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agent-cupcake · 10 months ago

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Flashbang

Chapter 1 - Puppet Loosely Strung

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Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Running away to join the circus doesn’t go exactly as you hoped it would.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, murder, generally dark content

Word Count: 13.9k

Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga or watch the anime. This is based solely on OPLA Buggy because Jeff Ward.

Some quick notes before we start: This is what I've been working on this since October. Originally it was going to be one really big one-shot posted at the same time, but it's big enough that I can justify posting it as a series. I'll add warnings as I go, but this is not a happy story and there will be explicit content later on. The reader character might not be somebody you see yourself in, I had a very specific image of what character I had in mind while writing. To me, reader fic is more of a sort of play acting rather than "oh that's literally me" but I know that's not everybody's cup of tea. A lot of this is cope fic and it shows. When times get rough the porn gets rougher, right?

I had help writing this from an individual who is very dear to me. Flashbang wouldn't exist without her, especially since she was the one who gave me the clown brain rot. And then there has been the hours of brainstorming and spitballing and watching Jeff Ward shows/movies as she continued to feed my addiction. Thank you, my love, and also damn you because this wasn't what I needed.

New chapter every Sunday. Enjoy~

“Let me put myself in your shoes

As a puppet loosely strung

Around you, they were so confused

That a faulty man could have so much fun”

All it took was a little doubt. Through logic or confusion or wishful thinking, you could be convinced that the insignificant person who had parasitically driven you around for the past however many years was a stranger, and now they were gone. Everything that had ever happened fell into incomprehensible dust, and every thought you ever had belonged to somebody else. A cycle of a million memories you didn’t recognize spun through this foggy place, none of them real, none of them familiar.

Logic, confusion, wishful thinking, or unconsciousness. An endless dream of nothing at all. But as soon as you became aware, it was awareness that those thoughts happened in the past tense, crushed inward by the unrelenting force of existence, and you were shoved back into a body. You—not the real you, the stranger you, the one made of heat and fury and pain, the one you couldn’t recognize—were gasping and thrashing in ignorant confusion, coughing out the sickening taste of blood in your throat.

Everything, all of it, hurt. And that was all that existed.

Until it wasn’t.

Your panicked thrashing made you realize that you were upright, your body straining painfully against the various chains keeping you pinned against the wall in an X. The position put nearly all of your weight on your shoulders and left your head to sag heavily to the side, making the terrible, dizzying headache that much worse. Having suffered more than your fair share of them, you knew that this headache was from more than an uncomfortable position or your old injury. A hot throbbing pain radiated out from the back of your head, shooting little sparks down your spine. It hurt bad enough that nausea formed a tight, heavy ball in your stomach. Gritting your teeth, you forced your eye open, fighting the urge to cringe away from the light as it rolled this way and that. Colors and lights were nothing more than a nauseating smear, but at least you could see.

Little by little, you became aware of yourself. From far away, you had a vague recollection of leaving, of nerves, excitement, and then of danger. But… no, why weren’t you at home? Doom settled in its rightful place as you realized exactly how little you remembered or knew, slotting into the spot of coherence and reason. Despite the pain, you fought against the shackles holding you in the uncomfortable position, irrationally desperate to be free of them.

“There she is! Finally,” somebody said from your left. His voice hit like a hammer to the back of your aching head. You strained to look at the speaker, he sounded close, but you couldn’t turn your head far enough to make up for your limited vision.

Luckily, he didn’t stay out of sight for long. The man’s boots were loud and deliberate as he slowly moved out of your literal blind spot. To your ill-adjusting eye, he was not much more than a blur of white and red and blue, his big smile smudged as you rapidly blinked to focus. A little shock of meaningless recognition in your brain saw the makeup and red nose and said ‘clown’, but the sheer ridiculousness of that made you even more sure that this wasn’t real.

“Not a fun way to wake up, is it?” he asked. “Keep breathing, let it drain back and cough it out. Trust me, it’s over quicker that way.”

The question you tried to form was, “Who are you?” but all you could manage was a heavy groan followed by a fit of painful coughs, wheezing raggedly in between. Each desperate convulsion rattled the chains and caused the wood to creak, but did nothing to free your bound limbs. The man seemed bored by it, annoyed he had to wait for you to get ahold of yourself.

Since he hadn’t immediately helped you down, you could only assume that he was the one who shackled you in the first place. Strung you up against a wooden board of some kind in a room you didn’t know. Cramped and windowless, it reeked of paint and sweat and sawdust and sweet salty rot—a unique smell that didn’t help your nausea. Clutter stacked up against the walls. Dense, humid air pressed against you like a heavy coat, paradoxically chilling. Probably because of the fever burning beneath your skin, slicking you up with sweat, soaking into your clothes and the bandana you kept wrapped around your head over the left eye.

Breathe. You focused on your breathing. Panic wouldn’t help you.

“You done?” he asked. Without any other choices, you turned your head to shamefully wipe your face off on your sleeve before nodding. “Great. Well, now that you’re awake… Welcome!” He threw out his arms with the flamboyant manner of a showman with the greeting, but they wilted right after, his big smile dropping a bit. “Or, at least, that’s what I would say if you hadn’t let yourself in and stolen the opportunity from me.”

That was bad. Very, very bad. You jerked in an awkward, uncoordinated burst, physically reacting to the danger he presented.

“No, no, don’t leave on my account,” he said, waving his hands and getting closer as if to stop you. “Oh wait, you can’t! Hah! Yeah, ‘cause of the chains.” He smiled affably, like it was a harmless joke, standing close enough for his gloved fingers to skim along the chain wrapped around your neck. “I guess you’re not going anywhere, huh?”

You didn’t respond, barely daring to breathe when he was so close. Smiles and melodrama aside, his blue eyes were oddly dead, fixed on you without the slightest bit of humor. And then it finally came back to you, the vital thing that you should have known, that you would have known if you weren’t strung up and suffering such a crippling headache. The makeup, the nose, the hat—

“You’re,” you began to say, but your voice was hoarse and weak, you could barely get it out when he was looking at you so closely, so intently. You cleared your throat, wincing at the metallic taste. “You’re the-that pirate captain Buggy, like on the-the poster?” Right! The clown guy, the red-nosed pirate. You were looking for him. So this was… good, wasn’t it?

He gave you a flat look, clearly not sharing your weak enthusiasm. “Yes. I am that pirate captain. Buggy, the Genius Jester? The most feared pirate captain in all the East Blue?” He turned with a dramatic flick of his coat, messing with something that had to flash silver before you realized it was a knife. “The man destined to find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates. Yes. I am that pirate captain. And,” he paused, checking to make sure you were paying attention, “a very busy, very important man. I’ve got, oh, ten minutes or so for you to decide how this is gonna go. So let’s get straight to it.” He turned back, pointing the knife at you. “Who are you, and what are you after?”

The accusatory tone of his voice took you aback. “Nothing… I’m not anybody,” you stammered out. “And this… this isn’t what it looks like, I swear.”

Buggy, to your surprise, relented after a second of considering your appeal, nodding understandingly.

There was no transition from his look of sympathy to raising the knife and aiming it at you. By the time you realized he meant to throw it, you barely had a chance to yelp. The blade took a loud, thumping bite into the wood beside you. On your left side, of course. Where you couldn’t see it. You could feel it, though. The air displacement ruffled the fine hairs around your ear. If you had flinched in that direction, it probably would be in your skull. With your dizzy head aching and confused, you had no regulation to your fear or discomfort, your breathing dangerously unsteady and tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

“Let me try a different question,” Buggy said before you could collect yourself, pulling out another knife. “Who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody! I swear, nobody else. I was just…” You didn’t know what to say. It was all you could do to breathe the thick, heavy air and fight down the tide of nausea.

“Just what?” Buggy asked, leaning in with raised eyebrows to show that he was listening intently. You opened and closed your mouth, unable to come up with the right words. Thoughts churned through the thick sludge in your head, getting stuck or lost or confused.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, the stumbling apology coming out more naturally than anything else, an attempt to buy time while you organized your thoughts. “Please doh-don’t…. I’m so ss-sorry.”

Buggy sighed, standing up straight and raising his hand to aim.

“Nonono, please d-” You yelped louder this time, flinching away as the knife streaked through the air and stuck not even an inch away from your right cheek. You exhaled a pathetic little sob, whatever you were bound to shaking with your body.

“Listen, honey buns,” Buggy said. “Drop the act. Stop the whining. I caught you, red handed, sneaking into my lair.” He pulled something out of his pocket. Not another knife, but a piece of paper which he unfolded, holding it up for you to see. His wanted poster, creased into sixths from the way you folded it to keep it close, to keep it hidden. “I found this in your bag. You know who I am, and you know where you are. You have to, so let’s do away with all the theatrics, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding quickly in the hope that it would appease him.

“Right now, this is a conversation,” Buggy said, gesturing between the two of you. “A light interrogation, really. But if you keep being uncooperative and wasting my time, it’s gonna go from being interrogate-y to being torture-y real quick. You don’t want that, right?” Although he was unmistakably threatening you, Buggy’s tone was more natural than before. There was a bluntness to it, an honesty. Men like him didn’t idly use words like torture.

You sniffed, trying very hard to calm yourself down. This was a misunderstanding, so you just had to convince him. Simple as that. He would understand. You would make him understand.

“Right,” you agreed.

“Fantastic. So,” he loudly clapped his hands together, “who else knows about this place?”

“Nobody, I promise… I’m really sorry I broke in,” you told him, speaking slowly so your words didn’t catch. “I just wanted to meet with you.”

Buggy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, the hair hanging out from the sides of his hat swaying as his head tilted curiously. “You’re a fan?” he clarified. “That explains why you’re so pathetic. Well I hate to break it to you, but there’s a reason I only hold meet and greets after shows.”

“No, that’s not why! I-I want to join your crew,” you said. “I came to ask you to let me join your crew.”

He blinked twice, staring at you with obvious disbelief. “Excuse me, what?”

“I want to be a pirate,” you told him, louder. “Please. Please let me join your crew.”

Buggy’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the rippling shift of incredulity, befuddlement, skepticism, and then amusement in his eyes. That emotion burst outward into a loud laugh, making you flinch. “That’s the best you can do?” he asked. “Ask to join my crew?” He looked at you again, laughing even harder. “I don’t know what’s funnier—that anybody would send you to spy on me, or that you’d think I would consider hiring you.”

“I mean it!” you argued, humiliation and desperation seeping into the thousand other discomforts of your position. This wasn’t at all how you wanted this to go.

“Sweetheart,” Buggy said condescendingly, “even assuming I believe you, this is a pirate crew, not an afterschool club.”

“I know. I know what pirates do, I know what you do,” you told him. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want. Please, please, just give me a chance.”

He nodded, turning to pace as he thought about it.

“Okay, let’s say that I buy this… this act of yours,” Buggy said. “Do you have any experience? Maintaining ships, reading maps, loading cannons. You know, basic stuff.”

There was a line you had prepared to answer this question, one that would paint you in the most charitable light. You remembered that, but you couldn’t remember the line. All you could give was the truth. “A little.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Thought so. What about specialties? Unique skills? Any sort of talent that I can use in my show—anything at all. I mean other than,” he gestured vaguely in your direction, “that. We don’t need another one eyed midget. They’re surprisingly common.”

“I’m not a midget,” you told him, nerves fading to incredulity.

Buggy stepped back to size you up before seemingly conceding the point with a shrug. “And the eye?” He covered his left eye to illustrate. “Is that for a bit or something?”

Your stomach twisted with a familiar lurch. Disgust. Shame. Phantom light in the dark. “It’s not.”

“How’d you lose it?”

“I didn’t… lose it.”

“It’s still in there?” he asked excitedly, stepping forward and reaching to remove the bandana. “I have got to see this.”

“No, please—please don’t,” you begged, trying to wriggle away from his hand. Pinned to the board with your hands bound above your head, there was nowhere to go. “Please don’t, please-”

“Come on,” Buggy said, indifferent to your pleas as he pulled the sweat soaked fabric off of your left eye. “How bad could it be—AH!” He yelled in horror, jumping away as if you’d bitten him.

The bandana hit the floor, leaving your ruined eye and its jagged scar exposed. You couldn’t hide. All you could do was flinch back, turning your head away. “I’m sorry,” you said, ready to continue apologizing before you realized that his shock had immediately dissolved into raucous laughter. “Why are you… why are you laughing?” you asked, pulling desperately against the chains.

“I got you good,” Buggy said, his laughter subsiding. “The way you reacted, I thought that you’d be completely deformed. A real sideshow. But this…” He grabbed your chin, forcing it to the side so he could get a better look. “I couldn’t charge for this.”

“Please stop,” you begged, shaking off his grip and staring hard at his shoulder.

“Ohhh. You’re really embarrassed about it.”

You didn’t say anything, focusing mostly on fighting the tears.

“Okay, alright, yeah,” Buggy said, stepping back. “I think I’m starting to get why you would risk life and limb to beg me for a job. You grew up as a cute girl in a shithole town like this. A big fish in a little pond, as they say. Then, suddenly, BAM, you’re deformed, and, sure, they all say that it was tragic, but the truth is that they can’t stand to look at you. Even the people who loved you, the people you trusted, think you’re a freak. They abandoned you. So, without any other options, you come to me, pleading for me to give you a place amidst your fellow freaks. That about it?”

You didn’t say anything—what could you say to that?— which Buggy seemed to take as confirmation, nodding thoughtfully.

“Well, go big or go home, right? As far as a starlet’s breakout role, you couldn’t go any bigger. Thing is, I’m not really looking for new acts. Not to mention your abysmal audition.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking you up and down again.

You could feel your chance slipping away. Just like that. Go big or go home, that’s what he said.

“Please, Captain Buggy,” you begged, staring him in the eye despite how disquieting it was, despite how your skin crawled from exposing your left eye to somebody. Addressing him properly, at the very least, got his attention. “I promise that you won’t regret it. I’ll learn, I want to learn how to be a pirate, how to perform, all of it, everything. And if I can’t, I’ll do laundry and clean and cook, I have lots of experience with that. I don’t care what you ask me to do, if you let me join your crew, I’ll happily serve you for the rest of my life.”

Buggy didn’t respond right away. You thought—hoped—that it meant he understood how serious you were, but his expression gave you nothing. There wasn’t much light in the room in the first place, but somehow he found enough to shine unnervingly in his pale blue eyes. Somebody with a bright red clown nose shouldn’t have been able to look so intimidating, but the way he studied you burned with an uncomfortable intensity. It had been a while since anybody looked at you so frankly, so openly, without disgust or pity.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why…?” you repeated, confused.

“I get that you want to leave this place, and I even buy into your whole wanting to be a pirate thing, but, you know, aside from the obvious,” he gestured to himself, “why should I believe that you really want to serve me? You’re young and cute…ish, don’t you want freedom and empowerment and all those other things girls go on and on about?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why would I?”

A moment of quiet that wasn’t quite silence but twice as heavy passed before a slow smile began to spread over Buggy’s face, and then—of all the bizarre, uncomfortable responses he could have—he laughed. “Oh, you’re broken, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly overjoyed by the revelation. “Well, I’m sold. I’ll have to start you on probation just in case you’re secretly up to no good. But, after that, you can audition for real. I’m sure I can find something you’ll be useful for.”

His reaction gave you whiplash. The word ‘broken’ was obviously bad, but everything else was good. You had succeeded. Only, you didn’t know why. You were still trying to decide if being called cute-ish was a compliment or not.

“Hey, just one more thing, okay?” Buggy asked, tapping your cheek. Standing mere inches away, he smiled a rictus grin. It wrinkled his eyes, but they were without life or pity or mercy. “If you’re lying to me about anything, I’ll carve some symmetry into your cute little face. You’ll thank me for it too. You won’t want to see what the guys will do to you after I toss you out there.”

“I’m not lying,” you said softly, shrinking back. “I promise.”

“Great!” Buggy said, his demeanor immediately cheering up. “Let’s get you down.” He walked behind the board you were strung up on, and you let out a shaky exhale. “Brace yourself,” he called. You had no idea what that meant, or how you were supposed to brace yourself when there was nothing for you to brace yourself on. “Three… two…”

He undid the lock, and the chains keeping you bound to the board went slack. You dropped hard, your limbs as heavy as lead. Luckily, your head was too light to feel anything when you hit the ground with a dull thump and the loud cacophony of rattling chains, spinning and blank and utterly empty. There was a suspended moment of floating, lighter than air itself. And then you were blinking rapidly and nauseous, pain shooting up your arms and knees.

Buggy dropped a key in front of you, metal bouncing on the old concrete.

“Unfortunately we didn’t bring any real props with us, so I had to improvise,” he said. With numb fingers, you grabbed the key and worked it into the locked cuff around your wrist. “You lucked out, if this were the real Wheel of Death, you’d be blowing chunks!” He paused, looking down at you. “Can you hurry this up?”

“Sorry,” you said. Your shaking hands kept missing the keyholes, but you finally got the last lock on your ankle open. The cuffs hadn’t broken skin, but your wrists and ankles were rubbed raw, ugly bruises already developing. You’d had worse.

“Alright, upsy daisy,” Buggy said, crouching down to take the key away and grab the only chain you hadn’t gotten out of—the one around your neck.

It acted as a noose, giving you no other choice but to lurch upward with an unappealing choking sound, your head spinning all over again, the weightless itch tingling all the way down to the base of your spine. You stumbled forward, unintentionally falling against him.

“Holy shit,” Buggy exclaimed, helping you stand up straight with a hand on your shoulder. “I didn’t know girls came in fun size. Legally, at least. Are you sure you’re not just like… the maxiest midget?”

“‘m dizzy,” you muttered, swaying despite his support.

“That’s not really… Ah, whatever. Hey, at least if you fall, you don’t have that far to go.”

“I’m… I’m okay,” you finally said, which was mostly true. Breathing slow, steady breaths helped, and then you shook your head a little. The bump on the back of it throbbed painfully, and you’d have bruises on your knees the size of apples, but you would survive. You were still trying to get control over your body. It was heavy and unwieldy, although part of that must have been the exhaustion.

“If you need to vomit, make sure to aim away from me,” he said. That was about all the warning you got before he decided it was time to go, dragging you along behind him like a dog on a leash.

You realized you were leaving your bandana behind, your left eye uncovered, and reared back, trying to stop him. “Wait, I have to grab my-”

“No time,” he said, talking over you and tugging again at the chain.

There was nothing you could do but stumble over your own feet to keep up with him as he led you through the cluttered and dark storage area. You felt a tiny bit of relief that you were still in the familiar decaying buildings northside. The old warehouses were dark, dank, and dingy. Easily defended and difficult to navigate, perfect for criminals to hide out in. You knew them very well, and that helped orient you.

"As I’m sure you noticed, I’m running a bit of a skeleton crew here. The rest aren’t coming ‘til the grand finale,” Buggy said, leading you into the main warehouse space by the chain around your neck like it was completely normal. The awful smell of rot and decay was only compounded by a sickly sweet, chalky scent you didn’t recognize. Gray sunshine flooded in through the broken windows around the high ceilings, piercingly bright. “And after that, we’re gonna blow this town.”

