#dock fouling

[boymanmaletheshequel]

Forbidden cauliflower

[eggrollforyou]

okay but like could we get a sex pollen/power kinda thing but opposite?? like instead of y/n being the one getting hit with it, have law get hit with it. bonus points if he doesn’t want to ask y/n for help at first and he’s a bit submissive when she does help😄😄

Wanted This

Law x F!Reader

CW: NSFW, MDNI, sex pollen trope, unprotected sex, p in v, needy Law, rough sex, use of pet names, one bed trope, mutual pining but they don't know it, porn with plot if I forget anything, lemme know!

A/N: Thank you for this ‘Nonnie! This was a lot of fun. I really hope I did your request justice! Law’s  and readers' thoughts are in italics. Hopefully I separate them enough that it’s not confusing. I apparently felt the need to go into great detail to set up Law going to TOWN on reader 🤣

“W-what?!  Are you fucking serious, Shachi?” Law grumbles in frustration. “I-I’m sorry Captain, rules are rules,” Shachi chuckles nervously, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck.  

Of-fucking-course this shit HAS to happen. We’re grounded to weather this weird ass storm and this is the last inn with any vacancy and I draw HER name to share the room? Law thinks to himself. “Why can’t she and Ikkaku bunk up?” he pleads one last time.

“Well, they argued that to be fair, it should just be names from a hat…we’re all adults, etcetera, etcetera. I mean they made a strong point, we’re a crew. What does it matter?” Shachi replies. Law rubs his hand down his face in a hidden panic, expressed as faux annoyance. 

“Fucking FINE,” he chagrined as he swipes the room key from Shachi. “Hey, I mean, maybe you can have that talk with her now? You’ll certainly have the privacy to do it, Captain.” Shachi sheepishly replies, hoping to soothe Law’s foul mood at the current turn of events. “SHHH! Shut the fuck up Shachi. I’ll deal with it,” Law whispers, embarrassed that anyone might have heard. 

His feelings for you have grown the last few months but he hasn’t had the nerve to express to you what they are, being as emotionally repressed as he is. Finally needing to get it all out, he’s been talking to Shachi about it, hoping that maybe by getting it out in the open, he’ll realize that they’re nothing more than a simple crush that will fizzle away with time. 

But no, things can’t be that simple and they can’t go the way of just ignoring it until it goes away that he was hoping he could rely on. And now, since you’re all docked at this island to weather a storm for another couple days he has to spend them sharing the last remaining room at the inn with you?! He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves that are eliciting butterflies in his stomach and anxiety in his chest. He waits until he feels the blush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears that he feels burning hot at the idea of sharing a room with you, to dissipate before he goes to find you.

“Looks like we’re bunking together,” Law tries to sound as unbothered as possible as he approaches you, showing the key to your room. Bunking together!? What the fuck is this, camp?! He internally chastises himself. To his surprise, you giggle. “I guess so, Captain!” you reply enthusiastically. God, you’re adorable.

As you both walk toward your room,  you fight to keep your cool. I mean it was obvious to everyone- except apparently Law- that you harbored a crush for the broody man. You’re not sure why you were so excited about this, though. He never seemed to reciprocate your feelings towards him. Always giving you the same clipped responses he gave the rest of the crew. In fact, it seemed he might actually not enjoy your company all that much, the more you think about it. He's always distant. Sometimes if you're going to pass each other late at night on the ship, he flinches and just turns away abruptly. Like he actively avoids you.

Suddenly, you’re wracked with anxiety. This may actually be worse than I was thinking. He probably finds me annoying and this may be REALLY awkward. Suck it up, Y/N. You’re both adults. Just treat it as any other day on the Tang…you’ll be fine right? Ugh. How could I be so stupid. He clearly isn't interested in me. I guess I got so caught up in my feelings, I failed to see it for myself…

As you both approach your room, you shift to stand behind Law to avoid bothering him. Law unlocks the door and as you both step in, you see the bathroom to the right and walk further to see a table in a small sitting area with a vase of beautiful flowers next to the window and one bed. Both of you stop in your tracks. You, quietly giddy and your heart skipping happily, but Law’s face suddenly goes white. You feign shock when he turns to look at you. 

“T-this must be a mistake,” he says. “I’m going to go to the front desk and talk to them. We must have gotten the wrong room key, we’re supposed to have two beds,” he hurries as he rushes out of the room. Leaving you standing there, quietly trying to mend your breaking heart, hoping your face doesn't show the disappointment at your realization that Law just isn't that into you. Keep it together Y/N….it’s only unrequited love. You can deal with it, you sarcastically tell yourself. Leaving you to just nod in acceptance as he sees you before he shuts the door. 

“I’m sorry, Sir. But that is our last room available. We apologize for the inconvenience. It was also assumed that a couple would be staying in the room. We can certainly send up a second set of linens for you if that will help?” Law glared daggers at the clerk who didn’t seem to give two shits about the predicament their assumptions put him in. He sighed in defeat, “Fine. A second set of linens. We’ll make do,” he waves his hand as he walks away. 

When he returns, you're nowhere in sight but he hears the shower running, steam slowly trickling out from under the door. He breathes a sigh of momentary relief. Don't make this awkward, alright? We're adults. We can manage. I'll just tell her I have extra blankets and a pillow being delivered to sleep on the floor. No need to make this a thing.

A few moments later, someone knocks on the door. Must be the bedding. Law gets up from sitting at the table contemplating why life has planned out to land him in this exact moment as he answers, collecting the bedding from the housekeeper and promptly shutting the door behind him. 

