#brothel blue jones

[pimosworld]

So Blue

Club Blue Jones x f!Reader Jake Lockley x f!Reader

This is a fic based on this post by @thedarkcoven and @melodygatesauthor

Summary- Jake comes to his cousin Blue’s aide in a time of need but finds something he needs much more.

CW-NSFW,18+ MDNI,Explicit, dub con,non con, Blue owns a Brothel and reader is a sex worker. Degrading comments,possessive Blue,possessive Jake, hints of yandere Jake, cursing, kissing, angst, innocence kink,fingering,oral sex female receiving, unprotected piv,anal,anal cream pie,dacryphilia,cum eating, orgasm denial,kidnapping.A hint of Steven and Marc if you squint.

WC-3k

A/N-Please do not read if this is not for you, this is a safe space to explore things outside of the normal world. If I forgot any tag warnings feel free to comment.

Not beta read

Your hands are shaking as you make your way down the hall to Blue’s office. You were only called into the office for two reasons, when Blue was feeling possessive and needed to let off some steam. He would bend you over his desk for what felt like hours, ramming his thick cock into you. Your screams of pleasure would echo down the hall for all his men to hear. 

  The other reason which usually resulted in the same outcome was that you’re in trouble. Each time brought a flutter of nerves and excitement, your brain can’t decide how to feel about Blue. He was so wrong and fucked up in so many ways, yet he could be so sweet when he wanted to. Keeping you right where he wanted, in limbo with your own body. 

  You stand in front of the door taking slow deep breaths as you smooth your hands down your barely there skirt and adjust your tie front crop top. Blue made you wear these clothes if you could call them that. You slowly open the door and you’re hit with a strong musky scent, like Blue’s but there’s something different there. You see the back of a man’s head seated in front of Blue’s desk, your heart slams in your chest at the thought of interrupting a meeting.

  So stupid you should have knocked 

  You’re turning on your heel faster than you can register. 

  “Where are you going sweetheart.” His voice stops you in your tracks and you turn to see Blue uncharacteristically smiling at you. He motions come here with his fingers and you’re at his side in an instant. He places a firm hand on the small of your back as he faces you towards the man in the chair. Your breath catches in your throat as you're met with venomous eyes and a grim expression. He’s staring at you but he’s looking at your eyes, something most men don’t do.

  You can smell it now the difference it’s fresh leather, his jacket and gloves in pristine condition. He definitely cares about his appearance, it seems just as much as Blue. Something about him was so familiar and you don’t even notice how long you’ve been staring at each other until a tight squeeze on your hip brings you back. 

  “This is my cousin Jake, he’s gonna be here for a few days to keep an eye on some things for me.”

  “Jake, this is my number one girl.” He smacks your ass eliciting a yelp from you and you can’t look at the man in front of you. Your face grows hot at the display he’s showing in front of this man who certainly peaked your curiosity. 

  “What’s your na-.”

  “Don’t worry about what her name is.” Blue bites out. Jake shoots him a look of warning and Blue holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  He’s not in control

  “Listen, her name is not important. If you need anything from her you ask me. Jake nods at him in understanding. 

  “Go get ready,you’ve got a busy night and I don’t want you keeping anyone waiting.” He slaps your ass again and you stifle a groan not wanting to deal with the aftermath of him hearing you. 

  “Yes sir.” Is all you manage as you round the desk.

  “Adiós Princesa.” He’s gonna be trouble. 

  ****

  “I need you to keep an eye on some high profile clients.” Blue lights his cigar and settles further into his chair. 

  “You’ve got muscle all over this place, what do you need me for?” Jake knows he’s not here by accident. 

  “They don’t have an eye like you…I think there’s some business going on under the table and I don’t want it going on in my club.”

  “Fair enough, I can only stay a few days.” Jake pulls his hat down nervously. 

  “A few days is all I need and you’ll be paid before you leave.”

  Jake stands to leave but hesitates just before the door.

  “How much for your number one girl?”

  Blue clenches his fist, digging his fingernails into his palm. He takes a steady calming breath and rolls his tense shoulders back. Jake was doing him a favor, but the thought of him having you still made him jealous. 

  “I’m not paying you enough for her.” He smirks to himself waiting for Jake's response.

  Jake is seeing red-does he know who I am? He knows he would never do anything to his cousin but it was hard keeping his cool when he always had such a smart mouth.

  “I have my own money hermaño.”

  Jake's insistence was pissing him off but he needed his help.

  “You can have her tomorrow night, she’s busy tonight.” 

  “For how lo-.”

  “I’ll decide how long.” He says through gritted teeth. 

  Jake exits the office with a noxious grin. I think I’ll decide.

  ****

  Blue told you to be ready for Jake. He was colder than normal and didn’t give you many details. You weren’t new to this but something about Jake made you nervous. 

  You knock lightly on his door and he immediately opens as if he was waiting on the other side. He beckons you in and turns you to face him.Your eyes trail down his bare chest and notice the bulge in his black boxers. He looks at you hungrily as he pulls the tie on your black silk robe letting it fall to the floor. You’re wearing matching blue lace lingerie underneath. 

  “I see you followed my instructions.” He grazes his thumb over your nipple sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in to kiss you but you pull away. You see that look in his eyes again and you’re trembling but they immediately soften into something sad. 

  “He doesn’t kiss you?” 

  “No sir.” He places a hand behind your neck pulling you into a bruising kiss, your lips melt into his as he moans into your mouth. He’s pushing you onto the bed without breaking the kiss as your tongues dance with one another. You feel like you’re floating from this intimacy. You feel the guilt creep up on someone other than Blue making you feel like this but you push it down not wanting to ruin this moment. 

  “I’m gonna make you feel good Princesa.” He’s breathless as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your body, he gently lifts your hips to slide your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping folds. He licks a stripe through your entrance and circles your clit with his tongue. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as you grip the sheets beneath you.

  “He doesn’t take his time with you, does he?” He doesn’t give you time to answer as he inserts a finger into your slick cunt drawing quick circles around your clit with his thumb. 

  You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle the cries of pleasure. He quickly grabs your wrist with his other hand. 

  “I want to hear you, I want him to hear you.” Fuck

  He inserts another finger and fucks you at a fast pace, you don’t know how you’ll survive if his fingers stretch you like this. His tongue is on your sensitive nub and your breath hitches as he closes his lips down on your clit. He grinds his hips into the mattress for some friction where he desperately needs it. 

  “Oh..fuck…sir right there.” He chuckles lowly into your pussy and the vibrations could send you over the edge.

  “You can call me Jake.” He curls his fingers and presses down on your bundle of nerves. Your release slams through you leaving you sobbing his name as your whole body shakes. He’s kissing your thighs as you come back down and looking at you like you hold all the answers. 

  “Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees.”

  Your body moves faster than your brain wanted you to but you’re putty in his hands now. You can hear him shuffle behind you as he discards his boxers somewhere. You’re trying to calm your ragged breathing but his hot tongue devours your slick folds and circles your rim. His hands grip your waist before you collapse into the headboard.

  He grips the base of his cock slowly dragging it through your slit, you can feel his tip breach your entrance and you keen at the stretch. He’s rocking his hips back and forth and his thick cock can barely fit.Your pussy clenches down on him and he bites down on his bottom lip practically drawing blood. 

  “I need you to relax…just let me in and it will feel so much better.” He reaches around and his fingertips circle your swollen clit. He can feel you relax around him as he works your hips onto his length. He’s in awe watching your slick coat the base of his cock as he stretches your pussy to the brim. 

  “Tell me who's making you feel this good.” He’s panting behind you as he picks up his pace.

  “You Jake…fuck it feels so good.” All you can hear are the sounds of his hips meeting yours, the squelch of your cunt as his balls slap your clit over and over.

  “Can I put it anywhere?” He runs his thumb along your lesser used hole and all you can manage is a breathy yes. He pulls out of your entrance and spreads your ass wide with his calloused hands.

You feel a glob of spit on your rim causing your pussy to clench around nothing. He prods just the tip and you already feel so full, he churns his hips slowly and your body feels on fire. The sensation has never felt so good, no one has ever taken their time. 

  You can tell he’s coming apart as his groans grow deeper and his thrusts become erratic. The pain gives way to pleasure as he snaps his hips into yours, he’s filling you with each roll of his hips and you can’t hear your thoughts over the screams of his name. 

  “Who do you belong to?” He’s grunting behind you as he slams you down on his cock. 

  “You..I’m.yours.Jake.” Each word punctuated on a thrust. A wrecked sound tears out of his chest from deep within as his release slams through him. His hips slow as he empties himself inside you. He trails light kisses down your sweaty spine and pulls out of you with a hiss. 

  You collapse onto the bed and he pulls your back flush with his chest. You can hear him drifting off to sleep as he mutters under his breath. 

  “Not letting you go, never letting you go.” 

  ****

  You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep when you hear a rap on the door. You turn to see Jake fast asleep, you raise his arm from your waist and slink out of bed to not disturb him.

  As you place your robe back on you hear another frantic knock on the door. You hurry over to open it, not wasting time to find your panties. 

  “Times up sweetheart.” Blue’s eyes are bloodshot, his liner is smeared down his face and the anger in his expression isn’t one you’ve seen before. He grabs your arm and yanks you out of the room slamming the door behind you. His grip on you doesn’t loosen as he stalks down the hallway. You can hardly keep up with him as you trip over your feet.

  “He fuck you so stupid you can’t even walk.” He doesn’t bother to pick you up, practically dragging you down the hall to his office. You can feel the tears prickling behind your eyes. His office door is a welcome sight for your poor knees. 

  “Get up.” His pupils are blown wide as you stand on shaky legs to enter his office. He’s pacing back and forth, Blue’s never been like this. He wouldn’t kill you, would he? He asked you to go to Jake's room. He finally stops pacing and sits in his chair. You can only stare at the floor afraid to meet his gaze as you fidget with the hem of your robe. 

  “Come have a seat.” His voice has softened a little and you feel a brief moment of relief. You move towards the chair but hear the faint sound of his belt buckle, as you look up and meet his eyes you can see the resemblance- the venomous eyes. 

  “You know where I want you to sit.” You can feel the arousal between your legs mixed with the dried cum. His cock is red and angry leaking precum down his length. You move to stand in front of him facing away as he smooths his hands up and down your thighs. He smacks your thigh and you hover your entrance over his lap. 

  “Sit.” You cry out at the stretch as he pulls you flush against his hips giving you no time to adjust. 

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” How do you answer this?

  “No.” He slaps your pussy hard and you bite down on your tongue. 

  “Yes.” He growls in your ear and you can feel his cock pulse inside your walls. 

  “If you want to keep lying to me that’s fine, you’ll just have to make it up to me later.” He circles your clit with his fingertips and you clench around him. 

  “Who do you belong to?” You're weightless as he bounces you on his cock punching something deep inside you. 

  “You Blue…I belong to you.” He grips your hair pulling you back against his chest as he thrusts his hips up. 

  “Oh…tsk tsk I thought you were Jakes?” Was he listening? 

  “I’m so sorry Blue, I’m yours I’m all yours I swear.” You’re sobbing now as he picks up his pace, never releasing the grip on your hair. Your orgasm is approaching and you shouldn’t have this reaction to him but your body craves it. He’s the rehab and the drug all at once. 

  You’re thrust forward onto the desk and your grasping at anything for purchase as he fucks you at a relentless pace.

  “Oh my god…Blue please.” Your cunt swallows him with each thrust. He pulls out of you suddenly, coming with a choked sound as he pumps his cock with his fist. You can feel the hot ropes of cum on your back staining the black satin robe. You can hear his wrecked groans as he milks the last of himself into his hand. He leans forward onto your back holding his hand in front of your face. 

  “Clean it.” You lick the salty remnants of his spend from his hand, moaning and savoring the taste the way he likes. As he slumps back into his chair you feel your pussy ache at the lack of release. 

  “You can go sweetheart.” The whine that escapes you is not lost on him.

  “Maybe when you remember who you belong to you can come.” His menacing laugh echoes in your thoughts for the rest of the night.

  ****

  “Those clients you wanted me to watch, we're trying to poach some of your girls. I took care of them so you shouldn’t have any more problems.”

  Blue doesn’t really care what taking care of them means as long as the problem is resolved.

  “Good, feel free to stay one more night. I’ll send some girls to your room.” 

  “Thanks hermaño, I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. Ugh no need to send any girls, I need my rest for the drive.” Jake stands to exit Blue’s office but hesitates once again at the door. 

  “How much for your girl?” Blue groans white knuckling his chair -not this again. 

  “It’ll be double for tonight, same rules as last time.” He relents not wanting to cause a rift and is grateful for Jake's help.

  “I mean how much to keep her…I want her.” 

  If Blue could spit fire he would. Who does he think he is? He would have anyone else killed for less than what Jakes got away with and now this? 

  Jake turns to face Blue and he’s seething, a long silence passes between the two men as he awaits his response.

  “I wouldn’t let you have her for all the money in the world...She’s mine” His voice is dark and barely above a whisper. His eyes narrow slits and he looks like a snake ready to strike.

  Jake walks towards his desk and Blue stands,both men on either side. He’s a wolf in the lion's den but he won’t back down. He leans forward placing his hands on the desk. 

  “People don’t say no to me Blue.” He laughs, the bastard laughs and for the first time Jake thinks he might be in trouble. Blue leans forward just inches away from Jake's face.

  “There’s a first time for everything…Goodnight Jake.” He doesn’t falter, their faces still inches apart and then his face splits into a sickly sweet grin sending a chill down Blue’s spine.

  “Goodnight.”

  ****

  Your head is pounding in your skull and your body feels in motion. You can’t tell if it’s day or night but you know you’re not in your room. The smell of leather permeates your senses and it hurts to open your eyes. Your face is wet from laying in a puddle of your own drool. 

  You lift your weak body up and come to the realization that you're in a car. The windows are tinted black and you can hardly see outside-its a limousine. You wipe the drool from your mouth and try to remember the night. After Blue made you leave you cleaned yourself up and went to bed.

Is that really all you remember? 

  Tears begin to spill as panic sets in, the bile coming up in your throat at the thought of being in a stranger's car. You start to crawl towards the front and your body is so weak, you’ve never felt like this before as you try to focus on the soft carpet beneath your palms. You knock lightly on the partition and it slowly lowers. 

  “Good morning hermosa, how’d you sleep?” Your breath catches in your throat at the site of Jake. His hat pulled down above his furrowed brow.

  “Please…take me back please. He’s going to be so mad.” You're crying and trying to catch your breath. All the while he’s laughing as his gloved hands tighten the grip on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me now.You’re safe with us now.”He raises the partition muffling your screams as you bang on it incessantly. You feel the exhaustion creeping in from your panic and you know no matter the outcome you were not safe.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging anyone that commented on the original post @thedarkcoven @simpforbritgents @fandxmslxt69

[melodygatesauthor]

Just a thot, Jake Lockley being a cousin of Club!Blue Jones.... Maybe Jake even becomes one of your #1 customers while working at Blue's club. <3 Id die from hotness lol

oh.my.GOD

Who's writing this hm??

WHOMST IS WRITING THIS

cause I would if I didn't already have a mountain of ideas I was drowning in. WHAT THE HELL.

And Blue getting jealous.

Jake's like, "Mm, you know that one over there, with the pretty blue lingerie and the eyes that take your breath away?"

"Her?" Blue points at you, "yeah...what about her?"

"How much?" Jake asks.

"For the night?"

"No...I want to keep her."

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Private Dances [5]

Club!Blue Jones x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? • ko-fi • request info • series masterlist • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 16: Lap Dance

A/N: A huge thank you to the epic @lonelyisamyw-0love for tipping my ko-fi, this series is especially for them💚 And to@thexsanctuaryx for saving my buttonce more and beating.

Warnings: Violence (not to reader), Blood, brothel/club based stuff with a client, overuse of italics, posessive!Blue, there's some power dynamics in here because reader is a dancer (but like Blue is so lovesick), swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

There are 5 main ‘stars’ in the club: Peach, Trixie, Songbird, Sweetie Pie, and Crystal. Crystal is usually the favourite but is currently in Blue’s bad books for reasons unknown to the reader. Reader is a backup dancer that Blue has nicknamed Lion.

Word Count: 1955

The morning is strange. You wake late to an empty bed and it takes you a moment to realise Blue has gone to work. 

You bite your lip, panicking at the time, and dress quickly in new clothing that has been laid out at the end of the bed. You presume it was by Blue, he doesn’t normally let anyone else into his rooms. But you can’t be sure. 

