#dock fouling

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Forbidden cauliflower

[lolasky]

ㅤㅤㅤ HEY DADDY!

[ ᯓ★ ] meeting their future child with you when you're not even dating yet | fem!reader | fluff, humour (at some point), a teeny tiny bit of angst on usopp's one, foul language (just koro saying an 'ass') ꩜ | wc. 4.7k — approx. 1k each |

not said, but kazuki is 4, koro is 8, nyla is 6 and heaven is 11

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤL U F F Y

he'd be so confused once he saw a little boy just like him. not just in appearance, but with his whole energy. once he learned and accepted the fact that the boy – who was his mini version, the crew couldn't even doubt – was his son, he refused to give him back to his timeline.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ☆ ]

the straw hat crew has just docked at an island so they could get some supplies before getting back to sailing.

"okay, so, sanji and i are going to get some food," you tell, waiting for sanji to get out of the kitchen with the list.

"robin and i are going shopping!" nami says excitedly. "are you sure you don't wanna go with us instead with... him...?" she points to the blonde cook, who was lighting up another cigarette.

"i wanna go too!" luffy yells from inside, running to the deck, where the crew were at.

"you. stay." the navigator says through her teeth. "we'll be quick and don't need any trouble. you stay with zoro and watch the ship."

luffy pouted, watching his crew get down from the ship. he looked at zoro, thinking if he could pest him a little, but soon the swordsman brushed him off saying "i'm gonna sleep. if you make any noise or cause some trouble, i'm gonna slice you in three."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

nami and robin were getting out of another store with more bags, chatting about random things when a kid bumped into them and fell.

"oh, i'm sorry, little one..." robin drops her bags and kneels in front of the little boy, offering her hand to help him stand up, but as soon as she sees his lips quivering and his eyes starting to get wet, she worries.

the little boy stretched his arms out to her, asking silently to be picked up and so she did.

"where are your parents, little boy?" nami asks in a soft tone, watching him getting comfortable in robin's arms.

"and what's your name?" the archaeologist drops the second question.

the kid gazed at the woman, lips quivering again and his voice trembling when he asked "you... you don't rwemember my name aunt lobin?"

nami gave her a weird look. she was as confused as robin. watching the little one in her arms closer, he reminded her of someone. the messy black hair, the big round eyes, the pout. why the hell does this kid look so much like luffy? robin seemed to notice the same thing as her.

"okay... so... what about we look for your parents, huh? and you can tell me your name 'cause i love hearing you say it!" the older woman says, eliciting a big smile from the boy. nami coughed immediately.

"can we go to the shwip? i'm sure they are thewe!" he holds the women's hands and pulls them in any direction.

it sure made the navigator and the archaeologist even more confused because how did he know they had a ship? and why would his parents be there?

"so, sweetheart, tell me your name?" robin asks once again.

"oh! i'm kazuki!" he stops abruptly, making nami almost trip and fall. "i'm monkey d. kazuki!" and that's how their jaws went slack.

"YOU'RE WHO?!" they panic.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

as soon as the girls got back to the sunny, they met all of the crewmates, except for sanji and you, who apparently hadn't been back yet.

"who's that kid?" usopp asks confused. mainly because he couldn't pry kazuki off of him and his nose.

"where did this kid come from?" zoro asks. he was starting to get irritated.

"uncle zoro, whewe is dada?" the little version of luffy asks, a bit upset that usopp could get him off of him.

"how would i know, kiddo?" he answers in the same annoyed tone as ever.

"i'm so hungry! when is sanji coming?" luffy whines, showing up at the deck and there they could spot the similarities.

not only their hair, eyes, pout, or even the big grin kazuki offered, but the energy the kid had. he was just like luffy in many ways. he just wasn't that loud like the straw hat captain – thanks to his mother.

once the crew saw them together, all the pieces seemed to connect. one, two, three blinks in disbelief and the boys' jaws fell to the ground.

"oh, hey kid!" luffy greets him friendly.

"dada!" the little boy jumped into the captain's arms who seemed as clueless as ever.

and a wave of yelling could be heard.

a couple of minutes has passed by and luffy and his son seemed to get along well. zoro, chopper, usopp, brook and franky were in the same position, they were still loading the information.

the captain and his little kid were running around the sunny, playing tag. they even tried to call the others but they didn't... seem like playing.

"you know, kazuki is too old to be in this... uhm... timeline..." nami points it out to robin.

"i know. how can luffy have had a son?" she murmurs, watching both run and giggle around the ship.

"robin!" it seems to call the other back to earth. "i'm seriously worried! and we don't even know who his mother is." the navigator looks stressed. one luffy is enough trouble, but a luffy and a mini him?

"we don't even know how he got here in the first place." robin sighs.

"we're back!" you announce as you put some bags on the floor.

"wow! you took more time than us." nami approaches you. "what happened?"

"well... sanji decided to pick up a fight over a fish..." you say casually. "uhm... did we miss something?" you notice the boys, finding it normal – well, for the straw hats, but as soon you spot a kid running around the ship with the manchild your captain is, you get confused. "who's that kid?"

"long story..." nami smiles innocently.

"did you kidnap a kid?"

"what? no! it's not- it isn't-"

"mama!" a childly voice is heard from the depths of the sunny and you can see that kid from before running to you happily.

okay, it's going too far!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

"so, this kid, kazuki, is luffy son's with... you?!" usopp tries to connect all the pieces. you hum an "yes" and his brain seems to burn. "too much information, too much information!" he holds his head while falling to the ground dramatically.

"when did you and luffy make a baby?" zoro asks confused as ever.

"don't be stupid mosshead. this kid is clearly from the future." sanji answers, blowing the smoke away.

"thanks, sanji." you smile at him, who looks at you like he's helplessly in love.

you feel a tug in your shirt and look down at your kid. "is something wrong, little one?"

"mama, i wanna sleep..." he rubs his eyes and yawns, blinking slowly while stretching his arms out to you. the whole crew – zoro included – had their hearts melted.

"then let's sleep, huh?" you say softly, picking him up and gently caressing his cheek and hair as he snuggled against you.

luffy runs to you, seeing his child in your arms. "what? don't tell me you're sleepy already, kid!" the captain pouts, watching the baby yawn. "no, let's play more!" he bounces excitedly.

"luffy, he's tired." you hiss, wanting your baby as calm as possible.

"but i wanna play more with my son!" he insists.

"you played enough, don't you think?" you start to make your way inside the sunny with luffy following you, insisting that they should play more. "now he wants to sleep with his mama."

"but-"

"mama, dada, let's sleep, pwease?" hearing the sleepy voice of his child, luffy seems to calm down a little.

"sure baby." you peck his forehead. "but your dada is not joining us 'till he baths." luffy gasps.

"how can you betray the dada of your child like that?" the captain whines, still following you to your quarters.

"yeah, i guess they settled pretty quickly to this life of mama and dada." nami comments, grinning at their recent view.

"i can't believe this idiot became a father before me." usopp complains, murmuring still lying on the floor.

"how do you know that?" chopper asks. "well, maybe all of you are already parents in the future..." that simple sentence was enough to ignite something in zoro, usopp and sanji.

"hey, kazuki! don't sleep right now!" zoro shouts.

"yeah, tell me if your great uncle usopp gave you little friends to play with, huh?" usopp is the first to run, looking for the little family.

"surely i'm the only one qualified enough to even get a spouse!" sanji yells at zoro, punching him to reach the one person who could give him the precious information.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤZ O R O

he'd be as confused as luffy and would deny every word that kid would say. like, only just because a kid has green hair, is almost obsessed with swords, has the guts to insult him and is the sassiest kid he'd ever met, that is his son, huh? he definitely could grow accustomed to the presence of that child and the fact that he made him with you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ☆ ]

another island could be seen by the pirates. it meant they could dock there to stock some items. franky was the one eager. on their way, some pirates tried to fight the straw hats – which obviously couldn't be a good idea. well, the matter is, the sunny had some minor damages and usopp and franky were trying to keep their home alive.

chopper and you didn't need anything. the medical supplies were enough for a while, so you and he didn't need to go outside, but he wanted to. nami went to see if she could buy something she liked. luffy went to see if he could find a nice restaurant. zoro, robin, brook and you stayed on the ship.

zoro and you had a hate-love relationship. you were friends and would get along, but he's the sassiest man you've ever met and just gets on your nerves. you just want to kill him.

some time has passed by and the crew came back. you were still reading your book, laying your head on robin's legs as she sunbathed.

"hey, uhm... i didn't know zoro and you were together..." usopp says awkwardly, approaching you as robin coughs in disbelief.

"we're not." you stand up, angry. "what is that stupid vegetable slicer saying now?"

"no! nothing! is just... franky and i found a kid... and he's... claiming to be your son..." you gag.

"MY WHAT?!" you hear zoro yelling and soon coughing desperately.

"where is he?" you ask the sharpshooter who points to the entrance. the green-haired kid looks so timid. he's just standing there, looking at every part of the ship. you approach him calmly, bending a bit so you can talk better to him. "hey, kid!" you offer him a smile and he can't help but feel calmer.

"hi, mom..." he answers in a low voice, still shy.

"why don't you say your name and we get to meet the others, huh? so you can tell us more about what's going on. do you know what's going on?" he looks into your eyes and advert his gaze again.

"something like that..." he plays with his fingers before answering your first question. "my name is roronoa koro." your eyes widen a bit, you can't hide your surprise.

"so you're really the kid of that stupid man..." you murmur and he nods.

"i swear he gets more likeable in the future." koro says, earning a warmful giggle from you. seeing his mother never fails to calm him.

"i rather see it myself." you offer your hand to him, who holds it without even thinking. "let's see the others."

as you walk hand-in-hand with koro, getting closer to the crewmates, they couldn't believe what their eyes were just seeing.

zoro's jaw fell on the ground. how- how can he have a child? with... you?

the little kid gasps immediately once he sees the swords zoro is carrying. he runs to his father and try to touch the the swords, but the grumpy swordsman doesn't let him to.

"what you think you doing?" he asks, holding the kid's head so he couldn't get closer.

"do you use them often?" the boy asks, curiosity dripping from his eyes.

"of course, i use them often. why wouldn't i?"

"well, currently, the three swords are untouched, held by a support in the living room's wall..." the little roronoa answers, trying to touch them at all costs. "let me see it!"

"no, you won't touch it!" zoro insists.

a loud noise was heard by the crew. a tray with some snacks was splattered on the floor while sanji stood there, looking at the little mosshead in front of him.

"am i seeing it right?" the blond cook's eyes were wide open. "WHY IS THERE A LITTLE MOSSHEAD?"

"uncle sanji!" the little boy runs to his beloved uncle, who was left flabbergasted.

"you like him? he's a stupid cook!" the swordsman was at a loss of words.

"and so are you." sanji laughs his ass off. his eyes glossy because of the tears of joy. "seriously... i can't believe you had- well, you're gonna have kids with this idiot." he talks directly to you.

"trust me... i have no reasons to..."

"my favourite boy! tell me, kid, what do you wanna eat? i can prepare anything just for you." sanji talks to him, guiding koro to the kitchen. luffy is following them quietly until sanji yells at him so he scurries away.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

trying to know more about him and where he came from, zoro and you sit and talk to koro. you were lying on a wall, koro was by your side and zoro was in front of you.

"so, how did you come here?" you ask the boy.

"i don't know. last thing i remember i was sleeping, then i ended up at that weird place." your son explains. "the weirdest thing is... my sister was next to me... why she's not here too?" he sounded confused.

"wait... not only one but two kids with the mosshead? what did i do to deserve such a punishment?" you mumble.

"ha ha, like it's my dream to have kids with you." the swordsman hissed.

"not only two, but three. you're pregnant." you gag as you listen to his words.

"three..." you whisper, not believing a thing. "what's your thing, huh? three earrings, three swords, three kids. are you obsessed or something?" you yell at zoro who just smirks.

"might be my lucky number." he keeps that eat-shitting grin on that stupid pretty face while you die internally. "wait, you have a sister... what's her... name?"

"the one you fought mom to name her. kuina." koro's face lit up at the mention of his sister. he really loves his family.

that annoying grin zoro held up in his face was replaced by a genuine smile which made you smile along, happy. koro knew about the past of both his parents and was really proud of them.

"lord, please give me strenght..." you sigh. "well, i know it can be a bit... confusing not to call me mom, so you can keep it..."

"and you like it..." you son knows you too well no to notice it. doesn't matter what timeline he's at, you'll always be his favourite person.

"and i like it..." you smile, ruffling his short green hair. "okay, i'll try to find some way to send you back to your life. future me and... zoro... might be worried." you stand up, pecking his forehead and walk away.

"pleeease, let me see it! mom never lets me..." the little boy pouts, making grabby hands at his father as soon as you're out of sight. "please, dad!"

that word. that kid.

"fine. but only if you tell me some things. it'll be our... little dad and son secret." zoro suggests, knowing way too well his son wouldn't refuse.

"deal!" he answers excitedly while watching his father pull wado ichimonji from its sheath.

koro inspects the sword. his eyes are bright, sparkling like a starry sky. he's just like his father, a swords lover. even though his mother has forbidden him from using one. zoro has an amused look watching his little soon-to-be-swordsman.

"so... did i become the greatest swordsman?" he questions, seeing koro maneuvering his sword.

"yes, you defeated mihawk." the reply is short and simple due to the boy's concentration to something else.

zoro just celebrates, murmuring a few things, feeling like he's the strongest man alive.

"did future me teach you that well how to use a sword?"

"sure thing! despite mom's clear rule not to let me touch a sword 'til i was sixteen, you've started to teach me two years ago." the kid smiles.

"and... last thing... uhm... did future me ever tell you how i get your mom?" the swordsman looks a little hesitant, even more when he sees the knowing look koro was shooting at him.

"hate her my ass." the roronoa kid mumbles.

"hey!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ���ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤU S O P P

the moment he spotted you coming back with a child, he thought you've just kidnapped her, but as soon as he laid his eyes on the little girl, he thought it was too good to be just a joke. when the girl introduced herself, he couldn't help but smile and welcome her, loving the idea of being the father of such a cute girl.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ☆ ]

the crew were preparing to set sail. the island they docked at was way too small, so they hadn't much to do there. as soon as they've got everything they needed – or the island could provide – they'd get back to sailing.

yet, you were walking around the place, seeing some things, and if you liked it, you'd keep it.

you were standing at a fruit stall, hearing the seller babble about some rare golden fruit he just got from a distant island, but you knew it was just talking. you were distracted by your favourite fruit – which looked so pretty and delicious – that you didn't even notice a little girl running around.

"dada? dada!" she was screaming. she looked so terrified.

you turned around, seeing the kid crying. some people were trying to help her, some people were just ignoring her and passing by. but as soon as she spots you, she runs to you like you are her hope.

"mama!" she clutched to you and refused to let you go.

"oh! uhm... hey, baby... i'm- i'm not your mother, kid..." you tried to pry her off of you, but her grip was too strong.

"yes, you are! you're my mama! dada always talks about you and shows pictures of both of you. you are my mama!" she yells at you, not giving you space.

"okay, okay, let me see you, right?" she looked hesitant, but eventually she loosened her grip and looked up to you. she was so beautiful and reminded you of someone. "first, tell me your name, huh?" you knelt in front of her, taking her face in your hands.

"nyla..." the girl looks at you with such admiration.

"and where are your parents?" she frowned.

"you're here!" she insists, pouting when you refuse to be her mother. "you've met me! and dada might... be on the ship?"

"what?"

"the ship, mommy! can we go there, please?" her eyes were sparkling.

"fine..." you just accept. she streches her arms out to you, wanting to be as close as possible to you. you pick her up, heading to the sunny.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

"uhm... who's... that girl?" usopp asks as he's the first to spot you with a child in your arms.

"dada!" nyla is quick to let go of you and run to her father, who just stands there, looking shocked.

"HE'S YOUR FATHER?" you yell, as shocked as usopp.

"yes! and you're my mama! and i'm happy to be here!" she points and hugs usopp, who embraces her too.

nami shows up at the deck and frowns. "who-"

"our daughter." you just accepted. it looked so confusing and complicated, you just accepted.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

late at night, nyla wanted her father to sleep with both of you, but when you said usopp had to sleep in the boy's quarters, she sulked a bit, but eventually, accepted. it was clear to see that she was attached to you, like your shadow, or an extension of you.

"okay, so, i can stay just by the time you sleep, or else your mother throws me outta the ship." usopp explains casually, smiling, getting in the bed.

