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celestie0 · 8 months ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch1. he said yes!! congrats!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 7.8k

a/n. hellooo omg welcome to this debut chapter!! tysm to everyone who wanted to be on taglist for this!! i was gagged at the amount of people!! yall are amazing omg n thanks for supporting my works :''') hope you enjoy this chapter and i will see all you lovelies at the bottom <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

Love thy neighbor.

Cherish thy neighbor.

Tolerate thy neighbor.

Peacefully coexist with thy neighbor.

Fuck thy neighbor? No, wait, not that one.

It’s murder thy neighbor. That was the phrase you were looking for.

Murder thy neighbor so gruesomely that you’d leave no trace behind. Murder him and bury him somewhere no one could ever find him, so that even in millions of years from now when some other highly advanced mammalian species overtakes the planet and embarks on journeys to acquire fossils, thy neighbor will still never grace the atmospheric oxygen of the earth ever again. It’s the punishment he’d deserve for thoroughly pissing you off at the worst times possible and in the worst ways possible. The smallest of prices to pay.

“SATORU!!!” you yell, storming up the sudsy driveway of your next-door neighbor’s house at eight in the morning, clad in your dirty scrubs from the hell of a night shift you just endured working at the hospital, glass containers inside the lunchbox you were holding hitting painfully against the poor joint in your knee but you just don’t care. Anger is all you can see right now.

Your neighbor (derogatory) stands there in his pajamas with a spray nozzle in his hands, passively spraying water across the top surface of his car, and when he sees you, he pulls his left airpod out of his ear and looks you up and down once. You’re pretty sure there’s steam coming out of your ears. “Uh, do you mind? I’m trying to wash my car.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to park your stupid boat in front of my driveway?!” you yell at him, voice hoarse and nails digging into the skin of your palms by the clench of your fists.

“Hm?” he leans back a little to glance past you to his boat. “Oh, you mean my 2023 Boston Whaler 220 Dauntless with low profile bow rail welded stainless steel, Mercury FourStroke hydraulic power steering and, not to mention, a platinum gelcoat hull? That silly old thing? It’s not even parked in front of your driveway.”

“Yes. It is. Are you blind? I can’t move my car into my garage, hence why it’s running idle on the fucking street right now. Your boat’s on my property.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh. Yuh-huh.”

“Honey. I’m a real estate agent. You don’t think I’d know where my own property line starts and ends?”

“Park. It. On. Your. Drive. Way.”

“I spent a lot of money on that boat,” he sighs, “I intend to show it off on the street. Stop acting like there isn’t more than enough room for your tiny prius. It’s not my fault you have the motor skills of a toddler and don’t know how to pull into a driveway,” he pauses for a second and tilts his head upwards in thought, “Oh. Motor skills, haha, get it? Fuck, that’s funny. Hold on, I gotta jot that down,” he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his cotton plaid pajama pants, “my niece would love that. She gets all giggly about puns these days. It’s her birthday next weekend, by the way, turning five.”

“Oh, right,” you scratch the top of your head (been too busy to wash your hair), and realize the ponytail you threw your hair up into at the beginning of your shift last night is now barely hanging on for dear life, “I forgot to tell you, but my cousin said he can’t rent that pony out for her birthday party anymore. Apparently it died.”

He stares at you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine, thanks anyway,” he swipes up on his phone, “they had crazy hair day at my niece’s elementary school yesterday, wanna see a picture?”

“Sure.”

He turns his phone to show you. “My sister let her cut her hair a little shorter this time since she wouldn’t stop asking. I guess all her friends at school were cutting theirs short too so they wanted to be matching.”

“Aww,” you pout with a small smile when you see the picture, “I think it suits her. That’s a lot of glitter though, y’know that stuff’s really bad for the environment.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning his phone screen back to face him, “anyway. I was halfway convinced you just came from some crazy hair day when I saw you stomp up my driveway just now.”

“I’m gonna guillotine your head off with the trunk door of my car. Now move your boat.”

“Hold on one sec,” he says, holding a finger right up to your face, and you flinch backwards slightly before going cross-eyed to stare at it, and then you’re glaring at him again. His phone is ringing in his hand. “I gotta take this.”

“Wha–” you try to interrupt him, but he just says shhh and shakes his finger in front of you, which makes you want to bite it off.

“Hi, Donna!” he exclaims into his phone, “so good to hear from you. Oh, no, not at all, you caught me at the perfect time. I’m just washing my car. Nah, you’re not interrupting anything.”

The urge to smack him consumes you.

“Oh okay, cool, I’m glad you took some time to think about it. Let me know when you want to meet again, if you’re still interested in the house, we can make an offer. Uh huh. Yeah. Sorry, what’s that? Oh,” he pulls his phone from his ear to look at the time, “yeah, that’s fine. Is that the one on 6th street? Sure, I’ll see you then. By the way, how was little Tommy’s soccer game yesterday?...Aw, that’s okay, he’ll get the next one. Hm? Yeah, what’s up? Oh, you know that I’d love to, and there’s no one that enjoys your green bean casserole more than I do, but I’m actually busy tonight! I know! Bummer! Maybe some other time? Alright. Yeah, thanks, you too. Take care. Bye.” He presses the end call on his phone, and there’s an awkward silence as he narrows his eyes at the screen in concentration for a moment while typing something onto it, and then the corner of his eye catches sight of something in his periphery, that something being you, and he jumps a little.

“Oh fuck,” he places a hand on his chest and exhales, “I didn’t know you were still standing there.”

“I’m seriously going to whack you across the face with my lunch box right now.”

“That gigantic industrial lunch box you carry around for your 12-hour shifts?” he points at your hand, “you’d have blood on your hands. I’d be dead.”

“Yeah, that’s the goal, idiot.”

“You’re so fucking violent, jeez, I bet the inside of your head looks like the inside of Jeffrey Dahmer’s. How do you sleep at night?”

“With fifteen milligrams of melatonin, blackout curtains, a satin sleeping mask, and in the mornings.”

“...that didn’t make you sound like any less of a serial killer.”

“Whatever, at least I don’t have a complex for elderly divorced women. You know that what you do for work isn’t any better than prostitution, right?”

“Okay. Now I have to hear where you’re going with this.”

You cross your arms across your chest, and your gigantic industrial sized lunch box with the millions of glass containers inside of it hits your hip painfully, enough to warrant a wince, but you keep a straight face as to not show any weakness. “You flirt with vulnerable women who have just gotten out of probably extremely heartbreaking marriages from their cheating country golf club husbands, and pretend to care about all their drama, just so that they’d buy a house from you. I literally heard you say to a lady the other day,” and you do your absolute best to mock him in the most insulting way possible, “‘it’s okay Lorraine. If you’re still struggling to fill your new house with someone new too, then you know where to find me.’”

“Yeah. She wanted to rent out her guest bedroom. I was gonna help her look for tenants.”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, but stand up straighter, “doesn’t matter. You still pimp yourself out for a sale.”

“So what if I do? I’m hot, why wouldn’t I take advantage of that? You could’ve done the same thing too, but you didn’t, and now you’re stuck working miserable nursing shifts that are probably taking years off of your lifespan.”

“You’re the one taking years off of my lifespan. Now move your fucking boat.”

He sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket before walking past you to your car, that still had the driver’s side door open and was idle in the middle of the street.

“W-Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’m gonna park your car in your garage for you,” he says, waving his hand up in the air dismissively because he knows you’re about to protest, and then he ducks his head into your car, reaching his arm in for the lever that moves the seat backwards, and adjusts it all the way back before he’s able to take a seat at the wheel. And your yelling is a pestering he pays no mind to as he shuts the door.

“Wait– I didn’t give you permission to–” you shout as you step into your driveway, holding your arms out because you’re scared he’s gonna chip off your side mirror on the stern of his boat, but he deftly pulls your car into the driveway. He also almost runs you over in the process.

When he gets out of your car inside your garage, you storm right up to him and yank your car keys out of his hand. “You almost flattened me over my own driveway.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been standing there,” he easily retorts and leans against your car before crossing his arms over his chest. “Also, case proven, there’s more than enough space to pull your car in. You’re just piss poor at parking.”

“I swear to fucking god. If you’re ever in a life-threatening emergency and wind up at my hospital, your emergency isn’t going to be the thing that kills you, it’s gonna be the cocktail of deadly meds I inject straight into your veins. And I’ll have it charted like it was a death of natural causes.”

His brow furrows and he frowns, but it’s in that sarcastic way that tells you he’s not threatened by you, and the idea of using the taser in your purse on him is briefly entertained in your mind, “I’ve got Kaiser, hun,” he says, “I wouldn’t go to just any regional hospital for healthcare. Put some damn decorum on my name, Jesus.”

“How is it you’re stupid, an asshole, have a sick fetish for elderly women, and also somehow classist at the same time? Can you pick a struggle please?”

“Stop saying I have a fetish for elderly women,” he hisses at you, “especially with that loud obnoxious voice of yours. Our neighbors are gonna think I’m a creep.” He pretends to shiver.

“But it’s true. I bet you lost your virginity to a fifty-year-old cougar the day you turned eighteen. And to one that was probably grooming you even before then, too.”

His eyes widen. “Damn. How’d you know.”

“That you’re a victim?” you ask, tone derisive, “your entire personality is living proof. Please seek help.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was never groomed, and I didn’t lose my virginity to an elderly woman,” he corrects you, “...although said woman was a little older than me.”

“I’ve literally got no fucking interest in this conversation anymore. Get the fuck out of my garage,” you practically spat at him, “the last thing I need to deal with after getting off of a 12-hour night shift is coming home to your stupid face out on the street.” You push past him, making sure to nudge him with your shoulder but he hardly budges, and you lose balance from your own attack, and now you’re doubly pissed off before you make it to the door with your keys jingling in your hand to find the right one to unlock it.

“Good night,” he calls out to you, and you click the button on the garage door so that it starts closing, and watch him as he panics before ducking his head underneath it to make it outside before you can essentially lock him to rot inside of your garage, and then you shut the door behind you, finally inside the comfort of your home.

Ah. Silence.

But it was never a comfortable one.

“Mom?” you call out as you open the door out of the laundry room to make it into the living room, and your eyes scan the floor. You don’t see her in the kitchen, or on the couch in front of the TV, sometimes she spends time in the pantry room but she’s not in there today. You round the corner over to where the front entrance of the house is, and you see her standing there, peering out of the window to the other houses on the streets. She holds her hands loosely behind her back, and she’s so still she could be a statue.

“Hey,” you say to her, softly, so as not to startle her. “I’m home.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and you realize her line of sight was set to next door, where you see Gojo has resumed the wash of his car. “Why are you yelling at that sweet boy across the lawn?” she asks you, “he helped me fix the air conditioning last week.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you sigh. Typical Gojo getting involved where he should really just mind his own business. “I’m pretty sure by fix you mean he just pressed a bunch of buttons on the thermostat until it started working again.”

She doesn’t respond as she continues to stare out onto the street, tilting her head slightly while deep in thought, like she’s trying to make sense of what she sees.

“Mom,” you gently tug her sleeve, “I think you should get away from the window and get some rest. You look tired, and I need to take you for chemo in the afternoon.”

She gently pulls her elbow away from your grip of her sleeve and turns to look at you. “Mom?” she repeats after you, “why are you calling me ‘mom’? Who are you?”

Your blood runs cold from her words, but you don’t have the time or the luxury to react in the way that you want to, and so you suck in a deep breath. It was one of those days. But it’s cruel that she’ll remember your neighbor and not her own daughter. “I’m your daughter,” you gently reintroduce yourself, to the woman who gave you life, “I know that might be a little weird to hear right now.”

“No…” she says, “I think that makes sense. I’m sorry, dear, I think I have a bad memory these days.” She looks at you with concentration, studying the features of your face. “My daughter, yes. You look…oh, dear, you look like you should sleep.”

You nod slowly, releasing the breath you were holding. “Yes. You too, mom.”

You place your gigantic industrial lunch box on the kitchen counter, and come back to hold your mom’s hands as you lead her to her bedroom downstairs. By the time you fix her a small meal in the kitchen, bring it to her and make her eat so she can take her pills, she’s ready to take a small nap and you know that you’ve earned some sleep now too.

The upstairs master bathroom beckons you the second you get upstairs, and even though you’ve been using the master bedroom & bathroom in this house ever since moving your mom downstairs four years ago since she had trouble getting up the stairs, it still feels odd to stand in front of the sink without a stool underneath your feet, like what you had to when you were a kid and your mother would braid your hair. You’re a grown woman now, and as you stare at your reflection, you’re not sure if you can recognize yourself anymore. But rather than dwell on if it was because of any profound reason, you figured you just needed a shower and to get some sleep before you have to wake up again in five hours. Exhaustion is evident on your face, and you swipe under your eyes to get the smudge of mascara off before it tattoos your skin forever.

Hot water on your skin does little to help your drowsiness, but at least now you feel clean of your shift, and then you remember there are blood stains on your shoes from the stab wound patient that rolled in at 2AM last night, and you should really let them soak for a few hours while you sleep, but you just can’t bother right now. Instead, you slip into something comfortable, draw your curtains back to mimic the dead of night in your room as best as you can, grab the bottle of melatonin sitting at your nightstand and pop a few tablets, feeling feverish as you slip into your sheets. You pull the comforter up over your eyes, a decision that is less ideal than using a sleeping mask since you’ll be breathing your own carbon dioxide until you fall asleep now, but it’s okay. It’s cozy under your blanket. Just this once. And you count sheep to make you sleepy. At least until the melatonin beats you to it.

—

“You’re looking better,” Dr. Johnson says to your mother as he accesses the port on her chest, “were you able to get a good rest?”

Your mother nods and points to you. “My daughter made me take a nap.”

“That’s good,” he coos, “it’s good to get rest before chemo. Your daughter really cares about you.”

“I know,” your mother smiles up at you, “I’m so lucky.” You return her smile with one of your own.

Dr. Johnson starts to push the line of chemo into your mother’s port as she sits on the chair in the treatment lounge, and then stands up from his rolling chair before the nurse quickly moves to twiddle with the drip of the IV bag.

“Ready for consult?” he asks you.

You grip your binder to your chest. “Yeah.”

You walk into the doctor’s office, one you’ve more than familiarized yourself with over the past couple of years, then take a seat across from Dr. Johnson’s desk as he clicks through his computer before handing you a copy of your mother’s recent lab work.

“Her tumor markers are rising,” you say as you sift through the papers.

“They are, we’ll likely switch to monitoring them every four weeks going forward. But it’s okay, not to worry,” he says, “tumor markers can raise for all sorts of reasons unrelated to cancer.”

“She had a cold last week,” you say, “maybe it’s the inflammation?”

Dr. Johnson lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, y/n, sometimes I forget you’re a nurse.” He hums to himself as he pens down something on the notepad in front of him. “When was your mother’s last PET/CT scan?”

“It was in February,” you say, “she’s due soon. I was going to ask if you could order one for her.”

“Yes, I will, I’ll do it right now,” he says as he types something into the computer. “You still have the standing orders for her routine lab work, correct? Do my MAs need to send you the scripts?”

“No, that’s okay, I got them already. Good for six months,” you reassure him.

“Alright, perfect.”

There’s an awkward silence that settles in the room as you shift in your seat with the binder in your lap, full of all of your mother’s medical information and emergency department discharge packets and recent lab work and imaging. You mess with the plastic cover on top of it nervously.

“It’s good she remembers you today,” Dr. Johnson comments, “I remember last week you were upset she didn’t.”

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard.”

His eyes leave his computer screen for a second to look at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You nod slowly. You had to be alright, you had no other choice. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say, “um, actually, doc, I just wanted to share with you that I’ve been keeping track of my mom’s Alzheimer’s progression.” You open your binder in your lap, pulling out a packet of papers and placing them on his desk, turning some of them towards him but he doesn’t really spare a proper enough look. “I’ve just been noticing she’s progressively worsening a bit faster than her neurologist had projected.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding curt, and that nervousness comes back. But goddammit, you’re a nurse, you know how to deal with stubborn doctors. And it’s for your mother. There was no one else left to advocate for her except you.

“I was just wondering if we could also order a brain MRI for her?” you ask, “just to rule out anything…her brain fog has been bad, worse than usual, and I’m just really worried about metastasis, especially if it’s a glioma, I’d just want to catch it as soon as possible.”

You have sympathy for oncologists, really, you do. They must deal with paranoid family members all the time, but how could someone blame another for wanting what’s best for their loved one? You don’t think that’s an empathy that anyone should ever lose, regardless of how long you’ve been practicing medicine.

He sighs. “There’s no indication for that right now, not with her response to treatment as well as her lab work. I’d suggest we just wait on her next PET/CT results, and we can go from there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“I know,” you say, “but her next scan isn’t for another couple weeks, plus the week it’ll take to have it read, it’ll be far out, so…if we could just order it now?”

He interlocks his fingers and places his hands in front of him on the desk, looking at you with a stern face, but he glances down at the paperwork you’ve sprawled in front of him with scribblings of all the detailed notes you’ve been taking of your mom’s responses to her Alzheimer’s treatments, with time stamps and descriptions of her mental state, and his furrowed brow relaxes slightly. He breathes in deep. “Alright. Fine, I’ll order one. I highly doubt we’ll find anything, though. But since there’s no clear clinical impression warranting a brain MRI right now,” he mentions as he directs his attention back to his computer, “I don’t think insurance will cover it for you with the diagnoses I put in.”

“That’s okay,” you quickly respond, “I’ll pay for it.”

You collect your imaging orders from the medical assistants at the center of the oncology floor. The chemo nurse, Mai, informs you that your mother still has about two hours left before her treatment is done, and she gently suggests you go eat something while you wait. You tell her it’s okay, that you want to wait with her, but she tells you the hospital cafeteria is serving tater tots today for tater tot tuesday, and those tater tots are to die for. But before you go downstairs to the cafeteria, you find a few minutes to cry in a one stall bathroom.

—

“God damn,” you hear your coworker, Hana, dreamily sigh as she leans on the handle on your standing mobile nursing work desk, and you trail her line of sight to the tight asses of the EMT men that walk by while rolling a stretcher. “It’s like being hot is a part of their job requirement.”

“Uh-huh,” you agree mindlessly as you try to catch up on charting for the rounds you just ran on your patients around the emergency department beds.

4/20/2024 0200: patient notified of the importance of taking ibuprofen. Attempted to give pt the medication. Pt responded “suck on this, bitch”, gestured to his general groin area, then threw ibuprofen tablets at RN. pt upset and requests narcotics instead. Informed MD of pt’s behavior and request. MD will not order narcotic pain medication at this time. Will continue to monitor

“How’s your mom doing?” Hana says, interrupting your typing as she turns to face you now.

“She’s okay,” you say, continuing to punch keys as you stare at your monitor, “she has a PET/CT soon. It’s always nerve wracking when the next scan is coming up.”

“Have you given hospice any more thought?” she asks.

You stop typing and stare blankly ahead at your screen as your heart sinks a little. You have given hospice more thought, and you came to the decision about a week ago that you would go through with it. It’s becoming so increasingly difficult taking care of your mom at home, more than you can manage with all of her doctor’s appointments, radiation appointments, chemotherapy appointments, all of which happen during the late mornings or early afternoons so you can’t even properly rest on most days that you come home from night shifts. Even though you only work three shifts a week, you can’t remember the last time you got a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep because of how messed up your circardian rhythm has become. You were practically a walking zombie, and you hardly felt like a person anymore. You’re not going to switch to the day shift, because that would make it difficult to take your mom to her appointments, and also because you get paid extra with the night shift differential, and above all other necessities, what you really needed right now the most was money. Forget the fact you’re still in debt from nursing school, but you co-signed on the medical loans your mother had taken out for treatments, and five years of high acuity medical bills was a living nightmare. And you were living that nightmare.