The loud slam of the door closing broke you from your in-shower zone out, where little to Law's knowledge, you're also contemplating what karmic retribution landed you here in this exact situation. Your heartbeat in your ears from being suddenly startled, you take a deep breath. It can’t be THAT bad to share a room with me, can it? What the fuck, this seems really over the top for a minor inconvenience.

You hurry to finish showering, clearing your head as best you can, and try to face how you’re going to approach the next couple days. I can just grab my book and hang out in the lobby or at the tavern or something. I don’t have to stay in the room. Just use it purely as a space to sleep. You’ve resigned, you’re going to get dressed, grab your book and just go down to the tavern for a drink and to read. It’ll be some nice alone time anyway.

Law hears the water shut off in the bathroom and in a rush, he accidentally almost throws the spare blanket on the table and knocks over the vase of flowers, water spilling everywhere. “Shit!” Law leans over and rushes to right the vase, but the damage is done. There’s water everywhere as it trickles off the table onto the floor. He immediately coughs and sneezes, realizing in the fall, the pollen on some of the flowers is knocked loose. “What-” he coughs “-the fuck?” He has nothing left to do but wait for you to get out of the bathroom, to grab a towel to clean up the mess. 

In a couple minutes, you rush out of the bathroom, mumbling an apology for taking so long in the bathroom. You walk briskly to your bags and grab a book and turn to exit the room as quickly as you can, trying to make as little eye contact as possible to avoid showing Law the hurt and growing frustration in your eyes. “I’m, uh, gonna be down at the tavern,” as you wave your book in the air. Before Law has a chance to respond, you’re gone. The door quickly shutting behind you. 

He sighs a breath of something- Resignation? Relief? Wanting? He’s not sure. He wants to spend time with you but you have his brain so fucked up. He gets tongue tied and nervous around you. He finds himself wanting to impress you? He wants to get to know you better but you don’t need that. Don’t need what his baggage would mean for you. Suddenly, he’s thinking about your hair. How it always looks so soft. Soft like how soft your skin must feel. He walks to the bathroom to grab a towel to clean the mess from the flowers and he’s hit with the warm, humid air still lingering in the bathroom. The scent is tinged with your soap. The smell enveloping him like how you envelope his thoughts.

He closes his eyes and takes it in. The warmth of the humid, heavy air clings to his skin and he feels it spread across his chest and he suddenly gets pangs of pain in his gut. His eyes snap open. What the hell? His chest feels tight, his skin burns, his ears are buzzing and all he can think of is how soft your lips look. How he wants to kiss them….and your jaw…and your neck. His thoughts grow hazy and he imagines how he would press you against the bathroom counter, bend you over and fuck you into oblivion. WHAT THE FUCKi?!

He feels the familiar throbbing of his cock when he lets his thoughts wander about you, but this time, it feels like if he doesn’t have some contact, he’ll explode. He begins breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath that seems to evade him as his skin burns and tingles, focusing on his groin. What the hell is happening to me? Something’s wrong. He looks down and he sees the evidence of his arousal, feeling as if he doesn’t release his cock, his pants will rip. Without thinking, he hurriedly unzips his pants and frees himself with a sigh, but the aching pain continues. He leans on the bathroom wall and slowly slides down as he palms himself over his boxers trying to find some relief. It sends electric jolts down his spine. 

He pulls his boxers down slightly and grips his length at the base. It’s veiny, an angry red, and dripping precum. He hisses as his hand starts moving up and down, collecting the precum from the top and twisting his fist down his shaft. He begins to pump his fist hoping to find some release from this crazed feeling. When he thinks he might finally reach his peak, he finds himself unable to finish and find relief. He continues over and over and there seems to be no release in sight. “Fuuuhck,” he whispers to himself as he slams the back of his head on the bathroom wall in frustration, panting and sweating.

“Shit!” you mumble to yourself. “I grabbed the wrong fucking book,” as you bring your palm to your forehead. You made it to the tavern, decided to order your drink and a snack first before settling down to crack open your book. You were slightly distracted because Shachi and Penguin were sitting at another table and staring at you. You could swear they had a look of pity but thought it must be because you didn’t want to sit with them. Much preferring to deal with your current emotional state alone. 

When you opened your book, looking for your bookmark, you realized then that you grabbed the next book in the series you were reading. “Damn it….now I have to go back up there,” you whined. Do I really need to read right now?

Ugh. I can’t be a weirdo and just stare at the wall all night. I’ll just run in and grab it really quick. And you stand up to head back to the room.

Law didn’t hear your footsteps approaching in his attempt to deal with his current predicament. But as soon as you stopped at the door, he smelled you. His pupils suddenly dilated and his breathing labored. He stops and quickly covers his lap with the towel he couldn't remember the reason he needed as you open the door to the room. 

He grunts as you walk past him, but you don't realize where he is, nor the state he's in. He's trying not to let you find him like this- needy, desperate, bordering rabid for touch. You walk to your bag and swap out the correct book and make your way back to the door to nurse your drink. You hear a shuffle in the bathroom and take a passing peek. You see Law’s legs splayed out, his body propped on the wall. He's breathing heavily, his face and chest are flushed, he's practically dripping sweat.

You stop, “Law! C-captain! Are you ok?!” You immediately begin to check for a fever, search for his pulse on his wrist to check his heart rate. He hisses at the contact, ripping his wrist from your grasp, “G-get out,” he enunciates. “L-leave me alone, I'm f-fine, damn it.” Your hands recoil from him as you pull them back. What the hell is going on? “Captain, I just want to make sure you're-”

“I said I'm fine,” he pants, interrupting you. Grimacing in pain as waves of it return.