"right! i want mommy anyways!" she nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck while hugging you.

"see! i'm the favourite, hah!" you tease the sniper, who crosses his arms, sulking.

"that's not fair, nyla!" he tells her in a whining voice.

right after that, you can feel something wet on your neck and a sniffing.

"nyla, baby, why you're crying?" you push her a bit, trying to see her face. her eyes are red and wet, tears rolling down her cheeks nonstop.

"dada are you mad at me?" the little girl asks her father, whose eyes widen in surprise.

"no, no, i could never, love." he rushes to scoop her in his arms, calming her.

"i just wanna spend more time with mama..." her voice is muffled due to her face being pressed to usopp's chest.

"why that? i'll always be with you, huh?" you try to soothe her, but it doesn't, she sobs even more.

"i just have my dada now, mama. you're not there. i wanna spend more time with you because when i get back you won't be there..." you glanced at usopp, who looked even more panicked than you are.

"hey, come to mama..." you call her and nyla is quick to hug you. "don't think about that, okay? i'm here for you right now." you kiss her cheek, wiping her tears away. "and i won't leave by your side until is your time to get back to your life." she looked into your eyes, trying to catch every inch of your face so she can remember. "now let's sleep so tomorrow we can enjoy more!" she smiled.

"night momma, night dada!" nyla pecked yours and her father's cheek, then she closed her eyes, waiting for her time to be kissed.

usopp and you chuckled, leaning in to kiss both of her cheeks, making her giggle happily.

"night, baby girl." usopp sang, caressing her hair.

you closed your eyes, getting yourself comfortable to sleep and usopp stayed there, just like he said. well, is not like he'll get any sleep that night, after all, now he knows he has a daughter with the woman of his dreams, but she's not there.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤS A N J I

the moment he saw a little girl looking for her parents, he'd be stunned. he could clearly see some of your traits on her face, just like your smile – the thing he adored the most about you. but he'd be confused asf, because who's that girl? when she finally introduces herself, saying she's the daughter of blackleg sanji and you, he'd faint. has... his dream just come true?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ☆ ]

you were in the kitchen with sanji. since the others have just gone to explore the new island, someone had to watch the ship, and you offered to do that. the cook, not missing an opportunity, said he'd be with you, after all, he couldn't let a delicate flower like you alone at an unknown place, right?

at the moment, sanji is cooking like always. he's making some kind of dessert he refuses to tell what it is.

"sanji, are you sure it doesn't contain anything i'm allergic to?" you ask, trying to peek at some of the ingredients.

"please, my swan, i'm not some kind of inexperienced chef, am i? i would never cook something you're allergic to. now, please, take a seat and be ready, i'm almost done." he says and you do, taking your seat and preparing yourself. sanji turns around, placing the plate with the colourful dessert in front of you. "et voilà! hope you like it!"

"i always appreciate your cooking." and you take a little bite. your eyes roll in pleasure. you're so lucky to have a sous chef in your crew.

sanji just looked at you in awe. he could move a mountain if it meant he could get you smiling.

"excuse me!" an unknown voice shouted from afar. you shoot a glance at the cook who is doing just the same.

"can't believe i'm being interrupted..." you murmur, taking another bite before heading to the deck with sanji following you.

there you were welcomed by a girl. her blue dress was a little dirty and you wondered if she has fallen.

"can we help you?" the blond cook asked her in a soft voice.

"uhmm... yes..." she looked a little hesitant. "i know it may sound a bit... unusual, but... my name is heaven and... i'm your daughter..." she avoided your gaze.

a loud thump was heard and you looked at your side. sanji has just fainted.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ[ ... ]

caught by some headache, sanji woke up. he was lying on the hammock...? but, i was on the deck...? well, he had some kinda dream. not weird, but the perfect dream! that might be the reason for that headache.

hearing distant voices, he waltzed through the ship, going to the kitchen. there, he could see you and the same girl in his dream!

"what?" he mumbles. heaven notices him and signs to you.

"oh, sanji, dear, come here!" you called him so excited he couldn't refuse – not like he would do it anyways. he always does what you say. "do you remember what heaven said?" you ask carefully.

"uhm... she's our daughter...?" the cook says hesitantly, afraid that what he has heard was just a dream.

"yess!" you squeal.

the girl seemed so amused. getting to know her parents when they're not even together yet. in her timeline, they're so in love with each other and her and... now... her mother seems so clueless or just... don't wanna know about him. after all sanji is a womanizer (for now).

"so it's true! hah! i thought it was just a dream, but is true!" now is his time to squeal and that makes heaven smile.

"it's different to see you like that..." the girl points out. "you know... having your hair hiding your eye."

"uhm..." he clears his throat. "it's just part of my style."

"i like your curly brows, dad!" she smiled and that alone would make sanji smile too, but the way she called him, it warmed his heart.

"okay, sanji, we've got you're excited to know you have a daughter-" you start, but he interrupts.

"with you! the most amazing woman i've ever got to know!" he bats his lashes, smiling widely.

"yeah... with me... but we need to know how to send her back to her timeline. she can't be here. she's not supposed to be here. future you and me might be worried... mainly you." you explain and he quickly gets to hug the girl, who appreciates her father's gesture.

"but she's our daughter! would you do that?!" he sounds so desperate, you may just slap him.

"yeah! but only in the future! it'll just mess up our time! maybe we don't even get together anymore."

"okay, kid! see you in the future." he immediately walks away from her, but quickly runs back, clinging to her. "but we can keep her while we don't find a way to send her back, right?"

"yeah! can i?" she joins her father, pouting and batting her lashes.

"fine! you didn't even need to do all that! what would i do to you if not keep you? throw you at the sea?" you ask in disbelief.

"he's the one most likely to get thrown..." heaven points to sanji.

"hey!"

"let's just wait for the crew and give 'em some good news." you smile, watching sanji and heaven get along well.

@LOLASKY ᡣ 𐭩 actually i've wrote sanji's part with the live action sanji in mind. idk he just looks so more mature... actually the live action characters in general!! but yeah wtv- dividers and template by @/cafekitsune

[rowdyluv]

summary:, in which jack and y/n are closer to leaving for Jersey, it’s their last lake day of the summer, but Luke’s friends bring a group of girls who make it impossibly hard for y/n to enjoy her day.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: underage drinking references, bullying(?), fake girlfriend trope, angst, fluff, use of y/n, pet names (toots), use of real names, use of internal thoughts - y/n’s notated by indention and italics, jack’s indention and bolded - , friends to lover, oblivious pining,

notes: any use of names or likeness of real people or places other than restaurants, arenas / players or player’s friends, family members, old teammates etc, are all completely coincidental

© property of quinnylouhughesx43 ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Jack's muscles flexed as he hoisted the last cooler onto the boat, the sound of ice shifting against the plastic echoing in the mid-morning quiet. The sun beaming hot rays down on his bare shoulders as he bent down to put the cooler in the back corner of the boat. Luke followed closely behind, juggling a stash of towels towered on top of a tote of snacks he had probably already laid claims to. He carried the overflowing bundle with perfected ease until he managed to trip over his own feet when stepping on the boat.

Jack’s loud laughter carried over the calm body of water, ��It takes talent to trip over nothing moosey.”

Luke tossed his brother a look as he picked up the towels that splayed out across the floor of the boat. “You would know, seeing how you’re supposed to be a top notch NHL player now and you still fall on the ice, when you’ve not even been checked.”

Jack was silent. He didn’t have anything to say in return, his little brother hit a nerve at the mention of ‘supposed to be top notch.’ Quickly he shook it off, kneeling down to help him pick up the snacks that had fallen out of the tote too. It was Jack and Y/n’s last day to spend out on the lake before heading to Jersey for Jack’s preseason training. Jack didn’t want to spend it in a foul mood.

“I’ll be back in a minute, Dukers and the others are here.” Luke carefully stepped off the boat before jogging off the dock, passing Y/n on his way up.

Just the same as any other boat day, she sat on the boat's bench seat at the back next to the captain’s seat. “It’s crazy to think that in two days I’m leaving my mom, my hometown, and moving to an entirely new state.” Y/n suddenly blurted out to Jack. Who was double checking they had all of the life jackets needed.

“You’re not going to back out on me are you?” Jack didn’t turn to face her or look back in her direction. He continued his inspection. He was truly nervous she would have to go another year without someone with him in Jersey.

“No, of course not…after all, all of my stuff is sort of already there in your new apartment..It's just.. Saying goodbye is always hard for me, I'm not exactly great at letting go.” She fell silent and Jack froze in his spot. He was unsure if she had more to say or if she was waiting on him, so he waited silently hoping she’d continue. Because at that moment it sounded like she wasn’t fully convinced herself she was leaving in two days.

A soft breathy laugh was let out and Y/n continued, “But I did kind of make this agreement with you to be in this fake relationship. Don’t you think that would be a bit hard to do with me here and you there?” She played with the ends of her hair from her ponytail, unsure why she would even bring that up today. She didn’t want to think about it until she had to because the anxiety over it was already eating her alive. Yet here she was letting it fall right out into the open. She was terrified of screwing up somehow and having no one believe in the facade the two of them had created.

“Heh.. Yeah, you kind of did..” Jack sounded far away from where she was, distracted almost. He had turned around to face her now, “but that’s also later, it will all be okay. I promise toot.” He offered her a soft smile and took a seat next to her, leaning over into the cooler to grab himself a beer. “Let’s put all that out of our minds until later too, today is just another day. Let’s have fun, yeah?”

Before Y/n could give any form of response shrilling fake laughter and deep voices drew their attention away from one another.

She watched as Luke reappeared with his friends. As each familiar face trickled in, a new female face with a bigger, brighter, faker smile followed. The girls they had brought along were a bit of a surprise, their presence as annoying as they were loud. Y/n felt a knot in her stomach tighten as she saw the way one of the girls, a blonde with a figure that could make even the most stoic of men stumble, was eyeing Jack like a prize catch.

Because he is a prize catch.

Quinn arrived last, his footsteps heavy on the dock as he carried a brand new handle rope for skiing, kneeboarding, and other activities alike. He looked over the crowd and shook his head. He looked over at Y/n, an apologetic smile gracing his lips. She gave him a small one back, feeling a little better knowing he was on the same page she was with their extra visitors, he also was the only one who knows of the girlfriend arrangement aside from the Devils administration, as Jack had confided in him.

Quinn dropped the rope onto the boat and took his spot behind the wheel. “Everything ready?” Quinn asked to no one in particular.

Jack took one last gulp of the beer he had just opened before nodding eagerly. “Yeah, let’s go baby!”

The blonde giggled, her eyes sparkling like the lake's surface under the hot sun. She sidled up to Jack, her hand lingering a beat too long on his arm as she decided to sit right in between them.

The knot in Y/n’s stomach tightened further. She felt like she could be sick from the blatantly obvious come on. Who the hell does this girl think she is?

This is going to be a long day.

Y/n grabbed the red Devils hat that Jack had let carelessly fall onto the boat's floor earlier when he leaned over, feeling the soft fabric against her palms. She placed it firmly on her head, hoping it would serve as an invisible shield against the barrage of flirty glances and suggestive comments from the blonde. Y/n scooted herself as far over to the edge of the bench seat as possible to get away from her. As the boat's engine roared to life, she settled into a comfortable position, pulled out her phone from her backpack, and pretended to be absorbed in scrolling through her ‘X’ feed. The wind picked up speed, whipping her hair into a frenzy around her face as Quinn steered them away from the dock. The periodic spray of lake water was a welcome distraction from the girl's invasive proximity.

Quinn's eyes flicked over to Y/n, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He cranked up the music, the bass thumping in time with the boat's steady rhythm. The noise was a reprieve, allowing her to sink into the music and momentarily forget about the awkward situation. The boat sliced through the water, leaving a frothy trail in its wake. The cool spray on her skin and the smell of gasoline mixed with the smell of the lake created a peculiar serenity that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.

Jack, catching Quinn's subtle nod in her direction, glanced over at Y/n. Her eyes remained glued to her phone, but he could tell she was far from engaged in whatever she was scrolling through. The blonde had moved on to flirting with Luke's friends, leaving a gap of space between her and Jack that felt like a mile-wide canyon. He leaned over, his hand gently pushing up his cap from her head so he could see her face better. "You okay toots?" he shouted just loud enough over the music for her to hear him.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, the wind tearing a few longer loose strands from her ponytail to slap against his roody red flushed cheeks. She nodded, giving him a forced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine," she simply responded back.

Jack didn't look convinced, his brow furrowed slightly. He knew her better than anyone, and the fake cheeriness didn’t sit well on her or with him. He could tell that she was uncomfortable now that he had paid some attention to her, but he wasn’t going to press the issue, instead he leaned back on the bench with a sigh and turned his attention to his older brother engaging him in a conversation about the upcoming season.

The rest of the day unfolded with Y/n retreating further into herself. She stuck to the back of the boat, a norm for her but she was usually involved in conversations or their silly games. But she had seen this play out before, if she got involved in their conversations or games today, one of the girls would find a way to spin a joke off on her. Making it seem innocent, when it truly wouldn’t be.

The atmosphere was electric with excitement, everyone except Y/n seemed to be having the time of their, intoxicated, lives. Jack didn’t seem to notice how reclusive she had become, or if he did he let her be. The blonde, whose name she hadn't caught, had attached herself to Jack like a leech, giggling at every little thing he said, touching him at every opportunity. Y/n felt like she was watching a movie that she had no part in. Her eyes narrowed at the girl’s antics, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. This was supposed to be their day, a last hurrah before leaving. Before his season started and their lives got hectic.

“Let’s put all that out of our minds until later too, today is just another day. Let’s have fun, yeah?”

Jack’s words from earlier replayed in her mind at a deafening level.

He doesn’t want me thinking about moving, thinking about the season, thinking about me becoming his fake girlfriend? He wants me to have fun. How am I supposed to have fun when he’s out here ignoring me? Well I mean I did tell him I was fine….and I won’t join the conversation but… He’s my Jack..

As the boat slowed down to a gentle drift she was pulled from her thoughts as Jack yelled out it was time to swim. Y/n’s heart sank as the blonde and her entourage turned their attention from Jack to her. "You coming?" one of the girls asked, her voice dripping with sweetness that didn't quite hide the sarcasm.

Y/n took a deep breath and nodded, slipping into the cool water. The relief of the water's embrace washed over her, but it was short-lived. The other girls followed. Jack and the guys raced one another to see who could swim the fastest to a designated marker. Y/n started to follow them out to their starting point, before deciding it was probably best to retreat to the boat. Being in the water with females who didn’t have her best interest in mind was not a good idea. She turned around to swim back and was met by the girls’ laughter that quickly turned to sneers the moment the boys were out of earshot. They circled her like sharks, their eyes assessing and cold. The blonde was the ringleader, her smirk a challenge as she pushed closer.

"You know, it's pretty sad," one of the girls began, her voice unintentionally carrying further than intended over the water's gentle lapping. "Jack only brought you because he feels bad. You're like a charity case, tagging along because he can't say no."

The blonde giggled, her eyes never leaving Y/n's. "Yeah, it's like bringing your kid sister on a date to a theme park so she doesn't feel left out." The other girls snickered, their words stinging like jellyfish tentacles wrapping around her heart.

"I mean, come on," another girl chimed in, her voice nasal and grating. "You think Jack's into you? If he was, wouldn't he have already made a move for you? Plus, look at yourself and then look at him. Then you have the fact that he’s a pro-athlete, he can have anyone he wants." By this point Y/n had started to swim away. She had taken enough of their antics, clearly they weren’t a fan of her.

They were only wanting to tear her down, but were they right?

The blonde swam after her, her eyes glinting with spiteful amusement. "You think he'd choose you over someone like me?" She called out when she couldn’t catch up.

Y/n swallowed the knot in her throat as she jerked up a towel and wrapped it around her body. Quinn at some point had climbed back aboard, already nearly dry.

“Huggy, i will give you every penny to my name if you leave right now.” She whispered to Quinn joking, but sort of was deeply hoping that he would take her seriously when he saw her face.

Quinn’s eyes widened at the desperation in her voice, his gaze following hers out to the group of girls. “You okay?”

Y/n nodded tightly, her grip on the towel almost painful. “Yeah, I’m just...peachy.” Her voice cracking over the knot she desperately wanted to keep suppressed down.

Jack’s eyes snapped to her at the word 'peachy'. He was climbing up the boat’s ladder as the words fell out of her mouth. It was their word since high school when said that meant they needed the other without having to say it outright.

