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thetriumphantpanda · 1 year ago

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Don't Say I Didn't Warn You | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Overstimulation

Chapter Summary | Another day, another thing to tick off your list. This time, Joel issues a challenge, which of of you will break first? Him, or you at the mercy of his hands and mouth?

Chapter Warnings | Again and as usual, this is porn without much plot, oral sex (f), fingering, sex toys, squirting, unprotected PiV sex, overstimulation (clearly), crying after sex, dirty talking, pet names (baby), aftercare, no outbreak au, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 4.1K

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | We are officially halfway through the checklist - this one was a bit of a challenge, but I hope you love it as much as I do. If you do enjoy this, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that whilst this is part of a wider series, this can be read as a standalone if you wish.

Beautiful divider by @saradika

I no longer have a taglist, to keep up to date with my work, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

“How many times d’ya think I could make you come before you couldn’t take it anymore?”

The question makes you splutter out your morning coffee, coughing a little to clear your throat.

“Joel, it's nine in the morning, can you let me at least drink some caffeine first?”

He’s laughing, in that deep way, straight from his chest that makes your heart swell, leaning up against his kitchen counter with his own coffee mug moving to his lips.

“Just curious, is all.” He smiles, head tilting to the little cork board on the kitchen wall, where he’s pinned the checklist.

“How many times do you think you can make me come before you get bored and want to fuck me?” You counter with a shrug.

He raises an eyebrow as he sips loudly from him mug, “You’ll be beggin’ me to stop before I break, baby, and you know it.”

He’s not wrong. You know what you’re like, even if you like to think you can talk a big game. Joel has never been anything other than focused on your pleasure, and normally, he can give you two or three, with some breaks in between, before you’re trying to crawl away from him, so you know he’s right.

“Guess we’ll just have to find out then, won’t we?”

It’s late and you’re perched in bed, book resting on your knees, when Joel comes in from the bathroom. He pulls his t-shirt over his head, his back to you so you can admire the way his back muscles ripple as he moves. You turn your eyes back to the pages in front of you before he can catch you watching him. He lets out a little groan when he gets into bed, shuffling a little under the sheets to get himself comfortable.

You’re turning the page when you feel his wide palm slip over your abdomen over the sheer fabric of the nightdress you’re wearing, his body turning to rest on his side. He leans up, pressing his lips just behind your ear, his thumb running softly over the fabric, hitching the material a little further up your thighs as he goes.

“Can I help you?” You murmur, thumb folding the corner of your page so you can shut the book and put it on your nightstand.

“You wear this on purpose?” He asks, hand moving from your tummy to play with the thin spaghetti straps resting on your shoulder, “You know this little thing drives me wild.”

In all honesty, it had been the first thing you’d pulled from your drawer after your shower, but he didn’t need to know that, “Maybe I did.” You speak softly, moving your head to look at him, his own eyes fixated on his hand moving from the strap, down the neckline, fingers tracing softly over your skin.

Joel’s mouth moves softly from your ear, pressing feather-light kisses across the skin of your jaw and across the expanse of your throat, “I think we should challenge you tonight, baby.”

His hand moves down the front of your nightdress, cupping one of your tits in his palm as he thumbs over your nipple through the material. The soft and gentle movements of his hand makes your breath catch in your throat and an ache settle between your thighs. You can feel him pressing his hips into your side, already half-hard in his boxers, the scruff on his face scratching deliciously over the soft skin of your jaw.

“I’m going to make you come so many times you won’t even know your own name, baby.”

His promise makes you gasp, spoken right into the shell of your ear, as he trails his hand down, further down your body, until his hand is resting on the inside of your thigh, gently prising your legs open under the sheets. Joel shuffles down under the sheets a little, leant up on one elbow, casual as anything, when he looks up at you, fingers moving slowly across the skin of your thighs until they dip under the hem of your nightdress.

Joel is cupping your sex in his palm, your body sinking further down into the bed, his body pressed flushed to your side as he quickly brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking his middle finger into his mouth to wet it, before he’s putting his hand back between your thighs, that slick finger now moving slowly over your clit.

His touch is so light that you can barely feel it, but it’s there, slow, languid circles moving over you. You know now that you’re in this for the long haul, Joel’s patience is going to win out time and time again tonight. He presses his finger just a touch harder to your clit as he continues his circles, your hips bucking up into his hand at the added pressure, a whine falling from your mouth as his own moves back to your ear.

“I want you to keep count,” He breathes out, goosebumps rising across your skin, “Whenever you come, you keep count, okay?”

“I s-still think y-you’re going to b-break first.”

Your voice comes out choked and pathetic as his finger slips from your clit to your entrance to gather the slick he’s caused, dragging it back up to use to circle your clit once more.

“I think you’re wrong, baby,” He coos into your ear, hot breath skittering across your skin, “Look how close you are already.”

It’s infuriating because he’s right. You’ve spent the whole day working yourself up about the conversation this morning, dreaming of all the different ways he’s going to take you apart to prove his point. His finger is speeding up between your legs, adding more pressure as you arch your back up off the bed, pushing yourself further into his hand. Joel’s lips are pressing against your ear, the skin behind it, wherever he can put it as your body starts to shake under his touch.

Thighs trembling, pleasure blooming across your lower abdomen as the coil starts to tighten. It pulls tighter and tighter until it’s teetering on the edge of snapping.

“Please don’t stop,” You whine, “Right there, Joel, oh my god, right there, please.”

It snaps all at once, washing over every inch of your body as your hands grip onto his arm, fingernails digging into his skin, his name dropping from your mouth every few seconds whilst that perfect hand of his works you through the shaking of your body as you start to come down.

You’re vaguely aware of him pulling his hand from between your thighs and the duvet being torn from your body as he moves to settle himself between your thighs, giving you barely any time to register what’s happening before he tongue is licking, warm and wet, up the length of your pussy.

He uses his thumbs to spread you open to him, baring your glistening cunt to his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking gently against your clit. You’ve barely recovered from the first orgasm, his mouth working just like he knows you like it. He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it, before letting it go with a lewd smack. It’s already a little too much for you. You can already feel the tightening of the coil again. It’s always easier for you to come the second time, but it never happens this quickly.

Joel pulls off you just enough to speak, “Come on, baby, come on.” He coaxes, tongue working flat across your clit, the sound of him literally slurping at your pussy the only thing you can focus on.

This one falls over you slowly, gradually, legs shaking around his shoulders, arching into him, fingers curling into his hair to hold him where he is as that feeling blooms and prickles across your skin.

“Fucking hell, Joel.” You manage to breathe out, chest heaving.

“How many?” He asks, mouth still so close to your cunt.

“T-two.”

“Too much?” He’s smirking when you look down at him between your legs.

“Not a chance, Miller.”

“Good girl.”

And then not only his mouth back over your clit, sucking it into his mouth, but two of his fingers are slipping inside you at the same time. As you cry out, you realise how empty you’d felt before, walls of your cunt clenching around nothing as he brought you to the edge and over it. You’re whining, trying to scrabble away a little, but Joel’s free hand comes to splay across your lower tummy, pressing you down into the mattress, keeping you still as his fingers curl up into you, pressing against that spot inside you as he suckles your clit into his mouth, letting it pop from between his lips, worshipping it with his tongue, before sucking it right back into his mouth again.

The clue is in the name, but it’s all so overwhelming, overstimulating. The stretch of his shoulders widening your legs, the way his mouth is just on the right side of pleasure, the short clip of pain that comes with being worked too much not yet there, and when you tip your head forward, look down over the expanse of his back, you can see his hips moving, it’s subtle, but it’s there, Joel, rutting himself into the mattress as he works you toward the edge again.

“Joel,” You whimper out, fingers still tangled in his hair, “Please, please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t. He wouldn’t dare. Not when you’re so close, not when he knows it, that telltale clenching of you around his fingers, your head thrown back, mouth open, panting as you start to move your hips, meeting the upwards movements of his fingers.

You’re gritting your teeth, pulling hard on his hair as your entire body convulses the third time. You’re jerking in a way you’re not used to, just like you aren’t used to being made to come this many times in quick succession. It’s overwhelming, you can’t even bring yourself to moan, your mouth just dropped open wide, silently crying out into the air of the room as Joel finally drags his fingers and mouth from your cunt.

You bring an arm up, covering your face, sucking in heavy breaths as you feel his body moving, thinking smugly to yourself that you might have won this time, that he’s so desperate to bury himself inside you that he’s going to give up and do just that. You can feel him settle over your body, only for a moment, the bulge in his underwear brushing against your sensitive cunt. You haven’t won though because there’s the telltale sound of your bedside table opening. You drag your arm from over your eyes, watching as he reaches in, dragging out the small wand you keep in there.

He’s grinning at you, pushing himself to rest on his knees, bringing the vibrator to rest against your pussy, soaking wet and aching, but he doesn’t switch it on, mercifully.

“Are you going to give up yet?” He asks, eyebrow arched.

It would be so easy to say yes, to yield to him, to finally feel him heavy and throbbing inside you, but there’s the element of pride to it that you have to think about. Forgetting about the fire you feel settling across every inch of skin, the way there is sweat pooling across every inch of your body, and the way that even the gentle press of the silicon against the swollen folds of your pussy is proving a little difficult.

“N-no?” It comes out as a question more than anything, so you clear your throat, trying again, “No.”

He lets out a snort of breath from his nose, like he knows he’s pushing you, right to your limits and you both know it, but you’ve always been stubborn. It’s one of the reasons he loves you so much. But he’s not going to stop, not until you’re begging for it. So he presses the button, thankfully on the lowest setting, but it still causes you to jolt, to cry out in surprise as the vibrating pulses through you, centred right on your clit that is screaming at you for a break, screaming at you to stop, for him to stop.

“T-too much.”

“What’s that, baby?” He asks, smirk across his lips as he presses the button again, shifting it up a setting.

“Ohmygod,” You squeal, body thrashing about on the bed, but as usual, Joel has a hand pressed on your lower tummy, keeping you in place, “Don’t stop.”

You can’t believe it’s coming out of your mouth, but you’re teetering just on the right side of pleasure mixed with pain. Your hips are chasing the soft vibrations pulsing over your clit, revelling in the weight of Joel’s palm pressing onto your lower tummy. Your teeth are digging so hard into your bottom lip that you can taste blood, but you can feel it, that hot furl of pleasure, and you’re chasing it, running towards it, but finding it always just out of reach, no matter how much you hold your breath, pinch your eyes shut and focus on finding it.

“Faster.”

“What’s that?” Joel teases, leaning forward, his body over yours, lips pressed to your damp forehand, “Say it louder for me.”

“Faster!” You shriek, “God damn it Joel, faster.”

His fingers presses the button once more, speeding up the pulsing against your pussy, and it’s all over. You’re entire body shakes in anticipation, the actual collapse into pleasure following just behind. You can feel your cunt clenching around nothing, fluttering desperately, almost making you open your mouth to beg him to fuck you, but all that comes out when you do open your mouth is a pathetic whine, a murmur of his name over and over again, until the vibrator is pulled from your body, turned off and discarded to the side.