 I can't just leave him like this, but clearly he doesn't want my help. “I can get Shachi, or Penguin? I really don't think I should leave you like this, Law.” Your concern for his well being winning out over wanting to leave his grumpy ass alone. Something was clearly wrong, you wouldn't feel right storming off. 

“N-no! P-please,” he's begging. Beginning to lose his mind from his desire to have your skin on his. To kiss you, like he's always wanted to, to force your gaze in the mirror to make you watch him worship your body. He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of you but not like this. He wanted to tell you that you consume his thoughts. He's wanted to ask you out ages ago but he was too much of a coward to do it. And where has that silence led him? 

He's now writhing on the bathroom floor of a room at an inn, with an erection that won't go away, a mind full of lustful thoughts that he cannot control and you worriedly and helplessly staring at him. 

You take a moment, seeing he's clearly in pain and instead try a different approach with him. “Law, I need you to tell me what's wrong. Where are you in pain? Can you tell me your symptoms? Is it ok for me to check your pulse?” You slowly reach out. He nods, his chest heaving. You look down and notice the towel over his lap and your eyes widen. He's very clearly trying to conceal his erection, but the towel does nothing to hide it. 

Suddenly, you realise what's going on. You've seen it before, prior to joining the crew. It's the effects of an aphrodisiac. You steel your nerves. You have no idea what's going to happen when you tell him this. “L-law,” your cheeks are hot, turning bright red, “I, uhm, I think I know what's going on. It looks like you may have been exposed to an aphrodisiac.” You awkwardly clear your throat. 

His wild eyes connect with yours, they're so dilated you can barely see the beautiful amber and gold that they usually glow. He gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down and you're trying to keep your cool, at least for his sake. “P-please, Y/N. I need your help, w-what do I need to fix….this?” He gestures his hands to his throbbing erection. “I-it hurts,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. 

Your eyes quickly snap from his groin to his eyes, your breath hitches, “I…think you know...how to fix it,” you whisper. He leans forward and presses his face into the crook of your neck and inhales a deep breath in your hair, “I'm- hng- I'm sorry,” he winces. “I wanted this to be different.” Your smell is driving him crazy, it's so enticing, it's like you're a siren calling out to him and he's losing whatever sliver of self control he has left. 

“What are you talking about, Law? Different-” Suddenly he reaches forward and he slips his hand behind your head, pulling you to him in a messy kiss. You pause for a moment, but soon get lost in his need. Returning his heated kisses as you lean into him. 

You yelp as he pulls you onto his lap, groaning as you grind your hips onto him. He's lost in the feeling of you. Your lips slotting into his feel like perfection and he never wants to leave. His tongue swipes your bottom lip and you part your lips for him. Your tongues dance together, exploring each other. “I need you Y/N,” he growls as he pulls the towel out from underneath you. 

While your hips are lifted, he pulls your skirt down and you shift to remove the item completely and he looks down. His cock throbbing harder at the sight of your lacy underwear. With a growl you hear a RIP as he tosses your underwear to the side. “P-please, I n-,” he groans in desperation, “I n-need to know you want this t-too.” 

Your heart is racing, you just want him to feel better, but you feel selfish. You wonder if this is just the pollen talking. Will he still want me when it's out of his system? Should I walk away? You decide now’s the time to just tell him. This situation is already about as messy as it can get, just get it out in the open. Treat it like a bandage, just rip it off. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, “Law, I’ve always wanted this.”

Law’s eyes go wide for a brief moment and in one swift motion, he pulls you down onto his length. He groans, a gritty sound, deep from within his chest. You gasp at the sudden stretch as and the delicious burn of your body stretching to accommodate him. He presses his forehead to yours, hot breaths fanning your face, “‘m’sorry. I wanted this to be d-different,” he pants. Despite his pain and desperation, he’s trying to hold back to avoid hurting you. But you take the lead, surprising him.

You capture his lips in a wet kiss, all tongue and teeth as you pull up on his cock and slam your hips down. His groans and praises spur you to keep a steady pace as you bounce up and down his length. “F-fuck, Law, hnng,” you cry out as you throw your head back in pleasure.

Law latches his lips to your neck, pressing hot open mouthed kisses and biting it between whispered thank yous. After a few moments, you begin to slow down to the delight of your legs and hips as the muscles burn and ache. Pulling up slowly to his tip, feeling every delicious inch and prominent vein in your clenching walls before pushing your hips back down. 

Rolling your hips causes Law to grip your hips tightly, his fingertips turning white, “S-shit, Y/N, slow down, m’gonna-,” he warns you of his impending orgasm. You lean down to his ear, biting his earlobe, “G-give it to me.” Your sultry command is his undoing. He pulls you down as he thrusts up into you, holding you tightly against him as he moans, spilling inside of you. As you both continue panting, you feel him twitch inside of you again. “M’not done with you yet, love” he growls. He wraps his arms around you, presses his back to the wall, and stands up without ever leaving your warmth.

He pulls out of you and you protest the sudden feeling of emptiness and he sets you to stand in front of him. Turning you around, he fixes his gaze on you in the mirror, you both lock eyes and hurriedly remove the remainder of your clothing.

Law takes in your naked form, his pupils so dilated you only see black, and his gaze darkens. He still has the painful urge deep in his gut telling him to continue. One orgasm was not enough to dull the effects of the pollen, as he’s still excruciatingly hard.

He pulls your back to his chest so you are flush with his body, reaching around to grab your breasts and knead and squish them, gently rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. You moan, leaning your head back on him.