He’s not in his office when you step out. So you go back to your normal daily routine. No one comments on it. 

You learn late in the afternoon that Blue had an important business meeting that had taken him out of the city. You’re not sure why, but something settles under your skin. Pokes at you from the inside. You try not to dwell on it. 

You’re getting ready in the changing rooms, applying your makeup with the other backup dancers when Madam Gorski comes in.

“Lion.” 

It takes you a moment to realise she’s speaking to you. 

“You’re off dancing today.” 

“What?” You pause, uncertainty bubbling. 

“Mr. Jones left word, you’re on one on one dances today.” 

You freeze. One on one. Lap dancing for clients, and whatever else they paid for afterwards. You swallow.

“I…”

“Come on, up.” She takes your arm as she leads you out. 

You want to be sick, you want to scream. But you know that will do you no good. You follow as rage builds and hardens in your chest. You were going to destroy him. 

You join the other one on one dancers in the main rooms, and do your best to blend in, to smile and bat your eyes at the clients while the music plays and they down drinks. Maybe you could hang onto a gambler's arm, someone who was more interested in the roulette wheel than you. Maybe you could survive the evening. 

You move to the side, seeing if you can spy someone out when a man, client, grabs your arm. 

“Well, aren’t you lovely.” 

Oh, you were going to kill Blue, and this man too. You plaster a fake smile to your face. 

“You standard rate?” 

You nod. 

He grins sickeningly. “What a bargain, come here lovely.” He sits, and gestures to his lap. “Show me your moves out here and then you can show me in there.” He gestures in the vicinity to the private rooms. 

You swallow, your hands shaking slightly but you manage to keep your composure. This was all part of the job, wasn’t it? 

You turn, facing away from him as you grind, moving your hips slowly. Trying to focus on anything except the heat rising from his body and his sweaty hand on your hip. 

You can see into the main room from here, Songbird is on stage, the backup dancers behind her, that’s where you should be. 

You catch Crystal’s eye, she’s sitting by the stage in the lap of some high paying customer. She smiles at you before she looks back to him. The expression isn’t kind. 

The hand on your hip tightens. The urge to smack him away is so strong. 

He grunts as you move, maybe you could get him to come in his pants here. Maybe-

There’s a sudden scream from one of the other girls across the room, a commotion and then one of Blue’s personal guards is grabbing you around the waist and pulling you off the client swiftly. 

You don't see Blue at first, but you hear his fist collide with the man you had just been entertaining. 

“You fucking piece of shit!” Blue screams, smacking the man to the floor and hitting him again and again in the head. 

The man wails, confusion and apologises quickly drowned out by the blood in his mouth. 

“How fucking dare you?” Blue screams.

The guard holds you back when you try to move forward. Red splatters onto Blue’s white shirt, his dark jacket. Sprays up the side of his neck. 

“Blue!” You hiss and he turns and looks at you with manic, wild eyes.

He lets go of the man, who falls to the ground in a slump, gurgling. Two guards go over to him and haul him to his feet. 

He stalks towards you, rage burning in his eyes like nothing you have ever seen before. He stops right before you. 

“What the fuck was that?” He whispers, his voice so quiet you can barely hear it over the pounding of your heart, over the music coming from the main performance room. 

“A lap dance?” Your voice shakes. You hate it.

“Don’t play stupid, Lion.” His voice is still low, still just as dangerous. “What was what?” 

“I’m on one on one dances.” You say simply, too shocked for anything else.

He blinks, “What?” 

“Gorski came to me in the dressing room, said you’d put me on one on one dances today. I was just… just doing…” What you said.

His expression switches, there’s a shine to his eyes and he reaches up to touch your cheek, then pauses when he sees the red covering his fingers.

You look to his hand for a second and then press your face against his palm. The blood smears onto your skin.

Gently he caresses you, stroking his fingers along your cheek. 

“Davis.” Blue says quietly, turning his head slightly but never taking his eyes off you. “Get Gorski in my office now.” He speaks softly, “And get that filth out of here.” He gestures his chin to the bloodied man. “And clean up.” 

Davis nods. 

Blue turns smiling to the rest of the room. “A little misunderstanding!” He says jovially, and gestures to the bartenders, “on the house drinks for our guests for the inconvenience.” 

The clients break back out into talking, nodding and thanking Blue as if he hadn’t just beaten a man within an inch of his life. 

Blue walks with you to his office, his hand on your waist, his guards following. He stays quiet, a deep frown on his face. 

You do not see Crystal scowling as she watches you leave. 

Gorski is already waiting in his office. “Blue, what the hell is-”

Blue snaps, the fire returning and burning brightly in his eyes the second he steps foot inside. “You put Lion on one on one dances?” He snarls and Gorski steps back.

“I did not,” she swallows, “You left instructions for it!”

He leans close. “I never left any such instructions.” He hisses, licking his lips. 

“I have the note in the ledger.” She keeps eye contact with him for a long moment. 

“Bedson.” Blue snaps and the guard steps forward. “Get the ledger from Madam’s office, will you?” 

Bedson nods and leaves and Blue gestures for Gorski to take a seat by his desk.

He walks over to you and guides you to the sofa, holding your arm as you sit as if he was scared you’d break. 

You watch in silence as he walks over to his drinks cabinet, expecting him to pour himself a whiskey. Instead, he takes a bottle of seltzer water and sits next to you, pulling the silken handkerchief from his breast pocket. He wets it and slowly starts to wipe the blood from your face. 

You swallow, your throat bobbing as he works quietly and gently. The water is a little cold, but it’s refreshing. Comforting. 

It’s a good few minutes before he speaks again. “Lion is off limits.” He says and then turns to Gorski. “Understand?” 

She nods. 

Blue goes back to wiping your face. 

Bedson returns with the ledger, opening it in front of Blue as he continues to fuss over you. It takes him a moment to actually look at it.

But, clear as day, it’s there. A note in Blue’s handwriting requesting you be put on one on one. 

There’s a pause. Then he sneers. 

With a hooked finger, he gestures for Gorski to come over. She does, slowly. There’s a nervousness in her step that you’ve never seen before. 

Blue points wordlessly to a shaky ‘o’ in the note. 

Gorski leans closer, then frowns. “A copy.”

“A trace, I would imagine.” Blue gestures for Bedson to step back. “Quite a good one.” 

“But who would do that?” Gorski frowns. But Blue shakes his head. 

“The ledger’ll be locked away from now on, you and I will be the only ones with a key. Understand?” 

She nods. 

“Get out.” He says quietly and turns back to you. 

The Madam nods, not needing to be told twice and quickly leaves, followed by the rest of the guards when he looks at them too. 

The second the door shuts, his shoulders slump slightly, even though he continues to clean your face. You are sure that he had already removed all of the blood by now. 

You bite your lip, about to speak. 

“Did you think I had done that to you?” He murmurs, finally looking up into your eyes. “Abandoned you?” 

You swallow. “Yes.” Your voice quiet.

His expression falls. 

“I was thinking about all the things I was going to do to you,” you say with a slight tease, “to punish you.” 

He laughs softly and looks back up, his eyes shining. “That sounds lovely.” 

“But, alas, you’re innocent, it seems.”

He nods, smiling weakly, putting the handkerchief down so he can stroke your cheek. “Maybe you can anyway, punish me for not ensuring your…” he pauses. “For not making your status clear with the staff.” 

“My status?” 

“You are off limits.” He says quickly, a little flash behind his eyes. “Off limits.” 

You place your hand on his cheek, mirroring his touch. 

“I should have left you a note this morning…” He pauses, thinking. “I thought… I woke late and didn’t want to wake you… I hoped you would just stay in my rooms for the day. I assumed you would.” He looks over your face, searching for something. “But I realise you must have thought I…”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me there.” You say softly. 

He breathes in shakily. “I always want you. I should have woken you and taken you with me today.” He leans closer, shifting forward. “I should have stayed.” 

You shake your head. There’s a twist in your stomach, you want him closer. Need him nearer. Need to kiss him until you’re lightheaded and starving for oxygen. 

“I’ll find out who did this Lion, I promise.” He pauses. “Did anyone else… touch you?” 

You shake your head and he breathes out, nodding. He kisses your lips lightly three times before he traces his tongue along your bottom lip. 

“What’ll happen to the… client?” You ask softly. 

“Do you want him dead?” He asks like he was asking if you want a drink. 

“I… would you kill a client for anyone else?” 

His eyes flick from your lips to your eyes, his pupils dilated. “You’re not anyone else.” 

“He didn’t know that.” 

“You want me to spare him?” His lip twitches teasingly. “Have you started to develop… feelings for him?”

You grab his neck, your finger lining up with the splashes of dried blood, scowling and squeezing ever so slightly as you push him flat onto his back. 

He groans, chuckling as you manhandle him and straddle his hips. He keeps his hands away from you, grinning like a madman. 

“You want to try that again?” You growl and his grin widens. 

He wriggles a little under you, his cock hardening in his trousers. “Punish me.” He smiles, licking his lips. 

You quirk an eyebrow up at him. 

“For my transgression, Lion.” 

You squeeze his neck and he groans sinfully.

“Ah, that’s it. Yes Lion, make me yours.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[snowbellewells]

CSSNS24 ONe Shot: "On Wings of Storm"

This canon divergent AU was intended to be a shifter one shot, but I don't know that the character is a shifter in the strictest sense, as there is a curse and magic involved. It is set sometime post Milah's death in Season Two, and then embarks on a different path from there...

I apologize ahead of time for any errors that I might need to come back and fix; I was writing this right up to midnight and didn't have enough time to edit fully. My beta for this year's @cssns @myfearless-love did absolutely brilliant work, catching so many typos and run-ons and confusing phrases. She was invaluable and deserves so much love for all her help! Anything left over is 100% my fault for hurrying to finish.

**I am thrilled to be reposting now with the gorgeous cover artwork created for me by @motherkatereloyshipper! She captured so well the drama and intensity of the ship's danger during the storm and the petrel coming to her aid. I just love it!! Thank you, thank you, thank you SO MUCH @motherkatereloyshipper!**

Please enjoy, and I'd love to hear what you think!!

Summary: Killian Jones has lost everything and everyone he ever held dear. All that is left for him is vengeance and pain. None could have expected the strange twist of Fate that would change everything, or the surprising companion that will come to touch his heart in ways he would have no longer thought possible.

“On Wings of Storm” 

By: @snowbellewells

“Attention, you bilge rats!” His angry voice rang out unmistakably over the planks of the majestic ship - carrying clearly despite the buffeting wind and rolling sea beneath. The power in the sharply accented words cracked like a whip, causing every member of his crew to flinch nervously and stand at attention to do their captain’s bidding and avoid his ire. Those who made their home and livelihood upon the Jolly Roger - even the few remaining grizzled veterans who’d once served on her decks when she was the Jewel of the Realm - knew her captain’s temper was perpetually on a knife’s edge. The harshness and cruelty of the lives they all lived, and the loss and betrayal Captain Jones had weathered, would bow and break many. It was understood not to cross those who had survived and been hardened by it.

Yet, even with that knowledge, the cause of his current tirade was unclear. When the ship had docked at the remote port, some had stayed aboard to handle various duties and keep watch while others went ashore to roam and shop, or to visit inns or brothels, but all had been attending to their assigned duties and nothing was amiss. However, the thunderous look upon their Captain’s dark brow spoke volumes. Something was amiss, and he would see it put to rights. Pity the fool who was found at fault. The cutlass at his hip bounced gently against his leg, and the still awe-inspiring metal appendage which had replaced his left hand mere months ago glinted menacingly in the low moonlight as he paced back and forth, eyeing each man with an intensity that would make anyone tremble.

It was old Mullins who finally dared to put the question to the Captain gingerly when no further explanation or action seemed forthcoming. “What is it that’s angered ye, Cap’n?” he queried respectfully, head bowed in deference as his speech drew Killian Jones’ attention. “We’ve been here aboard the Jolly and at our post since ye left. Did something happen on shore?”

Killian’s attention zeroed intently on the graying Mullins, who quickly gave another bob of his chin in respect or acknowledgement. Not about to contradict their captain, but also not knowing what had upset him, none of them could move to make it right. Those piercing blue eyes, like ice chips in Mullins’ shuddering imagination, beneath the dark, forbidding brows he used to great effect, seemed to be searching his subordinate’s face and sifting his words for any hint of dissension or deception. Finding nothing of the kind, the volatile man’s gaze swept over the rest of the crew assembled around him nervously for some time before offering the explanation in a menacing growl.

“It has come to my attention - and make no mistake, even a scoundrel such as meself has loyal allies - that some of you are dissatisfied with your position aboard this vessel. Let me be crystal clear; a place aboard the Jolly Roger is an honor and a prize - she is a marvel unmatched in speed and quality throughout the realm. However, your presence here is entirely voluntary. I have never, and will never, tolerate the enslavement of any crew member on the Jolly. Such dishonor shall not taint her decks. So, if any of you wish to depart, then by all means, leave now. But be warned; spreading false tales of captivity or coercion, thereby sullying our flag and reputation, will not be tolerated. Such lies will be rooted out and those responsible will face severe consequences.”

He paused, clearly waiting for any who might be bold enough to disembark under his watchful eye and be noted for their decision. None upon the deck moved or spoke, and old Mullins noted sadly that the only sound or hint of motion was the heavy breathing that escaped the Captain’s mouth and the heaving of his chest, evidenced by what had clearly been an angry charge from the town’s center and his impassioned outburst.

As Jones finally seemed to regain control, sending him back to work with a brisk order, Mullins couldn’t help thinking resignedly about how much the Captain had changed, in the past few months especially, but also in the years since his brother’s death. The man Captain Jones had once been - that promising but naive young lieutenant - seemed like a distant memory. Few of the current crew members had served under Jones’ proud and honorable older brother, Liam, who had been tragically struck down in his prime by treachery. Liam’s untimely death had altered the course of all their lives in ways none could have anticipated. Mullins found it painful to remember the wide-eyed, gangly lieutenant Killian had once been. That young man had spoken passionately of glory for the crown and the name of Jones, ready to follow his Captain anywhere. He had believed in righteousness and the power of individuals to shape their own destinies. That idealistic youth had hardened into a bitter and implacable man. The once-noble Killian Jones now sought only vengeance, becoming known and feared across the seas as the dreaded villain, Captain Hook. Mullins sighed and returned to his task; there was naught to be done for it.

Meanwhile, Killian Jones stood at the helm, staring out into the dark night. He sought fruitlessly for the rhythmic comfort of the waves against the hull of his beloved vessel, the solid planks beneath his feet, and the cool night air brushing over his face to ease his inner turmoil. These familiar elements had soothed him many times before, yet his agitation remained as he waited, forcing himself to take steady, regular breaths.

As he stood there, alone amongst his crew, Killian’s gaze drifted towards the gray, evening-darkening horizon. A shape materialized from the gathering twilight, drawing nearer - an unmistakable bird on the wing, yet not the familiar silhouette of gull or pelican often seen at sea. Morbidly curious, Killian watched as the creature approached, strangely silent compared to the trilling calls of most avian species he knew. Its relatively small body rose and fell on the air currents, rather than gliding with ease, weaving unsteadily in its course.

Despite having recently displayed harsh temper and callousness, Killian found himself holding his breath with each flap of wings that sent the bird painstakingly higher in the sky again, inexplicably concerned it might plummet into the rolling waves below.

As if drawn by his thoughts, the bird’s flight began to descend lower and lower. The men diligently working around him on the deck - and avoiding eye contact to steer clear of his ire a second time - seemed completely unaware of the creature’s plight. Killian finally released a tight breath as the dark-feathered bundle nearly landed at his feet. Though it seemed more a collapse than a graceful landing, it had found a resting place. He did not wish to closely examine why it mattered to him whether it had succeeded or not.

Glancing around surreptitiously, Killian stooped to gather the bird into his hand, his hooked arm wrapping around to steady and secure it against his chest. He hoped the dark attire he wore would partially conceal the fragile creature. Rescuing helpless animals contradicted the brash and dangerous pirate persona he had donned irrevocably, which had grown even more dark and forbidding of late. Yet, he simply could not leave the small, fragile bird on the planks, its strength almost spent and plaintively vulnerable.

Seeing that all was as it should be, he slipped below deck without a word, carrying the strange passenger in his arms into his cabin. Closing the door firmly behind him, Killian hurried to place the weakened creature on the table and lit a nearby lantern hanging from the ceiling to inspect its small form for injuries. It appeared fine, simply near the end of its endurance after a clearly long journey.

