor’s face. “Because we certainly know killing angels is one of them!”

Alastor’s snarling grin tightened even more as he tried to pass the King. “I’m not interested in any of your frivolities . Some of us actually have work to do today!”

“Wow, I’m surprised at you, Alfonso. I wouldn’t think you’d be someone to turn down a competition. Scared you’ll lose?”

“In what? A game of tickling Niffty? Niffty is hardly even a challenge to make laugh.”

“Mm yes I see,” the King drawled as he leaned upon the crimson fruit of his own staff. “Who do you propose to be the best test subject then?”

“Well for hypothetical sake, Husker of course!” It was far too delightful of a thought to summon his old friend out from whatever frivolous and likely alcohol fueled fun he was having.

“Husk is with Angel. He’d be pretty mad if you interrupted him.”

Ah, so add fornication as part of the fun then. “All the more reason to summon him here so he can settle this little duel! The look on his face, it would be simply priceless!”

Tickling the feline had always been a fond pastime. The tom cat yowls and cackles were always surprisingly boisterous coming from the old drunk.

“You really need to summon a buffer?” Lucifer drawled, seconds before Alastor’s claws were poised to snap. “What, too scared you yourself would lose?” His snake fanged grin smirked at the deer.

Alastor stepped back and his claws and even antlers curled in displeasure as the King shifted into his serpentine form and had the audacity to curl up his microphone staff. He attempted to shake the microphone, but the bastard was immovable….and Alastor wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“Maybe I’m just not partial to these games with you, of all people.” Alastor snipped back. “Niffty is an exception. I hardly want you touching me.”

“Ah, I get it kid.” Lucifer hovered above him now, and his six wings flapped innocently, disarmingly close to the deer. “You know you’d lose to me, and you don’t want that. It’s fine! It’s cool! I respect your stance.”

Niffty could see that Lucifer was playing right into Alastor’s pride, and Alastor was eating it up. His grin was turned up into a sneer. “I didn’t say I was frightened. Perhaps I’m just not ticklish.”

“Yes you are,” Niffty piped up from the mass of tendrils.

“Hush, dearest! So you really want to do this then?” He leaned on his staff, burning inwardly with embarrassment that he’d fallen victim to his vices. “Fine.”

A tickle fight with the devil. There were worst ways to spend a Wednesday morning. “Alright. What are the ground rules?”

“Magic can be used, but not to hurt each other,” Lucifer informed. “Frankly I have no issues hurting you, but ehhh, doesn't feel like it fits in the spirit of this game. We’re just playing after all!” His angelic wing extended, shy of touching the deer.

Alastor spun his staff for effect. This would be a nice moment of respite, he supposed. A change of pace from the business he needed to attend to later. Really anything he could do to torment the duck obsessed prick was a plus in his book.

“Then….” A distorted cackle echoed through the deer’s infernal speakers, as a mass of tendrils exploded from his back. His filtered voice brimmed with glee. “Let’s play, my friend!”

The tendrils struck forward like an arrow, and almost caught Lucifer’s ankle, but the former angel was quick to spiral out of the way. He dispersed into a cloud of glitter and sparkles, and Alastor swerved just in time to avoid the arms that almost snatched him.

“Oh relying less on your powers, are you?” the deer snipped, as a band of tendrils caught the devil’s wrist.

“I prefer a more hands on approach!” Lucifer taunted, and his fingers wiggled along the tips of Alastor’s ears before he managed to slam him to the ground. “Using just my magic feels so impersonal!”

“Well good, because I don’t want you touching me!” Alastor growled as his staff knocked Lucifer off balance in the air. “I’d think the devil would be eager to show off. You certainly were in that sad little magic show the day you cursed our doorstep with your presence!”

Lucifer’s canary yellow eyes sharpened as he smirked viciously. “Oh believe me, kid! I can show you what the devil can do!” His eyes flared crimson and fire leaped from his lips.

Alastor wasn’t sure what he was preparing for, but it certainly wasn’t for the black branches that shot out of the floorboards and tried to wind across his limbs. They were twisted and carried the faint scent of apples.

He found himself entrapped, but before Lucifer could strike him down, he sent a cascade of green to incinerate the branches. “A cute little trick, but that’s merely all it is.”

He was far more bark than bite today. The bastard had chosen the worst possible moment for this juvenile battle. He was still healing from his injury. His wound had almost recovered, but he…hadn’t exerted such a level of power since his fight with Adam. Lucifer had him woefully overpowered and Alastor was fully aware of it. Fuck.