One of his hands snakes down and rubs circles on your clit, dipping down to press a finger into you, collecting his cum, swirling it and pressing it back in. He watches as you close your eyes, furrowing your brow, and biting your lip.

He leans back and lines back up to your entrance again and presses in, to the hilt, again. “Fuuhck, Law, fuck me, please,” you beg. Law immediately begins pounding into you at an inhuman pace, forcing your back into an arch as he watches how your body greedily takes him. “Mmmm, shit,” he whispers. He’s beginning to lose himself in you, blinded by lust induced by the pollen. The bathroom is filled with the sinful sounds of skin meeting skin when his hips slam into you and your labored breathing. 

Law presses down on your hips slightly so his cock continues to hit the spot in you that makes your knees weak, “Fuck, right there, don’t stop, pleeeeease,” you cry out as he brings you closer to your orgasm. The fire in your belly burns hotter and hotter with each pass of his cock. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Give it to me,” he whispers in your ear as he gently bites the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. 

He forces your gaze to the mirror. As soon as you make eye contact with him, seeing the position he has you, the feral look in his eyes, you shatter. Your orgasm washing over you in waves as your cunt clenches and flutters on his length, gripping it so tightly his eyes roll back. He moans into your ear as he finishes inside of you again. Pulsing and throbbing as he fills you so full, you feel it beginning to run down the inside of your leg. He doesn’t stop fucking into you. Like a man possessed, he continues fucking into you.

He suddenly turns you around, picking you up and pulling you into another kiss. His tongue enters your mouth, taking you, overwhelming your senses. He sets you on the countertop in the bathroom and without skipping another beat, presses his still hard cock into you. You open your eyes in surprise and he begins pounding into you again as your legs are dangling over his elbows, his hands grabbing a firm grip of your ass. He wants to stay like this and claim you as his, forever. 

“Fu-uck, I can’t get enough of you, baby,” Law moans. His head thrown back, you watch his Adam’s apple bob with his swallow, watching the sweat that’s beading on his skin, drip down his sculpted chest and abs. You watch as his, somehow, still hard cock goes in and out of you. “Mmmn,” is all you can manage in your fucked out state. There are no words left, only him and how he has complete control over you as you quickly approach another orgasm. 

Law continues to fuck into you and rolls his hips, adjusting the angle his cock slams into you. Pressing that spot just right again and again. He presses two fingers on your clit and begins pressing in harsh sloppy circles as he gets close to cumming again.

The bathroom air is thick and heady with the sounds and smells of sex and lust. He feels you clenching again as you approach another orgasm, gasping and gripping his arms as you twitch under his ministrations. With one final, harsh thrust, Law groans as he cums again, pressing hard on your clit, you scream out. Your mouth falls open as you cum again on his cock, taking everything he’s giving you.

The effects of the pollen are finally waning. Law’s mind is growing clearer by the second as he rests his forehead on yours. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs as he continues to throb and slowly pump into you. You both wince from overstimulation as he pulls out of you. Your legs hang down over the edge of the counter, but your body is reduced to putty. Every part of you feels heavy. Law gently picks you up, bridal style, and walks you to the bed, laying you down. He walks back to the bathroom to grab a towel to clean you up.

As you slowly regain clarity after a few moments, you begin to grow nervous about what this all means now. Will this change your relationship negatively? Was he serious earlier when he said he wanted this? Or was that the pollen talking? You’re so lost in your anxious thoughts you didn’t register Law lying down in bed next to you. “Y/N,” he says again to get your attention, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you…are you ok?” he quietly questions. His face covered in a look of worry matching your own. “C-can I be honest with you, Law?” He nods.

“I-I….I’ve wanted you for a long time, Law. I know you were under the effects of the pollen, so uhm, if you don’t want to be-” he cuts you off with a kiss that you find all too easy to fall into. “I’ve liked you for a long time as well, Y/N. I….I really did want this, just….not this way. I wanted to get here eventually but I was too afraid to say anything to you,” he quietly admits.

You feel your face heating up in a blush, reaching your hand out to touch his cheek, “We’re both idiots, I guess, huh?” you chuckle. He nods in agreement, “Heh…yea, I guess so,” his thumb rubs soft circles on your shoulder. “W-will you be mine, Y/N?” he sheepishly asks. 

Your heart jumps and you giggle at his bashfulness after what just transpired between you two. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, “You always had me, Law.”

PHEW! This fic practically wrote itself, though it ended up WAAAY longer than I expected😅. I really hope you enjoyed it! Thanks again for the request! As a reminder, I work full time, am a part time graduate student, and I have a family. My life can get pretty chaotic, quickly. I will work on requests when I have the free time! ily all  ❤️💕

Taglist: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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[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

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi, sorry to bother you but might I request a head over heels, tripping over himself, bumping into things when he hears her name love-struck dumb, old silco? As a former full service SW, he just has puppy dog, clingy written all over him. 🤣

Favors for Favors

Silco had only been half listening to the report that Sevika was giving. It wasn’t anything important. Nothing which needed his direct attention. It was all simply things he should be passingly aware of.

The scratch of his pen was a nice background to her smooth, husked voice. This was a routine the two were both well adjusted to. It hadn’t changed in some time.

Whether or not he should respond to Madame Margot’s request for more funding for guards ran on his mind. She was one of the more competent. Her lady’s brought in a lot of money, very little of which she actually have to the cause and he knew that.

Most of it went towards the luxuries of her business. Keeping rooms nice, pillows fluffed, dolls dressed in a manner of speaking.

He twisted his pen in his hand as he thought.

She was the one he was most familiar with.

