#X OC

[ghouljams]

Your Failure, His Rebirth

Tags: knight!Ghost x princess!reader, blood and violence, minor character death, medieval medicine, terrible parenting, allusions to Ghost's past, knight!Keegan x f!oc, king!Konig Summary: Sometimes the universe works in your favor, sometimes it forces you into a role you were never meant to play. a/n: look I know he wouldn't say that, that's why he's reading off the teleprompter while I hold him at gunpoint.

Blood hits the ground and is covered by Ghost’s armored knee as he struggles to stay up. Struggles for his next move.

It happens so quickly.

Your hands shake where they press to the fence keeping you from the field 

but your feet are sure

and your body knows how to jump the barricade as surely as it swings onto a horse.

You’re deaf to the shouting behind you. Uncaring of the hands that grab for you as you run. The ground lurches under you. The wind roars in your ears, racing your blood for which can leave you faster.

Your fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife on Ghost’s hip, ripping it from the sheath as you turn to face your would-be husband.

Your breath comes in hiccups, gulped down with the same fear that threatens to paralyze you. Your hands shake but your grip is tight as you hold the knife up towards Graves’ throat.

The blade of his sword brushes your dress, the razor’s edge leaving thin slices in the fabric. You hope it cuts you, gives you some bite to gnash your teeth against. You don’t see how it would be any more painful than his win.

The stands are raucous. Screaming and shouting hits your ear like the crash of waves, ebbing and flowing with each breath. Everything is too loud, too bright, too alive when you feel like you’re dying, like your belly’s been slit and it’s everything you can do just to keep standing.

You grip the hand holding the knife with your other, trying to stop the shaking. All it does is double it.

“Come on now darlin’,” Graves coos, his voice dripping with mirth, “What do you think you’ll do with that?”

“I’ll kill you,” You assure him, “I’ll kill you and then I’ll kill myself.” After all, if Ghost is going to meet his end, it’s only fitting that you follow him.

Graves tips his head to laugh. Malice fills the air. Ghost says your name, the only softness that could find you in this grave you’ve dug, and Graves twists his hand. Hearing the squelch of Ghost’s skin turns your stomach, frays your nerves. Ghost grunts against the pain, you’re sure it must be torture.

“Hush now. Royalty is talkin’,” Graves reminds him, holding a finger to his helm, uncaring that your knife hovers dangerously in front of him. His hand drops to his side before he turns his attention back to you.

“I like a little fight in my horses too, makes it more fun breaking you in.“ He tilts his head, showing you the soft pink of his neck. “Go on, let’s see if you can do it.”

You can feel the tears stinging your eyes, pushing forwards against your lash line. You will the knife forward. Grit your teeth with determination and beg your body to just move. Your hand feels so unsteady, your nose clogged with the scent of iron, he’s pointing the way, it should be easy to kill him. 

The memory of blood seeping over your hands pulls at you. The warmth of it, almost sticky the way it clung so desperately to your skin. That damn Baron’s last attempt at keeping himself alive, blood released from his body in a way it never should have been still trying to stick to the body, any body really, in a plea to cling to life. Skin had never broken so easily, had never felt so penetrable, so delicate, had never changed itself from barrier to entryway, had never sickened you quite the same as it did when your knife met it.

You remember the bile rising in your throat, the same as it does now. You know the panic still. You’re not meant to hold such instruments.

Ghost had saved you then. He dealt the killing blow. Or, at least said he did. But the blood that pooled under the crumpled body had reached towards you. A damning accusation. It had known, as well as you did now, the sins that had been committed by your hand. Sins you could still feel under your fingernails, pressing at your skin in the hopes that it too would part.

You can’t do it.

Your breath shudders.

Your knife lowers.

You feel the sick unseen smile that Graves wears under his helm, the knowledge that he’s won, like a death shroud.

And you feel Ghost’s hand just as fast,

the wrap of his fingers around yours,

And the thrust of your knife, 

his knife, 

into Graves’ throat.

The blood that comes now is like a fountain.

It sprays over you with a sickly gurgle. You hardly have time to blink and your eyes sting with the shock of blood you couldn’t avoid. Ghost’s hand wrenches yours to the side to slit his opponent’s throat, and your eyes follow it. The jagged edge of Grave’s neck, the wheeze of his windpipe, the instant drop of his sword to grasp at his neck, you feel your body shudder with the convulsion of it. 

You can’t drop the knife, Ghost’s grip makes sure of that. Your knuckles creak under the strain of his hold, your fingers going numb the same way the rest of you is. 

You can’t keep a breath in. Each gasp feels tighter than the last.

Ghost leans his weight on you as he stands, and you feel blood soak your back, your dress cut to the skin as he rips Graves’ sword from his side. You barely feel the warmth of your own blood under the rapid cooling of theirs.

Ghost points Graves’ sword at the priest, his weight against your back, his hand still holding yours, your world holding himself up on your shoulders. Your Atlas passing you the Earth.

“Call it,” He growls.

“Sir- Sir Simon Riley, is- is,” The priest stutters, glancing at your father still back in the stands, his face is white with the same shock that grips you, “has bested-�� he tries again, “-Sir Phillip Graves is unable to continue-”

“Dead,” You correct, your voice little more than a whisper, “he’s dead.”

The priest nods, gesturing to the crowd with a flourish, “Your victor: Sir Simon Riley!”

The explosion of rabid excitement from the crowd deafens you, each voyeur throwing their own comments into the ring. Some cheer. Others curse. You couldn’t piece any single voice together, all of them seemed to bleed into the ringing that filled your ears, but you got the gist: villain, beast, heel. Blood they begged for, but murder… You didn’t understand the line that they drew, what was the difference? They cheered for Ghost’s injury, but screeched at Graves’ death. Blood was blood. Wasn’t it?

It all felt the same sticking to your skin.

Tunneled your vision until you couldn’t see anything but the blood soaking your empty fingers.

Your lady-in-waiting holds your face in shaking hands. Her handkerchief wiping your brow, over your cheeks, her lips move silently as she takes your hands to wipe them as well. Keegan swipes your --Ghost’s-- knife from where you’d unfeelingly dropped it to the dirt and slips the blade into his belt. 

The ringing is starting to leave your ears, replaced by your lady-in-waiting’s sobbing. “My lady,” repeated over and over through her tears. It’s only then that you realize the weight of your knight has left you.

You turn to look at the dirt, praying you don’t find him lying there, dead.

“Where’s Ghost?” You find your voice long enough to ask. 

“With the physician,” Keegan replies. His hand finds the back of your lady-in-waiting’s neck, turning her sobs to sniffles. She keeps wiping at your hands, the bloodied handkerchief doesn’t clean anymore, it smears. Bloodying and unbloodying your hands with each swipe.

You cast your gaze around. They land on the retreating shoulders of your knight. His armor hanging awkwardly off his body, his side still bloodied and leaking. He leans his weight onto another knight, one arm around the man’s shoulder, the other around the doctor that helps him limp back towards the tents. You pull your hands from your lady-in-waiting to run after him, and she pulls you right back.

“My lady,” Her voice rises in a panic.

“I have to make sure he’s alright,” You tell her thoughtlessly.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” Your father’s voice booms behind you. Again you feel your blood drain from your body. Your shoes squish in the bloody mud, you’re sure most of it must be from your own shock with how quickly it seems to rush from you. You turn to find your father, your mother beside him, her hands clenched so tight in her skirts that the fabric is starting to protest. 