“I did,” you say, “I’ve been looking into hospices, but a lot of them are further away than I’d like.” You glance down at your keyboard. “I…I’m going to miss having my mom home. Even though it’s hard to deal with her mood swings and stuff sometimes, I just think the house would feel really empty without her.”

“Aw, my dear,” Hana sighs and rubs her hand up and down your arm soothingly, “I’m sure you’d love to have her home, but I think it’s becoming too much for you. I say this with love and care, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you genuinely smile.”

Your eyes widen slightly from her words, and you release some of the tension in your shoulders, tension you didn’t even realize you were holding onto during this conversation.

“It’s too much for just one person,” she continues, “while I understand you want to spend more time with your mom, the quality of time you’re spending with her could be so much better if you had some weight lifted off your shoulders, where you’re not worrying about her medication schedule or doctor’s appointments or blood draws and all that.”

You nod slowly and manage to give her a small smile, then place your hand over hers that was still soothing over your arm. “Thanks, Hana. I know, I appreciate you looking out for me. I…I think I’ll look more seriously into hospices. It’s just they’re really expensive, too, so I have that to consider as well.”

“Hmm,” she withdraws her hand from you and juts her bottom lip out as she looks up at fluorescent emergency department lighting. You hear a patient cough in the distance as your senses take in the ambient environment once again. “Y’know, there’s this really great new hospice in town that functions as a general facility and also helps manage a lot of chronic diseases too. They have nurses there that do blood draws and everything, and they also transport patients to their affiliated hospital for treatments, like dialysis and chemo and stuff. My friend’s mom has breast cancer and was recently accepted into that hospice,” she tells you, pulling her phone out and looking through some of her messages, “I think it’s only a fifteen minute drive from your house.”

You tilt your head at her with interest, wondering why it didn’t come up on your provider search through insurance, but regardless, it sounded too good to be true. “It’s probably really expensive. My mom’s under the state insurance right now, but I’ve explored government insurance plans too and they’re still really pricey. I just can’t afford it, not with all of her cancer treatments, and adding her under my insurance isn’t really going to be any better either.”

She groans. “I know. What’s with our healthcare plan? You’d think as a hospital, they’d choose better plans for their employees,” she sighs, and then stops to read some of the messages on her phone, “but my friend said that her husband was able to add her mom as a dependant, and his insurance covers 90% of it. I’m sure it depends on the illness, but they only pay a few thousand per month out of pocket.”

You blink at her. “Really? T-That’s insane…do you know what insurance her husband has?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Kaiser facility.”

“Oh,” you sigh, “well, they wouldn’t accept state insurance. That’s a private HMO.”

“Shoot,” Hana looks at you apologetically, “I’m so sorry, love, I forgot about that. Sorry to get your hopes up.”

“That’s okay,” you smile at her, “thanks for trying. I’m glad it worked out for your friend, at least.”

Hana glances at her watch and realizes her break is over, so she heads back to her side of the emergency department, and you’re left standing at the nursing station with thoughts running through your head now, and still catastrophically behind on charting.

Hmm.

Kaiser.

You swear someone mentioned that to you recently.

Or maybe you were just remembering another one of those ads you see on television at night. No, no, you’re pretty sure it came up in conversation with someone, but you can’t remember when or why or what or where or who. Hmmmmm. Kaiser, Kaiser, Kaiser.

Nope. Nothing.

Oh well, maybe it’ll hit you later.

—

It hits you in the form of an intrusive memory when you wake up on a Thursday afternoon in a cold sweat after having a hallucinogenic melatonin dream where you were getting chased by a giant rabbit (don’t ask).

Kaiser.

Gojo said he has Kaiser insurance.

And the idea that comes into your head after that is so ridiculous, so absurd, so positively bonkers that you have to slap the sleepiness off your face for a second to make sure you’re still not in some dream state of living, and the harsh sting on your cheek proves that you’re not. And the idea still persists. And now you’re swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, and grabbing your laptop, and opening it, and inputting your pin, and then spending a good three hours researching if this little idea of yours actually has any good level of merit to it, if it could even succeed, if it was even legal? You even find yourself on the phone with insurance representatives, and you stare at the tens of thousands of dollars of debt on your Excel spreadsheet where you keep track of your finances, and you feel the exhaustion in your bones, and you also remember how fucking annoying Gojo is. And yet still, the idea persists.

And when the pieces of the plan start to unfortunately fall into place, you say, fuck it. What was worse than potentially getting into six figures of debt? It’ll be fine.

But you can only hope he says yes.

[reading commercial break]

hello!! this is ellie, the author. so sorry to interrupt, there is still a bit left for this chapter, but i just wanted to jump in here real quick to explain for some of my readers that may not be american so they may understand reader’s desperation to financially cover the costs of her mother’s healthcare bills. this story is set in suburban america lol, where the healthcare system is so messed up honestly, and this excerpt from the book the body by bill bryson kinda explains:

“Where America really differs from other countries is in the colossal costs of its health care. An angiogram, a survey by The New York Times found, costs an average of $914 in the United States, but only $35 in Canada. Insulin costs about six times as much in America as it does in Europe. The average hip replacement costs $40,364 in America, almost six times the cost in Spain, while an MRI scan in the United States is, at $1,121, four times more than in the Netherlands. The entire system is notoriously unwieldy and cost-heavy.” p360; “...America spends more on health care than any other nation–two and a half times more per person than the average for all other developed nations of the world. One-fifth of all the money Americans earn–$10,209 a year for every citizen, $3.2 trillion altogether–is spent on health care.” p359

unfortunately, a lot of how much you end up spending at the end of the day, depends significantly on the health insurance that you have. it could make the difference of spending a few hundreds to a few thousands to a few tens of thousands and beyond, just based on the insurance plan, even if the illnesses/treatments are exactly the same.

but yeah, just wanted to provide that context lol!! so you must understand reader’s desperation to save a buck!!!

ok back to regularly scheduled broadcasting!! 🧚‍♀️💕✨

[end of reading commercial break]

—

You’re sitting at a table outside your favorite cafe in town, leg bouncing up and down underneath the surface impatiently and nervously, and you glance at the time on your phone for the fifth time within the past five minutes because you’re unable to alleviate any of the anxiety you’re experiencing right now. You hear the jingling of the cafe door behind you and then you’re a little startled when someone emerges in your periphery by your side.

You look up and see Gojo standing next to you, and you see he already went inside and grabbed a coffee to-go for himself.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you say with a small wave.

He takes a seat across from you. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks while he settles in and smooths down the fabric of his suit jacket. He’s not wearing a tie, and has a couple of the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal some of the skin at his collarbone. Probably to seduce the divorced single moms, you think. “And if you called me here to try and convince me for the millionth time to pitch in for that fence you built six months ago, I’m just gonna say no again. I didn’t even want that fence built in the first place. It fucked up the roots on my avocado tree.”

“It’s a joint fence. Neighbors usually pitch in for that kind of stuff, asshole. At least normal neighbors do. You know I talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood when you refused to pay and all of them agree that you’re being a stuck-up prick about it?”

“You know that I also talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood and they said the same exact thing about you?”

“Wha–” you gasp, blinking a few times from the betrayal, then mutter “...those two-faced bitches” under your breath.

“So,” he pulls his sleeve back to glance at his watch, “what did you want? I’ve only got thirty minutes to talk before I need to head to an open house.” He brings his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Oh. Right. Just a favor,” you say, “I was wondering if you could marry me.”

He almost spits out his coffee.

“E-Excuse me?” he croaks out, exasperated, and he’s coughing a little bit as he hits his chest with a fist to alleviate the irritation in his throat from some hot coffee that went down the wrong pipe.

“I mean, if it’s not an issue, I’d really appreciate it if you could marry me,” you attempt to clarify, but you realize you probably should’ve thought a little more about how you were going to ask him this, and now you’re too deep to backtrack, so you just hope you’ll find the conversation along the way.

He’s looking at you like you’ve got six heads, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open slightly with that what the fuck? face you see him wear sometimes. But then he sits up a bit straighter, expression morphing into a curious one as he studies your face, head tilting a little in his scrutinization. Then, his face relaxes entirely. He has this knowing look as he nods up and down slowly, like he just figured something out, and then he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in some type of faux frustration. And you don’t understand why you’re already seethingly angry about what he’s going to say next.

“Oh god,” he sighs, “I knew this day would come.”

“Huh?” you squeak out.

“Listen,” he says as he crosses his arms, but one of his hands comes out from where it was tucked in his elbow to waive around in the air as he articulates his words, “I know that I’m very charming, and handsome, and chivalrous, one might say the modern knight in shining armor–”

“Satoru.”

“–and yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he dramatically sighs, “when I’m taking the groceries up the driveway…when I’m out mowing the lawn…when I stretch on the sidewalk before I go for a run. I feel your eyes on me like a hawk. Quite frankly, you look at me like I’m a piece of meat, and I feel very violated by it sometimes–”

“What the fuck are you talking about???”

“But I get it. Really, I do. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it–”

“I’m not embar–”

“It was really only a matter of time before you would do this. So overcome by your feelings for me that you just had to go against the grain of centuries of matrimonial standards and swallow your gigantic pride to propose to me.”

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you saying–”

“But,” he says, collecting himself now, and taking in a deep breath, “my answer is no. I mean, I shouldn’t have to explain why. But I will. First of all, where the hell is my ring? Secondly, why aren’t you on one knee in front of me right now? Also, in a cafe? Really? I thought you would’ve known I’d have liked something a little bit more romantic than this. Y’know, private, but also where my family’s somewhere around the corner. Maybe by the beach–”

“Can you stop talkin–”

“–while the sun is setting, and I’m wearing a nice dress, and there’s bubbles in the air and rose petals on the sand, and you tell me how enamored you’ve always been of me, and how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with me,” he indulgently sighs, “I mean, it’s every guy’s dream. But nooooo, of course you’ve got no taste or sense for romance in any capac–”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, FORGET THIS,” you stand up out of your chair, fast enough to where it almost falls backwards, and you grab your purse to sling over your shoulder, “I cannot believe I actually thought this plan would ever fucking work.” You’re about to walk away from the table, because you’re realigned with the wisdom of exactly why you can’t stand this man, when his hand reaches out quickly to grasp onto your wrist, to keep you still, and you jump a little from the contact. You look down, his hand unrelenting in its grip as his knuckles flex slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s ever touched you from how foreign the sensation feels.

“Wait,” he says, and when you look at him, his eyes are a little wide like a puppy, “you’re being serious?”

You yank your wrist out of his grip, but the warmth of his touch still lingers, and you wrap your own hand around it to distract yourself from it. “Why would I just ask you to marry me out of nowhere if I wasn’t being serious?”

He gives you a look like the answer to your question is obvious. “Uh, to fuck with me?”

You’re still holding onto your wrist, protectively pressing it against your chest with your back turned away from him slightly, and you look up at the sky for a brief second. Hm, perhaps you could have brought the favor up a bit better, and you realize it might’ve sounded insane on his end, and you’re also still thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars you could save if he said yes, and so you hesitantly open your body language up to him again.

“Just sit,” he sighs.

You take a seat across from him again, hands finding the warm coffee cup in front of you and you purse your lips together before tucking your bottom lip under your front teeth. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I’m being serious. I was wondering if you could marry me as a favor, and not because I think you’re some type of irresistible man candy, god, where do you get your gigantic ego from?”

“I–”

“Rhetorical question, shut it.”

He blinks at you. “What favor are you asking for that’ll be satisfied by me marrying you?”

You twiddle with your thumbs. “I want to put my mom in hospice,” you say, eyes flickering down slightly because you’re worried you’re about to tear up from the words, but when you realize you’ve got enough conviction not to, you look back up at him, and his eyes on you are a little too observant, “most of the hospices in town are further away than I’d like, and really expensive, but I heard there was a Kaiser one nearby…and that a lot of the costs are covered by insurance. So, if you married me, I could send my mom there. And also, under your insurance, the care network would be better, so I could get her a new oncologist and neurologist, and I’d know she’s being taken care of. And…” you clear your throat, “well, it’ll be a lot less expensive, so I can start to catch up on…well, whatever, you get the picture.”

His eyes narrow at you in thought, and he glances at your hands on the table that are nervously fidgeting, and then his eyes meet yours again. “I’m not sure if you can add a…spouse’s parent to a healthcare plan?”

“You can,” you say, “I already called to ask.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Gojo hums to himself, laying his palms flat on his thighs and rubbing them back and forth on the taut fabric a few times as he thinks with his gaze set off somewhere in the distance. It seems like he’s running through some algorithm of thoughts in his head, and then he slowly nods to himself when he’s made a decision.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he says.

“Y-You will?” you ask him. You’re uneasy at how easy it was to convince.

“Yeah. I like your mom. She’s a sweet lady, and I want to see her get better.”

His words touch you. And not from the distance of a ten foot pole like you’d usually allow, but more intimate somehow. And you get the feeling you should thank him, but you’re still pissed off from when he almost ran you over on your own driveway earlier this week.

“Really?” you make sure, almost like you’re hoping he’ll change his mind because now you’re suspicious as to why he agreed so quickly. And you realize he’s already making you paranoid.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes to your proposal, y/n,” he says, “I mean, a marriage is just a legal agreement. Not a big deal. I’d want a prenup though, for obvious reasons. In case you’re a gold digger.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re too cheap to even pitch in for a fucking fence. You think I’d believe you’ve got any gold to dig?”

He sighs. “I said in case.”

“Well, anyways, we can work out logistics and paperwork or whatever later,” you say, and you extend your hand out for him to shake it.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Um. You’re going to make me shake your hand over this?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“Yes,” he says, “for a diplomatic agreement.”

“Precisely,” you say. “That’s exactly what this is.”

He hesitantly brings his hand up to shake yours, but you quickly withdraw yours at the last second. “Nevermind. I don’t want to touch you.”

“Okay,” he easily accepts, “not how I expected to celebrate getting engaged, but whatever. By the way, when’s the wedding? Are we doing, like, a shotgun destination type vibe? Or something a bit more grand?”

“Just be at the courthouse at noon on Sunday.”

“What?! This weekend? That’s too soon,” he panics, “I need time to pick out a dress, and I need to figure out who my bridesmaids are going to be, and–”

“Satoru. Seriously. Just–...just shut the fuck up. Before the headache that you’ve already given me gets worse.”

You two sit in silence for a moment, him just mindlessly staring at a butterfly that landed on the plant at the center of the table, and you just stare off into the void past him while contemplating every life decision you’ve ever made. But that’s how it always was between you two. As much as you hated to admit it, you were jealous of him in a lot of ways. In every way that you were fucked up, he was nonchalant without a care in the world. You wish you knew what that sort of peace felt like, and you wondered if he could show you. Maybe someday when he doesn’t piss you off.

“So,” he interrupts your thoughts, “are you gonna take my last name?”

“Fuck no, I’d rather die.”

“Alright, jeez, I was just asking.”

[end of chapter 1]

a/n. yayy!!! he said yes!! omg congrats on ur engagement!! haha this was a lot of fun to writeee :'') i've got sm fun ideas for this fic. yea this chap was supposed to be longer lol there's still some groundwork to lay w the side quests, but will def cover more of that in the next chapter!!! tysm to everyone that wanted to be on taglist omg i hope that you enjoyed <33 love uuu guysss smmmm also my bad if some stuff doesnt make sense i'm tryna be less perfectionist when i'm editing so that i don't go insane 😍

➸ take me to chapter two!

taglist: @tremendousbouquetflower @cowgirlcujoh @joemama-2 @shinypearlywhites @sykosugu @lovebittenbyevans @luqueam @bloopsstuff @horisdope @alwaysfreakingout @crammingqueen @rideofthevalkyriess @lavender-hvze @gojocock @ceni707 @jxvajxy @catobsessedlady @madaqueue @bbyxxm @gojostit @nixie-19 @cheezitcracker @polarbvnny @cactisjuice @sleepyyammy @lysaray @k4tsukiis @kortanasworld @megumisthirdog @slut-4-gojo @drakenswifeyy @njoxuzi @elernity @jujutsubaby @secretmoneybearvoid @bunny-lily @strawberrygirl0 @httpxxg @bsdicinindirdim @v4mpieres @nanamis-baker @therealestpussyeater @air3922 @13-09-01 @marija4674 @whereflowerswenttodie @geniejunn @bakuhoethotski @ricaliscious @77uchiha77 @hellowoolf @tobaccosunbxrst @possumwho @nvrgojover @kittygrimm88 @samistars @shiin-ye @billiondollarworth @mmeerraa @fjorjestertealeaf @reinam00n @semra4 @st4ryki @new-weather47 @coltsgf @meownuuuu @strawnanamilk @lees-chaotic-brain @ironhottubstranger @spindyl @aise-30 @dunghirse @r0ckst4rjk @44ina @4y3sh4 @lindyloomoo @sweetpo1son @levisfavoriteteashop @delfiiii @fushitoru @gojosimp26 @beabadobeee @astrokenny @horisdope @muchlov3ashley @geniejunn @the-dark-creature @gojonegs @ritzes28 @mo0nforme @drownedpoetss

hope yalls fries never get soggy ever 💕

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listen-to-the-inner-walrus · 5 months ago

Text

Again, not an exhaustive list but for anyone else in the UK, these are where riots are expected today:

Aldershot - Immigration Advisors at 40 Victoria Road GU11 1TH, starting at 19:30.

Bedford - Immigration INN (Inn?) on Ford End Road MK40 4JT, at 20:00.

Birmingham - Refugee and Migrant Centre on Frederick Street B1 3HN, beginning at 20:00.

Bishop Auckland - outside the Town Hall on Market Place DL14 7NP.

Blackburn - Rafiq Immigration Services on Whalley Road BB5 1AA, at 20:00.

Blackpool - Immigration Solicitors at the Enterprise Centre on Lytham Road FY1 1EW, starting at 20:00.

Bolton - Deane & Bolton Immigration Lawyers on Chorley New Road BL1 4QR, at 20:00.

Brentford - UK Immigration Help in The Mile on 1000 Great West Road TW8 9DW, starting around 19:00.

Brighton - Raj Rayan Immigration in Queensberry House at 106 Queens Road BN1 3XF, starting either at 19:30 or 20:00.

Bristol - Gya Williams Immigration on West Street BS2 OBL, at 20:00.

Burnley - at Thompson Park on 111 Ormerod Rioad BB11 3QWat, starting at 13:00.

Canterbury - UK Immigration Clinic in the Canterbury Innovation Centre CT2 7FG, at 20:00.

Chatham - Immigration Status UK on Maidstone Road ME5 9FD, at 20:00.

Cheadle - Intime Immigration Services on Brooks Drive SK8 3TD, at 20:00.

Chelmsford - UK Immigration Information Centre on Violet Close CM1 6XG, at 20:00.

Derby - Immigration Advisory Service, Normanton Road DE23 6US, at 20:00.

Dover - Kent Immigration and Visa Advice at 5A Castle Hill Road CT16 1QG, reportedly around 20:00.

Durham - in Crook at Market Place, at 18:00. (Unsure as to whether this is the same one as in Bishop Auckland as I know Crook is near there?)