If he could count on the archangel to be far more ticklish than he was powerful, just maybe he’d have a shot. “You weren’t watching your back though!”

A portal had opened up by the devil, and he didn’t turn around in time to avoid the black tendril that finally succeeded in snatching his wing. “Ah! Ack! Oh nice try, Bambi! Maybe you aren’t so hopeless after all.”

“How original,” Alastor drawled as a few more tendrils snaked towards the little canary flapping in his trap. “I’ve been called every iteration of a deer ever created, my good man! You’re going to have to try to be more creative.”

Lucifer squealed as several tendrils weaved into the air, dangerously close to him. He kicked his feet and flapped his arms, as if to deter them. It only seemed to invite his doom however, and the devil squealed as he felt the tendrils slither across his belly.

“Wahahait, that’s nahahat fahahair!” Lucifer, the ‘self proclaimed’ Dad of the hotel was deathly ticklish, and it was a weakness both his family, old and new, exploited to its fullest.

“Oh I see, because you’re losing it isn’t fair? I’ve followed all the rules!” He wiggled his fingers in the air, and the tendrils responded in kind, wriggling up under the devil’s arms. The boyish goofy laughter was instant.

“AHAHALASTOR!” Lucifer squealed as he tried to shove his arms down, but it only served to trap the wiggling appendages, as the smirking deer found a rhythm that drove the king up the wall.

Oh how he couldn’t wait to put a more desperate smile on that pompous little fawn’s face!

“You know, I have a hypothesis that I was wondering if you’d be interested in helping me test!” Alastor gave a predatory smirk and loomed closer to the cackling devil, propelled upwards by his tendrils. “Wings seem to be quite the terrible spot on Husker. I’m wondering if that’s possibly universal?”

He grinned at the terror in the pocket sized king’s expression, a dark chuckle leaving as Lucifer struggled to snap his wings against him.

“DOHOHON’T EVEN THIHIHINK IT!”

Too late. Those thoughts had processed. Six tendrils suddenly dove forward into the pit of each wing, and Alastor could barely believe the explosive reaction it garnered.

Lucifer screamed with laughter, falling into a fit of babbling pleas and snorts as his feet peddled at the air uselessly. He kicked and he squirmed but Alastor was ruthless in his attack.

“Bingo,” the deer smirked viciously. A taunting laugh track echoed from his infernal speakers, and the mocking just put the poor King further into hysterics. “I think I’ve won this little game, wouldn’t you say so? Your Highness? Oh sorry, can you say so? Can you even HEAR ME?” he called over the screams.

“I don’t think I feel quite ready to let my catch go yet. There’s still many spots left to try out! Ah, wouldn't you say so Niffty?”

Suddenly Alastor was aware of the fact that the spot his quasi adopted daughter had been sitting in, was…empty. Peculiar. Had she really grown so bored already?

If he was a bit more on his game, maybe he would have sensed the girl before he felt her devious little body scale up the back of him.

“I say I want to try this spot!” Her tiny claws latched to his belly, and the little maid sealed his fate. Feedback screeched from the deer’s microphone as laughter nearly burst out. While he saved face, he didn’t save his concentration.

His head jerked up long enough to see the dispersing, golden glitter in the wiggling tendrils. Alastor’s eyes widened as he whirled around—just in time for that glitter to appear inches away from him, Lucifer now in the form of a beautiful white sparrow.

“Ohhhh, betrayed by your own ‘little lady’, damn that’s gotta suck for you!” the bird tweeted, and situated himself in Alastor’s hair to peck at his ears. A yelp tore from Alastor’s throat but his claws reached out to snatch the sparrow.

“I’m rescinding the cafe trip she and I were going to spend together as punishment!” Alastor growled, narrowing his eyes at her. He didn’t have too long to mull on her betrayal however, finding himself too busy trying to get a Lucifer shaped snake off of his neck!

“Gotta say buddy, ever since meeting you I’ve been reveling in the idea of wiping that shit eating grin off your face!” Lucifer danced out of Alastor’s claws once more, and merrily scampered over his side as a tiny gerbil.

Alastor snarled and he tried to hone in on where the devil might phase to next, but every attempt of snatching the asshole only ended in him getting a handful of glitter. It was getting disorienting trying to keep up with his teleporting, and his tendrils kept on snatching at the empty air.

“Hold—still!”