Yes, there were others. Renni and her child workers, as she called them, and a warehouse full of shimmer. Chross and his secrets and fast working hit men. Smeech and his loud mouth which didn’t suit the prosthetics he had made. Finn and his. . . Whatever it was exactly he did.

Margot though was something of a collection of all of them. She had the public favor of Finn. She had the will to survive of Smeech. She held secrets and spread shimmer with her workers.

By far she was the most useful of them all.

Silco was in the middle of responding to her request with approval when his ears perked at a name, your name. His pen faltered for a moment. His eyes flicked up to where Sevika stood.

She scoffed. “You really are down bad, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Forget it. Did you even hear the last ten minutes or just that last name?” she asked with a bit of humor in her eyes.

Silco’s lip twitched upward. His gaze went back down.

“You were saying about the layoff happening in the docks?”

“I stopped talking about that seven minutes ago, boss,” she said.

He cut her a look and she had the audacity to smile to herself. It was a bit smug and not at all subtle.

“But profits have raised since your girl started,” she said.

He continued to write his approval. “The only girl that is mine is Jinx,” he retorted.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

It was rare that Silco got the chance to banter anymore. It’d been years but some days when Sevika was tired and probably at least a bit tipsy and not in an entirely foul mood, she would joke.

He didn’t admit it but it was small moments like these that he was found of.

She leaned against the desk. Her face got close to his. Her arm sat just above the top of the paper which was still wet with ink.

The smell of tequila was on her breath. Not strong but not weak either.

“Do me a favor, just get fucking laid,” she said.

She pushed herself up. She turned and walked out.

“Only if you do the same,” he said right before she closed the door.

He heard her snort right before there was click of lock sliding in place.

It was two days later when Sevika knocked on his door. He welcomed her in but she merely opened it enough to peak her head inside.

“I held up on my favor,” she said, “now hold up on yours or at least go down there and get a drink.”

It wasn’t late in the night when those words echoed in his mind but rather very early in the morning.

Maybe he should. Maybe he would.

He went downstairs.

“Chuck, go home,” he heard your voice say as he neared the bottom.

“I’m fine,” a hoarse voice replied, gravely and that clearly of a chainsmoker.

“No, you’re not. You got a glass thrown at you. Just let me take care of closing up.”

“Not what I’m paid to do.”

“I believe,” Silco said as he stepped into view, “what I pay you to do is serve drinks.”

Chuck’s lip curled upward into a snarl. He took the wordless demand and turned to his other side.

His sleeve was covered in blood, still wet even just looking. There were small nicks and a very large gash. It curled around his bicep and dug into it.

“Should I request the Doctor give you visit or would you prefer your means?” Silco asked as he looked at the wound. Chuck’s silence was reply. “Very well then. I highly suggest you take advantage the kindness being gifted to you. It’s rarity these days.”

“Fine,” Chuck said through gritted teeth.

When the door slammed shut, Silco finally looked at you. You had a small, pleased smile on your face. Your chin was held by your hand. Eyes were fixed on him.

Silco took a deep breath and tried to will down that little jump his heart tried to do, aiming for his throat.

“You’re going soft,” you said in a sing-song tone.

“He can’t serve drinks if he can’t use his arm,” Silco said.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

You spun around and reached for a bottle of whiskey. A glass was picked up in your hands as you turned around to the bar. A small scoop was filled with ice which clinked against the glass as it was plopped in. You didn’t look down as you filled it.

“What gives me the pleasure of your company tonight?” you asked.

That simple question led to over an hour of conversation and Silco behind the bar, helping you clean. All because he mentioned he’d once had experience and you had audacity to challenge that.

[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

[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!”

[thefadecodex]

Our first real exposure actually beings with the Grand Oak tree in DAO! (Thank you @meganooooooooooooooo for pointing this out!)

Players began to notice a distinct cadence in Solas's speech during interactions in DAI. Notably, when he recounts moments from the Fade, his voice occasionally takes on a rhythm and tone reminiscent of a hymn or chant, evoking the cadence of "Hallelujah," specifically the K.D. Lang cover.

(note: @the-northern-continent does a great breakdown of the Hallelujah cadence vs iambic pentameter in this post. And @liaragaming does a good breakdown of Solas speaking in that cadence in this post.)

This has led The Fade Codex to theorize that this cadence reflects a dialect used by spirits—an ancient, rhythmic way of communication that blends emotion and intent through a deliberate structure. The 6/8 musical framework of the K.D. Lang Hallelujah cover. This framework prioritizes reflective pacing, 1-2-3 / 4-5-6 measures, and allows secondary stresses to create an emotional cadence.

This concept is further explored in Dragon Age: The Veilguard through various encounters with spirits. Below are examples that demonstrate this rhythmic, almost lyrical, pattern in their speech:

The Anxious Spirit (A Spirit of Comfort) - Arlathan Forest

"Trapped. Can't get out. It hurts. It's dark. Please. They didn't know what to do. They didn't want to die."

TRAPPED. CAN'T get OUT. It HURTS. It's DARK. PLEASE. They DIDN'T know what to DO. They DIDN'T want to DIE.

"Stop the thoughts. Stop the fears. Quiet, please. Make it quiet."

STOP the THOUGHTS. STOP the FEARS. QUI-et, PLEASE. MAKE it QUI-et.

Eulogy (Originally a Spirit of Compassion) - Minrathous

"Something larger stirs. Calling the desperate. I cannot see what."

SOME-thing LARG-er STIRS. CALL-ing the DES-per-ATE. I CAN-not SEE what.

"Know the hope you bring Dock Town thwarts it. And may you continue."

KNOW the HOPE you BRING. DOCK TOWN THWARTS it. AND may YOU con-TIN-ue.