Finchley - Immigration and Nationality Services within Foundation House at 4 Percy Road N128BU, around 19:00.

Harrow - Yes UK Immigration and North Harrow Community Library within the Business Centre at 429-433 Pinner Road HA1 4HN, in North Harrow, at 19:00.

Hastings - Black Rock Immigration at 37 Cambridge Gardens TN34 1EN, at 20:00.

Hull - Conroy Baker Immigration Lawyer in Norwich House, 1 Savile Street HU1 3ES, at 20:00.

Lewisham - the Clock Tower, SE13 5JH, 19:00.

Lincoln - Immigration Lawyer Services on Carlton Mews LN2 4FJ, at 20:00.

Liverpool - Merseyside Refugee Centre in St Anne's Centre on 7 Overbury Street L7 3HJ, at 20:00.

Liverpool - Sandpiper Hotel (might be on Ormskirk Old Road? if any scousers can clarify where that is, that'd be great) at 13:00.

Middlesbrough - Immigration Advice Centre which is the Co-Operative Buildings at 251 Linthorpe Road TS1 4AT, at 20:00.

Newcastle - United Immigration Services in Artisan Unit 3, The Beacon on Westgate Road NE4 9PQ, at 20:00.

Northampton - Zenith Immigration Lawyers at 2 Talbot Road NN1 4JB, starting at 20:00.

Nottingham - East Midlands Immigration Services at 15 Stonesbury Vale NG2 7UR, at 20:00.

Oldham - somewhere on Ellen Street 0L9 6QR, at 20:00

Oxford - Asylum Welcome in Unit 7 in Newtec Place on Magdelen Road OX4 1RE, around 19:00. [Updated as of 15:53]

Peterborough - Smart Immigration Services in Laxton House at 191 Lincoln Road PE1 2PN, at 20:00.

Plymouth - in a Morrisons car park, I don't know which but I saw Victory Parade associated with it? If anyone from Plymouth can clarify, please do. Not sure on time.

Portsmouth - UK Border Agency at Kettering Terrace PO2 8QN, at 20:00

Preston - Adriana Immigration Services at 109 Church Street PR1 3BS, at 19:00 or 20:00.

Rotherham - Parker Rhodes Hickmotts, The Point S60 1BP, at 20:00.

Sheffield - City Hall on Barker's Pool S1 2JA, at 13:00.

Sheffield - White Rose Visas at 101 Wilkinson Street S10 2GJ, at 20:00.

Southampton - Y-Axis Immigration Consultants, Cumberland Place on Grosvenor Square SO15 2BG, at 20:00.

Southend - MNS Immigration Solicitors on Ditton Court Road SS0 7HG, at 20:00.

Stoke-On-Trent - ZR Visas on Metcalfe Road ST6 7AZ, in Tunstall, at 20:00.

Sunderland - North of England Refugee Service which is in Suite 12 in the Eagle Building at 201 High Street East SR1 2AX, at 20:00.

Swindon - I have no details for this, just seen that something might be kicking off there.

Tamworth - Lawrencia & Co Immigration Solicitors within the Amber Business Village on Amber Close B77 4RP, no details on time unfortunately.

Walthamstow - Waltham Forest Immigration Bureau at 187 Hoe Street E17 3AP, at 20:00.

Wigan - Support for Wigan Arrivals Project, Penson Street WN1 2LP, at 20:00.

York - only detail I've got it is York Stay City Hotel.

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cosmicdahlias · 3 months ago

Text

A Night on The Stan O’ War II

a stan and ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

You work at a bar in a seaside town. Two attractive older men walk in and they invite you back to their boat for a night of debauchery.

warnings: threesome, oral, huge age gap (reader is in their 20’s), slapping, usage of the word “daddy”

this is my first threesome fic. i don’t write about stan nearly as much as i do ford, but i would KILL to be eiffel towered by them. 😩 also i feel like them bickering while fucking you is incredibly in character for both of them.

You were waiting tables at the bar in the small port town you resided in. It was nothing to write home about, but it payed the bills. You were in the process of wiping down tables when two older men walked in. You could tell immediately from how alike they were that they were brothers, maybe even twins. You’d always had a thing for older men and you found both of them to be incredibly handsome. You approached their table.

“Hey there, my name’s y/n. What can I get for you two gentlemen?”

“I’ll take a whiskey, toots.” One of the men said in a gruff voice, he was very clearly eyeing you up.

“A bourbon for me, please.” The other tried to be more discreet, but he was definitely looking at you with the same lust as his brother.

As the night went on you started to find excuses to come to their table and it was obvious they didn’t mind one bit. You brought out another round of drinks, noticing when one of them went to grab his drink that he had six fingers. You shamelessly wondered what those six fingers could do, when the rougher of the two spoke.

“Hey, so uhh, we were thinkin’, we’ve seen you looking at us all night and we thought maybe you’d like to come back with one of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat, holy fuck yes. You were debating on who to choose when the perfect idea dawned on you.

“What if I want both of you?”

They exchanged glances with each other before the scholarly looking one answered.

“Only if you think you can handle it, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “Oh I’m more than capable. I get off at 12.”

The gruff one cocked a devilish smile. “Trust me, toots, it won’t be the only time you get off tonight. I’m Stan, the nerd over there is Ford, my brother.”

The brothers waited outside for you to finish your shift. You locked the door behind you.

“Okay, so where’s your guys’ place?” You asked.

“We have a boat moored nearby.” Ford answered.

You walked the short distance to the docks, arriving a decently sized boat, the name “Stan O’ War II” inscribed on the hull. They helped you onto the boat and led you down to the cabin below deck, you sat yourself on one of the beds. You were a little nervous, you’d never had a threesome before.

“So… how do we want to start thi-“

Stan interrupted you with a kiss rougher than his voice, you fell back on the bed with him on top of you, his hands immediately grabbing at your breasts.

Ford rolled his eyes. “Way to be a gentleman, Stanley.”

“Come on, you expect me to just stand there when they look like that? With that skirt and those tits? Now are you gonna watch or are you gonna get in on this?” Stan said between kisses.

“I was getting to that, move over.”

Stan sat you up and shifted to your left, his lips never leaving you. Ford traced circles on your inner thighs, you shuddered at the sensation.

“So what’s someone as pretty and young as you doing wanting to have sex with two old men?” Ford inquired.

“What can I say? I have an affinity for salt and pepper hair. I find men get better with age, more experience.” You said, momentarily breaking away from Stan to grab Ford by the sweater and pull him into a kiss.

Stan laughed. “Heh, that might be true for me, sugar, but you would NOT believe what poindexter over here has been up to for the past 30 years. And I’ll tell you there definitely wasn’t any hot young tail to go around.”

Ford gave an audible groan of annoyance and started to take off your clothes. He pulled your top over your head and unhooked your bra, sliding the straps off your arms.

He took a shuddering breath. “My stars, your breasts are gorgeous.”

“Tell me about it.” Stan said, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and biting it, his stubble tickling your breast.

Ford returned his attention to getting your clothes off of you. He pulled off your skirt and followed with your panties, sliding them down your legs, he gave a small gasp at your wetness.

“Good god sweetheart, you’re so wet. You really wanted us, didn’t you?”

Stan smirked against your breast. “Of course they do! You think they’d be able to resist the charms of us two silver foxes?”

You nodded. “When you guys walked into the bar tonight I secretly hoped you’d be into something like this.”

“We seriously didn’t think you’d reciprocate. It was a complete shot in the dark, but look at you, so eager for the both of us.” Ford said as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Hey, you might’ve thought that, but I knew I’d have them swooning within the hour. No one can resist Stan the man.” He said, flexing his arms.

Ford rolled his eyes and lifted your legs, draping them over his shoulders. He circled your clit with his thumb for a moment before replacing it with his mouth and tongue. You tangled your fingers in his hair as Stan returned his lips to yours, tongue darting down your throat, hands caressing your breasts.

Ford lapped at your clit, taking in your taste and scent.

“God, you taste so good.” He said, moaning against you.

Stan laughed. “Damn, sixer. I didn’t know you enjoyed eating pussy this much.”

Ford scoffed. “I happen to find eliciting an orgasm from another person to be incredibly rewarding, their pleasure is mine.”

“Good god, you’re so pussy whipped.”

“I’m trying to concentrate here, Stanley.”

You felt your orgasm build, you tightened your grip on Ford’s hair.

“Good girl, that’s it, you’re almost there.” Ford cooed.

You panted, the sensation of being eaten out by Ford and felt up by Stan was overwhelming. You bucked your hips somewhat involuntarily against Ford’s tongue.

You reeled your head back cumming all over Ford’s mouth. He didn’t stop, slipping two fingers inside you and curling them at your g-spot, he wanted to make you cum again. It didn’t take long to coax it out of you, you gripped his hair so hard you almost ripped out a few strands, cumming on his face for a second time.

You fell back on the bed, you were practically floating. You panted breathlessly, attempting to steady yourself. Ford stood up, leaned over and kissed you, you could taste yourself on him. You sat up and looked at both of them, cracking a smirk.

“Both of you, strip for me.” You said in your best sultry voice.

“Of course, princess.” Ford said.

Stan grinned. “Get ready for the show, sweet cheeks.”

They began removing their clothes. Stan gave you the full stripper experience, running his hands seductively over his body. You wondered to yourself if he’d ever done this before, it sure seemed like he had.

You watched them hungrily as they revealed their figures. Stan was paunchy and soft whereas Ford was more built with a slight muscle definition, yet both of them were incredibly hot to you. You stared at them and couldn’t help but notice the multiple scars that littered Ford’s body. You had no idea what kind of hell he must’ve been through, but it had clearly been a lot.

As they pulled off their boxers you took in the absolutely glorious sight. They were both incredibly hung, over 8 inches. Their cocks were nearly identical, but Stan’s had significantly more girth. Stan caught you obviously staring.

“Like what ya see, angel?” Big, isn’t it?” He said, giving himself a few strokes.

“Bragging is unbecoming of a gentleman, Stanley.” Ford chastised.

“Hey, I know what I got, so I’m gonna flaunt it. Now, on all fours, toots.” Stan commanded, getting on the bed.

He came up behind you and angled his cock against you and unceremoniously shoved himself inside you, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your waist. He was so thick it felt like you were being ripped in half, you cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Oh shit, you alright?” Stan asked.

“Yeah I’m okay, it just hurts so good.”

He cocked a smile. “Damn, you like it rough don’t you?”

Ford got on his knees in front of you, tilting your chin up and stroking your lips with his thumb.

“Your lips are so soft, sweetheart.”

He slowly slid his cock in your mouth and began gingerly fucking your mouth, trying very hard to not make you choke.

“You ever done anything like this before, sugar? Gotten fucked by two men at the same time?” Stan said as he started pumping himself inside you.

You shook your head with Ford’s cock in your mouth.

“No? What do you think, huh? You like getting fucked by men old enough to be your dad?” Stan asked.

You nodded.

He grabbed your ass. “Good girl, so fucking dirty.”

Ford ran his fingers through your hair. “That’s right, you’re such a good girl, taking the both of us at the same time.”

Stan thrusted aggressively, each one forcing his brother’s cock deeper down your throat, you gagged around him.

“Easy, Stanley, you’ll make them choke.” Ford warned.

“Sorry, can’t help it, they feel too good. So- nngh- fucking tight.” Stan grunted.

You started to move your hips back against him.

“Yeah, that’s right, good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock.” Stan groaned.

He gave an incredibly hard slap to your ass, you yelped with Ford still in your mouth, a welt began to form.

“Hey, watch it! You don’t know if they like that sort of thing.” Ford scolded.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Oh come off it, sixer. They can speak for themself.”

You pulled yourself off of Ford’s cock just long enough to give a response before taking him back in your mouth.

“It’s okay, I love it.”

“See? They ‘love it’.” Stan said with a smirk.

“Consent is still important, Stanley.” Ford huffed.

Stan picked up his pace, god he loved this, using you like his own personal fucktoy.

“Jesus, that tight little pussy is gonna make me cum.” Stan groaned.

He gripped your hips and got a few good thrusts in before pulling out and cumming all over your back with a loud moan. Ford pulled himself out of your mouth, he leaned over and whispered in your ear while stroking your cheek.

“You did so well for us, sweetheart.”

Your legs shook, exhausted from being on your hands and knees for so long. You collapsed on your stomach.

Stan breathed raggedly trying to collect himself, then got off the bed and started putting his boxers back on.

“Alright, I’m gonna go out for a smoke, I’ll leave you two crazy kids alone. Have fun.” Stan said with a wink.

He started to head out, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Geez, you got me schvitzing here, toots.” He closed the cabin door behind him.

Ford turned his attention back to you. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

He got up and retrieved a towel and began wiping his brother’s cum off of your back.

“There we go.” He said softly.

He picked you up and laid you down with your head on the pillow and got on top of you. He tilted your chin up and kissed you deeply.

“I know you enjoyed being ravaged by Stanley, but now it’s my turn and I want to make love to you. Is that okay with you, princess?”

You nodded fervently.

“Good girl. I know my cock isn’t as thick as his, but still if it hurts I want you to bite down on my shoulder. Understand?”

“Yes, daddy.”

He blushed. “Daddy? How come didn’t call Stanley that?”

“You have stronger daddy vibes.”

He chuckled. “I’m very flattered, princess.”

He slowly started to insert himself making sure to give you time to adjust while kissing you, you moaned into his mouth.

He reached the hilt of his shaft. “Does that feel good? I’m not hurting you am I?”

You shook your head. “You feel so good, daddy.”

He chuckled. “Keep calling me that and I won’t be able to last very long.”

He began moving his hips, finding a steady, gentle rhythm.

“God, now I see what Stanley was talking about, you feel incredible. So warm and tight.”

He and Stan might’ve been twins, but the ways they fucked you were as different as night and day. Where Stan was rough and fast, Ford was so much more slow and passionate.

“From the moment I saw you I knew I would have to have you. The way your thighs looked in that skirt and the way your breasts bounced as you walked, god you looked so tantalizing. When you would bend over the table to serve us our drinks it got me so hard immediately. If you hadn’t come back with us I would’ve had to spend the rest of my night stroking my cock while picturing you.”

“I’m not gonna lie, Ford, I was bending over on purpose. I knew what I was doing. Knowing I was turning on two older gentlemen was so hot. I had to steal myself away to the bathroom and touch myself because of how worked up I got with you looking at me like that. You and your brother were practically fucking me with your eyes.”

“We wanted you so bad, it was all we could talk about.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers in his hair again. He buried his nose into the dip of your collarbone. You moved yourself back against him, drawing out a moan.

“I’m so close, baby girl. Can I cum in you?” He panted.

“Please, daddy.” You begged.

Your words made him throb. “Good girl.”

He slightly increased his pace, still making sure to be gentle. He came deep inside you, coating your walls in a thick layer of cum.

“Stars, you are… amazing.” He said, completely breathless.

You kissed him as he pulled out, lying next to you. You nuzzled into Ford’s chest, he stroked your back, the gentle waves of the ocean rocking the boat.

“You know, we’re going to be here for a full week. If you want, we could do this every night. How does that sound, princess?”

“Like a dream, handsome.”

He kissed you. “Good, I’m very happy to hear that.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment or two before you broke it.

“Can I ask you a question, Ford?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“What happened to you? You have so many scars.”

He gave a small smile. “It’s… a long story, but let’s just say I went through quite the adventure in the last 30 years.”

A few minutes later Stan walked through the door. “Got room for one more?”

You smiled. “The more the merrier.”

Stan climbed into the bed, spooning you.

He chuckled to himself. “See, sixer? I told you we’d find babes.”

#stan pines #ford pines #stan pines x reader #ford pines x reader #stan pines fanfic #ford pines fanfic #stan pines smut #ford pines smut #gravity falls #my fics

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brummiereader · 1 year ago

Text

PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART FIVE)

Summary: After your tearful departure from Small Heath, you find your way back in the town you bid farewell to quicker than expected, Inevitably back to face the very man who told you to leave. Will your unavoidable confrontation with Tommy threaten to put an even heavier strain on your already fragile relationship?

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, mentions of blood

" Fuck, fuck fuck!" you sobbed dropping your keys on the floor as you furiously wiped away your tears. With one sharp kick in frustration to the old wooden door at your current predicament you slumped down onto the cobbled floor as the clouds broke open and a deluge of rain poured down on you. Great.

" Y/N?..." You heard Polly's voice say in the darkened alleyway, her heels echoing loudly through the back row of house as she hurried over to you, holding her brolly up from the torrential rain now pouring down on the entire town. Yes that's right, Polly. You was back. Your dramatic departure filled with tears and sorrow in attempts to escape both your broken heart and Tommy's fury lasted all but one day. One fucking day. You quickly learnt upon your arrival in London after meeting with the Landlord that there had been a mistake or, what you had determined to be an absolute bollocks of an injustice. There was no letting, or at least there wasn't anymore. Greed knows no bounds and the Landlord your cousin had spoken of was no different. With little sympathy he quickly explained to you that he had let the property out to someone else, favouring their six months advance in rent over your measly one month deposit, leaving you on the doorstep of the flat you hoped you would call home with a puff from his cigar and a snide smirk as he slammed the door In your face. " Y/N?" Polly said as she helped you up from the ground, her eyes wide in confusion." You should be in London. What are you doing back here love?" She questioned as she pulled you under her umbrella, rubbing you arm up and down in attempts to warm you up.

" I was. But like everything in my life it was a disaster. I can't do anything right " you said as you sniffed back your tears bending down to pick up your keys.

" Disaster? You've only been gone twenty-four hours. What could have gone so wrong that you found yourself back in this shit hole?" She replied looking around her as she kicked a clump of mud off the end of her pristine black boots.

" Landlord had a better proposition, six months worth of rent in advance" you replied as you wrapped your hands around your body from the cold.

" Greedy bastard" she replied with an irritated huff on your behalf. "What about your cousin, you couldn't have stayed with her?"

"She's not there. Neighbour said she went to Hull on holiday. A holiday, In winter, who does that?" nobody does Polly thought to herself, especially not somewhere as bitterly windy as Hull. This was all too much of a coincidence for her liking. There was only one person that could have arranged all this within the space of twenty four hours and he was currently sat in the Garrison with her two other nephews and half a bottle of whisky in his hand. Deciding to spare you any further misery for one day she kept her suspicions to herself, but not without mentally taking note to give her meddling nephew a sharp smack to the back of his head the moment he had sobered up and the warm lull of alcohol had worn off. " I have two weeks left of rent on this place Pol. I kept a key just in case" you said turning to look up at your bedsit window. " He's changed the fucking locks on the back door, I can't get in!" you started to sob again as you looked down at the keys in your hand." Pol what am I supposed to do?"

" Come on, you'll stop at mine" she said hooking her arm in yours as she started walking you out the alleyway.

" Pol, Tommy...I can't " you said as you abruptly pulled away.

" Yes you can. You'll stop in Ada's old room. And as for Tommy, you let me worry about him. Understood?" she replied, not giving you a chance to argue otherwise as she took you by the arm once again. " I doubt you'll see him anyway love. He'll be in the Garrison until the early hours drowning in his sorrows"

" Sorrows? What's he got to be sorry about, thought he had everything made?"

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you..."

" Bewitched, she bloody bewitched you!" John slurred as he raised his glass of whisky up to the ceiling whilst he precariously tried to pour a steady stream of the amber liquor down into his mouth, half of it inevitably spilling onto his freshly ironed shirt.