Joel collapses his body over yours, pressing his weight into you as he drags your arms up over your head, his fingers entwined with yours as he kisses across your face, kissing away the tears that are falling from the corners of your eyes, softly pressing his lips to the tip of your nose until he reaches your mouth, pressing his mouth to yours, once, twice, three times.

You can feel him moving his hips into your own, his cock hard and heavy behind the material of his underwear as it brushing against your swollen folds, catch ever-so-slightly on your clit as he moves. It makes you gasp against his mouth, makes you shift your hips against him.

“I know you want it baby,” He whispers against your mouth, “You want my cock, don’t you?”

His voice sounds just as desperate as the whines and whimpers coming from your mouth, his hips pressing against you, cock dragging against the wet of your pussy, finding just an ounce of friction as he presses his mouth to yours again.

“I know you want it,” He teases, “All you gotta do is say the words baby, say the words and I’ll give it to you.”

Now you’re at a crossroads. You could stand your ground, tell him to carry on, dare him to take it as far as his patience will let him, but you know you’ll be here all night if that’s the case, you’ve never met someone with the patience of Joel Miller before. Given half the chance he’d spend all night between your thighs, using his mouth or fingers to bring you over the edge until your bones were jelly and you didn’t know whether it was pleasure or pain you could feel. Or, you could tell him to do it, beg him to fuck you, get what you really want, what you always want, which is him buried impossibly deep inside you, filling you up with his cum, whispering into your ear what a good girl you are for him, and lose this self-imposed contest you’ve given yourself to outlast him.

Judging by the way that you feel like you might scream if the bulge of his cock brushes against you again, you opt to swallow your pride.

“Please,” You beg, “Please Joel, I want you inside me.”

“Good girl.”

He’s pulling back from you, pushing his boxers down just enough to free his cock, before the entire weight of him is pressing against you and he’s buried inside your cunt to the hilt. The tip of his cock is pressed so deep inside you, but he’s still, his hands squeezing your own where he’s gone back to entwining your fingers together above your head.

God, he’s so overwhelming like this. Every sense is just Joel, you can smell him, his body is under your touch, you can hear him panting into your ear as he starts sliding himself in and out of you, you can taste his mouth when he opens it against yours. Everything right now is Joel and pleasure & pain all mixed into one.

“You okay?” He asks, nose nuzzling against your ear, his thrusts shallow, so he’s slowly punching that spot deep inside you.

You squeeze his hands, in your own, leaning the side of your head into his face, so unbearably hot underneath him, but so unbearably needy too. You need more, you need him to fuck you properly.

“More,” You mumble, lifting your hips into his as he pushes back into you, “Please baby, harder.”

“You think you can take it?” He asks quietly into your ear.

“Don’t care, just want you.”

Joel’s hands let go of yours, pushing himself onto his palms, resting either side of your head. He pulls his cock all the way out of you, tip of his cock resting just inside you, then he snaps his hips back into yours, the force shifting your body up the bed a little, a cry pulled from your throat as he does the same, over and over again. Your eyes rolling back into your skull, fingers gripping at his sides, slipping round to rest against his ass, pulling him into you even more.

When you look at his face, he looks just a wrecked as you feel, sweat pooling in the dips of his collarbones, falling from the ends of the curls at the back of his neck. He hooks the backs of your knees around his arms, pushes you forward, pressing you even further into the mattress as he really pounds into you, cock stretching you so perfectly, as your name falls from his lips like a string of hail Mary’s.

“One more,” He pants out above you, “Put your hand on yourself and give yourself one more.”

“I can’t,” You cry out, feeling completely boneless and at his mercy, unable to move unless he’s manipulating your limbs, “Can’t Joel.”

“Yeah you can, baby,” He speaks, “Can feel you, gettin’ all tight around me, you can give me one more,” Then he leans forward, as much as he can with your legs hooked around his arms, pressing his mouth to the skin of your skin, “Just for me baby, one more, just for me.”

Your arm is heavy when you let it fall between the two of you. You run a gentle finger over your clit, so impossibly swollen and spent under your touch, the slick he’s pulled from you making it easier to move, but you still don’t think you can, you still think it’s too much.

“Keep goin’ baby,” Joel praises, “Just like that.”

You can feel your walls around him, sucking him in as deep as he can possibly get on each thrust of his hips, fluttering, clenching around him when your finger swipes across your clit, “Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, look at you.”

And he is doing just that, when you meet his eyes, those dark brown orbs, reminiscent of coffee and chocolate, he’s looking right into yours, right into your depths, admiring the way your sweat slicked hair sticks to your forehead, the way your eyes are glassed over, the way your body has folded so perfectly at his hand as you let him take what he wants. He’s looking at you like you’re the only woman in the world. That, mixed with the praise, and the way he’s hitting you just right with his cock as you falling over the edge, screaming his name into the room as you feel yourself gush all over his cock, all over the sheets underneath you.

“Yeah baby, fuck yeah,” His voice is deep, desperate, “Look at what you did,” He drops one of your legs, puts his hand on the back of your head and tilts your neck so you’re watching as his cock spear itself into your cunt, covered in wetness, “Made such a perfect mess for me, didn’t you?”

You can’t talk, you can’t think, you can do nothing but lie there as his hips start to falter, until he’s letting go of your other leg, dragging his cock from your tight heat, furiously fisting himself until he comes across the skin of your tummy, cursing, groaning your name until every single drop of him is mixed with every drop of you.

He collapses onto the bed next to you, led on his back trying to catch your breath, in much the same way as you are, until you start crying. It starts with a wobble of your lip which you try and bite away, then, they fall from your waterline, followed by choked sobs that you can’t keep under control.

“Woah, hey, hey,” Joel is on you in seconds, pressing his warm body to your side, hand on the cheek furthest from him, pulling your face to his, thumb rubbing the tears away as they fall, “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to calm yourself down, but now his kindness is making it worse.

“Baby, you gotta talk to me,” He urges, “Was I too rough?” You shake your head, “Was it too much?” To that you nod, because it was, too much all at once.

He drags your body further into yours, pulling you into a hug, rocking you back and forth, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers, lips kissing your cheek, “You know to use your word if its too much.”

You take another deep breath and mumble against his skin, realising he can’t hear you, “I’m just overwhelmed,” You explain, “Was fine at the time, but I’m overwhelmed now.”

The cool air of the room is prickling goosebumps against your skin, causing you to shiver, “Will you be okay here for a minute?” He asks, lips pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You nod, curling into a ball as he pads from the room, coming back moments later with a wet cloth. He turns you onto your back, uses the cloth to clean the his cum from your skin, then gently brings it down between your legs, letting it rest against your swollen pussy, the warmth soothing you a little as he cleans between your legs too.

You lie there as he puts the used cloth in the wash basket, pulling back the sheets on his side of the bed, dragging you gently over to his side, tucking you in as he rounds the bed, gets in on your side. It takes you a while to realise it’s so he’s led in the wet patch you made.

Joel runs those warm hands up and down your skin, warming you up, helping to dissipate the goosebumps, soft, open-mouth kisses pressed to every part of your skin that he can reach as he soothes you. Your eyes are heavy, you’re tired, warm, and completely spent, but most importantly, as he moves to press his front to your back, his arm over your waist, dragging you as close as you can be, you’re safe.

And the next morning, when you wake, take the pencil to written words of overstimulation on the checklist, you think perhaps that one isn’t quite for you, and that’s completely fine.

696 notes · View notes

in1-nutshell · 5 days ago

Note

And this is sort of where it turns into X-men ‘97 fanfiction. What if Swerves is playing Magnetos trail. What if this is the most tense and uncomfortable fearless has ever been seen. The general conclusion is that they were probably caught in the crossfires of one of Magnetos' attacks. But let's take this idea a step further. Shenanigans happen, maybe you’re local x-men villain starts to fuck with the lost light, maybe the crew is on earth during local less then natural disaster, either way LOOK WHOS WORKING TOGETHER NOW! With Magneto now leading the X-men, things are gonna get interesting. Fearless is immediately hostile to Magneto. Which is fucking crazy to everyone, because even when Fearless and Megs were on less then friendly terms, their pranks were just that, pranks. AND NO ONE KNOWS WHY. its not like they dont like mutants, not only do they work on a spaceship full of aliens, they’re plenty friendly to the rest of the team. Magneto is confused because they are close with megs but it's him they have a problem with? Is it personal? He starts trying to make a mental timeline to see who he's screwed over before in the past and try to figure it out. The lost lights confused, and as far as they are concerned, secrets are for losers. There is now the giant robot equivalent to a cork board with 10 different theories and evidence. The X-Men are just enjoying their newest form of entertainment.

Y E S ! ! !

You have no idea how long I have been waiting to write for this new AU!? Thank you so much for the ideas!!!

Hope you enjoy!

AU: Magneto is Fearless's Dad

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injuries' and weapons, Mentions of X Men 97, Angst, Familial, Human reader

MTMTE/X MEN 97

Fearless didn’t think much was going to happen today.

It was a slow day after all.

Maybe Rodimus would get bored and try something to liven up the place.

They weren’t expecting Swerve to put on the Magneto trial in the bar.

Their eyes widen seeing the man on screen.

It had been many years since they had seen that man.

Apparently, space wasn’t far enough for them to go to escae this man.

Fearless looked down at the juice box in their hand.

They raise an eyebrow at the minibot.

Fearless: “Really Swerve? What happened to the other juices?”

Swerve: “Don’t blame me. That’s what was in the crate, besides don’t you like juice boxes?”

Fearless: “… Touche.”

The strike of the gavel reminds them of what was going on the screen.

Suddenly the juice box labels looks very interesting.

Whirl sits by them.

He notices them staring at the box.

Whirl: “Hey Fearless did your drink commit war crimes? Cause your looking at it like it did some war crimes.”

Fearless: “I’m fine Whirl.”

The voice…

He started talking.

It had been a long time since they heard him.

Not since…

SQUISH!

Fearless clenches the juice box too hard, spraying it everywhere, dripping on them and on the table.

Blood rushes to their ears from embarrassment and of something else they couldn’t pin point.

Whirl: “Umm… Aren’t you supposed to drink that?”

Fearless wordlessly gets up from their seat, cleans up most of the juice with some napkins before speed walking out of the bar.

Swerve and Whirl look at Fearless’s direction confused.

Swerve: “You know what that was about?”

Whirl: “Not a clue.”

Fearless sudden behavior caught the attention of many bots on the ship.

Even those who weren’t in the bar.

Fearless dodges questions left and right.

Theories are made by some of the bots who were in the bar when they first saw Fearless acting weird.

There is a general conclusion made by most bots that, while on Earth, Fearless came across Magneto at some point.

Clearly it hadn’t been a good interaction.

A couple days later Fearless is called to go back to Earth alone.

No further instructions, no nothing about Megatron or the bots.

Just to come to Earth, alone.

On hearing the ominous message, it was agreed that some bots would accompany Fearless back to Earth.

Fearless had an uneasy feeling about this trip back to Earth.

It was clear on their face as they glared at the windows with their arms crossed.

Not even Whirl or Swerve’s jokes seemed to crack the tension in their tiny body.

Fearless is called to go to the human’s only sector.