"As you found their names, I felt them whisper through the Fade."

As YOU found their NAMES, I FELT them WHIS-per THROUGH the FADE.

"My own name changed. I am now Eulogy."

My OWN name CHANGED. I AM now EU-lo-GY.

Hope Unyielding - Hossberg Wetlands

"Light glimmers the surface. Flowers break through snow. Hope unexpected. I am such."

LIGHT glim-MERS the SUR-face. FLOW-ers BREAK through SNOW. HOPE un-EXPECT-ed. I AM SUCH.

"No. But nor was I forever."

NO. But NOR was I for-EV-er.

Pluck - Hall of Valor

"What foul-hearted spirit tugs at the corners of your lips to turn them down so?"

What FOUL-heart-ed SPIR-it tugs at the COR-ners of your LIPS to TURN them DOWN so?

"Greetings, Mourn Watcher. You are a long ways from Nevarra."

GREET-ings, MOURN Watch-er. YOU are a LONG ways from Ne-VAR-ra.

Emmrich (to Pluck)

"Hail to you, child of Valor. As voice of our lightless shores, I pray your blade may never sunder."

HAIL to YOU, child of VAL-or. As VOICE of our LIGHT-less SHORES, I PRAY your BLADE may NEV-er SUN-der.

Pluck

"You honor me. Few remember the old ways."

You HON-or ME. Few re-MEM-ber the OLD WAYS.

The phrase "the old ways," as used by Pluck, is believed to reference this rhythmic, cadenced speech. It’s a pattern steeped in intent, echoing the emotional resonance of the Fade itself.

Grand Oak - West Brecilian Forest

(image source)

What manner of beast be thee that comes before this elder tree?

What MAN-ner of BEAST be THEE that COMES be-FORE this EL-der TREE?

Ahhhh, yes, I remember thy kind. So brief of life and all but blind to the peril you cause, the lives you take, such chaos is down within thy wake.

AHHH, yes, I re-MEM-ber THY kind. SO brief of LIFE and ALL but BLIND. To the PER-il you CAUSE, the LIVES you TAKE. Such CHA-os is DOWN with-IN thy WAKE.

This dialect may serve as both a form of communication and an expression of a spirit's essence, allowing them to convey ideas, emotions, and purpose in a way that transcends mere words.

This theory deepens our understanding of how spirits interact with mortals and each other, highlighting the unique and poetic nature of their existence.

[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.

[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

[dickgraysonisnothereforthis]

Yeah, I’ll Let You Cut Me Open (jason todd x vampire!reader)

Jason’s always twitchy after a fight. Good thing you show up.

Another installment of the jason x vampire!reader series. You know the drill, foul language and suggestive content.

The rest of the series is on my masterlist

Humor, fluff. Ain’t nothing else going on, boys.

No use of y/n

I have no idea how long this is.

—————

Jason sighs, looping the end of the zip tie and tightening it against the unconscious perp’s wrists. Panting heavily, fight barely over, he methodically checks the man for injuries. Other than a few broken teeth courtesy of Jason’s fists, the man seems fine. Almost ildly, Jason brings a finger to his own neck, hunting for his pulse. Way the fuck too fast. Jason’s fingers twitch.

He’s always struggled with the comedown. The raid was a huge success, Red Hood had worked with Nightwing and Red Robin to track down and dismantle one of Bane’s drug warehouses. They’d gotten to the docks at one am and had the last goon out cold by two thirty. It was the kind of fight Jason loved, fast and dirty, with opponents well trained enough to make it interesting, to make him work for it. It wasn’t a good fight unless Jason got knocked around a little, that’s what he always said.

But now the fun’s over. Jason’s blood is still thrumming, heartbeat loud in his ears, and he has to catalogue evidence and search the premises and drag these stupid henchmen into a neat pile for the GCPD. Resigned, he reaches for another lifeless body, hauling him over to the growing lump of men.

“Lift with your legs, Hood,” Dick offers from the ground as he binds hands and ankles. Jason grunts. Man, this sucks. All this damn adrenaline with nowhere to put it. Maybe he should take up meditation to calm down, or some shit.

“Hey, isn’t that your boy-toy?”

“Oh my gosh, it is!”

Or maybe not.

Maybe his adrenaline can stay right where it is, because that’s definitely you, running barefoot across the warehouse in a barely-there minidress, your friend Crystal trailing behind you.

“Well, looky here,” Dick says with a grin. “Your girl’s a-coming.”

“Jason Jason Jason,” you chant happily, “Jason, Jason. I’m so glad you’re here!” You run eagerly into his arms, and Jason catches you, glowing at your affection. He doesn’t think he’ll get used to it.

“Cute,” Tim comments, walking over from where he’d been bagging evidence.

Jason ignores him. “What’re you doin’ wandering round the docks, princess?”

You shrug unsteadily. “Got bored at the club. Was lame. Went for a walk.”

“She drunk?” he asks Crystal.

“Oh, yeah,” she confirms with a smirk, holding up your discarded heels she’s got hooked around her finger.

You wriggle in his grip. “Jason, Jason,” you babble, sliding your hands up his chest to go for his helmet. “Hey, wait, take this off.” He obliges, and you stretch out on your tiptoes, planting your hands on your shoulders and vaulting yourself up to reach his face. His arms come up to support you, and you rub your face against his neck. “Jason,” you whisper conspiratorially. He hears Tim cough, and flushes awkwardly. “Jason.” You kiss a line up his neck. “I’m hungry.”

He drops you immediately. “No.”

“Ahh!” you shriek as you hit the floor. “No?!” You beat your fists against the concrete.