"No. Y/N bewitched me. Bewitched me since we were kids" Tommy said as he slammed his glass down onto the table, reaching in his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

" Fucking hell, that good was it Tommy?" John laughed with a snort as Arthur threw a cushion at his head causing the remainder of his whisky to tip over onto the plush crimson sofa he was laying on. Polly would certainly have his head for that.

" Wouldn't fucking know anymore, it's been five years" Tommy mumbled under his breath lighting a cigarette as he let his body fall back into the arm chair. But he did know, he did remember. He'd thought about you every night since the day he boarded the train for France. Thought about the small whimpers he would coax from your lips as he rocked his body into yours. The way he'd wrap you tightly in his arms after as you drifted off to sleep, listening to the gentle sounds of you breathing as his own eyes became heavy, and he joined you in peaceful dreams. Now all he heard was the sound of shovels on the four walls of his room, reminding him of what he had lost, what he had endured in those lonely nights away from you. Not that he would admit it of course.

" So what's your plan Tom?" Arthur said as he looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquor from side to side before downing it. For once, he was the lesser drunk out of the three. Polly had given him strict instructions to go easy on the whisky and watch that Tommy didn't drink himself into oblivion. What Polly really meant was to not drink at all, but all Arthur heard was " go easy". And he had, albeit within his own limits before he too was too drunk to stand and ended up as hammered as his two younger brothers.

" Bloody Plan. I don't have a plan" Tommy lied as he stood up, leaning his arm on the mantle of the fire place to keep himself steady as he looked into the flames.

" You not going to London after her then?" Arthur asked as a heavy feeling of guilt started to sit uncomfortably in the pit of Tommy's stomach. The truth was Tommy did have a plan, one that had started to play on his conscious like the many other things he had added in the last twenty-four hours.

" She won't be in London for long" Tommy replied as he flicked his cigarette into the flames.

" Jesus Tom, what you done now?" Arthur said as he stood up, handing him the bottle of whisky to further dull his guilt.

" Something I'll regret no doubt" he said taking the bottle, intent on finishing its contents before Arthur grabbed it back. Pulling out your gold watch from his trouser pocket Tommy rubbed his thumb over the front, the wear and tear of the years he had kept it by his side more noticeable the longer he looked at it. " Fucking women eh?" Tommy said as he cleared his throat placing the watch back in his pocket.

" Your fucking women. You don't half pick 'em" John replied as he sat up rubbing the back of his neck as he placed a cushion over the whisky stain beside him, hopeful Polly wouldn't notice.

" Nah, Y/N was an angel" Arthur said resting his hands on his stomach as the four glasses of sharp liquor started to weigh down his heavy eyes." It's the other one I didn't get. You had it all Tom, what the hell was that?"

" To piss Y/N off" Tommy said shamefully when the front door creaked open and you and Polly walked in from the rain.

" To piss me off?..." You said, standing their stunned having heard the entirety of their conversation.

" Y/N..." Tommy said stumbling your name out as he turned to face you, his eyes wide at the realisation you had heard his spiteful confession.

" What the bloody hell are you lot doing here? You're supposed to be in the Garrison" Polly said as she shook the rain from her umbrella, her eyes darting between you and Tommy and the death stare you was sending him. It was all about to kick off.

" Grace was to fucking piss me off?!" You shouted as you marched over, grabbing the bottle of whisky from Arthur's hand and launching it in Tommy's direction.

" Jesus fucking Christ!" John shouted as he jumped out the way, dodging the bottle that landed on the floor beside him as a barrage of other objects came flying Tommy's way.

" Y/N, darling, I didn't mean it like that..." Tommy attempted to say with his hands out as a vase of flowers landed on him, gashing his arm. "Fuck!" he yelled as he looked down at the shard of glass lodged in his skin.

" She got you good there Tom" Arthur chuckled, amused at the fact his little brother was finally getting his dues. " Stay still" Arthur said getting up as he rubbed his hands together ready to play the surgeon. Looking sheepishly over to you Tommy watched as you turned around and stormed out the house.

"Y/N wait!" Tommy shouted as he pushed Arthur's hands away, pulling out the piece of glass stuck in his arm with a loud grunt. " Y/N it's pissing it outside, come back in!" he yelled after you as he ran through the living room, stumbling over the edge of the coffee table in the process. Drunk, one arm bloody, hair disheveled, he looked a mess, a desperate pathetic mess.

" Fuck off Tommy!" you shouted, arms crossed as you walked rapidly down Watery Lane.

" Y/N I didn't know! I didn't fucking know!" He yelled back in the middle of the street, awakening the whole neighborhood as the rain continued to violently pour down on the small town. " I thought it was you. Isaiah, Kimber's men...what, what else was I supposed to think?" he said coming to a stop as you continued to ignore him." You started all this you know, five years ago when you broke my heart!"

" Shut up, shut the fuck up! You screamed as you span around, storming back to him having had enough of hearing the same broken record non- stop for five years. Coming face to face with him, Tommy took a step back. He had never seen you this way, this angry this furious, the softness of your face replaced with a rage he had created. "Have you ever, ever once stopped to think that when you left me on that platform when you didn't look back, you broke my heart too!"

" I did look.."

" Shut up Tommy, just stop!" you cut him off unwilling to entertain anything he had to say as the whirlwind of anger stormed within you.

" Y/N" Tommy said reaching his hand out for you that got quickly slapped away by your own.

" I may have broken your heart first Tommy but every day since you have broken mine over and over again. I waited Tommy, waited five years. Watched you move on with that barmaid, stood there as you accused me of stabbing you in the back" you sobbed, the bitter reality of your unrelenting devotion towards him and all the years you had wasted trying to please him cutting sharper then any cruel passing comment he had ever made." All because I loved you...because I couldn't let go" you sobbed as the anger that had been building in you rapidly left, leaving you stood there deflated.

" Sweetheart please.." Tommy pleaded hearing the hurt in your voice as he gently cupped your cheek, slowly moving closer to press his forehead against yours.

" I'm not your sweetheart anymore. I'm done Tommy." you cried turning around as Tommy's hand dropped from your face.

" Y/N!" Tommy shouted, watching you walk away as he stumbled forward slipping over the wet dirt covered ground, the half bottle of whisky he had drunk dulling his usually sharp reflects. " Have a look everyone, take a good fucking look!" he yelled watching the neighbours curtains twitch from behind their windows, his yelling bringing the whole street's attention to the commotion he was responsible for. "Tommy Shelby on his fucking knees begging, happy now Y/N. Y/N!"

" Bloody hell, get up Tom. You're making a fucking scene" Arthur said looking around the street as him and John pulled him up from the ground.

" How much has he drunk?" Polly said storming over with Tommy's coat as Arthur and John held him up.

" I don't know half a bottle, maybe more" he replied as he brushed the rain off Tommy's face." He's alright Pol, ain't you Tom?"

" Arthur, I told you to keep an eye on him. He's a miserable bastard when he's drunk" Polly said looking to her nephew as she placed the coat around Tommy's shoulders.

" Would you all just fuck off..." Tommy slurred, pushing his brothers off him as he walked off into the night.

" Tommy where you going?" John called out ready to follow when Arthur put his hand out.

" Let him drink it off John boy" Arthur said watching him stumble around the corner.

" Don't you mean sleep it off?"

" Drink it off. Tommy's barely slept a wink since him and Y/N broke up"

" Best we leave him to it. The drink will force him to sleep whether he wants to or not" Polly said as she ushered her nephews back to the house. " Come on, in" she ordered them as she turned around to shut the door. " One day, just one day I'd like us not to be the talk of this town"

" Tommy, Tommy! You sick Tommy?" Curly said as he bent down to Tommy laying in a heap of hay inside one of the horses stalls on Charlie's yard early the next morning, his hand grasped tightly around another bottle of whisky he had presumably found on his way there.

" Nothing the hair of the dog can't fix" Charlie said as he bent down lifting Tommy's peaked cap up as Tommy slowly opened his eyes . " Think he's had enough of the good stuff, get him a glass of vinegar instead Curly" Charlie said as Tommy grunted at the idea of his Uncles hangover cure.

" Vinegar, I'll go get vinegar for you Tom. We'll have you back in shape in no time" Curly said as he hurried off out of the stall.

" Tommy get up, you're laying in horses shit" Charlie said as he grabbed the bottle of whisky from his hand. "You won't find what your looking for at the bottom of a bottle Tom" Charlie said as he poured its contents onto the cobbled stable floor beside him whilst Tommy watched the only thing that dulled his self-inflicted guilt slip away. " Y/N?" Charlie said as he turned the tin water bucket upside down to sit next to him, handing him a cigarette.

" Written across my face is it Uncle?" Tommy said as Charlie leaned over to light the end.

" Always did find your way back here, sleeping with the horses when you two would have it off. That and a bowl of cold water on you when she'd find you the next day" Charlie said as Tommy let out a scoff of a laugh looking down at the cigarette between his fingers. " She still comes in here. Find her siting there watching Curly brush the horses like she did when she was a kid, like when you were both kids" he said as he nodded to the bench in the corner of the stall as Tommy rested the back of his head on the wooden enclosure whilst the memories of happier times flooded back to him.

" Started when her dad died. Would bring us here to get away from her mum and Polly's sharp hand on the back of my head" Tommy chuckled as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. " Just wanted her to enjoy the quiet" he sighed rubbing his thumb along his brow as last night's drinking started to catch up with him. How long would he keep doing this?

" Times changed" Charlie said as he looked over to Tommy's eyes fixed on the bench in the corner where you'd both sit " So what did you do this time then Tom?"

" What haven't I done?" Tommy replied as he stood up adjusting his coat around him.

" Still breaking her heart?" Charlie said looking up to Tommy as he watched him pat down the horse he had for company the whole night, thankful he couldn't repeat his drunken rambles.

" Since I boarded the train for France, so I've been told"

" You were too young Tommy. You were about to go off to fight. You could have left her a widow when she was still a kid herself. But I'm guessing that's not all you've done." Charlie said as Tommy listened and let his Uncles words sink in. " Make it right Tom. She's been good to you, she don't deserve this"

" Think I ruined all chances of that Charlie" Tommy said giving up, straightening his peaked cap out as he walked out into the bitter morning mist.

"Bollocks. Bite the bullet and do what you got to do Tom, else you'll spend the rest of your life looking down that whisky bottle" Charlie said as he walked off, throwing the empty glass bottle into the cut.

"Vinegar Tommy" curly said running up to Tommy as he squinted through the fog, watching his Uncle walk off into the yard.

" Save it Curly, for when I'm really down in the dirt, ey?" Tommy said as he patted his shoulder, forgoing the idea of drinking Charlie's sharp remedy to bring him to his senses. His words had been enough. It was time for him to pay the piper and own up to his mistakes if he ever wanted to win you back.

It had been a week since your return to the town you thought you had bid farewell to and a week since you had last seen Tommy, having avoided every one of his attempts to talk to you. After a sharp word to your landlord Polly handed you a new set of keys to your bedsit the very next day. But with only one weeks worth of rent paid left, and your unexpected return ticket from London costing more that you thought it would, your savings were dwindling. Polly had offered you help even asking you to come back to the betting shop, an offer you was convinced Tommy had been the first to suggest. Declining both propositions and adamant on showing Tommy you didn't need, nor want his help you decided to look for work elsewhere, and with three job interviews lined up for today you had high hopes your money troubles would soon pass. Fixing your hat in place, you pushed a small pin into the side firmly securing it from any gusts of wind that threatened to blow it over. With one last glance at your appearance in the mirror you turned around, the smile on your face dropping and a scowl quickly replacing it at the sight of the growing flower garden currently occupying every surface of your bedsit. Seven bouquets of flower for each day you had been back, each with their own card hand written to you from Tommy himself. Fuck sake. Gaudy, flashy, over the top. Not like the beautiful posy of meadow flowers he would spend time picking for you on your birthday. You thought to yourself as you glared at them opening your front door only to be met with another ridiculously large bouquet in your face.

" 'Scuse me Mam" the young boy said as he stepped back. " Delivery from Mr Shelby"

" Jesus fucking Christ" you mumbled under you breath. You had no space for them and was frankly getting fed up with his pitiful gestures. After the relentless messages he had left you it was time to send him one final of your own so he understood exactly what your thoughts were on his grand displays of love. Pulling the card out from within the bouquet of red roses you scoffed at the message before reading it aloud.

" Roses are red..." you said without finishing the rest of the card before ripping it up and placing it back within the flowers as the young boy shuffled on his feet, his eyes quickly darting away. " Send them back Archie" you said with a huff as you shut your door.

" But Mr Shelby he..." the young boy replied nervously before you stopped him.

" Archie it's alright" You said bending down to his level as you placed your hand on his shoulder " Don't you worry about Mr Shelby, he won't do a thing. The only person he will get angry at is himself after his brothers tease him about this, alright?" You smiled as he nodded his head in reply. "Send them back at noon when Arthur and John will be there. We can't let them miss out on the opportunity to get one over on him can we?" you giggled as the young boys muddy cheeks dimpled into a grin. " Go on" you said handing him a penny, winking to him as he ran to the stairs, jumping down the rickety wooden steps two at a time. That will keep him at bay, you thought to yourself as you too headed down the steps jumping off the last one, your mood suddenly brightened again. Little did you know your scheme to keep Tommy away would only backfire when the result of another stupid idea Tommy had concocted to get your attention was about to play out.

" What do you mean the position has been filled?" You asked as you stood in front of the manager of the postal office, having only just arrived for your final job interview that day.

" Sorry Mam. The Position was filled this morning" he replied clearing his throat as he shuffled the papers in front of him.

" But it's only eleven thirty, I'm the first to be interviewed on the list" you pointed out to him at the paper on his desk. This was your last hope. The two previous interviews, well, lack of interviews were disastrous. One only lasted all but three minutes and the other place was shut before you even arrived.

" We erhh, we found someone yesterday" he said packing his documents into the draw as he quickly stood up taking the other pile of files sitting on the side.

" Yesterday was Sunday"

" Mam I'm sorry. I can't help you, the position has been filled" he said as he looked to the door not wanting to be asked any further questions.

" Shelby Company Limited" you scoffed, noticing the business card on top of the pile of documents in his hand. " He's been here hasn't he? Told you not to give me the job?" you huffed crossing your arms as you bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Your heightened emotions never failing to show themselves at the most inconvenient of times.

" He said you already have a job, he was quite adamant about it. He..." the manager replied as you put your hand up, stopping him from making any more excuses for him.

" Save it " you said wiping your eyes as you turned on your heel, heading for the very man you knew was to blame not only for this failed job interview but the two others as well. Thomas fucking Shelby. Was this his way of getting you to talk to him, for him to see you? Well he was going to get just that, and five years worth of pent-up anger coming his way too.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @cosniffee @jonsncws @powellssaturn @jessimay89 @bruher @riseandreigns4u @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @chimchimjiminie16 @gaslysainz @calicoootalks (unable to tag) @weaponizedvirtue @vlryexsworld (unable to tag) @shittyprofilebutfuckit @peakyswritings @kammsinn @mysticalbouquetwolf-posts @cherryslyce @esquivelbianca @taliawz (unable to tag) @answer-the-sirens @dielgonacoffee @cicilysgrace @nadloves @fanatics30 @httyd-marauders @beeposstuff @yeppaweshallsee (unable to tag) @ja-4-leyvam (unable to tag) @xmariakx @slighltyaboveaverageiq (unable to tag) @fairypitou @youngbananamilkshake @call-sign-shark @peakyltd @jeysbae @muhahaha303 @mornixgstar18 @adaydreamaway08 @artzyhobo (unable to tag) @atomicsaladapricotcreator (unable to tag) @1lellykins @duckybird101 @warrior-of-justice @amberpanda99 @ @mrstargayen09 @synx-h (unable to tag)

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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heli0s-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Torch Song

a/n: the prompt is unhealthy coping mechanisms. Warnings for marijuana use & underage drinking. College!Reader & Bucky pining for Steve and trying to get their shit together. 4.2k words. moonchild masterlist

The summer after your college freshman year feels like a scene out of a Sundance Festival flick. One of those long, languid pictures with the neighborhood kids on their bikes flying down the middle of an empty street in Nowheretown, Suburbia and the shot is wide and steady with the sun slipping past the treescape, tucking itself into the other side of the world.

The block is mostly empty when you pull up in your old, blue candy-paint truck, and rattling beneath the body pops around after the engine gurgles off.

If the scene continues, the wash of light over your face would be filtered a notch too yellow, the shadow cast behind your head, too green. You’d be the protagonist coming home draped in melancholy, soul-searching, wandering her childhood memories in a pretentious daze, folky pop tunes softly crooning in the background, begging for a reason to look forward to the following semester.

College spat you back out like unwanted scraps on the dinner table, and you’re so tired from the drive that you don’t even care about taking your luggage inside. That’s tomorrow’s task—tomorrow’s problem.

You sit for a moment just to breathe.

If the scene continues, the house would be empty, but there would be leftovers in the fridge with a sticky note on top and another longer one on the dining room table. If the scene continues, you’d throw yourself face down in bed and lie awake until someone comes home, peeks in on you asleep. They’d linger in the doorway, finally slipping off with a fond smile and a quiet click of the door.

The camera would pan out through the front, up above the roof, into the sky gone dark.

Instead, sudden banging on your window makes you scream, and your vision goes out for a split second in sheer, animal panic. Your head whips over to see Bucky Barnes’ face grinning shit-eatingly a mile wide.

You slump back tiredly and close your eyes, letting out an exasperated, “Fuck.”

He does nothing to help your heart rate return to normal, only shouting, “Hey, state!” so loudly you swear the windows are vibrating. Past the glass, which you’ll kill him for if he cracks, he points to the immaculately rolled joint behind his ear because he’s a private-school motherfucker who smokes more than an industrial chimney.

“What’s this?” Bucky taunts, “Think you can just roll back into town without telling anybody? Not with this shitcan, you can’t. I heard this—” he thumps on the frame of your truck noisily, and the creak that gives way under his fist is just your baby yelling at him for being an asshole, “—heard this thing all the way from the service road.”

“Fuck off,” you reply, but roll down the window, manually cranking it with some dramatic flair to show that yes, your car is old, but it still works. “This car took you to breakfast every week of senior year.”

He barks a laugh. “This car shakes in the wind.”

“Just like you during Blair Witch Project.”

Bucky closes his mouth into a thin and deadly serious line, not even bothering to contest that accusation, but shooting back with, “Like you skinny dipping at my ma’s junior year.”

“No, I think it’s more like you getting a car door to the sack right outside of my house.”

“I never got—hell!”

Good for him, his reflexes are still excellent. Bucky leaps back about three feet, body going bow-curved to dodge your door and makes to comment on the awful squeal of metal hinges, but the filter from his brain to his mouth—especially in the wake of a near-castration—stops him.

Wisely, he stands up tall, pats down his clothes, and pulls you fully out of the worn leather seat, out of the protective hull of a faithful, old vehicle.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he grins, using the crook of his finger to flick your chin upward just a touch, “Good to see you.”

And then, because he really is set on turning your trip into some kind of cheesy summer indie flick, he wraps both of his arms around you tightly, hugs you to him in a way that feels too firm and too soft all at once, and the heartbeat that had returned to its natural routine starts to pick up again, double time.

“Mm, yeah,” you mumble, “Same to you, Buck.”