They promise to scream for help if someone tried anything.

This was supposed to be meant as a joke.

The second they enter the building; someone immediately tries to get the jump on them.

Now Fearless knows how to fight, they lived on the Lost Light for crying out loud!

But it had been a while since they had to fight someone their size without a suit and when more people coming in.

Fearless is pinned down on the floor.

On of the people in dark ski masks has a knee digging deep into their back.

The air had momentarily knocked out of their lungs leaving them dizzy and breathless.

CLICK!

Fearless was now staring at the barrel of a gun.

Ski mask 1: “Hope you enjoyed your few seconds here on Earth, alien sympathizer.”

Fearless struggles more but their face keeps being pushed to the floor.

All they need is one scream…

BAMF!

The weight was suddenly tossed off their back, letting them finally breathe.

They gasped for air as someone grabbed them and tossed them over their shoulder.

Fearless: “Hey! Let go!”

Logan gets elbowed in the face.

Logan: “Gah! Will you quit that! We’re trying to save you little—”

BAMF!

Kurt grabs them both.

Fearless: “WHAT THE—”

BAMF!

Fearless, Logan and Kurt are now outside the building.

Fearless looks around seeing some other X men talking with the bots.

Megatron looks over at a very disheveled and injured Fearless.

Megatron: “Fearless!”

The bots look over at Fearless.

Fearless is just looking around very confused.

Fearless: “…what the—"

After the bots check that Fearless was relatively okay, it was time for introductions.

Most of the X men had already introduced themselves to the bots while Logan and Kurt had gone inside to get Fearless.

The group had gotten a tip that someone wanted to ‘unalive’ the human liaison for Earth and Cybertron relations.

Neither team has the slightest clue who would want them gone.

But if Fearless was unalived and the bots didn’t know, it could have caused a rift in Earth and Cybertronian alliances, especially with Fearless being a part of the crew and part of a family unit.

Did anyone ask for a team up?

That’s when Magento makes a dramatic entrance.

Fearless immediately goes stiff and straightens their back.

Magneto: “Greetings. I am—"

Fearless: “Magneto.”

Magneto looks over at the human standing in front of the bots with their arms crossed.

Magneto: “I take that you’ve heard of my reputation?”

Fearless: “Kinda hard not to hear about a mass murder of both human and mutant kind.”

Magneto: “Hm, and here I thought we were going to have civil conversations as equals. Human to Mutant.”

Fearless: “What? Wait, wait. You think I have something against mutants?”

Rogue: “Well by the tone ya using, there’s some room for interpretation.”

Fearless sighs and face palms.

They gesture to the bots behind them.

Fearless: “I live with a giant crew of dysfunctional alien robots. I’m not some heartless monster who’s going to judge or chase you down with a pitchfork because someone can light a candle with their pinkie. Just as long as you aren’t messing with my family, everything will go well.”

Jean: “Wait family? You work with your family?”

Fearless: “Raises their eyebrow.

Fearless: “They are right behind me you know.”

Magneto grunts a bit before reaching out his hand to Fearless to shake.

Ratchet registers a sudden increase in Fearless’s heart rate.

Fearless looks at the hand like it committed first degree murder before shaking it begrudgingly.

Magneto: “I never got your name.”

Fearless: “My name is Fearless, Magneto.”

The bots are very much concern for their human.

Besides the obvious assassination attempt shaking everyone up, they had never seen Fearless this hostile and tense before.

Not even Megatron received this treatment!

The most he received was pranks and some comments here and there.

This was a full on seething hatred.

Fearless is polite with the other members of the X men and tries helping them as much as they can.

After cloaking the ship, it was agreed to head to the X mansion for further development on the case.

The mutants had to do a double take once the bots turned on their holoforms to get inside the building.

Friendships are formed.

Rodimus and Cyclops end up having a friendly rivalry.

The Co-Captain thinks Scotts beams are cool.

Scott gets flashbacks when Rodimus shows off his flames.

Flames that also get Jubilee attention.

Fearless is half certain that he is going to try and smuggle her on the ship.

Thankfully Magnus is keeping an optic out for him and Jubilee.

Drift tries to adopt Kurt, but Ratchet keeps telling him no.

Kurt is fanboying Drift’s massive swords and hearing about his beliefs.

Ratchet somehow develops a sixth sense knowing where the blue mutant was going to pop out.

Rodimus holds Scott out.

Rodimus: “Mine shoots beams out of his eyes!”

Drift holds Kurt out.

Drift: “Mine’s teleports, swings swords around and has a tail!”

He gently pats Kurts head.

Drift: “And he’s fluffy!”

Kurt and Scott look down to Fearless.

Fearless: “Don’t fight it, you’ve already been claimed.”

Kurt: “Vhat do you mean vy that?”

Fearless: “You’ve been chosen that’s all I can say.”

Scott: “You speak from experience.”

Fearless: "I ended up with one of the most trigger-happy bots as my best friend for life. The system works.”

Scott: “What system!?”

Beast gets passed between Brainstorm, Perceptor and Nautica.

Yes, he is a bit confused at first, but quickly gets over it on realizing these were some fellow scientists.

Brainstorm wants to upgrade some of the team’s technology… Beast is thinking about it.

Storm gets stopped by the minibots.

They love her powers!

Ororo indulges them with light rain and little wind funnels.

Rewind is filming everything while Swerve fanboys in the background while Tailgate splashes in some puddles.

Cyclonus in the meantime was taking notes on Storm and Jean’s fashion choices to later upgrade his holoform.

Beast: “Do you think that with enough electricity it can disable your weapons?”

Brainstorm: “…One way to figure that out!”

Storm: “I am not about to blast your weapon with a bolt of lighting. There is no telling what it could do to you.”

Brainstorm: “That is precisely why we need to find out!”

Fearless: “Trust me on this one, just give them a little bit.”

Storm raises an eyebrow.

Storm: “And they will be all right?”

Fearless shrugs.

Fearless: “Wouldn’t be the first time Stormy’s done something like this and it won’t be the last. This is pretty tame of an experiment for him.”

Jean walks over.

Jean: “What do you mean ‘tamest’?”

Fearless: “Well there was the time traveling briefcase.”

Jean: “The what?”

Rogue and Gambit end up in the company of Skids and Rung.

Skids finds Rogues and Gambits powers to be amazing.

Rung offers a good listening ear to Rogue who finds his presscene very comforting and vents.

The orange mech desperately want this woman to book an appointment with a therapist.

No scratch that, get everyone an appointment.

Gambit tried teaching Skids how to throw cards.

He is surprised when Skids gets it on the first try.

Lastly, Logan and Morph end up with Whirl.

Whirl keeps shouting suggestions for Morph to shapeshift into.

Morph happily obliges.

Logan can’t seem to get the strangest feeling of de va ju.

A reminder of a certain merc with a mouth…

Whirl: “Hey Whiskers! Do the claw thing again.”

Logan: “No.”

Whirl: “Do it!”

Morph: “Logan its just a little bit.”

Whirl: “Yeah listen to your outlier buddy and do it!”

Logan: “Outlier?”

Whirl: “Hang on I’ll get a translator. Fearless!”

Fearless comes over.

Whirl points at the two.

Whirl: “Explain what an outlier is.”

Fearless: “An outlier is… hm… how do I explain this… An outlier is kinda like you guys.”

Logan: “What?”

Fearless: “They have special abilities that separate them from the average bot.”

Fearless points over to Skids who was copying Gambit’s card tricks.

Fearless: “Skids over there can near perfect any instruction or action given to him on the first go. If I’m not wrong, Skids and some other bots I know went to a school that helped them with their abilities since society deemed them--”

Morph: “Dangerous?”

Fearless has a bit of a somber look on their face.

Fearless: “With all the former caste systems and alt mode prejudice it was nice for them to have a place to call their own. Sadly, when the founder of the school, a senator, was arrested they dispersed.”

Logan: “Hmm.”

The second Fearless spots Magneto talking with Megatron, they quickly grab Megatron by the arm and pull him away.

This goes the same for any bot that goes anywhere near Magneto.

The glare never leaving their face.

Fearless was offered a room to stay in the mansion, but they insisted on leaving with the bots.

They grab Megatron’s hand and leave.

Megatron felt how tight they were grabbing and the slight tremble in it.

They ignore the questions about their behavior and calls in a night.

Too bad Papa Megatron wants some answers.

Fearless struggles in his loose grip.

Megatron: “Are you going stop acting like a sparkling and start talking sense.”

Fearless lets out a tired sigh as they trace small circles on his digit.

Fearless: “As you might know I’m… not exactly fond of Magneto.”

Megatron: “Understatement of the century.”

Fearless squints their eyes at him.

He places them down on the berth and sits next to them.

Megatron: “… You never acted like this. Not even when I came on this ship and by the way this Magento speaks and his goals… he sounds like me—”

Fearless slaps his leg.

Fearless: “Don’t you EVER compare yourself to him!”

Megatron: “A simple observation and you cannot deny there are similarities between us. But why hate him and not me?”

Fearless: “Your both very different from each other Meg’s! That man is a heartless monster! A murderer! You—You—"

Megatron: “The same.”

Fearless furiously blinks back their tears and looks down.

Fearless: “But you changed!”

Megatron: “And isn’t he trying as well?”

The mech gently runs a digit up and down Fearless’s back.

Megatron: “He is at the start of his redemption Fearless. Don’t you think that it is wise to give him the benefit of the doubt?”

Fearless shakes their head and pulls their legs up and leans on Megatron’s side.

Megatron: “… He did something to you didn’t he?”

Fearless hugs themselves tighter trying to appear smaller.

They start to shake a bit.

Megatron carefully picked them up and hugged them to his chassis.

He can feel the tears running down his chassis.

Megatron: “You don’t need to tell me now if you don’t want to.”

Fearless sniffles a bit before looking up at him.

Fearless: “I-I want to Dad… I really want to—to. But everything that just happened…”

Megatron hushes Fearless while running the digit up and down their back.

They try muffling their sobs in his chassis.

He wonders if they can feel his spark clenching through the armor.

Days are passing by as the teams are still trying to figure out what is going on.

With the assassination attempt and why Fearless hates Magento’s gut so much.

The crew has made a giant board filled with red string trying to figure this out.

Even their new fellow X men friends come and join in on the theories.

The x men are enjoying their latest source of entertainment.

Especially once Fearless starts getting more comfortable around them and their chaotic side starts showing up.

Magento was having a hard time.

He has no idea what he did to this person to make them hate them.

Sure, it’s nothing new, but still!

It doesn’t help that they look familiar to him.

The older man is determined to figure out what he did to this person.

So far no one has managed to have a lick of luck on their side.

Not even a clue.

…

…Well, there is one person who does have a clue.

Logan.

Fearless and Magento had a similar scent.

Too similar to be a coincidence…

…But he’ll keep quiet for now…

#magneto is fearless's dad au #maccadam #marvel #x men 97 #mtmte x reader #mtmte x platonic reader #fearless buddy #transformers x reader #human buddy #transformers

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pompoenwolkjes · 5 months ago

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New day and I don’t hate it anymore whoooo

It’s still not the best thing ever but it is kinda cute?