“Hood,” Dick says reproachfully, but Jason waves him off. A little bump on the floor won’t do any damage, and he’s not about to let you sink your teeth in him on a moments’ notice.

Sure enough, you push yourself to your feet, pouting at him. “What the fuck. Jason, give me some.”

“I told you, no. I got beat up on enough already, I don’t need you biting just ‘cause you’re drunk and you want a snack.” All true. Bonus: he doesn’t want Dick and Tim to see you drink from him. That feels private. Especially since he’ll probably pop a boner.

“Oh,” Tim hums thoughtfully. “She wants to have some of your blood.” He thinks for a moment. “You guys do that?”

Crystal saves him from answering. “You good?” she calls to you. “Can I go?”

“Yeah, fine,” you answer over your shoulder. “Whatever. See you later.” Crystal tosses your shoes to the floor and makes her way out of the warehouse.

“Jason.” You put your hands on your hips. “Come on. I’m starving. You can spare a little.”

“No-o,” he enunciates. “Get your damn hospital blood at home.”

“I don’t want to,” you stamp your foot. “It’s too far!”

“That ain’t my problem, sweetheart,” he says, turning around. He’s half expecting it when you run over and launch yourself onto his back, wrapping your arm around his neck in a chokehold. “Please?” you wheedle. He grins, reaching for your arm and using it to chuck you across the room. Tim gasps as you crash into a table, but you’re up in moments, pushing the table out of your way and sprinting back to him. Jason smiles wider. He loves, he loves having a partner to roughhouse with. He dodges you as you lunge clumsily at him, and you hiss in frustration.

“Come on!” you howl.

“Damn,” Dick murmurs as Jason pushes you away again. “They’re really that indestructible?”

Jason nods, opening his mouth to answer, but then you tackle him, wrestling him to the floor.

“Here, wait, just let me—no! Stop!” you cry furiously as Jason fights you from below. “Just—just leave your fucking hand here—” you pin his wrist to the ground, and Jason’s stuck, he can’t win against your strength. Doesn’t stop him from trying.

“Whoa. Strong,” Tim notes.

“Get off,” Jason commands breathlessly, using his hips and legs to try and leverage you off of him.

“No, not until I have a little.” Your knee hits his crotch, and Jason smirks in satisfaction as you spit angrily. “What the fuck? Are you wearing a cup? No fair!”

He uses your confusion to haul you off of him and scramble to his feet. He crouches, waiting for your next attack, but you remain on the floor, picking your face up to glare at him.

“Ja-son! Please please please please—”

He ignores you again, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Hood, your cut,” Tim warns, and Jason presses a hand to his temple, realizing he’d started bleeding again.

Instantly, you’re up on your feet. “You’re bleeding? Oh no…” You sidle towards him carefully, eyes locked on the blood sluggishly dripping from his head. “Jay, that’s terrible.”

“Knock it off, doll.” Jason catches the roll of gauze Dick throws his way. “You’re not gettin’ any.”

“You fucking bastard,” you mutter. “I don’t know why I keep you around at all.” Looking around, your eyes rest on the unconscious men on the ground. “Can I take some from them?” you ask, eyes lighting up.

Dick opens his mouth to protest, but Jason beats him to it. “Nuh-uh.”

“Oh my god,” you seethe. “Fuck you, you never let me do anything!”

“Didn’t realize you were looking after a cat, Jay,” Dick says wryly.

You totally ignore him. “If you won’t give me any, I’ll just go out and kill someone.” Tim gasps, and Dick shifts into a fighting stance. You cross your arms over your chest, as if to say, “so there.”

Jason’s heard this one from you before. “No you won’t.”

You throw up your hands. “‘No you won’t!’ ‘No you won’t!’” you mimic him furiously. “I swear to god you’re making me into a fucking loser.”

Jason turns to Dick as you pace the room, muttering to yourself. “Think you can handle the rest?”

“What?” Tim asks, affronted. “You serious? There’s like, piles of work still to do!”

“Yeah, Timmy and I will take care of it,” Dick says easily. “Come on, Tim,” he slugs an arm over his shoulder. “Red Hood’s gotta deal with his vampire.”

Jason rolls his eyes but stalks over to you nonetheless. “Come on, doll.” He herds you toward the exit. “I’ll take you home.”

You dig in your heels. “You gonna let me have some?” you challenge.

“Christ, yes,” he mumbles out of earshot of Dick and Tim. “At home.”

“Fine.” Smiling in satisfaction, you turn and skip out of the warehouse.

Jason follows you outside. You’re already straddling his motorbike, grinning happily. Jamming his helmet on, he gets on behind you, giving you his bloody fingers to suck on. You lick them eagerly.

His stomach swoops, and he revs the bike as he lets out a growl. You giggle around his fingers and press yourself against his back, directing his other hand to fall on your thigh, right at the hem of your short short short dress. He gropes you eagerly.

Yeah, he can think of another way to get the adrenaline out.

