#i could scream about this for ages at the tip of a hat. they are everything to me

[fishontumble]

Sanji cooks. He cooks and he buys more food to cook more. That’s his job on the Straw Hats. His meals dictate life and death on the open sea- he dictates life and death on the open sea.

Everyone on board respects this, and trusts their lives in Sanji’s delicate hands. After all, he’d rather lose his legs than let anyone starve on his account.

However, there’s one man he needs to go above and beyond to keep alive.

Lately, Sanji has been having recurring nightmares of Zoro sacrificing himself. Sometimes it’s a replay of his memories of Zoro refusing to explain why he was standing in a pool of his own blood, and other times it was new scenarios of him jumping in front of a stray arrow or giving himself up to the enemy. The worst part is even when he’s awake he knows Zoro absolutely would die in order to ensure the safety of anyone on the crew.

And so, Sanji tries to entice Zoro into wanting to stay alive longer.

“I bet I can come out of this fight with less cuts than you, mosshead. Unlike you, I know how to defend myself,” he challenges Zoro while fighting a fleet of marines. Everyone rolls their eyes at the ignition of another challenge between the two. However, Zoro was much more meticulous in protecting himself to prove he could come out unscathed.

“If you don’t make it back to the ship before me, that just proves that you’re just a directionless idiot,” he mocks, as everyone is fleeing a wild beast they encountered. Zoro scowls as he sheathes his swords and starts running ahead of Sanji. Of course, he got lost and was the last to the ship, but he returned without fighting the beast alone.

Sanji was running out of “challenges” that hid his true intentions. He couldn’t let Zoro out of sight, but he refused to let Zoro know that he worried about him more than anyone else, because at the end of the day, he’s the most probable to stay behind in a fight out of sight to save everyone but himself.

One night while chopping up vegetables and prepping some meals, his mind began wandering into dangerous territory. What if Zoro was in fact looking for a place to die? Maybe he promised to be Luffy’s wings until they both achieved their dreams, but what about afterwards? What if he was just testing the waters to see what kind of death suited him the best? Sanji felt sick.

The door swung opened and Sanji almost jumped out of his skin.

He turned and almost breathless, he said, “Zoro.”

Zoro stood at the doorway, a mocking comment at the tip of his tongue, but he realized that the look on Sanji’s face wasn’t one to make fun of. The cook was genuinely distressed about something. He just didn’t know it was about him.

Sanji took a breath and looked back at his knife. “Came for more alcohol?”

Zoro took a seat at the table and said, “No, I’m hungry. Make me something.”

Sanji clicked his tongue, “Not even a please, huh?” But regardless, he made some onigiri.

Sanji made some tea to go with it, and poured a cup for himself as well to find a reason to sit down with Zoro. The creaking of the planks as the boat rocked back and forth kept the room from being too silent.

Sanji figured this was the time, since nobody was around.

“When I die…” “What?” “Just listen!”

Zoro scowled but remained silent.

Sanji looked down at his hands on the table and continued, “When I die, I’d prefer to die either by old age or in battle.”

He looked up at Zoro, bashful now, “And I need someone around who can kill me in battle, if I can’t grow old.”

Zoro sighed and took a bite of his onigiri. While chewing, he chuckled, “Is this what your sulky attitude has been about? Yeah, I’ll kill you if you’re still alive by the time you turn fifty.”

“Fif- that’s not even that old!” Sanji screamed, shocked by Zoro’s nonchalant attitude.

Zoro shook his head, “Fine. Sixty.”

Sanji shook his head in disbelief, “Are you joking around right now? You know what? Never mind, I never should have brought this up.”

He stood up abruptly, and Zoro grabbed his wrist. He was leaning over the table uncomfortably, so Sanji took his seat again, and so did Zoro. He let go of Sanji’s wrist, the one not looking him in the eye this time.

“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t die before we grow old. I know what your little competitions have been about, and I know I shouldn’t be worrying you when we all have our-“

Sanji snapped, “I want to worry Zoro! I just don’t want you dead! How can I worry about a dead person? I want to be able to wake up every morning forever and think of new recipes that you might like and go to bed every night knowing your stomach is full!”

Sanji buried his head into his hands, embarrassed. He realized how he sounded, and that was probably why Zoro was staying silent.

“Cook- no, Sanji. Look at me.”

Sanji slowly moved his hands away, and met eyes with Zoro who had never looked so red before.

Zoro spoke much more seriously, “I already promised you. That I won’t die before you. That I’ll live.”

Sanji lowered his eyes and nodded, not wanting Zoro to see the tears. That’s what he wanted to hear all this time.

[gorgeys]

i need more santana x rlly fem resder PLSSSS I BEGG

merry ex-mas ★ santana lopez x fem!reader

as the age-old saying goes: every sexy mrs. claus needs her slutty elf

word count: 3200 (how tf did this happen) warnings: sexual innuendos, santana being horny asf

christmas is about giving back.

at least that's what rachel told you when she signed you up for this gig against your will.  apparently your means of "giving back" included managing hoards of screaming children as an elf at the midtown mall.  the stuff of dreams, really.

"there's no way this is allowed," you say, emerging from the backroom and gesturing to the elf get-up you're wearing.

not that you don't like it, but the skintight strapless mini dress, thigh high stockings, and red heels seem appropriate for a strip club, not a children's event.

"i feel like i could get arrested for wearing this around kids."

"hey, on the bright side, i know you'll get tips," kurt says, both his and rachel's eyes glued to your figure.  rachel looks like she's going to spiral into a lecture about how your outfit is single handedly setting the feminist movement back fifty years, while kurt looks rather impressed.  "you look hot.  i know someone is not going to be able to keep it in their pants," kurt says, exchanging a knowing look with rachel.

"god, i thought it was christmas, not my birthday," santana chimes in, right on cue.

you turn to find her walking toward you, her gaze very obviously fixed on where the hem of your dress barely covers your ass.  she makes a show of dragging her eyes up and down your body with that annoying little smirk that says you're in for it now.  you know it well.

you're about to shoot back with something snarky when you finally notice what she's wearing.

after santa was a no-show, rachel forced santana into playing the role of mrs. claus.  except this was not the mrs. claus you were familiar with.

santana's fitted in a red velvet dress with white fur trim, cinched at the waist with a black belt, and it's barely more modest than your dress.  the sleeves are slipping perfectly off her shoulders and showing even more of her tanned skin while a santa hat hangs lazily off the side of her head.  she struts toward you in those black knee high boots and you hate how she makes you stutter on your words.  you hate even more how she knows it, judging from the way she challenges you with the raise of an eyebrow.