“Have you any idea of the mess you’ve made?” Your father asks, his teeth grit. “Throwing my kingdom to a dog with no master. Who knows what he’ll do to us.”

“And you’re any better? Bringing in foreign brutes to try and- and-” You gesture vaguely to König who hovers behind your parents, then to yourself, “You think a man like that wouldn’t kill me before my wedding night?”

König scratches his cheek under the chain mask he wears, muttering in German, “Ah, I miss my wife.” You don’t know what the fuck he’s saying but the weary-nostalgic look he gives your bloodied dress doesn’t make you think it’s anything good.

“You think Graves would have been any better?” You ask, your gaze steadily kept off the corpse at your feet.

“Graves was loyal to-”

“To himself!” You cut your father off, “You truly think that man had the kingdom’s best wishes in mind while brutalizing his opponents?”

“And you think a Riley does?” Your father asks, his tone flat, accusatory. 

“No,” You relent, anger rising in your throat. You’ve never cared where Ghost came from, the reputation that hung like a sword over his family’s crest. Ghost has more than proved himself, more than shown his capabilities, and more than shown where his allegiance lies. “But he doesn’t have to care about the kingdom,” You harden your voice, Ghost doesn’t care for the crown except when it sits on your head, “he’ll care for the people because he cares for me.”

Your father shakes his head, opens his mouth to speak, and freezes. König’s knife dimples his neck, exerting the slightest pointed force to press the skin without breaking it. The German looms behind him, bending over his shoulder to cock his head and watch the pallor of your father’s face as the blood drains from it. The chainmail of his mask hangs haphazardly to the side, and you watch the sickly smile that splits his mouth, showing his teeth as he speaks.

“You are a weak fool,” He seethes, “What battles have you fought to earn your kingdom? What foes have you slaughtered?” The knife presses more firmly against your father’s throat and you feel your stomach flip, your heart clench, at the blood that blooms and falls over his skin. As much as you may hate the man, you don’t want to watch anyone else die. “I have often thought that crowns should be won.” 

Your father, proud and steady, has never felt the kiss of a sword. His throne was handed to him, and though he once trained in fighting, he’s never seen battle. You watch the man that you have always looked at as a pillar of steadfast rule, of divine right, crumble in the face of a little blood. A man who would sell his own child in a time of peace, looks like such a small evil next to König.

You’re starting to think perhaps thrones should be won too.

“But the-”

“Do not start caring for your people now Herr König,” König drawls, the words thick on his accented tongue, “it is-” he pauses, looking for the word.

“Embarrassing?” You suggest, your father tries to glare, any malice already snuffed by his fear.

“Yes, embarrassing.” König agrees. He points his knife your way and gestures at you, “Go on little maus, go find your prize.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You grab your skirt in still shivering fists and run towards the knights’ lodgings.

The losing knights are licking their wounds when you get to their tents. They nurse scrapes and bruises, split lips and cut brows, bruises already purpling over their ribs as their pages assist them in discarding their armor. They pay you little mind, but those that do… You can feel their eyes tracking you, imagining what they might have had if they weren’t up against such formidable foes. 

You don’t give them a second thought, pushing the flap for the physician’s tent to the side in order to duck inside.

Your eyes find Ghost immediately. Stripped down to his breeches, the wide plane of his back tensed as the physician pokes and prods at the deep gash that runs through his side. Blood oozes out of the hole in his back, the tensed muscle so beautifully displayed under his skin now fills in a deep red between its torn edges. The physician leans in to sniff at the wound and Ghost’s already tensed muscles seem to tense further, as if even the sound of it might hurt him. No. His chest expands a fraction before the tension is back, squeezing tight at his ribs like a vice. It’s breathing that’s hurting him.

The mess of his blond hair is drenched with sweat, his skin smeared with blood and dirt, he looks the picture of a man beaten into the ground, and yet he positively glows in the dim light of the tent. Your new king. 

You take a hesitant step forward and the physician glances at you. Only to stop his work and dip his head in a bow that forces Ghost to turn and look as well. You watch the painful twist of his muscles as he moves, the squeeze of blood from his wound. There’s a darkness in his eyes, a pale-ness to his cheeks, it must be excruciating. You can’t help hurrying to him, throwing your arms around his slick shoulders and burying your face against his neck. 

Your dress is already bloody, your nerves already frayed, what else can you do but look for his pulse’s quick thump.

Ghost’s hand squeezes your wrist. Clean. 

“My lady,” He murmurs, “Let the physician work.”

He has more hair on him than you’d thought. You feel it vaguely when you shake your head, the light strands of hair on his shoulders tickle your nose, and you can feel where it’s been slicked close to his skin running down his spine the same way you feel your dress stick to you. You feel terribly childish, failed somehow. Why do you still feel like you’ve lost even with your prize in your arms? 

His hand doesn’t leave you, doesn’t push you away, he makes no noise of discontent at your flagrant disregard of his order, and you wonder how much of his comment was more for the physician’s benefit than his own. 

“She’s alright sir,” The physician informs Ghost, “Can move to your lap when I tackle the back.” Ghost grunts and you peek over your arms to watch the physician. His fingers are prodding Ghost’s wound again. The cut looks just as bad from the front, the skin bowed in and sliced long from the wiggle of Graves’ sword, and the muscle streaked with blood. Pulling your own needle and thread through his skin feels like a distant memory now.

How had you managed to hold your stomach then, when you find it so fragile now.

“I’m sorry,” Ghost grits, as the physician packs herbs into the wound and pinches the edges, “There’s blood on your hands because of me.”

“Royalty mustn’t apologize.” You mumble. His fingers squeeze your wrist lightly.

Ghost is quiet, only the wet pull of threads through skin filling the silence between you. There’s no comfort in the rub of his thumb over your wrist, and the longer you stand there the more pointedly you feel the drying mud of blood and fabric congealing against your skin. It’s unignorable and uninterrupted. There is only the chill of tacky discomfort that sticks to you.

“Ghost?” You ask nervously, the air feeling heavy, bearing down on your shoulders like a terrible weight.

He breathes and it feels like a noose being fitted to your neck. You squeeze your arms tighter around his shoulders, begging him to be as selfish as you feel, to give you this one thing, to not let you go now. 

“It will follow you,” He says finally, his words cutting through the anxious tension in your shoulders, “You’ll scrub your hands and still feel blood under your nails, you’ll ask yourself if there wasn’t someone better, a hand that didn’t hold you like a weapon.”

“I made my choice,” You press, “you’re my sword, and if I can’t be-”

“I’m your knight,” He clarifies, “and I have loved you far past what is acceptable for a knight-” he hisses through his teeth at the physician’s work, his voice faltering for only a second, “-but I’m still your knight. Not the other way around.”

Despite yourself you smile, your cheeks hot and your stomach giddy. He’s reprimanding you, his voice anything but sweet and yet you can only focus on one thing. Love. You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Love, love, love. Far past what’s acceptable, far past what’s expected, what’s necessary, far past what’s proper. Love, love, love. From your knight who’s always held his hands steady and now seems to shake down to his fingertips as the physician presses herbs between the stitches of his wound.

“I love you,” You whisper, sure he’ll hear you. He always has.

“I know,” He tugs at your wrist, raising it to his lips to scrape his teeth over your pulse, you wonder if he can feel the way it hammers under his lips, “and I’ll be dead in the fucking ground before I let anyone take you from me now.”