Different take on the moodboard until I remembered why I don’t like doing these.

I am NOT good at making these things look organized and visually pleasing hdhhdhd and then I waste hours on it, only to go “meh” afterwards.

Just smashing pictures together in nice little squares is so much better for my brain hahah

#meant to look like a scrapbook #or picture on a cork board or wall #kitsune au #moodboard #skz fic #bang chan

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itsa-me-lily · 2 months ago

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So I wrote this during my lunch hour in a haze of fruit and inspiration. Thank you @kitsur for reading this over for me to check the ending and in general for hearing me go on my crazed cork board rants some days (most days)

This is a sequel to “That’s My Purse” and I really really encourage you to read part one because it sets all of this up. And maybe read this if the bed comment is confusing. Also thank you @nightunite for the original ask that lead to all this.

Here is the Simon & Thimble playlist

Here is the MPS AU masterlist

Content warning; cheating (kind of. It’s more non monogamy I guess and it’s very debatable if it’s even ethical because I really don’t think Simon would explain his arrangement to a stranger), fatphobia, misogyny, “bro language”

Alright, he could admit it. You weren’t the worst person to be married to. Though you were certainly in the running for most annoying. Always had some smart comment to say, acting like it was an Olympic sport you were aiming for gold in. Sometimes Simon just wanted to eat his beans on toast in god damn peace. Was that too much to ask for?

So yeah you seemed to always run your mouth with him, but sometimes you did say things that made logical sense.

He didn’t care about the whole demi-whatever thing you had explained to him, even if it sparked some sort of recognition in the back of his brain. You didn’t want to have sex with him, so he didn’t want to have sex with you, simple enough. And he could appreciate that you didn’t want the entire base to know he was being cuckholded, however willingly. Though he didn’t really care what people around him thought.

But he’d give what he got. The few times he did find someone that held some interest to him, in some after mission bar, he at least made sure there wasn’t a surface level connection to the base, or you. He’d go back to their place and then act like he had just gotten back from the mission when he went home the next morning. It didn’t seem to bother you and he’d figure you’d appreciate the extra night in the bed and not the pull out.

The first time he tried though, Price nearly put him on his ass. Pulling him to the alley outside the pub and shoving him against a wall, demanding to know if Simon was the kind of man to ignore his vows just to get his dick wet. Trying to explain your agreement with Price went phenomenally awful, and the captain wouldn’t look at him different until all three of you sat down and you confirmed that you were indeed okay with it.

And then of course it had to happen all over again with the other two chuckleheads he worked with. By the time you were having your third sit down with Soap you’d just handed him some informational pamphlet you cooked up. Always had to be cheeky you did. He didn’t think they really understood, but as long as they didn’t look at him like he was a scummy bastard he didn’t care.

So every now and again he’d find someone to follow back to theirs, just to blow off some steam, get rid of the twitch that lived under his skin. The sex was okay. Nothing to write home about. It got the job done.

It was what Simon was planning to do tonight. There was already some bird leaning against the bar, giving him the stare as she nibbled on the end of her drink straw. Plump little thing. But before he could get up to start his advance, voices behind him broke out in the loud drunk way young twenty-something men did when they had too much liquid courage.

“Listen man, pussy is pussy even in the dark”

“Yeah but you got some balls to go after Riley’s wife.”

That stopped him, keeping him glued to his seat. What’s this about you? Judging how Soap’s bottle paused at his lips though, Simon wasn’t the only one to hear it.

“Yeah well she found your balls lacking bro.”

There was mocking laughter from the table behind him. At least Simon wasn’t the only one catching casualties from your mouth. He was going to let it go, maybe just see who they were to keep in mind, when the ring leader decided to seal his fate.

“Yeah yeah. Fat cow’s acting all tough now but she’ll be begging for it sooner or later.”

No Simon didn’t notice how his grip tightened around his beer, tight enough that his fingertips turned white.

“Dude you think?”

No one in the vicinity heard how Simon’s chair scrapped violently against the ground as he stood up.

“There’s no way Riley is fucking that. Even with back shots she’s-”

No one at the other table expected Simon Riley to appear out of thin air, heavy hand coming down with a crushing force onto the man stupid enough to slander your name. Pearson. Of course it was. Jackass who thought he was god’s gift to everyone because Daddy had a bit of money and some girls let him stick it in once.

Yes, you had to have the last word all the fucking time. You had too much shit, and he honestly thought you were a little too obsessed with your guinea pigs.

But you always met him head on. Was so unapologetically yourself, laughing so loudly at terrible jokes even he got startled now and again. You respected who he was, how he was. Like hell he was going to let some personification of a left ballsack talk about you like that.

“She’s my wife”

#you never did question why Pearson always runs away when he sees you #you just assume he’s still embarrassed you said his dick was tiny #men and their egos #military program spouse #cod #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #Price is MVP tbh #Simon x Thimble #ghost x reader

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where-does-the-heart-lie · 3 months ago

Note

Im binging your comic and Emmanuel is so much like Deuce its insane. Love him tho!!! Cant wait to catch up ((im at the dad trauma dumping chapter))

Aha!!! The bee jacket guy dilemma strikes again!!!

Im really happy more people recently are getting into reading my story but yall really missed out on that “who is bee jacket guy” moment in history it was truly magical.

I personally dont see the resemblance between them, someone even did a whole cork board examination of it and im still having trouble seeing the vision. Thats on me though i just dont possess the deuce tunnel vision any self respecting Ace fan should.

There’s a lot of moments in my story where things are revealed and im genuinely surprised by what you guys put together. It delights me endlessly LOL it’s truly an unexpected plus from posting. Extra points if you guys start picking it up from eachother and like its swarming around and im like “??!?!?!? HOW DID WE GET HERE WHAT HAVE I DONE :D!??!?!?!?”

Here’s my deuce modern AU design i made btw! I hope you enjoy the story going further :)

Thanks for the ask!

#ask reply #@themindoflore

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aoioozora · 13 days ago

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Simon.

Part 16

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au Note: Happy New Year!!! I really enjoyed writing this part. I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. Also this series is coming to an end soon in most likely 2-3 chapters 🥺 But more on that later.

When Simon was about five years old, he and Tommy visited the army base where their father worked. While their mother excused herself to go to the restroom, she left the boys with Peter in his office.

“Boys, I have work to do, so I need you both to sit here and be quiet, do you understand?” Peter commanded as he laid his heavy hand on the backrest of the couch and then moved towards his desk, his shoes thumping loudly on the tiled floors.

“Yes, daddy,” the boys chorused in unison like soldiers under his command and promptly sat on the couch, Tommy with his toy truck and Simon with his stuffed shark.

Peter nodded approvingly and sat at his desk, beginning his work immediately. While Tommy busied himself with rolling his toy truck on the arm of the couch, Simon looked about the dull, imposing office. He wanted to know about the papers pinned on the cork boards, about whatever he stuck under the glass of his massive wooden desk, and what work his father was attending to.

He looked longingly with his big, innocent brown eyes, wanting to crawl onto his father's lap and watch him work and ask him his numerous questions. But he sank his head down, knowing his father would dismiss him with the words, “you’re too young. You won’t understand it.”

Even though there was the occasional rustle of leafing papers and the clacking of the computer keyboard, the silence was deafening. Simon could hear a high pitched buzz in the air, the one you hear in complete, utter silence. He felt his temples tighten. Glancing between Tommy and his father, he saw that neither of them noticed the buzzing.

Two knocks on the door echoed within the room, breaking the spell. Simon instantly pulled his little legs up and got on his knees, looking over the backrest and hoping his mother had come back to brighten up the room with her smiles.

“Come in,” resounded his father’s deep voice.

The door opened to reveal, alas, someone else. The man, dressed in a green field uniform, also looked just as grim as his father. As he stepped closer to the couch, he noticed the boys, and a small, eager, but tentative smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“Your sons, sir?” he asked. Simon shyly moved closer to Tommy.

“Yes, my sons. Thomas and Simon,” answered Peter, detached. He went straight to the point. “What’s the news?”

Simon listened to their conversation. He didn’t remember much of it, but he clearly remembered his father growing more and more agitated as the man spoke. His face was flushed red, brows furrowed, and his voice was deafening like a clap of thunder on a dismal, dark day. The boys were no stranger to seeing their father like this, particularly Simon, who was more-or-less the most mischievous of the two.

He didn’t remember what his father screamed about or slammed his table for, but he did remember feeling his tiny little heart being clenched, squeezed until it hurt, until it wrung out tears from his eyes and a whimper from his dry throat. He nudged his little head under Tommy’s arm, begging to be shielded, wishing that his mum would come back and cradle him in her arms and whisper comfort to him.

He watched his father fearfully after he dismissed the man, and saw how he pushed his chair away and lighted a cigarette. He took his even march towards the window and stood there smoking. Simon dared not to even croak, and neither did Tommy. Dad was sometimes a keg of dynamite, and even the slightest spark could make him explode.

This terror remained with him, and it resurfaced in his mind as he stood in front of the door to his father’s study. His hand hovered over the knob, trembling and hesitating. He didn’t even want to be in the same room as his father. The mere thought of it was suffocating. But it had to be done. Father’s orders.

He hastily put his hand down on the knob and opened the door. It opened with a soft creak, and Simon entered. His breath felt shallow upon seeing his father facing the large, open windows. Even the pleasant day outside didn’t ease his nerves. His father didn’t turn around to acknowledge him.

Simon wiped his clammy hands on his jeans. “You called, sir,” he spoke stiffly, as if he was a reporting lieutenant. He had many times addressed his father this way, out of coldness or fear or respect, or even a mingling of all three.

Peter finally turned around. A smoking cigarette was in his hand, fumes encircling him. Simon’s eyebrows raised slightly. If dad ever smoked, it meant that whatever was sifting in his mind was serious, of paramount importance. “What on earth”, he wondered, “does dad want to tell me?”

“Sit down, boy,” Peter commanded in a rumble that sounded like distant thunder, now turning around and pressing the tip onto his clean ashtray on the desk.

Simon obeyed, sitting down on the chair. His eyes followed his father as he paced slowly about the room. His grizzled brow was furrowed in thought, and he paused his pacing every so often to turn to his son with an earnest look in his eyes as if he wanted to say something difficult, but he turned away as soon as he did. Simon shifted in his seat, uncomfortably watching his father’s mental tussle.

Peter finally stopped his pacing and stood still behind the table. He looked at Simon directly.

“Your girlfriend,” his voice slightly rose in pitch and then lowered as he trailed off, “...She's a nice girl.”

“Yes, she is,” Simon answered, somewhat guarded.

“You've chosen well.”

Simon had to fight the urge to raise his eyebrows. Compliments from his father were rarer than a cow jumping over the moon, especially when it had anything to do with his choices. “I… Thank you,” he faltered slightly.

Peter paced around once more. He eyed the cigarette in the ashtray and his fingers twitched. Putting a hand on the backrest of his swivel chair, he squeezed it, still evidently struggling. Simon didn't dare make a sound.