"got something to say, elf?"  she says, stopping right in front of you with her hands on her hips.

god, she's the worst ex on the planet.  she has been for the months she's been living with you, kurt, and rachel.  it took every shred of your dignity not to succumb to her charm as she pranced around your apartment, blatantly flirting and teasing you.  you don't know is how much longer you can resist her.

you swallow the lump in your throat.

"you look good, santana," you say as cordially and platonically as you can, making sure to keep your eyes on hers and nowhere lower.  santana clearly doesn't have the same concern.

"thanks, hot stuff," she says, leaning toward you.  the sickening nicknames were another one of her evil tactics.  "you look..." she starts, eyes wandering once more and smile growing.  "dangerous."

you hate the way her voice gets low, like she has you exactly where she wants you.

"can you be normal?  just for today?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.  the action inadvertently makes your cleavage pop, something you only realize when santana's eyes flicker downward and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

"definitely not when you look like that," she says.  "someone's gonna need to hold me back if we're gonna get through this shift."

you roll your eyes, turning away from her and pretending like your heart isn't beating a little faster.  you can feel her eyes shamelessly following you as you walk away. 

boy, is this going to be a long shift.

for the next six hours, your job is to lead each of the anxious kids to mrs. claus and place them on her lap.  it's a dream come true for santana.

she lazily lounges on her red throne, one leg crossed over the other like she's watching a private show.  she tunes out whatever the sweaty kid on her lap is yapping about in favor of watching you step forward and approach the next kid.

she thanks god that all the kids are so tiny because it forces you to bend down and place your hands on your knees in order to meet them at eye level.  she nearly chokes on air the first time you do it.  if she thought the view was great before, this was a different level.

santana makes sure you hear the way she sighs every time you bend over right in front of her face, your dress riding up so high it should be illegal.  you try your best to ignore her in the moment, but when you turn around with the little kid's hand in yours, it's hard to ignore the way she looks at you, like she wants to devour you whole.

kurt ushers the last kid away as you place the next one on her lap.  she doesn't even look at the kid, just stares at your cleavage.  she feels like it's taunting her as you bend toward her, helping the kid onto her lap.  you can feel her gaze burning a hole through you, but you avoid eye contact.

as she adjusts the kid in her lap, she intentionally places her hand right over yours where it's still on the kid's back.  you feel her fingers wrap possessively around your wrist and you finally cave, your eyes meeting hers.  you immediately regret it when you catch her smug expression.

"thanks, sweetheart," she says, lips twitching upward at the nickname.

only then do you realize that you're still frozen, bending over her lap when you should have moved away seconds ago.  you quickly snatch your hand out of her grasp and step back while pressing your lips together in a thin line, trying not to show that her stupid teasing is actually working on you.

unfortunately for you, she already knows.  she asks the kid what he wants for christmas, then she looks back up at you, a knowing, satisfied look on her face.

she takes your moment of weakness as an invitation; suddenly, her hands are all over you.

she's toying with the little bows on your stockings when you stand beside her chair, occasionally letting her hands trail up your thighs and excusing her actions as a "slip of the hand."  she revels in the trails of goosebumps she leaves up and down your legs.

"lint," she mumbles, a half-hearted excuse to wipe her hand over the front of your dress.  her eager fingers linger far too long to be friendly.

when you're helping a kid off her lap, her hand finds your hip, steadying you with a hard squeeze.  not that you needed any steadying to begin with.

you're barely able to control how your body naturally responds to her, her touch burning your skin like a wildfire each time.  you attempt a glare every now and then, though they don't disguise your feelings well.  santana only smiles devilishly.

it all comes to a head when she leans forward in her chair, reaching up toward your face.

"you got some lipstick right..." she trails off, thumb finding the corner of your lip.  your brain lags, leaving you completely defenseless as she slowly drags her finger downward across your bottom lip. "there," she finishes, her finger slightly wet from where it skimmed the inside of your lip.  you can only stand there, looking stupidly down at her.  "much better," she grins before leisurely licking her thumb for dramatic effect.

that's when rachel and kurt start to notice santana's wandering hands.

"can you stop sexually assaulting the elves?" rachel finally intervenes.  "it's workplace harassment."

"first of all," santana says, raising a finger and adopting that vindictive tone she reserves only for rachel.  "i'm mrs. claus, so all you spoiled little elves answer to me.  second, it's not harassment if she likes it."

your lips part as if you're about to protest, but nothing comes out.

"see," santana says, glancing over at your speechless form.  "she isn't denying it."

you sure as hell aren't.  not when her little touches and comments are making you feel like that excited high school kid again.  the one who fawned over santana and could barely go an hour without her lips on her skin.

she's so blatant that even the kids pick up on it.

"are you dating that elf?" one particularly loud boy asks, an accusatory finger pointing directly at you.  

you're temporarily dumbfounded by his audacity, but santana picks up the slack.

"i'm working on it.  you got any tips for girls that play hard to get?"

"alright!  great job!" you suddenly insert yourself, practically dragging the boy away from her.  you mouth a sharp "stop it," but santana's taunting smirk tells you she's not listening any time soon.

you can't even speak to her from then on, each interaction more damning than the last.  nevertheless, when you're standing idly beside her throne, she grabs your arm and subtly tugs you down so your ear brushes against her lips, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"y'know, i'd put you on the naughty list, but i think you'd like that too much," she whispers.

or: "you look so cute in that outfit, but i'd love to see you in just the hat."

you nearly choke on your own saliva when she says: "you know, if it weren't for all these eyes, i would've already bent you over santa's chair and made you-"

"santana!" you whisper-shout, recoiling from her so quickly that she can't help but laugh.  she's not taking any of this seriously.  "not in front of all the kids!"

"relax," she says, hand coming to your waist.  she calls it a success when you don't move away from her touch.  maybe you even ease into it.  "i think the kids agree with me," she says, nodding toward the next boy in line.

he's clearly entranced by you, his eyes fixed on your dress and his mouth hanging open.  she grins back at him, amused.

"you and me both, buddy!" she shouts, laughing like she's never seen anything funnier.  you only drag a hand down your face, praying the boy's parents didn't heard any of that exchange.