You didn’t respond, growing even more skittish. The two of you drew the attention of the people scattered around. Some were lounging, others were training. All of them turned to look at you, watching with the dark, focused stare of hungry dogs. Colorfully dressed, very dangerous dogs.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an introduction to make!” Buggy called in a loud enough voice to fill the large space. “Crew, new girl. New girl, crew. Make sure to give her a nice, warm welcome." None of them spoke or reacted, watching you with varying degrees of hostility. Buggy pulled you forward a few steps so he could whisper to you. “See that guy?” he asked, pointing to a bald man with square features and an especially dark glare. “That’s Ivo. He was the one who caught you. To be completely honest, I think he’s still a little angry that he didn't get to keep you. If I were you, I’d try to stay on his good side.”

“How?” you asked, your uneasy stomach sinking further, but Buggy was already preoccupied with something else.

“Oh, hey-” he called, flagging down a woman who was leaning against one of the steel supports. You stumbled behind him, holding the chain around your neck to ease the pressure. “Crina, I have got a very important job for you.”

The woman slowly looked from Buggy to you, giving you a weighty once-over with dark, kohl-lined eyes. Her clothes were different from the rest, draped with beads and loose and layered in shades of purple. Beneath the mystique, however, you felt the same hardness you recognized in all the pirate’s faces. “You want me to look after the little rat,” she said with an accent you didn’t recognize.

"God, it’s like you can read minds or something,” Buggy said, laughing. “Anyway, yes. Make sure she doesn’t get up to anything naughty while I’m gone. In fact, don’t let her out of your sight.”

“With all due respect,” Crina said, “why not just kill her?”

“Because I don’t want her dead,” Buggy snapped, suddenly irritated. If Crina was surprised or off put by the abrupt change of his mood, she didn’t show it.

“Of course, captain.”

“I thought I saw some cages over there,” Buggy said, gesturing vaguely and forcing the chain into Crina’s hand. “Stick her in one of those. In the back, away from any prying eyes.”

“A cage?” you asked.

“As fun as it is to see you all chained up,” Buggy said. “I worry that it might send the wrong message. Out of sight, out of mind—I don’t need you distracting my crew. They’re planning a very big surprise party. If you behave, I might be able to find some time for you later. Sound good?”

You nodded, almost surprised by how good that sounded. He ruffled your hair before turning away, barking orders to some of the men.

“Let’s go,” Crina said, pulling your attention back to her. “We have our orders.”

The cage Crina put you in, one out of several bolted to the floor in the corner out of the way from the main space, had just enough room for you to sit slouched, or lay curled on your side, meant for big dogs or small humans. There was a market for both, and you knew that this warehouse had likely housed both.

The old, dilapidated buildings had been out of use for a long time, as long as you could remember. Barley Village had been originally built to be close to the mineral deposits, but as those dried up and industry trended towards the water, southward expansion left all of the old buildings empty and rotting. There was always talk about tearing them down, but it was only ever talk. One time you were told that some people wanted to keep the buildings available to people who wished for some privacy. But when you asked your dad if that was true, he got angry, telling you that was a lie, that he would never let that happen. He said it would just be too expensive to take them down, and that there was really no point in it.

But he also told you to never, ever spend time northside. Of all of the rules he gave you, that was the only one you ever truly disobeyed. You had no idea how many times you had gotten in trouble for playing here, climbing up rusted stairs and crossing the support beams up by the ceiling, using rocks to knock out the jagged edges of broken glass from the windows so you could go onto the rooftops. Your health problems made it difficult, and sometimes impossible, but you were patient. Plus, that had been before the accident, when your coordination was still good.

Back then, you didn’t worry about the many dangers that lurked here, and you certainly didn’t believe you could be hurt. You were too entranced by the world you created for yourself. The only thing you worried about was the beatings you earned when you got caught. Dad used to tell you that if you kept disobeying him by going northside, you’d wind up locked in one of these cages—or worse. It took you a while to think of the word, because it wasn’t funny, but it also was. Ironic. It was ironic.

You couldn’t even imagine what kind of reaction he would have to what you had done now, what punishment you would earn. It would be bad. You knew it would be very bad.

Better not to think about it. Falling unconscious after being hit on the head was the most you had slept for the previous two days. It was the level of exhaustion that you could be staring down the business end of a sword with indifferent, sleepy eyes. Being locked up was bad, very bad, but you were content to lay listlessly on your side.

At some point, you must have fallen asleep because you weren’t entirely conscious when somebody kicked the front of your cage. “Hey, wake up.” Your physical response was to startle, jolting you awake enough to flinch away from the violence. But it was only Crina who crouched in front of the cage. “I have food for you. And medicine for the headache. I’m going let you out, and I suggest you don’t try to run. If the guys get a hold of you, I won’t stop them.”

“I won’t run,” you told her, your voice hoarse, your eyes fixed on what she had brought. A bowl of something that looked like stew and a bottle. More than food, you wanted water. Crina undid the lock and you shuffled out of the cage. Your head spun just as badly as it had when you dropped onto the floor earlier, your vision crawling with darkness and stomach heaving unhappily. She was right about the headache. It wasn’t a pain you ever got used to, no matter how many days you spent laid out from one. After an uneasy moment, you sat on the floor, grabbing the water and eagerly uncapping it.

“Hand,” Crina said, holding out a glass bottle. You allowed her to shake two capsules into your palm, tossing them into your mouth before taking in a blessedly wet mouthful of water. It soothed your tongue and throat like a salve, although you knew your stomach wouldn’t be quite so happy to receive anything. The stew’s scent alone made your stomach clench and churn with equal parts hunger and nausea. Slow. You had to take it slow.

“Thank you,” you told her, picking up the bowl. She’d brought a wrapped sailor’s biscuit to eat it with. Not very appetizing, but you hadn’t eaten much more than you slept. It could have been saw dust and you would have been grateful.

“I have your bag,” she said to fill the silence as you ate, pushing the limp canvas towards you. “They took anything that looked valuable, but your clothes are all there. They need to be washed. I’ll lend you something to wear in the meantime.”

Since your mouth was full, you nodded your thanks.

“While you eat, I’m going to talk. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” Crina said. “You don’t strike me as the talkative type.”

She didn’t say that in an accusatory tone, but it still caused your heart to skip with anxiety. The fear had to be irrational, it wasn’t as if you had lied to Captain Buggy, so what did you have to worry about? Besides, only the guilty feared scrutiny, that was a favored line of your dad’s.

“There’s a man in town asking if anyone has seen a girl. Petite. Missing an eye. Mentally unwell. He’s concerned that she might have gotten lost somewhere,” Crina told you. “From what I gather, her father is a pillar of the community. They’re all very worried.”

You averted your gaze, anxiously pulling your hair to cover your left eye. Of course Randall would be looking for you, although you had hoped you would have more time before he noticed your absence. It didn’t matter that you left in such a way to raise as little suspicion as possible, or that you were an adult, or that you didn’t want to be found. Your dad asked him to be your keeper while he was gone, and Randall did as your father said. Everybody did.

“Finish your food,” Crina prompted. “It’s worse when it’s cold.”

Right. You started eating again, your movements mechanical. She said nothing, and you had nothing to say.

“Everybody has their reasons for turning to piracy, and they’re not always pleasant,” Crina suddenly said. “Unless it interferes with my own business, I don’t care about who you were and why you ran away. It was a stupid choice, I think you know that. I won’t try and convince you to leave. Buggy seems to like you, so you wouldn’t be able to go anyway. But you need to understand that there will be consequences. The life you had before, no matter how terrible, did not prepare you for the life you’ve thrown yourself into.”

You stared hard at the bowl, thinking about that. It was true, you had to accept that you had blindly stumbled into a world you knew nothing about. But what choice did you have? The things that led you to this point were arranged like the rusty, creaky rungs of a ladder scaling the side of a building. Climbing up had always been the easy part, it was the inevitable descent that gave you trouble. You had to go slow, one rung at a time, blindly feeling with your toes, holding on with sweaty fingers, not looking up and not looking down because once you were on the ladder, you could only keep going. The first rung was spotting the Buggy Pirates, which you only did because you were sulking around the docks after seeing your father off on his trip. You only recognized the crew because your dad kept track of pirate captains with significant bounties. You only had the courage to sneak away from your house because dad was too far away to stop you. You only had the ability to scope out Buggy’s temporary hideout because of how much time you spent northside when you were younger. Those things all connected and followed so naturally and you didn’t know if fate existed, but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t have wound up here on your own volition. It wasn’t a choice you made, it was the only way to get down from the roof that you had been stranded on for so long.

“I’ll give you some advice,” Crina continued, her tone lighter, “and I suggest you listen. You’re young and pretty, and you wouldn’t be the first to try and use that to get an advantage. It might work for a while, but men will get bored and your looks will fade. Before long you’ll be spat out into a cheap whorehouse with a couple of children you can’t afford and a hell of a rash.”

The whiplash from your thoughts to the conclusion she had drawn made your stomach twist with disgust. “No,” you said. Was that what she thought of you? Even if the idea was utterly ridiculous, shame rolled uncomfortable through you. “I would never—I could never ever do that.”

“Don’t be naive,” Crina said, rolling her eyes. “The boys you’re used to are disgusted by that scar, but the kind of men you’ll meet from now on won’t be. If your low self-esteem dictates who you let between your legs, you’ll find yourself in the gutter. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t sleep with men to get an advantage if that’s an option, only that you must be smart about it.”

You pulled your hair forward again, shaking your head clear of what she was saying. She didn’t understand. It wasn’t the assumption that men would be repulsed by your scar—which they would be, you knew that—but that you didn’t have it in you to invite or manipulate male attention. In so many ways you were already ruined, but to stoop down to letting other men touch you would be too far, it would destroy you.

“Assuming you live past tomorrow night,” Crina continued, “get a knife and figure out how to use it. The men aren’t going to accept you as a member of the crew until you prove yourself. So if anybody gets too close, you prove yourself with blood.”

“Do you think they’ll try to hurt me?”

“I think you look like an easy target,” she said. “And I know you have no concept of self preservation or defense.”

“Yes, I do,” you said, frowning. You had made it this far, after all. That was more than anybody would have thought of you.

“You don’t,” she said plainly. “The tablets I gave you are for treating pain, but imagine if they weren’t. You didn’t so much as ask me to clarify what they were.”

You opened your mouth to argue, and closed it, shame squeezing your throat. You hadn’t even thought about that.

“It might not matter anyway,” she said, “depending on Buggy’s reasons for keeping you.”

“What do you mean?”

Crina gave you a long, pitying look and you could tell there was something she wanted to say, something she was holding back. Eventually she shrugged. “That is between the two of you.”

You wanted to push for more, confused by the cryptic answer, but you didn’t. You could tell by the hard look on her face that she wouldn’t tell you anyway.

“One more thing. The most important thing,” Crina told you, leaning close so she could whisper. “Never, ever mention the captain’s nose. In fact, never mention noses at all.”

“His nose?” you repeated softly. “Is it… is it real?”

“What did I just say?” she asked sharply. “He killed a few of the last new recruits for saying something that sounded like nose while he was in a bad mood.”

“He… killed them?” you asked.

“Buggy is a very temperamental man,” she said, leaning back. “Try not to get on his bad side.”

“It sounds like you don’t like him.”

“I do, actually. God knows why. Are you finished?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Come on then,” Crina told you, getting to her feet and dusting herself off. “There’s running water on the other side. I’ll keep watch so you can clean up.”

Although birds called and the breeze carried all sorts of noises from Barley Village, none of it really reached the northside. A solemn graveyard hush settled heavy between the wreckage of ruined buildings, drafty even in broad daylight. No ghosts hid in the shadows, no historical tragedy marred its name, but there remained the haunted imprint of people who were no longer around.

Before setting you on your task of the day, Crina had given you a dress of hers to wear while your own clothes dried in the sun. You swam in it, but a sash at the waist made the fit look somewhat intentional and the long sleeves hid the ugly bruises cuffing your wrists. That, combined with having slept the previous night and most of the day, left you feeling oddly refreshed. Sure, all of the sleep had been in a cage and the only ‘bath’ you had was a couple of minutes alone with a spout that spat freezing water and a washcloth, but it was better than yesterday. Better than the day before that too, save for the bruises and big goose egg bump on the back of your head.

Despite the headache, you were glad to be given something to do. The task wasn’t difficult. Busywork that kept you out of the way. Checking to ensure that everything which would be loaded on the ship was documented, organized, and ready for transport. It wasn’t entirely unlike what you had done in the past and, you imagined, would be doing in the future. It was, however, the opposite way around. The goods were obviously looted, you were creating a list to know exactly what and how much of it had been stolen.

Vinegar, oil, wax.

You used the end of the pen to scratch beneath your bandana, which Crina had kindly retrieved for you. Sometimes the scar got itchy, like it had when it was healing.

Twine, needles, thread.

There was a particular smell to supply crates like these. Something to do with the place they were stored, or where they were made. Even now, years since you had been on a ship, it was overwhelmingly familiar. It made your stomach ache and chest clench, although you weren’t sure which quality of the scent was so unsettling.

You scratched the scar again.

Vinegar, oil-

Wait, you had already done that. Annoyed, you crossed out those words and crouched down to get into the next crate. Rope. It was coiled in tight loops like a huge snake, coarse beneath your fingers. Anything that was strong enough to endure the fury of the sea had to be coarse. Good rope was vital on a ship, you knew that even with your limited experience. Touching it reminded you of the time your dad tried to show you how to tie knots, and then subsequently had to treat your rope burn.

What would he think when he returned? Retired Marine or not, he was deeply involved with northside business and law. Missing supplies, missing daughter. Sometimes you felt an acidic sort of pleasure when imagining his reaction to your absence, but usually it was just dread.

Or worse. Prickling paranoia. You could run, for a time. But that was all it was. Running. He used to be a Marine, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to find you. When you were younger, the thought gave you comfort.

But you didn’t want to think about that. Not at all. Not ever again. You stared very hard at the rope, desperate to put those thoughts out of your mind.

You stared and stared and stared and-

Somebody grabbed you around the bicep, dragging you to your feet and forcing you back to reality. Yelping in fear, you were nearly knocked back down from the bloodrush dizziness of standing up too fast, saved only by the crates.

“Good god, girl,” the unfamiliar man said, taking a step back, clearly put off by your reaction. “Are you deaf or something? I hollered at you three or four times. Were you sleeping?”

Putting a hand to your racing heart, you looked from him to the still open crate and the notepad you had abandoned mid-task. You had no idea how long you had been sitting there. Long enough for your foot to go numb, prickling with pins and needles now that you were standing up.

“I’m sorry,” you told him.

“The captain wants to see you. It’s urgent,” he said. When you didn’t immediately respond, still orienting yourself, he sighed impatiently and grabbed your elbow, physically dragging you away. You stumbled to keep up, trying very hard to avoid falling. “If Buggy asks why you took so long, you better tell him it was your fault.”

“I will,” you said to appease him, attempting to shake off his hand before realizing that it was pointless. “Please slow down.”

“Not my fault you’ve got stumpy legs,” he said. “Keep up.”

The unfairness of that stung, but you didn’t have much choice. You had a feeling that he’d keep on pulling you along even if it meant dragging you across the ground.

“Where are we going?” you asked, embarrassingly out of breath.

“There,” he said, nodding to one of the waterfront buildings. At least it was close. You never strayed so close to the water, the buildings were too squat to make for fun exploration and too exposed to give cover.

The pirate released you when you got to the door, leaving you winded and scared. You adjusted your bandana and tried to catch your breath. “Don’t forget to tell him it was your fault it took so long, not mine,” he said, opening the door.

“I won’t,” you promised, the words papery thin on your dry tongue.

You were in trouble. You had no idea what you might have done, but there had to be something. Why would you be summoned like this otherwise? A very bad feeling pressed against your sternum, but you forced yourself to walk forward. The door shut behind you. Inside, the air was dark and cool and wet, sending a little shiver down your spine.

Buggy stood in the middle of the room, the only place where the sun found its way between the mangled teeth of glass and steel that used to be windows, his own little spotlight amidst the ruins. There were three other men on the edges of the light, their backs to you. One of them was bound. You did not like this.

“There she is!” Buggy exclaimed, inviting you forward with his arms spread wide. “Come on, don’t be shy. Especially not after keeping us waiting so long. Your friend over here could hardly handle the suspense.

Rocks and broken glass crunched beneath your feet as you approached them. Once you got close enough, finally, you could see the faces of the other men. One was the square-featured, angry man Buggy called Ivo. Another, a man you didn’t know. And the third, the one bound with a busted lip and developing black eye—

Randall called your name, trying to escape and rush to your side. Ivo grabbed him, pressing the blade of his knife against his throat.

“See, I told you, they’re working together,” Ivo said, glaring at you. “She tipped him off. No doubt this place will be swarming with the law before long.”

You stood completely still, staring at Randall with the steadily rising tide of panic sloshing in your stomach. After everything you had done to misdirect him, the note you left to beg he didn’t follow, the trouble you had put yourself through to keep from being seen, he was still here.

“Are you okay?” Randall asked, looking you up and down frantically, concerned in a way he never had looked before. “Did they hurt you?”

“I told you, she’s fine,” Buggy said with a grin. “I mean, yeah, Ivo over there did give her a little knock on the ole noggin—a love tap, really—but the eye was already like that when we found her.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” Randall said, glaring at Buggy.

“Shut up,” Ivo said, pressing the knife close enough to Randall’s throat that it broke skin.

“No, no, let him go,” Buggy ordered casually, waving his hand. “He’s not gonna do anything stupid.” He threw an arm around your shoulder. “Not when I’ve got her.”

Ivo reluctantly complied, releasing Randall. He watched you intently, and you knew what he was thinking. How could he save you?

“Ivo over there thinks that the two of you are working together,” Buggy told you, smiling. His arm was heavy around your shoulders, oppressively so. “He thinks that we should kill you both.”

“I’m not—I wouldn’t,” you told him.

“And see, I wanna believe you. I really do. But he’s not talking, and,” Buggy ran his finger over your right cheek, reminding you of his threat from yesterday, “I’m starting to worry you’ve been lying to me.”

“I’m not,” you said, ice cold dread dripping into your veins a drop at a time. You fought your discomfort and forced yourself to meet his eyes, hoping he could see your sincerity. “I promise I’m not.”

“Then how did he find this place?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“She used to hide here when we were kids,” Randall answered. “I thought she ran away, not that you freaks had kidnapped her. If I had known I’d find pirates here, I would have come armed.”

“Is that true?” Buggy asked you, pulling you even closer. Close enough to be embarrassing, to give the wrong impression, especially when he was stroking your cheek with a sort of affection that didn’t mesh with the danger in his blue eyes.

“I told you it is. Let her go, clown!” Randall shouted. His voice was loud enough to echo, and harsh enough to make you wince. That sort of rage wasn’t one you expected from him, but it was familiar all the same.

“Oh, wow,” Buggy said with a laugh, looking up at him. “Is that jealousy I hear? She didn’t tell me she was leaving behind a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you said softly, your insides twisting at the thought.

“Really?” Buggy asked. He shrugged, and looked at Randall. “If you’re not doing this because you want to have sex with her, why are you here?”

“I am a dear friend—both to her and her dad,” Randall answered. “He asked me to look after her because she… She’s not in a sound state of mind. And she’s the only family he has left. Without her, he’ll have nothing.” He grit his teeth. “Take me, kill me if you’re that thirsty for blood, but let her go. Please.”