“It's been an age since we last spoke like this.” He snatched the cigarette and lit it again, and Simon watched keenly as the fire burned the blackened edge once more, now engulfing it in glowing red embers. Peter took a long, greedy drag while he waited for his son to reply, but heard nothing. He asked, “When was the last time?”

Simon's head dipped slightly in shame, and his eyes left his father's face to look at the carpet. “I don't remember,” he lied, his hand instinctively rubbing his jaw on the left side, fingers brushing against his scar.

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly and he sighed out the smoke he drew in. “Well, it doesn't matter. It's in the past,” he said, his voice evidently turning more subdued like the soft breeze that blew in through the open windows.

Simon's jaw tensed slightly. This was unusual. His father knew he lied; he was expecting a stern lecture like he always did. But nothing. He couldn't tell if his father was actually being nice for once or if the tobacco was getting to his head.

But the words “it's in the past” repeated in his head like a broken record. Was this forgiveness? Was this his way of being apologetic? He didn't dare to even hope. Was he lying? No. His father was an upright man and would not compromise on his integrity even to his own detriment. He was not lying.

Peter took another drag, a shaky one. “I'm glad you came today, Simon,” he exhaled the words out along with the smoke, “I hope you come more often.”

Simon pursed his lips into a thin line and breathed in shakily, fighting to keep his chest from heaving. “Yes, sir,” he answered in a whisper.

“Dad,” the father corrected.

“Dad,” the son amended.

____ could not stop twiddling her thumbs and glancing at the hallway from the couch she sat on. Ever since Tommy informed her some thirty minutes ago that Simon was in the middle of a conversation with their dad, she couldn’t help but worry. Time seemed to drag on painfully slow, even slower when she kept watching the clock that ticked slower than her heart.

Tommy, seeing that she looked worried, tried to distract her with conversation. He told her about Emma and Emilia’s childhood antics, of them trying to climb up his legs like monkeys, and them cannonballing into pools. It worked for a time and made her laugh, although her worries still festered and churned in her stomach like she ate rotten food. She didn’t know where Peter’s study was and at every pause in Tommy’s stories, she tried to strain her ears towards the hallway to catch any snatches of conversation. Nothing could be heard of course, and she was forced to relent and give all her attention to Tommy.

Soon, the crack of the door knob from the hallway resounded, and ____’s head whipped upwards. Tommy’s chatter abruptly stopped. She saw Simon step out and then enter the living room, sighing heavily. His fair face was pale and somewhat confused, but there was evident relief and even a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes.

“What did dad talk to you about?” Tommy asked as casually as he could.

Simon inhaled, glancing at his girlfriend. “He… just told me he was glad to see me home. He asked me to come more often.”

Tommy’s face beamed and he gave his younger brother an affectionate clap on the back, also relieved. ____ couldn’t help but sigh and smile herself.

When it was time for the couple to leave, Eloise hugged them both tight, but she hugged ____ a hint tighter and whispered in a tremor, “Thank you for coming, my dear.”

As the two walked to Simon’s motorcycle, she smiled at him. “I had fun today.”

Simon smiled. “Me too.”

The split second she took to observe his face told her that the shadow of pain and stress that had always shaded his dark eyes seemed lifted, replaced with a certain vitality, joy, and disbelief. Though he didn’t show it entirely, she could tell.

Putting on their helmets, they got on the motorcycle and off they went. She had her arms held tight around Simon’s waist, and as they rode down the highway, she watched the sunset in the distance. The sky was clear and vast, and painted in a gentle gradient of rose and apricot. The fading sunlight gilded the grassy plains and rustling trees. The wind whistled against her helmet noisily, and the air was damp and cold, but with her arms around her boyfriend and with the breathtaking landscape set before her, she couldn’t help but feel like she was in a dream. She squeezed his waist involuntarily and leaned her helmeted head against his back.

She felt like the shadow over her own thoughts had lifted too. She didn’t think that hearing John out would give her so much relief. And now knowing that things were alright between Simon and his father, her relief was doubled. She squeezed Simon again and closed her eyes, enjoying his warmth, enjoying the happiness.

She felt a gentle touch on her knee, and upon looking, she found Simon’s hand resting there for a moment before returning to the handle. She smiled and blushed to herself, feeling flutters in her stomach.

“Are you hungry?!” Simon screamed over the rushing wind.

“No!” she screamed back. Her stomach and her heart were already full and bursting. She squeezed Simon again, and this time, he gave her hands a soft pat. It was warm, so utterly warm that she forgot how cold the air was. She was glad, so utterly glad that she didn’t bail on this appointment to go out with Alejandro.

Thirty minutes passed and the city was in sight, but so were the rain clouds hanging low over the buildings. Simon twisted the accelerator and the engine roared; at the increase of speed, the pillion rider felt like her body was yanked back and ready to fly off.

“Hold tight!” Simon yelled again, and she quickly put her arms around him and squeezed her eyes shut.

No sooner had they swept into the city streets, the showers began falling heavily and earnestly like a waterfall. Simon cursed under his breath. As if to make things worse, the street they were on was clogged with the traffic of people trying to get home from work. There was no space even to squeeze through the cars and slowly make their way up the long queue, and their only choice now was to wait the traffic out.

Sensing that it would be long, Simon killed the engine and then peeled off his leather jacket. “It’s really pissing it down. Here, wear this,” he said, holding the bunched up garment over his shoulder, “You’re getting wet.”

“What about you?” she asked reluctantly.

“I’m fine, darling. Just wear it. And be quick,” he urged, now reaching his hand behind and placing the jacket on her lap.

She quickly put it on and zipped it up all the way to the collar. The familiar scent of rainforest and chocolate, and the soft texture of the tartan lining made her feel warm again. But it was instantly replaced by pity for her boyfriend. The rain fell mercilessly, and the battering was deafening against the helmet; his coffee-coloured t-shirt darkened almost instantly and the weight of the wet fabric clung to his shoulders and his upper arms, softly defining the muscles underneath.

She felt the water dripping from the helmet drop into the crevices of the jacket and trickle down her warm collarbone to dampen her clothes. Even that made her shiver, but she couldn’t imagine how much colder Simon felt.

She leaned against his back. “Aren’t you cold, Simon?”

He leaned back against her chest. “No, I’m fine. I’ve gotten wet in the rain on rides a lot, so it’s no big deal,” he assured her, giving her knee a gentle squeeze.

“But still, I feel a little bad that you had to give up your jacket for me.” She pressed against him further regardless, wanting to share her warmth with him, no matter how little it was.

“Darling,” he shook his helmeted head, “I won’t sit back and watch my girlfriend get wet in the heavy rain when I can prevent it.” He gave her knee a light, chiding slap. “And besides, I know you get cold easily.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “How did you know that?”

“You remember the day we hung out together? The first time? There was a heavy rain before I came to pick you up, and when I came, you were wearing my jacket. You looked cold,” he explained, rubbing his thumb on her knee as his eyes darted at the traffic ahead to check for any sign of movement.

“I didn’t think you noticed.”

He looked at her. She met his dark eyes, and saw how the lights of the surrounding cars made them shine. A flutter tickled her stomach.

“Why wouldn’t I notice things about my own girlfriend?” he asked matter-of-factly, as if she said something silly.

She smiled sheepishly and blushed. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Yet another characteristic to add to her male lead, Frederick’s personality.

The vehicles up front slowly began to move. Simon sat up straight and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine roar to life. He instantly swooped past the cars like a lizard at the first opportunity. He was pelted by the heavy rain, and combined with the speed he was going, his exposed arms felt like they were being pricked by huge needles. It stung, but he felt a manly pride for being able to protect his girlfriend from the elements.

Before long, he rolled into the indoor parking of the building he stayed in and smoothly parked in his allotted spot. Heavy sighs of relief followed as they got off the vehicle and took off their helmets.

“You okay?” he asked, straightening and stretching his sore back slightly, “You aren’t too wet, are you?”

“I should be asking that to you. You’re drenched!”

Simon looked at himself and pinched the front of his shirt, pulling the wet fabric slightly off his chest. He did feel a little icky having wet clothes sticking to his body and longed to get inside his apartment and peel it off. “One of us had to be, darling, and it wasn’t going to be you,” he pinched her nose. “But don’t fash yourself, it’s not a big deal. Some wet clothes aren’t going to kill me.”

That’s what he thought until he started sneezing repeatedly into his equally wet handkerchief as they entered the lift. She looked at him, all sopping wet and dripping like a towel that wasn’t wrung dry. She let out a heavy sigh.

“All that sneezing is going to kill you before the wet clothes do…”

End of Part 16.

Part 17 coming soon :)

__________________________

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bronzepatriarchy · 1 year ago

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This better pay off cause my back is HURTING after just two colors

#ramblings of a crackhead #guided hands au #lncgtv #luz noceda's comprehensive guide to vigilantism #Bronze's Cork Board Adventures

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uglypastels · 2 years ago

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Not Wholly Evil |V| Pirate!Eddie au

a/n thank you to @eddies-house for helping me figure out this darn chapter. you saved me from a menty b.

please remember to support by reblogging and commenting!! you don't know how much it helps writers

Series Masterlist

word count: 8.2k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. mention of severe wounds. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: mentions of non-con, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment and weight loss. paranoia. mention of poisoning. abuse. manhandling. lying.

Chapter 5: Flintlock

“A taste for adventure is by no means a masculine monopoly” ― Lloyd Alexander

It was certainly strange, seeing the cabin through the daylight. The wooden panelling of the walls and floor looked softer, and the decorations on the walls were no longer covered in menacing shadows. The bed, however, was softer than your dream made it seem. It was better than the ground, but knowing who usually occupied it made your back stiff with dread.

The room was empty as you got up, stretching your body out of the foreign feeling of a bed. Another thing to thank the captain for— perverting the concept of a bed. There was no space for anyone to hide in the cabin, but you still looked around, waiting for him to appear out of thin air. It seemed like just the thing he could do and had been doing all your time on board. Only once you checked every corner could you properly set your mind at rest.

Besides the sunshine, nothing had changed from the night before. It was as if you had stepped through time, from night to morning. Your old clothes hung on the edge of the bed. The bookcase was missing the one book you had pulled out, leaving the rest at an awkward angle. Your dinner plate and ale jug, alongside the captain’s empty rum bottle, were left behind on the desk, but as you walked towards the table, you noticed the cup to be filled again, and on the plate stood two thick slices of bread and some brightly coloured fruit you had not seen before—more food that must have been retrieved during the brief exploration of the nameless island. You sat down on the throne and tried to push aside the feeling that came whenever you touched something, anything, to do with the captain. It was like he haunted all his possessions, never leaving you alone.

The bread was the safest option; it was your first bite, breaking your fast. After the delicious meal you had been given last evening, the salty dryness of the dough did not compare by the slightest, but the cool fresh water that had also been left for you made up for it.

And the fruit…

You were still unsure of what it was, but the juice of it felt healing to your senses. You ate it slowly, trying to savour every bite.

Once done, you noticed that all the documents the captain had thrown off last night still lay spread out on the ground. This, in particular, unsettled you. Just seeing the mess of it all splayed out there. So, without much thought, you went to pick up the papers, stacking them in neat piles and placing them on the corner of the large desk. Soon enough, you were done, and only one piece of paper was left. It had fallen right under the desk. You went to pull it out when you noticed it.