On the back porch, Bucky takes a sharp first drag, rolling the joint between his fingers to check it. He takes in another breath before exhaling, then hands it off.

“How long was the drive?”

You inhale carefully, letting the sensation swirl inside of your lungs before watching the jetting smoke flit into the sky.

“Like, seven hours. When did you get back?”

“Four days ago. Becs picked me up and we got Frosties with Butterfingers—missed that. Missed her loads.” You pass the joint after another hit, feel the constant dullness behind your eyes ebbing like a slow tide and hum along. “Missed you, too,” Bucky says casually, grinning wide as his eyes flick over, “It’s shitty our spring breaks didn’t line up.”

“Yeah,” you reply, remembering the string of lamenting text messages he sent you. “I’d just cockblock you at the beach. It was for the best.”

He laughs at that, “Girls like me more when they think I’m unavailable.”

“More? Isn’t… how much they like you now enough?”

“Never such a thing as too much, I say.”

Then, probably because he’s been wriggling out of his skin to say it, he goes ahead, taking a hard left from easy conversation and sharply into, “Hey, Stevie’s home.”

Your throat tightens, chin dipping toward your chest as you hang your head. Your elbows, propped up on the railing, notice the woodgrain digging into them for the first time.

Bucky’s been here for a few days now, probably toured the neighborhood, caught up with a few old faces—and whenever Steve arrived—Bucky probably avoided him for exactly 4 hours before he got his front door banged on.

And well, Bucky couldn’t ever say no to Steve.

So they probably visited all the old stomping grounds, ate the diners out of business, hopped into the lake and sunbathed on the docks and then Steve would have told him what he wanted to do—what he’s wanted to do since he was probably 7 years old. What he’s held out on, saved up for, what he’s found and cherished and practically dedicated his whole life to—thumbs fiddling with eagerness and that bright, bright hope for the future.

Bucky nudges you with his elbow, “He’s real happy.”

“Good for him.” You nudge back, trying to mean it.

Bucky rolls his eyes, the quirk at the edge of his mouth jerking up and down as he purses his lips disapprovingly, “Only one of us needs to be emo, and I’ve got the emo for the day. You can have it tomorrow.” Then, he taps the ash from the joint and the edge of his mouth stays up this time.

“Hey, lemme shotgun you better.”

You snort at him, but let your jaw relax, eyes fluttering shut, and when Bucky leans into blow smoke into your mouth, you inhale the scent of burning. His breath is soft on the hollow of your cheek, and he sings, “Let’s get fucking high.”

The hit is too big, so he sucks in what you can’t swallow, and then he kisses you, takes in the smoke escaping your nose, hand still on your chin but not in any kind of grip. His mouth moves easy, as if saying hello.

He kisses you a second time, lingering, and watches closely when he’s finished.

He’s asking with his eyes, is this okay, do you want me to stop, do you want me again?

It’s not like the two of you haven’t made out once or twice. There have been too many high school parties with cheap beer and underage drinking to cross that prospect out—and not to mention the nights where you stayed up late, wired with the kind of indescribable energy that late-teenagers have—the storm of confusion and hesitation while glaring at a horizon of endless possibilities and being told to pick just one.

One track, one major, one path.

Not like it was an exclusive experience. Most high schoolers, even the best-behaved, perhaps especially the best-behaved, would say that those nights—after school and work, dinner with or without a family, with or without another conversation about the next step, about the future—lying in bed, bone tired, listening to the noises of evening outside, that it was sometimes very difficult not to run yourself down the road and scream until only blood came out.

And when it wasn’t really an option to scream, because screaming would disquiet the happy-go-lucky neighborhood and give an adult cause to institutionalize you, the only thing to do was text a friend.

And the friend would climb himself over your fence and grin outside your window until you opened it up, hissing at him not to be so loud and clumsy and the two of you would chain-smoke cigarettes for hours to feel more than nominally alive. Because the stagnant bitter taste of nicotine in your belly was better than a belly like a hurricane, and the slip of your friend’s tongue—who’d been spilling his same brand of guts out under the night sky—was better than an imaginary one.

Better than one encased in the prettiest pink mouth, laid so gentle and sweet against a heavy bottom lip, one that wouldn’t just kiss without wanting a guarantee. Without wanting that choice—that single, damning choice—for the rest of his life.

It feels kind of stupid again when you look at Bucky and he looks back, over your face and lips, down the line of your neck as you tilt forward instinctively. It feels kind of stupid when your body lurches a little toward him, asking him to hold it there again, keep it safe again.

Is it the nostalgia that’s making you regress back to being 16 and a half or is it just you? You and your broken… whatever it is that’s broken.

Heart, a little voice in your head pipes up, it’s your heart, and you’d very much like to curb-stomp it to death.

The sun is gone now, and he’s watching with glazy eyes from the smoke, pink around the corners, and his lids are heavier as you feel. Time is stretching and flying, and the air is flexing around the both of you as bugs begin to cry noisily.

“Somethin’ on my face?” he asks, cocky to deflect your silence, but he looks like a million things: lonely, happy, sweet. Hungry for a life he hasn’t got.

“You want to stay the night? My parents are doing that empty nester thing where they go on long vacations with retirement money.” You blurt, because the thing is, you’re feeling that same empty, hungry loneliness. That same, bittersweet pain.

“Depends. We gonna have a pillow fight in our undies?”

You punch him in the shoulder a few times until he yelps, getting to his feet and dusting off his jeans. Although he’d been laughing, his eyes have turned stormy, the evening behind him curling like beckoning fingers, the single hallway light you flicked on the way out back asking you to both come inside.

You make a frozen pizza and pick off the olives, snagging a few beers, and the both of you kick back on the couch for an hour, chewing and slurping and sometimes stealing each other’s crusts.

He tells you about the courses he’s taking and how he landed an art modeling gig and almost popped a woody and that wasn’t even the most uncomfortable thing he experienced.

“There’s so much repressed homosexuality in these private schools. Check it out: this kid draws me practically naked for a week, gets down every detail—gets down my damn leg hairs for fucks sake—but he avoids,” he signals to his groin, “and then when he gets to it, he overthinks the whole time, and by the time the session’s over, the outline of my junk is the most prominent part of the entire thing.”

He places his arm back behind his head, the other one, beneath you, twitching slightly. “And when he hangs it up for the critique, it looks like someone drew me in pencil and drew my guy in marker.”

“Brutal.”

“Yeah!” He’s outraged at the memory, “Looked like someone brutalized my dick. This thing is…” he gestures in weird motions, reenacting a kind of car crash shadow puppet scene and you take it to mean bad. “I got a really nice one, you know? So that kinda hurt my feelings.”

You groan loudly, leaning back on the couch.

“Man,” you take a swig of beer, washing down the second-hand embarrassment in your throat along with a swallow of pizza, “you don’t change.”

Bucky only grins and grabs at his crotch obscenely.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re both 40,” you suggest, sprawled atop the comforter, staring at the bedroom ceiling with its glow in the dark plastic stars.

“Hunt each other for sport? That not what you were getting at?” Bucky shifts listlessly, so that you can use his arm as a pillow. He’s thrown off the extra ones so that both of you could lie down after dinner—a six pack of beers drained along with another joint.

“You’ll probably be married before then,” he says, “Don’t sweat it.”

The ceiling is undulating sluggishly, idle green cutouts starting to look like they’re actually twinkling and you trace them with a finger, draw out his name and your name and get stuck on the next word.

“I don’t even know if I want to get married,” you reply, putting your finger down. Resentment jabs at your chest. “I mean, I think I’m starting to figure out that we’ve been spoon-fed our whole lives… about everything. Does that make sense? Just… told to do and be without real reason other than that it’s how everyone else is. I mean, what if that’s not it—you know? What if I do all of that and then 10 years later I still feel like this? I graduated, I moved out, I’m in college—and, Buck, I still feel like this.”

Your tummy hurts, because it hasn’t worked out even a little bit—you haven’t had a real boyfriend, haven’t even had very many good dates. There was a benefit and a disadvantage of growing up with the same pair of best friends your entire life because now making new ones feels like both an act of betrayal and justan act as you watch yourself talk to a stranger, trying to puppeteer your body into saying, doing, behaving correctly while ignoring the jilted awkwardness of your own limbs and words.

It only feels natural like this: back in your town, in your neighborhood, in your bed. Bucky by your side, bleary-eyed from drugs or alcohol or sleep deprivation and a few inches away from hysterical.

He traces a made-up constellation in the air, humming absentmindedly.

“Baby, I don’t think anybody knows anything. Not your folks or my folks or the fucking president. We figured all that out when we were kids.”

“The only person in the world who knows what they want to do is Steve fucking Rogers, okay, and he’s a freak of nature. No one goes from being the runtiest runt to have ever runted to hitting a growth spurt so hard it looks like their nose burst out of their face.”

That shocks a cackle out of you, “Buck!”

Bucky isn’t deterred. “Fuckin’ Toucan Sam is what he looked like. Size 12 feet in 9th grade and then growing into them over the summer. Asshole made the football team without tryouts. Bulked up like a sonuvabitch.”

You nuzzle the rest of your wheezing laughs into Bucky’s shoulder and sigh, “Yeah, he got real pretty, too. Well, he was always pretty to me and you.”

The air seems to go after that, even the humming of summer at the window retreating while Bucky lets you breathe into him, tilt your face until your lips are on the line of his jaw and grazing his stubble. It’s so melodramatic. So pulled apart and dissected and then instead of retrieving any valuable information from it, you keep scraping it into a bin.

“This okay?” You say instead, closing your eyes, inhaling the scent of him. His shampoo, his light sheen of boy sweat, the wheat beer you’ve both been drinking, all of it atop your bed. He’s warm and alive and you haven’t touched anyone since—

Since ever. Since every summer. Since Bucky, every summer.

He waggles his brows salaciously, “Mhm. Keep doing that and I’ll let you do it somewhere else, too.”

You snort, “Man, you really don’t change.”

It’s always been easy for him. There were many pages in your middle school diary about how Bucky Barnes taught the entire 6thth grade to French kiss and that the 8th grade girls were going to steal him away—and who was going to hang out with you and Steve at the peanut-free table during lunch now?

Of course, he was always too good, despite dating half the cheerleaders, so he’d tell all his girlfriends they couldn’t get mad at his girl best friend and the little blonde stick of a boy that he wouldn’t ever leave behind.

Bucky Barnes made the grades and got the girls and still ate lunch at the nut-free table despite loving cashews more than anybody.

Idiot.

“You need me to sweet talk you now?” he teases. “All I had to do in high school was tap a pack of Menthols on my chest and you’d let me stick my tongue in your mouth for hours. You’ve changed.” He clambers over on top of you, hovering and blocking out the ceiling, a maniacal grin across his face.

“Oh, shut up, I have not.” You defiantly crunch up to kiss him like proving some kind of point. “Just cause you’ve caught every disease known to man and some animals and I have—haven’t—you know.”

He wipes at his lip where you landed too hard and clumsy, eyes scrutinizing before they light up in disbelief. He lets out a huff of air that’s both impressed and alarmed.

“Shut up,” you say again, with feeling.

“You’re serious.”

“Why would I joke about that. Jerk.”

Bucky sighs, maneuvering off, because it seems like you can’t maintain any more eye contact, and puts his hands behind his head. “The first time someone touched my dick, I think I thought I died. And then I spent the next 6 months trying to do anything for someone to do it again. I can teach you,” he says.

You retort, “Dude, I’m pretty sure I know what to do; I’ve watched a lot of porn.”

“It’s kinda hot to hear you say that, but seriously. College towns are pocket dimensions of raging boners. You could have walked outside and flagged down a hard dick like a cab.”

That is a terrible scenario to imagine, and your face twists accordingly. “Gross. I’m sure I need a therapist, not an STD.”

“Maybe you need a good lay. But seriously,” he says, expression gone back to soft, “what’re you holding out for?”

You frown deeply, “I’m not holding out for anything.”

“If you’re just not interested, like, because you don’t identify—”

“Bucky,” you say patiently, “I’m interested, it just— it’s stupid. It’s the same—same thing. Same thing it’s always been."

A hurt expression crawls it way up his face because the two of you have been carrying the torch for years. For most of your lives.

In love with Steve Rogers since you were 11, probably—and Bucky was in love with him even before that. Couldn’t find a single thing to dislike about him other than that he couldn’t ever see it—couldn’t ever recognize that he was the brightest burn in the sky.

Sneaking out to commiserate was about school and parents and expectations, and on the nights you kissed and let Bucky weave his fingers through yours, it was always, always about Steve.

Steve, who wanted to be in love so badly, so truly, who fell for Peggy Carter the first day she arrived from England—the only person in this town who met him after his growth spurt—after he grew into his new body, learned how to move it like a finely tuned machine, and he never looked back.

That was, and still is, the heart of him. Running unflinchingly into daybreak with the night sky melting off his back, eating his dust. And there was you, and there was Bucky, miles behind, making wishes on falling stars—hoping he’d turn around, just once.

And you carried that hope so far, let it bleed into every corner of your life. The straight and narrow of school and work and leaving home—the track of life Steve would take—you wanted it, too. You wanted him to be proud of you, wanted his life parallel to yours because at least you’d see him in the distance going the same way.

And now he’s getting married. While you could hardly commit to a second date because you were carrying a torch that was only keeping you warm by setting you on fire. Carrying a torch that feels like a grudge some nights.

Bucky’s hands are still gentle on your hips. He looks fragile, hovering like a swinging mobile with cracks in it, and if you tugged at him the wrong way he’d collapse, so you brush your thumb at the furrow between his brows, smoothing it out encouragingly.

He closes his eyes, tucks his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “Guess we went at it totally different ways, huh? I guess I wanted him to catch me by the scruff of my neck and tell me to settle down how he used to.”

“And I wanted him to tell me to get to living. Wanted him to show me how.”

“I can show you.”

This time, he’s earnest. All the edge of play gone out of his words. He showed you how to kiss, after all. Showed you how he kissed every girl on the track team and you twisted his ear afterward, called him a womanizer and he cackled all the way to fourth period.

“And I can tell you to settle down, but it’s not the same, is it?”

Bucky knocks his forehead into your collar with a definitive thwack and then he sinks with his entire weight, lying on top of you like he’s not a brick wall of boy muscle, the weight of two pizzas, and a case of beer.

You whack him repeatedly until he rolls off, flopping at your side with his hair in your mouth. You spit it out and ponder, “Why are we talking about him like he’s dead?”

“I think he’s dead a little bit. I think we have to let that kid go.”

And the image of Steve turned away for good, for the last time, cuts a crease so deep you didn’t know it was possible to still be alive after.

And yet here you are, and here Bucky is next to you.

“He’s gonna ask you to be his best man.”

Bucky shrugs, “Or he’ll ask you.”

“Shit,” you laugh, a sudden jolt of reality lancing your heart, “Oh shit, Buck. He might ask us both.”

He laughs along, “What are we gonna do, huh?”

“Cry.”

“I mean after that,” he says pointedly, like you’ve suggested the most obvious scenario.

“Get drunk. Dance poorly. You’ll hook up with a bridesmaid in the photobooth.”

“Nah, I’d never leave you. We’ll cry, we’ll get drunk, we’ll dance, and then we’ll send ‘em off, and then we’ll go home. We’ll split a cab.”

He turns, locking one leg between yours, one hand around your waist until it can draw circles in the middle of your back. He looks and he looks and when you feel like you could start crying right there as he’s smiling and touching you, Bucky kisses you long and hard and presses his entire body against yours.

“And you’ll stay the night,” he murmurs.

“Sure, Buck,” you sigh, “I’ll stay the night.”

“And we’ll kiss some more. Or we’ll just watch a movie. In the morning I’ll make you pancakes with a whipped cream smile and blueberries for eyes.”

You laugh into his mouth. His sweet, warm mouth, always so good and right and just what you needed.

“God, Becs is going to be so shitty about us.”

“Becs thinks we should have gotten together years ago.”

“Becs thinks we should have hunted each other for sport years ago.”

He cackles, pulling himself closer, until you’re crushed in his embrace. “Nah, baby. I’d never do that to you.”

You push your hands up beneath his shirt, feel his heartbeat in your palm. “We’re so dramatic.”

“Oh yeah. We’ll get over it, though. Love him too much for anything else. Love you, too.”

You nuzzle further into him. “Yeah, love you, too.”

The movie comes to an end here, everything fading into a gentle blur as Bucky pulls the blanket up over your chest. You laugh and inhale him, smelling his sweat and warmth and your own kisses on his chest.

Overhead, neon plastic stars spell out a man-made galaxy, and the two of you watch them hold onto their artificial light for a few more minutes before everything slips away.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #pining college weed fic you know the drill

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procyonloser · 4 months ago

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"I'll show you," Adam promised Sera, the woman who had raised him all these years. "I'll come back with gold and jewels, spices and the finest linens."

Sera tried to sit up, but her health was failing her. She'd not been back to the water in far too long, and it showed on her body. She'd grown gaunt, eyes sunken in - not that Adam would ever know the true reason. He'd never forgive her if he found out what she was, not after how his parents had died.

"Adam, the sea is treacherous, your crew is inexperienced-" She tried to tell him, but he was already letting the door to their shack fall closed; he only had eyes on the water and the promise of what lay beyond it. Sera knew better than anyone, there were hands waiting out there in the depths, waiting to grab hold of young men with strong ambitions.

Adam coughed, spluttering as his head breached the water surface. He was trying to find his bearings, but the clouds covered the stars and the moon, and the sea was rough. It pushed and pulled him, crashing over his head and shoulders again and again. The skies had been clear all day and into the night, until the sounds of screaming alerted him. Then, a great crash came, and the eerie silence followed by groaning of wood, splintering hulls.

A streak of lightning lit up the sky, enough to see that their vessel was nothing but a remnant of bow and mast across rocks that should have been easy to avoid. Adam grabbed hold of a piece of wood, trying to paddle in the dark to look for other survivors. He hadn't seen the man he'd bumped into, but he heard him muttering to himself.

"They weren't there, they weren't there, they weren't there, the sirens came, they came, the sirens came and ate-"

Adam shook his head, trying to reach out to him, but silence fell, and when lightning struck again, he saw no one. He cursed to himself, and debated swimming to the rocks, knowing he'd likely get crushed against them by the waves, but he couldn't stay in the ocean for hours. Why had this gone so wrong? What had happened?

The lightning struck again, followed by a rumble, and in the light, Adam thought he saw a pale face not more than a few yards off, stark against the darkness of the water. Adam tried to swim towards it, but something bumped against his foot, feeling like a hand around his ankle.

Suddenly, Adam was below the water, and the chaos of the storm fell to muffles, calm and still.

A face in front of his tilted it's head, looking Adam over. It wasn't until that moment, Adam realized the being had an unearthly glow about it, like the morning star. It was a bone white, with red eyes, smaller than Adam's frame, but it had a long tail, and six red fins spread out behind it like wings. It reached out, touching Adam's face. He wanted to pull away, but he was quickly running out of air. He let out a bubble, clutching at his chest. The creature grinned at him, teeth sharp and in lines of rows - a predator.

Before it leaned in, kissing him, and pushing air deep into his lungs.

When Adam awoke, he found himself on a beach, a port within walking distance. He had no idea how he'd arrived, how he'd survived, but he could only believe it was the work of a higher power - an angel, watching over his immortal soul.