“You’re a real knight in shining armor. Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but she came here all on her own,” Buggy said, releasing you to approach him instead. “She begged to join my crew, got down on her knees and told me that she would be happy to serve me for the rest of her life. It was the most adorable thing.”

“No,” Randall said, his face twisting with disgust. “You’re lying. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Ask her yourself,” Buggy invited, stepping aside and sweeping out his arm. All eyes landed on you like a spotlight. Blood rushed in your ears, and you felt dizzy with it, ready to pass out on the spot. When you looked at Buggy, he smiled and nodded encouragingly.

“It’s true,” you said.

“No. That is impossible,” Randall said. “This is insane. You are mad, you cannot make decisions like this for yourself.” You stared at his feet, your hands balled into fists. You were not crazy. You were not. That had to be true. “Whatever hysterics brought you here, give it up. These are pirates.”

“I’m a pirate too,” you declared, your hands forming fists at your sides. You weren’t crazy, or mad. You were thinking very clearly, more than you had in a while.

“No, you are your father’s daughter,” Randall insisted, loud enough to make you flinch. “Can you imagine the agony he would feel hearing you say that?”

Your breathing was too fast, rapid enough to make your head spin. You kept shaking your head, tears flying off of your cheek, but you couldn’t recall when you had begun to cry. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t care…? This bastard has already gotten into your head,” Randall said. “He has poisoned your broken mind with his lies and manipulations, please don’t let this go any further.”

You shook your head again, but there was nothing you could think of to say. You didn’t want to talk anymore, you just wanted this to be over.

“Believe me, as much as I would love to claim otherwise, I had nothing to do with this,” Buggy said, raising his hands innocently. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Think about what would drive a girl like this into the arms of a pirate. A broken heart, maybe? Was that your doing, lover boy? Did you break her heart? Make her feel like she wasn’t good enough?”

“Keep your big goddamned nose out of our business, clown,” Randall said.

The other pirates audibly gasped, and you could feel the sudden zap of tension in the air. Buggy’s taunting smile froze in place, his posture icing over like a statue. And then, a second later, he was rushing at Randall, burying his fist in the other man’s stomach. Randall crumpled onto his knees with a heavy grunt and you waited for something else, something worse. Crina said that Buggy had killed over jokes about his nose, and, right then, you believed it.

Nothing happened. You watched, frozen, as Buggy breathed in deeply, his shoulders rising and falling with it, and then he raised a hand.

“New girl,” he called, snapping to beckon you closer. You obliged, rushing to his side. He didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“What?”

“Your audition! I thought of the perfect act for you. Kill him.”

You looked down at Randall, he was clearly still in pain, his eyes watering as he looked up at you. “I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head again.

“You can and will. Assuming you want to remain on my crew. Otherwise I’ll kill him and you’ll have to explain to daddy why prince charming was here in the first place.” He held out his hand towards Ivo. “Knife.” When he got it, Buggy flipped the knife handle first, holding it to you with a flourish. “You’re up, babydoll.”

“She won’t do it, clown,” Randall said through grit teeth.

“Of course she will,” Buggy said. “For me.”

As if moving through the dusky haze of a dream, you took the knife, wrapping your sweaty hand around the grip. The way Buggy smiled in response made your heart flutter, something to cling to amidst the horror and disgust. It didn’t feel real anymore. How could it be real?

“I don’t know what to do.” Were those your words? Your voice?

Buggy laughed. “Of course you don’t,” he said, circling behind Randall. “C’mere, I’ll help you.”

Randall was shouting and pleading, but Buggy had grabbed a fistfull of his hair to keep him from escaping.

“You’ve gotta hold him still,” Buggy told you. “Like this, see?”

“-don’t do this, please. You can’t… I love you!”

You got a fistful of Randall’s hair, making him cry out in pain. There was no pleasure in the sound, only a roiling sense of disgust. It would be better when he was dead, and then he wouldn’t be in pain.

“God you’re short,” Buggy said as he adjusted you into place, right between him and Randall. “You’ll be better off going for their ankles.” He wrapped his hand around yours, getting a good grip on the knife and holding it still.

“-when he gets bored of fucking you. That’s all pirates do, rape and murder. You’ll never be one of them, you’ll just-”

“Start on one side and move to the other, easy as that,” Buggy said comfortingly, resting his chin against the side of your head.

“-he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?”

Moving slowly, through a dream, you put the knife on the left side of Randall’s neck. It was no different from what a butcher did, really.

Breath in. Pull. You instinctively locked up at the sound of Randall’s screams and the resistance of his flesh, but Buggy forced your hand, pulling the blade deep into his neck and then fast to the side. The knife got caught part way through, stuck in something hard. You tried to saw through it and Randall made an inhuman noise of agony. Buggy had to help you unstick it, to follow through until the knife slashed that horrifying scream short and then there was just a sort of gurgling sound and you didn’t know if it was because he was still alive or if it was an automatic process.

There was so much blood, and it was hot, burning you. For some reason, you hadn’t anticipated the messy scarlet spray. From the deep slice came more blood. More, and more still. Randall’s heavy, limp body dropped onto the floor into a puddle of it, although you weren’t sure when you let go of his hair. Buggy released your hand, but you didn’t drop the knife, holding it in a death grip as blood streamed like red veins down your hand and wrist, down the blade and all the way to its tip before dripping to the dirty floor. The tang of iron filled your lungs. You shook all over, all the way down inside, your bones and organs shivering. It was your heart. It pounded frantically, like butterfly wings. And your breathing. Wheezing, gasping, gurgling like Randall’s had before he fell.

Your mouth opened to exhale, but there was nothing there. No air, no words. Nothing. Your cold gaze turned to look at Buggy, confused as to what you were supposed to do next. He had led you this far, but now you were lost. He smiled, and laughed, and took the knife away from you, tossing it to the side where it clanged and slid away.

And then he folded you into his arms, your head pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was firm and steady, and he was so warm. He smelled of gunpowder and salty sea air and greasepaint and the natural warm scent of his skin. You clung to that, breathing in deep to excise the scent of blood.

“Congratulations, babydoll,” Buggy told you. “Looks like you just got the part.”

The first firecracker went off not long after the sun had gone down, kicking off the surprise party with an especially loud zip and then a bang and a bursting sizzle. “It’s a surprise party,” Buggy told you, his face illuminated by the flash of red. “As in, the people who live here are going to be so surprised by the party I’m throwing for my crew. Get it?”

A chain of firecrackers followed the first, a show that the pirates set off amidst a barrage of explosions, lighting up the sky with brilliant colors and smoke, making the earth tremble beneath your feet. They acted as distraction and lure, drawing people further into the town and inviting the ship that had been lurking nearby to enter the harbor.

And after that came the chaos.

Many things happened that you were aware of, if only passively. Leaving the northside and then Barley Village, waiting at the dock, and then boarding the ship as men and women in colorful attire flooded the yard, overtaking the few armed guards. You were told to sit on the deck and wait, so you did. Aware of it all—noxious sulfur and smoke filling the air, thunderous claps of explosives, popping gunshots, screaming voices, roaring fires—but uninvolved. There was a sense of great quiet. Not outside where things were loud and violent and scary, but inside. You were very quiet on the inside. Far away from everything and everyone else.

Blood flaked off of your skin, caking beneath the nails when you scratched your arm. It would have been nice to wash it off, but you didn’t know where you would go for that, and you didn’t want to get up.

“Yoo-hoo, is anybody in there?”

A gloved hand waved in front of your face.

You let out a hoarse scream, nearly tipping backwards from how violently you startled. It didn’t take long for you to realize how overblown the reaction was, Buggy’s laughter made the point quite clearly.

“What was that?” he asked, almost laughing too hard to get the words out. He stood above you without his coat and hat, although he kept the striped headscarf, and a bottle tucked under his arm.

“You scared me,” you told him, a hand on your racing heart.

“That noise you just made though,” he said, still laughing. “It sounded like one of those scream-y fireworks.”

“I didn’t know you were there.”

“Your fault, not mine. I was trying to talk to you, but you just sat there. I thought it was your eye that didn’t work, not your ears.”

“I guess I… zoned out a little.”

“No shit. Ah, that was good,” Buggy said as his laughter subsided. “I had no idea human beings could even make sounds like that.” Letting out a big breath to settle himself, he sat down next to you. Very close, far closer than you would have, almost touching. “Kinda makes me wonder what other kinds of sounds you can make.”

“I know, it’s annoying,” you said, staring hard at the deck. “I’m sorry.”

Buggy laughed at that too, shaking his head. “You really have no clue, do you?” he asked. “Is it weird that I’m into it?”

“Into what?” you asked. “I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and that’s okay,” he said with a mocking sort of indulgence, patting your head. “Anyway, I had a little business in town and snagged this from some rich guy’s house.” He held up a bottle by the neck and swished its contents a little for effect. “We’re going to celebrate.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there?” you asked, the first coherent question that came to your mind as it scrambled to make sense of what he had just said.

“Between you and me, this,” Buggy said with a confidential hush, gesturing to your burning town, “isn’t my thing. It’s a reward for my freaks, gives ‘em an outlet to express themselves artistically. I prefer a more… performative platform. True art deserves a spotlight and an audience.” He waved that away, smiling. “But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“You really impressed me earlier. I mean, yeah, your technique needs polish, and you’ve got no stage presence to speak of, but you displayed raw talent. I really think you have a shot at success, sweetheart. Stick with me, and I’ll make something out of you yet.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, shying away from thinking about earlier. The praise though, that was heady. That made you feel warm.

Buggy popped the cork off the bottle, taking a drink straight from it and smacking his lips appreciatively. “You like sweet things, right?”

“I-”

“You’ll love this then. Here, try it.”

You eyed the bottle he was proffering to you warily. Alcohol was something you were familiar with, but you could count on your fingers the number of times you had actually tasted it. “I don’t know…” you said, trying to think of ways to reject drinking without seeming ungrateful.

“You’re a pirate now, so you’ve gotta learn to drink like one,” Buggy told you, pushing it into your hand. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

You sniffed the open lip, surprised by the sweetness. It didn’t smell as strongly of alcohol as you feared. Not like what your father drank. Maybe it would be okay. Trying to avoid embarrassing yourself, you tipped the bottle back just like he had. That was a mistake. It didn’t smell like alcohol, but you could taste it—feel it, even. Panicked by your body’s natural response to expel it, you swallowed as much as you could, coughing out the rest. Red liquid drooled down your chin, staining the dress that was already ruined with dried blood. Buggy laughed. A little at first, and then a lot.

Flushing, you wiped your mouth.

“Oh, don’t be like that. That was hilarious,” Buggy told you. You looked away, even more embarrassed. “Your face was priceless. You threw that back with the confidence of a real fire-hazard, saggy skinned, dead eyed alcoholic. You were so serious about it too, and then… Good lord.”

“I didn’t know!” you said, trying and failing not to sound shrill.

“It’s okay, you’ve got me to help you now. Try it again, but don’t be so greedy. Baby sips.”

“No, thank you,” you said, holding the bottle back to him.

“Drink. That’s an order,” he said, pushing it back to you.

That gave you pause. “Do you mean that?” you asked.

He nodded, urging you on.

Your shoulders drooped in defeat. Trepidatiously, you took a small sip. At least you didn’t hack it back up this time. While the taste was sweet, the burn was not. It rose up like smoke into your head, you could feel it.

“What if I get drunk?” you asked.

“Oh, you’re going to get drunk, captain’s orders,” Buggy said with a grin. “I can’t stand watching you sit around moping about killing that guy. Besides, you’re a pirate now.”

The little ball of anxiety deep in your gut doubled. This was wrong, you knew it was. Or maybe you were wrong, and Buggy was right. You didn’t know.

“I don’t want to embarrass myself,” you muttered.

“As long as you don’t jump into the water or shit yourself, you’ll be fine…” You looked at him, horrified. “Joking! C’mon, I’ve taken good care of you so far, haven’t I? You’ll be fine.”

The way he laughed made you want to believe him. He was your captain now. You nodded seriously and, steeling yourself, took another drink. And another.

“See? It’s good, right?” Buggy asked, holding out his hand for the bottle.

You licked your lips, cleaning up the lingering sweetness. “It is. Thank you,” you said, unable to keep yourself from admiring the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the view unfortunately obscured by his cravat.

The perverse thought took you by surprise. Was it the alcohol? Already, your head was spinning, your thoughts a little more disorganized. It wasn’t like the quiet, empty feeling of before. It was warm and distant, it made your shoulders relax, the anxiety and uncertainty of before fading. This was a good idea, you already felt so much better. When he passed the bottle back, you didn’t have to be prompted to imbibe, chasing that feeling.

“I don’t mean to pry, but when that guy back there mentioned your dad, it really seemed to get to you,” Buggy said. “What, did daddy not love you? Or maybe he loved you a little too much.”

You didn’t want to talk about that. You didn’t want to think about it. You took another big drink.

On the horizon, the town was utterly ablaze. As the night grew darker, the flames rose higher. Which building was burning so brightly? It belched thick, black smoke into the night sky. Who was in it? Anybody you knew?

“Don’t wanna talk about it, hm? That’s fine,” Buggy said, stealing the bottle back. “With any luck, my freaks’ll kill him tonight, eh? Then you’ll really be free.”

“He’s gone right now,” you said, your words soft and slurring together. “Out of town.” What would he think of the smoldering ashes? Would he believe you had perished in the flame? Somehow, you doubted that. He would know what you had done. There was no chance of freedom, not for you.

“That’s even better,” Buggy said.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to him, both in confusion and disbelief. “How?”

“Because, babydoll,” Buggy told you, shaking your shoulder to make sure you were paying attention. “It’s good to have somebody to hate—somebody to prove wrong. He tried to convince you that you’re crazy, he tried to keep you from ever being yourself. That pain and anger made you weak. But you’re not weak anymore. Tonight, I showed you how to be strong. It’s not enough to tell those assholes that they’re wrong, you have to prove it to them. That’s what tonight was about, right? You proved to your dad, to everybody, that you’re stronger than they thought. And, hey, you proved it to me, too. I wasn’t sure about you at first, but I changed my mind.” He threw an arm around you, pulling you close. “I like you, kiddo. A lot.”

“I like you too,” you said, relaxing into the little side hug, very aware of every place his bare arm met your bare shoulders and neck. The alcohol had stoked a nice blaze in your stomach and chest, making your head spin in a way you didn’t mind that much. Smoothing the colors, softening the air, making you want to lean into his touch, made you crave more of it.

Buggy pulled away, leaving the bottle in your hands. You felt a little cold without him.

“You know,” he said, smiling at you. The far off flames glinted mischievously in his eyes. The flaring reds and oranges highlighted his cheekbones too, defined the sharpness of his jaw. You were caught off guard by how viscerally you reacted to the thought that he was handsome, your filterless mind caught in an endless loop of focusing on the fact. “Burning down this shithole is nothing compared to what I will do. The towns I’ll raze to the ground, the treasure I’ll steal, the shows I’ll put on. Now that I’ve got a crew, I’m gonna put on a show like nobody’s ever seen. The biggest, flashiest, greatest show ever. Everybody will be screaming my name, recognize my face. I’ll shine so bright that they’ll have no choice but to love me. ”

Buggy’s intensity made you smile, you couldn’t help it. Alcohol had created a cloudy burst of affection within you, or maybe it was just the floodgates of tension finally collapsing, letting out something that would have otherwise been smothered. Either way, it was as intoxicating as the drink itself.

“Are you laughing at me?” Buggy asked, his tone filled with steel. You looked to see his dark expression, his narrowed eyes.

“I’m not,” you said, confused by his rapid shift in demeanor. “I’m… I’m happy. I’ll do anything to help you.”

He relaxed. “Well, you’d better start working on your act.”

That made you laugh, a dizzy, bubbly sound. “I can’t do an act. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“There has to be something. Let me think… Can you sing?”

“I used to, a little. But not for a really long time.”

“Come on, let me hear it.”

You were drunk, you knew that for a fact because in no state of sobriety would you offer to sing in front of another person. But, right then, bubbling with alcohol and protected by the darkness of the smoky night sky, you felt invincible.

“Oh, what do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor? What do you do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning? Slash his…um… something, something, captain’s daughter. Toss him in… to… the dirty water…” Whatever coherence you held onto unraveled into a fit of drunken laughter at the awful rhyme. “I’m sorry, I think… I think I forgot some of the words.”

“Seems like you forgot the tune too,” Buggy said, wincing dramatically. All that did was make you laugh harder. “Hold on a second, let me wipe the blood out of my ears.”

You swatted his shoulder, although your attempted indignance probably wasn’t very convincing when you were still smiling. “Don’t be mean!”

“That’s a bold way to treat your captain,” he told you, but he was smiling too.

“Please don’t be mean to me, Captain Buggy,” you said, speaking slowly to emphasize how serious you were.

“Beg me again.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, waving it off in a way that made you think he was making fun of you. “Anyway, I’m being nice right now, especially after that performance. The critics would eat you alive for that one. So, singing is out. Clearly. What else have you got?”

“Oh! I know a, um, a rhyme. A joke.”

He looked at you skeptically. “Really?”

“What is that s’posed to mean?” you asked.

“You don’t strike me as somebody with… How should I put this… A sense of humor?”

You frowned.

“Alright, alright, quit pouting and tell me,” Buggy said impatiently, waving you to continue.

You cleared your throat very theatrically, sitting up as straight as you could manage.

“There was a young lass who thought

Very little but thought it a lot.

Then at long last she knew

What she wanted to do,

But before she could start, she forgot.”

Deflating, you laughed, surprised at how clearly you had delivered the words. Especially considering how long it had been since you heard them.

Buggy didn’t look nearly as impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a clean limerick before,” he said. “And now I know why. I mean, what’s the point of limerick without the ick.”

You blew a raspberry at him. “Fine, you do one.”

“Okay, but you have to prepare yourself,” Buggy said. You nodded encouragingly.

“There was a young plumber named Lee

Who was plumbing his girl by the sea.

She said, ‘Stop your plumbing,

There's somebody coming’

Said the plumber, still plumbing, ‘It's me.’"

Belatedly, you gasped, your hands covering your mouth. That shock dissolved into giggles. “That’s, oh, that’s… that’s dirty.”

“Aw, was it too much for your delicate sensibilities? Now that you’re a pirate, you’re gonna hear a lot worse than that. A looooooooot worse. I hope your unspoiled ears can handle it.”

“I can!” you insisted, taking a big drink to steel yourself before setting the bottle aside. If you were going to be a pirate, you had to stop getting so flustered. “More. Please.”

“Okay, okay…” Buggy cleared his throat. “A hooker roaming the East Blue,

Once filled her vagina with glue,

She said, with a grin, ‘Well, they paid to get in,

And they’ll damn sure pay to get out, too.’”

You laughed loudly, as much at the joke as the taboo nature of it. You laughed, and then giggled in a bubbly, drunken way that you knew was too loud and embarrassing. “That is icky,” you told him. “Jeez, that’s…” Your faux seriousness dissolved into a fit of giggles again and you leaned against him for stability. “What would you even do?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. It sounds like a sticky situation,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. That, of course, sent you into another fit of giggles.