“Buuut if I can’t wipe the grin off your face, then I’ll settle for making it as desperately wide as possible!” Lucifer, now a small cricket hopping in and out of his pockets, suddenly reverted to his angelic form.

All six wings of angelic form, and tackled Alastor to the couch. Before the deer could snarl anything, Lucifer shoved his claws under Alastor’s arms. “See how you like it, douchebag.”

Between the feathery wings holding him in an embrace that tickled on its own, and the attack to one of his weak spots, Alastor didn’t stand a chance.

Microphone feedback screeched between a pop of static, and finally loud laughter. “GEHEHET OHOHOHOFF ME YOU MISEHEHEREABLE LIHITTLE-“

“Ouuuu better be nice to the guy who decides how long he’s going to keep you like this!” Lucifer laughed, just enjoying the banter. It was so fucking satisfying knocking this prick down a peg or two! “Gotta say, that microphone thing is cute! That part of the whole radio demon thing?”

Alastor cursed through crackling static as he wrestled with Lucifer’s hands, unable to keep the squeal from emitting when the devil got his belly. He tried to shove his face to the side, so at least he didn’t need to see his tormentor’s face, but that just pushed his face further into the wings!

“The hands on approach is just so much more rewarding than only using my magic,” Lucifer drawled, smirking as every wiggle of his fingers pulled more feedback through the cackling. “Hands off is just so impersonal, you know?”

“I’m about to BITE your hands off!” Alastor snarled, before he was sent back into bright laughter as Lucifer dug punishingly under his arms, getting into his trench coat and minimizing his protection.

“Ah ah, you cryptid little reindeer, that’s just breaking our rules we set!” Lucifer gasped dramatically, tasering his fingers into the deer’s bony ribs.

His colossal sized wings folded over the deer, and the effect was overwhelming on its own. Alastor sucked in a breath as the slightest movement made the feathers twitch, but staying still wasn’t possible.

“Isn’t this fun? I do this with Charlie all the time!” By the looks of it, it was having the same desired effect. The radio demon was a mess of giggles entangled in a bed of feathers. “Just enjoy the relaxation!”

Alastor wasn’t sure what was worse, the feathers that had reduced him to popping static and wiggling, or the fact that the wings were hugging him. He tried to summon his tendrils, but he couldn’t conjure even an inkling of focus…and his magic was exhausted. He was utterly helpless to suffer this humiliating, feathery defeat!

“Do you give up yet?” the devil had the gall to taunt. “Because I could stay like this aaalll day! Gotta say, you’re not so bad when you’re squealing like a little fawn! Just give it up, kid! You know you can’t beat me and it’ll only get worse from here…”

“You’re hugging me, h-how can it get…much worse?”

“Ou, something like this!” the King grinned. Those devious six wings suddenly flapped, brushing over his midsection like a curtain. Feathers poked in through the buttons of his shirt and Alastor just about bent into the king.

“GEHEHEHET OHOHOFF!”

“What’s the matter? I’d think I could expect a much bigger fight from someone like you!” Lucifer appeared as a snake, woven around one of his antlers. His snake tongue hissed as it poked at the deer’s ears, bringing another bright snort.

At least able to push himself up from the couch’s arm, Alastor made another grab for the King, but he just reappeared on his belly as a duckling, nuzzling it. The deer nearly doubled over. “STAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIT!”

“Why kid? Do you yield?” Lucifer taunted, his sharp toothed grin widening playfully. It was a disconcerting sight to see from a little duckling. He reverted to his normal form. “You don’t seem to be putting up much of a f-“

That’s when Alastor finally reared up and captured the king’s wrists in his grip. With a sharp jerk, he’d sent them both tumbling off the couch. “Perhaps I will utilize the hands on approach! Anything to take you down!”

His claws dove to Lucifer’s belly, and he was delighted by the squealing results. Lucifer’s wings flapped out in instinct, but Alastor avoided their snatching attempts. He changed the target area to his sides, and back up under his arms, skittering from one spot to the next and quickly alternating. He was simply merciless in his pursuit, because he would win this war.

Lucifer screeched to the high heavens, before he began cackling uncontrollably and beating his feet against the couch cushions. “AHAHAHAHA SHIHIHIT!” He wrestled with the deer’s grappling hands as both suddenly found themselves locked in some sort of power play.

“My my your highness, so sensitive, aren’t we?” Alastor teased as his claws dug into any inch of skin he could manage to find. Ribs, under his arms, and in the pits of his wings. He never deliberated on one area for too long, refusing to give the King a chance to get used to one sensation before another began.