As Adam stumbled into town, shopkeeps on the outskirts of the village looked upon him with shock and horror. A woman pulled her children away from him, and a man boarded up the front of his wares. They whispered as he went past, and none would speak to him, not until he passed an old man, sitting outside what looked like a pub. His face was reddened from drink, and pockmarked from sun and age.

"Son, they'll be coming back for you." He said, and Adam frowned.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Adam asked, brows furrowed.

"The black spot - you've been marked. It'll come for you again." Adam froze, looking down at his body. Black rings of script in a tongue he didn't speak wrapped around his ring finger. "A siren has taken you for her husband."

Adam looked up from his hand, to the old drunken man. "...It wasn't a woman."

"Then," he said with a broken croak of a laugh. "You'll be a fine wife, in the kingdom below the sea."

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #my fics

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 4 months ago

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☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirty-Seven

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Alcohol.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.4k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

"Are you sure he invited us?" you ask, giving your fiancé a very stern and scrutinous look. You were on your way to Kuraigana Island, Mihawk's place of residence, and you were wondering if the poor man even knew of Shanks' plans.

A smirk tugs at Shanks' lips. "Mihawk? He's aware of everything. Trust me, he's probably already preparing some sarcastic remark for when we arrive. Did I mention he has a very impressive wine cellar?"

You raise an eyebrow. "So our wedding will be entirely based on the fact that Mihawk has impeccable taste in wine?"

Shanks chuckles. "Not entirely. Mihawk's an old friend. It's good to catch up once in a while. He's also a captain which means he can officiate our wedding, treasure. Don't worry, everything will work out." With that Shanks leaves you at the stern, glowering at the idea of dropping unannounced.

Well, the Red Force will continue to sail smoothly towards the dark and foreboding Kuraigana Island in the distance regardless of your wish for proper decorum. As the Red Force draws near, you can see the silhouette of Mihawk's castle looms against the horizon, a stark contrast to the vibrant, bustling atmosphere of your pirate ship. Your heart races with anticipation and unease.

"Land ho!" Yasopp shouts from the crow's nest.

The Red Force slows down, its massive hull creaking as it approaches the dock at the abandoned harbor. You clutch the railing, peering into the thick fog that blankets Kuraigana Island. The place feels otherworldly, almost like a forgotten realm.

“Why is the whole island so dark and gloomy?” you ask, unable to hide the apprehension in your voice.

Benn Beckman steps beside you, his ever-present cigarette glowing dimly in the mist. “It wasn’t always like this,” he begins, his voice carrying a weight of history. “Years ago, this island was home to the Shikkearu Kingdom. It thrived until war and calamity reduced it to ruins.”

You look around, noticing how the desolation seems to seep into every crevice of the island. The air feels thick with memories of a lost era.

“Mihawk took up residence here after that,” Benn continues, nodding towards the looming castle. “He found solace in its isolation. Suits him well—no distractions, no interruptions.”

You glance at Shanks, who’s busy directing the crew as they secure the ship. This is were he wanted to marry you? A confusing idea but no doubt he had his reasons so you would trust him. He catches your eye and gives you a reassuring smile. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you sense a deep respect for Mihawk and this desolate place.

“Don’t let appearances fool you,” Benn adds, sensing your unease. “Mihawk’s castle might look grim from out here, but inside it’s quite different—full of life and color. You should see that atrium.”

You nod slowly, trying to reconcile the island’s grim exterior with Benn’s description of Mihawk’s sanctuary. The contrast intrigues you, making you eager yet anxious to step onto solid ground.

As the gangplank is lowered, Shanks offers you his hand with a wink. “Ready to meet the ghost of Kuraigana, treasure?”

"If we don't lose ourselves in the fog," you speak, taking his hand and stepping onto the dock. The other men follow suit, Lucky Roux carrying a barrel you suspected contained alcohol, Gab and Limejuice lofting crates of food on their shoulders. Even monster had a bag slung across his body. "What are you planning? A seven day feast?" You continue, eyeing Yasopp who now carries a crate labeled 'explosives'. "And why do you need explosives?"

"A wedding, Lady Captain!" Yasopp booms in reply. You can only hope the explosives were for fireworks and not something actually exploding. However you had seen Gab stuffing extra knifes into his pack before leaving so knife throwing challenges are definitely on the table.

The castle looms ahead, its dark silhouette cutting through the mist like a jagged tooth. The closer you get, the more imposing it becomes. Yet, there's an undeniable beauty in its gothic architecture, a stark contrast to the vibrant life aboard the Red Force.

As you approach Mihawk's castle, the massive doors creak open. There he stands, Dracule Mihawk himself—tall, imposing, with those hawk-like eyes that seem to pierce right through you. You find that your eyes are drawn to the massive sword hanging on his back, the hilt bejeweled and shining.

"Mihawk!" Shanks calls out cheerfully.

Mihawk’s gaze shifts to Shanks and then to you. His expression is unreadable as he steps forward. "Shanks," he says slowly, the name laced with mild irritation. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

You shoot Shanks a dirty look which he promptly ignores, and Mihawk definitely catches.

Shanks grins broadly, entirely unfazed by Mihawk's demeanor, or your glare. "I need a captain."

"Whatever for," Mihawk sighs out. "Or have you lost your title?"

Shanks’ grin widens as he steps closer to Mihawk. “I need an officiant, my friend.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrow, his gaze flickering briefly to you and then back to Shanks. “You’re capable of officiating a wedding on your own, are you not?”

A chuckle escapes Shanks as he shakes his head. “I may be a captain, but even I can’t officiate my own wedding. It’s bad form. I need someone I trust to do the honors.”

Mihawk's gaze shifts to you, his eyes narrowing in curiosity and perhaps a hint of disdain. "And who is the brave soul foolish enough to marry you?"

You step forward, lifting your chin with the poise instilled in you since birth. "That would be me," you declare, your voice steady and clear. "Linaria Bonn, though I prefer to go by Aria now."

A flicker of recognition crosses Mihawk’s face, quickly replaced by an inscrutable expression. "The noblewoman who fled her arranged marriage," he states, not as a question but as a fact.

"Indeed," you reply, meeting his gaze head-on. "And now, I'm choosing my own path."

Mihawk studies you for a moment longer, then inclines his head slightly. "You must be quite brave—or perhaps just reckless."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "I’ve learned that bravery and recklessness often walk hand in hand."

Mihawk’s eyes flash with something akin to amusement. "Spoken like someone who has faced adversity and come out stronger." He glances at Shanks before returning his attention to you. "Very well. I will officiate this wedding—if only to see what kind of chaos it brings."

"Chaos follows Shanks wherever he goes," you respond with a touch of dry humor. "And I take it with my afternoon tea."

Mihawk’s piercing gaze lingers on you, his hawk-like eyes assessing every inch of your resolve. For a moment, the gloomy island around you fades, and it's just you and the warlord locked in a silent battle of wills. But you don’t flinch or look away. Instead, you hold his gaze, your chin lifted high and eyebrow arched.

A hint of a smile touches Mihawk’s lips, barely perceptible but unmistakable. "You have spirit," he finally says, his voice carrying a note of approval. "Perhaps more than I anticipated."

Before you can respond, Shanks steps in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Did I mention Aria has an impeccable taste in wine?"

Mihawk's interest piques visibly. His eyebrows arch ever so slightly as he turns to Shanks. "Is that so?"

Shanks nods enthusiastically, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Indeed. She’s quite the connoisseur. It's been rather difficult finding wines she will actually dink."

Mihawk's gaze returns to you, curiosity mingling with respect. "Very well then," he says. "Let's put that claim to the test."

Mihawk offers his arm and without taking your eyes off his incredible hawk-like eyes, you step forwards and slid your hand through his arm. His embroidered jacket feels deceptively soft beneath your fingertips as Mihawk turns to lead you to the wine cellar.

As you walk away, Shanks' voice rings out behind you. "Oi, Mihawk! You better not seduce my future wife with the allure of your wine cellar!"

You can almost hear the smirk in Mihawk’s voice as he replies without turning around. "I assure you, Shanks, my intentions are purely professional."

"I never said mine were," you inject with a soft giggle, smirking to yourself as Shanks groans in exasperation. You glance back to see Shanks shaking his head with a grin, clearly trusting Mihawk despite his playful warning and your teasing words.

Benn slaps his shoulder. "Seems like Aria finally met her match," he says with a smirk.

Mihawk leads you through the castle, his stride steady and purposeful. The air inside feels cooler, a refreshing change from the outside humidity. As you descend into the wine cellar, the earthy scent of aged oak and fermented grapes envelops you. Rows upon rows of barrels and bottles line the stone walls, creating an ambiance that is both inviting and mysterious.

He gestures to a polished wooden table set with an array of crystal glasses. "Shall we begin?"

You nod, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of this unexpected adventure. Mihawk carefully selects a bottle from the nearest rack, its label aged and slightly faded.

"This," he says, holding it up for you to see, "is a vintage from the Muggy Kingdom's prime years. A deep red with notes of blackberry and leather."

He pours a small amount into your glass, the rich liquid catching the light as it swirls. You lift it to your nose, inhaling deeply. The aroma is intoxicating—earthy with a hint of spice.

You take a sip, letting the wine coat your tongue before swallowing. "It's bold," you observe, savoring the lingering taste. "The tannins are firm but not overpowering. There's an underlying sweetness that balances it out."

Mihawk nods appreciatively. "Precisely. The balance is key with this vintage." He pours himself a glass and takes a sip, his eyes closing briefly in contemplation.

He reaches for another bottle, this one with a more vibrant label. "Now, for something different—a white wine from Sabaody Archipelago."

As he pours the pale liquid into your glass, you notice its light, almost translucent color. You bring it to your lips and take a sip.

"It's crisp," you say thoughtfully. "With hints of citrus and green apple. The acidity is sharp but refreshing. A rather pleasing wine for a spring day I should think."

Mihawk smiles faintly. "An excellent observation." He takes his own sip, his eyes meeting yours over the rim of his glass.

The two of you continue like this, moving through various bottles and vintages as if time has no hold on this hidden cellar. Each wine brings its own story—a tale of land and climate, of skillful hands and patient aging.

"This one," Mihawk says, presenting a bottle with an intricate label depicting waves crashing against rocks, "is from Water 7. A complex red with layers of flavor—cherry, tobacco, a hint of Agua Laguna sea salt."

You taste it and nod in agreement. "It's like drinking the essence of the sea itself. How peculiar…"

The hours slip by unnoticed as you and Mihawk delve deeper into the wine cellar, your conversations echoing softly against the stone walls. Each bottle brings with it a new discovery, a fresh wave of flavors and stories that bind you in a shared passion for the art of winemaking.

“This one,” Mihawk announces, holding up a dusty bottle with reverence, “is from a small vineyard in Alabasta. Only a few dozen bottles were ever made.”

You gaze at the bottle with wide eyes, excitement bubbling within you. “Oh I do so wish to have a taste,” you say wistfully, barely able to contain your enthusiasm.

Mihawk’s eyes gleam with mischief as he uncorks the bottle and pours the deep, crimson liquid into your glass. The aroma is intoxicating, rich with the scent of dark berries and exotic spices. You take a sip, savoring the complex layers of flavor that unfold on your tongue.

“Exquisite,” you murmur, closing your eyes to fully appreciate the taste.

Mihawk nods in agreement. “Indeed. The winemaker was a true artist.”

The conversation flows as easily as the wine, each topic leading naturally into the next. You find yourself discussing the merits of various wine regions, debating which climate produces the best grapes.

"Alabasta's dry heat brings out such intensity in the grapes," Mihawk states firmly.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "But nothing compares to the cool breezes of Sabaody Archipelago. The balance it brings is unmatched."

The night wears on and more bottles are emptied, your inhibitions soon fade away. You feel a lightness in your head, a warm flush spreading through your body.

“I’ve always wondered,” you begin, giggling as you struggle to form your thoughts coherently, “is Rosé closer to white or red wine? I think Rosé is clearly closer to a white wine,” you declare, your words slightly slurred from the wine. “It’s lighter, more refreshing. It’s like a summer breeze in a glass.”

Mihawk, equally inebriated, narrows his hawk-like eyes at you. “That’s where you’re wrong. Rosé is much closer to red wine. The process involves leaving the skins on for a short time, which imparts color and some tannins.”

You shake your head vehemently, nearly spilling your wine. “But it’s not just about the color! The flavor profile is lighter, the body is more delicate. It doesn’t have the same heaviness as red wine.”

Mihawk leans closer, his eyes burning with intensity. “The skins, Aria. The skins are crucial. They give Rosé its character. Without them, it would be insipid, lacking depth.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a surge of stubbornness rise within you. “But what about the acidity? Rosé has a higher acidity, much like white wine. It’s crisp and vibrant, not rich and bold like a red.”

“Acidity isn’t everything,” Mihawk counters, his voice rising slightly. “The structure, the backbone of Rosé comes from the skins and the tannins. It shares more DNA with reds than whites.”

Your cheeks flush with frustration and wine. “Oh please, Mihawk! Just because it has some tannins doesn’t make it a red wine! It’s all about the experience—the lightness, the freshness!”

Before Mihawk can respond, Shanks steps into the cellar, blinking in surprise at the heated exchange before him.

“What in the world are you two arguing about?” Shanks asks with a bemused smile.

You turn to Shanks, gesturing wildly with your glass. “This stubborn man insists that Rosé is closer to red wine! Can you believe that?”

Mihawk crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze never leaving yours. “And she insists it’s closer to white wine,” he says with a huff.

Shanks looks between the two of you, clearly amused by your drunken debate. “Is this what happens when I leave you alone with Mihawk for a couple of hours?” He chuckles. “You get drunk and start arguing over technicalities?”

You nod vigorously, pointing an accusatory finger at Mihawk. “He just doesn’t understand!”

Shanks steps closer, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Alright, alright, I think it’s time for bed,” he says, reaching for your hand.

You pull away, shaking your head defiantly. “No! We still haven’t figured out if Rosé is closer to white or red wine!” Your voice rises in pitch as you glare at Mihawk, who simply raises an eyebrow in response.

Shanks rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips. “You can debate wine all you want tomorrow. Right now, you need sleep.”

“But Shanks—” you begin, only to have your wine glass gently pried from your fingers. You let out a small noise of protest and your hands paw at the glass now out of reach, but Shanks remains undeterred.

“Come on, treasure,” he says softly, pulling you to your feet. The room spins slightly as you stand, and you grip Shanks’ arm for support.

Mihawk watches the exchange with a bemused expression. “Good luck,” he says dryly to Shanks.

“Thanks,” Shanks replies with a chuckle. “I’ll need it.”

As Shanks guides you out of the cellar, you continue to grumble under your breath. “It’s not fair… We were just getting to the good part…”

“I promise you can continue your debate in the morning,” Shanks assures you, his tone gentle but firm.

You pout but allow him to lead you through the castle halls. The cool air helps clear your head slightly, but you’re still unsteady on your feet. Shanks’ presence beside you is a comforting anchor as he steers you towards the guest quarters.

When you reach the room designated for you, Shanks opens the door and nudges you inside. “In you go.”

You turn to face him, eyes narrowed in stubborn determination. “This isn’t over.”

Shanks laughs softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t dream of ending it prematurely.” He leans down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead before guiding you towards the bed. "Sit, let's get you changed into your nightgown."

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your mind still swirling with the remnants of your wine-fueled debate. Shanks kneels before you, his one good arm working deftly to remove your shoes.

“You’re not as steady as you think,” he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You huff in response, crossing your arms over your chest. “I was perfectly steady until Mihawk started with his nonsense about Rosé being closer to red wine." You scoff at the idea.

Shanks’ touch is careful, almost reverent, as he sets each shoe aside. You watch him through the haze of wine, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. There's something undeniably comforting about his presence.

He stands and offers you a hand. "Up you go," he says softly.

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. The room sways slightly, but Shanks' steady grip keeps you standing. He begins to untie the strings of your dress, his fingers nimble despite the task being more suited for two hands.

You try to help, but your movements are clumsy and uncoordinated. Shanks chuckles softly. "Hold still, treasure," he murmurs. "Let me do this."

You nod and let your arms fall to your sides, trusting him completely. He is so endearingly attractive like this. The dress loosens and falls away, leaving you standing in your undergarments. Shanks unhooks your bra and pulls it from your arms as you blink.

He retrieves your nightgown from a nearby chair and slips it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with practiced ease. The fabric is soft against your skin, and you sigh from happiness.

"All done," he says, stepping back to admire his handiwork. You smile up at him, feeling a sense of calm settle over you.

"Thank you," you whisper, swaying slightly on your feet.

Shanks catches you before you can stumble, his arm wrapping securely around your waist. "Easy there," he says with a grin. "Let's get you into bed."

You pull back from Shanks’ embrace, shaking your head stubbornly. "I don’t want to go to bed yet," you insist, your voice still tinged with the defiance fueled by wine and unresolved petty debates.

Shanks sighs softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Alright, how about we cuddle instead?" His tone is gentle, coaxing, as if he knows exactly how to navigate your stubbornness.

You pause, considering his offer. The idea of cuddling sounds incredibly appealing. Reluctantly, you nod.

Shanks’ smile widens as he guides you to the bed. "Come on then," he says, settling down and pulling you into his arms. You nestle against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. His lone arm wraps around you securely, holding you close.

The room is quiet except for the soft sounds of your breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets. You feel safe in Shanks’ embrace, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the swirling haze of wine and emotions.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. "Feeling better?" he asks softly.

You nod against his chest, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. "Yes," you murmur. "This is nice."

Shanks chuckles softly. "Thought it might be." He continues to stroke your hair, his fingers moving in slow, rhythmic patterns that lull you further into relaxation. Your eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment, the warmth and comfort of Shanks' embrace making it impossible to stay awake.

Date Published: 8/19/24

Last Edit: 8/19/24

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#shanks x reader #one piece shanks #shanks x you #red haired shanks #shanks #akagami no shanks

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dilutedconfusion · 10 months ago

Text

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass x F!Reader (Part 2)

I’m literally SO happy that ya’ll seemed to enjoy the first chapter of this. Like I’m microscopically close to jumping through the screen and giving ya’ll big consensual forehead smooches. Hopefully ya’ll like where I’m taking this story cause I’m super EXCITED.

Summary: You are still waiting at the docks on your small island in hopes that your intuition was right and something big was about to happen. Regardless of Kid’s freshly amputated arm, curtesy of Benn Beckman, he is hopeful he can find some semblance of rest on your island because everyone knows he needs it. You don’t though and will prove to be a thorn in his side.

Warnings: Light mention of torture

Word Count: 5.5k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @st4rfevrr (If anyone else wants to be tagged for each new chapter just let me know in the comments<3)

You had just finished up the last page of sketches covered in whatever came to your mind. Tulips of course followed by a cicada you’d seen earlier and a few hands for the sake of anatomy practice.

The sun was getting lower in the sky and a web of clouds was rolling in. The original bright blue and hazy sky now cast in puffy gray clouds.

Must’ve rolled in with the wind. You thought, chewing the inside of your cheek and feeling the temperature drop around you by at least a few degrees. Another summer lighting storm.

You started gathering up your supplies. Shoving them back into your satchel in preparation for the downpour that could very well happen. The shipyard nearby was quieting down. The small town you lived in far to laid back to work into the late hours of the afternoon. Each person leaving with the scent of raw sawdust and a little slicker for the incoming rain.

You didn’t really want to go, despite the old man's warnings to keep yourself warm and out of harm's way. You leaned back on the dock with your hands. Looking up at the clouds as you sloshed around the water below with your feet. Feeling a piece of slimy seaweed brush against your calf you kicked it away in disgust. More in love with the feeling of cold water and less with the feeling of clammy plant life.