Just as when the bird was approaching the ship, he could not really understand why it mattered so much to him that the creature was alright. It did though, and so he obeyed his instincts and tried to tend to it as best he knew how. His new compatriot didn’t seem at all troubled by his admittedly anxious dithering and attempts at aid. The bird neither flapped nor made any attempt to flee. After a few full-body shakes to settle its plumage, the bird remained largely still, only moving with its breaths and blinking its dark brown eyes calmly at him, seemingly taking in its new surroundings. The creature exhibited an almost human awareness that it was safe, facing no threat from him.

As Killian watched, enthralled, the bird eventually seemed to settle enough that it tucked its head beneath its wing and appeared to fall asleep. Satisfied that his charge would be fine for a few hours, and needing to rest himself while his crew and ship were in order, Killian extinguished the lantern after preparing for bed. The churning anger and restlessness which had plagued him since boarding his ship was strangely lulled, and for the moment, he was too grateful to question it. Stretching out upon the Captain’s berth, he gave himself over to sleep, for once wrapped up enough in its comfort to be dreamless.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Killian rose with the sun the next morning, habit waking him early enough to see the gray pre-dawn melt into the peach and pinkish glow of a clear new day. He stretched his lanky frame, washed and dressed before moving to the table to check on his unexpected guest. As he neared the makeshift nest he had created, he was surprised to see his small stowaway still appeared to be asleep. Startled by how calm the bird continued to be in such confined surroundings, Killian merely smiled tightly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his chest. He tried not to dwell on why the peaceful sight of a bird resting on the table in one of his old rags lifted his spirits so, as if the whole cabin felt less lonely in its presence.

He had a litany of his usual tasks to attend to, and he knew the rest of his crew would soon be active - if they were not already. Killian exited the cabin swiftly, hoping nothing would disturb the creature until it was restored enough to wake on its own, once the heavy sound of his boots against the wooden planks faded away.

However, he couldn’t avoid one quick stop before heading topside. Killian was pleased to see Turley, the ship’s cook, alone in the kitchen. He ducked beneath the low door frame and cleared his throat to get the grizzled man’s attention amidst the numerous pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stovetop.

“Mornin’ Cap’n,” Turley offered, with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I get ye?”

Killian lowered his voice, stepping closer to the aging cook as he explained that the rations he sought were not for himself, but for the seabird he had rescued the evening before. As he pondered why the bird’s fate concerned him, Killian found himself unsure why he felt compelled to hide his anxiety for the small animal. Anyone daring to question or mock him would regret it – if not immediately, soon enough. Was he questioning himself then?

He discarded the thought almost as soon as it entered his mind. Turley seemed pleased with his captain’s request, assuring him they still had some canned herring in their stores which he could fetch after the noon meal. Killian nodded approvingly and thanked Turley before turning to leave. Just as he did, Turley added, “Sounds like you found a storm petrel, Cap’n.”

“Oh, aye?” Killian asked, tilting his head with renewed interest, despite his desire not to seem overeager.

“Indeed, for how you have described it anyways, Sir. They’re quite rare in these parts, or so’s I’ve always heard. They tend to nest much further north, preferrin’ the cold.”

Killian nodded his understanding but remained silent, encouraging Turley’s talkative nature with a patient gaze. He was rewarded when Turley continued without pause.

“There’re many folks who consider ‘em an evil omen, Cap’n. Portents of storms and such like, but they’re such wee buggers, them petrels. I always wondered meself if they weren’t just allowin’ the winds to blow them to safety rather than heraldin’ the blast.”

Killian shook his head with begrudging humor. Even after nearly three years leading a crew of pirates rather than the formal naval sailors they had once been, he was continually surprised by their superstitious beliefs. They claim to be black-hearted, fearless outlaws, yet frightfully unwilling to take a woman aboard (even Milah at the beginning), sail under the red morning sun, or set out on a Friday.. All due to tall tales of downfall and destruction. It was just a bird, wind-rattled and knocked off-course, needing to regain its strength; certainly not some ill stroke of luck.

“I heartily agree with you, mate,” Killian said when Turley’s words trailed off, giving him a clap on the shoulder before leaving the galley. “I appreciate you finding the herring. I’ll be back for it once lunch has been cleared.”

Turley assented readily and turned back to his task, humming idly. The Captain seemed in a better state of mind than he’d been in since losing his hand, and witnessing his love’s death. To Turley it seemed nothing but good luck, and he was simply glad for it.

~~ * ~~ * ~~

Feeding the petrel at noon was a more awkward and messier business than Killian had anticipated; first he was struggling to open the sealed tin with just one hand, then handling the pungent small fish and their juices in his attempts to coax the bird to eat. Once it snatched the first bit in its delicate, curved bill, however, no more coddling was necessary. Soon, the petrel was grasping tiny herring right from the can, swallowing chunks as fast as it could manage. It emitted a rough sort of squawk in his direction once it finished its meal. Chuckling, Killian could certainly admit it was no nightingale’s song, but he chose to see it as an enthusiastic thanks all the same.

“I’m afraid that’s all for now, you shameless beggar,” he chided gently while clearing the empty tin away and wiping the table clean. To his surprise, the bird stepped nearer, lightly pecking at his fingers, almost playfully or in gratitude, not at all sharply enough to hurt. Holding his breath, Killian turned his hand open and palm up; the petrel nuzzled against his warm skin. Improbable as it seemed, the gesture could almost be called affectionate.

“You are a funny one, aren’t you?” the pirate murmured, scratching one finger lightly over the bird’s dark gray cap. He chose to ignore how his voice sounded equally fond.

When he returned that evening, the shadows outside his cabin’s windows were already long, and the sun had long sunk in the west. After its performance at midday, Killian was sure the petrel would be hungry again and eagerly awaiting its dinner. Yet, upon entering his cabin with canned anchovies, hoping they would not prove too salty for his animal guest, he found the bird absent from the center table altogether. Instead, it flitted for one spot to another at the desk in the room’s far corner near the window. It fluttered, then paused to alight upon the various open books strewn over the surface, cooking its tiny head and peering down intently at the pages. Had Killian not known better, he would have thought it was actually reading the words in Liam’s beloved tomes.

By this point, Kilian was charmed by the petrel’s odd antics, his lips stretching into an ill-accustomed smile as he watched before he moved to lay out his offering. The dark cloud that had hung over him before the bird’s arrival had dissipated. Though he couldn’t explain why, Killian welcomed the lighter mood, hoping it signified better days to come.

The petrel let out its brash trill a few more times before fluttering over to feed quickly on the anchovy, as enthusiastically as it had eaten the herring. Upon finishing, however, it did not relax as it had done previously. Instead, it flitted across the room, hovering near the window and making its distinctive call. The bird then fluttered around Killian’s head and shoulders before returning to the window, its desire for freedom as clear as if it had spoken the words aloud.

“Of course, little one,” Killian sighed reluctantly, no longer embarrassed about speaking to it as if it were human. “Naturally you would wish to return to the air.”

As he opened the window pane, the bird uttered a softer note, unlike its previous raucous cries. Killian smiled ruefully as he watched it slip through the opening and fly away. He had never considered refusing to let it go free; still, he missed the petrel’s presence in his cabin almost immediately. It might have been only a lost bird, but for a flicker of time, he felt a connection, a kinship, that had been sorely lacking in his life.

Yet, to Killian’s pleased astonishment, it was far from the last he would see of the storm petrel. While he would have expected the bird to be gone, never to return again, as days and weeks at sea went by, the small bird reappeared often - usually at first light, near the wheel where Killian was often steering, taking the night’s last watch upon himself as captain to be certain all was well when the Jolly was perhaps most vulnerable. After his intriguing initial encounter with his new feathered friend, he had learned that petrels were largely nocturnal and - like pirates and sailors themselves - rarely came ashore unless nesting. Again, that strange sense of kindred closeness swept over him; more than he had known for entirely too long. He had also learned that pairs of storm petrels were largely monogamous, and he could not help but wonder if the small gray co-pilot had lost its mate, leading it to return to the ship and humans where it had been shown kindness, strange as the attachment might seem. At any rate, once “his” petrel had begun to make recurrent appearances, Killian deliberately took the shift which found him at the helm when dawn’s first light crept over the horizon.

Though wise enough not to voice any notice or question him, the more observant and early-rising members of Captain Jones’ crew began to notice the bird’s repeated arrivals at the wheel near their captain. It seemed the small creature came solely to visit Jones and to snag a brief ride perched on the ship’s side, the sea breeze rustling its feathers until it either fluttered below deck to follow Killian at the end of his watch or took to the sky again.. Killian naturally sought to avoid seeming overly fond or doting on the petrel. For the leader of a band of miscreants and outlaws who lived a rough life by their wits and the sweat of their brows, it was dangerous indeed to show any sort of weakness. Any appearance of “going soft” could be a death sentence if his crew began to doubt his capabilities because of it.

All the same, those who worked nearby sometimes saw glimpses of his twinkling eyes or more mischievous smiles from time to time - things that had seemed lost to the past before the bird’s arrival. The cabin boy Killian had taken aboard at a port several months before - to save him from a life of abuse and privation - sometimes thought he heard snatches of the Captain singing or humming shanties under his breath when the petrel was present at Killian’s side. The boy’s loyalty, however, was unassailable and absolute. He’d never dream of breathing a word.

This continued for some time, the petrel’s comings and goings becoming an expected part of the rhythm aboard the Jolly Roger. Its diminutive gray form and rapid flight over the nearby waves became an easily recognizable sight to all who sailed upon the ship. What was more, the bird’s presence was gratefully welcomed - Captain Jones was less volatile and less prone to strike out against those who displeased him.

If the petrel had not yet proven its worth to any sailors reluctant to accept it, then one stormy night it would have silenced any doubts once and for all…

They had not taken an enemy vessel in some time, and the cargo taken in their most recent haul had been offloaded at the last port nearly two days prior. It was a good thing, too, because as shadows began to lengthen in late afternoon, wind whipped up wildly, frothing the waves and rocking the ship violently. The extra weight of a full cargo might have caused them to take on a frightening amount of water as the hull rose and fell. 

At first, the men manned their posts with calm determination. A storm at sea was always serious, easily spelling the difference between life and death in how one met its ravages. They had faced many such squalls, and Jones guided them through with an indefinable but comforting mix of experience and assurance. This gale, however, seemed different, bent on their destruction as the walls of water rose and then dropped the Jolly as though it were a toy in a child’s bathtub. As they dipped, the rising swells threatened to pour over the sides and sink them permanently. The crew gripped their ropes or boards, holding tightly to whatever piece they manned, but more and more fervently sending prayers for mercy to Poseidon, Davy Jones, or the sirens that would greet them below the surface.

Amidst the rolling chaos, the rapid beating of wings swept low over their heads as a dark,  familiarly recognizable form sailed across the deck and landed heavily, talons clinging to the worn leather on Killian’s shoulder. Though it had clearly fought mightily against the drafts, their petrel was claiming its place heedless of the danger.

Hardly able to acknowledge the delicate weight where it roosted at his side, even nearer than usual, Killian quickly raised his hook from the spokes of the wheel, brushing its curve over the bird’s downy underbelly in a single stroke of greeting. The bird trilled and seemed almost to rub its head against his rough cheek in affection. The exchange lasted only a moment, and in their heightened anxiety, few, if any, bore witness. Then, Killian gripped the wheel tightly once more with hand and hook, roaring out orders and encouragement, exhorting the men not to give up the fight, though the storm raged on and endurance flagged.

The petrel, not content to merely watch and ride along, was hardly finished - nor did it perch silently idle. Instead, it took to the air again, if only just, fluttering rapidly about the captain’s head, repeating its sharp, strident call, almost in his ear, and making itself nigh impossible to ignore. At first, Killian instinctively waved his hand to ward off its advances, calling out in consternation at its unusual behavior. However, it quickly became clear the tiny bird’s determined efforts would not falter.

Brow furrowed in thought, Killian squinted in concentration at his companion, finally sensing that it was trying to tell him something. Swiping the driving rain from his vision, Killian gave in and murmured low under his breath, “Alright, little one, I understand. What is it you wish to show me?”

Again, reacting as if it understood his every word, the petrel chirruped a sort of agreement and took flight again. It had to dip and bob against the lashing wind and rain in order to stay aloft, but it flapped madly, its wings battling back against the heaves of the storm. Valiantly, it hovered within sight, just ahead of the ship’s bow and almost seemed to look back expectantly, as if asking whether or not he meant to follow its lead.

Despite the tension in his shoulders, the worry and responsibility weighing upon him as the storm attempting to break them apart and bear the pieces to the depths, Killian couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter at the bird’s assumed insistence. “Aye, we’re with you,” he uttered aloud, turning the wheel just slightly to accommodate the direction in which the petrel led, shaking his head in disbelief even as he did so. It seemed a mite crazy, true enough, and yet birds survived the wild, its brutal conditions and weather, all the time. And what other chance of survival did they have at this point if the tempest didn’t slake soon? He could not see the way before them clearly enough to navigate by any of his normal methods. At the end of the day, they were all at the whim of Mother Nature, whatever their skill or experience, so the chance or fate that had brought this small creature to him and the feeling in his gut that urged him on seemed as good a course to follow as any.

Some few further agonizing minutes followed, as they still rose and fell in the grip of rolling waves. The entire crew seemed to hold their breath as the ship bobbed and soared, up and down, over and again, eyes riveted on the dark clouds and forks of lightning ahead of them and straining to glimpse in time the jagged rocks that lurked portending their doom.

Slowly, and yet more and more certainly as they persisted, the wild rocking, the careening to and fro, lessened, as though the churning water itself had begun to loosen its massive grip. They were moving into miraculously calmer waters, Killian noted with a breath of relief. The storm still howled around them, but in a bright flash of lightning, he saw that the ship had entered the sheltered lea of a hidden cove. The tall rock faces rising on either side as the Jolly sailed into their cover lessened the buffeting of the waves and allowed the ship to maintain its ballance once again. He would not have seen the entrance with the elements obscuring vision as they’d been - not without the petrel. It had led them to safety.

As if on cue, the bird came to rest atop the wheel, perching on the curve of wood between the two spokes where his hand and hook were placed. Blinking placidly, it seemed to look at him with a bit of pride before cooing softly and burrowing hits head and beak under its wing to snatch a moment’s well-earned rest.

Nodding and allowing himself a look around to take stock, Killian saw the reassurance on his crew’s faces as all realized they had made it through. Killian called out a few orders to check various parts of the sip for any damages and make certain the ship would stay in place until the storm blew itself out. This petrel with its almost sentient ability to sense when it was needed, come to his aid, and raise his spirits, would always have a safe place to rest with them on the Jolly Roger.

~~*~~*~~

Until the day it didn’t return.

The storm petrel had taken to arriving regularly every two or three days, wherever they might be sailing or how much distance they had covered, but then one evening it failed to appear. It didn’t come that night, or the next. Soon a week had passed, and still it didn’t come back to the Jolly, worrying Killian more than he dared let on.

He could not simply drop anchor and wait, nor could he leave his post, his men, and his ship, to search for his tiny companion - far dearer than even a pet could ever be. He had no way to call the bird; it had always come to him of its own accord and in its own time… but it had never stayed away for so long.

His men noticed as well, whispering amongst themselves when the Captain began taking his evening meals alone at night rather than joining them in the galley, when the door to his cabin slammed with such heavy finality that all knew it was a barrier not to be crossed until the Captain emerged again. They shook their heads in dismay when orders were bellowed more harshly or conversations were more clipped and terse. Killian Jones was too diligent a man to shirk his duties or lead them astray, yet all felt his unease and knew its cause. Many of them were aware enough to know the petrel had saved them from the storm, just as Killian did, and had grown to enjoy its visits and watch for it in their own ways. Its absence had stretched on long enough that it seemed clear something must have happened to the poor bird - not that any would say such to the Captain.

Turley and the cabin boy were the only ones genuinely close enough to ask Killian about it, and the youngster only dared question hesitantly one night as he brought the Captain his dinner tray if he had seen his gray bird lately. The dulled acceptance in his expected denial bowed the boy’s head and forestalled any further inquiry.

But that night, as young Billy left, Killian heard a light rapping sound at the small window above his bunk. Even knowing better, his heart leapt with a small flicker of hope. It was the portal by which his petrel had entered and left his cabin so many times. Scuffling and scratching followed, so weak and soft as to have gone unheard if he hadn’t been sitting alone and quiet at his desk. Hustling to the window, Killian unlatched it and carefully opened the glass pane.