“SHUHUHUT UP, YOU PRIHIHIHICK!”

This was…fun! He despised the very fact that anything to do with the apple pisslord was fun, but he couldn’t deny how intoxicating it was to have the devil at his mercy, even in such a childish game. Such a personal attack with his claws felt strange, he barely ever used anything but his tendrils. Oh, but it did make the King’s defeat so much more satisfying…

“Ugh!” A sudden spasm of agony rocketed across his ribcage, and briefly blinded the King from his vision. He saw just enough to catch the loathsome concern in Lucifer’s eyes as he toppled off the cushions.

“Alastor!” His own speed at which he was at the deer’s side surprised even himself. Lucifer crouched beside the panting creature and he extended a reluctant hand.

Alastor remained in his near fetal position as he tried to gather his bearings. He was suddenly aware of the eyes on him. Lucifer. Niffty. Both gazed at him with concern and pity, as if he was someone that was weak. He abhorred the hand that Lucifer was extending to him, and he emitted a low warning growl.

Lucifer’s hand slowly withdrew, and his shoulders slackened as he saw the few minutes of progress they’d made completely unravel. Alastor was retreating back into his shell.

The deer staggered to his feet and his radio filter and cheshire grin once more disguised everything Lucifer saw under the surface. “Well that was a fun little game! Shall we call it a draw this time, your highness? It seems like we both evenly matched each other’s hysterics!”

“Tch, yeah. We’ll have to have a rematch!” He watched Alaator’s ears twitch forward, unsure if that was a good sign or not. “You…okay? You need me to take a look at ya?”

“I’m fine!” Static grated the air, cutting off the King’s concerned inquiry. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Wait!”

Lucifer appeared before him in a glittery burst and Alastor’s teeth bared in impatience. Still, the King was undeterred. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to let the minimal progress they’d made…fall apart. “Hey, have you eaten yet? We were going to make pancakes, little Thumbelina and I.”

Begrudgingly he had to admit he was hungry. A rumbling in his stomach betrayed his denial. He glared at the King, but it was the smiling cyclops at Lucifer’s side that as always…melted his reserve.

“…Oh fine!” His elbow dug mockingly into the King’s top hat like an armrest. “I suppose I am feeling quite peckish! I must admit that I am more partial to crepes. They’re far superior.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and shoved a finger up under the deer’s arm, delighting in the squeaking snort as he shoved him away. “Hells bells, do you really have to make everything into some competition? Ya dick.”

“I don’t have to but it’s undeniably satisfying…” He ducked a surprisingly more playful and merry cane swing from the devil, dancing from his grip. “I must admit, that battle was a bit riveting. I suppose they don’t all have to end in bloodshed.”

“Yeah it was fun, but if you ever wanna pull something like that on Charlie, you need some tips.”

“Charlie?” Alastor’s grin nearly split his lips. “Tell me more…”

#hazbin hotel tickling #hazbin hotel tickles #lucifer morningstar #alastor #radioapple #appleradio #niffty #ticklish!lucifer #ticklish!alastor #ticklish!niffty #hazbin hotel fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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A Guiding Hand 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, parental neglect, depression, inference of self harm, violence, abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online academics are affected by your personal struggles but your professor won’t let you give up so easy.

Characters: Raymond Smith, Lee Bodecker in the background

Note: I am tireddddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Professor Smith dresses you in a set of pajamas; white with blue stripes. They’re not your size, you assume they might be his. You’re not sure. You’re too woozy to think about much more than your throbbing hand.

He lays you in the hotel bed as you shake uncontrollably. You’re freezing cold but he keeps touching your forehead and saying you’re burning up. How can that be when you can’t get warm?

Your lashes flutter between glimpses of him pacing and sitting on the edge of the bed. When all is dark, you see his shadow beside you. His breathing suggests he’s asleep but you can’t tell. He’s up again as a halo of light shines around you. The lamp limns his figure as he pets your cheek.

“Sweetheart, shh, you’re alright,” he coos, “no need to cry.”

You’re crying? Why? You can’t remember. Your mind is a bubble of fractured thoughts and vague scenes. You can’t make scene of much between the visions of this man.

“Fever’s broke,” he lays a wet cloth over your brow. “Very good. We’ll be off in the morning, won’t we?”

“Mom?” You murmur in confusion.