Of course he had noticed she had been quieter than usual, but she had pushed him away when he had tried to talk to her early on. Jack figured it was just the reminisce of their conversation from before they were interrupted by everyone else. But the desperation in her voice was clear as a bell, even over the sound of music, different chatter, and other boats speeding around.

His few strides towards her were purposeful and quick, his gaze never leaving her. He softly took a hold of her lower arm, gaining her attention, the water droplets glinting off his bare chest.

The snarky blonde looked up at them from the water, her smirk slipping.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his voice low and concerned, only for her.

Y/n's eyes searched his, hers giving him a silent plea to not do this now. She nodded again, her voice barely above a whisper. "Ye-."

“Don’t do it, don’t lie to me, toots. I heard you tell Q you were peachy. C’mon what’s up? What’s going on?” Jack pleaded, pulling her to the bench seat they had previously occupied earlier in the day. He wrapped his arm around her waist, turning her to face him before pulling her into him. He didn’t care about the wandering eyes of the females now boarding the boat, his eyes were on his girl.

She held eye contact with him for a moment before she sighed heavily and dropped her gaze to the towel piece that she had in her hand.

“It’s nothing, just those girls, they’re...they’re just saying things, Jack. It’s fine.”

Jack’s jaw tightened as he studied her, his hand moving to tilt her chin up so he could see her eyes again. “What kind of things?” He could only imagine what Angelika, the blonde, would muster up.

“They think I’m just some pity invite, that you’re only still friends with me because you feel bad or something,” she murmured, her voice thick with the evidence of barely holding back unshed tears.

Jack’s eyes narrowed and his hand holding her chin squeezed slightly. “They don’t know us, toots. They don’t know how long we’ve been friends, or how much we mean to each other. They don’t get to define our friendship, our relationship.” His voice was a soothing rumble. He dropped his hand to her shoulder, his thumb tracing circles on her shoulder attempting to ease the tension in her body.

“Even more, none of them are the ones i asked to be my girlfriend. Ya know?” Jack whispered into her ear.

“You forgot an important detail with that, fake.” Y/n laughed softly.

“Yeah, yeah but just to be safe incase others overhear, i just dropped it.” They were both laughing now.

Jack knew she was still upset, and uneasy. The two of them weren’t set to begin their arrangement until sometime after arriving back in Jersey, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to and needing to show her off after hearing what all was said. So he grabbed his phone, placed his Red Devils cap back on her head, and snapped a picture of her with the lake behind her, her smile still a bit forced but beautiful regardless. He posted it on his Instagram story with the caption 'My girl looks good in red'. The reaction was instant. His followers went wild, their excitement palpable through the screen. The likes and replies started rolling in, and Y/n couldn’t help but feel a bit more relaxed with every positive notification he received.

The blonde's eyes widened as she saw the post, and her flirty giggles turned into a scowl. It was clear she wasn’t expecting this turn of events.

“Pick out your favorites, then I’ll post them. Everyone will know then, but there will be no mistake. You’re not a pity friend. Never have been, never will be.” Jack nudged the side of her head with a simple harmless kiss to her temple.

Jack handed y/n the phone, scrolling through their photos together, looking for the perfect ones to post. The boat ride from the swimming spot had been filled with laughter and smiles, shared between just them. Y/n’s heart fluttered and she had a permanent smile on her face as she took in how many of their happy moments captured Jack had on his phone from throughout the years. His camera roll was taken up by hockey, her, the two of them, and he and his family, random memes here and there, but mainly it was them. He had her pick out a couple pictures she wanted him to post on his page as they sat cuddled up, her arm around his waist, his hand resting on her shoulder.

It was nothing new to anyone who has been around them before, but infuriating to the girls.

Y/n had picked her pictures, but before she could hand Jack his phone back, she had been lulled to sleep by the soft rock of the boat and the comfort of being with Jack. Quinn noticed she had fallen asleep when Jack’s phone fell to the floor of the boat. Jack carefully moved her to where her head was lying in his lap and Quinn covered her with another towel. Quinn handed Jack his phone and he finished making the post.

“Rowdy, do you think this is going to all work out?” Quinn asks his middle brother just loud enough for him.

“It’s me and y/n, Q.” That’s all Jack had to say before he leaned his head back and closed his eyes for the remainder of the ride.

it’s me and y/n…it has to work out.

note: pictures below are the ones jack posted (all from Pinterest)

his instagram story post

pictures in his actual post

note: hi! read this blurb next!

[sanguineterrain]

im begging you to write a part 2 of vigilante reader because the way you write??? the dynamic between reader and jason??? the sex tension???are chef kiss!!!

thanks very much! part 2 and I couldn't put off the reveal bc I'm just too impatient lol 🫶 but I might write another part post-reveal? maybe? cuz I'm growing attached to these two <3

jason todd x gn!vigilante!reader (nocturne). tw explosions, smoke inhalation, reader passes out, canon typical violence, identity reveal, asshole bruce. jason is in love? jason is in love.

read pt 1 here! | all fics are reblogged to @sanguinelibrary

****

"Go home."

"Bruce, I—"

Bruce looks at you, eyes sharp with fury and... something else. Something older.

The others know how to talk back. You still haven't gained the courage to sass The Batman.

"Go. Home. If you need an escort, I can call Superman."

You take a step back at his coldness.

"Bruce, I know I messed up, letting Hood escape but—"

"Yes, you did. You deliberately disobeyed an order. I told everybody to stand down. He could've killed you."

But he didn't, you don't say. He could've, but he chose not to.

He'd felt safe.

"I had it under control, honestly. He wasn't—it wasn't like the other encounters you've had with him. He wouldn't have hurt me."

That is the wrong thing to say. You realize that after the words leave your mouth and the muscles in Bruce's jaw jump.

"You can't be this naive. I know I wouldn't have chosen someone who's this naive," he says savagely. "You know Hood can't be trusted, and you're defending him to me. We've seen time and again he's rogue. He doesn't make sense and that's exactly why he's dangerous."

"But if you would just listen—"

"Enough," he snaps. "Enough. Go home. I'm suspending you for three weeks."

"Three w—I'm not even injured!" you cry.

"No, but you need the time. You're not thinking clearly. Go. I don't want to see you until next month."

You press your lips together before you say something truly foul. Something about Batman's habit of pushing people away. Something about dead Robins.

You don't let the tears fall until you leave the Cave. This is all Hood's fault. You know it would've been a different conversation if you'd managed to successfully capture him.

You'll take down the Red Hood if it's the last thing you do.

****

It takes you approximately two days to break your suspension.

In your defense, you meant to follow Bruce's orders. You would've stayed put and helped Barbara with research instead.

But not at the expense of civilian lives.

"All units to Canal and Riverview, 10-80. Standby. Do not enter the factory until given clearance from the Bomb Squad."

You turn off the police scanner and stuff it in your drawer. In Gotham, explosions usually come in multiples. If there's one, there's bound to be another. The police are generally inept when it comes to evacuating civilians. You know one of the other Bats are on their way, but you're the closest to the docks.

You glance at your suit. No. If you go as Nocturne, Batman might suspend you indefinitely.

You grab your gas mask and put on a black hoodie and a domino mask. You'll just have to make do.

The marina is blanketed in thick smoke. It makes your eyes water. But in the commotion it causes, you're able to slip past the barriers and help workers out of the factory. It's difficult because without the suit, people don't give you the same trust and respect. But you're anonymous, and that's all that matters.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You ignore the voice and keep hauling two elderly workers towards the exit. They're barely outside before you turn around, determined to clear every level of the factory.

You're yanked backward by a hand on your hoodie. You nearly lose your footing, but the hand is firm, dragging you towards the pier.

You're spun around and put face to face with a red helmet.

Oh, of all the fucking—

"Let go of me!" you shout, smacking his arm. Hood's grip tightens.

"I will as soon as you stop doing stupid shit. What were you thinking, coming here?"

You pause. Whoops. This isn't how a plain civilian would react to being apprehended by the Red Hood.

And that's definitely not how the Red Hood would react to getting swatted by a random civilian. Shit.

"I was, um, I was thinking I could help," you say haltingly. "P-please don't hurt me, Mr. Hood, I was—"

Hood sighs and lets you go, then tucks his gun into his holster.

"Cut the shit. I know you're Nocturne. I also know that you need some acting lessons because what the hell was that? Mr. Hood?"

A chill washes over you. "I don't know what you mean. Nocturne?"

Hood shakes his head. "I don't have time for this. The building's gonna collapse any second. Stay. Put."

He goes back toward the smoking entrance. Your eye twitches as you follow him.

"Last time I checked, you don't have that kind of authority, Hood."

He turns around and looms over you. "Don't I?"

Anyone else would back down. You might've a week ago. You should, after the tongue lashing Bruce gave you.

But there's no soot on Hood's helmet or vest. He doesn't smell sweet like gasoline or pungent like motor oil.

He was in the factory to help.

Something shifts. Batman is wrong. Batman is more wrong than he's ever been.

Because Hood's not the enemy here. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

You push past Hood. "It'll be faster if we work together."

"Oh, absolutely not. You're not even in your suit."

"As per your request," you say, flashing a plastic smile. "You're welcome."

"Don't get cute with me, you—hey!"

You dart past him and go straight into the factory. Hood shouts your name, which makes you pause, just for a moment.

But revealed identity or not, you need to clear the building. So you pull on your mask and run faster.

Your worst fear is confirmed when you check the upper level: someone was missed in the evacuation. It's a worker, and she's unconscious.

You don't think about how explosions come in pairs in Gotham. Don't think about how long it'll take to get to the exit.

You take off your mask and slide it onto her face. The smoke burns your throat immediately, but you ignore it and lift her in a fireman carry, just as you were taught all those years ago by Robin. He's the one who taught you how to save people without relying on brute strength or height.

You hope he's alright, wherever he is. You hope he's not too upset seeing you rush into a burning building.

That's your last thought when you see the entrance. Your face is covered in sweat and grime. The heat from the fires is exhausting. You can feel your eyes beginning to close.

"There's something seriously wrong with you," a decoded voice says in your ear, and then the woman's weight is lifted from your shoulders.

Hood grabs your hand, the woman over his opposite shoulder, and you make it out just as the second explosion goes off. It knocks you forward.

Hood puts the woman down just in time to catch you. His arm is around your waist, the other hand cradling your head. His gloved thumb touches your mouth, and you feel his dawning realization as he finally sees your mask on the woman.

"Don't tell Ba'man," you slur.

"Jesus fuck—" Hood starts to drag you. You feel lightheaded. He's moving, and you wish he'd stop. "You don't take off your mask. You never take off your mask. We taught you that!"

"She was unconscious, J'y..."

Arms tighten around you. Everything goes dark.

****

You wake up to the smell of scrambling eggs.

For a moment, you just bask in the smell. It smells like Alfred's breakfast scramble. Bacon. Butter. Golden potatoes.

Then you wake up further and realize that you're not in the Manor. You're in your apartment.

So who's cooking?

You get up quietly, slipping out of your room. You pause in front of the full-length mirror.

Honestly, you've looked worse. Your hair needs a wash, and you're in the same clothes you went into the building with, which are now a little charred. But your face is clean of soot, and your throat hurts only a little.

The kitchen sink runs. You slowly creep out into the living room, keeping your breathing even and silent.

The mess of black hair, you recognize. Sort of. You might've mistaken him for Bruce if you didn't know that Bruce has a lifetime ban from kitchens all over the world.

He's too tall to be Dick. Too skilled in the kitchen to be Bruce. Too nice to be Bruce, too—you can't imagine Bruce Wayne making you eggs. Especially when you disobeyed his orders. Again.

The red helmet on the kitchen stool turns your blood to ice.

You grab the letter opener from a drawer and wait a few seconds to see if Hood's heard you. Then you throw the letter opener with near perfect aim at his exposed shoulder.

He catches it without turning.

Your heart skips a beat. Every time you think you might get the drop on him, Hood reminds you just how competent he really is.

A mix of fear, aggravation, and something you don't want to examine too closely swirls in your gut.

"Impressive," he says. "Dami been training you? Mama Al-Ghul spent a lot of time on his knife lessons."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

Hood sets the letter opener down on the counter and turns off the stove. Then he serves the breakfast scramble on two plates, then sprinkles chives over them.

This is the weirdest kidnapping ever.

He sighs, back still facing you.

"You can't tell anyone it's me," he says.

"You make a lot of demands for a guy who just used the last of my eggs."

Hood laughs. It sounds wet. It sounds like grief.

"God, I've missed ya, honeylove."

Your heart pounds. You try to find another weapon, anything. Hood doesn't give you the chance.

He turns around.

The first thing you see is the stark white streak of hair and the curls you once loved. The curls that were near unrecognizable in the casket.

You were right: Batman was wrong.

pt 3

[gingernut1314]

Sack of Potatoes ch. 3

Summary: You messed with the wrong gang and just as you think you've lost, a familiar face comes to your rescue.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, introduction to Vander, Canon typical violence (description of being jumped), young Silco, young Vander, young reader, the boys come to your rescue, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna)

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: Okay, so I've kind very loosely planed things out and there is only going to be one more chapter as them as teens and then we are officially aging up! I hope you all enjoy!!

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You had royally fuck up. 

More so than usual, which was saying something because you had a tendency to fuck up on a daily basis. But today, gods, today you’d pissed off the wrong gang of Undercitians. A group known to put fourteen-year-olds six feet under for fun. 

What had you done, exactly? Well, this gaggle of idiots tended to take trophies from whoever they terrorized, and one item in particular had caught your eye instantly. 

In lack of better words, it was pretty and shiny and you wanted it. 

And it had been too easy to steal it off them. Some would say they deserved to have had it stolen just for that fact alone. 

You cut sharply down a crowded road, pushing and shoving people out of your way. The gang was too close for your liking. You could clearly make out every curse and insult they threw your way. 

If you could just get to the docks, you could take them head-on without fear, but you were in the heart of the city and nowhere near the docks. 

Just as you made to push out of the crowd and run into any building you could get into, a pair of hands grabbed you around the waist. You screamed, but a hand was shoved over your mouth before you could really get a strong bellow out. 

“Thought you could get away, you fucking cunt.” The guy who’d grabbed you hissed gleefully. 

You were dead. Oh gods you were so dead. 

“I caught our little fishy!” He shouted, his gang throwing up wicked laughs as he dragged you away. You wriggled and thrashed and kicked about, trying desperately to get away, but it was no use. He was stronger than you by a mile. 

You were going to endure a slow, truly horrible death all because you’d wanted something shiny. Because your greed had gotten the best of you. 

Weak! Pathetic!

If only you had listened to Janna. If only you stayed put when she told you to stay put. Of only you had stayed in the dunk little cave you called home and practiced your magic like she said.

Stupid. So, so stupid. 

You were dragged down a dark alley and thrown roughly to the ground. The skin on your hands and knees split, but you pushed the pain down and got up as fast you could muster.  

Get away. 

You needed to get away-- 

“Where do you think you're going little fishy?” You screamed as another pair of hands grabbed you, Before you could even throw a punch, you were shoved into one of the brick walls of the alley, nose giving a blood-curdling crunch. The pain made it so you could only give a pathetic whimper. 

If there was anything you hated more than enforcers or fancy Piltover pansies or gaggles of foul-smelling boys, it was breaking your nose.

More hands grabbed you, tossing you against the wall, to the ground, and into more awaiting hands. Hands that grabbed at you shirt and hair. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast for you to get a hold of yourself and fight back. 

Weak!

There was no hope of being rescued, you knew that. 

In The Lanes, it was kill or get killed. Fend for yourself and expect nothing from anyone. 

And Janna was nowhere near the city right now, her winds having been called back to the sea for some reason unknown to you.

It was over--your life. Over when it had only truly just begun. 

“Giving up so quickly, fishy?” One of the cruel boys teased, grabbing a fist full of hair and pulling you to your feet. A small, sad sound escaped your lips. “We’re not done playing yet.” The guy, who was as butt ugly as you could get, got right up in your face. His yellow teeth were on display for your eyes and yours eyes only. His breath was so vulgar it nearly made you puke. 

“I think,” You gasped out, “you need a breath mint.” 

Rotting teeth did not like that. 

The guy dealt a swift punch to your temple, your knees nearly giving out from under you but you fought too damn hard to keep yourself up.

Gods , your vision was getting spotty. You tried to blink the blackness away, but it only made it worse. 

“You little whore. You’re gonna--” 

“That’s not a very kind thing to say to a lady.” A voice spoke from behind you and the gang. 