[firelilyofthevalley]

How naughty ⛓️🔐

CUFFED

– pairing: law x vice admiral!reader, kid x vice admiral!reader, ace x vice admiral!reader

– nsfw for Law and Kid, sfw-ish for Ace

– summary: who knew that sea stone handcuffs can break a man down?

“Are you serious?” He asked as you forced him onto a chair, a sea prism collar securely placed around his neck.

You smirked as you cuffed his hands behind him after he sat down. He was powerless and at your mercy. You finally had the upper hand, and you loved it.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” you said as you took off the collar. “And now, pirate, I’m going to make you pay.”

Kneeling down, you noticed his growing arousal. As you stroked his clothed length with your fingers, Law couldn’t help but shiver.

“You think I’ll beg?” He asked. “You’re wrong.”

You slowly pulled his pants down, exposing his erection. You kissed up his length, and right when you reached the tip, you grazed your tongue over it making bite his bottom lip. “Tell me.” You whispered, sliding your fingers up and down his base.

“You’re getting nothing out of me.” He gritted his teeth.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself, Captain,” you said, slipping your pants off. You sat on his lap and slipped just his tip in you.

“Ah-“ his voice betrayed.

“If you want more tell me where they are.” You said seductively, slowly going in. Then you pulled out, biting his ear and whispered, “and I’ll give you what you want.”

Kid struggled against the handcuffs, grunting as he tried to free himself from the restraints. Unfortunately, that only knocked him over so he was on the floor still sitting on the chair.

“What’s this?” You asked calmly. “Is this the terrifying Captain Eustass Kid of the Kid Pirates? Laying on my floor?”

“Shut up.” Kid growled.

You leaned forward pinning his throat on the floor with your heels, making Kid gasp. But what caught his eye the most was a glimpse under your dress. “Bold of you to expose your pussy.”

“Want a taste?” You whispered, taking your heel off his throat. Kid bit his lip. It had been a while since he ate a woman out. You crouch down, your pretty pussy within tongue’s reach.

Kid’s breathing intensified as he imagined you sitting on his face while he ate you out, him grabbing your thighs and digging his nails into them.

You slowly brought it closer, letting him give your clit a lick. The way you moaned made him shudder.

“If you want more,” you moaned, letting him continuously lick you like a dog drinking water, “start talking.”

“My poor sweet Ace,” you cooed as you undressed in front of him. His eyes widened from your forward action, not sure how to handle the situation. “Do you think you’ll be able to hold back?” You asked, your uniform falling on the floor.

“Eh, good luck breaking me.” He replied with a smirk. “I’m not so easily bested.”

“Says the man at my mercy.” You smiled.

Instead of walking in front of him, you went behind and leaned your body against his, your breasts against his back. Ace gulped. Especially when you leaned forward and ran both sets of fingers down his chiseled chest, stopping at the rim of his shorts.

“I’m not talking.” He murmured, hiding his needy tone.

Oh how easy this man was to please.

As you kissed his ear and bit the lobe, you brought your fingers up to his shoulders.

“Then I’ll make you.”

“I’m not talking.”

You smirked, seeing his cheeks turn a slight shade of red. “You will.”

[fanaticsnail]

Uncharted Horizons

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 2,100+

Synopsis: A high-flying trapeze artist enjoys her morning practice before the assortment of rabblerousing crew joins her in her solice. Unbeknownst to her, an onlooker watching her routine was working up the courage to finally confess to his harboured feelings growing in his chest while he watched on over his morning coffee.

Themes: Buggy x Ari (One Piece Original Character), fluff, trapeze, love confession, minor sense of peril, kisses.

Notes: This is for my beautiful friend, @okanadafreakingfan, who drew me a gorgeous picture of my OC Tobiuo and Heat a little while ago. I adore writing for original characters, and I hope you like it as much now as you did when I first showed you, Okana! Divider by @/firefly-graphics. Ao3 link Here.

Not a sound nor whisper echoed within the circular arena beneath the large, red and white tent shrouding the grounds from sunlight. Morning dews covered the bleachers from the first kiss of winter, ice clutching the railing that appeared due for a polish and clean. The rays begun to twinkle through the splits in the tarp to color the ground in stripes of gold, a contrast to the nights’ manufactured spotlights that danced on the skin and sequined leotards and costumes. 

Ari was the artist, aerial mastery was her tool, and the air was her living and breathing canvas. Those witnessing a true maestro to the symphony of skies were often left astounded at the end of a whimsical performance. Her cotton candy pink hair, her brilliant smile, and the glitz and glamour that comes with being a member of the Buggy Pirates had long since left her after a week-long run of shows for the public. Now stripped back to basic black, Ari chalks her hands and verbalises her cues while readying herself for a run-through of the script and performance.

“And now presenting: the angel in the skies, taking flight as a gift from Buggy the Clown to you,” she utters, repeating her captain’s words in a soft tone. Her hands reached forward as the chalk made contact with the frayed ropes to form a tacky hold over the fibres. As she jumped up to grip the tanned ropes, she visualised more of his speech. Scampering up the ropes, she finally brushed her fingers against the circular hoop and gripped it firmly. 

Drawing up her knees to her chest, Ari thrust her heels immediately outwards to propel herself forward. Her biceps tensed and flexed as she began to swing from below her hoop. To and fro, her body surged forward until she deemed it enough to roll her stomach beneath it and anchor her hips to the base of the ring. Presenting out her wrist, the aerial performer flicked her fingers and pointed her toes in a motion depicting poise, grace, and elegance. 

Should this had been a performance night, her cheeks would be blooming with a flush as she forced a smile to crawl over her lips. She was no longer bound by such a hindrance. No smile, no laughter, no performance: simply an artist in their element as she performed for no one but herself.

At least, Ari thought that was the case. 

Under the assumption that the majority of the crew would be sleeping off their hangovers after celebrating the conclusion of a successful run, Captain Buggy sauntered into the arena, sans paint and glamor, while holding a fresh mug of his morning coffee. He would usually enjoy this out watching the sunrise, a habit he picked up from an old first mate he knew from long ago, but hearing the rocking of ropes in the arena. 

While participating in the show, Buggy was distraught to admit that he had not had the privilege of simply sitting back and watching the show he worked hard to curate. Back pressed against the pole anchoring the canvas shroud, his jaw fell slack as he gawked at Ari as she slowed the swing to a complete stop. There she was, his starlight, his performer, his woman, simply his - at least, until the lights went out. She was his everything within the arena, the stars to dust his night sky with its illuminance, and in their private lives: barely a whisper of a word to one another aside from chores and orders. 

Ari moved to sit on the ring, perching herself within the middle loop and rolling her ankles at the heels to extend her toes outwards. Her back braced against the side as she arched her arms either side of her person, legs gracefully bent at the knees as one foot gripped the ring and the other tastefully extended acrobatically below her. Slowly rolling herself beneath it, Buggy almost dropped his coffee mug while thinking she was to fall to her death, but she easily caught the ring on her knee and arched her back outwards. 

She looked so peaceful while dangling herself upside down. There was something within that easy tranquility that Buggy witnessed in her closed eyelids. She was at complete peace in her element, and Buggy was awestruck by her majesty. Tugging herself upright, she angled her hips comfortably and began to spin in slow and lazy circles. “Comfy up there, Ari?” Buggy called to her, “You almost look like a cute little bird sittin’ on a perch- Woah-!” 

Ari was startled by the sudden voice as she immediately jolted upright in reaction. Her knee lost its grip on the hoop and her hands clawed at the air to find any brace of substance. Before she began this little run through, she knew she should’ve raised the net to catch her. She had yet to have a fall since the beginning of her journey with the Buggy Pirates, and she trusted herself up until this very point.