“I’m sorry, I’m…” you said. “I think I’m drunk.” You looked behind yourself at the town, the glittery haze of joy buzzing in your head fading at the sight. It was horrific, wasn’t it? And here you were, laughing like a fool. You couldn’t really comprehend the magnitude of it all, even if you could acknowledge that it was terrible. “Is it okay?” you asked, looking back at him imploringly. “Everything that happened tonight… I thought I would feel very different after, but I don’t. It almost feels like it’s not even real. You ever get that? When things happen but they feel so impossible that you get confused?”

“If you can think that clearly,” Buggy said, “then you’re not drunk enough. Bottoms up, babydoll.” You smiled at his use of the pet name and the fluttery feeling it gave you. What else could you do but oblige, tipping the bottle back like before. Only, unlike before, you kept it all down. There wasn’t any real burn, just more sweetness, more warmth.

And then there was nothing left.

“Woah,” you said, lowering the empty bottle and wiping your mouth. “‘s all gone.”

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a dizzy sort of laugh. “I dunno…” you said, closing your eye, trying to collect your thoughts. “I’m…” Already things were getting even more fuzzy and foggy. Fabric stuck to your flushed skin, the salty air drying across your chest and cheeks. “I feel… very…”

Making an upset noise in the back of your throat, you pushed your hair back, catching the bandana and pulling it off so you could feel the breeze on your whole face. That helped. Drawing in a deep breath, you looked at him, trying to focus. Only, the second you saw him, all you could do was smile. His eyes were greedy about the light, sparkling with it. Even with the nose, Buggy was handsome. That was not something you could tell him though, not at all ever. Unfortunately you had forgotten what you were saying in the first place.

“Very… what?” Buggy asked. “‘Cause if you keep trying to be a buzzkill, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

Were you a buzzkill? You couldn’t remember what you had said or done to earn that title. It was hard enough to comprehend what was happening in the moment. “Like what?” you asked.

“Like… this!” Buggy said, using the sash around your waist to pull you closer so he could tickle your sides. You jumped and squealed, the bottle rolling out of your hands as you tried to fight him off.

“No no no, don’t,” you cried, trying to escape. You were being too loud, moving too much, acting like an idiot, but you didn’t have enough control to stop.

“Why not?” he asked. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”

It was true, you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing, letting it out in panicked little bursts. Time had a bizarre elasticity to it, everything hitting you at once and fading just as fast. Laughing, sobbing, begging him to stop. It was easy to catch and hold onto one of his hands, but that left the other one free. And if you tried to catch that one instead, you had to release the first. There must have been a better way to do it, but you felt as if, bit by bit, particle by particle, the world was separating, the hot and humid air splitting, your limbs becoming loose, your capacity for rational thought dissipating like mist.

Lacking any sort of control and with a completely undeserved sense of invulnerability, you tackled him. Buggy let it happen, still laughing. At least he had stopped.

“God, it’s like being attacked by a drunk, one-eyed toddler,” he said. “What are you gonna do, whine me into submission?”

“Don’t be mean,” you said seriously, your words ruined by something wavering between a laugh and a sob, or maybe it was just the drunken slur.

“You attacked me. If anything, I'm the victim here.”

“No! You started it!”

“Hold on, are you… crying?” Buggy asked incredulously. “Aw, you poor thing. I mean, you were laughing so much, how could I have known you didn’t like it?”

“I don’t!” you insisted.

“To be clear,” he said. “You don’t like this?” He attacked your sides, not tickling so much as just teasing, but to the same effect. You yelped and sat up squirm away, swatting at his hands.

Rather than laugh like before, Buggy groaned, his hips bucking up against you. A loud, harsh gasp left your mouth, your entire body going rigid from the liquid heat of friction, your thighs squeezing around him. At some point, your skirt had ridden up, your panties being the only barrier left. You didn’t think you had ever been as acutely aware of how achingly empty, electrically tingly, as you were right then.

Bad. Very bad.

“Oh, there’s another fun noise,” Buggy said, laughing as he propped himself upright with his arms. “I can’t believe that got you.”

“No,” you said quickly, dizzy from the intensity of your reaction and how close the two of you were. You could smell him, the sweat, the musk, the salt, the greasepaint, the gunpowder. You could see the glitter in his makeup, the fire catching in his eyes. “It jus’... surprised me.”

“Is that why you’re shaking?” Buggy asked, rubbing your exposed thigh, the fabric of his glove catching the sensitive skin.

“I’m… um…” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to organize the drunken slush of your brain. Being so close to him, feeling his body against yours, sent deviously tantalizing tingling sparks through you. And guilt. It was wrong, he wasn’t doing anything to invite those feelings, you were just being weird and drunk and embarrassing and you couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. You’d have to tilt your head a lot, although the stubble would be more hazardous than his nose. The last time you kissed someone, you were both young enough that you didn’t have to navigate facial hair. And then there was the matter of the makeup. You tried to imagine what you might look like after, the slash of red and imprint of white. Maybe they’d mix into pink. You tried to force yourself to focus on something else, but you couldn’t meet his eyes either. Nervous and confused and filled with a million different feelings you had no name for, you squirmed again, thoughtlessly adding to the anxious feedback loop of heat and need and intoxicated emptiness.

“You know, sweetheart, this reminds me,” Buggy said, “there’s still the matter of your physical. It’s standard procedure for new crew. We could get that over and done with while you’re… lubricated.”

“What’re you… talking about?”

“I’ve gotta make sure you’re fit, healthy… Clean of anything you could pass on to the forty or so people you’re gonna be stuck with in an enclosed space for weeks at a time.”

“How d’you do that?”

“You’ve been to a doctor, right? It’s kinda like that. I know it can feel a little invasive, so it might be better to do it while you’re drunk.”

“What…” you started to ask, but then Buggy shifted, his hips pushing up against you. The fresh wash of warmth it sent into your core scattered your mind, and you lost the already tenuous thread of thought. Your eyelashes fluttered, although you weren’t sure when you had closed your eye. “Umm…”

“Well, first,” he said, answering the question you hadn’t asked, “you’d have to take off your clothes. Then relax while I have a little look-see. It’s important that you stay as still as possible. I’ll have a hard time finishing if you can’t stop squirming around the whole time.”

“Do you really have to?” you asked, your brow furrowing. It sounded embarrassing. But maybe if it was him, you didn’t mind? Your dad did all of your past medical check-ups so it wasn’t inherently wrong. But the thought of Buggy seeing you without clothes wasn’t exactly nice, you could only imagine his disgust. That was bad.

“Depends on if you’re serious about being a pirate or not,” Buggy said.

“I am serious!” you exclaimed. Your hands went to the sash around your waist to pull the bow free. If you did it quickly, you wouldn’t be as embarrassed.

“Woah, wait. Holy shit,” Buggy said, “are you seriously—” He cracked up laughing, making you freeze. “I didn’t think you’d actually fall for that.”

“You’re… laughing,” you said, your fingers falling with the slow sink of humiliation.

“You really were going to strip for me, out in the open and everything.” Buggy laughed harder, rocking forward. “I didn’t expect you to be so eager. Hey, if you really wanna get naked, I’m not going to stop you.”

“I don’t, I just… I thought…” you said, pulling away from him and trying to get onto your feet to get away, embarrassment lighting the worst sort of fire within you.

“Woah, calm down, it was just a joke,” Buggy said, his laughter fading. “You’re absolutely plastered, if you stand up, you’re gonna fall right back down.” You didn’t stop, resolute to get onto your feet and put some distance between you and him. “I won’t catch you.”

“’m fine,” you told him.

You finally got your footing and braced against your knee to lurch upright. For a second, you were standing up and weightless. And then you were nothing.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #opla x reader #buggy x reader #my writing #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #lmao all of those come up when you type buggy that's cute #flashbang

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lingthusiasm · 3 months ago

Text

95: Lo! An undetached collection of meaning-parts!

In this episode, your hosts Lauren Gawne and Gretchen McCulloch get enthusiastic about how we manage to understand each other when we're learning new words, inspired by the famous "Gavagai" thought experiment from the philosopher of language WVO Quine. We talk about how children have a whole object assumption when learning language, and how linguists go about learning languages that are new to them through either translating standardized cross-linguistic wordlists known as Swadesh lists or staying monolingual and acting out concepts. We also talk about when our baseline assumptions are challenged, such as in categorizing kangaroos and wallabies by their hopping rather than their shape, and when useful folk categories, like "trees" and "fish" don't line up with evolutionary taxonomies.

Click here for a link to this episode in your podcast player of choice or read the transcript here.

Announcements: We have new Lingthusiasm merch!

Imagine you're in a field with someone whose language you don't speak. A rabbit scurries by. The other person says "Gavagai!" You probably assumed they meant "rabbit" but they could have meant something else, like "scurrying" or even "lo! an undetached rabbit-part!" Inspired by the famous Gavagai thought experiment, these items feature a running rabbit and the caption "lo, an undetached rabbit-part!" in a woodblock engraving crossed with vaporwave style in magenta, indigo, teal, cream, and black/white on shirts, scarves, and more!

"More people have been to Russia than I have" is a sentence that at first seems fine, but then gets weirder and weirder the more you read it. Inspired by these Escher sentences, we've made self-referential shirts saying "More people have read the text on this shirt than I have" (also available on tote bags, mugs, and hats), so you can wear them in old-time typewriter font and see who does a double take.

Finally, we've made a design that simply says "Ask me about linguistics" in a style that looks like a classic "Hello, my name is..." sticker, and you can put it on stickers and buttons and shirts and assorted other portable items for when you want to skip the small talk and go right to a topic you're excited about.

Also, there are lots of other designs of Lingthusiasm merch, and we love to see your photos of it! Feel free to tag us @lingthusiasm on social media so we can see it out in the world.

In this month’s bonus episode we get enthusiastic about the word "do"! We talk about the various functions of "do" as illustrated by lyrics from ABBA and other pop songs, what makes the word "do" so unique in English compared to other languages, and the drama of how "do" caught on and then almost got driven out again

Join us on Patreon now to get access to this and 80+ other bonus episodes. You’ll also get access to the Lingthusiasm Discord server where you can chat with other language nerds.

Here are the links mentioned in the episode:

Wikipedia entry for 'Indeterminacy of translation'

Wikipedia entry for 'Inscrutability of reference'

Wikipedia entry for 'Word learning biases'

Wikipedia entry for 'Swadesh list'

Wikipedia entry for 'Morris Swadesh'

The Sino-Tibetan Etymological Dictionary and Thesaurus

Tumblr thread on how there's no such thing as a fish

Lingthusiasm bonus episode 'Is X a sandwich? Solving the word-meaning argument once and for all'

Monolingual fieldwork demonstration by Mark Sicoli on YouTube

You can listen to this episode via Lingthusiasm.com, Soundcloud, RSS, Apple Podcasts/iTunes, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts. You can also download an mp3 via the Soundcloud page for offline listening.

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Lingthusiasm is on Bluesky, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Mastodon, and Tumblr. Email us at contact [at] lingthusiasm [dot] com

Gretchen is on Bluesky as @GretchenMcC and blogs at All Things Linguistic.

Lauren is on Bluesky as @superlinguo and blogs at Superlinguo.

Lingthusiasm is created by Gretchen McCulloch and Lauren Gawne. Our senior producer is Claire Gawne, our production editor is Sarah Dopierala, our production assistant is Martha Tsutsui Billins, and our editorial assistant is Jon Kruk. Our music is ‘Ancient City’ by The Triangles.

This episode of Lingthusiasm is made available under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share Alike license (CC 4.0 BY-NC-SA).

#linguistics #language #lingthusiasm #podcast #episodes #podcasts #episode 95 #gavagai #quine #semantics #words #meaning #fieldwork #translation #indeterminacy of translation #language documentation #philosopher #philosophy #SoundCloud

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jake-g-lockley · 2 years ago

Note

hi! i see that requests are open and i love your writing! could you do an imagine with all three moon boys based on the prompt “running into reader’s ex” thank you! <3

Vengeance (Moon Knight x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be Tagged?

A/N: Hi lovely! Thanks for the ask, here’s the protective moon boys (I had to include the all powerful being too)

Warnings: Slight dark!moon knight, them being extra protective, swearing, mentions of bad mental health and unresolved trauma, Khonshu needs his own warning sometimes.

Word count: 1.3k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You know, I really could have just driven us here.” Jake grumbled, one hand protectively clutching onto yours and his other arm slung around your shoulder.

You leaned into him as he guided you through the city’s bustling streets, your bag slung on his shoulder. You smiled at your fiance’s coddling, loving the attention that he brought with him whenever he fronted.

The new bookstore that you wanted to visit was located in a cultural hub and you had a list of books that you wanted to splurge on. Steven was happy to join you on your spending spree, Jake was happy to carry all of your books and Marc was just happy that you were happy. The second you walked in, you sprinted away from Jake’s protective grasp towards the novel section, making him chuckle at your enthusiasm.

“Don’t go too far princesa, we’re gonna lose you to books, like we always lose Steven.” he joked, shaking his head at you.

“Jake, we are quite literally attached to the same body, what are you on about?” Steven grumbled.

“I mean mentally, hermano.”

The second you were a bookshelf away from your boys, everything started going horribly. Your eyes landed on someone that made your hair stand on its end, goosebumps rose throughout your skin as you stood frozen, in shock. The person hadn’t seen you yet, instead talking to a customer. You back away slowly, turning the corner before you collide into a familiar chest.

“Aye, why you walkin’ backwards, sweetheart?” Marc questioned, the amusement in his tone fading instantly as he scanned your face.

He instinctively put his arm around your shoulders and you buried your face into his chest, breathing in his calming scent. You started to count from one to ten, backwards and forwards again and again until your breathing calmed. Marc knew you were scared about something but he didn’t ask instantly, choosing to look at his surroundings to find anything that could have triggered you. You fisted his jacket and pulled him close when he shifted slightly.

“Not going anywhere, baby, we’re still here with you.” he soothed, rubbing your hair and kissing your forehead.

You were safe, you had Marc, Steven and Jake, you were fine. You focused on Marc’s voice, holding on to it like he was your rock as the memories started to flood to you. Marc began to rub a spot on your back that made you begin to tear up.

“He couldn’t hurt you, not when your boys were around.” you thought to yourself.

You were pulled out of your swirling memories by the call of your name.

That voice.

“Huh, I thought I saw you here.” said the smug voice.

Marc, Steven and Jake were absolutely confused. Marc looked between the man in front of him and you, trying to piece together what was happening.

“Hiding in the arms of another man like the whore you are.”

You began to shake in Marc’s arms, fear creeping up your spine and dread flooding you. Marc was in shock. He couldn’t react to what this man had just called you, he just stood there, holding you tighter than ever. You wanted to tell them what was going on, or just pull Marc away from this mess, pretending that it never existed, but you couldn’t.

“Who the fuck are you?” Marc spat when he came to his senses.

A cruel laugh met your ears, your blood curdling at the sound, your heart racing as your brain began to shut down.

“I’m guessing the right slag didn’t tell you about me? I’m her ex.”

Marc froze. Your ex wasn’t a topic they got to discuss. You had your own troubles, it gave you nightmares and horrible anxiety that plagued you worse than any disease ever. It haunted you but the boys hadn’t figured out how to bring the topic up, choosing to deal with the aftershocks of whatever you had gone through. They were happy with you, they didn’t exactly need a full rundown of your life to know that you were good for them.

Marc was a little lost, trying to both focus on his own anger and pushing his alters to stay at bay. Khonshu had taken an interest in what was going on and had appeared behind the man that claimed to be your ex. No matter how much he despised the god he worked for, Marc felt relief rush over him, as if Khonshu had casted a safety blanket over them and flashed a reminder in Marc’s mind that he literally had the power of the gods. He swallowed his demons and took a deep breath.

“I suggest you apologize to my fiance and I before I make your life a living hell, Mr… Vic.” he said, eyeing the man’s name tag.

“Hmph, what can you do? Like I care about her to apologize. She should be the one facing the music.” the man lunged forward and grabbed your arm.

Fear coursed through you like a wave as you felt yourself being pulled away from Marc but all you saw was a flash of white before you. You dropped to your knees as your eyes fell on graying bandages. You knew you were not staring at any one of the boys’ suits. Slowly you looked up and there stood your fiance’s body but he looked different, more dangerous than any of the three could be.

“What the fuck is that!” your ex screamed and looked around but no one came to his aid.

Reassuring energy took over your fear and you now knew what was happening. Khonshu had taken over Marc’s body, his eyes shining bright and white like a full moon. Your ex was cowering now, his arms over his head as the possessed Marc stepped over your body, towards your ex.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” he begged and part of you wanted to smile at the fear that was etched on his face.

“You’re going to pay for this.” boomed Khonshu’s voice and all you saw was another flash of white before your whole vision went blank.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up in your fiance’s bed, Steven’s worried and tired face forming in your vision. You tried to smile at Steven but it came out as a grimace as you tried to sit up, your head pounding.

“Shh, stay down, love.” Steven cooed, pushing you back down onto the pillows.

“What happened?” you whispered.

“Well, our boss decided to show his full form, right in front of you and you passed out.” Steven said nervously, playing with the cuff of his sweater.

“What happened to, you know…” you asked, fear edging you around you again.

You were admittedly worried that the four of them had collectively done something irreversible and you stared at Steven with big scared eyes.

“Oh, let's just say that you’ll never have to deal with him again, my darling.” Steven said, his voice a tone lower. “And before you ask, no, he is not dead. Death would be mercy for him.”

Your mouth went dry but you didn’t question it. Instead your hands found the collar of Steven’s sweater and you pulled him down. His lips met yours gently and he pressed his forehead against yours reassuringly.

“I guess I owe the three of you an explanation.” you mumble.

“Only when you are ready, baby.” Marc’s voice slowed your heart and ebbed your anxiousness away.

“We’ll always wait for you, amor.” Jake promised and with a soft kiss to your cheek he laid down and pulled you over him as you began your story, never feeling more safe in your entire life.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With the contact’s Marc had, wiping a person off the face of the Earth without killing them was probably the easiest thing in the world. All it took was a few calls, a little bit of money and Marc’s thoughts slowly started clearing. He didn’t care about the explanation you had for him, he knew your love was true and that fuelled him to do anything for you, no matter the consequence.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

Taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @excitedcurtain864 @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @bubblezuku @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Text

Oh look more headcanons

Who'd have guessed

Not me for sure

Okay sorry I'll shut up.

I'm highly music-driven and have been for many many years of my life.

And I'm presently unreasonably obsessed with The Fratellis after suddenly remembering they exist after like fifteen years of not hearing a single one of their songs. Don't ask me, it just happened a couple months ago and I decided not to question it.

So this is really stupidly niche of me, but these are their songs/lyrics that I associate with the Best Boys™, in a Character X Reader sense. The songs that are typically playing halfway on repeat when I'm writing any of them lately.

The song-links go to Spotify. It's not necessary to listen to them, the lyrics here are the main catalyst, but if you want to listen I'm not going to complain.

no but please I hope you like the music that I like I have no one to talk to about it and as a half-assed musician it's literally killing me and

Anywho.

Zoro

Living in the Dark

I was nothing less than torn, crying out to be reborn

Come back, baby, you could make me happy,

Maybe you could prove me wrong

You're the only one who could ever save me,

Maybe you could prove me wrong

I've been living in the dark down here too long

The song itself is far more upbeat than I'd generally associate with Zoro, but the lyrics speak to me on his behalf. The upbeat tempo is the equivalent of what you do to his heart when you're near him; it's strange and unfamiliar, but it's nice. He's iffy about being close with anyone, and he won't admit it out loud but he wants to be.