"you're going to be the death of me," you murmur, dragging yourself away from her.

"that's the plan, sugarplum!"

but when you are forced to talk to her, she makes it as hard as humanly possible.

"santana, can you hand me the box of candy canes?" you ask, back turned to her.

no response.

"santana?" you ask again, louder this time.  you glance over your shoulder and she's still there, lounging on her throne, casually inspecting her nails.  she definitely should have heard you.

"santana!" you shout, attempting to draw her out of whatever trance she's in.  until you realize she's ignoring you on purpose.

you roll your eyes, firmly holding your hands on your hips as you simply stare, waiting for her to acknowledge you.

"sorry," she says absentmindedly, gaze still fixed on her cherry red nails.  "i don't know anyone by that name."

you shoot her a confused look, one she can feel without even looking up, but then another kid runs up to her.

"mrs. claus!" the little girl shouts.

"hi, honey!" santana grins, reaching down and picking her up.

and then it clicks.  that's what she wants.

you stand there, nails digging into your hips and grimace taking hold on your face, until the little girl leaves.  santana still doesn't acknowledge you.

you sigh, already regretting the words that are about to leave your lips.

"can you pass the candy canes, mrs. claus?"

santana's head whips toward you, a smile spreading across her lips.  she hums, satisfied, reaching for the box without taking her eyes off you.  just as she extends the box and you reach out to grab it, she pulls back.

"say please," she says, lips jutting out in a fake pout.

you narrow your eyes at her, but she doesn't budge.  she only grins wider.

"just give me that," you huff, lunging forward and snatching the candy canes out of her hand.  she lets you take it, but not without noticing your hand graze her chest in the process.

"if wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask," she purrs, brushing her hair over her shoulder to grant you a better view.  you grumble something nonsensical under your breath about how much you hate her, but not without sneaking another glance at her. 

she notices because of course she does.

"god, you're so cute when you're grumpy."

when there's a lull in the line, she reaches into the box of candy canes, selecting one and unwrapping it slow enough that it catches your attention.  she lets it dance between her fingers for a moment before she slowly slides it between her lips, tongue swirling around the red and white stripes.  her eyes never leave yours.

she can see you stiffen from where you're standing on the other side of the set, so she tilts her head back, letting you see everything that you're missing.

"jesus christ," you mumble, forcing yourself to turn away from her.  you can't deny the pulse of heat that overcomes your body just thinking about her lips wrapped around the candy.  it's a scene right out of a bad porno.

when she's done, you know from the exaggerated popping sound of her lips.

"sweet," she drawls, knowing you're listening even if you pretend not to be.

your shift drags on into the hours of the evening, santana tempting you relentlessly while your resolve wears thin, until the mall is finally closing.

you release a sigh of pure relief as the last family disappears.  you turn, ready to follow kurt and rachel into the backroom and finally be rid of this sorry excuse for an elf costume, until santana beckons you back with one final trick up her sleeve.

"hey, elf," she calls out, voice laced with something arrogant.

you sigh, simply exhausted, before turning toward her with your hands on your hips.  she's still sitting in her big red chair like she owns the place.

"you've been such a good little helper today," she says, flattening her skirt.  "why don't you come take your turn in mrs. claus' lap, huh?" she asks, patting her thighs.

your brain short circuits. the way she's looking at you like you're the only thing in her orbit, the way she's slightly spreading her legs for you, how good she looks.  it's too much.

"yeah, you wish," you say, voice less than steady.  you should turn away and leave.  you really should.  but something keeps you there, staring back at the daring look in her eye.

"come on, baby, i know you wanna," she says, hands now rubbing her bare thighs, pushing her skirt up in the process.  you don't have enough willpower to look away anymore.  "you can pretend all you want, but i know you miss me."

maybe it's the exhaustion getting to you or maybe it's what you had wanted all along.  either way, you find yourself checking your shoulder, ensuring there's no spectators.  then you look back at her and realize that you don't care about playing this game anymore, about resisting temptation.  you just want her.

in no more than a few steps, you make your way across the set and drop yourself into santana's lap.  and you're not even perched tastefully on her leg like the kids were, you're fully straddling her lap like it's second nature.

the moment you land on her, you see the astonishment flash across santana's face.  she can't believe that her antics have actually paid off, but she doesn't let you sit with satisfaction of her surprise.  it's gone as quick as it appeared.

"merry christmas to me," she says, smiling wider than you've seen all day.  her hands quickly grab onto the back of your thighs, holding you tight like she's afraid you'll run away.  and god, it feels so good.  it's even better than you remember.

your hands slide over her bare shoulders before grabbing onto the back of the chair, ensuring your chest is flush against hers.

"happy now?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper and breath ghosting over her cheek.

she's trying to keep it together, but you can tell she's the one the losing her mind now.  her clenched jaw and focused eyes are tell-tale signs that she's trying to hold herself back, trying to keep control.

 "yup," she says, looking up at you like you hold the key to the world.  the key to her world.  "best view in the house."

"good," you say, hand falling against her shoulder and pushing her back against the chair.  she's more than content to let it happen, especially as you lower your face toward hers.  her gaze not so subtly flickers down to your lips.  "aren't you gonna ask?"

she doesn't respond for a second, too enthralled in you.

"huh?" she asks, lips open ever so slightly.

"aren't you gonna ask me what i want for christmas, mrs. claus?"

she whispers a barely audible curse under her breath, hands trailing up your body to claw at your waist over that dress that's been driving crazy all day.  she swallows.  don't you know what you do to her?

"what...what do you want for Christmas, baby?"

her lips are right there, practically twitching in excitement.  and for a second, you think you'll finally surrender to this magnetic pull she seems to have over you.  she leans in, nose grazing yours and lips parting like she's already imagining kissing you.

but at the last second, when you feel the slightest brush of her skin against yours, you find your willpower.  your fingers curl tightly around her shoulder and harshly push her back into the chair once more, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips.

"wouldn't you like to know."

then, out of fear that you'll fold if you stay any longer, you slide off her lap with a practiced ease.  she scoffs, dramatically throwing her head back against the chair, though she's not as annoyed as she is in awe.  you spare her an unreadable glance before you turn and leave her there.

now it's santana's turn to curse you out under her breath, especially as you walk away and don't even bother to pull down your dress when it rides up your thighs.  as much as she was trying to push you over the edge for the past six hours (which she eventually achieved), you rocked her world in a single moment.

and as you try to convince yourself that it was a total mistake, despite the warmth lingering low in your stomach, santana has only one thought and it's louder and more confident than ever.

she's gonna get you back.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 24

part 1 | part 23 | ao3

cw: alcohol, throwing up, brief reference to canonical character death

"Oh, my god!" Robin barks, nearly throwing herself off-balance again with the force of her laugh. "This is too good, man. You truly cannot escape your babysitting duties."