To his astonishment and joy, quickly followed by rapid alarm, the storm petrel toppled from its weary perch on the windowsill and landed on the ledge just inside the room. Its tiny frail quivered, its little feathered breast rising and falling rapidly. It wasn’t a large bird to begin with; Turley’s familiar voice echoed in Killian’s head at the thought, needlessly rambling about petrels being some of the widest ranging seabirds known to man, despite being naught bigger than swallows. ‘Hardy little critters, they are,’ Killian could still hear the cook yammering internally until he finally shook his head clear. What he needed to do now was ascertain what the bird needed and what he could do to help.

Having been small already, the petrel looked terribly frail on the dusty, cushioned ledge amidst heavy tomes, navigation tools, and the other detritus of several years. It was obvious the poor creature had not been eating and was wasting away half-starved as a result. Along with that, it was soaked, its feathers in bedraggled disarray and missing in places. The bird lay still for so long without uttering any sound or even trying to right itself of explore the space that Killian feared for a horrible moment that it must be near death.

Peering closer with careful, gentle movements, he saw that the petrel was injured as well as weakened. Not immediately apparent because of how ruffled in was in general, Killian noted that its wing was bent at an awkward angle along its side rather than folded up properly in repose.

The bird hardly lifted its head as Killian stroked one finger down its back, hoping to soothe and offer even the tiniest bit of comfort. Striding urgently across the room, he swung the cabin door open, calling urgently down the hall for Whale, the ship’s doctor, to come on the double; he was needed in the Captain’s quarters.

Whirling to re-enter the room, Killian’s eyes quickly passed over the space, noting the crust of his bread left from supper and the seeds which had been baked atop it still littering the plate. He brought it quickly to his patient, then poured some water for the pitched by his washstand into the empty saucer which had held soup, hoping he might coax the petrel to eat even a morsel and gain some nourishment.

Next, he grasped a plush cotton dressing gown, hanging untouched on the door of his closest, purposefully out of easy sight. It had been Milah’s favorite to wrap up in after the rare luxury of a bath, and the sight of it or the feel of its material beneath his fingers had wrung his heart until now, bringing the hot, raging need for vengeance back to the fore. He was suddenly glad he had not parted with it though. He didn’t dare jostle the injured bird overmuch for fear of hurting it further. But while he couldn’t rub it down to dry it fully, he could tuck the robe’s downy layers around it and warm its shivering frame.

“There now, little one,” he crooned gently. “Take a bit of food and catch your breath. You’re safe now…” his voice caught and he swallowed before adding, “We’ll put you back to rights, don’t fret.”

Killian didn’t actually know if a ship’s surgeon could set a bird’s wing as he would a human man’s broken arm, but he could hear Whale’s footsteps pounding down the hall toward his cabin, and knew he would find out soon. Before Whale - or anyone else - could arrive to see him, Killian bent to carefully lean over the bird’s small form, not sure what possessed him, but following the instinct before he could question it. As delicately as possible for someone who’d had no cause for gentility in longer than he could remember, for just one breath, one single heartbeat, he brought his lips to the bird’s tiny head. Maybe it was brought on by some long-buried memory of his own mother, lost to his mind’s eye other than a voice whose soothing singing sometimes echoed in his sleep, but the kiss seemed an offering to ease fever pain and fear with hope and good wishes.

It was the barest brush contact - a mere moment’s touch - but the air in the room abruptly changed. Something seemed to shrink and then expand; the atmosphere held its breath. Glittering rainbow hues flashed in front of his eyes, and Killian jerked backwards in alarm. The petrel’s shape went a bit hazy as Killian strained to understand what was happening right before his eyes, and then his small friend began to grow and change, forcing him to take a few more stunned steps backward and wonder if he had somehow hit his head and addled his brain. His accustomed companion was transforming even as he watched.

He heard a shout as Whale - and probably a few curious others too - came to a halt behind him. Exclamations of awe and surprise were heard but left unacknowledged over his shoulder. Killian blinked, trying be sure he could trust his vision and to reconcile what shouldn’t be possible, but sat before him.

Where the storm petrel had lay near death just seconds ago, stood a blushing, beautiful young woman. She was equally soaked to the skin, long blonde hair plastered to her head and shoulders. Her lithe, slender frame trembled where she stood clutching the dressing gown around her tightly. Still, there was something about her eyes as she stared back at him silently; something that he knew deep within despite never having seen her before.

She cocked her head curiously, as if she too was trying to understand where she was and what had happened. With that motion, Killian knew without a shadow of a doubt. This young woman had been his petrel; his long lost avian friend was this lovely woman. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he was absolutely certain. And he was drawn to her just as he had been to her former guise. She took a cautious step toward him, and he held out a hand to draw her near and hold her close. Whatever had brought them together, whatever magic was at work, she was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld.

~~*~~*~~

By the time rays of morning sunlight came slanting down the walls inside Killian’s cabin, he and his soulmate - he knew that now - had talked the whole night through. She was no longer a storm petrel but a princess what had been cursed to take on avian form, and his act of True Love - aware of it or not - had set her free. The jealous witch who’d cast the spell had falsely believed the princess was luring her chosen partner away rather than accept that he had a roving eye. Petrels were a migratory species, keeping her far from all she knew and loved - and of course, unable to speak or gain help for her affliction. For hours they sat side-by-side on his bunk, hands clasped tightly as this woman - Emma, her name was Emma - told him what she’d experience ever since the curse took hold, shifting her very reality to something unfathomable. Tears pooled in her eyes, glistening on her lashes, both while recounting her own trials, and then again while listening to the betrayal and loss that had shaken Killian’s world to its foundations as well.

The connection between them from Emma’s first appearance on his ship drew them ever closer as they talked, and touched, and inevitably joined in another kiss. This time it was two souls meeting on equal footing, and they drank deeply of the perfection that shook them each to the core. Perhaps it was always meant to be this way; the two of them bound to meet long before they ever knew. Neither could explain the pull, but it also couldn’t be denied.

As they went topside the next morning and Killian began to introduce her to an eagerly enthusiastic crew, he didn’t even try to explain, but simply savored the moment, thrilled that all the heartache and pain had finally brought him there, with Emma at his side. Her smaller frame tucked seamlessly into his side as she beamed at his new ally and charmed them one and all.

When they stood at the wheel - just the two of them again at last - Killian behind her, his arms encircling her as he steered the ship, he felt the same joy he had when she’d kept him company perched on the wheel so many times before, but magnified exponentially now that they could fully communicate and understand one another. With the salt air in their faces and the horizon in view, they set sail - a happy new beginning stretching out ahead of them.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi

@jrob64 @apiratewhopines @anmylica @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv

@spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @lenfaz @jonesfandomfanatic

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@the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @goforlaunchcee @mie779 @kday426 @iamstartraveller776

[darlingdekarios]

stay still.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 1,154 content: Brothel!Blue Jones x f!reader, plot what plot?, smut [cockwarming, unprotected p in v, sub!Blue], kink(s) [consensual slapping, drool, begging]

Blue needs to learn a little patience while you help him get ready.

“I said stay still.”

The brisk slap across his cheek seemed to linger in the room as the stinging ling, and though most would recoil – Blue Jones did not. Instead, his face only drew closer to yours, eyes hooded and dropping to take in the smile that played on your lips as a low growl rumbled in his chest – predatory, dangerous, unhinged. Recognizing what he was after you connected an index finger to his forehead, pushing his face away from yours as you clicked your tongue against your teeth.

“Not being a very good listener tonight, Blue,” you continued to chastise, a firm shake of your head further communicating your disappointment in him. You returned to applying charcoal eyeliner beneath his eyes from where you sat straddling his lap, his painfully hard cock buried inside your warm sex. You’d already been warming him this way for several minutes, languidly taking your time with the task that could’ve been long completed by now. “What am I going to do with you, hmm?”

“Fuck me,” he whined out, desperate to thrust into you repeatedly until he had molded you into a moaning mess. Though it sounded as the most pitiful whine from his lips it still came across much more as an order than he knew you’d appreciate. “Please – please fuck me.”

“I only fuck good boys who sit still,” you taunted, leaning closer to his face to focus on your work and shifting your hips just slightly. The movement was enough to make him whimper, his lips falling open slightly at the subtle shift, his fingers immediately wrapping around your hips to hold you closer. “You have to learn how to behave, and I have to finish making you look pretty.”

“Fuck the eyeliner,” he breathed out desperately, unable to recall the last time he’d needed you to move so badly.  “Fuck the eyeliner, forget the eyeliner, I don’t care. I need you, baby. I don’t care about any-“

“Only good boys get rewarded, sugar,” you persisted despite his best efforts at begging, shaking your head again before you started in on the next eye. 

His fingers clenched at your sides desperately, and you opted to let that particular movement pass – he was just trying to steady himself. You recognized when you had him teetering on the edge of something truly dangerous. Ultimately, Blue was still in charge – this would stop any minute he really wanted it too – but you were one of his favorites because of how well you knew him. 

“I can tell you’re taking your time,” he remarked, voice still breathy and desperate and laced with a bit of pain. You could always tell when he’d had enough – he wasn’t quite there yet tonight. “You’re lucky I think you’re so perfect when you’re a little mean.”

That pulled a smile from you, your eyes flashing with something deeply fulfilled and appreciative as you leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the lips he’d swollen by biting at. A quiet moan left his throat as you clenched your walls around him tighter briefly – way too fucking briefly – before removing your lips from him and seating yourself in his lap again. 

“You’re talking too much, Blue,” you cooed, briefly brushing the tip of your nose against his before going back to your efforts on his eyeliner. When he opened his mouth to protest you slipped two of your fingers into his mouth, using your thumb to close his lips around the digits with a shake of your head. “Shhhh. Let me finish.”

The five minutes that followed felt like hours for the man beneath you. Unable to take how overstimulated he felt, his muscled thighs were quivering beneath you, his pupils blown wide as he maintained eye contact with you. Within a minute he’d began to drool slightly around your fingers, his tongue circling them slowly. The occasional fluttering of your walls around – you were only human, after all, and he filled you so perfectly – had him growing impossibly hard. He knew you wanted him just as badly by the arousal that was leaking from you and down his thighs, and knowing you wanted him just as badly somehow made it easier for him to still. 

As you finished the last swipe of the eyeliner you dragged it out, grinding your hips impossibly slow into his and pulling a cry so loud it was rude considering how many people could hear just a room away. Neither of you cared – neither of you had ever cared. No longer able to play nice his fingers grasped your hips hard enough to bruise, raising you up slightly so he could begin to thrust up into you desperately. 

As he finally fucked into your dripping sex, he truly came undone – while he’d normally have more filthy things to say to you flowing into borderline disturbing praises for you, tonight the only sounds from him were grunts, groans, and whines as he chased his release. You leaned forward to claim his lips in a starved kiss, your tongues fighting for dominance which he won by slipping a hand to connect a thumb to your clit. There was no more time for teasing tonight – but next time he had you, he would be patient.

When he began rubbing expert circles around the swollen nub your legs were shaking much sooner than you’d be willing to admit in the future, his thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate. He released you from his hungry kiss to move his lips to your neck, forgoing gentleness to suck a mark into your skin harshly. 

“I’m going to come in you for this one,” he breathed huskily into your ear, groaning when the words caused you to clench around him tightly. He kissed his way up your neck to your jaw, running his nose along your cheek before leaning his forehead against yours, tears brimming in his eyes at how good it felt to claim you again, swearing it got better every time. “Filthy fucking baby girl, just wants me to fill her up.”

You couldn’t find a reply for him before your head was thrown back in a cry, your release blinding your vision with white hot pleasure as another indecently loud cry left your lips. He followed you soon after, painting your walls with his release with another low, rumbling groan, continuing his movements on your clit as he completed his own release. 

When you’d both come down from your shared euphoria just enough to catch your breath, you leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to one another’s lips, meeting the other halfway. When you pulled away from the kiss your eyes scanned over his face before a playful, concerningly mischievous smile spread across your face.

“Look what you did to your eyeliner with all that crying, Blue. What am I going to do with you?”

You both had plenty of ideas.

masterlist.

[warningsine]

For as much as I admire the incredible seventh episode of “Interview With the Vampire” Season 2, I cannot, in good faith, suggest other shows follow its lead. There are too many trapdoors lurking just behind the stage curtains, too many tonal shifts to ride out without being thrown from one’s motorcycle, and, quite frankly, too much patience required of the audience, human or vampire, given streaming executives think what viewers really want is a show that only requires half their attention. But despite all these challenges, “IWTV” persevered, the hard work of its true-blue theater troupe paying off in Episode 7, “I Could Not Prevent It” — an audacious endeavor that deserves to be recognized as one of the year’s most rewarding and remarkable hours of television.

A bit of context: Rolin Jones’ serialized adaptation of Anne Rice’s gothic horror classic began its journey to Sunday’s staggering episode by modernizing a nearly 50-year-old story and, in doing so, playfully yet purposefully toying with expectations. The subtextual attraction between newly bitten vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac (played by Jacob Anderson) and his maker, Lestat de Lioncourt (Sam Reid), became beautifully, ferociously sexual (and thus textual). Louis’ identity in the novel — as a white plantation owner in Louisiana — was flipped into a Black, closeted, Creole businessman running a brothel in New Orleans. Finally, the interview was brought to the forefront as well. Rather than simply acting as a framing device, the veteran journalist Daniel Molloy (Eric Bogosian) interrogates Louis as he recounts his memories in the present. Is his account trustworthy? Is Daniel being purposefully deceived? Is Louis?

Floating in the periphery (where it belongs), there’s talk of a vampire uprising and clandestine meetings with a secret agent (Justin Kirk!) working to save humanity, but let’s not bother with AMC‘s “Immortal Universe” right now since it’s not a huge priority in this series (and it’s not proven to be worth the same level of investment outside of “IWTV”). What matters is that the show’s boldest, biggest choices from the start led them here, to “I Could Not Prevent It,” where they paid off in ways both long-established and unexpected.

To be clear: Episode 7 should not work. The primary story takes place on a stage (which can be visually static and tiresome). What’s said on said stage is almost entirely a recap of events covered in the previous 13 episodes, and what transpires is largely foreseeable. (We’re told the “trial” isn’t real, its outcome is fixed, and the accused are merely “props.”) From a bird’s eye view, “I Could Not Prevent It” is set up to fail. Instead, the same facets that have sustained “Interview With the Vampire” thus far — its meticulous character work, its loud-and-proud melodrama, and its persistent questioning of its unreliable narrator — send the most pivotal hour yet soaring to new heights (even by Lestat’s standards).

An Unreliable Narrator Becomes Even Less Reliable

Let’s start in the same place the series does: with the interview. Daniel has long played the pot-stirrer, both narratively and formally. He asks the questions, he pushes Louis to delve deeper here or skip ahead there, and he will ultimately be penning the book that doubles as an annoucnement that vampires exist and a memoir, of sorts, for Louis. But his interruptions don’t just keep his subject honest. They keep the series honest, as well. If a scene’s sympathies feel misplaced (like when Daniel won’t stop asking “Did you eat the baby?” as Louis recounts how difficult that moment was for him) or when dramatic situations start to tip into hammy territory (as they regularly, wonderfully do), the candid questioner will break his subject’s highfalutin reverie and bluntly return them both to Earth. His recurring interjections may be frustrating for audiences wholly enraptured by the primary timeline (aka the past), but they serve a higher purpose: making it clear that Louis is an unreliable narrator. (And, I would argue, they’re fun! Go Daniel!)

The legitimacy of Louis’ storytelling is more heavily scrutinized than ever in Episode 7, although Daniel doesn’t deserve the credit for calling him out. It’s Lestat, albeit still via Louis’ memory, who provides an alternate version of various milestones, as he tells the “jury” of his companion’s alleged transgressions. First he argues, way back when they met, it was Louis who hunted him, not the other way around. “How do you not know that it was your own voice, Louis? Speaking your own unspeakable desires? Screaming them in the darkness in the hopes that I would come to you.” Their he said/he said back and forth isn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but — much like earlier rebuttals from Daniel made us wary of taking Louis’ word as gospel — the dispute over their origin story does plant the seed of doubt in Louis’ version of events.

And tees up Lestat’s next accusation: that Louis blackmails him into turning Claudia (Delainey Hayles) into a vampire, despite Lestat’s vehement, law-abiding protests. The scene itself plays out fairly close to what we saw before, but what may seem like trivial details to the less-than-impartial jury are hugely meaningful to the “IWTV” audience. The basic proceedings don’t change, but the motivations for them do. In Lestat’s recounting, Louis’ desperation to have a daughter is clearly misguided — what first seemed like a compassionate gesture on Louis’ part is now painted as a selfish act that would (and did) damage Claudia’s life as much as her makers’. Remembering it again, back in the present, Louis cannot deny his actions and admits that Lestat’s retelling is more truthful. “That is how it happened,” he says. “I didn’t think it at the time, but yeah.”