He's been alone for years, for damned near all of his life, and you're like the light at the end of that tunnel. He might try to push you away or be aloof and impersonal at first because the thought of being vulnerable frightens him a little, but he wants to be proven wrong. He wants to let you in, and he's willing to try.

Sanji

Sugartown

I get the strangest sense we were lovers past-tense

Like a dog in heat I just can't be indiscreet

And when I see you there, I whisper my prayer, so sweet

I'm getting shakey on my feet, I'm incomplete

And if you just can't do me right

Then, honey, please, do me wrong

I'll be your one man band, I'll be at your command

Just say the word and I'll be your Renaissance man

This entire damned song is the anthem of Sanji. It's like a 1950's bop, the type of song that you can't help but smile at. It's sweet and cute and pining, just like our favorite chef. He's just utterly obsessed and hoplessly devoted to you and every single thing you do. He can't keep his eyes or his mind off of you at any given time.

Just the sight of you entering the room takes his breath away, puts stars in his eyes. He would do or give absolutely anything to have you and to keep you forever, and he's going to make sure you know it.

Shanks

Babydoll

Babydoll, do you believe they'll catch you when you fall?

And when morning comes, the sun is gonna shine

Don't forget, your minor keys your half-lit cigarette

'Cause when morning comes, I know that you'll be mine

So let me in

I'm ready to beg and to sing for my sins

Not leave it to chance and sweet coincidence

I don't know. The soft yet slightly playful tone of the song in general just screams Shanks to me for no reason I can completely put in words. This particular portion of the lyrics is what I associate most with him.

He knows he wants you, and he wants to make sure you know it. Not to beat around the bush about it, but not pressure you either. Just make sure you know how much he cares about you and be as gentle and sweet as possible to prove it...and he knows it's going to work, and that you're already his whether you know it or not. But jfc also imagine that goddamned voice of his calling you babydoll please excuse me I need to go touch grass now

Mihawk

Medusa In Chains

I'm not your miracle man, I'm not your spirit guide

Before this whole thing began I had some sense of pride

Just one more night with your lips, your company is hard to eclipse

Weak-kneed, yes indeed, guardanteed, make my heart bleed

Give me a reason to breathe, don't let my sun go down

I'll make you stand and recieve, I'll be your sacred ground

Be my Medusa in chains, petrified

Only your beauty remains

The entire song. The ENTIRE SONG screams Mihawk to me. Slow-burn and seductive from start to finish. I get the same exact chills from this song that I get when he delivers that "Magnificent" line.

Lyrically relevant too. Falling for you in spite of his pride (and he has a LOT of pride to get past). You're like nothing he has ever experienced and he's utterly and hopelessly addicted to you. As much as he wants to fight it, he can't. In the same breath that he's trying to push you away and retain some grip on himself he's also pulling you back for more. He hardly even knows who he is anymore when you're near.

#opla #one piece fanfiction #mihawk one piece #mihawk opla #one piece headcanons #fluff #mihawk x reader #shanks opla #dracule mihawk #sanji opla #sanji x reader #zoro opla #zoro x reader #zoro one piece #sanji one piece #shanks one piece #shanks x reader

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nivasichakano · 1 month ago

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Uh oh @badmarilynart AND @bluebeebalmwrites tagged me so now I have to do it.

Last Song

Always Forever by Romy (I started listening to this for Driven and now Spotify plays it all the time).

Currently Reading

What I say I'm currently reading: Conversations With Monsters by Charlotte Amelia Poe

What I'm actually currently reading: Late Dawns and Early Sunsets by @badmarilynart, Destructive Natures by @patheticfangirl, Seen by @ayvaines, Hawthorn and Dusk by @shadesofmidnightsun, A Missionary Position by @bluebeebalmwrites

Currently Watching:

Heartstopper 💕

The Legend of Vox Machina

Rings of Power

Currently Craving:

Cinnamon buns, a bath, cinnamon buns in the bath, a bath in cinnamon buns?

Tea or Coffee:

Tea. I am not legally allowed to drink coffee since the incident.

A Hobby You Would Like to Try:

Aerial silks. Nothing about me suggests I'd be able to do this without sustaining serious injury but it looks fun 🤷🏻

AU you're working on or have thought of:

What Bloodweave AU haven't I thought of, amiright?? Currently, though, Driven — Bloodweave but make it Formula 1 (yeah I know but I hope it's at least kinda cute). Now that we're knee deep in spooky season, I also want to get back into Hellfire & Damnation, my Georgian Occultist Bloodweave AU 🦇

Now Tagging:

Hi @zigraves @hylianworrier 👋🏻

#bloodweave #fic authors #bg3 fic #ao3 writer

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diamondheartyux · 2 months ago

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Purify Me

Pt. 3 of The Cumanent: Sinful Sacraments

A little holy water cleanses everything,...except this

Genre: Smut 18+ Only

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: religious themes, blasphemy, aggression (hella), foreign object play, pet names, brief mention of pregnancy, anal, dominant\submissive dynamic, no HEA, possibly toeing the line of dubcon\noncon

Note: These are stand alone and can be read in any order :)

Read Part One Here!

Read Part Two Here!

Check out the playlist on Spotify here!

I watch with full interest as the priest before me dives deeply into his Sunday morning sermon. Normally service was tame but today he was passionate, driven, dare I say, consumed by his words. His hands connect with the pulpit as he speaks, his voice rising in volume gradually until he is all but screaming the word he was so desperate to teach. His enthusiasm was as attractive as he was. He was of average height, clad in the heavy, standard Catholic robes. His deep chestnut brown hair falls perfectly around his face as it stops just above the top of his ears, curling under so the ends graze his face with every movement of his head. His onyx colored eyes were ablaze as he leaned over the pulpit to convey his point. He was driven and it was driving the type of thoughts I shouldn't be thinking in the middle of church into my mind.

My eyes never left him and occasionally, he would lock his with mine. The small action sent my stomach fluttering each time. I bit my bottom lip as I imagined what it would be like to be the sole target of that gaze. I shook my head slightly, hoping to clear the blasphemous thoughts like an etch-a-sketch to no avail. With every passing second, the sight of him fueled my reprehensible daydreams even further. I squeeze my legs tightly in an attempt to alleviate the ever growing ache building between my thighs.

Service ended in what felt like mere seconds, my mind dancing merrily in fantasy. I stood, smoothing my dress before slinging my purse strap over my shoulder. I took one long last glance at him, watching him smile and converse with his patrons. I turned to make my way down the aisle, making it halfway between the rows of pews when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned slowly, not expecting to find the priest standing there, hands tucked behind his back while smiling brightly at me.

“Excuse me, miss. Could I possibly talk with you for a moment?” He asks, eyes gleaming. I lift a hand to my chest, slightly confused. “Oh, me?” I ask in response. He nods in confirmation before I agree. He gestures for me to follow him as he makes his way to the front of the old Catholic church before exiting through a side door. I follow as we glide through an ornate hallway before stopping before an old, wooden door. He pushes against it and it opens with a groan before he gestures for me to enter.

I take small, timid steps inside as my confusion for my reasoning for being here is painted plainly across my face. He turns, pushing against the door once more and it latches in place with a thick thud. I clutch my purse against me out of the anxiety of it all, my mind tumbling possibilities as to why he invited me into his office. I watch him carefully, studying his angelic features, noticing as his eyes take me in intensely. They fall slowly from my lips down, hovering over my breasts before sliding down to my thighs. They begin their ascent and I see a flash of hunger behind them before he blinks, realizing my eyes were on him.

“No need to be alarmed.” He holds his hands up in front of him slightly to show he was not a threat then continues. “ I just noticed you in the front today. I've never seen you here before. I'm sure I would remember you if you attended previously.” He grins slyly, a hint of something snaking over his words. My body shudders slightly, his implications not lost on me. He knew he was attractive. He knew his position put him in a place to be considered forbidden, He knew how easily swayed most people were by a pretty face and the right words. It was evident in the way he was carrying himself. He holds himself upright with perfect posture but his body language was lax and non threatening. His voice was calm and reassuring, his hands hanging gently at his side yet he was so inviting as he reached out to touch my upper arm softly.

His fingers dance across my skin before he steps in closer. My heart flutters in my chest at the action that gradually puts him in a closer proximity. My eyes survey his face, spending too long on his plush, rouge lips. He curls them upward into a smile before leaning forward, stopping close enough that his breath billows softly on my cheek. “Like what you see?” He whispers in my ear. “I saw the way you were focused on me today. It was distracting, honestly. Those pretty little eyes on me yet so far away at the same time. I could barely think about what I was preaching because I couldn’t stop creating possibilities of what you were so obviously focused on. Just imagine how much better my sermon could have been without you practically eye fucking me from the front row?” He smirks and my stomach lurches, flipping wildly in my abdomen. His hand comes up and he wraps his slender fingers around my arm, squeezing softly.

He leans in more, now close enough his lips almost brush my ear. “Luckily, I was still able to resist the temptation. Very grateful for these thick robes as they are able to hide the effects of your undeniably sinful thoughts. But, precious, I have so much pent up energy from it all. The excitement of everything, you know? Today’s message…and then, of course, you.” He brings his face to look at me, stopping a breath away from my lips, his gaze holding them. “ Would you be my rest for I am so, so weary. I just need somewhere to lie my head.” His eyes flit to mine, burning with desire and the sight sends little prickles of electricity through me.” So, tell me. Will you be my friend?”

My breath hitches in my chest at his words, my heart pounding violently in my rib cage like a rabid animal. I don't have time to respond before he pulls me flush against him and presses those luscious lips against mine. My body relaxes at the contact despite my brain screaming at me for it all. My hands come between us to fist his robes as he brings his hands to rest on my waist, squeezing forcefully before pulling my body rough against his own. His mouth is eager, nipping at my lips before his tongue comes to flick over them. He catches my bottom lip between his teeth causing me to gasp. He takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth, allowing it to dance with mine as he explores my oral cavity. I tug at his robes to press myself against him more and he brings both hands to cup my cheeks momentarily before they fall to cradle my neck.

His lips crash faster into mine and his breathing turns rapid. The sound of his panting as well as feeling his chest heave rapidly under my clenched fist sends another sudder through me and it reignites the warmth between my thighs. I knew I should stop but I simply could not. His lips felt better than I ever could have imagined and I was curious to know how his body felt now. I knew this was wrong on many levels but he was just so goddamn intoxicating. My lips clashed against his in effort to devour every bit of his taste. My mind was hazy, already clouded with lust, so when he pulled away from me, my mouth reached out to reconnect immediately. Only instead of finding his lips again, I was shoved roughly downward. The force causes my legs to buckle at the knees and I crash into a chair behind me, my heart pounding wildly in my chest.

“Fa-father Kim.” I mumble between breaths, startled by his actions. “W-wha-..” was all I could get out before he reached down to grab my neck, squeezing his fingers around it tightly. “Shut up.” He bellowed. “Do not speak unless you're spoken to.” He squeezes my neck once more before roughly shoving away, my head snapping back at the force. “The only thing I want to hear from these luscious lips is those pretty little whimpers you're going to be making soon enough.” A small moan echoes in my throat and my heart threatens to beat right out of my chest. He circles the chair slowly, studying me like a predator studying their next meal. A hunger flashes across his dark eyes and he runs a hand across my chest before circling back around to stand behind me. He slides his hand at a snail’s pace to my arm, resting it there.

“Hands” he commands. I sit for a moment, not really sure of what he’s demanding of me. When I don’t obey quickly enough, he grabs a fist full of my hair and yanks my head back, forcing me to look up at him. “I said, hands,” he spits through gritted teeth. I lift my arms out in front of me, staring up at him. “No,” he growls, “Behind you. Now.” I cautiously slide my arm around behind me as he shoves my head forward forcefully. He reaches down to grab the hand and I twist my other hand behind me as well, feeling as he gathers them into one of his own before turning to grab something behind him. He makes no sound and soon I feel something silky soft wrapping around my wrists before my arms jerk slightly. I can hear the soft sound of fabric rubbing against itself before there's a gentle tug. He stands back to admire his creation.

He sighs in satisfaction, a puff of air escaping through his nose before he comes to stand in front of me. His eyes roam my body before landing between my legs. Another flick of hunger dances across them momentarily. “Spread your legs” he demands, looking up to meet my eyes. Hesitantly, I spread them slowly causing the hem of my dress to rise over my knees. He groans under his breath before leaning forward, cupping my cheek with his soft hand. He begins to run it down to my chin, my neck, and over my chest before stopping to cup the small bump protruding at the bottom of my belly. A shiver works through me as I watch him caress my stomach softly, chewing on the bottom of his lip. I wasn't obviously pregnant. I was still small enough to hide behind loose clothing but present enough to protrude almost cutely. My dress wasn't form fitting but it accented my natural curves, the fabric draping in just the right way around my breasts, hips, and stomach. The only giveaway to my condition was the subconscious need to cradle my belly constantly. It was no surprise he knew about it.

“Look at you.“ His voice is low in volume but his words are laced with a venomous tone. “Sitting in my church, in these revealing clothes…” His hands continue downwards, stopping to stroke the front of my lace panties. “... taunting me with the seed of another man growing in your womb.” He lifts his eyes to mine. The intensity burning in his jet black gaze sends chills through me causing my stomach to jump and a tingle to burn between my thighs.

He drops his hands, turning to walk away from me. I watch as far as I can as he makes his way back towards an armoire nestled in the far end of the room. The doors creak as it opens. I hear the sound of items rustling as he rummages through its contents. Moments later, the doors shut with a heavy click and I hear rosary beads clacking gently before I hear his footsteps again. He’s behind me again quickly. I can hear items as they’re set down before something cold is wrapped around my neck and pulled taut, cutting off my airway. My arms strain against the binding on my wrists, my hands desperate to claw at whatever is on my throat. My head is pulled back and I stare wide eyed at the priest hovering above me.

A maniacal grin graces his face and his eyes flicker with animalistic need. Fear courses through me as I instinctively struggle, the lack of air causing my head to feel light and vision to spot. He stares down at me, tugging tighter, before licking his lips. His tongue darts across his dark pink bottom lip before he brings his teeth into them. I squirm in the chair, terrified, my eyes never leaving his, tears beginning to well at my water line. “It's funny, don't you think?” he says, tugging at the rosary once more. "You don't fear the lord, even inside his house knowing the weight of your transgressions, yet you fear for the life he gave you?"

The edges of my vision are solid black, what's left is a hazy blur, clouded further by the tears gathered there. I feel one more rough tug at the rosary before it's pulled away. I gasp as air rushes into my lungs so fast it causes me to choke. I cough violently, the tears that were being held at bay now cascading down my face. I tug at the binding that keeps my hands behind me. He wraps the rosary tightly around my mouth. It cuts into the corners of my lips before he ties it behind my head somehow. He disappears once more, leaving me to my recovery, the armoire door creaking and clicking in the distance,only to reappear with something wrapped in purple velvet in his hands.

I watch as he slowly pulls the corners of the fabric back, opening his item as if it were a present. He lifts it slowly, the fabric tossed to the side, to reveal a rather large crucifix. He turns towards me and grins that maniacal grin again before he stalks back over, standing in front of me again. His hand roams over me once more before stopping between my legs. With another grin, he sticks his fingers into the delicate lacing of my panties and pulls, ripping a wide hole in the front of them.

His fingers immediately find me dripping and he runs his slim digits up and down between my folds before he brings the crucifix to rest against my entrance. My body trembles in a mix of adrenaline from the previous lack of oxygen as well from the violent gleam that was burning in his eyes. With no warning, he thrusts the longer end of the crucifix inside me, causing me to cry out. It was wider than anything I'd ever taken before. the squared edges pressed against me as it stretched me wide and the feeling paired with the cool sensation of the metal figurine nailed to it. It was overwhelming, bordering on painful, and fresh tears welled in my eyes.

He began to ram the cross in and out of me, his pace ruthless. The overwhelming feeling soon morphed into something more pleasurable and his thumb came up to rub rough circles on my clit. My hips rolled upward to grind against the crucifix, small whimpers billowing over the rosary nestled between my parted lips. He watches me as he pumps it harder and faster, a tightening in my stomach already on the verge of snapping. I buck against the wooden cross, matching his pace before I feel the tension that was brewing in me snap. My orgasm hits me harder than I expect, surprising me as my body jerks hard. My legs squeeze his hand, clamping tightly around the foreign object as my head lolls back. My eyes flutter before closing and I launch a soft cry into the room as my body is racked by wave after wave of release that slams into me before it subsides.

I pant rapidly as new tears paint my cheeks. I bring my head upright and open my eyes to find him watching me intensely. The hand that had been assaulting my clit was now under his robes, faint movements rippling through the fabric. A tingle forms in my stomach and shoots down between my legs at the sight of him touching himself despite the orgasm that just ravaged my body.

I watch as he stands leaving the crucifix in me to bunch his robes up revealing himself pulled through the zipper of his dress pants. He strokes himself slowly before standing in front of me again, placing a leg on each side of the chair. I was at the perfect height for my face to line up with his groin in this position. He reaches around to remove the rosary from my face before putting his tip against my lips, rubbing it against them softly. A hand meets my cheek, patting twice. “Open” he demands. I part my lips slightly and he pushes himself between them forcefully. I groan around him before I begin to suck softly. His hand twists into my hair before he thrusts aggressively into my mouth entirely. His cock hits the back of my throat causing me to gag and I try to pull back but he holds my head in place.

What felt like an eternity later, he pulls out of my mouth before he plunges right back in. This time he pumps in and out violently, his cock jamming the back of my throat each time. He stops, holding my head against him, my nose flush against his pelvic area. He rocks against me, his cock jabbing into my throat as I gag sharply around him. Tears flow down my face as he continues to fuck my mouth, each stroke harder than the last. My stomach turns and my pussy tingles at the entire thing, despite the trails of water that leaked down my cheeks. I squeeze my thighs together and thrust softly against the crucifix still buried inside me. His tempo quickens, his thrusts erratic yet still just as ruthless. My throat throbs from the repeated assault and burns from the force of every gag he's caused.

With one final thrust, he forces my head onto him again, his hands using all his strength to hold me in place. He pulls at the roots of my hair as I gag on him before he pulls out of me as quickly as he slammed into my mouth. I sputter a cough, grateful for the air as I watch through cloudy, teary eyes as he moves from me to his desk to the left of me. He grabs a few bottles of holy water, twisting the top off one single handedly while stroking himself with the other. He returns to stand in front of me, tossing the end of his robes over his shoulder before he releases himself from his hand. “Look at me” he commands.

Disappointment flows through me, deep down having wanted to watch as he got himself off but I turn my eyes to his obediently. I watch as he strokes himself faster, fast enough to bring himself to his own conclusion. He lifts the open bottle of water, cradling it over his tip. A groan rumbles in his throat as he jerks lightly. His eyes never leave mine as his cock twitches before shooting his sticky load into the holy water, save a few drops that end on his fingers. He flicks his robes down, covering himself and a whimper almost leaves my lips.

He swivels the bottle around before approaching me, sliding his sticky, cum covered fingers into my mouth. I suck on them greedily, savoring his taste before he removes them quickly. This time I allow myself to whimper out loud, eliciting a smirk from him. He reaches up and grabs my chin, squeezing hard. “Open up, precious. I have something to help purify you.” I shiver at his words, parting my lips obediently. He brings the cum filled holy water to my lips, tilting it to where all of it rushes into my mouth at once. I choke, sputtering slightly as I begin to gulp the unholy cocktail as fast as I can.