"Can I help you?" Max seethes.

Help him? Help him? "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She gestures to the guy she's holding onto, some fluffy-haired kid with a cut-off vest covered in safety pins that Steve sort of vaguely recognizes as one of Eddie's friends. Oh, shit. Is Eddie here finally? Has he seen him?

"Wait, where's Lucas?" Steve asks.

"Who cares?" she bites back.

The guy gives a nervous chuckle and loosens his grip on her waist. "Uh-h. Did you say babysitter?"

"He's not actually, Jesus. I'm fourteen; I don't need a babysitter. And he was just leaving, anyway, right?"

Her glare feels like a slap. Girl's got daggers in her eyes, holy shit. It's like she's hoping some of El's powers magically transferred to her; like she's picturing him flying ten feet into the air and landing with a splat on the far side of the concrete, and he doesn't need this. He did not come out tonight to be bullied by a teenager. "Okay, that's it, I'm taking—"

"—me to the punch bowl!" Robin interrupts, putting her hands on Steve's chest to stop him from grabbing Max and hauling her back to the car.

"Robin, what—?"

"Yep!" She shoves him hard, pushing him to the edge of the dance floor. "Silly me, just dying of thirst, ha ha. Okay, cool, see you both later!"

—

"What the hell was that?" Steve demands when they're safely on the far side of the pavilion.

"An intervention."

Oh, my god. May he never hear the word 'intervention' again in his life.

"Un-ruffle your Mother Hen feathers for two seconds and think, would you? One: it would look really, really, seriously weird for you to be seen dragging a dead jock's kid sister kicking and screaming to your car."

A dead jock’s kid sister. Jesus, tipsy Robin has no tact.

"Two: you said we were going to go out and have fun and get, and I quote, 'very drunk.' Take your babysitter hat off for one night. She's a high schooler, and this is a high school party."

"Yeah, I know," he sulks. Doesn't need the reminder that he's technically past the age limit.

"Okay, so then let her have fun! It's not like you weren't out drinking and smoking by her age."

'I'm always so right about everything. I'm, like, cosmically correct.' Goddammit. Steve needs another drink. "I just don't want her to do anything dumb and get hurt."

"She won't. We can just, like, keep an eye on her from a distance, right? Let her come to us if she needs anything."

"So we should just act like your parents?" Steve snorts.

"My parents are amazing, thank you!"

"Your mom offered me mushroom tea once."

"Like I said: amazing."

Steve huffs a laugh, flips his hair out of his eyes and snags a handful of tortilla chips. "Okay," he says around a crunchy bite, "so what's the third thing?"

"Third thing?" Robin asks. She’s not even looking at him anymore, her eyes eager and distracted as she scans the crowd.

"You're biting your lip weird, there's clearly a third thing."

She turns to him, and the smile springs free from its containment, spreading all over her flushed, ecstatic face. "Vickie just showed up."

—

Steve’s hammered.

Whoops.

Didn’t mean to do it; feels a little bad about it as he tips his head up to the sky and all the stars go raining in bright streaks across his vision. Reminds him of the ceiling at Starcourt, nauseous and spinning under a swirl of bright fluorescence. He hopes Rob’s flirting is going well.

He meant to get politely drunk.

A socially appropriate amount.

But then Robin ran off to flirt with Vickie, and Steve was doing his best to just lay low, steer clear of Max and maybe find a way to casually run into Eddie if he could find him, when he spotted the girl he went on that disaster of a date with instead and realized his options were either: stay there by the beer coolers while she came over with her new date and subjected him to the most painful small talk of his life, or retreat to the dark edges of the party with as much booze as he could carry, so.

He's slumped on top of a picnic bench downwind of the bonfire, bad ear ringing, belly full to bursting, trying to remember when one beer became… more than one beer.

Five?

Six, maybe?

Fuck.

“‘M gonna puke,” he confesses to the splintered wood beneath his feet; to the pine bough overhead, the smoky fire at his back.

“Wow,” someone says, an amused lilt to their tone, and Steve knows that voice, he—

Oh, no.

Ohhhh, no.

Now? Really?

Steve whips his head around, opens his mouth to ask ‘Eddie?’ and barfs all over his shoes.

—

part 25

tag list part 1 below the cut, let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

@a-little-unsteddie @ahsokatanoss @aliea82 @alyelf @anne-bennett-cosplayer @aol19 @awolfstudio @bambibiest @bananahoneycomb @bookbinderbitch @bronwenmarie @cheonsazu @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @courtjestermunson @cuips-not-cute @dauntlessdiva @dawners @dontwasteyourchances @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @eriquin @estrellami-1 @fandomfix8 @gregre369 @griefabyss69 @grtwdsmwhr @hallucinatedjosten @hellion-child @hiimlevi @honoragreyskull @hotluncheddie @jackiemonroe5512 @kas-eddie-munson @kingelyx @lifeisacrisis @littlebluejane @marvel-ous-m @melonmochi @messrs-weasley @milklechee @mrsjellymunson @mugloversonly @munsonslure @nburkhardt @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notsopersonalcharlie @novelnovella @nuggies4life @phoenixtheone @questionablequeeries @runninriot

[krirebr]

More Than This 4

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x f!reader, Steve Rogers & f!reader

Word Count: ~6.1k

Summary: Arranged marriages have always been used to solidify business deals among the ultra-wealthy. Your stepfather wants to be in business with Harlan Thrombey, so now it's your turn.

Warnings: Heavy angst, age difference, adult themes, institutional sexism, Linda being Linda, a panic attack, p in v sex, sex in maybe not the best mindset, explicit language, the slooowest burn - Warnings will be added as needed for subsequent parts. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: I thought this was gonna be a short one. 😂

Gigantic thanks as always to @paperweight91 who helped me figure out what the problem was when I was really struggling to feel inspired on this one, and then later on when the narrative took a bit of a turn that I wasn't expecting, she helped me navigate it and come out the other side. Chelsea, you continue to be the very best!