[averycutesalamander]

btw Boothill LOVES sexting you while he's away from home. maybe not even sexting - he just loves the response he gets from you whenever you receive one of his little gifts, whether that be photos or videos or audios, or sometimes even calls.

admittedly, he does sometimes time them quite cruelly. once, you tell him that you have to get off the phone because you're about to meet with a friend for dinner; thirty minutes later, he sends you a photo of the length of his body, stretched out in a lascivious lounge with his free hand gripped tightly around his cock - and paired with it is a text so foul and detailed that you actually think you might collapse in the restaurant.

you rapidly type a borderline incoherent reply under the table, your face so hot that you feel like you're burning alive. the smug little bastard only replies with a heart emoji - and then, five minutes later, with a photo of his come splattered on the plates of his abdomen.

an hour and a half later, though, you take your revenge. without a word, you send him a photo of your body lying tauntingly against the sheets, your breasts looking perfectly soft in the gentle lighting - and just in front of your open mouth is one of his spare prosthetic cocks, soaked thoroughly with your slick.

and just like that, the two of you are in a WAR.

the trouble is that you actually DO sometimes send him innocent videos and audios and whatnot, so he can never QUITE be sure if they're going to be innocent before he plays them. you're always careful to frame the beginnings of the sexual videos in a way that looks innocuous, so it's always a gamble, even when the thumbnails look normal.

it becomes a competition to see who can send the raunchiest messages, the most mouthwatering pictures, the most irresistible audios, the hottest videos. he barely had a sex drive before he met you, and he only very rarely feels the urge when he's gone from you - but now he feels like a rabid dog, frothing at the mouth and straining at his muzzle, desperate to get a taste of you.

it all comes to a head one day when you just so happen to send him an audio while he's in the middle of a fucking shootout, and he's so focused that he doesn't even realize he's instinctually started to play it through his neurochip and your sweet little moans ring through his head, deafening the roar of gunfire. he's so caught up in it all that he can't fucking concentrate for long enough to turn it off, so he's forced to listen to it all; the slick noises of you fucking yourself interspersed with the sound of shots being fired; the gasps that wrench from your lips mingling with the dying breaths of IPC scumbags; the sweet little sound of you calling the name you've given him- "fuck, fuck, bee... oh, please, honeybee... need you so fucking bad- need to feel you inside me..." broken only by the barked orders of the people he's mowing down, his whole body shivering as he fights to stop himself from falling apart right then and there.

he's never ended a fight so quickly and ruthlessly as he does when he hears that telltale hitch of your breath, the pitch of your voice rising as you get closer to the edge. in a frenzy, he barges into one of the docked ships - mercifully empty - and falls to his knees, his cock damn near busting out the front of his jeans.

your voice heightens further and further as he fists his length, and he can hear the obscene noise of the toy you're using hitting your lower lips, and he fucks his fist in time with the sound, and-

he manages to come just as you do, moaning raggedly in sync with you as his come spills onto the floor, smearing messily across his fingers.

once he's recovered enough to hold his phone without shattering it, he opens up your messages. "you don't have a clue what ya just put me through, ya lil' brat," he growls into his mic, and he's certain he sounds just as animalistic as he feels in the audio message.

"oh, sorry. bad time?" you reply in a text. a beat later, you add, "i just saw something about some handsome cyborg raiding an IPC warehouse on the news, and it made me think of you. crazy coincidence ;)"

you little fucking minx.

in his next audio message, his voice is so dark that it's comparable to ink, to the darkest hour of the night, to the deepest points of the ocean. "you're gonna regret this, doll."

when you reply with a heart emoji, he's certain that you have no idea just how soon that vengeance will be coming.

he breaks quite a few zoning laws as he speeds home, his body still rattling with barely restrained arousal. he had other things he should've taken care of before heading back, but frankly, the only thing he's able to take care of right now is the heat muddling his brain. he lands on your planet in record time, abandoning the stolen vessel and calling an automatic taxi to get him to your doorstep as quickly as possible.

thirty minutes after your text, he damn near busts the front door open in his haste, and he's pretty sure the doorframe splinters with how hard he slams it shut. he strides right toward your bedroom, pushing open the door with a stern, determined look on his face.

and there you are, in all your glory, your hair mussed and your skin bare; he can tell you must've dozed off after sending that text, but you obviously didn't bother to get dressed after. you're partially standing with one knee braced on the bed, your emergency baseball bat clenched in your fist.

you stare at him, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, frozen like a deer in headlights. "wha- honey? why are you-?"

he stops at the edge of the mattress, his eyes pinning you down.

your mouth snaps shut when he takes a slow, ominous step forward, his spurs jangling like the toll of a bell. he watches with no small amount of delight as you start to back away, your heart pounding so loudly that he can hear it thumping in his ears. your bat drops to the floor with a clatter as you're forced to climb further into the bed to escape him. he devours you with his eyes as he prowls closer and closer, drinking in the sight of your body, your breasts shifting as you push yourself further and further backwards. he reaches down, slowly unbuckling his belt, the metal clinking far too loudly in the silence. your cunt is still shining with slick, dribbling past your lower lips as you move, leaving a tempting trail for him to follow.

and then, faster than you can blink-

he leaps.

you barely have the time to gasp before he has his hand clenched around your throat, pushing you to the bed without any hope of escape. you squirm anyway, fighting to keep your legs closed as he presses between them. without a drop of effort, he pries one of your thighs apart with his free hand, exposing you to him, completely and utterly.

with a hard, ruthless motion, he thrusts inside of you, right to the base.

you moan raggedly, your walls still tender and slick from your earlier play. the prosthetic he has on now is far thicker than the one you borrowed, and he stretches you mercilessly, growling under his breath at the way you flutter and squirm.

he doesn't give you any time to adjust before he starts to fuck you in earnest, looming over you with all-consuming eyes. he leans in close, his voice thick and dark, and he rumbles, "ya really thought ya could get away with that, baby? thought i wouldn't make ya pay?"

all you can do is moan and gasp beneath him, muzzled by the pleasure, and he laughs in open mockery.

"stupid girl," he purrs, his eyes shining in the dim. "you should've known better. should've known your place."

don't worry, though. he'll remind you before the night is over - many, many times.

[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.

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