Eye unfocusing you just stared out.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe nothing is coming. Doubt was starting to creep into your thoughts. This deep root of obsession curling around the base of your spine though this feeling was becoming more and more misplaced.

Or maybe I’m a human weather reporter. Should've guessed my feeling was about some goddamn rain. You let out a weak little chuckle at that. Feeling rather stupid for being so engrossed by something that wasn’t even happening.

Your eyes naturally drifted back down to the horizon. Staring at the distant hazy line and tracing it with your eyes.

Until of course your body froze up and you paused.

Eyes narrowing and body naturally leaning forward you looked out. A speck of something in the distance. Floating at a seemingly even pace towards your humble island.

What the-

You cut yourself off mid-thought. Noticing of course that speck was a ship. Some strange yellow shape at the front of its hull. Black sails raised and thrown forward with the wind.

“Is…is that?” You said to yourself, voice hoarse from disuse. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. The ship is a grand distance away making your eyes struggle to pick out any noticeable details. Everything blurring into a strange mix of colors and shapes.

There’s a flash of purple at the bottom. Strange…red marks at the top of the white. Blue…and yellow squares? You thought, trying to make out the sail.

Pirates. It has to be pirates.

This realization hit you like a train. Hitting your core first before reverberating through your body. Stomach swelling with an almost unmanageable feeling.

This must be it. The feeling. I knew something was coming.

It was relatively normal for pirates to visit your island but for some reason this felt different. It felt new.

“Goddamn it I was right!” You yelled, bolts of electricity shooting up and down your spine. A big bright smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It was strange to be happy over the arrival of pirates but the joy you felt wasn’t something you could swallow down and force yourself to be ashamed of. Sliding your ass off the dock to stand, you continued to stare out at the ever approaching boat.

Turning your head you looked behind you and out onto the island. The docks and shipyard are now void of human life except for yourself. The village, which was a good distance up the trail, had nothing but warm lantern lights and the distant shadows of buildings. The streets barren as people headed for shelter from the incoming storm.

I’m alone. You thought, that feeling crawling on your skin like a slug. It was both terrifying and exhilarating the prospect of being alone.

But what happens when those pirates get here? Who knows what they want? Most just come to restock but…maybe this feeling in my gut is telling me otherwise.

Like something bad is going to happen.

Now here you were, caught between a rock and a hard place. Technically you should go inform somebody about this. There was a few men that guarded this village, one of them being your father.

He’s not going to like this. You thought, knowing all two well how protective that man was.

I mean it makes sense…he knows how a pirates mind works after all.

But on the other hand…you didn’t want to say anything. Not ruin the sanctity of what the village had for the night. Give these pirates the benefit of the doubt just like you had to for the other pirates that came ashore.

Sure…they’re criminals but what’s so wrong about that? Not all criminals are bad. I know that. You told yourself, feeling conflicting morals and pressures on you. You’ve always hated the world government and the marines. You had your personal reasons but in general authority usually didn’t sit right with you. Being close to criminals but not actively being one was a main prospect of your life. Though your father also told you stay clear of anyone you didn’t know. That he wasn’t going to let you get hurt again.

Goddamn it. You were starting to feel a bit guilty that you were even considering staying. To just stand here and put yourself in danger.

Your hands were shaking at your side. Not out of fear but this strange tugging feeling you had on your body. Eyes gliding across the space between you, the sea, and that boat. Willing you towards it. A siren’s call of the wind forcing you to stay.

The boat’s features were becoming more and more defined. You noticed now that the strange yellow blob at its hull was actually a skull. Huge sharp teeth cast in deep shadow from the overcast. It looked like it could easily swallow you whole. Staring into its gaping mouth expecting to see the souls of the damn.

But instead you saw the shape of a man.

Is that a…red puffball?

You squinted your eyes and leaned forward. Placing your hands on your knees trying to decipher what the hell you were looking at.

If I stay here…does that just mean they're going to float on up and dock, only to find a random girl staring at them? That’s…a bad idea for sure. Maybe I should…watch from a distance? Hide maybe?

As you thought this over the boat was only approaching more and more. Its looming height and huge hull cast deep ripples in the sea. It was amazing. The Jolly Roger one you could’ve sworn you’d seen before. Maybe on a newspaper or bounty. But either way the gothic aesthetic was a dark sheen that melded with the gray clouds above. Deep green tones, purples, and the warm glow of lanterns making the whole ship so ominous and captivating.

Your skin prickled with goosebumps, something alluring you towards it. Nearly making you want to jump into the sea to swim towards the boat. You hadn’t been on a boat like that in a long time. Waves of nostalgia wafting over you.

I can’t just stay here on this dock and look like an idiot waiting to get captured. What am I supposed to do? Say “Ahoy there mateys,” and pretend that’s normal?!

But no matter how much you tried, you just wouldn’t move. To get off this dock and hide in the nearby brush was your best bet. Yet you were stuck in place as if your own two feet were deciding your destiny.

So you waited like a petrified stone. Staring out at the boat right on the edge of the dock. Ready to greet whoever was aboard.

__________

Well there's a total idiot within cannon fire distance.

Kid thought, a scowl melded to his face as he stared at a random girl standing at the edge of the dock. He still hasn’t moved from his spot next to the helm. Eyes glued to the island until the moment he noticed a person just standing there.

It had caught him off guard. Scanning the rest of the docks and shipyard with keen eyes to spot no other signs of life. Wondering exactly why she seemed to just be staring at them.

Is she petrified from fear? He thought, gaining a small pleased grin at the corners of his lips. But as they approached closer she didn’t look scared. Her face covered in a small smile though it had a nervous curl around its edges.

Oh, so she is just stupid. He thought with a little grunt, going back to that same scowl. His lack of eyebrow raising in mild confusion.

“Who is that?” Heat muttered still softly guiding the ship towards the dock. The wood groaned a bit at the smooth meandering pace.

“Don’t know. Maybe she’s here to greet us. Offer up chocolates and a warm towel.” Kid grumbled out, turning around in one swift motion to head towards the door back onto the main deck. Heat let out a little chuckle at that as he stroked back his blue locks. Taking note of his Captain leaving with tracing eyes.

“Want me to dock right next to her?” Heat asked, knowing full well there were three docks he could choose from. Each with enough space to hold their mass of a ship.

Kid paused, his boots stopping in place as he barely turned his head to look back at Heat. His face quizzical for only a moment, eyes rolling as he faced forward once more. “Go ahead.” He murmured, finally grabbing the door handle and stepping out of the room.

The wide expanse of his main deck was thrust upon him. Walking out onto it to find a good number of his crewmates sitting around idly. The sound of playing cards flipping and quiet conversation floating across the deck.

Kid sauntered towards his first mate, who was standing by the banister at the edge of the Victoria. His back leaned up against it and a small notebook in hand.

“Did you give everyone their lists?” Kid asked, sliding up next to Killer. His single hand grabbing onto the banister as he stared out at sea.

“Yep. Everyone knows what to get. We’ll be fully stocked in at least two days most likely.” Killer’s voice sounded a bit raspy, using his free hand to clip the pen he was holding to the notebook before sliding it in his back pocket.

Kid let out a low grunt of an answer. Still stuck on staring out at the incoming island. That figure of a woman making his stomach churn for whatever reason. Killer silently watched Kid next to him. Staring at him through the holes of his mask.

“Quit staring.” Kid glanced at Killer, not even moving his head before looking back at sea. Killer’s body shifted in response, turning his body out towards the sea to mirror Kids.

Killer didn’t speak for a moment, not willing to apologize considering there was a pretty good reason to be staring.

Killer could see the slightly more purple and deep bags under Kids eyes. Or the way his skin seemed just a few shades paler than usual. No matter how much he tried, Kid hadn’t been eating or drinking consistently. Too concerned to concoct a blueprint for his perfect prosthetic arm. That paired with a huge gaping wound and a decent amount of scars would not prove well. Killer knew that and had talked to Kid about it. Kid had gotten angry and shut himself in his workshop for a whole day.

So though Killer wanted to pester him he decided against it. Instead he glanced at that girl. Watching how Kids eyes glided to her.

“Strange isn’t it? We never have anyone to greet us.” Killer finally spoke, breaking the silence between them.

Kid didn’t reply, eyes narrowed in that usual scowl he often held. So Killer spoke once more, “Doesn’t look like a marine. But either way it doesn’t matter.”

Kid finally glanced at Killer, eyes tracing his partner's mask a tiny bit before responding. “I’ll kill her myself if she’s a problem. That’s why it doesn't matter.”

__________

OH shit here we go.

This was it. Or at least it felt like it was.

The boat was fucking huge. That looming presence almost became suffocating as it floated towards your dock. The huge mast touching the clouds from your perspective as your chin was forced to tilt upwards. It wasn’t the biggest boat you’ve seen. But it's the biggest boat to dock on your humble island in a while.

The waves crashing against the docks and splashing up on you just a tiny bit. A loud clunking noise was heard, drawing your attention to the lower side of the hull to spot a huge anchor. Sinking down into the sea with a loud splash, the chain wider than your arm.

So enamored by the ship you didn’t notice the two men watching you at first. Their eyes fixed on your presence as they stared down at you. Eerie shadows cast on the hills and bumps of their features.

Eventually you did glance up at them, turning your body more to face the boat as it groaned and settled next to your dinky dock. A bright blush and a twitchy smile smearing across your face.

Should I say something? You thought, panic flooding your veins as the two men leered at you. The one on the right was unfamiliar. His blue and white striped mask was a bit demeaning as you couldn’t tell the expression he was making. Tan arms crossed over his wide chest. One, you noticed, covered in some kind of scars.

The other man must’ve been the one before. That red puffball you saw was actually his fur coat hanging loosely on his shoulders. His hair spiked red, helping with the fluff ball illusion. It was nerve wracking to make eye-contact with him considering he was giving one hard scowl. Those low amber eyes of his nearly poking holes through your soul. But when you caught a glimpse of his arm, or moreover lack of arm, your eyes softened.

Pirates. Always getting hurt aren’t they? You thought to yourself before deciding it was best not to stare and just say something. Even if you sounded stupid.

“Hello!” You yelled, making sure they could hear you from their height. Your voice is a tiny bit higher than usual from the nerves.

The one in the mask didn’t move an inch, showing no indication he even heard what you had said. But his partner clearly did, the skin of his eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“What the fuck do you want?” He yelled out, his voice so low you could’ve sworn you felt the dock shake. It made you blush up more. Both his rudeness and voice catch you off guard.

Your mouth went agape to speak but you didn’t say anything right away. Taking a second to try and concoct something that sounded half-way normal.

“Uhh…nothing. Nothing from you. Just an onlooker. Here to greet you.” You tried to explain, fiddling with your hands a tiny bit.

An onlooker? Seriously? That’s the best you can come up with? You scold yourself. It was true but you really didn’t want to admit you were just standing here out of morbid curiosity.

The redhead gaze only got more annoyed. Jaw visibly tightening a bit. “Well we’re not a fucking zoo and we don’t need your greeting. Go stare at somebody else.” He said, his words sounding more like a command set in stone.

He abruptly turned around and walked away from your line of sight. Going deeper on deck as you heard a loud rousing of multiple people’s footsteps.

Right. There’s a whole lot of people up there. Not just two scary men. You chewed your lip, looking down at the sea before glancing back up. The masked man surprisingly was still staring down at you. Quiet as a mouse but clearly studying you for whatever reason. It made your body tense up, hoping he would stop whatever he was doing and thankfully he did.

But as soon as he turned around, a plank slid down off the edge of the banister of the ship. Your body jumped at the sudden loud sound and you instinctively clutched your chest. Your habit of getting jump-scared easily kicking in.

The plank was towards the middle of the dock whilst you stood at the end. Feeling awkward you backed up a tiny bit, just waiting for somebody to stride down and rip you to shreds.

That same spiked fluff of red hair walked down first. It suddenly clicked in your brain that he must be the Captain. The Jolly Roger a dead give away now that you actually put two and two together. He eyed you as he finally stepped down on the dock, his crew members following behind but walking past him towards the island.

“Did you even hear what I said? Get lost!” Kid stated, his teeth snarling a bit as his frustration rose.

You blinked at him in almost genuine surprise. He clearly wanted nothing to do with you. Which was a reasonable feeling yes but the fact that he was being so upfront about it rubbed you the wrong way. Especially since you wanted to be nothing but kind and didn’t even bother to go warn anyone of their arrival.

Your eyes narrowed in annoyance as you spoke,“I’m not doing anything wrong. I just got curious.”

“Well you and you’re stupid curiousity can get fucked.” Kid spat, not even taking a second to try and understand what you had just said. It was very apparent to you that he viewed you as a nuisance. Making you cringe in near defeat.

But something else boiled inside you. Not appreciating one bit that a man was talking to you like that. You were timid at times, sure. But you were also a total bitch. Putting your hands on your hip and furrowing your brows you glared at him.

“Excuse me? I clearly think this is interesting if I’m standing here in the line of fire. I live on this island and have every right to eye anyone who washes up on shore. So if you have such a problem with that then you need to check yourself, buddy. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” You spat back at him with a lot more force.

The sudden change in your tone made the redhead freeze. Red painted lips turning to a thin line as he just stared at you. Clearly thinking over what to say or whether he should just knock you out.

This was really testing his patience. In all honesty all he wanted to do was get inland, find a bar, drink until his brain buzzed and then go back to his ship to pass out.

So he paused, willing his exhausted brain to actually try to break down what you said. Hearing that you were stroking his ego by finding ‘this interesting’ was enticing. But that attitude written all over the way you acted was something he’d like to wipe off with your own blood. But when he thought past his urges and felt how his stump was starting to ache, he backtracked. Deeming you not worth his time.

“Whatever. Touch my ship and you're dead. I don’t even want to fucking look at you so back off.” Kid grumbled out, turning away from you to start heading down the dock.

A bolt of pain shot through his arm. Like a headache in the most inconvenient place ever. Forcing him to grunt and stumble just a tiny bit as he walked. The man in the mask followed suit after the redhead. Turning his mask to give you a sparing glance before walking in stride with his companion.

You stood there dumbfounded. Fists clenching at your sides by the way he just brushed you off. Sure he had every right to. You were just being nosy after all but that didn’t mean he needed to treat you like that.

Is a little human fucking decency too much to ask for?

You really didn’t know what to do. Looking up to notice the spare glance from a rather large man with a combed back mohawk. He was standing up on the deck as he grabbed the plank off the dock and slid it back into the ship. Small beady eyes glaring at you in a defensive manner. “Move along,” he said with a slight snarl.

Your lips turned into a soft frown and you just started walking. Not willing to put up with the guard dogs they had for the ship. You could still see the redhead and blondie walking ahead. Meandering down the cobblestone pathway towards your village in the valley.

Walking along the same path it started to feel more and more like you were following them. Their long ass legs nearly walking at your average jogging speed so they were creating more and more distance between you. Watching with keen eyes as that huge fur coat billowed in the chill breeze. You could still feel that magnetic feeling in your core. Intuition or what some would call your psychotic brain urging you to keep your eyes planted on him. Or maybe both of them? Or maybe just interesting pirates in general? You didn’t want to assume your facinatation was with such a rude man.

I crave danger. Yeah, that’s all it is. He’s the Captain so he’s the source of it all.

You were so lost in your mind that you hadn’t even seen the redhead turn around and look at you. He halted instinctively when he sensed you trailing behind him. His jaw so tight it could nearly snap. “Are you following us?!”

Your eyes shot up from the ground. One foot mid step so it hit the ground with some extra force as you suddenly halted. The pair were about 50 feet ahead of you so maybe he had to shout so you could hear him over the wind. Or maybe he was just angry.

Yeah…that sounds more likely. You rolled your eyes a bit, taking a deep breath before responding.

“I wasn’t just to be clear but can I at least get your name?” You asked, taking a few more cautious steps towards him. Technically you were sort of following him but you weren’t going to verbally admit that.

Kids’ eyes turned to small slits. Judging you with utmost intensity. The blondie next to him surprisingly spoke or at least you think he did. Mask turned towards his companion but the wind was too strong and his voice was too quiet for you to hear anything. The redhead glanced at him, eyes twitching like a madman but something in him became noticeably more relaxed. Despite this though he still looked back at you, not holding anything back in terms of emotional regulation.

“How about instead of following people around like lost a puppy you go read a newspaper for once? You’ll find my name there, fuck-face!” He yelled, his tone sharp and quick. Proceeding to turn around and start up that same brisk walk they were at earlier.

Again you frowned softly. Face hardening in annoyance but you controlled your urges to just go up to him and give him a piece of your mind. Standing there in the middle of the trail, watching the pair get hidden by the green brush of the trees.

He says something like that again and I’m going ape shit on that cocky bastard. You thought, your mind mirroring the sky as it brooded and swirled with a storm. A rather stupid thought came to mind. One that was probably a bad idea but…it sounded fun.

You know what? Who cares about meeting these pirates in a normal way. Maybe my intuition was right and they really are just bad news.

And if that’s the case then…why not mess with them a bit? Bad people deserve bad things right?

You’ve escaped death a good handful of times. Dealt with pirates who were once foe and now friend. Or who wanted to kill you but you poked at them regardless. Who said these pirates had to be any different?

It’s my civic duty anyways. To keep an eye on them. I’ve got nothing better to do anyways. You thought, a devilish smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The wind hit your spine and you shivered hard. Tugging on your jacket a bit tighter to keep it snug against your skin. A bright shock of light split the sky in the distance. The lightning danced for one moment before disappearing abruptly until eventually the thunder made it to you, nearly vibrating your ear canals.

You kept a good distance behind the rowdy group of pirates. Watching them as they split off into different shops that still happened to be open. Along with puffball and blondie walking into the only bar in town.

It was a well built brick building but showed clear signs of age. The old rickety sign fluttering in the wind on squeaky chains. A warm glow emitting from the few windows that lined the building. You hesitated for only a moment. Not wanting to walk in with them at the front of the bar. You hoped they would sit down somewhere. Give you time to think about what you wanted from a distance.

So you adjusted your clothes and hair a bit, willing your confidence to take the helms before you finally stepped through the wooden door, letting it creak open loudly before swinging shut. Eyes flickering over your surroundings with quick succession.

There was a fireplace off to your right hand side. You eyed it for a moment watching the low crackle of a small fire caught within the hearth. A few plush lounge chairs surrounded it with small tables covered in ashtrays and magazines. The bar was in the center of the large room. You noticed the dark oak bar looked freshly polished as you made your way up to it. The glass bottles lining the shelves behind it were glistening in the low warm lighting of the room. Booths were lined up on all the walls and even went behind the bar. A step or two leading down into the more private area in the back.

There was a decent sized crowd lingering in the seats but the overall vibe was quiet as per usual for your island. You weren’t used to going into bars so the culture and mannerisms were a bit foreign to you. But you tried your best as you eased down on a barstool. Focusing on getting a drink and settling in before you’d let your eyes wander to find the men of the hour. A short and stout woman on the other side of the bar walked over to you. Offering a curt smile before leaning forward attentively.

“Whaddya having?” She asked softly, swiping the edge of her blonde bob behind her ear. You searched your brain realizing you hadn’t a clue what you wanted to drink. Landing on the first thing that popped in your mind you responded, “Can I get a daiquiri?”