And an additional hat tip to @thezombieprostitute, who left a comment on the last part that inspired part of Linda's visit here. Thanks, dear!!

Unsurprisingly probably, this is another sad one. But I hope it'll be worth it!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.

“Hey, Steve. It’s me. Again. Your sister. Um, shit. Yeah, you’re at work now, aren’t you? Sorry, I still haven’t gotten used to the time difference. I got your texts, and, uh, everything is fine. I’m– I’m doing good. But I miss you. And it’d be nice to hear your voice. But I’m fine, I’m good, I promise. I just– I’ll try again soon. Love you. Ok. Bye.”

You hung up and sighed, setting your phone down beside you. You hadn’t actually spoken to Steve since you’d gotten on the plane a week ago. Which was fine. You were doing fine. He’d texted you. And he was busy. You knew he was. It’d be easier, you thought if you were too. But everything had been unpacked. The housekeeper took care of all the upkeep of the house and you got the distinct impression that she didn’t much care for your “help,” so now when she was here you mostly tried to stay out of her way. Even Lola was getting tired of going for walks around the neighborhood.

You’d barely seen your husband since your disastrous attempt at sex. He’d been avoiding you, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night. You hadn’t talked about what happened. You’d barely talked about anything.  

You looked at your laptop on the coffee table and exited out of the WebMD entry on erectile dysfunction. That wasn’t helping. With nothing to do and no one to talk to, all you could do was think about what would happen to you if you couldn’t get Ransom to fuck you. If you didn’t get pregnant. You still hadn’t seen the contract and weren’t sure what the actual terms were, but you knew the consequences would be nothing good. 

Steve had had an aunt on his mother’s side who’d been found in breach of contract and had her marriage dissolved. You never really knew her, but you remembered how Joseph talked about her, about the desperate arrangement she’d eventually had to settle for, the sadness in Steve’s eyes whenever she came up. That wouldn’t be you, couldn’t be you. You knew you wouldn’t even start to feel secure in your arrangement until that part of the contract had been fulfilled. You just needed to figure out how.

But, dwelling on it wasn’t helping. Googling possible causes of Ransom’s issue wasn’t helping (although it was better than listening to the voice in your head that wouldn’t stop telling you that he just didn’t want to touch you). You needed something to do. Back in LA, you’d worked part-time at an art gallery Steve had introduced you to. You’d mostly answered the phones and greeted people as they came in, but you’d liked it. There had to be something like that available in Boston. And at least trying to find it would give you something to focus on.

So you lost yourself in compiling a list of galleries you could try to contact, sitting on the couch with Lola curled up beside you. When Ransom came home late that night, that’s how he found you. You looked up, startled when he came in the door, and found a similar expression on his face. 

“Oh,” he said. “You’re still up,” as he took off his coat and shoes.

“Yeah,” you said, not knowing what else to say.

He nodded and came as far as the beginning of the living area, then stopped and just stared at you for a moment. You waited for whatever it was he was going to say. Then, finally, “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” then, gathering your courage and hoping you wouldn’t be shut down, you added, “I started to look for a job.”

“Oh,” he looked mildly surprised. “Do you have any experience?”

You pushed down the tinge of hurt that bubbled up at that. The question wasn’t completely uncalled for. Many of your friends back home had never worked a day in their lives. But you couldn’t help feeling a little defensive when you answered, “Yes, I worked at the front desk of an art gallery back home. I liked it. I’d like to find something like that here.”

Ransom hummed thoughtfully as he nodded. “Well,” he said, looking off into the corner of the room, “uh, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with that.”

“Oh,” you said, too surprised to say anything else for a moment. You’d been sure he’d say no. You weren’t quite sure what to do with an offer of help, of all things. And you would need his help if you got the job, with a way to get yourself there at the very least. But you didn’t want to jinx it or push things too far right now, so you just said, “Thank you. I will.” And then, “Uh, how was your day?”

“It was fine,” he said, stiffly. “Busy, I’ve been really busy. And I’m, uh, I’m exhausted now. So I’m going to go straight to bed. Feel free to stay up as late as you want. Obviously.” And just like that, he turned on his heel and left the room. 

You should’ve gone after him, maybe. Made him talk to you about it. Or just taken your clothes off while he was talking (although that hadn’t worked the first time). Something. But you were tired too and you just didn’t have it in you, as important as you knew it was. 

So, you gave it about half an hour before you went to bed yourself, going through your nighttime routine as quietly as you could in the ensuite. When you went back out to the bedroom, you found Lola already on the bed, curled up against Ransom’s side. You stopped, wondering if you should move her. She’d slept in the bed with you for the last four nights, ever since that awful night, and Ransom hadn’t said anything about making her stop. And he obviously hadn’t noticed her snuggling up next to him, so maybe it was fine. You climbed in next to her and wrapped your body around hers, ignoring the way it made you brush up against Ransom, too.

The next afternoon, you were busying yourself with trying to reorganize your walk-in closet, when you heard someone moving around downstairs. It wasn’t one of the housekeeper’s days, so you made sure you had your phone on you and started down the stairs with caution. 

When you got about halfway down, you saw Linda standing in the middle of the living room. “Linda!” you exclaimed, unable to hide your shock at her standing before you. “Ransom didn’t tell me you’d be stopping by. I didn’t know you had a key.”

“Of course, I do, I’m his mother. And I’m the one who set him up with this house.” She cast a judgemental eye on the room. “I see you’ve been moving some things around.”

“Oh,” you said, now at the bottom of the stairs and looking around a little worriedly. You’d tried so hard to disrupt as little as possible. “Not much, I don’t think. Just a little to make room for my own things.”

Linda hummed in a way that made you want to shrink inside yourself. “Well,” she said and held out a gift bag. “I brought you a little something.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, forcing a smile as you took the gift, slightly afraid of what might be in it. You glanced inside, moving aside the tissue paper to find about a dozen pregnancy tests. “Oh,” you said, afraid if you said anything more you might burst into tears. It was fine it was fine it was fine.

“Just want you to be prepared,” she said.

“Thank you,” you forced out. “You really shouldn’t have.” 

“Well,” she clapped her hands together, “why don’t you get us some coffee?”