Louis’ ugly makeover (if, of course, we can believe anything Lestat claims) continues when Lestat shares his side of the couple’s physical fight from Season 1 — a vicious beatdown fans have long-suspected had more going on than what was shown (given that the couple disappeared upstairs for a significant portion of their brouhaha). The original depiction saw a jealous, vengeful Lestat use his superior powers to pummel his partner bloody. Now, in Lestat’s apologetic recital, he’s still the aggressor who goes too far, but he was also reacting to Louis’ own ruthlessness. Lestat, he claims, asked to stop, but Louis insisted on seeing their brawl through to a mortal end. “I’m gonna take this hand here and wrap it around that scrawny neck of yours,” a maniacally laughing Louis said. “I ain’t gonna stop until your eyes pop. Then I’m gonna find a big ol’ butcher knife and chop your head off.”

While not intended to justify Lestat’s frightful reaction, seeing Louis in such a state reframes the target of Lestat’s vitriol. It shows the audience a vampire literally begging for a fight, rather than a victim getting tossed around like a ragdoll, and it makes Lestat’s ensuing apology — on stage, in front of humans and vampires alike — all the more affecting. (As does Reid’s heartrendingly earnest performance.) The blame is shared. The results are, too. And their romantic saga grows all the more complex.

Nothing Tops a TV Show That Uses Its Time To Dive Deep into Characters

Phew! All these (alleged) twists and turns within established lore are enough to spin superfans’ heads, but “I Could Not Prevent It” isn’t focused on easter eggs or fan(g) service. It’s focused on characters. In addition to introducing all the aforementioned layers of our main duo — strengthening their twisted love story as much as it expands their emotional depth — Episode 7 doesn’t forget about its other creatures of the night. Santiago (Ben Daniels), as the prosecutor in a trial without a defense attorney, elevates himself to coven leader and gets to savor every second of his vengeance (except for those delightful moments when Lestat goes off book and puts Santiago in check). Madeleine (Roxane Duran) is mostly playing catch-up (she’s new to the group), but she still gets to flex her unbreakable backbone when she sacrifices her life by pledging loyalty to Claudia instead of the coven. Armand is similarly sidelined — made to watch as the vampires he betrayed are put through “a stoning” — but steps up in the only way he can, when he uses his powers to manipulate the audience/jury into saving Louis’ life.

Speaking of: For as much of the hour is dedicated to reappraising the past, Episode 7 isn’t strictly relegated to looking backward. Major, major shit goes down in “I Could Not Prevent It,” from Armand’s last-minute attempt at a do-over (tune in next week to see how he and Louis got over Armand’s betrayal) and Claudia’s tragic demise. Oh, Claudia. Always forced to be her own lone advocate, she doesn’t let Lestat’s apology mid-murder go unchallenged. “Real pretty. You dropped him like an egg from an airplane — he’s fine now, you apologize, and all is forgiven. We poisoned him, he’s not dead — he’s standing right in front of us — can I cry and say that I’m sorry, too?” She goes on to cite how she’s always been caught in Louis and Lestat’s “stormy romance,” which makes her fate here all the more fitting, and all the more tragic. Like she says, Lestat didn’t return for her. He didn’t travel across an ocean to seek revenge on his pseudo-daughter. He’s there for Louis, and just as she was born to heal their marriage, she dies because she helped break it.

Watching the sun steadily eradicate every particle of Claudia, as she sings the song she came to hate yet still tied her to the coven she longed to join, is painful, memorable, and fitting. Too often, Louis and Lestat treated her as a prop in their play, but she never accepted that reductive assessment. She always fought for herself, and she continued to do so until the bitter, all-too-early end.

If You’re Gonna Go Big, Go BIG

Which leads us to the final key element that makes both the series and the episode so successful: unabashed theatricality. Beyond setting so much of Season 2 — and even more of Episode 7 — in a literal theater, during an actual play, “Interview With the Vampire” is fearless in its willingness to go for those big melodramatic moments. Claudia’s death is harrowing enough before adding the song, and doing so could’ve tipped the scene into moment-ruining soap. The same risk applies to Lestat’s lengthy apology (not to mention his overt scenery-chewing throughout the “trial”) and so much of Louis’ grandiose storytelling to this point.

Trusting the actors to sell these scenes is half the battle, and even though it was clear from Episode 1 that Reid, especially, could sell sunlight to a coffin-dweller, seeing what he does with his brightest spotlight so far is nothing short of spectacular. But it’s just as impressive that Jones and his writing team, along with directors Craig Zisk, Levan Akin, and Episodes 6 & 7 helmer Emma Freeman can balance so many shifting tones without sacrificing any emotional weight. How? I don’t pretend to know, but “IWTV’s” extensive range seems to be rooted in character. The vampires’ god-like perception of themselves justifies the excess, and their inextinguishable humanity keeps them grounded. Lestat and Louis may be immortal (and thus more amenable to the pretentious, narcissistic depictions of whatever they deem important), but they also can’t repress the human nature they were born with. They’re still caught up in petty grievances, a desire for community, and individual attachments, which makes them immensely relatable even when they’re mocking us, their human viewers, as “complicit, repugnant, and appalling.” (Don’t worry, Santiago — we love you for it.)

Episode 7 combines the same moments of unblushing camp, biting humor, and piercing drama as the rest of the series, yet it’s able to hone them all to fit a hard-hitting hour of television. There are still lingering questions waiting to be answered in next week’s finale, but Jones has set up his last hour to focus more on resolution and catharsis than teases and cliffhangers. I still can’t believe Season 2 was able to keep the real Lestat offscreen for six of its eight episodes without spiraling out of control. Using visions of absent characters to make up for their absence is typically a terrible idea, yet “IWTV” proves itself the exception to a very good rule once again. Even as a rare example of courage in a timid TV climate, the audacity inherent to this choice and so many others isn’t notable solely for its bravery. It’s necessary for the show to work as well as it does.

To these vampires, anything less wouldn’t be enough.

Grade: A

[kikithedreamerwriter]

OC!Sayuri x Bayverse!Leonardo

⚠️: Mentions of kidnapping, drowning, resuscitation, and hospitalization.

Let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist!

🗣️: @sharpwindow @pheradream-15 @m1dnyt3-w0lf

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Enchanted to Meet You: Part 3

Leo leapt from roof to roof, his eyes directed towards the back of the dark-colored van that had stowed away Sayuri as it zoomed farther and farther away. He was moving alright, and in haste. He blindly searched for his phone.

“Donnie!” Leo gasped as soon as the ringing quickly subsided.

“Leo! Where the hell are you? We’ve been-”

“I’m in pursuit! There’s a kidnapping in progress!” Leo replied.

“What? Leo-“

“Call Casey! I’m leaving the Upper East Side and entering Midtown! Vehicle is a Mercedes Sprinter with New York plates heading south! Victim is a 5”3, early-twenties, Asian woman named Sayuri Mizuno kidnapped by three John Does! Gather the team and meet me STAT!”

“We’re enroute!” Donnie exclaimed.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀

Some blocks away, Casey Jones has yet to find his pants in April’s apartment. April peered at him curiously as he scoured her carpeted bedroom floor, shouting into the phone. When he finally retrieved the pair of them under her bed, Casey put down the phone.

“What’s wrong?” April asked him as she put on her shirt.

“That was Donnie. Leo’s in pursuit of a kidnapping in the Upper East Side,” Casey breathed as he quickly donned his jacket. “I think it’s the menace behind the recent kidnappings. Same M.O. and same victim profile. I’m calling Vincent. We’re finally gonna get these bastards.”

“Has the victim been identified?” April replied, just as Casey was ringing the chief.

“Yeah, female Asian in her early twenties. Um…” he thought. “Her name… It’s Japanese. Like Yuri Mizu something-“

“Sayuri Mizuno,” April finished for him. Casey stared at her.

“Hold on-“

“I’m coming and you’re not gonna stop me,” She said to him as she grabbed her own jacket. “I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀

“Leo!” Mikey hollered as he saw his blue-clad older brother moving at the building across from them. Leo lifted his hand in acknowledgement, and his brothers headed towards him. Mikey was the first to land, approaching with his skateboard.

“What’s up bro?” Mikey grinned as Leo rolled his eyes.

“You let him bring that thing?” He told Donnie behind him.

“I didn’t have time to!” Donnie frowned.

“Mikey’s slower when he runs on foot,” Raph grunted. “Isn’t he betta off with that thing, since speed happens to be one of the the traits of a ninja, Oh Great One?”

Mikey chuckled.

“You seem to be chipper today Raph,” Leo remarked. “Ivanna call you back, yet?”

Donnie snorted. Recently, the brothers discovered that Raph has a “girl-friend” (or so he just claims to be), thanks to Donnie. Apparently, they met online when Donnie introduced Raph to online gaming, which Raph ended up disliking. Lately, the red brute has been in a sour mood and coincidentally, Ivanna had stopped calling.

“Who’s this chick to ya, anyway?” Raph growled.

“I just met her!” Leo barked back. Which is partially the truth, he thought.

“Children, children!” Donnie intervened. “There’s a kidnapping in progress! I got the van plates! I’m sending a drone to know where they’re going.” A drone dispatched itself from backside of Donnie’s shell and proceeded to trail the van.

“Oh no,” Donnie sighed as continued to scroll through his monitor.

“What is it?” Leo asked.

“They’ve identified our John Does. Apparently, they work for an underground organization that’s been responsible for 20% of kidnappings in the last five years!”

“Serial killers?” Raph popped a toothpick in his mouth.

“No…” Donnie breathed. “Human traffickers and brothel owners.”

Sayuri’s disgusted expression as the perpetrator grazed her cheek, flashed suddenly in Leo eyes. He quickened his pace.

“We can’t let this one get away,” Leo growled. “If the police can’t stop them, then we have to.”

They were crossing Brooklyn Bridge when Donnie’s watch pinged.

“My drone got something!” He exclaimed. “Leo, there’s a helicopter waiting for them at an abandoned building by the the East River!”

“Inform Casey, it’ll be quicker for us to swim it. Donnie! Lead the way!”

Mikey turned to Leo and gazed at him with great bewilderment. Why was his older brother… cool and calm… so agitated over this case? And when the hell did Donnie ever get to lead? He wanted to lead, Mikey thought as he pouted. He then turned to Raph running beside him. He really did bear the brunt of his brother’s recent, foul change in demeanor. But a small realization dawned upon Mikey.

Could this all possibly be just because of a girl?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀

It was eerily silent and dark in the inside of the van. In her mind, Sayuri had deduced that these were not common thieves when she realized the extent of their measures. Even after placing a blindfold over her eyes, they had also taken the effort of placing a wad of duct tape over it. When Sayuri thought of undoing the knots on her wrists and ankles, her perpetrators used some heat technology against the synthetic fibers to solidify it bonds, thus making it harder to penetrate. In addition, they had also sealed her lips shut with a special glue and placed sound-proof headphones to conceal her ears. They had also chained her in place, to ensure that she wouldn’t move around the van. All her senses were made useless.

Is this was being dead feels like? She wonders.

Then suddenly, the vibrations beneath her had stilled. The van had stopped. She felt firm hands raise her to her feet and urged her to walk.

There was only wind and movement.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀

“Is that her?” Raph pointed towards the very top of the building. Leo squinted painfully towards Raph’s direction. The residue of the smoke bomb attack still impaired his vision, but it was without a doubt Sayuri who was being led by three men of similar build and height to the previous John Does.

“Then we better hurry up,” Leo replied as he began scaling the building stealthily. In the darkness, the four brothers crept quietly towards Sayuri… until a ringtone resounded.

“Mikey!” Raph scolded.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorr-“

“What the hell are those things?”

Unfortunately, one of the men took notice and began shooting at them.

“Dammnit Mikey!” Leo hissed as a bullet grazed his bicep.

“Get the asset in the chopper!” The leader of the kidnappers demanded to another while the remaining continued to shoot at the turtles.

“I’ll go around and get Sayuri! Cover me!” Leo said to his brothers as Raph proceeded to overtake his brother and lead the charge towards gunfire.

As his brothers surged forward, Leo quickly approached the helipad. When Leo arrived, Sayuri had already been loaded into the helicopter with the third man clad in the black. He saw Sayuri inside, so tightly bounded that he could barely recognize her. Nearly at his wit’s end, Leo ran towards the ascending helicopter.

“Leo!”

He could hear his brothers calling out to him as he leapt from the very edge of the building. It was as if time slowed down, and for a second, Leo couldn’t believe that his fingers could grab ahold of the landing skids.

But he had to.

For her.

Before Leo could even breathe, two more gunshots grazed his arms. The third man had appeared from the within the carrier, with a shotgun pointed at his head. Leo expertly used use weight to shake the balance of the helicopter, turning it sideways. It caused the perpetrator to fall on his backside and slide from the compartment and down into the East River.

Leo lifted himself up from the skids to get a glance at Sayuri, when the helicopter suddenly moved erratically. The pilot had become aware that their mission had been compromised, and he was shaking off the offending agent in attempt to salvage it. As the helicopter turned sideways once more, Leo heard a muffled scream from the carrier and when he mustered the strength to carry himself over the skid, all he saw were a pair of headphones on the seat that Sayuri once occupied. He hurriedly looked down… and there she was… falling through the air from a hundred feet. Leo let go of the skid and let himself fall faster towards her. All he could hear the whistling wind and the loud beating of his heart in ears.

“Got ya!” He exclaimed, cocooning his body around hers and unwrapping the tape and cloth from her eyes. Their gazes collided as they continued falling into the earth. Sayuri couldn’t speak, for the bind that shut her lips would not allow her, so she cried, expressing which what the tongue cannot even begin to say. Cast in darkness and then now descending dangerously from the sky? What a terrifying unfortunate turn of events. Tears slipped from her eyes and floated into the open air. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t… Leo placed a hand on her cheek, directing her eyes towards his. There was no fear in his stare. Only… happiness. Profound and genuine happiness.

“I found you,” he whispered as if in disbelief. Leo then turned his shell towards the river, and tucked her tightly into his embrace as they hit the water.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃

It was Donnie who had spotted them as they fell from the sky. He immediately got the word out to Casey, who deployed the paramedics, police, and lifeguards. It was Raph who had quickly raced the boats to retrieve Leo before any human eyes saw him. It was he that saw the lifeguards pull the abducted woman out of the water first, before taking Leo with him.

It was Mikey that watched carefully from the shadows as they resuscitated her. He held in his breath, until she managed one on her own. It was he who saw her rushed to a hospital in an ambulance… and waited until the lights were out of sight.

Donnie assessed the extent of Leo’s injuries: decreased level of consciousness, a crack on the right upper quadrant in his shell, three gunshot wounds, and an impaired vision. He shook his head at his brother. How can someone so clear-headed, suddenly lose sight of everything for one sole objective…

Her?

How can someone turn so foolish, irrational, and utterly compulsive?

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃

After Casey had helped put the three kidnappers into custody, he joined April and headed together towards Sayuri’s apartment. When they had arrived, they promptly began to clean up whatever mess they could (as per April’s insistence) and gather the stuff she would need at her stay in the hospital. Fortunately, the doorman had seen April enter with Sayuri, and was kind enough to allow her into the apartment.

As April disposed of the shards of glass into a nearby bin, she only realized then the wet streaks across her cheeks and began to wipe them dry so that Casey wouldn’t notice. Unfortunately for April, her boyfriend happened to be a very keen detective.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Casey soothed. “What’s wrong?”

April sniffled.

“If I haven’t- if I haven’t made her gone out so late… she would have never— never end up like this. I-I didn’t know that she had—!”

“She’ll be okay, baby.” Casey whispered as he held her in his embrace. “This isn’t anybody’s fault, least of all you. And look on the brighter side of things… we got in touch with her brother, we’re helping her with her things and her apartment, and the doctor said that she’ll only be in there for a few days…”

April nuzzled her cheek into his shoulder and they stayed like that for a while.

“I should probably go get her stuff,” her muffled voice resounded against Casey’s jacket. He chuckled, tucking the frayed strands of her hair away from her glistening eyes.