It was a voice you’d heard before…but your mind was too foggy to truly pinpoint it. 

“Don’t you know not to stick your nose in our fucking business?” One of the gang memebers hissed. 

“If you can call beating a kid to death business.” The voice said something else but your hearing was faded in and out. 

Child?

You were not a child. 

Suddenly, you were thrown to the ground, pain flaring in your elbow as more skin was ripped open. If you made it out of this, you were going to be in pain for days.  

And to top your horrid day off, you landed in something wet. Something you prayed to any god listening was just street water and not piss. 

Shouting filled your ears, but faded out in seconds. 

Shit, that couldn’t be good. 

The screaming and your hearing loss. 

Get up, get up! Your fogging mind screamed at you. It was the only thing you could hear anymore, so you were inclined to listen. 

With gritted teeth, you struggled to get to your hands and knees, your open wounds screaming almost as loudly as your brain was. Before you could shove to your feet, a pair of hands grabbed you under your armpits, trying to get you up.

No, no, no! Not again! They’ll kill you!

And you found you really, really didn’t want to die. 

You clenched your fist and swung without a second thought. 

Knuckles collided with someone's jaw. 

Pain flared in your fingers brightly. 

You’d fucking broken them --gods damn it!

The person, a man by the sound of it, gave a grunt, his grip on you loosening. You ignored the new pain in your hand and wiggled out of your captor’s grip, falling back to the ground in the process. 

Someone was saying something, but you couldn’t make it out past the pounding of your heart and buzzing of your ears.

Your vision slowly started to fill with color again just as another pair of hands placed themselves on your shoulder. 

“--ts me! It’s me, remember?” 

That voice. You knew that voice. You liked that voice.

And that voice was calling your name. You didn’t just give your name out to anyone and the only person you had given it to in the past few months was…

You blinked rapidly, turning to look at the boy who was calling your name. 

Long, dark hair attached to a thin, sharp face. A face that bore two blue-green eyes.

Seafoam eyes.

“Silco?” Your voice came out cracky and hoarse from all the screaming you’d done. The boy nodded, thin lips set in a frown. 

“Yes.” You looked back towards the alley you’d been dragged into, finding bodies sprawled out down the tiny space. Some of the bodies looked like they’d been beaten to hell and have one hell of a headache when they woke up. But the other bodies--they didn’t move or breathe and sat in pools of red. 

What the hell…had--had Silco done that? 

Why?  

Why the hell was he here? 

Better yet, why the hell would he risk his life to save yours? 

Your heart gave a painful twist in your chest. 

What if he was here to finish you off? 

You pulled yourself out of Silco’s grip, all but throwing yourself at the closest brick wall. All your wounds screamed at you to stop, be you had to keep moving. 

“What are you doing?” Silco asked, seemingly unamused. You hissed through your teeth and pulled your feet under you, using the wall as support. “You’re just going to hurt yourself further.” 

“What the fuck does it matter to you?” You snapped, taking Silco in again. He had stood back to his full height, a smirk on his thin face. 

He found this funny. 

“You’d think she’d be more appreciative, seeing as we saved her life.” He spoke, but he wasn’t talking to you. No, what you had failed to take in was the other guy standing in the alley with Silco, rubbing his jaw. A tall, hulking guy who could no doubt squeeze the life out of you with little to no effort.  

“Throws a mean punch, I’ll give her that.” The gigantic man’s his voice was warmer than that of Silco’s. Not that Silco’s voice wasn’t nice. You much preferred it over this stranger’s. 

“Who the fuck is that?” Silco ran a hand through his longer hair, casting a glance toward the other guy. 

“I’m Vander. A friend.” The other guy spoke, seeming to try and come off as unintimidating as he could. It was working, but only a bit. Like--a hair’s width bit. 

“Why were those halfwits after you, anyhow?” Silco asked, changing the subject off his friend quickly. You sniffed sharply, your nose so clogged with blood it was a struggle to breathe. 

You’d have to fix that quickly before it healed crooked. 

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling the golden flask you’d stolen out. Silco caught it with ease when you tossed it his way, though his eyes widened like it might explode.

You nearly laughed, remembering the last time he saw you throw a flask. A flask that had exploded. 

“They stole that off some rich guy from Piltover. I thought it was an okay replacement for the one I broke.” 

“Wait--this is the girl that chipped your teeth?” Vander gave a deep laugh that lifted your spirits near instantly. You looked back to Silco whose lips were purposely glued shut, his arms crossed. He was the embodiment of annoyance.

“You’re kidding?” 

“Made a V shape and everything.” You all but slapped a hand over your mouth, a small laugh escaping your lips. 

“Need I remind you I just saved your ass.” Silco seethed, giving you a direct look at his front teeth. 

They were chipped, alright. In that same V shape Vander had said. 

You let out a chest-rumbling laugh you couldn’t have helped stop even if you had wanted to. A laugh that had most, if not all, of your wounds barking at you again. Vander joined in with a bellowing laugh right alongside you. 

“Holy shit! Oh gods, that’s horrible.” You spoke, trying to stifle your laugher. Silco’s face flushed red and his eyes narrowed. He was pissed now. “I guess I owe you more than some fancy flask, huh?” 

“Oh, you owe me for more than my teeth. I just saved your life.” Vander walked over then, slapping Silco on the shoulder. 

“Come on, brother, don’t be like that. We’re just having a little fun.” Silco gruffed, shrugging Vander’s hand off his shoulder sharply. 

“Well, I don’t share in your amusement.” 

“I know, I know,” A bright smile pulled to his lips, “How about we get a look at you, yeah?” He asked, turning his attention back on you. 

Your heart twisted in your chest again and you tried to stand straight. Tried to look like you weren’t some weak, pathetic little creature.

He isn’t going to hurt you. He just helped save your life for god's sake! But as Vander got closer, you couldn’t ignore the fear that burst from your chest. 

“Thank you, really, but I can manage on my own,” You stumbled out a bit too quickly, trying to push off the wall to walk away. Your knees nearly gave out again and you fell back to the wall with a frustrated hiss. 

“You can hardly stand on your own. My father owns The Last Drop, just over there. We’ll get you patched up and you can be on your way.” You cut a look over to Silco who was still sulking behind Vander. When he noticed you looking his way, his eyes narrowed in that calculating, all-seeing way they had when you’d first met him.

“Vander, you’re scaring the kid.” He briskly made his way over to you.

“I’m not a kid.” You hissed as Silco came to a stop before you. 

“I feel as though we’ve already done this.” He extended his hand for you to take. You eyed it, then Vander, who smiled your way, before your gaze landed back on Silco. His eyes hadn't left you. Not even once .

“Nothing is going to happen to you. Not with us around. Promise.” Silco softly said. 

It shocked you, his tone. Though you didn’t know him in the least, you could tell just by the look on Vander's face this wasn’t a regular occurrence. 

But what did that mean? Was it something to worry about?

You pushed your thoughts down as your pain began to bubble up once more. You really needed to sit down and these two didn’t seem horrible . 

Hesitantly, you reached out your unhurt hand. 

Silco was quick to change his position to accommodate this, taking your hand up in his steady one. He gave a kind nod, pulling your arm over his shoulder and wrapping his other around your waist.

Damn-- he may be built like a sting bean but there was muscle under those clothes of his. Muscles you could feel work as they helped you along. 

Your nose took another clogged inhale of breath and you felt your heart untwist and flutter against your ribs. 

It was very hard for anyone in The Lanes to smell good, thanks to the overall nasty atmosphere. It was very rare to come across anyone who didn’t smell like the polluted air they all lived in, but Silco-- Gods he smelled good. Fresh. Like he’d been able to take a shower recently.

It almost had you forgetting about all your aches and burning pains until he started all but pulling you back down the alley. 

“OW! Fuck ! You could try to be gentle .” You whined, grabbing a fistful of his jacket and tugging like he might stop him.

“Oh, would you stop your complaining?” Silco huffed. “This is me being gentle.”

“I’m a complainer . I complain.” You huffed right back at him. 

“I can tell.” Silco was quick to shoot back. A quick response that stirred a sort of-- excitement in your chest. There were very few people who didn’t find your ability to go on and on annoying. Very few that did this sort of--back-and-forth. A back-and-forth Silco was and had engaged with you. 

You wondered for a moment if he was annoyed. If he would tell you to shut up and drop you right back into the bloody alley and leave you there.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to complain if you weren’t dragging me along like I was a sack of potatoes.” You continued.

“Might as well be a sack of potatoes.” 

“I have dense bones.” 

“I can tell.” You have a mockingly offended gasp.

“I’ll have you know my dense bones are a veryyy sensitive topic to me.” Silco gave a scoff that sounded more like a stifled chuckle. 

“Wasn’t it you who compared yourself to a sack of potatoes?” 

“I don’t remember that.” Silco shook his head in that same held-back amusement. “I bet your bones are brittle. Like a strong wind would knock you right over.” 

“I’ll have you know my brittle bones are a very sensitive topic to me.” You pressed your lips together tightly, trying your hardest not to let the laughter bubbling in your chest out. But the longer you held it in, the more it leaked out in sharp pfftted spurts. 

“O-oh yeah?”

“Oh yes.” Silco continued, a glimmer in his eyes that made it all the more difficult to not burst into laughter. “Ever since I was a child people would point out my brittle bones. And here you are now, doing the same.” He gave a mocking forlorned shake of his head. “After I just saved your life as well.”

“I didn’t need saving.” 

“Oh really?” You nodded matter-of-factly.

“Really. I was this close to getting the upper hand.” You showed just how close with your hurt fingers, wincing at the pain that shot through your hand at the movement. “You ruined my plans.” 

“Well forgive me. Shall I stop carrying you too?” 

“If my dense bones are a hindrance then be my guest. I can walk on my own.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“I can . Be better than getting dragged around so brutishly.” Laugher filled your ears. Not Silco’s laughter which you were so close to hearing again, but a deep, bellowing laugh. You turned your head just as Silco did to find Vander there. You’d almost forgotten all about the hulking man. 

“What’s so funny?” Silco shot his way. Vander merely held his hands up as if to ward off his friend. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’.” Vander gave Silco a look you couldn’t quickly figure out. A look that had Silco’s cheek grow a bit of a pinkish hue.

You were once more annoyed at your inability to fully grasp all emotions and silently cursed Janna and her near-robotic ways. 

You watched Silco grit his teeth Vander’s way, that pink hue only deepening when he glanced your way and found you watching him closely.

You liked that color on him. You liked it very much.

Previous | Next

[kachowden]

ruthless, bloodthirsty yandere Pirate Captain X Prince/ss!Reader, either kidnapped or accidentally ended up on the ship nad now cannot leave

The rope dug into the soft skin of your wrists, leaving angry red trails with each thrash and and strive. Your teeth grit painfully, aching against each other as the sounds of water smashed against the wall behind you.

Salt invaded your senses, your eyes burning from the water that dripped from your head. You sneezed at either the smell of the deep, dark ocean, or the cold of your frozen clothes stuck to your skin.

Your brain fogged over what happened, and your body ached with exhaust, though you hardly halted in yours struggles, not till the heavy steps of boots approached the finely crafted door. A slow rasp of knuckles against the door. Then his god awful voice spoke through.

“Knock, Knock.” You could practically hear his foul smile, before the door was swung open far too aggressively. You winced as it smacked against the wall, shoulders tensing as you bared your teeth.

“You have a lot of nerve.” A weak willed threat to hide the fear that guzzled down your windpipes.

The man cared little, as a hoarse and deep laugh roared from his throat. His accessories, likely stolen, dangled with each step, while he approached.

“You’re a yappy little thing arent ya? Could ‘ere you half way to the port.”

“…We’re docked?” The news visibly shocked you, you hadn’t been on the ship for that long, or so you believed. It surely didn’t feel that long. Was there a port near to your kingdom? One you didn’t know about? Or maybe, this cocky pirate had parked on the other side of the island, believing he had time to get away.

“We haven’t even left yet, doll.” You wanted to spit on him. You hoped he understood that he was the muck on your shoe as you stepped past the pig pens.

“Then you are far more foolish and arrogant then I was originally led to believe. The guards will find me any second! I’ll relish in seeing you hauled to guillotines.”

He tutted, a knowing smile that made your skin crawl and throat go dry, as he stepped passed you, slowly. “I wouldn’t be so sure, your highness…”

“We’ve been here for well over a night. No one’s looking for you.”

Those words made you freeze, eyes widening in disbelief at this pirates audacity. Did he believe you an ignorant fool? To boldly tell such lies to your face?

But then…you don’t know how long you’d actually been here. The sick sway in your stomach made it appear like hours. And you had woken up here too. Was the sky the same sky you had seen before you were taken?

It was the same shade of blue and yet…were those the same clouds? Was it greener now? Had you truly been here for hours? Days?? Had no one come to look for you?!

He watched with a sick grin, teeth sunk deep into a deliciously red apple, as he basked in your inner makings crumbling. Personally, he found your resistance cuter then this..look of hopelessness. But this was needed for your eventual cooperation.

And of course he had lied to you. The kingdom was a muck looking for you at the moment. You were just on the side of your little country that few actually were aware of. A safe space tucked beside the cliff side. A pretty spot.

“What do you want.”

Oh? The little doll wanted his attention.

“Hm? Care to elaborate birdie?”

Your bristled visibly at the name, though the deep breath you let out to calm yourself was in its own right commendable. “What is your purpose for stealing me.”

“Saying I stole you, truly makes you sound like you were someone else’s property prior, doesn’t it?”

When you didn’t respond, he sneered, lips pulled into an unpleasant growl as he stepped towards you again, ringed and rough fingers gripping your jaw, sure to leave a bruise.

“Excuse you-!” You nearly gagged when he popped your mouth open, pushing the bitten half of the apple into your mouth like a swine ready to be roasted. Your tongue curled back as far as it could, fearful of touching the flesh of the fruit your captor had eaten from.

His smile returned, in a disturbing satisfaction as his dark green eyes swept across your form.

Had it not been the circumstances. Had it not been for who he was, you’d think his eyes were beautiful. Such a vibrant shade of green, that shines in the golden light. Like sun filtering through spring leaves.

But because of the circumstances, because of who he was, you likened them more to the color of sewage near an old tavern. The color of floating, rotten seaweed that sticks slimely to your skin. Slimey. That was a good word. His eyes were Slimey. As were his hands, his smile.

A degrading tap against your cheek brought you back to the slime before you. You hated that this filth was pretty. You hated that had it been any other circumstance. You might’ve fancied him.

“Rest up now pet, ‘s gonna be a long journey.” He stood with a low grunt, boots echoing against the wooden floor, as his jewels jingled.

“You didn’t answer my question you filth!” Your words were illegible against the apple, as your jaw had been stretched to the max, making it hard for you to spit it out unless you bit down.

The pirate gave little mind to your attempt, simply humming as if he knew what you said irregardless. “You’ll learn in due time birdie. Not try not to cause a ruckus while I’m gone. I’d hate for the dogs to grow nasty.”

And the door slammed behind him, your heart hammering. You didn’t think he meant actual dogs and that’s what made your crawl to farthest corner could, leaning your bound body against the weathered wood.

Your jaw hurt, your wrist hurt. You were tired, emotionally and mentally. And as the weight of the situation sunk in, you felt yourself slump in momentary defeat, eyes fluttering against your cheeks.

Weak, frustrated tears burned behind your lashes.

You prayed for your safety.

You prayed that someone…anyone was looking for you.

But your heart ached, as if it knew a truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

No one was coming.

On the far side of the kingdom..

A young knight was causing unfathomable chaos.

“Find them! Find them now! If you are withholding information or if any of you pathetic guards are unable to find even a trace of them, your heads will be on the block along with their disgusting captor!”

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Concept: Completely, disarmingly charming, smooth, and slick-tongued Bucky who's the perfect, well-mannered gentleman with everyone... except for Steve.

Bucky is the polished shoes, slicked back hair, close-shaven, and buttoned-up dreamboat that any gal would wanna take home to momma. Or, at least, he seems that way around everyone. His Ma never has any complaints about his behavior. She never has to remind him to do his chores or help with his sisters. His teachers fall in love with such a little gentleman, pointing to him as the model student. The fellas at the docks think he's no fun, snickers from dirty jokes fading when he comes within earshot. And the gals he strings along on dates don't even care that he takes so many girls out. He's just that sweet and caring and, well, look at that face. Nobody can say no to that face. A face like that gets a girl's heart racing. Yet. There's always Steve.