The world moved slowly. Each claw and grab for a foundation was split from her as her breath left her body. She was too high up to survive this great drop. At least, not without a-.

“-Fuck, Ari!” The nasally voice of her captain barked at her, catching her mid-flight as his feet lay detached at his ankles a few feet below. Immediately, the infamous clown-captain cradled his pink-haired performer against his chest and slowly began his descent down. Each inch towards the ground held a raspy reprimand towards the aerial performer. 

“Ari, you need to use the nets!”

“Ari, you should’ve had someone to spot you!” “Ari, you need someone to watch over you when you perform!”

“Ari, you’re trying to kill me and yourself at this rate!”

As his ankles touched the ground, he expected his mistress of the skies to release her arms from around his neck. To his surprise, she held on tight and buried her head in the crook of his neck and took a large inhale of breath to steady herself. 

“Ari, are you-?” “-I’m so sorry, Captain Buggy,” she mumbled into his neck and sucked in a shaken breath, “I thought I was better than this. I thought I could… I just… I…” Her words left her as she pawed at him to cling to the lifeline and rescuer that spared her of an unfortunate demise. Her breath fluttered at every intake as she fully felt the impact of her earlier decision. 

Without much warning, Buggy turned to look at her bated breaths and darted his eyes over her features. His eyes met hers, his breath matching her own, and his eyes widening as she gazed up at him with an expression he had only dreamed about in the fairytales he was begrudgingly read as a child. She looked up at him like he was her everything. Everything. Someone who had the foundations of becoming the cornerstone of her soul was the expression she wore up at him.

As she leaned in, he found could not deny her of her earthly tether.

Her lips met his in a soft timidity. Slow, soft, unsure, yet desperate for a contact after the feat that nearly claimed her. She mouthed at his lips to part them with every soft swipe of her tongue and extension of her lips. Every moment she pressed onto his skin, a part of him melted away. Initially, his hands flailed at his sides as he failed to comprehend what was occurring in an expression such as this. Yes, he had been kissed before: paid whores, practicing with other young folk in his youth, but this was different. This was sacred. This was almost holy to him, and he had no idea how to react to it. 

Buggy’s hands softly cradled her lower back and drew her closer into him. He tilted his head to avoid his rotund nose from enabling a greater depth should she desire it. Buggy would take what he got from her and be glad for every breath this graced him. He did not fit the mold of a hero often, if at all, and he almost felt like he was milking this moment a little more than he intended.

He was the first to break the kiss, looking down at her with a flutter of his lengthy, blue eyelashes. His teal eyes were indecisive to which of Ari’s he found purchase, but settled on her lips as he spoke with her.

“Ari…” he exhaled softly, as subtle as a whispered confession in a priest’s booth, “...My love, I didn’t mean to yell. I never want you to fear me. I’m… I… I just… fuck.” He huffed out his chuckle and slowly drew his eyes from her heart-shaped lips to her eyes. 

“Ari. Baby, I care about you,” he confessed while drawing his hand up to cup her cheek. Leaning in, he pressed his forehead against hers and shared her breath, “You’re my little songbird, fluttering your wings and sitting on the trapeze. You’re the starlight to my darkening sky, which sounds really corny and stupid now saying it aloud.” He huffed out a small chuckle and closed his eyes. Brushing his rounded nose with hers, he removed any apprehension from his mind at his embarrassment over the bulging sphere - choosing to only focus on her. 

Ari took a moment to calm herself, finally opening her eyes and gazing up into the teal eyes of her saviour. She felt her heart swell with every passing moment, slowly finding a confession dam behind her teeth and refuse to flee them. Buggy remained patient as she hardened her resolve and looked up at him.

“All I am, all I do… I do for you, captain,” she whispered softly, leaning into his hand at her cheek and puckering her lips into his palm, “...I just want to make you proud. I want to make you happy. I sharpen my skills and train so hard in the hopes that it makes you smile - even just once. I…” Her teeth chattered and brows furrowed in her every moment, slowly taking in a breath before she found the words she wanted to say so desperately. 

“I love you.” 

Ari’s lips never found them, growing silent as Buggy articulated the phrase she was searching for. He nodded, slowly solidifying the expression while repeating them on a loop.

“I love you, Ari. I do. You’re everything to me, even if you don’t realise it,” he laughed softly with his eyes crinkling at the corners, “It’s not an act to me. Well, it kind of is considering we’re a fucking circus, but anyway-.” He cut himself off as he gazed into her eyes once more. Leaning forward, he couldn’t stop the emotion from welling up in his guts and pouring from his lips like the sentimental sailor he was born to be. 

A deep and plentiful kiss burned into her skin, initiated by her captain while he drew her ever closer. If he didn’t speak when he chose to, she would not have fallen. If he didn’t catch her when she did, she would no longer be here. He refused to let another moment depart from either of them again without feeling her body as close as she could get to his. 

Slowly backing himself into the bleachers, he continued to kiss her while cupping her thighs and settling her on his lap. He was not doing any of this to coerce her into anything ebbing on  uncomfortable, but in his lazy morning, he simply wanted to be sat while the most beautiful woman of his dreams laid her passion against his lips. Dragging her over his lap, he moved his hands from her thighs to the small of her back while unbreaking his lips from hers. 

This time, Ari was the first to separate her lips from his own. Only slowly, only softly, only apprehensively - the confidence of the performer was stripped from them both in their morning daze. Roosters in town began to crow as the sunlight trickled in to cover their bodies in the sheen of deep amber. Silence was thick between them, but not awkward as they settled into this new reality they found themselves meeting. 

Buggy had confessed his love for the pink-haired performer first, and Ari had ricocheted the affection back to the cerulean-haired clown tenfold in her actions. Where they went from here was up to them, but as the warmth of the morning begun to melt the ice from the bleacher frame, they simply dwelled in the softness of one another's arms.

[zobix]

[karespocketboyfriends]

𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍

Chapter Three

A Love and Deepspace Fanfiction (Sylus X OC)

Warnings -> Side character death, implications of addiction

<- Chapter Two

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

When it rains, it pours.

And it's fucking pouring.

“Sorry!” I exclaim to the poor group of kids that are forced to jump apart in order to avoid being run over by me.

The sky, dark as it may be for the late morning hours, is clear, not a drop of rain in sight. The tragedy I witnessed last night kept me tossing and turning, had my nerves shot to a point of being unable to relax. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the man, Anthony, dying before me. Felt his blood coating my skin. Saw a pair of gemstone red eyes that exposed me right down to my soul.

At some point, I did manage to fall asleep. What I woke up to wasn’t my alarm, but my brothers making a mess of the kitchen. It didn’t take long for the realization that I had slept in to cut me like a dagger. The realization that I was late for work stabbed through me like an ancient sword.

I almost forgot to take my medication on my rush out the door, and forgetting that would have been the cherry on top of this disaster cupcake.

My calves are burning, lungs threatening to give out, but I push myself around the last corner and down another quarter block until I reach Tomes. It blends in with the rest of the modern day architecture, much so that it doesn’t even look like a bookstore, but it’s precious to me regardless. Tomes has been my first and only job, the place that’s filled with the material thing I love most and kind enough to help me keep my brothers and I housed and fed. Maybe not very well, but it’s saved us from being out on the street.

I almost fall on my ass in front of the glass door lined with bars to keep thieves out, partly because of how abruptly I halted, and partly because of the large ‘Permanently Closed’ sign hanging on the door.