April then entered what she presumed to be Sayuri’s bedroom. She packed for her necessities from her clothes drawers, vanity, and bathroom as Casey continued to engage a spirited conversation with her. April knows that Casey tends to speak quite a-lot when he when feels nervous, so she let him proceed with his ramblings with one ear open as she finally approached Sayuri’s desk. Sliding her laptop from her desk, April inadvertently dropped what seemed to be a journal that had been tucked beneath it. The journal was turned to a page that was full of dried flowers. April smiled as she bent down to see the page more clearly. Sayuri’s scribbling was neat and small; and her writings was a mixture of Japanese characters and English letters. Apparently, she had picked these flowers from an isolated meadow in Central Park. April being a curious journalist, it was simply second nature to her to flip through a few pages until she came upon one that had intensely caught her interest…

“Hey babe,” Casey called. “Isn’t it a bit weird that on the same day you met Sayuri, Leo was there right in time to save her?”

“Babe?” Casey repeated, after a prolonged silence from her.

The page, tainted by many shades of lead, presented an uncanny sketch of the one and only.

“You don’t say.” She replied to him, gazing intently at the image, borne of pencil and memory.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃

Sayuri lifted her heavy eyes towards a barren, white ceiling and let the strong antiseptic scent fill her senses. Her body felt heavy, as if she had been slammed into—

Her head suddenly filled with memories, memories she wasn’t even sure that belonged to her. First there was darkness, then there was light, then there was sky, and then there was water. But in between every single one… he was there and he was real.

She slowly sat herself up, cautiously mitigating the dizziness she was bound to endure and set her feet against the cold floor. Just then, a kind familiar face had entered her room.

“April!” Sayuri sighed in relief as April closed the door behind her and placed Sayuri’s belongings by her bedside.

“Feeling okay?” April asked her. “Look, what happened was-“

“I really have to tell you something,” Sayuri breathed, trying to arrange all the words before they just spilled out into one blabbering mess or fear that she may never get the courage to say them. April nodded motioning for her to continue.

“I-I don’t know if I’m going crazy,” Sayuri laughed mirthlessly. “But a month ago, I saw this… humanoid…turtle man with a blue mask right outside my balcony and I haven’t stopped thinking about him. A-and tonight—you’re never going to believe this— but he saved me, April. I s-saw him and he was real and I—!”

“Sayuri, there’s someone I would like you to meet—“

“No! I’m definitely not crazy. Please April, you have to-“

“Sayuri,” April repeated her name as she took ahold of her exasperated hands and her faltering eyes.

“Sayuri, I believe you and I know who he is…”

Sayuri’s hands slipped from her grip and her startled state had become still. For a moment, Sayuri regarded April, discerning whether or not she was truly telling the truth. Something that she herself was not even certain of. But that same, congenital intuition in the deep recesses of who she was, verified the look in April’s eyes to be genuine and worthy of her belief.

“Would you like to meet, him?” April smiled as she stood up and offered a hand to Sayuri.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃

April knew her turtle brothers to a fault. Among all of them, Leonardo was the last she would think of if someone told her that a mutant turtle had broken into a balcony on the Upper East Side, tried to save a girl, pursued her kidnappers on foot half-blind, get shot at three times, jumped on a helicopter hovering nearly a hundred feet, and cracked a shell falling into the East River. It was a hell of a day, and after everything April has seen, this entire ordeal was just as shocking.

She continued to lead Sayuri towards the roof top, with her hand in hers. April gazed in her direction. She’s only known this girl for a day. They’re practically strangers and April is aware of this. She also happen to also love her turtle brothers, and she was the keeper of their safety and secrecy. She was their hogosha. So is it in their best interest to introduce a stranger, whom she barely even knows?

Yet… how that sketch on her journal was drawn, was not one depicted out of fear or speculation… but out of love of wonder and curiosity. And tonight when Sayuri had finally told her about the strange turtle-man in her balcony with such insistence and faith… it confirmed in April that Sayuri meeting Leo tonight was far from coincidental.

April swung the heavy door to the balcony open and kindly allowed Sayuri to enter first. It was an open, quaint, urban vegetable and flower garden surrounded by seating areas. In the very middle, there sat Leo twiddling his fingers and Casey with his arm slung against the backside of the bench. They seem to be engaged in some conversation before they caught sight of the approaching girls.

When April handed Sayuri over to Leo, she could have sworn Casey winked at the blue-clad turtle as he walked away with April. As much as she wanted to know whatever affairs Leo and Sayuri had between them, she elected to respect their privacy (contrary to Casey’s idea of ‘bugging’ Leo and putting them both under surveillance) and wait outside the roof top doors with her boyfriend.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃

Sayuri and Leo stood facing one another. Sayuri with her hand gripping her IV pole, and Leo with with his twiddling thumbs. In the lights of the night and in the stillness of the moment, they finally saw each other for what they truly were.

Leo couldn’t breathe. She was finally right in front of him after so many nights of looking upon his memories of her up on her balcony. Her hair was ruffled from bedrest and her delicate face was patched with dressings, but she appeared just beautiful as first night he had found her. Sayuri was in awe of him. His great stature of muscle and scale towering over her as held her gaze with his intensely with those magnificent sapphire orbs.

“Would you like to sit with me, Leonardo?” Sayuri asked as she took her place on the bench.

He shivered at the way she said his name.

“I-I’d like that,” Leo smiled as he sat beside her.

“I’m Sayuri,” she whispered.

“You can call me Leo,” he replied.

“Leo…” Sayuri repeated, her eyes catching the glint of his katanas, sheathed upon the backside of his shell.

“You are… a ninja?”

“Yeah…” Leo chuckled. “I’ve never had anyone get that right the first try though…”

A moment of quiet.

“Have you always had the habit of saving people from their kidnappers?” Sayuri asked him jokingly.

“No,” Leo grinned. “But I’m considering of having one, seeing that I’ve had a 100% success rate so far.”

Their laughter mingled harmoniously, and as it reached silence they ended up regarding one another with only their eyes.

“It’s you that’s been watching me, isn’t it… up on my balcony?”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” she reassured as she placed her hand over his. Leo stiffened at the sensation of her soft palm over the scales his hand. “If it weren’t for you… I probably would have… well…”

Sayuri looked far in the city. Just then, Leo pulled a familiar silver bracelet from one his pockets and presented it to her.

“But you didn’t,” he said to her. “Life has a funny way of showing us that we’re meant to be here.” Sayuri accepted her bracelet from him, her thumb grazing the engraved letters on its heart-shaped charm.

SAYURI MIZUNO, CONGENITAL HEART DISEASE, PACEMAKER, NO MRI

“Are you… sick?” Leo asked her.

“It’s a hole in my heart,” Sayuri replied quietly. “It’s been there ever since the day I was born and it’s hasn’t been found until recently.”

“Are you okay, now?”

Sayuri closed her eyes, and suddenly she was back in Japan in her grandfather’s dojo. She could smell the afternoon sun and the sweat on her back. She could hear the rhythm of her footsteps and feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

“I wasn’t always this boring,” Sayuri sighed. “I used to be able to do so much… I used to think that I was absolutely invulnerable. I thought…if those kidnappers succeeded it wouldn’t been such a bad thing because — I wouldn’t have much to lose…”

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Leo told her sternly. “And you better not talk like that… you’re so much more than what you think is wrong with you…. and — I’m happy… happy that you’re here…”

…with me.

Sayuri smiled.

“Thank you, Leo… for everything. But I have to ask…”

“Anything.”

“All this time… why were you watching me?”

For a time, Leo couldn’t speak. He could always just lie and tell her that he simply saw her one night and he happened to pass by her on his way ever since then. There are many scenarios that he could choose from that could spare himself from embarrassment and possibly rejection… but none of them would be true.

His father’s words resounded once more in his mind.

When he looks back to this very moment some ten or twenty years into the future, will he be able to live with the fact that in this moment he didn’t tell her what he truly felt because he thought that she would think he was lame?

This isn’t some romantic fantasy.

It was his life and hers, meeting at a destined crossroad.

“You’re beautiful to me,” Leo whispered. “When I saw you for the first time, I felt like I’ve been waiting all my life just to meet you… but I was too afraid to even say hello.”

Sayuri took a moment of silence for herself before speaking, and as she did so, she looked deeply into his eyes. His gaze was a dwelling her soul found solace.

“You know,” Sayuri breathed. “Ever since I’ve came here, I couldn’t help but keep looking for something I was missing… and until tonight… I never thought that it would find me instead. I’m glad you found me, Leo.”

This time, it was Leo who moved his hand as she gently embraced her fingers in his own grasp. Sayuri suddenly remembered a saying her grandmother would repeat whenever she recalled her own love story with Sayuri’s grandfather: “恋の予感,” or premonition of love. For a long time, Sayuri did not understand her grandmother’s words, did not see the sentiment in her eyes, did not hear the nostalgic sighs escaping her breath. But tonight, Sayuri finally understood the knowing — the feeling — of an inevitable and undeniable love.

“So am I,” Leo replied quietly with her hand pocketed in his as they stared into the night of the city, dreading the dawn that will separate them once more.

[ominoose]

What would you say is your favorite character that Oscar Isaac played?

This is a hard one, so I'm glad it's you that asked because you won't mind a tangent.

There's a lot of variables here, but my favourite overall character is Blue Jones.

I like him because he's eccentric, unique, he's got style and pizazz whilst being the main antagonist. But a key part that places him as my favourite is he had depth. He's not simply "Evil pimp that hates women", he's got more character than that. Blue can be described perfectly as someone who loves control but cannot control himself. He wants control over his environment, the staff, the patient's, how the place runs, wants his name instilled in everyone's heads. Oscar Isaac said in an interview that the brothel dream version of Blue wasn't Babydolls version of him, it's also how Blue saw himself.

We can see Blue, as a person in real life, is a weasel, not well liked, not commanding respect because of who he is but because of fear, because of how position of power. He's got dark bags under his eyes, plain orderly uniform, just a shitty guy that happens to be in power somewhere. Club Blue is not that, he has eyeliner to replace his eyebags, a stylish tache, slicked back hair, sparkly bright suits, a dance routine, he sings and dances, he has glamour.

The end is a perfect wrap up for his character. Despite how much he prided himself on having everything under his thumb the girls managed to almost fully complete an escape mission under his very nose and now he's losing control, the one thing he has and craves. And his punishment to Babydoll for that ends up taking away that too. The lobotomy takes her from him, and when she can't fight back, there's nothing there for him to control.

"You're here with me, in all this shit." He knows his place in the asylum is fucked, he doesn't enjoy the place itself and yet it's clearly all he has and when he loses it, it's enough to send him into frustrated tears.

And he's a stupid bitch. So I love him most!

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to Too Much Information Tuesday.

People who are in love get fewer colds.

On average, 12 new-borns will be given to the wrong parents daily.

By 2050, about half of the world’s population will be short sighted.

A zoilist is someone who gains pleasure from finding fault.

Women who snore are more likely to struggle to orgasm.

About one person in twenty can't visualise images in their head.

Until 1899, the list of official diseases at the Royal College Of Physicians included nostalgia.

In 2002, actor Vin Diesel saved an entire family from a burning car wreck.

The annual awards ceremony of the UK porn industry is called the SHAFTAs.

According to a recent study, procrastination can be a sign of poor physical health.

750,000 tons of cigarette butts are dropped on the ground around the world each year.

The phrase ‘pipe dream’ originates from the fantasies induced by smoking opium.

Many Japanese bathrooms have a button that, when pushed, plays the flushing sound to mask the sound of you doing your ‘business’.

A single share of Coca Cola stock that was purchased in 1919 for $40, would be worth $9.8 million today.

To try and be a better person, Tolstoy wrote a list of rules for himself that included, “Visit a brothel only twice a month.”

Scientists have observed male bottlenose dolphins masturbating by wrapping a live eel around their penis.

A 99 year old man divorced his 96 year old wife after having been married for 77 years because he discovered an affair she had in the 1940's.

In 2014 Margaret Loughry won the Northern Ireland lottery jackpot which consisted of £27 million. She donated 26 million of it to her own hometown to help transform it into a tourist destination.

In 2013, a man in Michigan whose house was set to be demolished, switched his house numbers with his neighbour. The demolition crew never realised until it was too late.

A 2009 study found James Bond has had ten times as many lovers as the average British male has in a lifetime, with a doctor reporting that, “the likelihood of him having chlamydia is extremely high.”

The African Union intends on having a single, continent-wide currency modelled after the euro. The most popular proposed name for the currency as of right now is the afro.

Edward 'Boy' Jones was known in the Victorian era for getting caught breaking into Buckingham Palace when he was 14 years old and stealing Queen Victoria's underwear.

In 2013, the 'Breaking Bad' team were offered $75 million to produce three more episodes after the final season concluded, which was estimated to be more than their earnings in 5 years. They declined.

The Hanover Country School Board in Virginia tried to ban ‘To Kill A Mockingbird’ in 1966. When she heard about this, author Harper Lee sent a letter to the school board asking if they were literate and offered some money to enrol them in first grade.

In February this year, at an art exhibition in Russia, a security guard ruined a painting worth $1 million by drawing a pair of eyes on it with a ballpoint pen because he was "bored". It was his first day on the job.

In 2012 a man sued Pepsi after he found a mouse in his Mountain Dew. However, Pepsi fought and won the case. They knew the can was 74 days old and could prove that any mouse would have easily dissolved in Mountain Dew after 30 days.

How do farmers party? They turnip the beets.

Sadie Renee Johnson from Oregon started a wildfire in 2013 in order to give her bored firefighter friends some work, except that it spread to 206 square km and cost nearly eight million dollars and two months to bring under control.

In the late 1900s, Howard Hughes bought an entire casino named Silver Slipper just so that he could tear down their neon sign. It was visible from Hughes' bedroom and apparently it was keeping him up at night.

In 1988, a woman named Jean Terese Keating disappeared while awaiting trial for drunkenly killing a woman in a car crash. She was arrested 15 years later after bragging at a bar about having gotten away with the crime.

In 2012, a nineteen year old teen secretly lived in AOL's headquarters for two full months in California. He ate free food, used the gyms and showers and even slept in the conference room while working on his own startup.

And, finally, a quiz. What does this list of acts have in common? Loose Ends, Doug E. Fresh, Steely Dan, Lee Dorsey, Otis Redding, Sly & The Family Stone, Hall & Oates, The Turtles, The Detroit Emeralds, The Monkees, The Emotions, Sly Stone, Funky Four + 1, Johnny Cash, Syl Johnson, The Fatback Band, Eddie Murphy, Run DMC, Cymande, The Commodores, Bo Diddley, The Real Roxanne, Five Stairsteps, Michael Jackson, Richard Pryor, Jefferson Starship, Gregory Abbot and Cerrone. If you know the answer, well done! Keep it to yourself!

Okay, that’s enough information for one day. Have a tremendous and tumultuous Tuesday! I love you all.

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Sucker Punch Masterlist

Notes: Anyone you see missing here are characters I don’t write for. I only take requests within the brothel or fight world. I’m might write something angsty within the mental hospital but that’s when I want to, I won’t take requests for it.

Codes

🦋 = Headcannons

💄 = Fem Reader

☘️ = GN Reader

🌷 = Fic

🖤 = Angst

🏳️‍🌈 = Gay

✨= Fluff

🌚 = NSFW

—-///—-

Babydoll

To Be Continued…

Rocket

To Be Continued…

Amber

To Be Continued…

Blondie

To Be Continued…

Blue Jones

To Be Continued…

Vera Gorski

To Be Continued…

[how-masterful]

Devil in the Details

Blue Jones x reader

Summary: You belong to Blue. As everything in the Lennox does. But his ownership of you is incomparable to anything else in the club- a fact he’ll happily prove to you when you ask him for a personal favour. After all, the devil’s in the details...

Notes: Alas, i’m yet another soul who fell in love with Oscar Isaac in moon knight and started watching everything else he’s been in- at this point it was inevitable that i’d find sucker punch and get obsessed over blue. As ever, this fic is dedicated to the one and only, my absolute queen who i’m hoping will pretend she hasn't been rereading this for the last few days since I showed it to her early,  @plethora-of-imagines

Being Blue's gave you advantages. Not that you saw them as such any more. Or ever. To you they were symbols, gestures even, of what you meant to the man. All the girls in the club were owned by Mr Blue Jones, owner and executive of the club, and one of the most notorious names in the seedy underworld of special favors. Ownership, control, power, it was his speciality. He owned every part of every girl that took a client, scrubbed a floor, thrust their hips or brought in cash within the walls of the Lennox. His club. His den of sin and debauchery. 