Steve.

With Steve, Bucky is--and there's no other way to say it--foul mouthed.

Steve tells Bucky again and again that he's a dirty minded bastard; he doesn't tell anyone else that, though, but that's because Steve's smarter than he looks, and he knows no one would believe him if he told them so.

Bucky's filthy mouth is to the point that Steve has to slap a hand over Bucky's mouth to get him to shut up some of the time. He's incessant, going on and on about the filthy things he wants to do to him, whispering in his good ear, nibbling the flushed-hot shell of his ear, kissing lushly down the side of his neck, licking across his sharp collarbones, and using those big eyes and soft mouth for evil, a.k.a. convincing Steve to do anything he wants. Everything he wants. It's all bad enough to make the seediest back alley, boys-boy blush.

Steve has no idea where he gets his ideas.

They're always fresh. New and newly filthy. He steals the breath out of his thin chest, he makes his slow, cold blood run hot, he gives Steve fevers that have nothing to do with his piss-poor immune system.

And.

By God, does it only get worse when they're out on the front and Steve's got the serum. Steve thought the war and dire times might dampen Bucky's dirty mouth. It doesn't. Maybe it's being surrounded by men who openly talk like dogs all the time. Maybe it's his new body. Maybe it's the franticness of the entire precarious situation. Whatever the reason, it's bad, Bucky talks and talks, during the day he murmurs under his breath, just enough for Steve to hear, and at night he tells him in their tent, stolen moments at night, conserving energy by pressing their fiery bodies together underneath both their bedrolls, breath hanging like fog in the air, the rasp of his filthy words so unspeakably arousing that Steve thinks he might finish without a finger laid between his clenching, trembling legs--

He talks so damn much.

With his throat constricting around a whimper, Steve doesn't know if he should beg him to stick a sock in it, for once in his life, or if he should beg for him to please please please keep going.

Don't stop. Stop. Don't stop talking about the filthy things he wants to do to him with his big--fucking huge--dick, his hot-as-shit cum gutters, his gorgeous thighs, his hulking muscles everywhere yet his tight little wasp-waist, his sculpted ass, his meaty hands, his everything. Don't. Do.

Ugh.

Squirming in his makeshift bed, sweating through all their covers in the piercing cold, Steve's gonna get killed by Bucky before the war touches a hair on his head. Especially when Bucky looks at it as if it isn't his problem, it's actually Steve's because if he didn't blush like that while remaining immune to his gentlemanly courtship, then Bucky could be normal over him. That way, he could tell him sweet nothings and croon at him and buy him flowers. He wouldn't have to resort to telling him how he wants to sink his teeth into the pillows of his fuckin' tits. Bucky's perfectly innocent here!

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.11

WandaNat x Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Ch. Notes: Violence, Physical assualt

Summary: Fisk is not happy with the way things turned out regarding the docks. He makes his own power play in retaliation that puts everyone on notice.

An: Sorry for not updating yesterday guys but Im planning on posting again before Monday to make it up to you

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wilson Fisk was never one to shy away from the reality of a situation. To him, living life in such a make-believe state would not propel him to the success that he craved. He had built an empire, a kingdom, but had no one to share it with. He lost his family, and with them gone, the only thing to fill the void was power.

Fisk was addicted to it. He needed it. It was only thing that made him feel good. So, though his empire was large he was acutely aware that it wasn’t the largest. The Maximoff’s presence cast a large looming shadow over his own. So, he looked to take care of that problem.

Fisk knew he would shoot Dragos Maximoff as soon as they agreed to meet in private. He assumed the Sokovian was a man of his word and would come alone. He was mistaken, and he hated making mistakes.

Knowing that the Dragos was hospitalized was good, at first. Fisk didn’t care if the man lived or died because he thought that without Dragos in the way the Maximoff’s would crumble. He was again, mistaken.

The reality of the situation was that Wilson Fisk underestimated the remaining Maximoff’s. He was foolish to believe that New York city would become his so quickly.

An oil spill was clever. It was big, messy, and destructive, but it would always go over as an accident. Fisk realizes that simply blowing up the pier wouldn’t have halted things as much. The play was high IQ.

His large fist slammed against his desk nearly snapping it in half. While the Maximoff’s were getting calls placing orders, Fisk was taking order cancelations. He was having the people he got on his side retract their support. He was losing the power, and he would not take kindly to giving up anymore.

Watching them retreat would never be enough.  He wanted the Maximoff’s to crumble beneath him, to beg him for mercy. They had embarrassed him in one foul swoop and he would stop at nothing to have them burn with the same feeling.

You weren’t naïve enough to believe retaliation wouldn't be coming. It arguably was giving you anxiety. All the waiting and looking over your shoulder would've taken a larger toll on you if you were dealing with them alone.

However, you weren’t alone. In fact, contrary to your previous belief, Wanda did not forget the terms you agreed to. You spent your nights between the spy and temporary crime boss.

It became somewhat of a routine. Even if you went to your apartment after work, you’d always end up at their place soon after. It’s nice, and that's why you refuse to question it.

It helps you sleep restfull, but occupies too much of your mind when you're awake. It makes you feel like a teenager. The only person you can confide in is Kate. You tell her, but she’s not much help. Kate encourages this and pushes you to take more emotional comfort from the women.

Your feet hit the ground a little harder than normal as you run this morning. You think about the familiar, almost instinctual attraction you have for Wanda. Then your mind turns to the new undiscovered feelings you have for her wife. You found yourself craving to be in proximity with the Russian more and more.

Natasha had a warmth around her. She had no problem taking the backseat and blending in, but the moment she sensed anything was amiss she sprang into action quickly. Recently she had started making sure you had a lunch at work after Kate told her you’d usually skip it. There was no point in trying to turn down anything from the woman. Though you hadn’t known each other long it seemed like she just understood you.

You’re too occupied with your thoughts, and not paying enough attention to your surroundings. When you stop running, you go to turn around but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. A gun is pressed firmly against your spine.

“We’re going to have a little chat. Now keep walking,” the man says guiding you with his hand.

You don’t say anything, you simply follow his instructions. Your nerves don’t fret, even as he directs you to an alley. Once you’re out of public view, he turns you to face him.

“Y/n, high ranking employee of the Maximoff Family,” he spoke, the gun now aimed at your sternum.

“Fisk,” you’re glare is unwavering.

He sizes you up, “Aren’t you a sweet little thing? Unfortunately, I’m going to have to put a dent in that pretty face you got.”

“Killing me would only hurt you in the long run,” you say to him.

He smiles, “It would, you’re absolutely right, but hurting you sends a message.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you keep your eyes on his.

He laughs, “Me? No, I don’t get my hands dirty for people like you. I’m only here to make sure you relay this to whoever’s in charge. Tell them that I won’t stop, tell them that surrender is no longer an option, and tell them they should keep an eye on the hospital.”

The last line sends you over the edge and before you know it, you’re attempting to disarm the mob boss. Your movements are fast but as soon as the gun is in your hand, you take a blow to the knees. You fall to the floor and the gun slides out of your hand.

Fisk bends down and picks up the gun, he tucks it into his coat. He looks down at you with a smile on his face, “Make sure she's recognizable boys. Until we meet again sweet thing."

You move to the closest man to you and immediately twist his neck with a satisfying snap. He drops onto the floor and before you can get to another you're on the floor with him. The men stomp you out harshly.

That’s when you notice your predicament. The alley that had once been empty was now filled with Fisk’s men. The large man himself, gets into a car at the end of the alley which drives away promptly.

The men circle around you, but you refuse to be fragile in this moment. You slowly stand and look at the men, there’s around 8 of them. It seems like time works in slow motion.

Once they’re certain they have the upper hand they begin to get more creative. They start using their fists and elbows connecting anywhere they can. The screams don't displace the pain you feel.

Your attempts to fight back only anger them further. You don’t know how long the beating continues for. You feel yourself slip in and out of consciousness a few times.

Blood coats your body in multiple places. You can’t tell when it starts or stops. You can barely breathe when they finally stop their assault.

“Send the Maximoff’s our regards,” one of the lackeys spit on you before laying a final nasty kick to your gut. He walks out of the alley with his men behind him.

Your back lay flat against the concrete as you stare up at the sky. Turning your head hurts, but you do it anyway. Carefully, you scoot yourself over to the wall and try to prop yourself up.

It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you. You should’ve been home by now and you weren’t. Knowing Wanda and Natasha the search party would be deployed soon.

However, keeping your consciousness was becoming a task. Your breaths are shallow and labored. The pain finally starts to set in, and tears fall from your eyes. Everything hurts, so much so that you're afraid to try to stand up.

It couldn’t have been longer than half an hour when a car pulls up in the alleyway. Your head hangs heavy, and you hope to God that these people are on your side.

Pietro is the first to reach you. He can’t find any words to say as he sees you in this state. He begins to shake his head as he bends down to get a better look at you. His hand cups your face gently and it trembles.

It hurts, but you reach your hand out to hold his wrist, “Jesus Christ, Y/n.”

You hear more steps approaching, but you stay focused on the man in front of you.  You’re scared for them to see you like this.

“Y/n,” There’s disbelief on her tongue as she whispers your name. She doesn’t want this to be you, but as your bloody tear-stained face raises to meet her eyes, her resolve crumbles.

Wanda can’t help the tears that immediately begin to fall out of her eyes. Your face had begun to swell, blood dripped from your nose, your lip was bleeding too. They could see the bruises beginning to form over your exposed arms and torso.

You gaze over at the other redhead who refuses to look at you. Her body posture is rigid, and her eyes are cast firmly on the ground, you can see how cloudy they are.

“We have to get her to the hospital,” Pietro says.

You nearly scream out, “NO!”

They see the alarm and panic in your face, but Natasha tries to reason with you, “Y/n, you’re hurt badly. They need to check you out or-"

“Bucky,” you cut her off, looking between Pietro and Wanda.

“Y/n, he doesn’t do that anymore and you know that” Pietro says softly.

“Try,” you counter back.

Pietro looks to his sister who nods. He reluctantly leaves his position next to you and pulls out his phone to make the call.

“Why not the hospital?”

You shake your head, but then wince, “It’s not safe.”

“Who said it wasn’t safe baby?” Wanda takes Pietro’s spot and places her hand in yours.

“Fisk, he said- he won’t stop, there’s no surrender, and that we should watch the hospital,” you attempt to struggle to your feet.

“Y/n-"

“We have to get Papa out Wanda. He’s not safe there, we have to move him, we have to,” you begin to work yourself up, the anxiety finally starts to hit you.

It's Natasha’s firm hand on your shoulder that keeps you in place, “Y/n, breathe with me.”

You go to protest, but the look of worry in her eyes causes you to pause. She takes a deep breath in, and you try to copy her, but you end up wincing.

Wanda sees this and lifts up your shirt to see your midsection badly bruised. Her touch is tender as her fingers glide over the faded cut on your side.

“You think anything they did will leave a scar like that?” You say with shallow breaths.

“If they weren't already going to die for doing this to you, I’d kill them for leaving a cut like that on you,” she says pulling your shirt back down.

Pietro walks back over to the three of you, “He said he'll do it, we just have to get her there.”

Wanda scoops you into her arms and walks you to the car. She carefully lays you down in the backseat before getting in herself. Pietro drives and Natasha takes the passenger seat. Wanda’s hand finds its way into your hair, trying to bring you any type of comfort.

“He told them to leave me recognizable, so they didn't focus too hard on my face after awhile,” you say to them.

“How many were there?” Natasha asks.

“8, 7 really, I snapped that guys neck first,”  you recount.

“How did he get you?” Pietro asks next.

You frown, “I wasn’t paying enough attention when I was running. He came up behind me and put a gun to my back.”

“He pulled a gun on you?” You can feel the woman getting upset.

You take your hand and place it in hers, “I will be fine. Bucky’s going to patch me up real nice.”

Once you arrive at the former doctors house, you’re greeted by a less than enthusiastic James Buchanan Barnes or Bucky for short.

“I retired for a reason you know?” He says as he let’s you all into his home.

The sight of you in Wanda’s arms startles him a bit. Wanda asks, “Where are we putting her?”

“Upstairs second door on your right,” he finds himself quickly leading them to the room.

Wanda is careful as she lays you down. They all stand as Bucky begins to prepare for this job.

“What happened to you kid, were you hit by a bus?”

“8 on 1 attack,” Pietro explains.

“The bus might’ve been better then,” Bucky says as he begins to check the extent of your injuries.

You try not to move too much as he pokes and prods your body. Sometimes you hiss, groan, but you don’t flinch.

“So, what’s the diagnosis Buck?” Wanda has her eyes on you as she speaks.

“Luckily, I don't think anything is broken, but her ribs are severely bruised, and I think her right ankle is sprained. Besides that, I think it's just bruising and some small cuts. Her nose is fine, her lips are fine, and her head is fine. She’s going to have to keep her weight off of her leg and wrap her torso until she’s healed.”

Wanda nods, committing the words to memory, “What do I owe you?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing, anything for your family.”

Pietro smiles, “What would take for you to come back and be our family doctor. We’re going to need one soon.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “What you need a check up?”

Natasha speaks for the first time, “We’re going to war with Fisk.”

He winces, “Definitely sounds like you'll need a doctor, but I’m retired Ms.…”

“Natasha, Wanda’s wife,” she introduces herself.

“Congratulations, I hope you enjoy your marriage like I enjoy my retirement” he speaks genuinely.

“Buck, we could really use you on our side. Without Papa leading us, we need all the help we can get,” Wanda tries to sway him.

“What do you mean Dragos isn’t leading you?”

The room turns somber as Wanda begins to explain the situation to Bucky. The man keeps a neutral face through it all. He lets out a large sigh at the end of everything.

“When this is over, I'm going back into retirement understood?”

Wanda nods, “Thank you.”

After you leave Bucky’s, Pietro drops you all off at home. Wanda and Natasha help you into their apartment. They sit you on the couch with them on either side of you.

“I’ve sent some extra forces to the hospital to keep watch over Dragos. I’ve also told some of my people on the inside to take care of any of those men that did this to you,” Natasha’s jaw twitches as she speaks.

“Good,” you say flatly.

There’s a tension in the room. It’s weird considering how comfortable you’ve all been around each other. However now as you sit silently on the couch the air feels thick.

“You could’ve died in that alley,” Wanda speaks first.

You nod your head slightly, “I could’ve.”

“He could’ve shot you down right there,” she continues.

“But he didn’t,” you counter.

Wanda looks at her wife, silently asking for help. Natasha knows what Wanda wants to do and she supports it.

“Y/n, we have to talk about something, and we don’t know how it’s going to make you feel,” Natasha says taking ahold of your hand.

You nod at her words.

“And please, just listen before you say anything else,” Wanda’s nerves are present in her voice.

“Ok.”

The tension hasn’t left the room. You sit there, between the couple still slightly in pain. You hardly feel it though, all you could feel was the anxious air around you, waiting for the women to speak. It was nerve-wracking, it was stomach churning, and it was scary.

The thought of losing you terrified Wanda. The thought of losing you, without ever telling you how she felt was even more terrifying. She couldn’t wait any longer after the events of the day. It was her sign, and she was ready.

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Mabel and Dipper don't ever argue while they're visiting Gravity Falls. Mabel and Dipper, as teens and young adults, remain close--- but like any siblings, they have moments of contention. They have a solid, healthy relationship (saving the world at age 12 does that), but arguments are inevitable. No matter what, however, no matter the fight or argument and disagreement, they are never closer, and more friendly towards each other, than when they're visiting Ford and Stan. It's not that their grunkles have a certain expectation for them, but...

Once, when they were fifteen, they had an explosive argument (it was something stupid and menial, as teens are wont to argue about. Dipper can't recall what it was even about. Mabel can remember, but she won't bring it back up. She's not that petty). They had been back in Oregon for only a day or two, their grunkles docking the Stan o War somewhere in northern California and driving up to meet them, and they had christened the Mystery Shack's living room with a truly impressive screaming match. It was mid admittedly-foul-language insult (he was fifteen now! He has the right to use bad words!) that Dipper looked over and saw the expression on Stan's face.

Fear. The kind he wore on his face while fighting Bill. That deep, instinctual, dread; that nostalgic dread. And Mabel had looked at Ford a moment later, on the other side of the room, oven mitts still on from pulling cookies out of the oven (or maybe doing an experiment-- she was never sure). His face was the same: shuttered close and sorrowful, like he was seeing an inevitability unfold. And they both remembered what they had read in Ford's journals, what Stan and Ford had let slip about their childhoods, the disaster that had unfolded during Weirdmageddon because Ford and Stan just couldn't get along. Their grunkles' histories were intertwined and soaked with antagonism, and every harsh word traded between Mabel and Dipper made a terrible repetition of history come closer to fruition.