“Mm, let’s take one step at a time before all that, yes?” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Back to sleep.”

He shuts off the light and you’re cast into grim blackness. His weight jostles the bed and you feel him spread out next to you. The bed is more than large enough for you both.

“Professor,” you croak weakly. “What’s...”

“In the morning,” he girds.

You accept it, “sorry.”

“Never be sorry,” he reaches over to squeeze your arm lightly.

You lay in silence. Your eyes close on their own. You are completely drained. You sink down into a solid void that suffocates away all light and life. When you awake again, you’re alone. You might think it was all a dream if it wasn’t for the bright hotel walls.

You remain as you are. You don’t have the energy to get up. You lift your hand and look at the bandage wrapped around it. It feels better and your fingers aren’t swollen. You bend them. It still hurts.

The door opens and you drop your arm. You squeak at the pain.

“Sweetheart, is all well?” Raymond rushes over, a tray in his hand. “I was only meaning to fetch some of the complimentary breakfast before we depart.”

You blink and shake your head, “fine. I’m... fine.”

“I hope you like coffee--”

“Coffee?” You whimper and close your eyes. “Coffee...” you mutter. “I went to get coffee and...”

“Yes, that fiend meant to attack you. You see, I did not come without purpose. How could I sit back and see you neglected?”

“You don’t... I don’t know... you.”

“Hush, hush, you must be hungry,” he insists. “It is good to eat. You are weak from the infection still. You must take care--”

“My mom--” you look at him.

He sucks in air and his jaw tenses. He steels himself and his fingers twitch. “Yes, a woman who allows her own daughter be abused.”

“She... she couldn’t stop him--”

“She should not bring the beast home with her,” he snips. “Please, you would not survive in such an environment.”

“Why... would you come here?”

He exhales and his eye bats, as if he can’t control it. “Why wouldn’t I after what I witnessed? Then you would not answer. I had half a suspicion you were dead.”

“I’m sorry, I... didn’t mean to worry you but... it’s not your problem.”

He hums and set the tray on the night stand. He offers a cup of coffee, “are you so used to being forgotten that you cannot accept kindness?”

“No, it isn’t... I’m sorry.”

“And the apologies. No need for it. I am not admonishing you. I am merely offering advice.” He takes your good hand and makes you take the cup. “There is much more you need to learn than accounting, I gather.”

You frown and look at the dark coffee.

“If you prefer milk or sugar, I grabbed some of each,” he explains and gestures to the tray. “Of course, you shouldn’t drink that in bed else you might stain the sheets.”

“Oh, yeah,” you push the blankets back and move carefully.

The pajamas brush against your stomach and you look down. You’re reminded of the day before. Naked in the tub. In front of him. You’ve never been so exposed before. You slump your shoulders and go to the table and sit.

You look down at your burnt hand and bring up to examine the bandage again, “thank you...” you raise it higher.

“Certainly. And who wouldn’t see to the festering infection? Are you not concerned that not even your own mother cared for that matter?”

“Can we not talk about her?” You sniffle and rest your hand in your lap. “You should take me home.”

“Home? That is no home. Now, you should eat. Keep your strength up so you can heal properly.” He girds.

You nod and take a cautious sip of coffee. You’re still reeling, maybe even slightly delirious. You set the cup down again and lift your chin. You look at his neck, not his face.

“Why?” You ask.

“Why...” He echoes as he sits across from you.

“Why help me?”

He takes a packet of sanitizing wipes and uses them to clean the cutlery. You watch his diligent work. Everything he does is precise and purposeful. And cleanly. He seems to detest the thought of dirtiness and yet you can only feel like filth next to him.

“Well, it should be a question, should it? It is humane. Decent. So, I shouldn’t need to name the reason for it.” He lays down each piece before he sets to claiming a muffin, then a scoop of the scrambled eggs, and strips of bacon with sausage too. “Though if you insist, I will give one. Firstly, let us underline that point. What you need, what you want, I would be more than willing to supply, but then, circle around to your query; why should I help you?”

He takes the rest of the cutlery and wipes it then hands it to you. He makes you up a plate as he continues, “you, sweetheart, have great potential. I’ve seen it. And that would be spoiled all for a poor foundation. Now that is not your own doing, mind you, you cannot help where you come from, and more admirably,” he sets the plate before you, “you were fighting against it and so I only thought to lower the ladder for you.”

You blink and focus on the food. You’re not very hungry. You feel slightly queasy but you would hate to be ungrateful. All these questions already make you feel so.