“What?” I whisper through my fight for breath, the shock of the sign making it even more difficult to calm my racing heart.

No matter how many times I read it, the letters don't rearrange themselves. My mind doesn't spot a trick my eyes are playing on me.

Chest heaving, I stumble to the door and pull on the vertical handle. It's not locked, so I let myself in. Everything looks just as it did last night, no sign of books being stored away or shelves being moved out. The register hasn't even been opened yet, the till missing and likely still locked up in the safe. The store is dead quiet, and no matter how hard I strain my ears, I can't hear any movement on the first floor. Above me, however, I hear footsteps.

"Russell?" I call, slowly making my way towards the staircase at the back of the store. I've never been to the second floor, because old man Russell lives up there. He did share the space with his wife, Edith, but that was up until she passed away three years ago.

I listen as the footsteps move across the ceiling, hold my breath as they slowly make their way down the stairs. The person who appears isn't elderly, or a man at all.

"Evie?" The woman breathes, one hand resting on her largely round stomach, her eyes red and raw.

"Charlotte."

She's Russell's daughter, his pride and joy. He keeps a photo album behind the counter, and whenever there was free time, he would sit on a stool and flip through it. He's shared with me story after story of the photos, so even though Charlotte and I weren't very close in school before I dropped out, I feel as though I know her like a best friend.

"How are you? How's the baby?" I ask, trying to remain polite despite the questions racing through my mind.

Her laugh is strained as she draws a circle on her bump. "He's healthy. A big mover." She carefully makes her way down the rest of the stairs, and after reaching the bottom, leans against the banister. "I'm sorry, I didn't know how to contact you. I'm still going through dad's stuff."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "He... He's not...?"

Charlotte flashes a sad smile and nods, fresh tears brimming in her eyes. "Yeah. He didn't call me this morning, so I came to check on him. It'll take a while for the autopsy, but he didn't have any physical wounds."

Closing my eyes, I suck in a deep breath and struggle to keep my voice from cracking. It does anyway. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too." She looks down and rubs her belly again. "He was so excited to meet the little one. He never said it, but when he found out I was expecting, I think he was having regrets about waiting so late to have kids."

In, out. In, out. Mentally, I'm focused on my breathing. Whatever comes out of my mouth is pure instinct. "I can't say for sure, but I do know that he loves you. Russell would never regret that."

Charlotte laughs a little and looks up at me again. "You haven't changed. You're still a beam of sunshine, aren't you?" The lightness in her expression falls bleak once more. "Um, listen, about the shop-"

It's my turn to sport a sad smile. "I saw the sign."

"I'm sorry, Evie, but the money I'd get from selling this place is more beneficial to me than to keep it."

"You don't have to explain. You have a family to look after. I get it." I nod towards the counter. "Russell keeps a phone book under the counter, my number's in there. If you ever need a friend, feel free to reach out."

My mind feels like its in a daze as we say our goodbyes. I don't even remember how we said farewell or leaving the shop, but the crisp air zaps me back the second I'm standing outside.

Russell's dead, a man who did more for me than my own father has, a man who hired a desperate young girl even though he really didn't have the budget for it back then. The memories of my time here start coming back to me, the busy days were he, Edith and I rushed around to get the orders stocked on the shelves, the quiet days where he'd place a record in the record player and waltz around the store with his wife. Every holiday, including my birthday, he'd let me pick a book from the store to take home and keep, claiming that my preferred reading material was just collecting dust and deserved a home.

I think he kept ordering romance novels for my sake, given that most of our customers came in for non-fiction.

The size of the sob stuck in my chest feels like I just swallowed a boulder, and no longer trusting myself to stay put together, I lean against the wall of Tomes and slide to the ground. I brace my elbows against the stops of my knees and push the heels of my hands onto my eyes until I see white.

The man I loved like a grandfather is gone, and although I want to do nothing but grieve, another thought blasts through it.

I'm jobless.

It feels selfish to think about it, but it's reality. I'm the breadwinner of the family, Drew and Mateo's shenanigans too unreliable to keep us afloat. If I don't work, my family is screwed.

"Come on, Evie." I whisper to myself, dropping my hands from my eyes. "You're a hard worker. You can find something."

Naturally, I went ignored by everyone who passed by. I'm probably the only freak in the N109 Zone who would stop to check in on someone who looks distressed. Or so I think.

"Evie?"

Looking up, I catch sight of a regular customer of Tomes. He's looking down at me with his eyebrows furrowed, curly strawberry blond hair falling in front of his forehead.

"Hi, Landon." I greet him while pushing to my feet and dusting myself off. "Did you come to purchase more books for your boss? Sorry, but the shop's closed. Russell passed away."

Landon sucks in air through his teeth. "Shit. Another good man gone, huh?"

"A great man." I fold my arms over myself.

I'm not sure exactly how old Landon is, but he can't be too much older than me. He's only got a few inches on me, but his boisterous energy makes him feel bigger than he is. He drops by the store weekly to pick up special order books on his boss' behalf, more rather, his boss' wife. I don't pry into our customer's personal lives, but Landon is a bit of an over-sharer, so I know his boss is in the jewelry business and that his boss' wife craves knowledge on all things.

"How are you taking the news?" He asks, the concern in his pale blue eyes genuine.

I shrug one shoulder. "I'm not sure. I just found out. It feels real but doesn't at the same time, you know? It probably won't sink in fully until I go job hunting."

Landon nods. "I get that. Well, it'll suck not to see you every week. I'm a man of routine." He tilts his head as if thinking. "I'm sure a girl like you will find work easily, but there is a small gig that can hold you over until then."

That has my ears perking up. "What kind of gig?"

He lifts a hand and scratches the back of his neck, letting out a small sigh. "To tell you the truth, my boss' wife has been battling an illness lately. The doctor ordered her to stay in bed, so she can't attend an upcoming gemstone auction with the boss man. It'd be a hit to his social status to show up to a big event like that alone."

My heart sinks into my stomach. "So, you're asking me to...?"

"It'd be one night, and the boss pays well." Landon laughs a little. "To tell you another truth, the reason I came today was to ask if you'd be interested. Boss asked me to try and find him a plus one, and you're not violent, so I wanted to ask you first. You'd just be keeping him company at the auction, nothing more."

My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek. I'm not in a position to be turning down a paying job, and Landon's boss is doing more than well financially-

White hair, crimson eyes, and a stone cold expression flash in my mind. My heart leaps and starts hammering against my ribs.

My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I swallow just for the sake of moving my throat muscles. "I'm flattered that you thought of me, but I just got out something hectic. I don't think I'd be very comfortable taking this job."

Landon looks disappointed, but he nods anyway. "That's fair." Still, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a business card. "Take this anyway, just in case you change your mind. Or get desperate enough."

I almost turn him down again, but the words vanish from the tip of my tongue at ‘desperate.’ Even if it’s the last thing I want to do, refusing an opportunity to keep food in my brothers’ stomachs would be silly.

Forcing a small smile, I take the card and tuck it into the pocket of Simon’s old jacket. He grew out of it a few years ago, but luckily it fits me enough to use until I can afford to replace the one I lost. “Thank you.”

Landon grins. “Of course. All the best to you, Evie.”

He gives me a playful salute before turning around and walking down the street. The card weighs nothing yet feels like bricks in my pocket, a harsh reminder of the hole I’m falling into.

I just hope I can find something to grasp onto before I hit the bottom.