The drawer you had tried to open the night before. The one Munson had unlocked with the key around his neck and had taken a bottle of rum from. It was ajar. So close to being locked that Munson must have thought he had closed it when he slammed it. But no, with a quick pull at the handle, it opened up for you.

Inside was a collection of bottles in different shapes and sizes. Most were still full. You picked one up out of sheer curiosity. Why lock up this stock? Unless it was valuable, or dangerous? Maybe he tried to keep it away from everyone else on board. But as you held the bottle, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just a simple, red glass bottle, the cork wedged sturdily into the neck. The liquid sloshed against the container like any other drink as you tipped it around. Still trying to understand the content of the locked drawer, you put it down in its place.

Or were about to. Because that is when you noticed the paper sticking out from underneath the other bottles. That gnawing feeling in your stomach returned as you contemplated what to do. The captain had made it very clear he did not appreciate you looking through his things, and you were sure that if he were to catch you again, it would not end as simply as you having to star-gaze for an evening. The warnings were loud and clear.

Then again, when did you start caring about those? Or anything he said.

Moving the biggest bottles around carefully to create space, you pulled the paper out of the drawer. At first, you thought you had ripped it, but upon closer inspection, you realised it had been torn in halves long before you had gotten your hands on it. The paper was browned at the edges, a corner half-burned as if someone had decided against its destruction at the last minute. The words meant little at first, but as you read on and became more familiar with the hand they were written in, pieces fell into place. And they fell hard.

Like the loud clash you heard from outside the cabin, startling you. Scared you were about to get caught, you put the paper down into the drawer and shut it with your leg, holding your breath for the door to open. You waited for several seconds, but nothing moved.

You did not know what caused the commotion or if you were about to be greeted by someone outside the door, but you knew you could not stay in the cabin alone for much longer. The more time passed, the more similar the situation felt to the night before. The gnawing urge to look through all the drawers and nooks was just as big as the risk of being caught, and it was dangerous. Fortunately, the door opened flawlessly when you pulled at it.

It had remained a cloudless sky, but now the dark navy sprinkled with stars was exchanged for a vibrant and youthful blue. The sun hung above your heads, piercing the air onto your skin in a warm glow.

The crew was below you, spread out around the deck, and now one had looked up or probably even noticed your presence. So, making yourself comfortable on the stairs, you sat by, peeking through the balustrade bars, and watched what was happening. After all, it was a morning full of observations.

The men were spread out over the ship in groups, all busy with their own activities. The easiest to make out were those in a circle, watching as two of them attacked eachother with swords. The smiles on their faces told you enough; it was merely another session of training or some form of playfighting. The last time they had been doing it, you did not care to stand by and watch, not at all interested in their antics. This time, however, you took the opportunity to observe how they went about it. Since it was nothing but leisure, the moves were wide, easy to block, but once in a while, they would nick eachother just to stay sharp. Then, the attacked would groan in pain, grabbing at the part of their body that was hit in agony.

Each time it happened, the small crowd observing would show their satisfaction or disappointment, depending on which side of the duel they supported, with shouts and encouragement.

‘C’mon Harrington! Get him!’

‘Shut it, will you,’ “Harrington”, as he was called by his audience, turned to look in their way, annoyed, but in that short second, his opponent took a shot with his sword’s pommel, hitting him in his temple. Harrington was knocked back a few steps and had to shake the hit off but remained on his feet.

You were unsure what the game's rules were and how one would win in the circumstances, but one thing was clear—Harrington stood little chance as his opponent managed to get another cut in. A bruise, most likely from a previous encounter much like this one, had already formed under his eye, but even with the dark purple shade on his skin, you could not deny he looked quite handsome… for a criminal. You had seen him around, pulling at ropes, carrying around their precious cargo, and keeping other crewmates from breaking out into fistfights—he must have brought your meals down to the cell once too.

His brown hair was sleeked back but tended to move around as he did, so he constantly had to push it out of his face. The collar of his shirt was wide open, revealing a sweat-stained chest.

‘I really don’t get it,’ a raspy voice spoke from above you, making you strain your neck to look back up at the quarter-deck. Somehow, in your spectatorship of what was happening below, you had completely missed the fact that someone had been steering the ship and had, in fact, stood beside you next to the captain’s door all along.

You had not expected to hear your thoughts reciprocated and voiced anywhere near this ship, so they left you stunned. And perhaps this was the reason why you had not got up and run off at the sound of them or the presence of someone at your side but instead stammered out a clumsy response. ‘Sorry?’

‘They run around with their shiny sticks, hit each other just to cry about it like children,’ your new conversation partner said, ‘I just do not understand the appeal of it.’

‘No, me neither, really.’ In your opinion, there were much better, less barbaric ways to release energy and tension than this brutish behaviour. The fight below was still firmly underway, but you had gained a new interest in the person by your side. You couldn’t help but notice how they wore clothes in a very similar manner to you—a large shirt tightened by a leather vest, long trousers kept in and shorter with rope. It was as if they made do with things that had never been intended for them. Their hair could be short or long, depending on who you spoke to, but you could not tell.

‘I’ll tell you this, I’ve sailed across all possible seas in the world and men are still one of the biggest mysteries I have not been able to solve.’

You blinked slowly as the words reached your barely awake mind. A revelation that had struck you more than anything on board.

You weren’t the only woman here. The other just sat down next to you on the steps.

‘You can stop staring,’ she said, slightly frazzled, and you quickly looked away, mumbling an apology. Despite that, you kept stealing glances her way. Her hair, light as sand, was chopped messily as if done by hand with a blunt knife. Her skin was sunkissed with freckles and perhaps a bit of dirt. ‘I’m Buck. I know who you are, of course.’

‘How—’ How had you not seen her before? How were you not aware of a woman on board all this time? And perhaps it was wishful thinking to assume that she might be someone you could be comfortable with just from that one common trait, but you could not deny that something in you felt more at peace than seconds before.

‘Surrounded by this type, I understand you’d want to keep your head down,’ she smiled awkwardly, ‘but you can’t forget how to look up.’ She tilted her head back as she said it, so you followed suit. The sun blinded you, but as you focused on what was above you, you saw the masts towering tall in their black silhouettes and there, atop the tallest one, was the lookout point.

‘You sit in the crow’s nest,’ you smiled understandingly.

‘Robin’s nest, I took it upon myself to rename it, don’t know why, I just resonate more with them— call it superstition, I don’t know— and I’ve earned the right considering none of them want to make the climb.’ she pushed her chin towards the rest of the crew. ‘But it’s a good view, you should join me up there some day. If you ever need to get away, you know.’

‘I— I’m not the greatest with heights.’ The speed at which Buck spoke left your brain gripping onto words to keep up, and so your reply came out a bit frazzled.

‘Me neither,’ Buck shrugged. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t seen me get stuck in the nets before. It happens twice a day, at least.’

‘And they still let you climb up there?’ Surely, she could not be the smartest choice for the task. Robin snickered at your shocked expression.

‘Like I said, none of them will do it.’

‘Why do it at all, then? Why risk your life every day for… them?’ These hooligans, criminals, fraudsters, monsters, villains…

‘Because I am one ofthem.’ She knew what you had meant with your comment as she spoke softer, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder with her hand in reminder.

You glanced at the men in front of you and then turned back to Robin. ‘No, you’re really not.’

‘What because I’m a woman?’ Robin raised a brow.

‘Well, for starters.’ From a very early age, you knew that men and women were two entirely different beings. Just the way mankind treats eachother on that principle is evidence enough.

‘Intelligence wise, you would be correct,’ Robin stated, leaning back on the steps, resting her weight on her elbows. Despite her petite frame, you noticed she wasn’t afraid to take up space. Despite a comfortable distance between you, her knee still met with yours as she sat in a wide position. ‘But we are all just people.’

You had wanted to reply but thought better of it. She saw herself as a part of them, and so an insult to the others would be an insult to her, and for some reason, you did not want to say anything that might hurt her. Strangely, for a second, you considered the idea of actually liking her. Out of everyone aboard the Hellfire, the barrelwoman seemed like the most likely person you could find yourself befriending.

But before any more of the conversation could be led, giving you a chance to let those thoughts bloom or rot, another voice boomed over everyone else’s to prompt Buck of her duties.

‘Robin! The ship won’t steer itself!’ It was none other than Munson, but you could not find him among his people.

‘Aye, captain.’ Bunk, or Robin as she also went by apparently, rolled her eyes, getting up with a heaved breath. ‘See you around then.’

You didn’t say anything, too confused by your own thoughts. You couldn’t keep your eyes away as she returned to the helm; couldn’t stop thinking about what had brought her here? What had made her choose this life to live with all these men and act in such ways? You had wondered about everyone aboard the Hellfire, but Robin… a lady sea robber. You had never heard of such a thing. It was spinning your world around but also genuinely fascinating to think about. As you sat on that step, more things came to your mind: you wanted to ask Robin about life at sea, her crewmates, and her captain. But this opportunity had sailed; it would have to be another time.

You also could not believe you had just had a… civil exchange of words with one of them and that you had not even minded it all that much. As you looked around, it all did not feel as bad as it used to. You could see the idea of pleasantness in the actions happening before you; the laughter and the antics.

These antics continued. The fight you had been watching had not yet ended, but by the looks of Harrington, it could not possibly last much longer. His, to you unnamed, opponent had just pushed his blade flush against Harrington’s throat, locking him into an uncomfortable tight spot. With a tap on the arm, heavier than Robin had done to you, he tapped out of the game. Half the men cheered while the rest groaned and cursed out their wager.

As the winner of the match was picking out his next match, the audience was slowly losing interest, and one of them must have found you sitting on the sidelines. Curious glances were shot your way as they all slowly caught sight of you, not saying much. Just as they had gotten used to the new addition to the ship, you appeared in clothes that were unmistakably the captain’s. Feeling all their eyes on you, as if your seat on the stairs was a pedestal, you moved away and tried to make your way down to your designated space on board below decks.

However, your path was obstructed by one person specifically as he dried his face off with a piece of cloth.

‘Excuse me,’ you dared to say, hoping they would move out of the way. Something about having had an entire conversation with Robin made you feel a bit more comfortable speaking to the rest of them. After all, they—you—were all just people.

‘I wouldn’t run away if I was you.’ Harrington said. ‘Or you’ll never stop.’

‘You think they’ll let me stop?’ If you stayed, letting them near you, look at you like that, wouldn’t that be surrendering to their power.

‘I let you,’ he said, throwing the cloth over his shoulder.

‘I’d say you made me, rather than let.’ You crossed your arms. He had, after all, stood in your way and objected to letting you pass.

‘You could always,’ he turned a quarter of a circle, pointing to his side, ‘move. Unless I am that terrifying.’

‘It may come as a surprise but I have very little reason to be afraid of you at this moment.’ It was a half-truth, as his skills in the fight have shown you little to worry for, but there was little you knew about him or what he was capable of.

Harrington nodded. ‘I take it you watched me from up there.’