“Thank you,” you croak and make yourself look at him. “Really...”

You don’t know how to say it. You already feel pathetic and you don’t need to sink further. No one’s ever been that concerned about you. No one ever tried to help you. Most people just laughed, called you names, or pushed you down themselves.

“Please, don’t trouble yourself very much, eh? I have the means to help. It would be selfish not to. A sort of passing the torch. I wasn’t born to wealth myself, or peace. Life can be a war on its own,” he gives a gentle smile beneath his thick beard. “Oh, and I did take some clothing from your home before our flight. I was able to use the hotel laundry. It should suffice, though I hardly trust their cleaning staff.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

“Raymond, please,” he corrects you.

📓

Professor Smith, or Raymond as he insists, drives you across the city. He turns in the car at the rental place then leads you into the train station a block away. He’s patient, not hurrying you, and he pays for your ticket and his. You feel guilty for the expense.

As you sit and wait on the platform, you fidget. You chew your lip and curl your fingers, the burn stinging beneath the bandages.

“Are you well?” He checks in. He does every now and then.

“Um, yes...” you look at the tracks, “I’ve never been on a train.”

“A first, very exciting,” he muses.

You nod and let your eyes wander. You’re nervous but too much to ask what makes you so. He moves so his leg is against yours.

“Your hand?” He prompts.

“It’s feeling better,” you assure.”

“Very well.” He sits back and puffs out through his nose, “we will go to my home. You can recover there and when you feel up to it, we will go over your last assignment and see you through the course--”

“Professor-- Raymond,” you sputter as you face him. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I am not a man who does things he doesn’t wish to,” he replies. “I’ve explained myself enough. It is unacceptable to me to let you return to where I found you. I couldn’t allow you in such an unsafe circumstance. Especially after what I witnessed.”

“It-- he just yelled, that’s all.” You murmur.

“Is that all? He had nothing to do with this?” He points to your hand.

You shrink and shake your head. He clucks.

“You are honest and so you are a poor liar. What I saw was more than yelling, sweetheart. You will not convince me otherwise. I know, this is a peculiar situation, but it is your way out,” he says, “tell me, you never thought of it.”

Your lack of response is enough of one. Your eyes are hot, and your mouth is dry. Your leg jiggles restlessly.

A lull rises as the chatter of others rolls through the platform. Soon, you hear the whine of metal on metal, and a bright beam shines from the tunnel. The train speeds through and grinds to a stop.

You follow Raymond’s every move. When he stands, you stand. As he grabs his bag, you go to do the same but he has it in hand first. He gestures you ahead of him. You reluctantly approach the train.

“The second from the front,” he instructs from behind. “I’ve our tickets.”

You follow his direction. You’re good at that. As a professor, he’s just as good at giving orders. As you approach the waiting attendant, he reaches around to hand over the tickets. The woman in her uniform tears of the ends and hands them back.

You step onto the small metal footstool and then climb the stairs of the train car. You pause as he puts your bags into the netted caddy near the front. He urges you on with another point and recites the seat numbers. You find them and stare at the row.

“Would you like window or aisle?” He tucks away the tickets.

“Mm, what do you like?” You ask.

“Please, have the window. You did say it’s your first,” he insists.

You duck your head and sit. He lowers himself next to you and slips a bottle from inside his jacket. He pops the cap open and offers it quietly. You glance over at the sanitizer. You don’t want to be rude so you put your unbandaged hand out. He dollops it into your palm, then his own, and puts it away.

He rubs his palms together and you sanitize around your bandage and your uninjured hand. You sit back and look out at the platform. He’s a very stringent man but you might only think so because you’re used to no rules at all. He’s thorough too. He seems to think of everything.

You look at him but think better of asking what you want to. He catches your glance before you can turn back. He shifts toward you, leaning on the outer armrest.

“Go on,” he urges, “you can say whatever you need.”

“Sorry, it’s nothing.”

“Please,” he opens his hand encouragingly.

You drop your eyes and wet your lips. You’re going to sound so dumb. “Do you really think I could... I could do something? Like you? Like... like... accounting?”

He chuckles softly. It’s not mocking or mean. It’s soothing.

“I do believe so,” he says. “You needn’t fret. Let yourself time to heal, then all that will come after.”

You sniff and sit back. You don’t know if you agree with him, but you’ll try. That’s all you can do. It’s what you should do after he’s gone to all this effort.

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #a guiding hand #series

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