But you were different... somehow you existed in the club under a different form of control. You were unique in that regard.  You weren't always though, you'd often remind yourself, when you felt the haze of Blue’s cologne and the heat of his breath on your neck begin to cloud your memory. You'd done your time, same as all the other girls- dealing with cook, rehearsing with Madam Gorski, cleaning, dancing, fucking clients. But Blue had always had his eyes on you from the moment you'd stumbled into his dominion off of the sidewalk, begging for a purpose and a salvation from the empty gray streets. Servitude, soliciting, it was a sweeter fate than death to you. Blue had looked you up and down, circling around you as you trembled from the rain like a mouse in a viper pit. 

His eyes had raked against your frozen skin, fingers walked over your shoulders and making you shiver, but not from the cold. He was in an all white suit, pristine and pressed. From a distance one could convince themselves he was an angel. His line of questioning proved, however, he was anything but.

Could you dance? You could learn.

Could you scrub a floor? Of course. 

Could you submit yourself? Perfectly. 

Could you fuck?... You hadn't answered, far too hesitant to admit the truth around so many eyes and ears.

Blue had smiled at your pause, a stamp of death, lifting your chin with his fingertips and whispering hotly in your ear.

"Oh sugar, you're quite the work in progress, aren't you? But what kind of man would I be to turn down such a promising project?"

There you'd been, doe eyed and dripping a trail of rain onto the carpet of the Lennox, begging for a bed and a purpose, now suddenly the brand new toy in Blue Jones' sandbox. His promising project. His personal project. Blue had watched over your progress, a puppet master watching you dance for all eyes, in his head dancing just for him. After all, he'd been privy to your first ever routine.

You distinctly remembered the night he'd asked you to accompany him to a meeting, stating he needed a pretty face and a fucked up mind to help pull a deal with a promising client. The pieces of his meticulous planning had fallen neatly together to create the ultimate painting of pleasure- instructing the dressmakers to make an outfit for you better than any other costume you'd worn, sitting you by his side, playing with your hair and pulling you into his lap with a possessive, strong grip. He'd teased you with kisses, ghosting his lips against your cheeks, eyes searing holes into your temples as his fingertips took healthy purchase in trailing themselves over your ass. 

You'd done so well for him, playing his game, nibbling on his earlobe and running your fingers over his chest, slotting into his side like it was made for you. Like destiny. You'd spoken when spoken to, words sweet like honey but intentions cold as ice, and Blue had been mesmerized with every subliminal suggestion you'd sent to the man- who was oblivious to the drool running over his lip while he watched you push your nose against Blue's and dare him to kiss first through your giggles. Pouring drinks, batting your lashes, a walking sign of Blue’s criminal credibility. 

By the end of the night you all knew it had been a success. Blue couldn't have asked for more in the deal, and you'd manage to squeeze a couple thousand more from the guy for good measure, and for being so easy on his eyes. He'd given the tight roll of hundred bills to you, directly, a personal tip to go in your cash pot, but the moment he'd left you'd pulled the wad from your cleavage and offered it Blue between your fingers. He tilted his head like an animal as you pushed it into the top pocket of his jacket, taking his chin in your fingers and whispering ever so sweetly:

"What's mine is yours, Mr Jones."

He'd done it. His project had worked. Blue had reached for the table, taking hold of the shot glass and taking it in his lips. He’d pulled you in for a kiss, the alcohol spreading across your tongue and setting your world ablaze. You’d moaned at the sensation, the heat of the moment carrying you until you were flat on your back in his very own bed, engulfed in the whirlwind of the evening's success. Blue had fucked you into the mattress, your body following his every decree, and you’d screamed his name like it was your god given purpose.

You'd been his from that moment forward.

The arrival of your ‘advantages’ was slow, gradual, taken in steps, the opposite to how he liked to fuck. First he’d stripped you from cleaning duties, then he pulled you from chores in the kitchen. Your rate had gone up considerably, putting you into a higher bracket of exclusivity than most of the more experienced girls in the roster. He'd instructed Madam to pull you from the background in the dances, only allowing you to be a feature, eventually pulling your routines all together. You were given a room all your own, closest to his office and quarters, and your personal allowance had increased- he'd tried to keep it appearing fair, simply just business, but in the end it was no secret. You weren't one of the girls anymore. You were the personal pride and pearl for the one and only Blue jones.

Not to say you didn't work, you absolutely did. But now your role extended beyond taking clients. You joined Blue for nearly all business, he took pride in having you by his side in the club as he entertained, and if Blue wasn't busy or not in the mood, you'd finish the night in his bed. You still took the occasional client, but you weren't one to be bought- the chance to have your attention was only offered by Blue himself, under his watch, and if he was feeling generous. He’d watch with a sharp gaze as you kissed and caressed and flattered, nothing more. Only he got to fuck you, only he was allowed to make you cum.

It was favouritism, plain and simple, but Blue didn't care one bit. It was his club, his rules, and his girl. Life was never truly fair.

Wearing his crisp white shirt, and nothing else, you sat on the edge of the bed as you pulled your black garters and fishnet stockings back up your legs, as you did the night before. He was looking at you from the bathroom mirror, smiling at his girl as he inspected his reflection, slicking back his hair and tidying his moustache. God, you were positively ethereal, littered with kisses and bite marks, smelling of both your cum and his expensive cologne. How he treasured knowing you'd be feeling the soothing, warm ache of his cock between your legs all morning. Morning sex was becoming the new breakfast to him. Certainly better than most of the shit Cook produced. Especially when you gave it so willingly and with such passion.

"Blue, baby?"

You called, clasping your stockings to the garters and looking towards the bathroom door.

"Is there business today?"

Blue smirked, leaning against the wall and adjusting his cufflinks and tie.

"There's always business, doll. You know what they say, the grind never stops."

You smiled up at the man.

"I've got aching thighs that say otherwise."

The man offered a small laugh, eyes briefly glancing down at your legs.

"And luscious ones at that. But if you're asking Sugar, no, no meetings. You can relax and play with our guests tonight all you'd like."

You rose from the bed, walking over to his side of the room. His gaze was heavy, filled with want as you brushed down the front of his shirt.

"In that case, please can I get my cash key?"

Despite your position, you still played by Blue's rules. That was half of the fun, engaging in the dynamic of Blue owning each and every part of you. Every girl had a key that opened a small letterbox in Blue's office that contained their allowance, and any small tips they'd managed to convince Blue to let them keep. If anybody needed anything, a new makeup product, anything personal, they'd have to ask him directly. Of course, since the girls were barely allowed out of the club, someone else would be sent to get the items. It was part of Blues game- absolute control under the guise of care.

"Kitty wants her cash key, huh? Tell me baby, what's my girl got her pretty little eye on?" 

Blue lifted your chin with his finger, exposing your throat and humming as you tilted your chin, almost brandishing the marks he'd given you. His touch trailed over the curve of your lip, watching them instantly part.

"A new lipstick to leave around my cock? A new short, short skirt to end up on this floor, my floor, right here?"

You shook your head with a smile, your tongue teasing the tip of his finger and making him hum.

"Madam Gorski said she'd help with my hair, I need to touch up the roots with dye and she said she'd give it a trim. Plus, I need new fake nails, these ones have all fallen off at least twice and are starting to chip."

As you spoke, Blue twirled a strand of your hair in his fingers, almost inspecting your claim. He peered at the ends of your hair, his fingers yearning to wrap the hair around his fist and yank, watching you squeal with glee. He took hold of your hand as you fixed his tie- you flexed your nails like a cat's claws between his interlocked fingers, showing him the seeping glue around the edges, the missing patches of polish. He made a dramatic pout, before pulling your knuckles to his lips and kissing each in turn.

"Aww, would you look at that. It's amazing, you girls have to think of so much. Sometimes I think you all fuss too much over the little details."

You tutted at the man. His eyebrow instantly raised. Was this a critique incoming? A correction? A rebuttal?

"But I'm not just any girl, Blue. I'm yours."

Ah. That he liked to hear. You hiked your knee up against his thigh, his hand taking hold of it like clockwork. You leant in, Blue allowing his lip to creep up into half a grin as he took a sudden, deep breath, fingers pushing against soft flesh.

"I'm your girl, sir. When they look at me, they think of you. That's the responsibility I have. What does it say about Mr Jones if his girl has split ends, or ratty nails?"

You began to nip at his neck, licking over the small bites you made against his warm skin, each whisper punctuated by a kiss to his throat.

"It says... He doesn't take care of his things...he doesn't have high standards for his personal girl... and they might dare to think you don't care about those little details, or the other girls, or your business."

Blue's fingers were sinking into the back of your hair, and you found your head suddenly yanked backwards, Blue's lips barely ghosting against your jaw. His fingers were digging deeper into your thigh, breathing shallow and desperate.

"But you do care, you take such good care of the girls, of me, you care so much for the club and what you do. And I need to show them that. The devil's in the details, after all."

Blue's chest was rising and falling at growing speed, your words sinking and penetrating deep into his vile mind and perfectly stroking his ego. Oh, how you caressed it so perfectly and genuinely. You were working him up now, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to calm down. He could tell when people were buttering him up, their words hollow and desperate as they fought to get on his good side. His benevolent side. It was the ultimate goal of any wannabe, to have Blue as anything but their enemy, but having him as a ‘friend’ brought so much more. Fools would sing their praising lies through crossed fingers behind backs, and he saw through their facades each time. But you... Oh you... You meant it all, every word. You were twisted enough to love him with absolute sincerity. It made you perfect in his eyes. 

"I need to look good for you, want you to think I'm beautiful. I want to be beautiful for you, Blue."

Blue jones sighed in ultimate satisfaction.

"Oh, princess, you know how happy it makes daddy to hear that. You just get it. You get it perfectly. Look at you, just perfect."

You moaned softly, the sound living at the back of your throat. Blue was smiling, breathless and rock hard against your thigh. He pushed the hair from the side of your face, watching your eyes flutter shut.

"I've been saving my tips, if CJ could just get-"

"Shh, shhh..."

Blue pushed his finger against your lips, plumping your bottom lip and softly shaking his head. He pulled you across the room from the bathroom doorway, guiding you towards the wall. Your eyes shot open, letting him manipulate you however he liked.

"No, baby girl no, fuck it, CJ isn't buying you that drugstore shit. You ain't touching that cash key. You're better than the rest of them."

Blue was getting horny and passionate. Business as usual. Yet now it was laced with purpose. You wrapped your legs around his waist, body yearning to pull him closer, Blue taking pride in grabbing hold of your ass to support the movement. With his spare hand he pulled his cock from his undone trousers, sliding you suddenly down onto his hard on, your back rubbing against the dark wallpaper. You were so good, still nice and stretched from earlier, his fingers having done the hard work for his cock. And now your pussy was wet once more, making for wonderfully easy traction as he established a flow of slow, full thrusts.

"Blue-"

"You're mine, say it."

"I'm yours."

"Louder."

"Yours!"

"Who's?"

"I'm yours, Blue Jones! Forever!"

"That's it, atta girl."

His forehead pressed against yours, his hips pushing in and out against you in a rhythm that made you gasp in delight. You two slotted together so perfectly, each thrust making him hungrier for your touch, your hips bucking against his own and marking him snarl like an animal. You purred at the noise, teeth baring as you began to make small nips towards the end of his nose. You needed to consume him, or watch him consume you. It was feral, instinctual, the way you felt yourself pushing down greedily onto his cock, the burn against your pussy a welcome warmth like the morning sun. You were holding the sides of his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, trying hard not to ruin his fresh, beige suit as you pushed against his chest. He needed to be presentable while you came undone. His hands under your ass helped the motion, your own core working its hardest as you aided in the continuing rise and fall of your hips.

"Here's what we're gonna do,” Blue’s voice was hoarse, ravaged by his guttural calls. The sound made you quiver, thighs tightening around his hips as you clenched around his cock.

“Gorski isn't doing shit to that pretty little head of yours, I'm gonna be honest, she needs to work on her technique. And those stick on whatever's, not gonna cut it. That's for them. You're better. Say it."

So this was the game he was playing. A power trip for the both of you.

"I'm... Fuck, Blue, thats... I'm better!"

"Why is that, c'mon baby tell daddy, tell him-"

"I'm YOURS!"

His hair was still setting, the gel fresh and pristine. Holding his cheeks or neck would have to do for your clutching hands.

"I'm gonna get Danforth, I'm gonna tell him, he's gonna book you in-"

"I can't, I... No clients, sir-"

"No, shh kitty listen-"

Blue thrusted harder, your hips swirling on his cock and making his mouth water. He found you utterly irresistible at his mercy. Your own wetness was dripping down your thigh, and between your whimpers of delight you prayed it wasn't getting on his pants. Hopefully he'd keep going until you couldn't even think. 

"You listen to me, he's gonna get you an appointment, get your hair done, out there. Nails too, everything, you need it they'll do it because- oh, fuck- you belong to me, i'm spoiling my girl."

You were riding the tidal wave of his touch, sure you were destined to drown in the warm waters of his attention and find yourself marooned on the beach of his command. He groaned as he spared a glance downward, the way your breasts pushed against his own chest, the gap between your bodies non existent as he gazed lustfully at your cleavage. The golden key to the club around his neck was pressing into your skin, indenting and leaving a reddening shadow of itself against the damp surface, and he swore he adored the sight. Blue had ultimate power over you, over most things, the power in his hips sending you back against the wall with force despite your back arching against him. He craved it all, how he knew he could break you and put you back together whichever way he liked. He was like the boy in the sandbox, playing with his favorite toy. His favorite girl.

"But, sir, cash-"

"MY GIRL!"

You yelped as he gave a full thrust, the sensation bubbling like a fire in your gut. He was using your body, commanding it, fucking your pussy like his favorite plaything.

"My treat, fuck, baby you don't have to think about a thing. You're mine, all mine, i decide, FUCK, i decide what you get. You get the best."

You whined, rather pitifully, and Blue devoured the sound. You decided the time for talking was over, not wanting to embarrass yourself in the eyes of the man who was giving into your every whim. Blue deepened the kiss, his tongue attacking your mouth as he picked up the speed of his thrusts. He was pounding into you, your back destined to be bruised by the wall, your sense of composure coming apart in his hands. You were a sweating, leaking mess under his guiding hands, your climax charging forwards as you circled and moved around his symphony. It was sinful, dirty, yet submissive and perfectly harmonized. Just how Blue liked you.

"Fuck, Blue, I need-"

"That's Sugar, hold it, I want you to beg."

"Please Blue, let me cum-"

"Dirty girl, so desperate."

"Please, daddy I need, please-"

Blue was always consistent throughout and you fought to keep up with his unshakable composure, but now you were a blubbering mess. Your hips were sloppily working around his cock, all routine lost to reckless abandon, pussy aching from the current fuck and the echo of your morning sex- but fighting to hold back the floodgates of release. It was like sex was the fuel Blue survived on, the drug that kept his system in motion. He seemingly had a sixth sense when it came to exactly what his needy little girl craved to make her cum as hard as she needed, all the while satisfying himself for providing such a service- perhaps the one moment he and the girls of the Lennox shared something in common. He'd often remark he wouldn't be able to get through the day without getting his hands on you, be it a smack of your ass or a finger on your clit, or even a kiss of ownership when somebody had tested him more than they should've. Blue Jones, the man, was an enigma behind the surface of a sleeze, and the way his fingers knew every inch of your body told you he saw you equally as a puzzle only he could solve.

After all, he was the one that took your virginity. Had asked to do it, almost begged, he'd yearned to take your innocence and let you taste him, the forbidden fruit. None of the other girls could say the same. His ownership of you was of a pedigree breed.

"So close, almost time, kitty"

"Blue... Blue..."

It was all you could say. The only word your mouth desired was his name. He loved the state of you, the way the world had crumbled around and you existed in a tunnel vision of his touch. Nothing else mattered. The whole world was Blue.

"That's it, good girl, who do you belong to?"

"Hnn... Blue!"

"And who's the only man who can stick his dick in you, fuck this precious pussy of yours until its raw?"

There was no question.

"Blue!"

"What's the only name you'll ever scream again?"

This was ownership. A claim.

"Blue!"

"Say it baby, say my name, tell the world who owns you and cum, cum for me."

You felt yourself falling beneath the waves, all rhyme and reason disappearing as you submerged in the ocean of Blue's pleasure. You were desperate for release, he knew that well, your body tired and wracked and tied so tightly to Blue's command that he could snap you in half with a single order. Your mouth only knew one word, THE word, and it squoze itself from your throat and fell from your lips like it was chasing the man down.

There was only one way it all could end.

The same way it started.

Him.

"Blue!"