“Coming right up.” She gave you another quick nod and started walking off towards the other end of the bar. You didn’t want to look too suspicious staring around at the room but it was rather dimly lit in most places. Turning your head slightly to look behind you as you traced over the booths you made out a few old men sharing a pitcher of beer and a couple loners like yourself.

Other than that there was no duo to be seen.

Goddamn it. They must be in the back room.

The bartender walked back over towards you. A rounded glass with a medium sized stem sliding across the wood. The edge rimmed with sugar and a sliver of lime floating on the edge. “Thank you.” You mumbled looking between her and the drink before grabbing it.

She simply just smiled and started to walk away again. But before she could leave you spoke up. “Can I ask you a question?” She turned her head back towards you, eyes a bit wide but polite regardless.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Do you happen to keep some newspapers on hand? I didn’t see anywhere I could buy one.” You asked her, thumb absentmindedly rubbing across your glass.

“Ooh sorry, must’ve forgot to pull out the newspaper stand out today.” She said politely, quickly bounding over to a small chest on the floor. You watched her and leaned forward a bit to see over the edge of the bar as she squatted down. She pulled open the chest and inside was stacks upon stacks of newspapers lined up neatly.

“What date were you looking for? I keep all the recent newspapers on hand for customers.” She asked, looking back up at you. You chewed your lip for a second, a bit unsure exactly what to ask for.

“Well umm I’m looking for any headline about pirates. Anything within the last two weeks maybe? I can look so you don’t have to.” You told her, feeling a bit bad that this woman seemed so adamant about flipping around through some newspapers for you.

She simply shook her head and grinned once more. “It’s not biggie. I don’t mind taking a minute or two to look. Pirates you say? I think I remember seeing a newspaper with a headline about pirates a while ago actually.” She started flipping through the newspapers, keeping her eyes on them as she spoke to you. “What pirates are you thinking of though?”

“I’m not too sure. Well I know who but I don’t know their names. You…might’ve served them? They came into the bar not too long after I showed up.”

When you said that her head immediately perked up, looking up and over at you as if you were a ghost. “That redhead? Yeah I served him.” She said before looking away and back down at the newspapers. Her fingers made quick work to find what you were looking for. “I guess I was…right about them being pirates. I see a lot of pirate folk in this bar…but that redhead seemed different. Like his britches were a bit bigger than the rookies that usually roll through here.”

You didn’t respond to what she had said. She was right of course. Lots of pirates rolled through here but most just stocked up and left quicker than they came. The noble town up north on your island is filled with marines who didn’t bat an eye when one of the people in your village died.

Your town was nice but if there was ever a day you didn’t give the pirates exactly what they wanted. Or even worse someone actually tried to fight back when they stole. Things would get ugly fast until eventually someone had to step in and in most cases it was your father. Yet this village was just a pit-stop so most pirates were too wide-eyed and excited about facing the New World to stick around.

“Oh here we go,” the bartender whispered out, holding a newspaper gently between her hands and looking it over. “Huh. Kid Pirates. Funny name for a man so large.” She mumbled out, standing up and turning around to hand you the newspaper. You grabbed it and gave her a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Hopefully it has what you’re looking for.” She started down to the other end of the bar to help out customers. Leaving you alone with the newspaper and the faint quiet crackle of the fire. You were a bit hesitant to look at it. Feeling like you might see something that would change your mind about messing with them. So you took a sip of your drink first, feeling the sweet and sour rum slide down your throat and land like lead in your stomach.

You flipped open the newspaper and pitched it between your hands. Eyes gliding over way too much information at once.

It was a picture of the redhead front and center. Or moreover two pictures of him. One where he looked just a bit younger and the other more akin to what you had seen earlier though he still had his other arm. The newer picture was him standing on the coast of an island. A small town behind him that was…on fire. Tall hellish flames and pitch black smoke rising up and out of shot.

Well…that doesn’t seem good. You thought, swallowing hard. Though surprisingly that picture didn’t freak you too much. But the other one sure did.

He looked younger and a little thinner. His smooth coat and loose pants were a mismatch of colors and patterns. Bare chested and two armed he stood within what looked like a street. The amount of jewelry and off putting ‘swagger’ made you nearly giggle. But when you saw what you could only assume were citizens tied up and nailed to a cross you did in fact, not giggle.

So he’s into torture and wore fugly clothing is basically what I’m getting from this.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Letting one half of the newspaper fall before picking it up again. Not exactly surprised but not pleased either.

The headline was “The Kid Pirates reemerged into the New World: Slaughtering civilians once again.”

Well shit.

A/N: HOPE YOU LIKED THIS LONG ASS CHAPTER <3 I feel like we all just want Kid and Y/N to like…talk more. Believe me they will of course I just really need to set the scene. Plus Kid is grumpy and in pain so he doesn’t feel like interacting with anyone so it makes sense. But the next chapter THEY WILL TALK and something BAD MIGHT HAPPEN. So uhhh…strap in boys it’s getting bumpy after this one. ALSO PEEP THE Y/N LORE HINTS.

#eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustasscaptainkid #x reader #killer one piece #killer op #kid pirates #one piece x reader #one piece eustass #massacre soldier killer #one piece

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lonestarbattleship · 4 months ago

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"USS CONSTITUTION, under the command of Captain Isaac Hull, sailed from Boston on August 2, 1812 to off the coast of Halifax, Nova Scotia. On the afternoon of August 19, 1812 Hull and his crew sighted the British frigate HMS GUERRIERE, under the command of Captain James Richard Dacres.

As GUERRIERE closed to within a mile of the CONSTITUTION, the British hoisted their colors the two ships engaged in a fire fight. The CONSTITUTION’s thick hull, composed of white oak planking and live oak frames, proved resilient to enemy cannonballs. During the engagement, an American sailor was heard exclaiming, 'Huzza! Her sides are made of iron! See where the shot fell out!'. After intense combat, the severely damaged Guerriere was forced to surrender.

The next morning, Hull made the difficult decision to scuttle GUERRIERE. CONSTITUTION sailed for Boston and arrived on August 30. News of Constitution‘s victory quickly spread through town and throngs of cheering Bostonians greeted Hull and his crew. A militia company escorted Hull to a reception at the Exchange Coffee House and more dinners, presentations and awards followed in the ensuing weeks, months, and years. USS CONSTITUTION, for her impressive strength in battle, earned the nickname 'Old Ironsides.'"

Date: August 19, 1812

U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command: NH 64419-KN, 66-335-L, 66-335-M, 54-017-A, 66-193-A, 07-763-A, 60-362-C

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peacefulandcozy · 2 years ago

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Instagram credit: __suzannah

#england #hull old town #york #lincoln #lincolnshire #villages #dark academia #dark academia aesthetic #streets #architecture #gothic architecture #beautiful village #uk #united kingdom #travelling #old building

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changelingsandothernonsense · 1 month ago

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Joshi's Top Ten Best and Worst places to jork it in Vvardenfell District

Part One here

Building on the initial post and an idea floated by @skyrim-forever (Check out theirs) and my own personal craziness. Here I introduce Joshi's Best and Worst Jorking location on Vvardenfell that he's sampled or wants to sample/ him on his soap box/ his hit list. Under a cut again for the whole NSFT thing. Remember this is all a joke.

The Best of the Worst! Vvardenfell Edition!

10. Best Suran

Oh...you're back aye? Right so why Suran? Simple, I spent most of my adolescence here. I got the fuck around since I wasn't really welcome back at the Estate unless Ilaro's out of town an let me tell you, he was rarely out of town. I used to hang out in one of the warehouses on the docks that was basically a poorly hidden hidey hole for Tong smuggling. Had to watch that warehouse a lot. I was a bored kid so yeah, I'm gonna fucking figure out that jacking off was a fun use of 5 minutes.

It just barely sneaks in because it's familiar an I don't know some fucked sense of sentimentality. Jerk it on the docks if you're feeling mildly adventurous...I think they rebuilt them...I don't think I burnt down more than the main pier?

Ah fuck me... 10. Worst That fucking boat!

It's dark, it's moist an it's covered in rats and their shit! The stench alone is a turn off. Then you got the fact that the whole thing moves, you are tied to the floor an you have zero privacy. Look if you are jerking it in the hull it's because you're desperate for a wank. It's a pitiful wank. It's an unsatisfying wank. It's something to do, sure, an we all fucking do it but like...I'd rather be doing it somewhere where I wasn't filthy and wasn't being looked at by some dumb fuck who's also over being locked up in a place where you can't stand up straight!

Like if you have to have a wank do it because eight weeks is way too long not to but it's certainly on my shit list.

9. Best Seyda Neen's Census and Excise Office

Now this one is more a fantasy of mine then anything I've actually done in the flesh (I got a husband with a brain who stops me from fucking up like that) but could you fucking imagine? I hate the Empire, I hate their taxmen and I fucking hate that old fuck who grilled me with inane questions for well over an hour when I needed a fucking piss! Every one of those fucks that work there deserve it an I don't give a fuck if that's crass! I guess this could go for Cosades' hovel in Balmora too, but that would require me actually going near any of his filthy fucking furniture! See this is why I need someone to think for me. 9. Worst Anywhere at the Erabenimsun camp.

Firstly, there is no circumstance where I'm remotely welcome here. My gahata had a bit of a power boner (fuck where do I get that from) an decided "Yeah I should just poison the Ashkhan because I think I can do a better job." An you wanna know how that turned out? The fuck split the tribe in half an got most of his clan killed. You know, I can't even set foot on the main tribe's border without getting an arrow to the face. Let alone find a spot to get my rocks off. Too busy running from the old blood price on my head to worry about blowing my load in Ulath-Pal's yurt- which I would have done if I had the chance let me tell you.

Give this place a skip if you value breathing.

8. Best The Urshilaku Camp

Specifically the yurt I'm staying in. Look, I do actually respect some things an this is one of them. Though, considering how long and how often I stay there, I'm gonna need some time to myself. I don't often have to take care of myself (what with me staying with Erra an all but keep that quiet aye?) but if I have to... It's up there with a locked suite at a corner club or like...a house? It's good coz I'm not being bothered too much. Just don't get upset about a little bit of ash getting thrown into the mix. It's a hazard of the Ashlands. 8. Worst Any an all Velothi Towers

I get it, you've been trudging through the wilderness all fucking day an you're tired. You see the ruins of some weird fucking structure in the distance. It's pretty solid looking an maybe you can set up camp in or near it. You do that, enter the ruin an after you've set up all your junk you decide to relax a bit. Think again fucker! Relace your pants an get the fuck out of there! If you're lucky, you'll escape an extremely offended Telvanni who doesn't appreciate you ruining his experiments after he's copped an eyeful. If you're unlucky, you'll find that you've offended a vampire coven an you gotta race out of there with your trousers around your ankles and a desperate need for a cure disease potion. Find literally anywhere else! 7. Best Erra's House

Erra bought a small house in Maar Gan not long after we met. We stay there whenever I need a rest an Erra wants to make a few drakes off the Redoran. It's that same "home" principle but I don't have to worry about locked doors on nothing coz the only person who's gonna catch me is just as likely to help me finish. I highly recommend...

Ah... nothing special it's just a nice, normal place to jack off if I'm bored an Erra's busy.

7. Worst Any Daedric Shine Ever

Just like the Velothi Towers. Easy trap when you're travelling and bone tired. You see these twisted towers in the distance an you're thinking "Fuck yes! A place to camp!" Maybe you've had the fortune of locating one of the ones that's by a pretty lagoon. It's so unbelievably tempting to just rub one out then take a nap. WRONG YOU DUMB FUCK! You ever been so close to cuming and then get attacked by a scamp who's angry you've intruded on it's house? No? Well don't make the same dumb mistakes I have then. 6. Best Balmora's Fighters Guild

Seemingly inconspicuous, yeah? Most members have a dormitory they share so not a lot of opportunity for privacy. This wouldn't even be on the list if I didn't have a giant bone to pick with their Master-at-Arms and her choice to basically use that whole outfit to do heavy work for Orvas Dren an the Camonna Tong. No, the reason this is so high is because I fucking relished in leaving a surprise in her desk draw. What can I say, I'm very, very petty an she's pissed me the fuck off enough times for me to get my rocks off at the thought of her angrily screaming at the mess.

6. Worst Ancestral Tombs

Firstly, I wanna know who'd go into one of these by choice? Then I'm gonna ask why the fuck they think whipping their dick out whilst in there is a good fucking idea? Like yeah I've wanked in some weird fucking places but I got standards! I do, I swear! Why you need to skip any and all ancestral tombs? Simple, try being sprung by this big fucking bastard.

You know, I was nursing a broken wrist and cracked ribs for weeks after facing one of these meat mangled monsters an I wasn't even doing anything particularly crass. Certainly wasn't jerking off or anything like that. Just had to pick up a skull...which is probably what summoned it. There is no scenario where it's safe to enter one of these places let alone whip your fucking cock out an rub one out on a whim. YOU ARE CRAZY! 5. Best Lake Amaya

I made it pretty clear that I like pretty things an fuck me is this lake pretty. If you go to the side with the wildflowers, you'll have one of the nicest places on Vvardenfell to let loose. I used to camp here a lot when I was travelling the Ascadian Isles an Erra's pretty partial to it too. Kinda honeymooned here. Anyway it's just a nice, normal place to blow off some steam. Something that can't be said for the rest of my pics so um...get used to it?

5. Worst Every Dunmeri Stronghold

I think you've probably figured out by now that no place on this Blighted fucking island is safe at this point an that goes for these ziggurats from my people's golden age.

You know these things date back to before we all turned into grey skinned nutjobs? The power trip I could get from jizzing off the side of one ordinarily would be palatable. Of course this is Morrowind an no ruin is left unoccupied. If you're not getting attacked by a stronghold full of fucking Orcs then its something much, much worse. What you ask? I'll get to it in some of the additions that are higher on the list. Just...I don't fucking know, wait until you've cleared the place before you whip your dick out, yeah?

4. Best Dwemer Ruins

Look these can go one of two ways but for me a Dwemer ruin is like my favourite thing so I'm just beside myself excited when I'm trudging through them. It can take a while to clear these places out an I'm camping out as a result. You bet I'm rubbing one out an fucking enjoying it when I'm on my downtime. Just make sure you've cleared the chamber you're in of constructs before you get started. Nothing worse than just reaching the edge only to be assaulted by a centurion spider before I can climax... Look this might just be a me thing...um...

4. Worst Ghostgate

Yes, there's a small Temple based settlement here where you can stay at an inn or whatever but like why would you want to? I'm gonna be blunt, I can't get within a hundred metres of the place without having a fucking fit an that's mortifying enough to deal with in the middle of the Ashlands. I'm not even gonna have the opportunity to jerk off here because I can't enter the fucking building. So I asked my husband his opinion an he just looked at me like I was a fucking idiot for even considering but he got to choose entry five so it's not like he's completely against this list. Anyway I don't think this is a great place to crank it. Nope, you got Temple stink for one and that's wrapped in a thick blanket of Blight an ghost wailing if Erra's description's correct. I'm guessing it is. Look if you want to jerk off near some Tribunal Temple complex then maybe look at my next entry. Oh, Erra has a few thoughts on special mentions. Do set up camp on the coast of the Grazelands and watch the - Erra that's not what the list is about! I suppose you could find a bit of solitude out there but then you're dealing with Telvanni an you don't wanna jerk of near any of their towers. Mushroom stink is not something that turns me on okay. Oh an avoid the Corpruserium if you know whats good for you. I spent a good month down there an I can assure you, there is no good nut in there. Right number three, number three... 3. Best Maar Gan Temple

Like I said, if you want to stick it to the Tribunal by jerking off in their holy places then you may as well do it at the tourist attraction of all time. See there's a rock you can sit on an a bound Daedra you can tease if you're feeling a bit ah... antagonistic. Something that always gets me hornier than a kagouti in late autumn. I broke into the temple one night after it closed an just went to town. The burn on my ass from that Daedra's retaliation was so worth it! Highly recomend if you're into that kinda thing, yeah? 3. Worst Any and all Sixth House Bases

Just...why? Like what would possess you to jerk off in any of these places? I mean I can't keep myself present when I'm here, like I'm gonna jerk off whilst I'm at it. To start you have Blight an that should be more than enough to make your dick retreat all the way back. You gotta deal with Corprus Monsters an the Ascended too. It smells of death and if you aren't consumed into the hive then you're most likely dead anyway. I don't think you're gonna have long enough to get into the mood let alone finish. I do wonder though...do the higher Ascended have working plumbing? I um... It took me a while to get back to normal an sometimes it still doesn't ah...Don't need to know about that ah... 2. Best The Ministry of Truth and the Temple Canton

Lord Nerevar's home Vehk an there's nothing you can do to stop me! Look I'm not actually Nerevar or nothing... we share a brain an stuff an he's not... Look I can feel Nerevar has a hate boner going on for all this an that kinda affects me too. So anyway I'm justifying it by the fact that I get off on defiling places of power an this place is top of my shit list. Yes, I have cum in that Library as a fuck you to all this shit an I'll fucking do it again!

Maybe all over the Patriarch's desk? I think the bastard deserves it. Fucking cunt! 2. Worst Kogoruhn

Yes. I already put strongholds on the list but this one takes every shitty thing about Sixth House bases an Strongholds an wraps it all into one fucking package of fucked! Not only is it fucking crawling with Blight creatures but the thing is a giant fucking hive of Voryn's most loyal bitches. Those fucks are motivated, let me tell you! You want to know how I got through the Ghostfence without seizing? Here it is. The place is the only other opening to Red Mountain that exists an it's deep under the earth. You are not going to have the time to jerk off here! You are getting in an getting out as quickly as your skinny legs can carry you! Jerk off all you want later you don't want to be here! No one should be here! 1. Best The Cavern of the Incarnate

This is more a fuck you to the Deadric Prince an the artifact that ruined my whole life! I employ all of you to descend on this place in one big group and crank one out for me! It's what would truely make me happy...that an having my husband not be a damn ancestral ghost trying to remove the stylus from my hand as I write this but I can't have everything I want apparently. Why this is a prime jerk off spot? Well aside from my hate boner over Azura an Nerevar fucking with me, its actually kinda pretty for a shrine to a Daedra. Just um... find a place that isn't lined with the mummified remains of my predecessors, yeah? 1. Worst Akulakhan's Chamber

An on the flip side, where the end beguins an everything ends. I'm sure I don't really need to clarify why you simply shouldn't be whipping your dick out here but incase any of you need a reminder.

Not only did I spend the whole fight down here in the rescesses of my mind but when I did finally regain control of my body from Nerevar I was definetly not feeling primed for a good wank. You shouldn't either. You are dealing with cunt number one in a long line of cunts that seek to turn you into one of them an I'm not really interested in completing the transformation, yeah? Besides, I wasn't really given a chance to savour the ah...ambience of the bowels of a fucking volcano! Have you been in a magma chamber? I've been in more than my fair share an I can assure you it is unpleasent. Like a part of me wonders if it would just evaporate as it was coming out but i'm also not interested in getting my cock within five hundred meters of a magma pit but if you want to push your luck an trial that age ol "Dunmer are heat resistant" thing then you go ahead an go for it. I'll be over there, above ground, not doing that.

Anyway I think that's it. I gotta go like purify my husband's ghost with a conduit flame. He's fucking mad at me now over my top best pick.

#Jerking World Tour #Joshi's Top Ten Best and Worst Places to jork it in Vvardenfell District #danger!josh #nerevarine #nsft

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