You forced another smile, trying to cover the panic you felt that she was staying. “Yes, of course.” You took your time getting the coffee prepared in the kitchen. Once it was ready, and you had the cream and sugar and everything else gathered on a tray, you couldn’t delay it any longer and brought everything out to the living room. Linda helped herself to a mug, finishing it to her liking as you did the same. You caught, though, the little face she made at her first sip. That was fine, it was her son’s fucking coffee.

“This is nice,” she said, in that particular syrupy tone of voice she had that meant she was trying too hard to seem friendly. “Just the two of us. Overdue.”

You made yourself nod. “Yes,” you said, “It’s great to see you.”

“I was talking to Ransom this morning, and he mentioned that you’re looking for a job?”

“Oh,” you started, something about her tone making you cautious, “yeah, you know, something to keep me occupied. I used to work at an art gallery and I’m hoping I can do something similar here.”

She took a sip of her coffee, then pursed her lips. “Well, that sounds lovely. But are you sure it’s a good idea with a baby on the way?”

You did your best to chuckle, trying to keep things light as you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I’m not pregnant yet, Linda.”

“Maybe not, but you will be soon. And do you really think it’s fair to get a job when you’re just going to have to quit in a few weeks anyway?”

You stared at her confused, your own coffee now forgotten. “We don’t know exactly when I’ll get pregnant.” You may not care for Ransom much, but you certainly weren’t going to discuss his possible impotence with his mother. Or the fact that he just didn’t want you. “And I don’t understand why I would have to quit once I got pregnant anyway.”

“Well, I’m sure Ransom won’t want you working once you’re pregnant. He’ll want you to focus on growing his child and getting everything prepared for the baby.”

You felt the air go out of your lungs. All you could do was gape at her. What? You flashed back to the wedding, to Harlan telling you how good you were going to be for Ransom. To your mother telling you to keep him happy. To Joseph’s speech barely even mentioning you. It was like you as a person didn’t exist anymore. You were just here for him. Your whole life set up just to cater to him. You felt the tears starting to gather in your eyes, but you would not cry in front of this woman. 

“But,” you started, “you worked all through your pregnancy and Ransom’s childhood, didn’t you? I don’t understand why I wouldn’t be able to, too.”

“Oh,” she said, as she gave you the most condescending look you might have ever received, “I see. You think you and I are the same. Sweetheart, no. I helped my father choose my arraignment. I came into it with my own money, having already established myself. A real career, not some silly part-time gallery job. I’m the one who supports Richard. I’ve always had the power. I was never you. And you will never be me. So, how about you let Ransom take good care of you and you focus on the things that you can give him, hmm?”

You just stared at her, feeling suddenly numb. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? You’d only spoken to her a few times and every single time she’d made you feel so small, insignificant, weak. 

She placed her mug on the table and stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now, dear, but this was so nice. We’ll have to do it again soon.” She stood in front of you as all you could do was sit and stare. She raised her perfectly manicured eyebrow at you and you finally realized that she wanted you to stand. You robotically did so, still so numb from this short visit. As soon as you were upright, she gave you a stiff hug and patted you on the shoulder. “I’m so glad we were able to put this silly job idea to bed,” she said. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good rest of your day, darling.” And then she was gone and you were left standing alone in the middle of Ransom’s living room.

You spent the rest of the afternoon running Linda’s visit through your mind, over and over. The thing you couldn’t understand was why, if Ransom was so against you working, he hadn’t said anything about it last night. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just tell you no right away, rather than siccing his mother on you the next day? Why would he say yes? Was it just so that he could look like the good guy before he had his mom do his dirty work for him? Was he really that much of a chickenshit? 

When you got to a point when you thought you might actually drive yourself crazy if you thought about it anymore, you got your phone out and tried, once again, to call Steve. 

You’ve reached the phone of Steve Rogers. Please leave a message after the beep.

You wanted to scream. You were so fucking tired of talking to his machine. Every time you thought you couldn’t feel more alone, you just fell deeper.

“Hey, Steve. Um, I’d really love it if you could call me back. I know you’re busy. I don’t mean to– I’m sorry. I just– I just really miss you. I’d really like to talk to you. I love you. Ok. Bye.”

You hung up and then just stared at your black phone screen for a moment. You couldn’t just sit in the house anymore. “Lola!” you called out into the house, not sure of where she’d gotten off to. “Want to go for a walk?”

Ransom didn’t come home that night, the absolute fucking coward.

When you woke up the next day, you couldn’t tell if Ransom’s side of the bed had been slept in or not. Lola was sprawled across it, taking up much more space than her tiny body would indicate. You decided not to dwell on it.

There was a text message from Steve, sent in the middle of the night.

Hey chipmunk. I’m so sorry I keep missing your calls. I’ve been absolutely slammed this week. I’ll try to call you soon. Hope you’re doing ok. I miss you so much. Love you.

You couldn’t stop staring at it. The childhood nickname combined with the distance the message represented made your whole chest ache. 

As the day wore on, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. The housekeeper didn’t want you around. All the unpacking was done. You couldn’t look for a job. You tried to read but you couldn’t focus. You called Steve but he didn’t pick up, again, and you just didn’t have it in you to leave another message.  

You felt like you sleepwalked through the whole day, so when Ransom walked in in the evening, you were startled to realize the day was gone.

Lola lept off your lap on the couch and ran to him as soon as he came in the door, hopping up and down and prancing in front of him. He froze, his scarf halfway off his neck and caught in his hands. “What is it doing?” he asked, turning to you, absolutely bewildered.

“I– I don’t know,” you said, staring at your dog. It was stupid, you knew it was so stupid, but you couldn’t help the frisson of betrayal that ran through you. She was supposed to be yours. She was supposed to love you, only you. And now she was consorting with the enemy. And you were jealous of a dog. But what else did you have? Your husband wouldn’t touch you, your brother wouldn’t call you back, and now your dog loved someone else. It all made you want to sob. “I think she’s happy to see you.”

He looked at you aghast. “Why?!”

“I don’t know,” you said again. “Lola,” you called, but she was still hopping up and down in front of Ransom. “Lola!” She turned at your stern tone and reluctantly ran back to you. You picked her up and cradled her in your arms. “Sorry,” you said to Ransom, then quietly murmured, “What were you doing?” into her fur. You glanced at the time. “You’re home early.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, somewhat sheepish. “Finally got out of work at a decent hour.”

“Oh.” It felt so weird to have him here. “I guess we could have dinner. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no. Dinner sounds great.” He finally came out of the entryway and began digging through his fridge, pulling out two of the pre-prepared meals his housekeeper kept there. 