‘I watched the fight, yes.’ You could not admit that you had not paid as much attention to whom he was fighting as you did to Harrington himself. ‘It was… entertaining.’

‘I’m glad my suffering amuses you. Yes, that makes this all worth it.’ He pointed up to his bruised eye.

‘You cannot blame me for your misfortune.’

‘Well, you are to blame for my inattentiveness.’

His words left you too dumbstricken to respond, and unfortunately, the commotion around you diverted the entire conversation. Another duel had begun, and men were already cheering for their victors as swords clinked together.

Harrington, being nothing but a simple man, ran over to his designated spot in the crows to cheer on his successor. However, it was all a bit too loud, and instead, you noticed what else was happening on the deck. From where you had sat before, there had not been a clear view of it, but now you were only a few feet away from another small group of the crew.

They sat around a small table. It wasn’t clear what they were doing, but someone would shout out every few minutes and slap their hand on the surface while the rest groaned in frustration.

That is where you found the captain. Huddled between two other men, sitting on a low-built crate, occupying more space than there was with his legs, arm on one thigh as he leaned forward, laughing at whatever was happening at the table. It was a scene like no other. The casualness and pleasantry of it all felt foreign.

You had been used to the men on the Red Tail and their routines, but the ship always came first and, with it, their work and duty. There was never any time for… games. And you would never have caught the captain participating in any of it. Not even at home. This wasn’t something men did. Children, maybe, but no soldier or respected merchant. Only drunks and frauds. But as you looked at it, you had no idea why it was deemed so peculiar to find pleasure in these silly activities.

You were still trying to figure out, from a safe distance, what it was that they were playing when you caught Munson’s gaze. Or more so, you met it, as his eyes had already been on you. Much like everyone else’s had been previously, and yet there was an intensity there that no one else could remake.

‘There you are!’ He shouted out once you saw him, making everyone around him stop and look your way. A dozen pairs of eyes were directed at you now as you stood frozen in place. ‘Took you long enough to join as, darling.’ Some men from across the ship, around the duel circle, stopped to look at what the captain was doing too.

‘If I had known I was invited, I wouldn’t have come.’ You quipped back and felt a gust of pride at the sound of a few chuckles from the men standing nearest you, who were quickly stopped by the stern look of their captain.

‘Now, now, don’t be like that.’ He got up from his seat, raising his voice and gaining the attention of all now. It was like a siren’s call, making everyone stop in their tracks to listen. ‘My thanks are in order for, gentlemen, our princess has led us back on course. Worked all night, in fact, to find the correct coordinates and directions—which is more then I have seen of some of you in the past days.’ With this, he raised a cup in your honour, and while no one else had anything to raise, they all cheered. You stood there, speechless and confused, unsure of what was happening. Why was the captain suddenly so openly appreciative? So… nice?

You ignored the feeling to reciprocate the thankfulness and instead opted for the unfiltered thoughts going through you. ‘You do know “princess” is not my title, right?’

‘And I was never ranked captain… yet here we are, princess. So let us enjoy this fantasy we live in!’ He encouraged another cheer from his crowd. Then, once the rest settled down, he spoke directly to you from across the ship. ‘Come, why don’t you join us, darling. We were about to start another round.’

‘I don’t think there are any seats left.’ The space around the table seemed rather crowded, with each seat taken and many more men standing around. You had no business or interest in getting involved in that, but the captain, as always, persisted.

‘Wheeler was just leaving.’ He pointed to the man sitting across from him.

‘No?’ The man said slowly.

‘Well, you were loosing anyway,’ Munson shooed him away, creating an empty spot for you.

‘I don’t know the rules.’ You persevered in your own opinion.

‘You’ll learn soon enough, come.’

You were about to object, but what else could you expect than the captain calling over another of his crew, this one at least a head taller than you and probably triple your size overall. The giant walked straight, making everyone else move, until he reached you. Then, with a grin, he showed you the path in a straight line towards the table.

Unimpressed, you just said, ‘Thank you.’ and made your way over.

‘Glad you decided to join us.’ Munson said as you looked at the table. On it were six cups; only one turned the right side up. ‘Please, do take a seat.’ You felt a large hand on your shoulders, pushing you down on the crate.

‘Rules are simple,’ the captain began explaining; he picked up the cup before him, ‘5 dice. You roll them for yourself and place a bet, indicating the number of dice you think should be on the table. Speak the truth or bluff, it doesn’t matter, but if you’re caught on a lie… well,’ he shrugged, with it saying enough. The rules sounded simple enough, but one piece of vital information was missing.

‘What are the stakes?’ This was a betting game, so there must be something they were all betting on. You took the cup in front of you and pulled it closer. The dice rattled underneath.

‘We are but humble sailors,’ Munson said, already shaking his set of dice under his cup with a swift wrist move, ‘it’s mostly ship duties and chores. Sometimes meal rations if you’re brave. Anything that speaks to you, darling?’ Oh, there was plenty, but you had to play it smart.

‘If I win,’ you began shaking your dice as well, hovering over your words for a moment to think, ‘I get your cabin… until the end of the journey’ ‘I’ll happily share my bed with you, princess,’ Munson snickered.

‘I wasn’t finished.’ You smiled back. ‘I get your cabin. You get mine.’ Honestly, you did not have a preference for either sleeping option. The bed in Munson’s quarters was stiff, so you might as well have slept on the floor. It was more about what it meant to kick the captain out of his own cabin. You enjoyed the idea and the prospect of encouraging the captain to bring you home faster so he could return to his quarters.

Something flinched in the captain’s muscles as he tried to remain unbothered by your words. The dice kept rolling underneath the cups. The crowd backed off, quickly understanding that this was a game only two of you could play.

‘You sure about that?’ he tried to play it off smoothly. You simply nodded.

‘Name your price, captain.’

‘How about… If I win…’ a small smile grew on his lips, ´we just play another round?’

‘What?’ That couldn’t be it? ‘And if you win again? What happens then?’ Would you be playing this game until the end of time?

‘Got such low chances for yourself?’ He leaned forward a bit while you pushed away from the table.

‘I would just like to know the game before I play.’

‘I think you’ll learn best if we just play, so, shall we?’ He shook his cup with one last flick of the wrist before putting it to a halt, his ringed fingers clutching to the top of it, eyes locked on you as you did the same. Lightly, you tilted the cup to show the dice. They were wooden, carved out with a knife, most likely by someone on this ship. The sides were uneven, so who knows how even the odds were for the game, but to you, they seemed alright. The eyes were dug out of the panels like small holes.

One large eyes, two pairs of threes, a four and five.

Putting the cup back down, you looked up at the captain, his face untelling of any emotion.

‘Ladies go first,’ he announced with a hand gesture. It was up to you to start the betting. With the numbers twirling around in your mind, you thought of what would be the best move to make. To predict his dice was impossible and would only drive you crazy, but perhaps you could predict his next move by what you presented.

‘Four fours.’ You did your best to speak with a flat tone, to not show any emotions. Keep your breathing steady and keep your hands still. To not show any signs of nerves. The captain nodded and took another glance at his dice. There were maybe two before his rebuttal.

‘Five fours.’ There was nothing you could read off of him. The tension across the table only intensified, growing thicker with every moment of silence that passed by.

‘Three fives,’ you replied. The captain raised a suspicious brow.

‘Three sixes.’

‘Four sixes.´ You spoke slowly but confidently. Or with what you hoped could be seen as confidence. It was a lost battle, really. With you having none, there was no chance the captain held four sixes under his cup. He must know it, too, in your case. You knew it just is how the corner of his mouth raised in amusement.

‘Four sixes?' he asked, and you simply nodded again, but he wanted more from you. ‘Speak up, princess.’

‘Yes.’ You spoke sternly, remaining as still as possible. The captain shook his head once, grimacing.

‘See, darling, I don’t believe in beginner’s luck.’

‘Well, captain, I couldn’t tell it’s your first time playing. But don’t worry, you’re doing really well.’ You gave him a sweet sort of smile. So sweet that it could make you sick to your stomach. A few men around you pushed down their laugh, ignoring their captain’s deadly glares. He refocused his attention your way.

‘Show up, princess, because I doubt luck is this much in your favour.’ He tilted his chin, nudging you from across the table to reveal your dice, which you did with a sigh because when is it ever. Since you had stepped foot on this ship, luck seemed to have been missing from your life in its entirety. And yet, with this being a known fact, you were confused to see Munson’s reaction at the reveal of what you had rolled. It was not quite pride nor disappointment. His shoulders slacked down, and something pulled at the muscles in his face. He needed a second to compose his reaction to his winning.

‘Congratulations,’ you muttered without looking any longer at him. Ready to play the next promised round, you grabbed the cup to roll your dice again but were surprised to see Munson get off his seat. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Time for round two, darling.’ He smirked, walking past his crewmates to the centre of the deck. He had moved so far back that you had to turn in your seat. The confusion blocked your speaking ability, but fortunately, the captain was ready to explain. ‘I never said what game that would be, now did I?’ He stood there, surrounded by his men. His stance was wide, and his forearm hung lazily over the helm of his sword, which hung by his side. He let his fingers dance daintily across the silver while waiting for your response, the rings adorning them glistening in the sun.

‘What–’ you took a deep breath as you felt it getting stuck in your throat, ‘what game will this be?’

‘I have been rather looking forward to a little duel, in all fairness. I think we all have.’ He pointed around to everyone in the audience around you. You looked at them. Their smiles were big, and their posture relaxed but eager. They were expecting a show, and, in all fairness, you wanted one too. It’s the least of what you deserved after days of this hell.

Your shirt, still rather ample on your frame, slid down your shoulder as you got up, but you pulled it up with a swift move. Munson, and the rest, watched as you walked up.

‘Any new rules for this round?’ You asked loudly enough for everyone to hear, but the captain had other plans. He closed the gap between the two of you to answer, whispering the words right against your ear.

‘First one to be on both knees loses. How about that, princess?’ He pulled away again to ask you the question, but only a step. You blinked, took one more deep breath and nodded.

‘Oh, this will be fun,’ he smiled, and of course, he had. You could only imagine how much joy it would bring him to humiliate you in front of all these men. Especially since you had already, in front of everyone, admitted that you had not been taught to fight. How easy will it be to win, then?

He called out: ‘Someone give the lady a sword!’ It was aimed at no one, precisely who had handed you your weapon. You barely had the time to look around to see who had given you their sword, as it was thrust upon you with quite a lot of force, pushing you a step back. You tried to get a good grip on it, but no matter how you held it, the sword felt awkward in your hand.

‘You expect me to fight with this?’ You looked at your sword, suppressing any visual reaction to its form. The blade looked tethered and most visibly abused in the previous battle.

‘Not alluring enough for the lady?’ the captain said, pulling his sword out of its scabbard.

‘No, it is not that,’ you kept inspecting your sword apprehensively, ‘though I am sure you have more handsome weapons in your property. I just hoped for a more balanced blade.’ While already at a large disadvantage, with a sword like this, you had absolutely no chance at winning. You tried to hold it up on your hand, balancing the blade against the grip, with the former immediately falling to the ground no matter how you attempted to hold it. You gave the captain an apologetic smile as the sword clanged across the floorboards. He, in response, avoided your gaze by looking at his men for a substitute.