When we had to find a new place to live after Dad bailed and left his children with rent they couldn't afford, there weren't many conditions our new living space had to meet. As long as Drew, Mateo and I could cover it with our pathetic paychecks, it would do. It was pure luck that this shabby apartment building we chose happened to be relatively quiet.

That's not the case now. I could hear the raging voices the second I hit the fourth flight of stairs, could practically feel the walls shake with the noise by the time I reached the fifth. Naturally, this sets me on high alert, and I lighten my footsteps as to not make the floorboards squeak as I move down the hall to my unit.

The voices only get louder.

They're coming from my unit.

My foot freezes an inch above the floor, talons made of ice sink into my chest cavity and shred it, making way for my pounding heart to drum loudly in my ears. It only lasts a second before I'm sprinting the remainder of the short distance and throw open the front door. The knob crashes against the wall with a loud bang, startling the four men inside so badly they jump and whip towards me.

I scan the room. The kitchen looks undisturbed, with the exception of dishes in the sink one or more of my brothers neglected to take care of. The living room isn't trashed, but the poor coffee table has suffered a beating. It's been flipped over, one of the legs snapped at an angle that would be extremely painful if it were human. Standing on either side of the abused furniture is my brothers, older twins on one side and younger twins on the other.

"What the hell is going on?" I ask, eyes shifting from my older brothers to younger and back again.

The boys roughhouse on a regular occasion, but the looks on their faces don't look playful, nor does the way they're standing. Drew is almost chest to chest with Mateo as if using his body as a block, while Simon has his arms wrapped around Troy's waist as if trying to hold him back. The two more hot-headed of the pairs have resumed their glaring contest.

"Evie, you're home early." Drew says, pushing Mateo until he sits on the couch behind him.

"Yeah, I'll explain later." I glance back and forth between the lot of them again. "Someone fill me in, please."

Troy tilts his head and grins in a way that's on the edge of sadistic. "Tell her, guys. Tell her what you've been running around doing every night and spending the family's money on."

My adrenaline was just beginning to climb down, but it spikes right back up. "You know?"

"We just found out." Simon replies, letting his brother go. It seems Troy is no longer interested in physical fighting. "You two tell her right now, or we will."

It's Mateo's turn to smirk. "Ass kissers."

Troy makes to lunge, but Simon catches him again.

"Enough!" I hold a hand up towards Troy, and turn my attention to the older two. "Out with it."

Drew sighs and drops into the empty space next to his twin. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while running a hand over the top of his head. "We've been working at a club. Mateo's a bouncer and I bartend."

I give his confession a minute to sink in, and after that minute, I'm more confused than anything else. Bouncing and bartending aren't jobs to be ashamed of - they can pull in quite the extra cash in the form of tips, at least for bartending. It doesn't explain why they take more money from the account instead of adding to it more often than they do, but it answers one big question.

They haven't gotten involved in anything gang related, and knowing this now takes a massive weight off my shoulders.

I nod at them. "Thank you for telling me, but why did you feel the need to hide it in the first place? It's not something I'd judge you two for, you know that."

I can feel Simon and Troy growing impatient behind me, but I ignore them for now. I almost consider sending them out of the room, not wanting them to ruin things now that our older brothers have finally started to crack, but I don't. This is a family matter, and they're not children anymore. I don't want them to feel as though I still see them as little kids.

Mateo leans back, crosses his arms over his chest, and crosses his leg so ankle is resting on his knee. "Because we've been paying the dancers for private sessions."

I give his confession a minute to sink in, and after that minute, I'm... "I'm sorry, what?"

Drew sighs and starts to stand. "Evie-"

"You're paying dancers for attention? With the money you make every night plus the funds that are supposed to take care of us?" With every second that goes by, disbelief bleeds into anger. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

"If you're going to tell the truth, tell the whole truth." Troy snaps. He shakes out of Simon's hold and moves to stand next to me. "You know how we found out? They brought them here."

I'd rather be punched in the chest so hard I'm left winded than let that be true. "Don't tell me you're paying them for...?"

Drew, who decided to sit back down, hangs his head. Mateo has his face turned to the side, but even then, I can see him fighting to pretend that he doesn't care. Even as kids, the corners of his mouth would twitch when he tried to keep a careless expression.

I feel like I can't breathe, and yet, I can't stop words from coming out and using the precious air I'm struggling to keep in my lungs. "Are you two addicted? Because that's the only thing that would explain your lack of self control. For months I've been busting my ass to keep bills paid for, pulled my hair our trying to budget food and other necessities, trusting that whatever the two of you were up to would pay off in the end, and this is what you've been doing?"

Mateo snaps his head towards me and glares. "Not all of us are perfect little angels, Evie. Books aren't stress relief for everyone."

"Watch it." Simon hisses, appearing on my other side. "She's the reason we haven't starved and still have a roof over our head."

Mateo closes his mouth and turns away again.

I'm not done, not through with laying into them. "You know we're struggling to stay afloat, and not only are you blowing your entire paychecks on dancers, plus digging into the family funds to cover it, but you're also sneaking them in here? You're bringing strangers into our home? In the N109 Zone?"

For a long time, they say nothing. When they do, it's Drew who breaks the silence. "We're sorry, Evie."

Inhaling sharply, I ran my hands over my face. when I finally drop them, I clap my hands together and put on a sunny smile. "You two can start apologizing by getting your act together, because Russell's dead, which means I'm out of a job. I'm pulling the two of you off the account. Whatever we have left has to last until I find a new one."

I turn and storm towards my closet bedroom. The boys resume their bickering, but the migraine settling in my temples doesn't leave me much room to place peacekeeper. As soon as I lock myself inside, I make good on my word and change the password to the family's bank account. I'll slip the new password to Simon and Troy later, but until Drew and Mateo can be trusted, I can't risk them draining the measly three-hundred dollars left in the account.

The calendar app on my phone catches my eye as I close out of the online banking, and my heart sinks. Bills are due in a few days, and that is going to destroy the little savings we have.

"Fuck!" I screech, tossing my phone onto the mattress.

Pulling my knees up, I bury my head between them. The position pulls on my neck and makes my migraine worse, so I lay on my back instead. I didn't turn the light on, not wanting to aggravate my eyes further, but even in the darkness, I can see the outline of my dragon suncatcher hanging above me.

The corners of my eyes burn with tears, and in the shadows I whisper to it. "I don't know what to do."

Of course, it doesn't answer. I close my eyes and take in another deep breath, shove my hands into the pockets of Simon's jacket as I soak up the warmth it provides. I have every intention of taking a nap, numbing out the storm brewing inside of me, but my fingers brush against something that has my eyes snapping open again.

Pulling the small card out, I sit up and, despite the way it'll make my eyes sting, reach up to turn on the light.

"Take this anyway, just in case you change your mind. Or get desperate enough."

I don't want to. I really, really don't want to. Being an arm accessory to a complete stranger sounds like a nightmare, a great way to die and leave my brothers to fend for themselves.

But if I don't do this, we'll slowly die anyway.

Shoving every single emotion into the deepest parts of me where I can't feel them, I dial the number listed on the card. A male voice answers after the second ring.

"Landon? Hi, it's Evie." I look up at the red glass dragon and silently ask it to lend me its strength. "I've changed my mind."

Masterlist

Chapter Four ->

Tag List:

@xxfaithlynxx @angelafinstone

[kachowden]

This was gonna have more to it but I got impatient 🙈❤️❤️ a little sketchy sketch of the gorgeous perfect amazing sexy elf on the right is Silas who belongs to @meo-eiru and the one on the left is Armaros(Aros) who is my little drow boy ❤️❤️🫶✨ and I LOVE HIM SO MUCH.