As he put them in the microwave, all you could do was stare at him. You’d had the last twenty-four hours to stew in your anger and sadness and now all you really felt was tired. There was nothing you could do. It was his house, his family that held the strings. You were far from home with no one to back you up. He’d seen to it that you didn’t have a job to fall back on. All you could do was go along with what he wanted. The only thing you could do was make your place here more secure. As he bent down to get a plate out of the microwave, you blurted out, “Why won’t you fuck me?”

He straightened up quickly and stared at you. “What the fuck?!”

“I just–” you tried, “Has that happened before? Your problem. I’ve read that as men get older that happens sometimes.”

“I’m thirty-five, not fucking sixty. What the actual fuck?” He loudly dropped the plate down in front of you. “Eat your fucking food. I’m not talking about this.”

You sullenly started in on your food, it was pasta. You barely tasted it. You needed to keep talking about this, but doing it while he was angry probably wasn’t the best approach. 

He heated up the other plate and then joined you, taking a seat next to you at the island. You both ate in silence, until he finally said, “I just don’t think this is anything we need to rush into. We have plenty of time.”

You looked up at him. Of course, he wouldn’t think there was any rush. Of course, he didn’t have any personal stakes in you getting pregnant. Of course, he could forbid you from working but then deny you the one thing that would give you something to fucking do here. Something that would take a portion of your anxiety away. “We don’t actually,” you growled. “We have no idea how long it’s going to take me to get pregnant.”

“You keep saying that, but I just– I think rushing it would be a mistake. We have more time than you think and putting this off until we know each other better is a good idea.”

And suddenly, you saw red. Every single fucking thing was on his terms. His hometown, his family, his house, his things, his staff, his single car, his timetable. “And how are we supposed to do that, huh?” you yelled, standing up now. “When you’re gone before I wake up and you cross your fingers I’m in bed before you get home. If you even come home! When exactly is this getting to know each other supposed to happen?!”

“Hey!” he yelled, standing up as well. Lola ran upstairs at the sound of his stool scraping against the hardwood. “Calm the fuck down! What is the big fucking deal if we wait a few months rather than doing it right now?”

“Because the longer we wait the less time I’ll have to get pregnant! And the more likely it’ll be that it won’t happen and we’ll nullify the contract and our marriage will be dissolved. And you’ll be fucking fine! You’ll still be your grandfather’s and your mother’s heir. Nothing will happen to you. But I’ll be sent back to Joseph. I’ll have to accept a second arrangement with anyone who will take me. I’ll– I’ll–” You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. The room was getting smaller, pressing in on you, and you couldn’t breathe. 

You sank down to the floor and suddenly Ransom was in front of you. He called your name, but it was hard to process it. He called it again and you made eye contact with him. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re ok. You’re alright. I’m here.” He was speaking so quietly, so gently. “I’m here to help you, ok? I’m going to stay with you.” You nodded as best you could. “Can I touch you?” he asked, and you immediately shook your head. “Ok,” he said quickly, “that’s fine. That’s ok. I won’t touch you. You’re breathing too fast, ok? You need to slow down. Can you breathe with me? Come on, do it with me.” And then he breathed in slowly and you tried to match his rhythm. In and out, in and out, so slowly. At some point, he started counting. In 1 2 3 4 5. Out 1 2 3 4 5. Eventually, you could do it on your own, without him coaching you. 

You spent a few more minutes on the floor with him, you both just breathing at each other. Then finally you were able to find your words. “I’m ok,” you said. “I’m alright. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, still so gentle. “Nothing at all. Can you get up?” You nodded and he helped you up. “Are you hungry?” he asked and you shook your head. “Ok, I’ll clean the food up later. Can I help you upstairs?” You nodded and he, very carefully, put his hand on your back, so slowly that you had all the time in the world to pull away. His touch was warm, soft. His touch was always so soft with you.

He guided you to the bedroom where Lola was already on the bed, shaking steadily and looking at you with big, fearful eyes. You climbed on and curled up next to her. “You’re ok,” you whispered to her. “I’m sorry we scared you.” She scooted so she was snuggled up right against you and you carded your fingers through her fur, scratching gently.

Ransom hovered at the foot of the bed. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Of course,” he said. “Has that happened before?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t think so. How did you know how to help?”

“Oh, uh,” he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, looking down at the floor, “I used to get them when I was a kid. I had a nanny who, uh, she was really good about them.”

You just nodded, feeling like you should tuck away that information. You knew so little about him, real things that hadn’t been in the binder. You wanted to file away everything you could.

“Are you– Will you be ok if I go take care of the food?”

You nodded again. “Yeah,” you said, softly. “I’ll be fine. Lola will take care of me. Won’t you, baby?” Lola flopped onto her back so that you could give her tummy scratches and you let out a soft giggle. You smiled up at Ransom, to reassure him. And he just sort of stopped. And stared at you. Your brow furrowed as you became self-conscious under his gaze and your smile started to drop. 

He suddenly shook himself out of whatever had been happening and nodded. “Yeah, ok. Yell if you need me,” and he darted out of the room. 

You weren’t sure exactly how long he was gone. You passed the time snuggling with Lola, taking comfort in her. You felt shaky and raw. And scared, still scared of everything that could happen, everything you’d yelled at Ransom about. And Ransom himself, how he would take to being yelled at like that, once he was done being worried. 

You heard his heavy footfalls at the top of the stairs and looked up as he came back into the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned so you could see half his face. “I didn’t–” he started and stopped. Then, after another moment, “I didn’t realize you were so worried about all of this.”

“How would you?” you asked, your eyes cast down, locked on Lola as you continued to pet her. “You’re never here. We never talk.”

“I’ve been really busy,” he said, just a tinge of defensiveness in his tone. “Work’s been awful.” He paused, then repeated, “I’ve been really busy.”

“Sure,” you said.

Neither of you said anything for long minutes. You just kept petting Lola, your hand moving over her body rhythmically. 

Then finally, Ransom said lowly, “We can work on it. Getting pregnant. If that will make you feel better. Make things easier for you.”

“Can we?” you asked. “I don’t know if what happened– if that was something that happens to you a lot, or if,” you looked back down, “or if you just don’t want me.”