‘Harrington!’ he called out. Harrington stepped out from the ring of spectators, a bit stunned by the sudden call. Munson cocked his head your way, so the crewmember approached you and handed you the sword you had watched him fight with earlier. Closer up, you were taken aback by the harsh scar across his throat, like a deep indent from what must have been a rope tightened around it once upon a time. Another bruise, you noticed, was also already forming around his temple. There was his earlier opponent who had hit him.

‘Thank you,’ you said softly as he handed you his weapon. Just from your initial grip, you could tell it was much better. Harrington nodded and moved away quickly from your and his captain’s fireline.

While you knew enough about the objects to know what quality was good enough to use, the sword still felt foreign and awkward in your hand. You did not know how to stand while holding it, and seeing Munson opposite you, with his full confidence aglow, made you feel even smaller. But despite it all, one thing was for sure. Enough time had gone by, and enough had come between you for you to know that he could no longer treat you the same as he had the day you were broad on board. He could not do whatever he pleased with you. You wouldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t. So, while he looked you up and down with his casual smirk, you made a point to, somewhat confidently, keep your head up.

‘What do you say, princess,’ Munson swung his sword back and forth, ‘I’ll go easy on you.’ With a weak attempt to release some tension from your shoulders, you rolled your head from side to side before copying the captain and letting the sword smoothly move around with the slightest wrist movements. It cut the air with audible slashes, leaving the captain and everyone else mute.

‘It’s appreciated, captain,’ you didn’t forget to respond to his generosity.

The captain simply nodded. No formal duelling rules were aboard the Hellfire since no one had time for the silly rituals. He simply stepped into position, and so you followed behind. He was, naturally, also the first to attack.

You were just in time to block it. The blades clinked at the point of impact, and there was a moment of confusion on Munson’s face. Hesitation. It was brief and all-telling in his eyes and brow, and lucky for you, it didn’t go unnoticed. It was a blink of an action as he tried to process what you had just done. The instinct at which you performed. Did he see your smile?

But the moment was soon as he proceeded with his next swing. And the next. Next. one after the other, locking you in with his movement. From each new angle, never passing on the theatrics of it all with turns and bends at which you should not have been able to keep up—but you did. You counteracted every attack, perhaps not flawlessly, straining to keep up with the speed and agility at which the captain moved, but it was more than anyone had expected you to be capable of.

And finally, the opportunity presented itself. A brisk moment of stillness gave you a chance to swing your sword. Of course, he blocked it, steady on his feet, but Munson took a small step back as you kept coming forth. The metal practically echoed over the ship. Cheers from the audience subsided as everyone got lost in the duel. There seemed to be no end; you only moved faster, harsher, harder.

As you kept moving, the crows had to move along with you, making space for the extended movements of the blades. If it had not been for the well-times duck, there would have been a head short on deck. The captain kept moving back from you until there was a thud. He had nowhere else to go as you backed him up against a barrel. There was that brief flash of panic on his face again as he came across a situation he had never expected to land in, but it washed away just as quickly. There was no time for him to react to the situation, for your sword was coming closer and closer to him again, and this time he had nowhere to go. With a final move, you pressed the blade against his throat. You were both breathing heavily. Sweat poured down on both of you underneath the scorching sun. The tip of your sword remained under his Adam’s apple, which moved up and down as Munson heaved in the air. And yet, even with his neck tightly stretched as he was forced to look up because of the sword digging into his skin, he had a bemused smile upon his face.

‘You said no one taught you how to fight?’ It was more of a question than a statement, as if he was confirming his memory.

‘Which is true,’ you pulled away, happy to see you had left your mark as a small cut. ‘No civil man would teach their daughter how to draw a sword, or let a lady compromise her polite statue with violence, or put her in any compromising and potentially dangerous situation, for that matter.

‘But they will also not let an opportunity to boast go by.’ You watched him swipe his hand at the blood pooling from the cut you had made, and you could not ignore the pride you felt with it. ‘So, I observed as they made me watch them train.’

‘That much is obvious,’ he wiped his now bloody fingers on his trousers, but the blood came pouring, slowly, down his neck. A thin red line marking your moment of victory. You couldn’t help but smile. And yet, he spoke with the most confidence, leaning against the barrel that had locked him in. ‘but we’re not done yet, princess.’ And then he attacked with a strike so flush and quick you had almost missed it. It cut the air by your side in half, and you could feel the repercussions hit you in your cheek.

Of course, the game was not over just yet. The winner was meant to be the last one standing, literally. You might have locked him in, but he would not give up until he was down on his knees.

Munson attacked once more, taking advantage of the incoordination that came with his first blow. His target had become low, with a focus on your legs. He swiped at your feet with such an intensity that you knew if he hit you, it would leave its own mark and one much worse than the cut you had made. The only thing you could do to avoid his force was to backtrack, jumping from one leg to another. You moved around the ship like a dancing monkey in the circle of everyone’s attention. Your attempts to attack had become poorer as the captain’s smile grew wider.

He took one long swipe down at your ankles, to which you could only respond by jumping as high as possible. The new clothes you had taken the night before certainly aided you in the acrobatics necessary when dealing with a duelling partner such as Munson, but you still wore your own shoes. The heels buckled as you landed on the ground, throwing you off balance. You felt yourself falling, but the final drop never came.

Your side hit someone’s sturdy frame. When you looked up, your eyes met a pair of brown ones. Brown, surrounded by a sea of dark purple bruises. Harrington held you up with one arm.

‘Your footing is all wrong,’ he spoke softly, but not enough to keep it a secret between the two of you as he pulled you up to your feet.

‘Funny, as I was just copying you,’ you laughed.

The captain called out to you impatiently. ‘C’mon, princess, the fun isn’t over yet.’ But perhaps it was, as he went in for a poorly calculated strike, and you screamed out, silencing everyone to their core, bending in two as a searing pain met your side. Still holding you, Harrington kept you up as much as he could. A task that came harder to be when you went limp. He stumbled back, almost falling over himself.

When you looked down, you saw your shirt, brand new in a sense, now had a large gash. The bottom half of it hanging on by loose threads. What once was pale ivory was now coloured crimson. You looked up at your attacker, who stood only a few feet away, his weapon hanging loosely in his grip. Higher, you saw his eyes, big in fear. An indescribable expression was painted across his face, but you hoped that he could read yours.

Trying to ignore the pain that was now overwhelming your whole body, you pushed yourself away from Harrington and passed the captain. His hand reached out to you, but you froze before he could anchor himself. Before getting yourself into more trouble, as a million thoughts raced through your mind, you dropped the sword to the ground. It fell onto the floorboards with a deafening clatter, and like that, you walked on quickly to the trapdoor, ignoring the captain’s calling of your name and the feeling it brought upon you to hear it for the first time in so long. There were more important, more painful things on your mind now.

Everyone moved out of your way, but their eyes stayed on you until you passed them. Robin had just reached the bottom of the stairs down from the helm, but she stood there just as everyone else, unsure what to do. She glanced at what was happening behind you, as you could hear people talking and moving but could not bother to turn around. You just wanted to get away from it all. The last thing you heard before heading below deck was someone angrily calling out the captain’s name, but it all felt like a blur around you.

Only once you were in your cell did you dare look at the damage he had caused. With a deep breath, you pulled the shirt’s material up to reveal a long narrow cut on your ribs. The only thing that made you feel alright was the fact that it did not look deep. As far as sword wounds go, it was a graze, but the blood continued streaming. And so did your tears. But you let that pain, and fear, boil down to anger and strength to rip the last few inches of the loose hanging pieces of shirt and wrap them around your middle as tightly as possible to stop the bleeding.

This is what happens when you let your guard down when you do not run away and instead stay and let yourself be hurt by these monsters. You did not what to think that Robin and Harrington had been a play, some kind of ruse of the captain’s invention to give you that fake sense of security, to slip you into dropping your apprehensions and lead you to… where you were now, bleeding out on the heap of hay, back in your cage.

With your heart beating into your ears, you didn’t realise that someone had followed you down to the lower deck, or hear the footsteps coming down to see you, nor the chuckle of the chains and buckles that came with the steps.

‘For what it’s worth,’ he said once he had already stepped into your holding cell, ‘I am truly sorry.’

You had no idea what it was lying beside you, but you grabbed it and, without saying a word but with as much power as you could muster, you threw it in the general direction of his face. With a small lean, he managed to dodge it and the item fell through the railings of the cell to shatter on the ground. You stared at him darkly, hoping the message was clear. He had never seemed to be able to do it, but maybe this one time, he could let you be alone…

Of course, it could not be that simple. He would not start listening to you now. Instead, the captain bent down to his knees, meeting your line of sight. In his hand, he held one of the bottles from his drawer.

‘Please, may I?’ he showed you the spirit bottle, and you got the idea of what he meant with it. It still took you a moment to formulate your response as you took it all in. ‘No, you may not.’ With a snap of your words, you removed the bottle from his grip and pulled the cork out with your teeth. You kept it in your mouth as you poured the alcohol over your fresh wound. The groan that left you as the alcohol burned away at the wound was only slightly muffled.

‘It was never my intention to hurt you.’ He said in that same, defeated tone.

‘And yet,’ you had spit out the cork, this time hitting him in the chest, ‘that seems to be what happens any time you come near me.’

‘There is no excuse for me, I know whatever I will say will mean nothing to you.’ He watched you scoff at his response. ‘See?’

‘What are you doing here?’ You sighed, already tired of his presence. To think that maybe not an hour had gone by since you had woken up, moderately at peace, in his cabin and now you were lying before him, hands covered in blood and spirit, and your mind dizzying with pain and rage.

‘How– how bad is it?’ There was a shake in his words, and you could not understand whatever for. Each move you made sent shocks down into your ribs, but as you did not feel like saying much more to him, you tilted your arm up to show the severity of the cut. The alcohol had washed off most of the excess blood and left behind the thing and precise cut over your side. Munson looked at it and another muscle in his face flinched at the sight of what he has caused. ‘It does not seem to be perilous.’

‘Yes, considering I am not dead I had figured as much.’ As you still had the bottle in your hand, you lifted it up to your lips and took a large sip. The burn at your throat was comparable to the feeling of the liquid touching your wound, but it was much more appreciated. After one more sip, you looked back at Munson. ‘Anything else, captain?’

‘No, I— I do not know what came over me, and I will not forgive myself for what I have done.’ He was stumbling over his words, but those he managed to produce left you in a whirl. How genuine it all was, you could not tell, but the deep regret he seemed to have reflected in his being. But you had learned your lesson to fall for such weaknesses.

‘Yes, it must be horrible seeing your investment get compromised.’ You took another swig of the drink. The captain opened his mouth to respond, but decided against it. He stood up already turned to leave when a final thought came to you.

‘From what I remember of the rules of the game,’ your words paralysed him mid-step as you called out, ‘I never fell to my knees.’ He, however, had.

The captain turned enough for you to see his profile and how the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement. ‘Fine, you win.’ Then he continued walking up to the ladder.

You smiled to yourself as he left.

You won.

Chapter 6

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