Once empty, he drops the bottle and it clatters loudly on the floor. He walks behind me, untangling the tie holding my hands. It falls gently as he finishes releasing my wrists. I bring my arms around to my front, rotating them to combat the ache in them. Father Kim brings his hands to my shoulders, lowering his mouth to my ear before he whispers in it. “I hope you didn't think we were done yet, precious.” His tongue flicks against my earlobe, sending a shiver through me, before he shoves me hard, propelling me forward. I reach out, catching myself with my hands as I meet the floor.

He kicks the chair to the side with his foot before he sinks to his knees behind me, pulling me up onto my knees. His hands caress my ass before his fingers dig roughly into the supple flesh. Aggression leaches from his touch paired with his deep, panting breaths. My stomach jolts again as he runs his hands along my backside once more before his hand lifts only to come back down against my skin harshly. I jump at the action, a yelp coming from me. His hand caresses the spot before lifting to come down on it again, this time a little harder.

This coaxes a small moan from me, the pain once again morphing into pleasure and I found myself wanting more of it. His hands grasp my ass again before skillfully ripping my underwear down to expose me completely. He grips my ass again, squeezing roughly as he spreads my cheeks apart. Another strike lands against my ass before he stands, disappearing momentarily. He returns, kneeling behind me once again.

He runs his hands over my ass to the small of my back then up to my shoulder before running his hands into my hair. In one violent motion, he shoves me down, my face meeting the floor. He shoves me against the floor, holding me there the same way he held my face against his cock earlier. A small thrill races through my body as I feel him pressing against my bare lower body, my ass high in the air. In between my thighs was slick with my own moisture and it dripped down the inside of them slowly. He keeps the force on my head and I hear the sound of a top opening.

Moments later, something cold runs against my ass, dripping between my cheeks. My eyes widen in realization as I feel his head rub against my hole after. He presses further, working to gain entrance. Another trickle of cold hits me before he pushes again, pressing his head in completely before resting momentarily. I gasp loudly, the intrusion of him in my ass paired with his girth was foreign. The few seconds he gave me to adjust were the only ones I was allowed. In one swift movement, he forced the rest of him inside me, burying himself to the hilt. It was uncomfortable and painful and more tears welled in my eyes as he reared back to plunge into me again. I yelped loudly, a sob nearly escaping my lips. My cry of pain only seemed to excite him more. His fingers clasp my hair tighter as he adds more force against my head. The floor pressed into my face painfully while his other hand dug equally as painful into the soft flesh of my ass. I just knew I would have bruises the following morning.

The idea of him marking me caused my stomach to flutter again despite everything. Tears still ran from my face as he fucked my ass rough, sliding out of me to slam back into me as hard as he could. My body rocked with every thrust and at some point, the pain began to grow softer and pleasure bloomed in its wake.. My pussy ached to be touched as he buried his cock into my asshole over and over. My yelps turned to uncontrollable moans. A tension built in my stomach with every guttural groan that flowed off his lips. His hand released my hair, moving to grip the opposite side of my bottom, digging his fingers into my skin there as well. My pleasure crested and I found myself eager to match his pace. I rocked against him as he slammed into me, each thrust coaxing the storm brewing inside.

“Look at yourself.” He commands before leaning forward to grasp my hair in his hands, whipping my head up to stare at myself in a mirror propped against the wall mere feet from us. “Look at your face, the blissed out look in your eyes. The tears fall as freely from your eyes as the moans flow from your lips.” I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my reflection.I barely recognized myself. My eyes were hazy, glazed with lust. My mascara was streaked in black rivulets down both of my cheeks all the way to my chin. A few tears streak the dried flakes on my face. My lipstick had smeared across my lips, half of it missing. I was truly a mess but I did not care. I craved the pleasure he was giving no matter how forbidden it was supposed to be. He released my hair with a shove, pushing my head forward before he thrust into me again.

I cried out, bringing my head up to lock eyes with his reflection in the mirror. My insides trembled at the sight. His robes were tossed aside and his pants had been pushed down to reveal more skin than I'd ever seen on him. His eyes were glazed over as well, a flicker of mania behind them. The corners of his lips curled up in an equal maniacal grin. The primal rage brewing inside him evident in his gaze as well as the way he fucked me like he absolutely hated me. The sight alone almost sent me over the edge.

His eyes found mine in the reflection, holding my gaze as he ran a hand up to caress my stomach softly before snaking a hand around in between my legs. His fingers circled my clit softly, a stark contrast to the way he slammed in and out of me. The feather light touch caused my eyes to roll back as I sighed. I bit my lip to suppress a loud moan and was met with a hand across my ass.

“Let it out. I told you the only thing I want to hear from you is the sounds I cause you to make.” Another command I immediately obeyed. A loud moan flows across my lips, the storm ready to roll in. He rams into me faster, sending steady beats of pleasure through me. Sounds fall from my lips uncontrollably as I reach my second orgasm. One final rough thrust sends the storm inside on a rampage. It claps hard and I all but scream as it rips through me. My body begins to seize, shaking almost violently as he never loses his rhythm.

A deep growl reverberates in his throat before he pulls out of my ass, his hands coming to squeeze my cheeks roughly once again. He dips his head down, pressing it between my legs. His tongue flicks forward, sliding between my folds on its way to my clit. I moan once more as he shoves his face into my further. He pulls me back as his tongue darts lazily over my sensitive bud. I arch back, stretching my top half to lie flat against the floor. He continues his teasing, pulling back to slide two fingers deep inside of me. He pumps them slowly at first, the softness in his motions foreign to me and I whimper, aching for more than what he was giving. I hear a deep chuckle from behind me before he removes his fingers and buries his face into me from behind. He laps greedily at me and I rock myself against his face. My body hums excitedly as another murmur of pleasure begins to rise inside me.

All too soon, he pulls back from me and I voice my protest to the action with a loud whine. A hand comes down sternly against my ass and I jolt at the unexpected contact. His hand rubs my ass briskly before it lifts again. He brings his hand back against me in three consecutive slaps, his strike growing in intensity each time his hand connects to my tender flesh. I made a noise that was as much a moan as a cry out, the sting left on my skin burning pleasantly.

I feel him pressing his cock against my ass once more before he shoves himself deep back inside me again. My body trembles beneath him as he fucks me relentlessly. Grunts and moans pour from him freely now, the carnal need within him possessing his actions. He rams into me over and over, chasing his own ecstasy and I expel my own sounds into the room to mix with the Lord is with thee.his as freely as he does. The room is a symphony of the sounds of our bodies clashing, the music of it dancing across the walls around us.

Without breaking stride, he leans forward to grab my hair, wrenching my head up forcefully. My eyes focus back on the mirror, watching him as he drives into me mercilessly. He releases my hair, the look in his eyes commanding me to keep mine on him. “It’s time for ceremony, precious” He grunts between each roll of his hips. “Allow me to pray for you. Eyes on me.” he commands.

I don’t lower my gaze from his reflection as he lifts his right hand and brings it up to his forehead before dropping to his heart then crossing it from right to left. His eyes move to capture mine in the mirror and his rhythm never slows as he begins to speak. “Hail Mary full of Grace…” he pulls back and crashes into me harder, grunting through his teeth. “the Lord is with thee.” Another violent thrust rocks me forward. “Blessed are thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus…” I moan loudly, my body beginning to shake under the assault. “Holy Mary Mother of God,..” My eyes flutter, fighting to close. My stomach tightens, the ticking time bomb inside threatening to explode once again. His hand rises again, coming down with as much force as he could muster without breaking his rhythmic assault on my ass. I moan wildly as I begin to teeter off the edge. “...pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.” He growls, a guttural sound that sets the fuse inside me on blaze, burning it down almost immediately. “Amen!” he barely gets out as he pounds into me one final time, growling primitively. His fingers dig painfully into my hips as he releases into me.

My body convulses violently, the explosion of pleasure sending me into another realm. I scream out, barely able to hold myself up as the fallout arrives in segments, coursing through me with almost as much force as he fucked me with. My eyes roll back and flutter before closing, sparks dancing in my vision. My arms buckle and I let my upper body fall against the floor, waiting for the calm after the storm. He pulls out of me and I hear his clothing rustle as he adjusts himself. I lie a crumpled mess on the floor still trying to catch my breath when I hear his footsteps recede before returning.

He drops my purse and my torn up panties next to me. He squats down, fisting my hair once more and yanks my head up to look at him. He flashes a fake smile at me. “I’m sure you remember the way we came in, right precious?” He shoves my head away, releasing my hair before standing again. I push myself upright, my legs curled up to my side, an embarrassment flooding my body coaxing a pink tint to color my cheeks. He turns and begins walking to the door before stopping, swiveling back around to me. “Ah, yes. One more thing. If I ever catch you in my church again, there’ll be hell to pay. A lot like today but much, much worse.” He smirks once more, something sinister flashing in his eyes, before he continues to make his way back to the door. He pulls it open and slips out, leaving me on the floor as the door closes behind him.

#kpop fanfic #kpop smut #smut #hongjoong #hongjoong smut #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong smut #smut series #one shot #female reader

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defectivevillain · 5 months ago

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this winding labyrinth, ch8

chapter eight: excarnation

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 8, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-7, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: mentions of cancer (stage 4 lung), chronic illness, self-deprecating thoughts; typical blood/violence. Gore!!! A LOT of gore. This cannot be overstated. Please take caution!!!!

Nothing haunts Jack Crawford. The criminals he places behind bars (with the assistance of his team) fade from his mind’s eye the moment they’re confined. He doesn’t have time to dwell on memories. His attention moves from one threat to the next to the next; he is purpose-driven and rarely distracted. The few nightmares he does have hit far closer to home—with Bella’s Stage 4 lung cancer suddenly spiking and causing her immense, unlivable pain. Jack’s deepest, darkest fear isn’t a serial killer ripping him apart—it’s the thought of looking into Bella’s eyes, hazy with pain, and feeling completely helpless as she suffers.

Even so, there is one exception: one killer who will break through Jack’s barriers in the quietest of moments, when he least expects it. Yes, Jack supposes, Hannibal Lecter is a special case. He isn’t an average psychopath—he is charismatic and incredibly composed. And what eludes Jack most is the undeniable fact that the only reason they caught Lecter… was because he allowed them to. His surrender was tactical, pointed—and grounded in his conviction that he would be able to escape whenever he desired. Jack can only hope that Lecter was incorrect; can only hope that the man will rot in a cell for the rest of his life. (But he knows, deep down, that Hannibal Lecter is rarely wrong. And that troubles Jack far more than he’s willing to admit.)

In the time following Lecter’s “surrender,” Jack does not think of him. For several months, his mind palace is thoroughly guarded against any unwelcome intrusions. His attention is devoted to: 1) Bella, whose condition is slowly but surely worsening; and 2) his work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Admittedly, there is something else that occasionally crosses his mind—but it isn’t necessarily related to Lecter’s seemingly countless murders. Instead, it is the nature of Lecter’s affections for you that consistently bothers him.

The look on Hannibal’s face that fateful night often flickers before Jack’s eyes, and he feels a strange sense of guilt at the memory. Because Jack was the reason Hannibal met you—he was the one to introduce you both, all those years ago. He needed you to pass a psychiatric evaluation and Hannibal seemed intelligent enough to understand that—to understand how essential it was for you to return to the field. Jack hadn’t thought that he had made a misstep until he saw the two of you together at the crime scene the Minnesota Shrike left behind—until he saw Hannibal practically latched to your side, looming over you like a menacing, all-encompassing shadow.

Now, as Jack stands before Hannibal Lecter in his cage at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he feels as if he’s drowning in déjà vu. Those brown-crimson eyes pin him in place before the glass enclosure. Frederick Chilton’s interest in Hannibal is abundantly clear, Jack realizes, as his eyes wander across bookshelves, a writing desk, and other amenities that the other prisoners certainly do not have. Chilton has always been annoyingly self-serving, and Jack isn’t even sure if a conversation with him would change his behavior. It is clear that the administrator is painfully aware of the kind of opportunity Lecter’s captivity presents: a once-in-a-lifetime chance to study someone who defies all existing research. Jack personally can’t see the appeal; he is instead concerned with the lives the man has taken and the families he has torn apart in the process. He is instead concerned with the inexplicable feeling burrowed deep in his chest—the one that suggests that, despite their positioning, Jack is the one trapped in walls of glass (the pawn) while Hannibal looks on (forever the chessmaster).

“Hello, Jack.” Hannibal greets him, looking up from his book. His eyes are twinkling, Jack notes with distaste.

“Lecter,” Jack responds carefully, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Hannibal notices this and a slight smile rises on his lips. “You requested to speak with me.” And while Jack’s instincts screamed at him to ignore the request, he knew he really had no choice. If there’s a chance, no matter how small, that Lecter has information on the Tooth Fairy… Well, Jack will endure the man’s mind games.

“I did,” Hannibal acquiesces, clasping his hands and crossing one leg over the other. Even in a nondescript white jumpsuit, he makes the gesture look elegant. “How are you, Jack?” Immediately, Jack is annoyed. He doesn’t have the patience for this. As the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he has never had much time for meaningless conversation. Every second wasted is another second for a knife to be lodged between someone’s ribs—another chance for innocent lives to be taken.

“I struggle to believe you summoned me to engage in casual conversation,” Jack says, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore.

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal admits with that infuriating smile. Jack has never been a particularly violent or confrontational person, yet he can now see the appeal of wrapping hands around someone’s neck and choking the life out of them. He shakes his head to clear himself of the uncharacteristically violent thought. This place—this façade of a hospital—has always brought out the worst in him. “How are you, Jack?” Hannibal asks persistently. He isn’t dissuaded by his nonexistent answer. “How is Bella?”

White-hot fury rises in Jack’s chest. He is immediately thrown back into the past, into a time when Bella felt as if she couldn’t burden him with her condition (as if it was somehow her choice, as if Jack was so selfish as to prefer ignorance over assisting his partner). He has never fully recovered from Bella’s lie of omission—and the worst part is that he understands her decision. There have been times, across the course of his career, where he concealed his own injuries so that he didn’t cause her unnecessary stress. And while their situations are entirely different, Jack still can find the commonalities in them—can still understand the need to keep your partner from experiencing any undue stress.

Jack isn’t sure how long he stands there, lost in thought, until he remembers that Hannibal asked him a question. He takes a slow measured breath. “She’s fine,” he settles for saying.

Hannibal arches a brow. “And I suppose you’re fine , too?” He asks, his voice devoid of emotion. Yet there’s a fraction of a second where Jack sees the man’s shoulders tighten in irritation.

Jack makes a point to take another slow, measured breath, before clenching his fists at his sides. He will have to play into Hannibal’s hand, if he wants to learn anything about why he’s been called here today. And while he wants nothing more than to lie, he knows the man in front of him will discern the truth in an instant.

“Bella is… not well.” Jack admits. Her health is getting worse—to the point where she is mostly bedridden. Jack hates that his work keeps him from her during the day, hates that he returns to find her with a smile on her face—as if he’s not letting her down. He feels his jaw clench at the thought.

“I am very sorry to hear that, Jack, truly,” Hannibal says. Jack suspects the sentiment is genuine—Hannibal shared dinner with the two of them, after all. Bella then reached out to him and had several meetings with him regarding her disease. And while Jack is grateful that Bella felt empowered to speak to someone about her situation, he selfishly wishes that she had just sat down and spoken to him instead. After all, her meetings with Hannibal created an awkward gap in their relationship—as Jack was forced to come to terms with the fact that the psychiatrist knew more about his wife’s condition than he did. “How are you faring?” Hannibal asks, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Jack says, gritting his teeth. This idle small talk is making him more and more restless with every passing moment.

“It is painfully relevant,” Hannibal asserts.

“Fine,” Jack repeats angrily. He feels like a broken record. “Very well. I’ve been better.” That’s the under exaggeration of the century—he feels as if he’s falling apart, as he is forced to stand by and watch as Bella’s health deteriorates. Jack wants nothing more than to help her, but he doesn’t know how. Bella maintains that his presence is enough, but Jack still feels the visceral need to do something more than sitting silently at her side .

“How much longer does she have?” Hannibal asks.

“A few weeks, she’s told,” Jack answers habitually. Everything about the disease is horribly cruel. Jack wishes he could share some of Bella’s pain—or, even better, take it away entirely. But he’s not a miracle worker—he is only her husband. Jack is not a religious man—someone like him, who has chased criminals for decades, will lose faith as they see fresh horrors that question their very mortality. Yet recently he has found himself close to praying for Bella’s recovery.

“It must be difficult to make time for her,” Hannibal says. “The FBI isn’t an accommodating employer. Not that I would know.” He says coyly. Jack feels any of his remaining patience promptly disintegrate into nothingness.

“Enough with the small talk,” Jack demands. This is taking much longer than he would like it to. “Why did you ask for me?”

“As I said, I have information for you,” Hannibal states.

“On the Tooth Fairy?” Jack presses.

“No.” The man responds. Jack nearly loses it right then and there. He turns around and is about to make his departure when Hannibal continues. “I have information on someone close to you.” Someone close to you. If it were Bella, then he would’ve said so. Who could this be about?

“How did you come to possess this information?” Jack asks guardedly. He still doesn’t necessarily believe the other man. Hannibal could be deceiving him. But Jack’s already here now, so he might as well at least hear him out. At worst, the information will be useless and Jack will storm out of the building in annoyance.

“Observation,” Hannibal answers ambiguously.

“Who might this person be?” Jack asks, despite being fairly confident that there’s only one reasonable answer. He hopes his suspicions are incorrect.

“Your best agent,” Hannibal responds, confirming his suspicions. Unease prickles along Jack’s skin. “Don’t distract my best agent,” Jack had said to Hannibal all those years ago. If only he had known how much of a distraction the man would prove to be…

“I don’t believe you,” Jack immediately remarks. The words crawl up his throat and wrench themselves out of his lips, clinging to the tense air like a vice.

“I think we both know that baseless conjecture would not benefit me.” Jack just remains silent. Eventually, Hannibal continues. “I have a defined sense of smell, as you know,” he says. He’s dragging this out on purpose. Jack has to resist the growing urge to snap at him. The man must sense his quickly declining patience, because he continues. “During our first conversation, I smelled smoke.”

“Must’ve been a fluke,” Jack interjects. If Hannibal is bothered by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. But Jack is certain that he’s annoyed—after all, he abhors rudeness.

“That’s what I thought,” Hannibal agrees. “Then we spoke again—and I recognized the scent as the same one I smelled before. I assume there is no significant other in the picture, therefore… your best agent is a smoker.” That last remark almost sounds like a question. Jack tries to dispel it from his memory, but he finds that Hannibal has ensnared him in a verbal trap. In order to get the truth, he must divulge information that Hannibal does not deserve to know. But, when it comes to your safety…

He decides not to answer, despite knowing deep down that his silence is enough of an answer. Instead, Jack asks the man to recount what happened in detail and Hannibal obliges. As he claims, he first smelled smoke when you approached him and asked for information on the Tooth Fairy. He wanted to inquire about it, but he wasn’t convinced of his theory. After all, the odor could’ve come from a visit to a friend’s house or a windy day downtown. The next time you visited, however, Hannibal smelled it again. He confronted you about it and you didn’t deny his accusations. Apparently, he also expressed his concerns—citing that smoking can cause lung cancer and other adverse effects. You didn’t seem to care.