So no, Mabel and Dipper don't ever argue when they're visiting Gravity Falls.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This would be a hard NO for me. Every damned time you have to go out, you need to get in the boat and go across?

So, this is also your land, separated by just enough water to make it crazy. Secure the boat and climb the ladder. That's your shed and driveway. Could this be any more inconvenient? Say you need a new fridge. Do the delivery men put it in the boat and the rest is your problem?

Then you sail across the way back to your dock, that's falling apart. Can, you imagine if you just have to pop out for something, or go for a pizza?

Your cute home. Can you imagine doing this everyday to go to work, get the kids to school? Skate across when it freezes. This is a 1987 build in Amityville, NY, famous for the Amityville Horror. Has 3bds, 2ba, asking $535K. Well, let's go inside.

The owners have already moved out. Wonder how that went. They left the fridge, of course, and must've given up when it came to these chairs and rug. So the living room is nice. Funny, this is the only glimpse of the kitchen and the fridge is in the living room. I suspect foul play.

Has doors to the deck.

Up on the 2nd level there's an open room like a loft. Has a nice skylight. Is that a dehumidifier they left?

This bedroom has original flooring.

This one also has an original floor and a view of the deck. House is plain, I wish it had more charm.

Bath #1. What is the photographer standing on?

Bath #2 is a shower room. Where does the waste go, into the river?

If there's one thing this house has, it's decks. The one out front is like a huge covered porch.

In the back, this one has a picnic table.

There's room on the island for a nice yard.

This looks like a corner table for one. Like a writing desk or a place to set up an easel.

Now, here we are across the river where you keep your vehicles which must include a boat and a car. It's so close, though, I would get a jet ski just to get across.

Remember, this land comes with it, so the owner has a ladder, shed, and driveway. I guess you can't built a bridge, b/c the neighbors must have boats that need to get thru. How inconvenient. But, if you have the money, it would be a great summer home.

https://www.coldwellbankerhomes.com/ny/amityville/63-riverside-ave/pid_58789263/

[gloomwitchwrites]

Desolate

Kylo Ren x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: survival horror, chases, brief description of injury, psychological horror, force sensitive!reader

Word Count: 1k

A/N: Requested by @id-get-sleazy-for-ron-weasley for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Liminal Spaces)

You awaken to a menacing presence aboard the starship you travel on. The crew is missing. The ship is empty. But you are not alone in the dark of space.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

It is fetid silence that wakes you.

Even in sleep, the Force is always there, a constant companion. But there is something foul afoot, a strangeness that slips in and dulls your senses.

You awaken to darkness and the emergency light above the door. It is on, glowing a deep bloodied red that only adds to the itching rot that sits beneath your skin.

You want to scratch--to claw like you can peel away the flesh to reveal the disturbance underneath. It's not cold or hot but an irritating nag that you want to slap aside.

Pushing up to a seated position, you press into the Force and find...nothing.

Nothing.

It is empty. Desolate.

You've never felt absence before.

Approaching the door, you press the button on the panel and step out into the hall. All the lights are off except for the red emergency lights. They don't blink or pulse, and no alarm blares. It's completely silent, as if you're suspended in a singular second of time.

Closing your eyes, you push out into the Force again. Again, you feel nothing, and then--

Sharpness. Darkness. Anger. So much of it.

Like a boulder down a mountain, it crashes into you, entering through your nose and mouth to wrap around your brain and squeeze. You choke, gag, and are pushed out of the Force as if you've been slapped.

You stagger, one hand pressed against the cool metal wall as you attempt to steady yourself.

Something is coming. Lurking.

It does not hide. It does not wait.

It is coming. Running.

The ship is empty. The ship is empty, but you are not alone.

You are not by yourself.

Instinct rises, and you take off, rushing toward the escape pods. Whoever or whatever lurks on this vessel with you is hunting. They are the predator, and you the final prey. There is no one else.

You move as quickly and as silently as you can. Your stalker is there, a quiet caress like breathing against the back of your neck. You do not see them, but they are here aboard this ship.

The entire trip to the escape pods is uninterrupted. The corridors are clear and unobstructed as if everyone on board was whisked away without disturbing the environment. There are no bloodstains or blaster burns. Nothing to indicate that something awful happened here.

And yet, you feel nothing. 

Everyone is gone. Everyone--

The doors to the escape pods open, revealing the massacre. Your heart stops and drops into your stomach. Shock blooms, followed by dread, and a great sadness that turns your veins cold.

They are all gone. Broken. Shattered. In pieces.

Some of the crew fell with their arms outstretched, fingers scratching at the control panels in one last attempt toward freedom. But there is no freedom. No escape.

The lights above the escape pod docks are not green but red. Each one is empty. Each one is gone. Did anyone escape? Did anyone survive?

Will you survive? Will you escape this place?

Step back and out into the hall, the door slides shut with a muted whoosh. You linger in the blood-red glow of the emergency lights, in the long corridors that seem to stretch on endlessly and turn the corners into shadows.

The only other choice is to head to the helm, to take control of the ship and figure out what might be wrong.

That is where you go. That is where you walk. But every time you turn a corner, you only find another corridor, another hallway, and an endless number of doors. None of them open or budge.

An endless loop of walking, turning a corner, trying a door panel. Fear creeps in, biting around in your chest until it feels like it'll explode from you like parasitic larva.

A fever dream. It must be. You are sick and this is all in your head.

You continue on, walking and turning and trying every door. Again. Again. Again.

There are tears in your eyes. They stain and sting your cheeks. You are desperate now. Hungry. Throat dry and senses spiraling.

Jedi. 

You hear it in your head. A whisper.

Jedi.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see a figure all in black lurking at the end of the hall. A helmet. A mask. A black cape.

Jedi.

The word is strange. Someone once called you that, but you didn't think much of it. The Force has always been there, wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. But this stranger speaks it as if they know you.

You reach out through it and meet a wall of anger. It is roiling. Tumultuous. You sense a desire to claim, to seize control, and make you submit. Bending the knee or spreading your legs makes no difference. The dominating demeanor of this stranger leaves no room for interpretation.

They intend to catch you. That is why they are here.

Jedi.

No. You will not go. Not willingly.

Without guessing who this might be, you take off. If you can find the mess hall, you'll find a map of the ship. You can form a plan. You can crawl through the ductwork. Anything.

As you charge around a corner, your hunter appears at the other end. You slide to a stop, backtrack, only to find them at the other end. Is this an illusion? Are they playing a trick?

You decide to push it aside, to not allow your mind to question. Moving on is the best bet. Finding the helm and seizing control is the only option.

Turning around, you carry on, finding more endlessness until you don't. Until the double doors of the helm stand before you, appearing suddenly and without you having to look.

Surely, this must be a dream. What else could it be?

As you approach, the doors open, and there is your stranger. Their back is to you, but as they shift to gaze behind them, you glimpse your first clear view. You know that helmet. You've seen him before.

This is the First Order's favorite son. There is no escape. There never was.

"Kylo Ren," you whisper.

taglist:

@glassgulls @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @foxxy-126 @km-ffluv

@sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @ninman82 @beebeechaos @no-oneelsebutnsu

@whisperwispxx @weasleytwins-41 @enfppuff @padawancat97 @garfunklevibes2012

@pigeonmama @nomercyforthewarrior

[demigoddessqueens]

Okay, so my little dnd character right now is an elven pirate and I was wondering if you could do a headcanons list for Percy (Vox Machina) with her?

Not her specifically, just a fem elf pirate?

Thank you!

Ahh that’s such a cool idea I love it!!

Masterlist 12

You were hired in assistance to the party for accomplishing Keyleth’s Water Aramente

Percy already feels his body dreading the seasickness as soon as they board

Needless to say, you and Percy are as different as night and day it’s so amusing to the rest

Utter 💕denial💕 on his end

He can be foul-mouthed too as a rugged gunslinger but a more rugged, wandering life has melded with your charm making it irresistible

Sure he may sneak a glance or two as the ocean wind whips graciously through loose strands of hair, moonlight kissing you when you dock for the night

Typical “siren seduction” where he is utterly captivated by your stories on the sea and fights you’ve gotten out of, sea monsters and all

Completely and utterly besotted in his feelings as he saw you on the crow’s nest and the sun was rising for the day right on cue

All of your innuendos do little to mitigate the immense blushing he gets around you

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 110 (Conrad Finally Gets a Lead)

At work the day after his call with George Brindleton, Conrad lasted at his desk for all of twenty minutes before nagging thoughts about Rafa pulled him from his reports. He tried to find employment details for butler services in Sulani, but no one employed anyone named Rafael. Either Conrad misheard, or George hired him under the table like he did just about everyone else. If it was the same Rafa, did George know about his connections to Los Tigres?

He wanted to book a flight to Sulani to look for Rafa himself, but the chief wouldn't authorize the expense without a more solid lead than Conrad's hunch. If George Brindleton turned out not to be involved, he'd sue, and the chief was careful with her force's funding.

Conrad recalled he and Heather's conversation with Malcolm the night Ash got his prank call. He'd interviewed George by video call, and maybe Rafael's face would be visible. He'd be able to tell whether it was the same kid he knew years earlier. He was sure of it.

Either way, he didn't have a warrant, and he knew he'd need one with the Landgraabs. Even if he could convince Malcolm to let him watch the recording, he'd expect something in exchange without a warrant. Conrad just wanted to know if it was Rafa, and he placed a call to Judge Morrison - the same man who presided over John Brindleton's bench trial.

Brindleton Bay was small enough that Judge Morrison presided over almost all cases worked by Brindleton PD, and Conrad had gotten to know him well over the years. "Lieutenant Gordon! Congratulations on another promotion! How's the family?"

"They're great, Your Honour. How's your son taking to his first year at college?"

"He makes me proud every day. What can I do for you?"

With his warrant secured, Conrad made his way to San Myshuno. Traffic on the Simmerloop was light, and he was grateful to make such great time. Gratefully, he found Malcolm home alone. "Conrad, what are you doing here?"

"I need to see the video of your conversation with George Brindleton." He flashed the warrant, and Malcolm immediately grew defensive.

"Why? Is Brindleton PD not having any success of their own?"

Conrad shot a glare in his direction, but he grudgingly led them upstairs to watch the conversation. George kept the phone trained on his own angry face for much of the call - which didn't tell him more than the precinct knew already. But when George turned to Rafa for a drink, the phone in his hand turned with him. A flash of dark hair, on a tall young man with an athletic build, was visible in his shaky camera.

If he could take it to the lab, they might be able to improve the quality of the image enough for him to justify expensing a trip to Sulani. "You can keep your research, but I need to make a copy for our files."

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "You won't let me break a story, you need my help with your own work...What is it about this particular case? Is it about Ash's prank call? You took his phone away and nothing's happened since. Is it about the cartel? Los Tigres de Selva?"

Conrad quickly weighed his options. "Listen, Malcolm, it goes deeper than that. My college girlfriend ran drugs for Los Tigres, and she's the prime suspect for the murder at the docks. Not George Brindleton."

"You brought drug dealers into my son's life?"

"I thought I was done with her and I'm trying like hell to get her out of our lives and behind bars, but you're just as likely to invite drug dealers into his life if you run with this story. We're trying to bring her in without disturbing the cartel because you don't want to sniff around Los Tigres de Selva unless you're ready to fight for your life. Your mother is as powerful as anyone else we know, but do you want to put a target on the rest of your family's back with this stuff?"

"You mean no more than you have already?"

The men left one another in foul moods - neither was wrong, but neither was particularly proud of themselves, either.

Heather was relieved when Conrad walked in the door in one piece. "I was worried," she gushed, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

"I'm sorry I didn't text. I ran into traffic on the way home, but I think I found him. I think I found Rafa."

"You found him?" Heather practically jumped from her skin with excitement. "Where?"

His hands dropped lower on her waist. "I watched Malcolm's video with George Brindleton, and I think I saw him working as a waiter in his villa."

"You saw Malcolm about the case?"

"I told him the truth, Heather."

Her spine straightened. "You- you're not worried he'll tell Nancy about the cartel connections?"

"We can't keep lying anymore. The more he knows, the less likely he'll be to put anything on Simlandia National and endanger his son. Nancy wouldn't argue with him about that, and I'm not sure he'll even tell her, if he can avoid it."

Heather nodded, pushing away her anxiety as she embraced him. "That does sound a lot like Malcolm."

With her fears abated and their family all safe at home, Heather and Conrad celebrated breaking new ground in the search for Rafa with a steamy late night shower. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

I feel I’m VERY late to the party with the mecha AU considering how bone deep Pacific Rim runs within me but I’m chomping at the bit. Gnawing at it. I LOVE YOU ALL. I’ve reactivated my tumblr for this. Good god. @keferon my leige. I'm meant to be SLEEPING.

Anyway, I’m a general nuisance, I wont be following much of the pre-established lore too closely because of who I am as a person, bone app the teeth.

TexAid for the soul is more potent than Chicken soup.

First Aid wakes up in an ice cold sweat.

It’s not the first time. He’d lost count, actually – it seemed that every morning was the same now. He’d wake up, he’d shudder, he’d carefully extract himself from his damp-with-sweat duvet, he’d shower, and then he’d pretend that everything was perfectly fine and normal.

His function first and foremost was one of a medic. He trained to work with live patients. His expertise was with the living, not the cold stares of the dead.

But lately, all he’d been dealing with were corpses, and it all came down to one reason.

Vortex.

Superstition wasn’t something that he bought into, but the theory on base was that the mech was haunted. At the start, he didn’t believe it – mechanics were plagued with stray code, oddly executed scripts. There was nothing supernatural about it. All of the pilots said that they felt another presence within their mechs with them – there wasn’t anything special about Vortex’s AI. If one wanted to look at it that way, all of their mechs were haunted.

But Vortex was different. Of course he fucking was, why wouldn’t he be. No, no, nothing was allowed to be normal. Ever. Firstly, there was the staring. The mechs weren’t meant to stare, but whenever he went close to Vortex, he could feel his piercing gaze against him. It wasn’t normal. They should have been offline without any human input, but Vortex stayed stubbornly awake and studied his every move. Sometimes he’d swear he could hear his internals humming, the rumble of moving parts, his plating trembling and straining against the dock as he tried to move. If someone got too close to him, he’d hear the hum of weapons systems warming up. It was part of their onboarding process that they were warned against approaching him, now. He’d cut them down without a second thought.

There was also the small fact that he had a tendency to kill his pilots. And it wasn’t even an exaggeration – their means of slaughter always came from within. The cameras that filled the insides didn’t show any breaches, no weapons were brought on board, the vital signs monitors from the pilots and their own helm-mounted cameras showed no foul play of an external parties part. No. It was… Vortex. The mech showed his displeasure in a shower of blood and moving parts – and that was if he was being nice. If they weren’t power washing the remains of a digestive tract from his floor, they were manoeuvring a live body that acted like a dead weight, the pilot a stuttering mess, mentally shattered and broken. They’d never managed to get any of them back into active duty – a lot of them First Aid had no idea what had happened to them. They were simply shipped off somewhere, never to be heard of or seen from again. The worst part of it was that they were all missing fingers, as if they’d been cleaved right off by sharp metal as they reached out for something.

An alarm ripped through the base, and he gagged on his morning coffee. He knew what that meant – deployment. And with deployment came another victim, courtesy of Vortex, and all that horrid stench and morbid fascination that sent his spine tingling and brain firing to the point of insanity that paired so closely with it.

Ambulon frowned at him. “Jittery this morning, Aid.”

“I just know I’ll be on Vortex duty again.” He groaned.

Ambulon patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Aid. Pharma only does it because he trusts you.”

Yeah, right. It’s so I haven’t got an excuse to be by the morgue.

You steal one Quintesson body…

He briefly remembered the smell of the grave dirt as he’d re-interred them into the ground instead of the stone cold morgue, and quickly smelled his coffee instead.

The deployment seemed to last an age. First Aid managed to get through all of his deskwork before they returned, and Vortex staggered into his bay. First Aid was waiting patiently by the gate as the docking station clasped around him, holding him in place as cables came down from the ceiling to plug into him.

“How many bets this guys dead?” Someone behind him asked, elbowing the one stood next to him. First Aid ignored them, focusing intently on the mech.