(update: TUMBLR STOP RUINING THE QUALITY)

[sky-high-standards]

Yandere student council President x delinquent reader

Warnings: some mild smut obsessiveness and possessiveness

enjoy my single-pringles~♥

Yandere student council President Who's furious and in disbelief when he was informed, he was asked to get a delinquent back on track because the school didn't know what else to do.

Yandere student council President Who's jaw dropped once he saw you get dragged in by the principal and you were nothing like he expected.

Yandere student council President Who's amazed by how gorgeous you are and is even more amazed by your grades you were a genius you just didn't have the goody two shoes mindset.

Yandere student council President Who's more than happy to take you into the council and help you become the lover star student you were meant to be.

Yandere student council President who gets you moved to each one of his classes to obsessively stare keep an eye on you.

Yandere student council President Who keeps you in longer after school because of council work but in reality, he just wants more time to be around you.

Yandere student council President Who always gives you unreasonable amounts of work to do every day you just look so cute when you're tired

Yandere student council President Who gets you kicked out of all your other clubs claiming they weren't as important as the council.

Yandere student council President Who denies all your accusations of him being part of the reason all your other friends were expelled; how dare you think he'd do such a thing and besides they were a bad influences anyway.

Yandere student council President Who finds your attitude endearing if you look this pretty cursing at him imagine how pretty you'd look praising him and telling you how much you love him or moaning his name.

Yandere student council President Who hates how worked up you get him it's so frustrating how hard you get him and even more so having to relieve himself to your pictures in the bathroom imagining that pretty mouth of yours sucking him off.

You didn't need those useless ruffians anyway my love they were a bad influence I'm the only one you need~

[jestingheart]

Bunching these together

I'm just glad to use my calipeg membership for sum finally

[melaninforkings]

a piece of me dies every time im reading a fic and taylor swift lyrics pop up😭 then i realize the description of the oc or “reader” are very white coded like OH! that’s not…

[ghouljams]

RE: knight!ghost

Is Simon proud of her not killing or disappointed? Was he willing/ok to die in her name?

You aren't supposed to be a killer. Your role, nae duty, in Ghost's life has always been that of the first shoot of green after a long harsh winter. You've been the soft light of morning come to chase away a deep dark night, the birdsong that awakens a musician's heart after it's broken, you're not meant to take lives. Your birth was a blessing on the kingdom, his a blight.

How can he allow you to sully your hands with work that doesn't stain his hands, but bleeds from them?

No, it's not pride or disappointment, it's shame that colors his vision, that makes him pick at the scabbing blood under your neat fingernails, that crisps the folds of your dress to your body like the devil's tongue. He should have been better, shouldn't have pulled his swings, should have taken out Graves with the same merciless precision he used on all the people that would try to hurt you, because that's what Graves was. A man that would hurt you.

But he'd wanted your pride, wanted your merciful blessing, wanted to show that his reign wouldn't be colored by anything but his devotion to you, that he could be merciful, that you hadn't put your faith in the wrong men.

But you had, and he'd put you in harms way because he'd tried to be something he wasn't.

Used you like a tool.

Dragged you down into the muck with him.

His father would be so proud.

[stararonia]

WEARING LAW’S HAT MEANS...

– sfw

– summary: you’ve earned the privilege to wear the Surgeon of Death’s hat, and these are the reasons why (:

He trusts you, definitely more than he expected. That damn thing has been his one and only constant companion in his life (it has gone through many evolutions) other than his crewmates.

“Make sure it doesn’t fly away.” “You can throw me overboard if that happens.”

He likes seeing it on you; it’s a small reminder to him that despite all of the madness going on, you and a select few are worth living and fighting for.

He doesn’t want you to catch a cold.

“Heat exits out of your head. Wear this to stay warm.” “I think I’ll be fine, Captain.” “Do you want to get sick?”

He lets you play captain of the Heart Pirates here and there - to an extent.

“Are you saying that if I want a pet they can get one for me?” “No, we don’t need one.” “But I’m the Captain!” “Not anymore.”

He is secretly marking you with his scent.

“Ew, what in all the blues did you put on?” “Shut up, Shachi, I smell like a strong, powerful devil fruit user. What do you smell like?”

It’s a way for him to show he cares about you without saying it in words.

[ange1archive]

people need to stop tagging their ‘x oc stories‘ as ‘x reader‘. it’s so ANNOYING bc I am searching for ‘x reader‘ and all I get is the „reader“ having a first name and blonde hair with blue eyes. like I don’t want to read that shit. just fucking tag your oc stories as ‘x oc‘.

and don’t get me startet on them just tagging random characters that aren’t even mentioned in the fanfic. When I search up fics for a specific character I do NOT want to find fics of a different character. just let me read that ‘character x reader‘ and leave me alone

LEARN TO USE TAGS CORRECTLY. IT’S NOT THAT FUCKING HARD

[newtsniffles]

BETWEEN YOUR EYES

‘If you’re a Jackal, call me a Fox.’

jackal (charles) x oc

In which an elusive assassin finds his match in a barista by day, trained killer by night. They become entangled, playing a game of cat and mouse with an MI6 officer as the clock works against them.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

‘You kill men?’

‘I kill bad men.’

‘Hm.’ She takes note of the corner of his lips. How they turn up into a small smirk. ‘Should I be worried?’

‘...It would be a shame to put a bullet between those eyes.’

═══════════════════════════════════════════

CHAPTERS:

chapter one: one shot, one kill

if you’d like to be on the tag list, please comment.

[candysparks]

Imagine Demon! Reader x Neglected! Wayne x Neglectful! Batfam

[This is the prologue for what might be a series. Also this does involve a Wayne Oc. This is NOT proof read, so sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes I make] There is another part for this Imagine if you wanted to check that out as well! Just click [This]

[Warnings for Death, cult talk, blood sacrifices and all that jazz, child neglect, demon stuff]

So basically what I'm thinking of at the moment is Neglected! Wayne is Bruce's bio kid from some one off fling. He fools around and has a one night stand with this really pretty woman and she ends up pregnant, but doesn't tell him. Months go by and she's the proud mother of one healthy, rambunctious, baby who she lovingly names Percy.

But wait! Since she's a prominent business woman so she has to have a rival who wants her to fail. This rival won't get a name, but they use her pregnancy against her by claiming she's been sleeping around so her reputation takes a slight turn. This, of course, isn't enough to bring her reputation or her business down so the rival takes a step up.

They get in contact with some shady people who start messing up her business. Just some light vandalism to ward off people from working with her. One night they break into the building and smash some stuff, just to get her scared, but it ends up going so wrong.

You see, it was a long day at work and she was just swamped with paperwork so she had to stay late. Of course Percy, freshly aged 9, was working on some homework right next to her because he loves his mother and can't stand being part from her more than necessary.

[And when I say Percy loves her, I mean he admires her the most in the whole world. If anyone where to ask who his hero was he wouldn't say Batman, or Superman, and he might say Wonder Woman if he gave it some more thought, but to him? His first instinct would to say "My mom!" much to her delight.]

But now you might be thinking, where does Demon! Reader come into this whole thing? Well as it would turn out, one of the people who broke in was a paranoid person with a trigger happy finger, and the other was ragging cultist who was just looking for a reason to try out this new cursed tomb he got.