Jack isn’t sure he believes Hannibal wholeheartedly, but he also knows that the man has no incentive to lie. That begs the question, however: why would Hannibal say something in the first place? “I don’t understand how telling me this benefits you.” Jack confesses, watching him warily.

Hannibal smiles knowingly. The gesture is fleeting. “I find myself worried,” he admits. “Smoking is terrible for a person’s health and can cause lifelong, irreparable damage.”

“You want me to intervene,” Jack realizes aloud, immediately discerning the real reason Hannibal summoned him.

“I believe you are in a unique position—one that gives you the authority to curb such a habit,” Hannibal proposes. A dark expression flickers across his face as he stares ahead. “I pray it hasn’t become an addiction just yet.” He supplements, appearing vaguely troubled.

Jack knows the danger of making a promise to the man standing in front of him, to the Chesapeake Ripper. But he feels it is necessary. After all, if he can manage to follow through, then he’ll likely receive some good karma and cement Hannibal’s trust in him. Jack could then exploit that trust later on. Knowing that, he decides to go for it. “I’ll see what I can do,” Jack guarantees.

“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal responds sincerely. “You are unfailingly reliable, as always.”

“...Thank you,” Jack responds. The compliment doesn’t mean very much to him, considering the entire situation. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle the sudden onset of his nerves. Jack anticipates that you will bristle and withdraw if he tries to intervene. But Jack doesn’t really have any other option—you’re a vital component of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he won’t see your physical or cognitive abilities impaired by anything, let alone something as harmful as smoking. “I’ll be departing now.” Jack announces.

“Very well,” Hannibal nods, regarding him one last time. The smile on his face sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “It was good to see you, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t bother echoing the sentiment, instead turning on his heel and walking away. He got what he needed and will leave entirely unscathed. So why is his heart racing so thunderously in his chest?

Jack soon understands when he finds himself standing before you, attempting to decide how to best confront you. Because this is, ultimately, a confrontation—an intervention that you will likely not appreciate. But it’s a necessary evil, Jack tells himself.

Eventually, he just decides to cut to the chase. He’s never been one to sugarcoat things. “You’ve been smoking.” Jack says cavalierly.

You stare at him, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before the emotion is being reigned in and suppressed. Jack can’t help but think of that emotional control written on someone else’s face—in the brown eyes gleaming with crimson and the wry turn of lips. “No, I haven’t,” you respond smoothly.

Jack is not fooled. He has considered everything he’s seen—has digested the evidence (or, in this case, the utter lack of it). “Don’t lie to me, Agent,” Jack sighs, exasperation and irritation battling for prominence in his voice. He’s a bit disappointed that you think you still have the ability to lie to him—that you can hide such things from him.

“How did you know?” You then ask suspiciously, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I haven’t been smoking at work.” And somehow, Jack knows you’ve been taking meticulous showers—and ensuring that the smell doesn’t reach your work clothes. That’s the only explanation for the complete lack of sensory input.

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack eventually settles for saying. How he became privy to that information isn’t important. What is important is the truth of the matter: that you’ve been putting yourself at risk.

“Who told you?” You demand, ascertaining what Jack fails to utter. He locks eyes with you and, somehow, you seem to find the answer in his gaze. “It was Hannibal, wasn’t it?”

Jack is still quiet. It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t want to utter the words—that will usher in a whole new horrifying sense of finality. He knows you’ll get an answer from his silence anyway; indeed, you study him for a moment before nodding resolutely and walking away. He watches you depart with a tight feeling in his chest, inexplicably convinced that he just crossed a line he can’t come back from.

Standing before Hannibal Lecter’s cell, you’re overcome with the knowledge that you shouldn’t have visited. Irritation, anger, and (unjustified) betrayal prickle along your skin and pull your hands into clenched fists. You can cope with the former emotions, but the latter? You should not feel betrayed—because betrayal implies that, to some degree, you trust Hannibal. Even after everything he’s done to you.

You shake your head and take a deep breath. It’s too late to go back now. You’re already standing in front of his enclosure. He has already seen you, even if he gives no indication that he has noticed you.

“You told Jack.” The accusation crawls from your lips before you can attempt to stifle it. It’s raw, pained, emotional—in all the worst ways. You’re wounded prey before a hungry predator—tempting it with what it desires. Hannibal wants to see you affected by his actions, and you’re fulfilling that desire. After all, you’re not so foolish as to think that Hannibal genuinely cares for your physical wellbeing. You’ve made that mistake—assuming the best of him—far too many times in the past. Even behind this glass wall, Hannibal is the puppetmaster. But you refuse to be his puppet.

“Hello,” Hannibal responds. He closes the book he’s holding and looks up at you. You’re not convinced that he just now focused his attention on you; no, the moment you stepped into the hall, he sank his teeth into you. “You must know it’s polite to start a conversation with a greeting. And I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you seethe. You’re not feeling very charitable today, so you don’t bother to pretend that you’re composed. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” you remark, finding it increasingly difficult to be patient. He’s drawing this conversation out on purpose. He senses that it irritates you, so he keeps doing it. You try to stay focused. “You told Jack that I was smoking.” Your teeth grit at the memory of your conversation with Jack, at the disappointment hidden in his words. Lately, you can’t shake the feeling that you are nothing more than a problem to Jack.

“You presume Jack didn’t know before,” Hannibal assesses.

“I was doing a rather good job of keeping it hidden from him,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. Indeed, you went to extraordinary lengths to ensure Jack didn’t notice your new habit. You only smoked outside your home, in casual clothing that Jack wouldn’t see you wear. Not to mention, you always kept your lighter and cigarettes concealed in your pockets discreetly. No, you made sure that Jack wouldn’t notice.

“Were you?” Hannibal questions.

“Stop doing that,” you snap, abandoning pretense. He’s parroting your words back to you—asking questions that don’t advance the conversation. “It’s annoying.”

“Very well,” Hannibal says with an amicable shrug. Something about the nonchalance dripping off of him is both non-threatening and sharpened to a fine point. Everything about the man before you is a contradiction. He is nothing but a twisted, tangled mess of paradoxes. Hannibal Lecter is companionable but lonely; compassionate but cruel; deceptively ordinary but horribly, dangerously different. He is only noticeable when he wishes to be. Nothing about him is as it seems.

You stare at the man before you: the Chesapeake Ripper. He is a killer who has upturned your entire life—ripping the rug from beneath your feet and ensuring that you will never know stable footing again. Rage bubbles and froths beneath your skin, compelling you to itch at your forearms in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the overwhelming feeling. This match’s players were decided long before the game even began. Are you forever doomed to be his victim? Do you stand a chance against fate?

“Do you remember?” Clark Ingram croons. “Ripping apart the skin, digging your hands into the matter that gives an organism life? Do you remember that your hands didn’t shake? Do you remember washing away the blood? Is it still on your hands?”

Spots float across your vision. You blink them away; when you open your eyes again, you see Abel Gideon standing behind the glass wall in front of you. His eyes are hazy and unseeing, yet he seems to stare into your very soul. He reaches a hand out, then another, and you instinctively bring your hands to your neck, if only to wrench his grip away-

“You.” Garret Jacob Hobbs whispers. “You’re just like me.”

And suddenly Gideon is reeling back, a bullet carving a neat path through his temple. Blood slips down his face in crimson rivulets; his eyeballs slip and roll in their sockets, before falling out—leaving them to dangle ominously, with only the optic nerves to keep them anchored. Gideon opens his mouth and his teeth crumble and rot, blackening and decaying to dust in his mouth.

Suddenly his visage shifts, and you’re staring at Miggs—who is staring back with wild eyes. He lets out a truly bone-chilling laugh, his jaw extending further and further until it’s snapping off and ripping through his skin. His tongue slithers down his chin, traveling down his body and resting in a scarlet puddle on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot and frozen as they spin faster and faster-

A blur of motion draws your attention to the left, and you watch in muted horror and shock as a pale hand reaches towards you, beckoning you closer. You lock eyes with Franklyn Froidevaux; a pained noise leaves your lips as you watch his hand snap and break, bending and curling backwards in a manner that is not physically possible. With clawed fingers, Franklyn brings a hand to rest in the air near his chest and you hear ringing in your ears. In a fluid motion, he impales himself. His free hand mimics the motion and your stomach stews as you see him grasp adjacent ribs in each hand, before brutally ripping them apart to bare his chest cavity and free his heart. The organ pulsates in the open air, and past the disgusting squelches of blood, tissue, and biological matter fleeing further down his chest and hitting the ground, all you can hear is his heart pounding in your own ears-

There is a hand on your shoulder. You inhale sharply and immediately turn around, prepared to fight off another criminal—another one of your victims—when you lock eyes with Frederick Chilton. It takes you several moments to come back to your body and ground yourself in the present moment. Your breaths are arriving and leaving far too fast; there’s sweat collecting at the back of your neck; your hands are trembling; your throat is extremely dry.

When you can finally move past these physical sensations, you realize that Dr. Chilton is staring at you with glittering eyes. The concern on his face almost seems genuine, which is all the more concerning.

“Time’s up.” He says, a modicum of sympathy in his voice.

You cough to clear your throat, wincing at how tight and scratchy it feels. “I just got here.” You answer raspily, trying to shrug his hand off of your shoulder. Chilton’s grip only strengthens.

“I gave you an extra ten minutes,” He says softly, looking at you worriedly. His grip on your shoulder is tight and you quickly shake it off. This time, he lets you. “It’s been an hour.”

An hour? Surely that’s not right. You glance at your watch, only to find that it has indeed been an hour. Sensing a gaze boring into you, you remember Hannibal’s presence. Glancing at him, you find that he has a blank expression on his face. Have you really been standing here, rooted to this very spot for an hour, with the Ripper right in front of you? What did he do, while you were lost in phantom worlds? Did he observe you with a sick fascination, reading through research in his head? Your stomach churns at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of Hannibal for such an extended period of time. The security in this place is not nearly enough to make you feel safe in front of him. Hannibal can overcome any obstacle, if he desires.

You take a shuddering breath in and nod at Chilton, turning towards the door. Hannibal utters a goodbye, but you’re too lost in your thoughts to hear it. This meeting was an entire waste of time, but, then again, what were you expecting? Did you hope to have a reasonable conversation with the Ripper? You’re not sure why you bothered showing up in the first place. A small part of you wonders if this is all an act of elaborate self-sabotage—if you’re setting yourself up for further pain with every new conversation with Hannibal.

Regardless, the events of today serve as a reminder: Hannibal is confined within these halls, but he still has enough power to manipulate the outside world—enough to manipulate your life. You dig your nails into your palms and walk down the hall, your footsteps echoing throughout the space. You’re so rattled that you don’t notice Chilton’s grip remaining on your shoulder, nor do you notice the malicious glare Hannibal sends him in response.

next chapter

endnotes: Avoiding pronouns here was very difficult, so apologies if the conversation between Jack and Hannibal is a bit awkward. But I’m still committed to ensuring the reader’s gender is ambiguous, so… awkward phrasing it is.

Here was the original dialogue I was going to use for the conversation between Hannibal and the reader. I ended up scrapping it, but I still think it’s a fun idea:

“You’re a bastard. You know that?” “I’m afraid that’s a new one,” Hannibal says, a small mirthful smile slipping onto his face.

Jack takes a bit more of a *proactive* approach to combating your addiction in the next chapter.

I am proud of myself for the gore. Heehee.

thx for reading! hope you enjoyed :3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

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#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #etc etc

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laughroditee · 6 months ago

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Okay, so this is a screenshot of Barry Sloane’s Spotify playlist that he made for Captain Price. He included “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails, which I thought was very interesting. I’d given some thoughts on a previous post reblogged from @staytrueblue about what I thought concerning the implications of its inclusion, but I thought it would be fun to make a headcanon of just how closer!price would show up in bed in fics. I wrote a lot of this at 3 AM when I was plagued with sudden insomnia, so I apologize if anything is hard to follow or, conversely, over-explanative. My brain juices are very bad. I hope I’m doing this right.

So, let’s take a look at the song lyrics in chunks and apply them to Price.

CW: we get a little religious, but it’s more like him worshipping you and not an actual religion. I just thought I’d warn you if that sort of talk bothers you. (It’s in the song lyrics, so…)

You let me violate you You let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you You let me complicate you

So we have some pretty negative, violent words here like “violate,” “penetrate” (which, we know what that means in this context obviously), and “complicate.” Still, it’s the inclusion of “desecrate” that I want to focus on here. To desecrate something is to “to treat a sacred place or thing with violent disrespect” meaning that closer!price views you as something sacred. Conversely, he’s applying all of these negative, violent words to himself, turning himself into not only an aggressor but one who acts against divine or holy things. In other words, he sees himself as a sinner or something profane. (We’re moving with the vocabulary of the song here.)

So why would closer!price think of himself in this way? Well, let’s look at one of his quotes from Modern Warfare (2019):

"We get dirty and the world stays clean. That's the mission."

John chooses to make this soul-sacrifice willingly. And he chooses this every time so that other people don't have to. This is His Duty™️. And he does it without complaint. But just because you choose something doesn't mean you like it. John is always driven to do The Right Thing™️, at least by his own moral compass, even if it means disobeying orders or shooting a US General in the face for betraying his team. (Chaotic Good king.) However, no choice is without consequence, even if it's merely subconscious. So, going by this line, closer!price views himself as dirty, and I think it's more than just blood on his hands. The atrocities he’s performed in order to protect his country and the world take their toll on the soul. But he accepts that.

At the same time, closer!price sees you as clean. He thinks you're out of his league, that he doesn't deserve you. He could be almost apologetic about wanting to be with you at first, not wanting to disrupt your nice and clean life with the darkness of war that lives within him. He might even resist you for as long as possible.

(Honestly a lot of this runs parallel to how I tend to interpret Simon, but there are a lot of differences there too. Simon, I think wears his dark underbelly very openly – just look at the guy’s design FFS, and personality. But Price’s shadow seems less obvious than Simon’s, and maybe that’s due to the latter’s additional childhood trauma on top of his military trauma.)

Getting back to the lyrics, let’s narrow in on the first parts of those lyrics: “you let me.” closer!price needs your consent, because if you let him “violate/desecrate/penetrate/complicate” you, someone so pure in his eyes, taking such a miserable sinner like him into their body, then he must have some chance at redemption. The path to his absolution lies in your acceptance of him into your body.

I broke apart my insides (Help me) I've got no soul to sell (Help me) the only thing that works for me Help me get away from myself

We get more into the broken/soulless imagery here, and his desperate desire to escape himself. Where else would he escape to but into you?

closer!price would probably want someone outside of the military, a safe haven when he's home and away from the battlefield. He wants to have a piece of that world he's keeping clean, even if he doesn't feel like he deserves it and feels separate from it. You are his link to his own humanity, which he feels is actively eroding with every mission.

closer!price would think you're cute talking about your normal civilian life, but not in a patronizing way. He takes it as evidence that his sacrifice is worth it. That, because your life is quiet and mundane, he’s doing his job right.

closer!price would also try to keep you as far away from his work life as possible, to protect you and keep you clean, not for him but for your own good.

I wanna fuck you like an animal I wanna feel you from the inside I wanna fuck you like an animal

Barry also included many songs on the playlist with “beast” in the title, which goes back to the whole “I’m not human, I’m an animal” thing, echoing that loss of humanity.

My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to God

closer!price may not be a religious man, but fucking you is transcendental for him. Every time is a blessing. Every noise you make is a benediction.

He isn't needy as much as he becomes existential, as if being inside you were a matter of his continued existence on this plane. He becomes weak in this moment because this becomes a fight for his soul. (Not that he would force anything, because that's not okay.)

He would worship your body, your temple, filling you with his cum as if this is how you draw the sins out of his body. And he is absolved. For now.

You can have my isolation You can have the hate that it brings You can have my absence of faith You can have my everything

Here, we’re seeing this idea of giving over to the divine (which is you). The stripping away of all the bullshit that’s in closer!price’s head as he’s lost in fucking you.

you tear down my reason (Help me) it's your sex I can smell (Help me) you make me perfect Help me become somebody else

Here, you can see him getting more animalistic or primal from the loss of his ability to reason (what are humans known for if not their power to reason?) to enhanced senses. You take away all of that for closer!price in an all-encompassing, deconstructive way. He sheds his identity when he’s with you, that identity of “Captain Price, soldier.” This is more of a “universal oneness” concept than a Biblical God here IMO; “help me become somebody else” is a plea for rebirth.

I wanna fuck you like an animal I wanna feel you from the inside I wanna fuck you like an animal My whole existence is flawed You get me closer to God Through every forest Above the trees Within my stomach Scraped off my knees I drink the honey Inside your hive You are the reason I stay alive

Boy’s not afraid to kneel. He will treat you like the deity you are. He basically lives for your p/bussy and is a giant fucking munch; I don’t know what else to say.

#closer!price #call of duty #cod #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain price analysis #closer #let’s make it smutty #how does he fuck #captain price headcanons #cod headcanons #props to Barry for including army of me by bjork

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tieronecrush · 2 years ago

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Hi! I loved water in your hands even though I accidentally read part 2 first 😩, can I please request a little drabble from readers pov when Joel just cut her off and missing work etc when he got married? No worries if not! Just wanted to say I really enjoyed reading :)

well thank you anyways for returning to read part 1!!! and i am so happy that you enjoyed reading!

i’m not sure if you checked out the playlist for the series that i made (spotify / apple music), but liability by lorde made it on there because it is literally what i imagined reader would feel during that time. my hopeless romantic who has never felt chosen </3

liability

drabble for “water in your hands” series

rating: M

word count: 1.2k

summary:

They say, "You're a little much for me / You're a liability / You're a little much for me" / So they pull back, make other plans ' I understand, I'm a liability / Get you wild, make you leave

warnings: angst, insecurity, self doubt, mentions of water/drowning

You didn’t even have any last words from him to mull over. The last thing you’d heard from him was him asking if you were okay as you lay next to him in the middle of that field.

Instead, his silence has sharpened the knife that he’s driven into your heart, his lack of acknowledgment of everything that happened twisting it to carve out a large space for the pain to seep in. And when you’d heard that he was dating someone else, seriously dating, according to Tommy, the knife was pulled clean out and stabbed into your back.

He’d spent one night with you, and somehow that was enough for him to know that he didn’t want you. All of those messages you thought he’d sent now mixed, your recollections of those fleeting, flirty moments poisoned by the knowledge that he didn’t want to be pulled into your storm.

It was the only reason you could think of that maybe drove him away. You knew that you weren’t settled, that you had your own issues to grapple with from everything you’d been through prior to Jackson, but you were secure in yourself. Maybe Joel didn’t want to deal with your shit on top of his own.

You were a little too much for him; a liability to his own healing.

You were on your own at the end of the day, superficial friendships and mere acquaintances belonging in the daylight. The only seemingly real friendship that you’d grown here was with his brother, and the saying goes “blood is thicker than water.”

Returning to a lonely house, yellowy lamplight bathing your space but doing nothing to warm your insides. You spent nights on your own, re-reading your favorite novels from the worn shelves in your cozy living room or spinning a record to dance around and forget for a few minutes. In those times, you were thankful that you were still looking out for yourself, that you still had your own back despite all of the doubt your own mind had grown.