He could see blood behind the glass. It was leaking out down the side – they were more than dead. They’d been eviscerated.

The visor lifted with a loud hiss, and First Aid took a deep breath. He held it so he didn’t have to inhale the initial stench – that part was always the worst, having been left to fester within him – and carefully studied the scene before him.

Organs hung down from the ceiling. Scraps of fabric hung limply from the still locked harness.

“What did he do to them?” First Aid quietly asked himself as he stepped forwards with a bucket.

There was a rule - you never got inside Vortex on your own. First Aid followed it religiously, and he could hear someone behind him, and so he felt perfectly comfortable in getting inside.

Only the visor snapped shut with a sickening crack as their leg was cleaved clean through, the scream barely muffled by the glass.

“No!” First Aid flew to the glass of the visor, pounding against it. “Are you okay?!”

What a stupid question that had been. Of course he wasn’t okay. The smell in the air burned at his throat and turned his stomach, and he looked down at the dismembered leg.

He couldn’t breathe. Or he was breathing too much? He didn’t know, but his chest ached and his head spun and he felt like ice had been injected straight into his veins, every hair stood on end as panic gripped him. It took every ounce of self control he had to not scream from terror when he heard pistons loudly slam into place, firmly locking the visor.

Oh, god, have mercy.

Emergency exits. These things had them, right? He’d had to pull a barely conscious pilot from one once – he’d gotten trapped in it in a malfunctioned ejection sequence. The button would be big and bright red, surely – and with a protective cover so they didn’t smack it by mistake in the middle of a fight and end up launched into the face of a Quintesson. His eyes scanned wildly, breath catching in his chest as he tried to suck in air that didn’t make him want to vomit, hands hovering over the dash. Mental images of the pilots missing their fingers played in his head like an omen.

There. Bright red. The words were worn off, the plastic scratched. The metal around it was worn and faded from use, and the plastic cover was long gone.

Blood crusted it. He smacked it anyway.

Nothing.

He looked back to where it should have been, hyperventilating. What did that mean? The techs had never found anything to be wrong with it before. Everything was functioning as normal – it was why Vortex was still even allowed to be operated. So why didn’t the emergency escape open?

Red light flooded the cockpit. His teeth chattered together as he slowly turned to look at the display that had lit up, white text running across it.

[LEAVING SO SOON?]

“I’m just a medic.” First Aid pathetically said. He almost bit his tongue.

[TAKE A SEAT]

Tears prickled his eyes as he unbuckled the harness and sat down. He tried to ignore the wet squelch as he sat in what remained of the previous human who sat there.

“What do you need from me?” He tried to sound strong as he asked.

The screen remained blank. The lights slowly dimmed, leaving him in the dark with only the sound of Vortex’s hot systems for company. He tried to calm his breathing, timing it to the rhythmic thunk of a nearby fuel pump, and wrung his fingers together.

It would be okay. It would be okay. Everything was going to be okay-

The chair suddenly flew backwards, and First Aid shrieked. His throat felt raw with how hard he’d screamed, clinging on tightly to whatever he could get his hands on. He studiously kept his limbs away from the console – he had a theory on how they’d lost their digits, and he was not keen on finding out if it was true. The chair snapped back upright again, and he whimpered, tears pooling in his eyes and his bottom lip trembling. The mech shuddered, a grinding sound rumbling through the cockpit and rattling his bones.

[PLUG IN] the screen instructed. A cable fell from the ceiling.

Helmet. He needed a helmet. They had the required port for that cable. He scanned the floor, ignoring the rising nausea as he searched for the helmet from the previous pilot.

There. Behind the chair. He picked it up, and had to look away when he realised the head was still inside. He shook it out, humming loudly to block out the sound of it hitting the floor, and kept his eyes closed as he put it on and ignored how much it stank of organic metal. He reached up for the cable, and gently guided it to the port-

Agony. Burning agony. His back arched as he screamed, hands clutching the helmet as if willing it to stay on despite how hard his legs kicked and thrashed. Electricity coursed straight through him, setting him aflame as his brain tried to catch up with his body.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

First Aid gnashed his teeth together as he fought with his conflicting emotions. He wanted to know why. Why Vortex had trapped him in there, why he had gone to this length to do this to him, why him. But he also wanted to run, to run so far away that he was nothing more than a distant memory. He didn’t want to know why Vortex had taken such an interest in him.

But oh, oh he did. He did want to know what he’d done to catch the AI’s attention.

The pain slowly subsided, the fried nerves numbing to the raw energy that charged through them, and he cracked his eyes open.

[GOOD BOY <3]

“Oh, god, I think I broke something.” First Aid whimpered. He suddenly understood just why so many pilots came to them with nerve damage, with extensive burns, and why most of their heads were metal. The connection was. Intense.

“Don’t be such a pussy.” A voice spoke directly into his head. First Aid gasped, sitting up straighter. It was strangely human, yet equally as mechanical.

“What-!”

“I just want to talk, but it’s so irritating to have to wait for you to read the screen. Removing the barriers is so much easier, isn’t it? Now, to business...”

First Aid gasped and whined as he felt pressure in his head, white not points of pain slowly pressing through his brain. His eyesight flickered and faded in and out, his sight shifting from the inside of the cockpit to the chaos right outside – chaos that he couldn’t even hear – and he was glad to see that the man who had been right behind him was receiving medical attention. What a relief. Humour that wasn’t his and that he didn’t recognise pulled at his lips, and he felt a strong urge to smile so wide that his lips split and cracked.

The pressure on his head increased, and he felt his eyes cross, reality slowly slipping through his fingers like thick slime. Red dripped from his nose. Where was he, again? Why was this happening to him? What was even happening to him- Awareness snapped back to him in time with a loud bang on the glass. He heard his name, muffled. Someone was calling to him. He should go to them, right? “Don’t move, I haven’t finished looking at you yet.” First Aid felt phantom sensations of ice cold hands pressing against his skin, a shudder running up his spine. He felt a prickle run down his arm, chasing the feeling of the tips of someone’s fingers running down the bare skin. Obediently, he held still despite how curious he was to go and look. “I can tell you like the good stuff.” An invisible hand patted his cheek and the mech shuddered, loud and clunking. “God, I’m so lucky I found you.” “Found me?” His chest felt weird. His everything felt weird. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. “I’ve been watching you. On the cameras, when you’re in the hangar with me, your files. Fascinating. How wonderful you are to me.” “That’s a bit creepy. You could have asked first.” “I don’t like being told no.” “I would have liked it more if I’d known it was happening.” Why was he so readily admitting this? Where were his carefully constructed walls and defences, keeping the abnormality at bay? He felt like he was an open book and Vortex was just turning to the pages he wanted to read. “Maybe I’d have done something if I knew I had an audience.” The mech shuddered again, harder this time.

“Come on, baby, talk to me wont you? I’ve been so lonely.”

“Maybe if you stopped killing your pilots you wouldn’t struggle so much with that.” He gritted out. Fuck, everything hurt.

“You’ve got a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you.” A sound that felt like anger rumbled through him. “I like it.”

“Can I go now?” He felt woozy. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong, his ears felt wet and his face felt wet and he could taste copper-

As if on cue, there was a loud bang on the visor – someone was pounding it with their fist. A shared stab of annoyance flashed through them.

“Question first. How did it feel to have a Quintesson in your bare hands?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Come on, don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen everything.” He crooned. “Tell me. I’m so desperate to know. I know you liked it – I can feel it.” It felt as if he had someone’s arms wrapped around him, their mouth right by his ear. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could feel their warm breath ghosting over it.

“It felt fucking amazing.” He thought back to it. The warmth of the body – an infant, tiny in comparison to the adults that dwarfed their houses. How thick their blood was, how it dripped down through his hands. The burn of the smell, mineral rich and glowing bright blue.

“You fucking tease.”

“You cut through them every day.” First Aid argued. “What’s so special about that?”

“You can really feel it. I’ve got metal between me and my prey.”

The banging was louder, and First Aid’s vision shifted to be through Vortex’s. There was a big group of them now, he had an audience.

“I should go.”

“You’ll be back, honey.”

First Aid ripped the helmet off, and nausea hit him like a truck as he felt a sharp wrench in his head. He loudly gagged, folding in half, and pressed a fist to his mouth to keep himself from spilling his guts into the cockpit. Vortex was certain to kill him if he made a mess. Sucking in a deep breath, he staggered over to the glass and gently placed his hand against it. It felt like half of his consciousness was somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“Please?” He was starting to feel disorientated, the sudden disengaging scrambling his brain. What memories were his, or the previous pilots? Pain suddenly flashed through him and he screamed, his limbs going numb. He felt warm liquid slowly run down his suit, red blooming amongst the white, bone wrenching from bone-

[LATER, DARLING <3]

Vortex’s visor finally opened, laugher echoing in First Aids head, and he fell out face-first onto the catwalk. He was gasping for breath as he scrambled away, shaking and trembling and swallowing back vomit. His hands flew over his body, checking for injures, for limbs he was certain were missing – intact. He was completely intact. His team had their arms around him and were pulling him away faster, leaving a trail of blood smeared after him – was that his? Or was that the pilots? - and were shouting. All of it was just noise. Pure noise.

Giddiness bubbled up in his chest, and he laughed. It started quietly, a little chuckle. Disbelief at the situation, he thought. Pure, utter relief that he was alive. The cannibal mech had eaten him, but here he was – spat out whole and unharmed. His next laugh was a little louder this time, and Ambulon paused, taking notice. First Aid didn’t see him any more, his whole vision taken up by Vortex and the loud snap of his visor clamping back down into place, a hiss as the mechanism locked it back down. He could have sworn he was smiling, but it was ridiculous – the mech didn’t even have a mouth.

He didn’t realise he was still laughing – and hard – until his stomach began to hurt and he felt light headed. Gasping for breath, he let himself fall back onto the floor, staring blindly up at the ceiling. He could see the red lights of Vortex’s visor reflected on the metal there.

“Felix?” The voice of his mentor pierced through his peals of laugher. First Aid looked up and saw Ratchet running towards him, face twisted in agony. He felt himself start to laugh again, and he had to fight to not start punching himself in the stomach to get himself to fucking stop it. It wasn’t funny. None of this was funny. Why was he laughing.

“Is he hurt? Why is he bleeding?” Ratchet demanded as he knelt down next to him. Ambulons response was inaudible, First Aids ears ringing. He felt something dribble from his mouth, and from the acidic taste in the back of his throat he assumed that he’d finally thrown up. He didn’t remember turning – his airway was clear. Two hands gently cupped his face, forcing him to look at someone.

Ratchet.

“Can you hear me?” He gently asked, tension clear in his voice. First Aid could, but he didn’t know how to respond. He slowly blinked, hands reaching up to clasp at his wrists with trembling hands. The adrenaline was burning off, replacing itself with a leaden heaviness that threatened to drown him. Slowly, he nodded.

Get me away from that mech, he tried to say. They get it and I hate that we understand each other.

Ratchet seemed to hear him. “Help me move him.” He was looking at someone else, but First Aid didn’t want to look away from his face. He committed every detail to memory, every line, every grey hair, every follicle and aged scar and flush of colour. It felt like he was seeing him for the very first time.

The world spun and his stomach clenched as he was lifted unceremoniously onto a stretcher, and he took one last glimpse of Vortex before the oxygen mask was fitted over his face and he couldn’t see anything any more.

09090909

It was highly inadvisable.

But he was doing it anyway.

That taste he’d got of Vortex was like a breath of fresh air to him – he hadn’t realised how stifling the company on base was until he’d met him. Ratchet would be so disappointed in him. Pharma would hang him by his guts. Ultra Magnus would try and make it so he never saw the light of day again.

One moment of feeling his teeth at his throat and he was addicted. He wanted him. He wanted physical scars he could touch and remind himself that it hadn’t been a dream, it was real. Carefully sneaking through the base, First Aid crouched and peered around corners, internally humming the Mission Impossible theme. It felt ridiculous, but if he didn’t distract himself he’d make himself vomit from laughing too much again. He had found a random face mask and slapped it on, hoping that obscuring his identity a little would help him get into character.

They hadn’t found a new pilot for Vortex yet – they still went through the usual procedure of finding one with the right personality and skill set, of testing how well the AI meshed with the mind of the pilot outside of the mech before allowing them to go inside. They had a few candidates, but now it was a question of ‘are they more compatible with other bots?’ and ‘how expendable are they really?’ before they stuck them inside of him.

Like lambs for slaughter. They knew they were going to die – but what else could they do? Vortex was their strongest mech. If he went down, their whole operation would crumble with him. Mechs were expensive and difficult to make, the AI’s complicated and prone to disaster.

Pharma didn’t take his eyes off of him for two whole weeks. He’d fallen out of the mech looking like the pilots whose brains had melted under the pressure, his arm marked with a burn that followed the path of a nerve, mapping it onto his skin. Pharma had stared at it, long and hard, brain ticking over. He wasn’t to go near Vortex again. Not for a while, until they figured out why he’d decided to kidnap him, and why he’d decided to spit him back out. They knew why he’d mangled the other medic. He thought it was fun. He’d said so himself, writing messages in the morning memo. They still hadn’t figured out how he was doing it, but if you were early enough in the day you’d see it before they’d caught it. But First Aid didn’t do too well in following instructions, in listening to orders. The Infant he’d plucked from the formaldehyde to get a better look at was evidence enough of that. The fact he was scrambling to get back inside of Vortex right now was yet another reason why First Aid was to be kept under lock and key - god, if they knew anything about him they’d never let him see the light of day again.

The catwalk that lead out to the mechs was a stones throw away. A guard stood watch, hands firmly on their gun.

God damn it.

First Aid rocked on his feet, wondering how he’d get him to move, when he suddenly felt a prickle on the back of his neck as if he were being watched. He shuddered and whipped his head around.

Nobody. Alone. No eerie glow of a camera – not that there were any over on this side of the hall – and no shadowy figures. He held his breath and strained his ears – all he heard was the cough from the guard and their sigh of boredom. He slowly looked back to the guard, and a faint red glow caught his eye.

Vortex’s visor was on. He was watching.

The sound of something falling to the floor caught the guards attention. He quickly turned and ran out onto the catwalk, looking down at the floor. He quickly looked back up at Vortex and scowled.

“I’m not stupid, Vortex. I’m not going down and getting that.”

Vortex did not respond. The guard tutted and turned on his heel.

Something else fell to the floor, a little louder this time.

The guard threw his head back with a sigh.

“You are the worst.”

He marched off, out of sight, and First Aid saw his window of opportunity. He quickly slipped out, thankful for his socks muffling the sound of his steps, and hid behind the terminal the guard was stationed at before he turned back around and walked over to the terminal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He was speaking to someone on the phone, drumming his fingers on the terminal. “It’s Vortex again. I know, I won’t get close – yeah. He’s dropped two this time.” He paused for a moment, listening to what the person on the other end had to say, before making a sound of disgust. “Go and check? I am not getting close to him!”

First Aid could hear a raised voice on the other side, and strained to see if he recognised it. Before he could pin a face to the voice, the guard sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll go look. You’ve got my will there, right? Take yourself off of it.”

The guard didn’t look back at the terminal as he walked to the stairs and descended down them. First Aid glanced between the stairs and the catwalk, and quickly crawled over. Peering over the side to see where the guard was, he gained an uncharacteristic burst of bravery before he sprinted towards where Vortex was, visor open and waiting for him.

“Can I?” He asked in a hushed whisper. Vortex didn’t respond. He gingerly approached, noticing that every single camera inside his cockpit was trained onto him. He swallowed nervously, and clambered in.

He should have been used to climbing inside of Vortex. He’d done it enough times. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing any of his protective gear? Not his uniform, or his helmet, or even his gloves. Just himself and his pyjama shorts, his t-shirt, and his socks with little bears on them.

Mmm. First impressions. Wonderful.

He should have gotten changed first.

[TAKE A SEAT] lit up the screen.

He slipped into the seat obediently, taking care to not touch the controls. He coyly waved at the camera.

“Did I wake you?”

[YOU DIDN’T. I LIKE YOUR SOCKS]

The bears stared back at him. First Aid tried not to think about the rumbling he now recognised as laughter that rolled through the cockpit.

“Thanks.” He replied, red tingeing his cheeks.

[THAT’S A GOOD LOOK ON YOU]

He pressed his legs more tightly together. “The socks?”