Percy decides he needs to get up and stretch, get his legs moving. It's like his mother always said 'Sitting in one spot for too long leads to a slumped mind, and a curved back' so it was better for him to get up and move his legs once in awhile.

But what's this? The paranoid robber happens to turn the corner just as Percy opens the door and BAM! Percy's mother, who was standing right behind him, falls to the floor and starts bleeding out. Percy freaks out and tries to put pressure on the wound, just like those books he liked to read said to do.

Her blood is everywhere, its all over his hands, his shirt, oh god it's all over him and it wont stop. The robber is also freaking out. He just shot this woman and her child was right there, he felt so so bad about it all.

And then the other one turns the corner and gets a good look at what's happening. So he pulls out his phone and makes a few calls before turning to his partner who was still freaking out, leaving Percy to hear his mothers final words before she goes limp.

The cultist decides 'Yo this is a great time to test out this blood sacrifice page in this wicked old tomb!' and knocks Percy out and drags away his mother. Of course he can't just leave Percy behind, no that would cause unwanted issues because Percy is now a witness, though the robbers forget about the security cameras entirely.

So they shove the two of them in their get away van and instead of driving back to their boss they end up at an unused warehouse. The cultist one gets right to work, drawing out this huge elaborate circle with the mothers blood. Of course he lights some candles, but to make it all the worse he uses drops of Percy's blood instead of his even thought it's what the book says not to do.

The circle glows red and out pops Demon! Reader. Of course this is also the moment Percy wakes up and is rightfully horrified to know he's bleeding from his hand, and Percy is a smart kid so he can put two and two together. He knows his blood was used along with his mothers. Tears are falling from his eyes now because he can't seem to wrap his mind around everything fast enough.

This gets Demon! Reader's attention and so they end up shoving past the two robbers and sits in front of Percy. Demon! Reader is simply fascinated with this crying child. It's not every day a demon sees a living child, especially one that's so full of life and is currently crying.

Doesn't help that Demon! Reader can feel the blood bond between them. Demon! Reader can't hurt Percy, even if they wanted to, due to the fact that the cultist used Percy's blood in the summoning. Just demon things, you know?

This of course, pissed the cultist off and so he starts shouting. Though the shouting and insults don't really bother Demon! Reader, they can tell it's bothering Percy. So they do what they always do and simply devours the cultist.

Buuut that freaks out the other robber so he tries to shoot at Demon! Reader but that obviously doesn't work. So Demon! Reader eats him too! Percy has long since passed out due to the shock of it all, so Demon! Reader changes into the form of a cat and snuggles right up to him.

Demon! Reader can tell they're going to enjoy being tied to this human child. They've already taken it upon themselves to raise them into a strong and healthy person.

[Just gonna flash forward real quick and list out some stuff that happens.]

Percy gets discovered all alone in the warehouse and sent to the cops cause he's covered in blood. Demon! Reader gets to go along because Percy refuses to let go of them and they're still in cat form. Blah blah Percy gets sent to an orphanage who doesn't really care about him but notices the cat that's stuck to him like glue and that his eyes are very similar to Bruce Wayne. They do a blood test and gets shocked that he is a Wayne and then they ship him off to the Wayne Manor.

Though at this point in time Bruce is too busy with mourning the loss of Jason to properly take care of, or even look at, Percy. Then Tim comes along and he get's too busy with bat stuff, and then so does everyone else. Dick doesn't pay attention to them either cause he's always in Blüdhaven and all that jazz. But that's okay cause Percy has Demon! Reader and Alfred to look after him.

Then comes Damian and it all goes to shit from there. Damian, being Damian, pulls a sword on Percy to try and fight him for the title of blood child or whatever. Percy gets cut, right along his left hand [his right hand is the one with a cut from the summoning] and starts to panic because he knows what Demon! Reader would want to do in revenge.

So Percy runs off to his room and does everything he can to keep Demon! Reader from flipping the fuck out and throwing hands with a literal child. But that only makes Damian think less of Percy, seeing him as a coward who only runs away instead of fighting back like a "true" Wayne.

Percy is at least 16 at this point, so he decides to throw caution to the wind and GTFO, much to Demon! Reader's delight. But what's this? Everyone is taking an interest in this forgotten Wayne and don't want him to go.

But who is this stray cat that keeps following him around the manor? And his weird/feral friend who constantly wears a red headband that has demon horns and has a bad habit of biting people? No, no, this simply won't do, Percy needs to make new friends, better friends.

Or better yet, forget the friends, Percy needs to stay with his "Family" and not run off into the big scary world all alone. Moving? Why would Percy move when he has a home at the Wayne Manor?

Cue Demon! Reader flipping their shit and trying to convince Percy to let them kill get rid off his annoying "family" so they can finally travel the world like they'd planned.

[And that's all I can think of at the moment. But just to clear up some stuff, Demon! Reader adores Percy like their own child. And due to Demon customs, Demon! Reader has taught Percy all about being a demon. From how to fight his battles with his own nails and teeth to even manors and habits of demon kind. In this AU Demons are very clingy and affectionate with their family, similar but also different dynamics compared to a wolf or a cat pack. The Strong protect the weak and all that jazz, and in Demon! Reader's eyes Percy is weak but has potential to be strong. So Demon! Reader mother cat's him, picking him up by his 'scruff' when they feel he's in danger, or that he's been away from them for too long.] [If you have any questions about this au, or if you wanna request some more lore/character stuff, my ask box is open!]

[debonairprincesposts]

I had a thought. Let’s pretend that Jason doesn’t fear death. And here is why.

Every time that he “dies” his soul basically goes in time out where he finds his own personal reaper waiting for him with tea and biscuits and cupcakes and cakes and stuff.

You know that small tower tray thing that has desserts on it? Yeah that thing. And the reaper is just waiting for Jason to die so they could catch up and stuff. Jason usually dies every other week. Mostly from untreated injuries, blood loss, etc. It takes him just a few seconds to come back, but time flows differently in “time out”. They spend like- at least 3 hours gossiping. Sylus with his reaper obligations and Jason with his family and vigilante drama. So they get to meet up at least twice a month.

The reason Jason keeps coming back is cuz it’s “not his time” yet. And the reaper has become Jason’s closest friend.

Let’s call him Sylus.

Sylus the Reaper.

Another thing!

When Jason hasn’t died in like months, and he finally dies and meets Sylus, Sylus is all like:

“Sup, man! How’ve you been! Haven’t seen you in a while! *sips tea* Spill the tea sis!”

Then Jason proceeds to tell Sylus everything.

They’re bffs.

You can’t convince me otherwise.

[kachowden]

Thinking about a yandere!artist painting you while you suck him off beneath the easel.

And you can’t move too much because otherwise you’ll mess him up, so your just cock warming him with your mouth and your jaws starting to hurt and there’s drool dripping down your chin that he wipes away with a small huff. Like YOU’RE the one being difficult.

At some point he thinks you’ve gotten too relaxed so he moves to using his brush with one hand, and letting the other lightly touch and trace the curve of your back, tickling you just slightly and always narrowly missing wherever you need him the most, claiming to be “mapping out your features, love, just hold still.”

And in the end it’s all for nothing because next thing you know your back is against his chest and your bouncing on his cock while holds your jaw and makes you stare at the drying paint. Fucking you dumb until just seconds away from your peak he pulls out and shoots his cum all over the painting. And your just made to watch hours of your aching jaw become covered in white seed while he peppers mean kisses against your shoulder.

“Hm…looks like we’ll have to try again.”