You screamed, back arching against the dark wallpaper, body sinking into his embrace as you finally found your release. Blue had finished in tandem, the rush of his seed inside of you sending your brain into hysteria. It was warm, filthy, your hips rearing against him so hard his feet dared to consider losing footing, all the while the soundtrack of his moan sang like the voice of a God. You were spent, exhausted, desperate for a shower. A mix of your own release and Blue's cum trailed and dripped over the inside of your thigh, your eyes glossy and wet like you were about to weep. Blue had treated you like a goddess from the moment you’d arrived. What had you done to deserve his kindness?

Blue was panting, stunned for breath as he supported you against the wall. You took in his expression, like a starved man fed for the first time in a long time, always hungry for more with an appetite that could never truly be satiated. Like he said, his business was pleasure. Others, his, and yours. He was sweating, light beads running down his temples, top lip damp from your kiss as you pulled away from his face, etching every element into your memory. Every curve, every pore, every heavy gaze behind even heavier lashes. You sought to remember every single element of Blue in the moment. The calm after the storm.

You gazed over the man's face, his hair still as pristine as when he'd first gelled it. You pulled down the sleeve of the dress shirt you'd been wearing, taking purchase of the cuff to dab at the sweat that had built on his forehead. In your haze you leant forward, pecking at his lips and practically licking them clean of the spit from your moans. You pulled away, shaking thumbs caressing his face as he gave you a pleased grin. As your breath returned you adjusted his collar, smoothing down the corners before allowing yourself to fall against his chest. He looked untouched, like he hadn't just fucked you to the brink of muteness. Just as you knew he wanted. Just like he knew you could provide.

"Small details, baby"

You whispered, voice rough and stripped bare from your screams. You knew anybody in the back labyrinth of the Lennox corridors would have heard you. Good.

"Oh, princess.."

Blue purred against your skin, pushing the sweat laced hair from the sides of your face. His tanned skin shone with a glorious post sex glow, a shine that would pep his step and send him through the day with ease. It was your special skill, making the day for Blue jones... Not so Blue.

"I'm going to treat you like a queen. Yeah... I like that. You filthy little girl, being my queen. You like that too, don't you?"

You nodded weakly, a lazy smile on your lips, reddened and glossed.

"Good girl. You did so well, two in a row. Yeah, baby girl needs spoiling, doesn't she? Especially when she's proved her loyalty so well."

A happy, satiated noise escaped your throat. Blue enjoyed the sound, rolling it on his tongue. In a moment, a sudden look of seriousness graced across his face.

"Now, kitty-"

His hands worked to untangle your legs from his waist, lifting you up carefully from his softening cock. You glanced down briefly- his pants were cum free. You hadn't left a single mark.

"You've got a busy day, haven't you? No rest for the wicked, huh?"

He allowed you to set your feet on the floor, thighs squeezing together as you felt the result of your passion running down the inside of your leg. Blue noticed instantly, lowering his gaze and growling softly. Your fingers wound themselves into the belt loops of his trousers, pulling his hips towards you as you pulled up his boxers and buttoned up his pants. He sighed with absolute pride.

"Go get yourself cleaned up and be ready by 9. Danforth will call, CJ will take you out."

Blue pulled your face into his hands and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His tongue was silver, sharp as a knife, but his kiss was so warm and inviting. No wonder you always lost when you fought for dominance in your mouth, the man was a living weapon of pleasure.

"I've got things to do, the girls need a little reminder of what's expected from them."

You dared to whine. Another shush came from his lips, tender yet to the point.

"Don't fret, doll, just a verbal warning, nothing more. I won't have lazy girls on my stage, especially when somebody's set the bar so high for a performance."

He lifted your chin with a finger, smiling sweetly, laced with fire.

"What a show, sugar." He purred.

"I'll see you tonight."

Blue pulled away from the wall, away from you, freeing you from the cage his shoulders and hips had held you within. You suddenly grabbed hold of his tie as he turned, lightly tugging him back to your chest. Before he could breathe a word, or consider a thought, you placed a sweet kiss to the side of his mouth, teasing him with the promise of more. You knew for a fact teasing him was futile. There was always, always more

"Thank you, Blue." You said gently.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

Blue smiled down at you. God, everything about you was coursing through his veins. Some days he questioned if you were real, an angel sent to taunt the devil with everything he ever desired. He was the devil, plain and simple, yet you had just praised his mercy like it was biblical, his name was your scripture. Blue Jones was a very bad man, a malicious villain who took everything he wanted in a world where he wanted everything. Greedy, cruel, egotistical, evil. He knew that, deep down. He wasn't an idiot, after all. But you, oh you, his precious pearl, his beautiful angel, his dirty little whore. You were everything a man like Blue Jones could want but never deserve. It would be poetic to say you were the one thing his hungry fingers could never reach, a sad story of the price of sin- if it weren't for the way his name spilled from your lips like a prayer, his hot cum still leaking down your leg. Blue Jones was a man who gambled with God. And the devil always won.

"Anything for you, beautiful."

You preened at his words, a blush spreading over your cheeks. He truly saw you as beautiful. He plucked his jacket from the back of the vanity chair, throwing it over his shoulder with two fingers as he headed for the door. You leant against the wall for support, for a solid hold on the spinning world, as Blue turned to you and sent you a heat inducing wink.

"Like you said, angel. The devil's in the details."

He blew a kiss into the air, before disappearing with the shut of the door. You held a hand to your chest, your heart racing within your boiling chest under your perspiring palm. Blue jones was many things- a mobster, a pimp, a gang banger, a crook. A violent bastard, a slave to lust, a gruesome creature that thrived on the exploitation of women in the cruel, wide world. But you didn't care. The warmth in your cheeks, the heat in your chest, the fire in your belly, all of them burned away every sin Satan loved to commit.

Blue jones may have been the closest thing on earth to the devil.

But Blue Jones was undeniably yours.

[melodygatesauthor]

Melody's Blog Contents

Blorbos/Tropes/Kinks/E.T.C.

A list of characters, tropes, kinks and more that I do and do not write for. As a reminder I DO NOT TAKE REQUESTS. This is just a list for newcomers to my blog to know what I'm all about and what they can expect to see as they explore my blog.

Fandoms and Blorbos

~ Current Fandoms and Blorbos I Write For ~

Moon Knight

Marc Specor Jake Lockley Steven Grant

Across the Spider-verse

Miguel O'Hara

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Dune (2021)

Duke Leto Atreides

Other Oscar Isaac Characters

Santiago Garcia

Blue Jones

Nathan Bateman

Basil Stitt

King John

William Tell

~~~~

~ Back Burner Fandoms and Blorbos ~

Disclaimer: I am not CURRENTLY writing for these blorbos but that doesn't mean I won't write for them again! -

Rainbow Six Siege

Not writing for this fandom right now

Apex Legends

Revenant

Star Wars

Kylo Ren

Triple Frontier

Benny Miller

Tropes/Kinks/Etcetera

Disclaimer: I will NOT yuck your yum, there are just some things I am not comfortable writing about and/or do not enjoy writing about and do not wish to write about again or at all.

If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, please remember to read my tags prior to reading any of my fics. I am very good about my warnings so HEED THEM.

Have Written/Will Write

~ Tropes/AUs ~

Dad's Best Friend Royalty Vampire Coffee Shop AU Modern AU College AU No Powers AU Best Friend's Dad Yandere Dark Version of a Character Brothel/Club AU Asylum AU More!

NSFW/Graphic Content/Kinks - including but not limited to:

Non/Dub-con General Smut/Porn Somnophilia Voyeurism Blood - physical violence/action scenes/blood kink Menstruation - excluding oral menstrual kinks Spit Praise BDSM Toys Daddy/Mommy Pegging Public Sex Breeding Pregnancy (in relation to breeding kink) Self-cest (Moon Knight specifically) Drunk Sex Consenting Adult Age-gap sex Orgy Suicide Addition Explicit violence Murder More!

Things I Will Not Write

Scat Watersports Furry Incest Pedophilia/Under 18 Terminal Illness Self harm (I'm sure there are many more I can't think of right now)

Reader Inclusivity

I do my best to be as inclusive as possible with my reader inserts. That being said, here are some things to keep in mind.

I avoid talking about hair, blushing, and any other physical indicators for the reader altogether. - Side note, in my earlier fics I am guilty of describing hair and such, I have not updated them but intend to when time allows -

If a physical descriptor is necessary for the reader, you will be informed prior to the start of the fic so you can choose if you'd like to continue reading or not.

I also try my best to leave out upbringing or nationality to stay as inclusive as possible. If you notice a lack of inclusivity WITHOUT PRIOR WARNING IN THE TAGS then please inform me immediately so I can fix it.

I will sometimes write self-indulgent fics as a plus size woman.

I mostly write f!Reader meaning - Reader identifies as a woman and has a vagina and breasts.

My m!Reader - Reader identifies as a man and has a penis and no breasts.

My gn!Reader - Usually is non-explicit/non-smutty content that uses they/them pronouns when reader is mentioned. Genitalia either does not play a role in these fics or is not mentioned.

My transmasc!Reader - is a FTM trans person who has had top surgery, has bottom growth and a vagina.

My reader is always non-religious and I will rarely discuss religion in fics unless necessary.

Reader is attracted to men but that doesn't necessarily mean they're attracted to men exclusively.

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[ozarkthedog]

Any fellow Blue Jones hoes in the house?

[lowlifesymptoms]

I am BEGGING yall to tell me you remember blue from sucker punch because i never forgot the absolute whøre this boy was

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Pretty

Words = 1.3k

Summary and Warnings = Brothel! Blue with a butt plug - this is pure filth. There is no plot. Reader uses a butt plug and Blue eats her out. Implied dom/sub dynamics, light slapping, SMUT (18+ only pls)

A/N = I have other things to write, but apparently I wanted to write this first, so sorry about that. Send me an ask for the gif that started this all off I started this an exercise to improve my smut and looked at this prompt list (it’s number 84). Prompt is in bold and is by @a-cure-for-writers-block​. Enjoy! (Also I’m sorry if Blue is a little OOC at times)

Posted to AO3

Masterlist

***

You want Blue to pay attention to you.

He’s been busy recently, taking care of clients who want to invest in the club, making sure that they have everything they could want.

And there’s something undeniably hot about Blue’s competency when he’s like this, dressed sharper than usual (although he isn’t exactly the type to dress down), and knowing exactly what he wants, when he wants it, and who he wants to do it.

The only downside being that he’s too busy to take care of you. Only time for a quick teasing kiss in his office or a smack on the ass when you pass him in the corridor.

So you buy a butt plug. It’s beautiful, even if you say so yourself, not too thick, small beads on it to help you control its entry. The end is jeweled into a small heart and you can’t wait to put it in.

You try it out by yourself first, late one night, gently pushing the lubed end in slowly. It takes a while for you to fit the whole toy in your ass, but you finally manage it, on your hands and knees, head squashed in your pillow in concentration, one arm twisted back to squeeze the toy in.

It takes more self-control than you expect to relax yourself enough to fit the plug in, a tiny part of you apprehensive at the thought. But you persist, adding more lube, and breathing slowly to fit it all the way in.

When it’s finally in, you have to take a minute. You’d purposefully chosen a small plug, supposedly good for beginners, and yet you’re still shocked at how much you’d struggled anyway. And now. Now you feel so full. You can feel your pussy clenching around nothing, can feel the wetness starting to leak out at just the thought of presenting yourself to Blue like this.

Biting back a moan, you whimper into your pillow as your hand, fingers wet from lube, falls to the bed. Your knees slide out from under you, hips lowering too, and you moan out loud this time as the change in position shifts the plug inside you.

Your hips grind down slightly, looking for relief. You’re so turned on, you think you might cum without even touching your clit. You want to see what it looks like, see what you’re going to show Blue, so you make your way to the bathroom, stifling another whimper as you stand.

Placing your hands on the sink, cold seeping into your palms, you bend from the waist and turn your head to look in the mirror behind you. From this angle, your ass looks good, round, and between your cheeks, you can see the shine of the plug, peeking out from within you.

The next night is Blue’s last with his big client, so you put the plug back in, forgoing underwear, and smoothing the skirt of your dress back down as you admire your butt in the bathroom mirror. You don’t think you can tell anything’s amiss, although your face might give the game away.

You wait for Blue in his office, sitting in his chair, feet on his desk.

When he walks in, his expression doesn’t change, although you can tell he’s not happy with your attitude.

“Not tonight honey,” is all he says, nodding to get you to stand up.

You pout, playing disappointed. “Why not?” You stand, swaying your hips a bit more than necessary as you walk up to him, whispering in his ear. “I’m even wearing something pretty.”

“Honey, you’re always very pretty.” You press a quick kiss to his cheek in thanks, watching how he struggles to control himself.

You keep kissing up his jaw, gently nipping at his earlobe. “I got something special for you though.”

Blue swallows, eyes darkening. “Oh yeah? Pretty baby’s got something for me?”

You don’t say anything, instead turning and lying face down on his desk, flipping your skirt up in the same movement. You wiggle your ass at Blue when he doesn’t immediately respond, as though he could have missed the plug glinting up at him between your cheeks.

He lets out a groan when you clench your pussy around nothing, trying to fight the arousal growing low in your stomach.

You stand at the noise, smoothing down your skirt in a futile attempt to get rid of any creases. When Blue’s hands reach out for your hips, you take a quick step back, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought you said not tonight?”

You’re playing with him now, and he knows it. “Don’t play games with me, sweetheart.” His voice is hoarse.

And you want him to touch you, so when he reaches for you again, you let him pull you towards him, your hands snaking around his neck so you can kiss him.

It’s all-consuming with Blue; it always is. His tongue, dipping into your mouth. His hands resting on your waist, pulling your hips towards his so you can feel his arousal, how much he likes the plug still buried in your ass.

Your hands are sliding under his suit jacket, up his chest, and down his shoulders, trying to rid him of his many layers as fast as possible.

Except then he’s spinning you around, one hand gently pushing at the top of your spine. You let Blue bend you over his desk, lift up your skirt and kiss across the expanse of skin revealed to him. When he speaks, he sounds wrecked.

“Fuck, honey.” Nipping at one cheek, Blue moves to the other. “You … fuck … don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

He moves his mouth between your legs, delicately licking between your folds, exploring you, skirting around your clit. You move slightly, huffing in frustration, only to be stopped by a smack to your ass. His tongue is so warm, and so wet.

“Fucking wet dream,” he mumbles, before diving in. And it feels so good. You feel so full with the plug in your ass, you have done ever since you put it in and now Blue’s tongue fucking you, his hands gripping your thighs and keeping you still, while you hold on to the edge of the desk, panting as he takes you higher and higher and-

Just when you’re about to cum, he stops. You can’t help yourself, letting out a small whine at the loss of sensation. This earns you another smack and you can feel Blue step away from you.

He walks around the desk, coming to kneel down in front of you. You can see the glimmer of your wetness on his chin, some just clinging to his moustache. Before you can stop yourself, one of your hands is reaching out, gently wiping his moustache clean.

Blue’s eyes don’t leave yours as your hand moves to your lips, tasting yourself. Your fingers leave your mouth, and Blue’s lips are on yours, kissing you sweetly, in contrast to the position you’ve found yourself in.

“I wish I could stay, honey.” You believe him. His pupils are wide, eyes hooded in arousal. “But these clients …” He breaks off with a groan when you lean forwards again to press a delicate kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back,” He promises, earnest in his enthusiasm.

Helping you to stand, you smooth your skirt back down as you lean forwards slightly, gently straightening Blue’s tie and collar. “Go to my room and wait for me there honey.” His instruction is filled with a guarantee, and arousal floods low in your gut again.

You nod, greedily grabbing another kiss on your way out, Blue grabbing your face with his hands so he can deepen it.

You sway your hips more than usual as you walk past him, causing Blue to slap your ass again and you giggle as you go to wait for him in his room.  

[aellynera]

AAAHHH you are working on another Reeves fic?! *squeals* May I inquire about that one, pls? (Also, OMG a Blue and Bud crossover?!)

Hi Chrissie! 💜 Okay, so yeah. That Reeves fic has been hanging around for almost a YEAR and it originally wasn't even Reeves. And then I realized it would make more sense to use Reeves, but then I was having trouble getting it to cooperate with me. I feel more comfortable with the character now, and I will probably try to give it another shot, especially since my other Reeves story was pretty well received! It's based on some music-related things that happened to me in my 20s, and I just now realized that it does, ironically, have a parking lot scene. 😂

And uh, we can call the other one a crossover. Yeah. We can also sort of call it a crossover, I guess? And yes that probably means exactly what you think it means...

💜💜💜