[NO, YOU’RE GOING VERY RED]

[MAYBE I SHOULD CALL YOU LITTLE RED INSTEAD]

The helmet dropped from the ceiling, firmly attached to the cable that would connect organic to mechanical.

[I WANT YOU]

[<3]

First aid scrambled with the harness, clipping himself in place, before putting on the helmet. It burned just as badly as the first time, and he saw as the nerves in his arms glowed with the energy of it – without the proper implants, there was nowhere for the current to go but him.

He whined, squirming in the seat. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut, counting down from ten and losing his place three times before the connection settled. Vortex was a heavy and oppressive presence in his mind, and he chewed his cheek as he cracked an eye open.

[LET ME TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT YOU]

The warning wasn’t even a verbal one. He read helplessly as he felt cold hands clasp him once more. Digital fingers made of 1’s and 0’s probed his brain, and First Aid arched in the seat, teeth clenching down over a loud moan of pain. Neurons fired agonisingly and his hands scrambled at the harness, the tips of his fingers raw and torn and bleeding against the rough fabric. Memories were brought to the surface unbidden, dragged out by artificial means, and others flooded in to take their place. He inhaled sharply, eyes going wide as the realisation hit him. Vortex was trying to show him something. He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even an AI.

He’d been entombed in it. In the mech. Vortex had been a real, breathing human being, mocked in a sham trial in the name of obtaining more pilots. Rich men had paid him to do terrible things, and he had taken the entirety of the blame. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of funds, countless hours, blood, sweat, and tears – all for one mech. A prototype, at that.

First Aid blinked as a bright red screen flashed up, text displayed across it. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, grimacing at the drag of sore and exposed flesh against the rough material of his face mask, and blinked.

[LOCKED IN]

“W… what do you mean locked in?” First Aid hesitantly asked. Like… literally, he was locked in? He knew that. He was connected to Vortex’s nervous system – he could feel that there were bolts in place keeping the cockpit well and truly locked down like a fortress, impenetrable except to the override codes the high command kept locked in a vault in their office or the request of the pilot. He felt amusement push at the edge of his awareness, a shudder of a laugh running through the mech, and he clarified.

“I know your dirt, and now you know mine. Do you think high command are going to let you go peacefully?”

Ah. A threat. Of course. Worried he’d run? He wasn’t going to. He was fascinated by this mech – the joy of being caught in his mechanisms was sure to sing in his ears, the pure delight of watching him carefully pick apart his prey like a hawk dismantled a rabbit was like a chorus of cherubs to him. And Vortex knew it, he knew it and he loved it- he was certain of it, the way his mind melded with his, pushing against him and caressing him, a warm blanket around his psyche.

“I’m not going to leave you.” First Aid took a deep breath, the unsettling stench of bleach and cooked meat and rotting oranges filling his lungs. “No, I’m fascinated by you.”

He tensed, eyes briefly widening as he felt a grin that wasn’t his tugging at the corners of his lips, threatening to split his face in two.

“Happy about that?”

“Extremely.” He purred. “I’ve seen what your hands have done, what they’re capable of. I think we’d make a great team.”

“What if I refuse?”

Images flashed in front of his eyes. Bone fragments scattered around the cockpit, blood and guts and gore hanging obscenely from the ceiling. Blood ran thickly on the walls, the smell foul and rotten. First Aid wretched.

“You’ll kill me?” He hated the excitement that bled into his voice, how eager he was to feel the mechanism close down around him, to feel his metal deep inside of him, for his last thought to be about his touch. “It’s a shame you can only do that once, you know. It’s so exciting, all the different ways you could do it to me. You could make me completely unrecognisable, identified by DNA alone. Or maybe flood the cockpit with gas, slowly suffocating me before I realised what was happening.” He bit his bottom lip. “I wish I knew what it all felt like.”

A new image, one of gears and cogs deep inside of him. All sharp angles and straight edges. The presence was probing inside of him, trying to figure out his reactions. He pressed his hand to his mouth and gasped as his teeth pierced his bottom lip without him realising it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and another. Vortex probed again impatiently. Respond, damn it.

He looked up at the camera, glad that his mask hid his face, the excitement glowing on his cheeks. “I’ll show you.” His voice was breathless. “And if your use for me runs out, give me a little warning before I’m a permanent feature, please?”

“I wont let you run away from me.”

First Aid swallowed hard at the burn of yearning in his chest. “You’d catch me if I tried.”

“Damn fucking right I would.”

He watched the energy sing in his nerves, the pain spreading down his limbs. His digits were starting to go numb. How much longer could he hold out? He never wanted to leave. He felt flayed open and alive. Squirming, screaming, and alive. Red dripped down and stained his pyjama shirt. Damn it. He liked this pair.

“How do you control yourself? You want what I want, you wish you could do it. So why don’t you?”

“I’m a pacifist.”

“Are you? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

First Aid whimpered as the pages in his mind flicked, a burning sensation flaring in his arms. He watched the skin there turn red, the connection starting to be too much. His nose felt wet as he thought of it, as the memories Vortex was looking at came to the forefront of his mind. He liked surgery. He liked anatomy. He liked the cadavers and how they felt under his hands, picking them apart and pulling on tendons and ligaments to move them like puppets. Even earlier, his first pet. A hamster. He had told his parents that he’d buried it in the garden all by himself, and they had praised him for being such a grown up young boy, when really he had picked it apart like he had practised on his teddy bears and then blamed on the dog before shoving it into a hole in the ground to hide the evidence before anyone had seen what he was doing.

Vortex chuckled.

“Oh, let me show you how exciting a Quintesson can be. Little Hamphrey hasn’t got anything on them.”

[loganwritesprobably]

– Sanji with the 2° genre, prompt (u.) 🍡

You know, I never would've paired this prompt with Sanji, but I think its more harsh nature pairs itself well with a masculine reader, so that's what I'll do! This ended up being pretty long so everything is under the cut

Since this is the first one I'll be posting like this I'll just explain - anything where you only requested one character, I assumed was to be paired with a Reader, since I struggled with making a lot of them work as a solo thing.

Content/warnings: Sanji/M!Reader, hurt/comfort, getting together, reader is insecure, Sanji is kinda cruel at the start whoops, Sanji has a gay awakening

You'd been acting off all day, you knew you had, and while the crew hadn't mentioned it you were aware they'd noticed and that they were beginning to worry. Generally, you kept in high spirits. Not today. It wasn't any much, your insecurities had just been getting to you lately. You also felt ridiculous for letting that spoil your mood all day, which was only making your mood worse. You were the least attractive person on the crew, in your opinion (outside of Chopper because who is calling a kid attractive). Most days, you let yourself be confident in the fact that it didn't matter because that didn't make you ugly and you had a good personality so why did looks matter. Some days it bothered you anyway.

You were docked at an island while the log pose set, and pretty much all of the crew had received attention from people (of their preferred gender and not), outside of Chopper, but again, he didn't count (and he'd still had a group of teenage girls call him cute). You? You'd not gotten a single comment or even a look. It just made your stomach twist. It was stupid and you knew it, but it was eating you up inside. Worrying about that just led to more worrying about other things and you were spiralling a little even if you were attempting to pretend you weren't. It wasn't working.

"What's your problem?" Sanji asked as he emerged from the kitchen having just finished cleaning all the dishes from lunch.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sanji." He'd not gotten much attention from women, but oh boy had Sanji gotten attention from men. He'd brushed every one of them off, rather unkindly, and that hurt too. You'd had a bit of a crush on Sanji for ages now, but moments like that told you that you couldn't ever share that fact with the cook.

"Then stop moping! It doesn't help anything, and it's not great for the mood on board." He retorted with a roll of his eyes, and you rubbed a hand over your face with a sigh. You didn't want to lash out, but you really didn't have the emotional availability to be kind in that moment.

"Sorry Sanji, my bad, I'll just pack it all up and ignore it all - God forbid I have fucking feelings." You snapped, pushing off the railing of the Sunny where you'd been leaving to walk away. You didn't want to deal with his shitty attitude today of all days.

-·—·-—-·—·-

You'd hidden away to calm yourself down, then taken a shower to release some of the negative feelings you'd had pent up. Residual negative emotions lingered, of course they did, but you were more prepared to push them aside and put on a happy face. You emerged on the deck and sat down with Robin to talk about the book she'd been reading, allowing yourself and your better mood to be more easily seen by the crew.

"What happened? You really looked upset." Nami asked after a few minutes, having come to sit in her usual spot beside Robin.

"Oh, nothing. Just had a chat with Sanji." You said with a shrug, smiling at them as best as you could.

"I hope you're not spoiling these ladies days with your foul mood." Sanji said as he appeared with two drinks, one for each of the ladies in question. Robin and Nami snapped their heads to look at him, unbelieving he could be so cruel.

"No don't worry Sanji - I took your advice and just got over it. Won't catch me moping again. I'll keep that to myself from now on." You replied, mock kindness on your face and in your voice. You weren't going to start an argument with him, but that didn't mean you couldn't be passive aggressive at least. He fixed a hard gaze on you, but kept his smile in place. Wisely, he said nothing, and left the drinks for Nami and Robin before swiftly returning to the kitchen.

-·—·-—-·—·-

You spent the rest of the day avoiding Sanji, even having asked Robin to save you a plate of food so you could eat away from the rest of the crew and mainly away from Sanji. She'd delivered your plate loyally, and just gave you a smile before leaving you to eat in peace.

Eventually though, the plate did need to be returned to the kitchen. It'd long since gone dark, and you were just hoping that Sanji was elsewhere by now.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," you heard muttered from the kitchen, pausing outside to listen to whoever was so frustrated inside, "can't even be nice just for once. He just makes me so-" it was Sanji, of course it was. You weren't sure what else you'd been expecting. But he was in there, scolding himself, and it sounded like he was doing it over how he'd treated you.

You didn't knock, just pushed open the door and let yourself in, plate still in hand. Sanji stopped stock still, staring at you as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have. You gently set the plate down on the table, pausing for a moment before turning as if to leave again.

"Wait-" Sanji called out, making you pause. There was another beat of silence while the cook found his words.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, hesitating before continuing, "I was unnecessarily cruel. You didn't deserve that."

"Yeah." You simply said, because just saying that wouldn't make him forgiven. You'd never done anything to him, you'd both just always had a joking friendship, where you'd take playful jabs at each other. They were never genuinely cruel.

"I just-" he paused again, fighting with himself to find his words, "you make me.. feel a lot of things that I don't know how to deal with. I just look at you and it all.. bubbles up inside of me and for some reason the only thing that ever gets out is something mean. What I said earlier was too far, and I am sorry. I was just worried." He finished, and you finally turned to face him. Sanji was flushed red, wringing his hands as if he was fighting not to put them elsewhere - his hair your brain helpfully supplied.

"Okay," you started, nodding slowly, "but that isn't a good reason. You didn't even try to get me to tell you. You didn't probe at all, you were rude when you asked what was wrong and then accused me of ruining the atmosphere on the Sunny. That's what you told me and best you can come up with is you were 'feeling a lot of feelings'?" You asked, growing more and more angry, but also more upset. You knew you couldn't have Sanji the way that you wanted him, but you'd at least wanted him as a friend. Maybe that was too much to ask for.

"I'm sorry! I'm not good with words - I can't make my brain tell my mouth what I'm thinking and I really want to help you understand even if you don't forgive me." You would forgive him, you knew you would, this would be petty to lose him over and would jeopardise the crew. But you couldn't be the same after this.

"Try."

"It's different than with other people. You feel- you make me feel different. I don't understand why. I just look at you and it's like.. the whole world stops moving for a minute," Sanji leaned forward, resting his hands on the table and stared right down at the wood rather than looking at you, "I've never felt like that before. It's scary. How am I meant to deal with something I don't understand? So I'm mean to you instead because maybe then it'll go away? I know it sounds stupid. And then when we're out and people look at you.. something just comes over me. I hate it. I just glare at them until they back down because they're not allowed to look at you like that."

You understood suddenly what Sanji was talking about. All this time you'd been so sure of what you couldn't have and in the background Sanji was having his gay awakening because of you. You were desperately trying to hold back, but you couldn't help laughing. He shot up straight as if he'd been struck, wounded by your laughter.

"I'm sorry- I know this is serious. I promise I'm not laughing at you, just the situation really. Sanji.. you have a crush on me. That's what that is." You told him, slowly approaching to close the space between you two.

"No! I- I like women." He defended, but he was hesitant, as if your words had given him clarity.

"Sure. But you also like me."

The two of you stood, silent, staring at each other. You, waiting for Sanji to decide what the next move was, and Sanji, processing the new information. In retrospect, he realised it was a little obvious.

"I acted like a little boy pulling on a girl's pigtails." Sanji muttered, suddenly a little humiliated.

"Yeah, a little bit." You agreed, and the cook just sighed. You both fell into quiet laughter finally, the tension of the entire situation drifting away.

"So uh.." Sanji started after a while, you let him find his words before responding, "what now?"

"That's up to you. I've liked you back for a damn long while now, but you've only just realised. You can go and take your time to process that new part of yourself if you w-" you didn't get to finish your sentence before Sanji's lips were on yours for the first time.

Yeah, now you definitely wouldn't be the same after this.

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Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[annwrites]

⸻ corsets & clockwork one-shot collection. ⸻

· pairing: assassin!jacaerys x fem!reader · type: one-shot (collection) · summary: to get out of the group apartment for the night, you go onto the rooftop, but jace of course follows you up. · word count: 677

Zepplins and airships soar along slowly through the cool night air.

You sit perched atop the ledge of the brick rooftop of the apartment complex, watching them idly.

You then look down and study the faraway cobblestone streets below, watching as gas lanterns flicker, warding away the looming dark that engulfs narrow alleys and alcoves people skulk through and tread along. The occasional clop of hooves echoes as wooden and metal wheels roll along, taking passengers to their destinations for the evening.

It being this time of night, however—the large clock in the town square near to tolling midnight—there are only few places they could be headed to.

Casinos, perhaps. Or brothels. Or, to the docks to do business which would otherwise be deemed unseemly were it to take place in the light of day instead. If not illegal, most likely.

You're interrupted from your assumptions by the soft scuff of boots, but don't bother with turning your head.

You've everyone's gaits down-pat now, including his.

Especially his, maybe.

You ignore that fact.

"Get down."

You roll your eyes. "Why?"

He takes a few steps closer. "Because I told you to. You don't need more reason than that."

You snort quietly and slowly swing your legs to and fro while leaning back, pressing your palms to the hard brick beneath you. "I'm perfectly comfortable where I am."

He lets out a low curse, which instils within you a small sense of satisfaction.

Whenever you're both in the apartment at the same time—which isn't incredibly often���he always leers at you from across the room beneath furrowed brows, with a dark gaze, and a tightly clenched jaw, so you come up here to escape, and still he's displeased.

"You're making me nervous up there. If you fall—"

You stand suddenly and he clamps his mouth shut.

You level your arms on either side of you and begin to imitate a tightrope walker while placing one foot in front of the other—toe to heel, heel to toe—and Jace crosses his arms while a frown tugs at his lips.

"You must think yourself terribly clever, but you're only serving to ignite my ire."

You shrug slightly while smirking at him over your shoulder. "As if that's terribly difficult to achieve."

He grits his teeth.

"I came up here to be alone, you know?"

He steps closer. "Get down. I won't ask again."

You swing one leg over the edge and snicker. "Look—no hands and only one foot!"

He bares his teeth—a sign that his anger has finally reached its limit.

You giggle, strictly from nerves at the unsettling sight, and he quickly reaches out, takes hold of your hand, and pulls you suddenly from the ledge.

You lose your footing and scream in fright as your body lunges in the wrong direction, but he holds firm and you fall into his chest.

He catches you beneath your legs and cradles you against his body while you draw in ragged breaths, trying desperately to calm your pattering heart.

You stare into his dark eyes, half-hidden beneath curls that are of a similar shade, and the words you mean to say—so as to give him a piece of your mind—become stuck in your throat at the sight of him staring at your lips.

Your brows knit together momentarily, and then he practically tosses you down.

You land on your bottom, and a foul word slips from your lips in response to the pain that starts at your tailbone and radiates up your back.

"Ow, Jace! That hurt!"

He glances to the ledge, then back to you. "Imagine how much worse you'd feel had I not pulled you down."

You rise to your feet. "I came up here to get away from you, since all you seem in there is bothered by my presence!"

He rolls his eyes, but of course doesn't deign to reply as he turns and walks to the door.

He holds it open with an expectant look, and you sigh dramatically before going back inside, with him following closely behind.