In those solitary hours, all you had were your thoughts, which revolved around him, throwing you into a cyclical whirlpool of heartache. Only when you thought you’d pulled yourself out, had finally felt the heat of the sun on your face above the surface, one single memory of his fingers brushing your thigh or his lips ghosting over yours or a whisper of your name rips you right back into the current.

He left you behind and moved on.

Dating someone else, ignoring you for days that turned into weeks, that’s now become months.

You remember the day you found out that they were engaged.

It happened at the end of your shift, your coworker Tracy popping in to have a nightcap. She was tipsy already, spilling where she had been prior to coming to the bar. There was a party at Tommy and Maria’s, she’d said, a wide drunken smile on her face as she excitedly gossiped.

“They threw Joel and Heather an engagement party! How sweet is that?”

Engagement? Engagement. Engagement.

Engagement led to marriage.

Marriage was meant to be for life.

And Joel never does anything half-assed.

One time, a few weeks after Joel had returned to Jackson, you’d let yourself daydream indulgently. It’d been about him, about what you envisioned a life with him would look like. You’d pictured your own wedding, the closest people to you both the only ones in attendance. In your imagination, you’d seen your brother there, your sister, too.

It was a dream because, even if you ended up with Joel, you never thought he would get married. He was loyal, devoted, committed no matter what jewelry was on your fingers. Those traits were intrinsic to him. You didn’t think something like that mattered to him; he would be a husband, a partner to you without any ceremony.

Clearly, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

Their engagement was fast. You’d heard from Tommy about a month later that the wedding was happening at the weekend. Bile coated your throat, burning acid settling there for the rest of the afternoon that you spent at work. You’d returned home that evening, crawling into bed and crying yourself completely dry and numb.

You didn’t leave that spot for days. Skipped out on work. Ignored the knocks at your door from Tracy, Maria, even Tommy. Limbs felt too heavy to move, bones ached deeply, dull pain sawed at your constricted heart.

Thoughts kept steamrolling each other, your brain was unable to shut them out as you spiraled silently alone.

A toy. A plaything. A little doll.

An achievement to be conquered.

He’d played with you; bantered with you. He was flirty -- suggestive at times. But once you’d given him everything, unveiled your thoughts and feelings to him in hopes of him returning them, even just accepting them, he’d gotten bored. There was no more chase. You’d rolled over like prey, submitting to anything he could have wanted from you.

You were only exciting to seek in the night, ghostly touches in the bar and a chance encounter under the moonlight.

Naive. Childish. Too much.

Delusions of a perfect summer with Joel changing with the leaves and eventually becoming rooted together had blinded you from his true intentions with you.

You were better off on your own, so it seemed the universe was telling you. Losing your siblings, your family, lacking friendships, and now your prospect for love slipped through your fingers in a rush, fleeting efforts made to contain it like water in your hands. No matter what, it would have found cracks to drip through, and eventually drained completely.

He evaded you, leaving you in an unrequited romance. You were in love with him. And now he was married to someone else, in love with someone that he could easily be with no disadvantage or opportunity for embarrassment. There were no means to confess your found feelings, so you lay for hours in your bed while tears soak your pillow and words are branded into your mind.

I’m in love with Joel Miller, and he won’t ever love me.

You repeated it so many times that it sounded like the truth, like gospel, and then, at a certain point, like a foreign language. The words eventually meant nothing in their countless repetitions, the weight of your self-confessional lessening with each second passing. Your limbs felt lighter, bones less sore, and the grip of pain on your heart loosened.

In the next moment, all you could think about was feeling the warm summer air on your face again. Finally, after days isolated, you were going to take a chance to disappear into the sun. You’d pulled yourself out of bed, changing into fresh clothes.

With one glance out of your window, the plans were soured when you saw it was sunset, that you’d have to wait until morning for your walk in the light. You decided to stay up all night to be able to catch the sunrise in the grazing field. To occupy yourself, you milled about your kitchen and living room, doing the small pile of dishes that had accumulated and straightening up the place. The clock on your wall read the early hours of the morning, and with no other chores to do, you turned towards your collection of books.

As you thumb through your shelves to find another novel to escape into for a few hours, the sound of knuckles lightly rapped on your door.

tagging the usual mutuals: @swiftispunk @joelsversion @johnwatsn @midnightswithdearkatytspb @pedrit0-pascalit0 @theelishad @undrthelights @ladamedusoif @ruinedbylanadelrey @thetriumphantpanda @pedgeitopascal @dinsdjrn @thepascalofus @pedgito @soaringcloud @somedayauthor @alloftheimagines @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @atinylittlepain @scrambledslut @lunapascal

#joel #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x yn #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tw insecurity #tw self doubt #me #writing #requests

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cwritesforfun · 2 months ago

Text

Patrick Zweig x Fen!Reader: Be My Coach? And Girlfriend? Part Three

Y/N = Your Name

Read Part One here! <~ read this and part two first pls ily

Read Part Two here!

*** I Do NOT own the characters from Challengers or their plot *** Some of the plot in this is fictional:)

...

This is the playlist I listened to on Spotify as I wrote this - feel free to listen to for the vibes!!!

...

Masterlist

Pretend there is a time skip... To the end of the tournament/the FINALS ~ teehee

Your POV ~ Your Final Match

You wake up with your alarm blaring and Patrick groaning in your ear. He is so not a morning person. It's hilarious for someone who has to get up for matches all the time.

You slide out of his arms, down your protein shake, and get ready for the day. You put your light makeup on and pick your game-day outfit. Your outfits have been pre-planned by your team since you work with an athletic wear brand.

You kiss Patrick on the forehead and say, "Remember to get some free breakfast, Patrick. See you later." You move away from him and he replies, "Wait one sec." You turn back to him, and he presses a light kiss to your lips, and says, "I just wanted to say I'm proud of you and you got this. I know you can do it. I'll be there later and I'll try to sit next to Art not Tashi. I can tolerate him." You laugh and reply, "Ok baby. Bye."

You leave the room, get into your Coach's car, and are driven to the country club. You practice, have breakfast, and then head outside to the waiting area for players. You try to calm your brain by being alone and you enjoy the peace with your thoughts. It helps you think clearly.

You meet up with your Coach beforehand and talk about strategy. This is the final match of the tournament, the FINAL... you made the FINAL!!! It still shocks you that you made it here. You were proud of yourself that no matter what had happened this week, you made it.

Later, you wait in the hallway until your name is called. You take a few selfies with the staff in the hallway since they mention being your fan.

You walk out and wave to the crowd. You see Patrick smiling and cheering from next to your Coach. On his other side is Art then Tashi who looks happy to be here. I hope they all enjoy the game.

You set your stuff down and stretch on the side of the court.

...

You summon every last bit of your energy into your last swing and secure the win for yourself. You collapse onto the ground in shock and you cry happy tears. You slowly get up and shake the hand of your opponent.

You run over to your team, hug your Coach and team first, and then you move to the chaotic trio... lol... you have to act professional so that means greeting all three of them.

You open your arms for Patrick and he hugs you tightly. He presses a kiss to the side of your head and he says, "I'm so proud of you. I knew you could do it." You reply, "Thank you, Patrick." You move to Art who hugs you and says, "You did great, I'm proud of you." You then move to Tashi who hugs you and says, "That was the kind of tennis I like to watch. Good job."

You move away from your crew and stroll around the perimeter of the court, greeting fans and posing for selfies.

You take a quick shower in the showers, change into your "I won the finals" outfit, and head out to the cars. You don't see your Coach, but you see Patrick. He's leaning against the wall staring at you lovingly and smiling widely. You rush over to him and embrace him in a big hug. He exclaims "Hi I missed you. Your Coach left to go to the after-win dinner to make sure everything was ready. I'll drive you there and be your date tonight if you'll have me." You reply, "Of course, I'll have you as my date tonight silly." He smiles and replies, "I didn't know if you wanted me to kiss you after the match today, so I just hugged you. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable." You reply, "You could've kissed me, but I appreciate you for thinking of me like that." He smiles and says, "You're welcome. I will take a big smooch for my impending win tomorrow." You laugh and kiss him.

You both walk to Patrick's car and he drives you to the dinner. Your team, your sponsors, other female tennis players, etc will be there. Art and Tashi were invited by your Coach according to Patrick, but he didn't hear if they accepted the invitation.

You arrive, take Patrick's hand in yours, and walk inside the party. You shake lots of hands and meet so many people. Patrick is next to you making sure drinks, food, or his hand is in yours the whole time. You appreciate him being by your side. He's been a great boyfriend tonight and you have hope for the future.

You see Tashi and Art sitting at a table with several people. Patrick whispers in your ear, "They've been here the whole time. They keep watching us. I think they're jealous." You smirk and whisper back, "Maybe. We should at least say hi." He whispers back, "That's what you said yesterday." You smile and he presses a kiss to your lips. You hear cameras flashing near you and realize that photographers got your kiss on camera, omg... haha hopefully Patrick was serious about dating. You pose for a few photos together since the photographers are all near you but then your Coach pulls you to meet people.

You shake hands with future sponsors, other players, etc. You hear lots of big ideas about your future, growing money, how you are a star player and you start to get a little overwhelmed. You don't understand why you can't just celebrate the tournament win for what it was and talk about the future tomorrow. You just want to relish in the win for at least one night and not be focused on money. Your Coach is deep in conversation when you slip away.

You see Patrick leaning against a chair talking to Art & Tashi. You make your way over to him and he sees you then slides an arm over your shoulder. He presses a kiss to your forehead and asks, "Are you okay?" You answer, "Yeah, the conversations just were too overwhelming for right now." He nods and says, "Okay, let me know when you need to leave." You nod and you turn to face Art & Tashi. Tashi is sitting stoic as ever and Art has a smile on his face. You ask, "How are you both enjoying the party?" Tashi answers, "I see your team spared no expense. I'm glad there's food. I remember I had a party with no food and it was the talk of the next season." You smile and answer, "Yeah, I knew I would be hungry." Art gestures to a plate next to him and says, "Patrick brought this extra plate of food for you. He's been taking stuff from the servers all night." You smile, take the seat next to Art, and say, "Thank you, Patrick." You eat while talking with Art, Tashi, and Patrick.

You finish your plate of food, dance with Patrick for a bit, and then you say bye to your team. You're feeling tired and you just want to sleep.

You make it back to the hotel and collapse on the bed. Patrick lays next to you propped up on his arm and exclaims, "Hi my little winner." You laugh and say, "Babe, thank you for being so supportive today. I really appreciated the food, drinks, and the hand-holding." He kisses you on the cheek and says, "Of course. I wanted you to know I was there for you and I care about you. I also knew you would neglect hydrating and eating if I didn't make sure you were doing so." You reply, "You're correct haha. When I was with my Coach, I was just hounded by business talk and stress, so I didn't eat or drink anything. They weren't letting the win be a win. Like I just wanted to celebrate and all they could think about was capitalizing on it." He replies, "At least you have a team... but it sounds like you should fire them." You reply, "I've been considering firing them... don't you worry, I will have you signed up and competing this year. You will be the focus of male tennis." He smiles and says, "I love you." WTF!? You say, "I love you too." He asks, "Really?" You answer, "I really really do love you." He smiles and you both kiss.

Patrick asks, "How about we change out of these into something more comfortable?" You answer, "I like how you think."

Next Day - Your POV - Art vs Patrick

You wake up to the sound of your alarm and you take a deep breath. Today is the day. Today is Art Donaldson vs Patrick Zweig at the Challenger. It may not mean a lot to everyone, but it means a lot to you. It means Art will most likely retire. It means Tashi will be less involved in your tennis life. Patrick needs the win, and you're his coach, so it would be great for him to win.

You kiss Patrick on the cheek and exclaim, "Come on, Patrick. Let's get ready for your big day." He replies, "The big day is supposed to be your wedding and we're not wearing white." Wedding...??!? This man confesses his love one night and then starts talking about weddings. What is with him? You smile and get up. You change your outfit, pack your bag, and get Patrick's food fuel ready for the day. Patrick changes and eats in silence. You decide not to pressure him to talk. Today is a big day whether or not he wants to say that it is.

You arrive at the country club, practice, and then Patrick texts you that he's going to the sauna before his game. You see Tashi on her phone, so you grab 2 bottles of water before walking over to her. You offer her one and exclaim, "So, how are you today?" She takes the water, sips it, and answers, "I gave Art an ultimatum last night. I told him that he needed to win for me to stay with him." You spit out the water you were swallowing and say, "God, oh wow. That is not what I expected." She asks, "Have you given any thought to me being your Coach?" You answer, "It's funny because this season has been very mentally draining due to my team and then you spring up at the right time offering your coaching services. Patrick told me to fire them too. I just don't know what I want to do because I do like the opportunities I'm being given, but I think that more boundaries need to be set." She replies, "Then you should talk to them and if they don't compromise, fire them. Just make sure you have a lawyer review your contracts and keep it clean. I can send you the contact information for someone I know. They're helping me write the divorce papers." You reply, "Oh sure that would be great, thanks... Are you still in love with Patrick?" It's been eating away at your brain ... because if she loved Patrick, would Patrick choose her? She answers, "No, I'm not in love with him. Patrick plays tennis with passion, which I love. But I don't love him as a person. I love how you play with passion, but I'm not in love with you. Art does not play with passion, which I don't love." She didn't say she was not in love with him or she was in love with him. You didn't realize how bad things were between Art and Tashi. You reply, "Oh ... okay." She asks, "Why? Did Patrick say something?" You answer, "He's just being a good boyfriend and it freaks me out because of how badly I felt after our breakup." She replies, "He's different with you. He really does care about you. Even when he broke up with you, he regretted it." You nod and reply, "Yeah so he says... it looks like they're starting to seat people for the match. Are you heading in?" She answers, "I need to make a quick call, but I'll be there soon. And then, we'll be rival Coach girlfriends." You laugh, shake hands with her, and head to your seat.

You take your seat and the announcer points you out sitting front row with Tashi... the crowd goes crazy and you take a few photos together. Oh if only the crowd knew your lore.

Patrick wins the first set and you realize that maybe he can really do this.

Art wins the second and you still have hope for Patrick. Art is good, but you've seen Patrick recently. Patrick is out for the win.

As Art takes the lead late in the final game, you notice that Patrick begins to throw the match and you start to wonder why. You notice him make a signal that causes Art to smirk. You don't get it. Art seems to be allowing Patrick to score and now they are tied.

You lean over to Tashi and ask, "Any idea what these two are up to?" She answers, "Something happened in the sauna and I don't know what."

During the tie break, Art and Patrick begin smiling as they play. The rally intensifies and Art jumps for a volley at the net. (I found terminology online - sorry if this is weird lol...) As Art lunges for the final shot he collides with Patrick over the net and the two embrace. Tashi leaps from her seat and cheers loudly. You can't believe that Art won... you guess they're not getting divorced after all. Patrick walks over to you and he asks, "Do losers get kisses?" You nod and kiss him. He then heads off to shower before you meet at his car.

You snag smoothies for you and Patrick, take pictures with fans in the area, and try to find his car. You lean against it and open your phone. You notice your Coach sending you articles of you and Patrick and below it are disapproving messages about Patrick. Essentially your whole team is saying Patrick is a player with the ladies, not to be trusted, and is an outcast to many brands because of it. You hate them all right now.

You text Tashi: Send me that lawyer's information and then we'll talk about your Coaching methods. Tashi replies immediately with a contact labeled 'lawyer': It'll be a pleasure to work with you.

You close your phone and sigh. Wtf is wrong with everyone? You see texts from your family congratulating you on the win and making sure you're dating Patrick again, which you confirm. You don't see why they're asking or wondering. You start chewing your nails and staring at the ground focusing on your thoughts.

You hear, "That looks like a yummy dinner." You jump and see Patrick standing there. You reply, "Sorry, I was just lost in thought." He puts his hands on either side of your waist and asks, "What happened?" You give him a brief summary and he asks, "So you don't want to break up, right?" You answer, "No, I do not." He replies, "Okay good. Because we have plans tonight and I wanted to take my girlfriend to them." You smile and reply, "Ok, that sounds good."

You get into the car and as you drive to the hotel, you notice Patrick's mood still seems light considering he just lost. You ask, "How are you holding up? I mean I know the last set wasn't ideal." He answers, "Honestly, I'm still pleased with how I played. I did well. Art and I finally are on good terms again. We talked in the sauna and he wanted to make sure I was over Tashi. I told him I was and that's why we smiled. It was a signal for him to know." ((Sorry I changed it a wee bit lol)) You reply, "Tashi and I were wondering what was happening. We were whispering about it. Omg did you know that Tashi gave him an ultimatum that if he didn't win, they were going to get divorced?" He gasps and says, "Holy sh** I didn't see that coming. Tashi did say she wasn't happy with him, but Art still seems just as in love with her as when they met." You reply, "She told me and she wouldn't admit if she loved him or not. I worry for him. So it's good you're friends again." He replies, "Well that and you might work with Tashi." You reply, "That's still up in the air. I don't know if I want her to be my Coach yet or not." He replies, "I could be your Coach. We could give it a try and see how you like it." You reply, "Sure, we can try that next practice. For tonight, let's just be happy we're together and not focus on tennis." He replies, "That sounds perfect."

You both shower, and change, and Patrick drives you to this restaurant overlooking the water. It's beautiful. You both drink and eat... Patrick even tells you that he talked to your parents and they paid for the dinner. That shocks you. You didn't know they talked. Is that why they wanted to know if you were dating him again? This night is so weird.

After dinner, you stroll along the water under the pretty night lights and night sky. Your hand is in Patrick's and you feel so happy.

Patrick stops you at the end of this pier and exclaims, "I actually was going to tell you that I love you here tonight instead of last night, but I got too excited to tell you. I thought this place would be perfect to tell you I love you because you deserve only the nicest things." You smile and reply, "I love you so so much. I don't need nice things, I just need you." He replies, "That's good because... because I was going to ask if I could move in with you. I know we've only been dating again for less than a week, but I really see a future with you. You're also my Coach, so it makes sense for us to live in the same city. I don't actually know your living situation or if you have room for me. I just realized I have not planned this out. I live out of my car, so I kind of have all of my belongings with me." You ask, "Wait, are you being serious?" He asks, "About which part?" You answer, "The living in the car and the moving in part? You told me the first day we saw each other that your card was declined and you had no hotel. You didn't say you live out of your car. Why didn't you tell me?" He answers, "I didn't want the pity or for you to think I was just using you for a place to stay... I just wanted to be close to you without worrying about anything... I do want to move in with you if you'll have me." You ask, "How are you with dogs?" He answers, "I like them, why? Did you finally get the dog you were dreaming of?" You answer, "Yeah I did, my neighbors are watching him. My neighbor is one of my best friends from college. You wouldn't know her though. She didn't play tennis. That's not that relevant, sorry. Uh yeah, you can move in with me." He replies, "I promise I will be a good roommate. I can take the dog for walks, cook, clean, or if you dislike any of that, I can just give you a kiss." You laugh and say, "You can be so unserious and serious in the same minute. God, I love you." He smiles and says, "I love you too."

...

And they lived happily ever after... ;)

#challengers #challengers 2024 #challengers patrick #challengers movie #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig

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