He moved his hand so that his fingertips grazed yours on the bed. “It’s not that. It wasn’t ever that, ok?” You couldn’t help the way your whole body heated, just a bit, at the implication. You looked up just as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “I just– You were clearly so scared. You wanted to be anywhere else, I could tell. You wouldn’t let me touch you, you wouldn’t even look at me. I can’t do it like that. I just can’t.” He opened his eyes and looked right at you. “I just can’t.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. “That’s– I’m sorry, I–”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not– I just thought you should know.”

You sat quietly together for a few moments. Then you took a deep breath and said, “I think we should try again.”

He gave you a surprised look. “Now?” You nodded resolutely but he shook his head back at you. “You’re still coming down from your panic attack. This can wait til tomorrow.”

In the aftermath of your anxiety, the anger you’d felt had mostly faded away, but now it bubbled back up again. You were so tired of him dictating how everything would go. “No,” you said firmly. “I don’t want to put it off anymore. I’m fine now. This will make things better.”

He just looked at you, searching your face for something. You tried to show him how calm you were now, how sure. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Fine,” he said. Then he got off the bed and started taking off his clothes. You scrambled up onto your knees to take your top off, gently coaxing Lola off the bed. She looked up at you, waiting for you to join her, but Ransom, now clad only in his boxers, picked her up, gently you noted, and deposited her in the hallway, shutting the door behind her. He looked at you as you continued to strip down to just your bra and panties, his eyes running over your body, and for the first time, you felt it. Maybe he did want you.

He climbed back on the bed. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. You froze for just a second, then nodded. He slowly brought his mouth to yours and caressed your lips with his own. His lips were soft and warm. The kiss was hesitant on both sides, not exactly passionate, but not chaste either. Nowhere near the worst you’d ever had. A quiet arousal began to pool in your core. Not need, not exactly. But it would be enough, you thought. You broke the kiss and laid down on your back. “I’m not trying to shut you out,” you said, trying to keep your tone kind, “but it’ll be faster, I think, if we both just get ourselves ready.” You started the same as last time, one hand on your breast, the other slowly traveling down your body to play with the hem of your panties. “But you can watch,” you added. “If that’s something you like.” 

He cleared his throat and nodded. Then he reached over and lightly grabbed your underwear with both hands. “Is this ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed, trying to push down your nerves. Everything was ok, this was what needed to happen. You were fine. You were ok.

He pulled your panties down your legs, then tossed them on top of his own clothes. You closed your eyes to focus again on your goto fantasy. The man standing over you. His voice in your ear. And again, you heard the sounds of Ransom getting himself ready. The snick of him opening the bottle of lube. The wet sounds of his hand working over his cock. This time you didn’t let it bother you. This time, you willed yourself not to flinch when you felt his hand on your leg. You had two fingers in your cunt and you worked yourself open, your thumb rubbing over your clit. Once you were wet enough, stretched enough, you opened your eyes and sat up. Ransom was staring at you, one hand on his hard cock, kneeling in front of you. 

“Ok,” you said, “I think I’m ready.” He started to move forward, but you stopped him with a hand on his bare chest. “Can I be on top?” you asked. “Is that ok?”

He looked down at where you were touching him and then back up at your face. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Yeah.”

You switched places as he laid down and you moved over him, straddling his pelvis and then carefully lowering yourself onto his cock. You tried not to grimace as he stretched you. He grunted again, as you slowly took more and more of him. Both of his hands came up to grasp your hips as you began to ride him, slowly at first, then picking up your pace. He was staring at your body and it was– it was a lot. Too much. You closed your eyes against it, hoping you just looked like you were into it. As he got closer, he started to buck up into you. You couldn't help but gasp at it. One of his hands moved from your hip to rub circles with his thumb over your clit, the rest of his hand splayed over your pelvis. You breathed through it, trying to let go enough to let yourself come, but you could tell that wasn’t going to happen. That was ok. That didn’t need to happen. Only one of you needed to come tonight.

He continued to buck up into you, his movements becoming more erratic. You balanced yourself with your hands on his shoulders. “Can I–” he grunted. “I’m gonna– Can I move you?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Yeah.”

He sat up and tucked you into him, rolling you both over so that you were now on your back and he was on top of you. He thrust back into you, once, twice, three times, and then he was coming, filling you up. His whole body stuttered over you and then collapsed on top of you. He breathed into your neck for countless moments and you didn’t know why, but you brought your hand up to gently stroke at the short hairs at the base of his skull. “Do you need me to–” he started to ask.

“No,” you said, knowing he was offering to help you finish. “I’m fine. Good. I’m good.”

You felt him nod, just a little, but he didn’t say anything else. It was so quiet, just the sounds of him catching his breath. Then he placed a soft kiss where your neck met your shoulder and lifted himself up and off you. You whimpered, just a little, as he pulled out. 

You quickly lifted your hips up to keep his cum inside of you. You reached blindly next to your head until you found a pillow that you shoved under your lower back to keep your pelvis canted up. Ransom moved around the room, picking his underwear off the floor, and then into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came back out with a washcloth. He moved it towards your cunt and you shot a hand out. “No! Wait.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s ok. Just for your thighs. I know. I understand.” He gently moved the warm washcloth over your legs. “Are you alright?” He asked, not quite meeting your eyes. “Was that ok?”

“Yeah,” you said, moving your hand to brush along his forearm. “I’m alright. That was good.”

You lay in bed as Ransom lightly snored on his stomach next to you, Lola curled up between you. You couldn’t sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for about an hour, probably. You sat up. It was no use. Your mind was too busy. Sleep wasn’t going to come.

You grabbed your phone and got out of bed, moving downstairs to the living room as quietly as you could. You curled up on the couch and hugged your knees. You weren’t sure how you felt. It had been fine. Parts of it had even been good, maybe. It’d just, it’d been a long night. You’d gone through so many feelings, and now– Now, you just felt a little empty.

You looked at your phone. It was just before midnight. That meant it’d be a little before nine in LA. Steve hopefully wouldn’t still be working, but he wouldn’t be asleep yet either. He might be out, or painting, or busy some other way, but. It was worth a shot. 

It only rang once. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Steve gasped. “Work has been a fucking nightmare, but that’s no excuse. I was going to try to call you tomorrow, but I’m so, so glad you called me now. How are you? Are you ok?”

The tears had started as soon as you heard your brother’s voice. “Steve,” was all you could get out before you were full-on crying.

“Oh, chipmunk, no. What’s wrong?”

You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get yourself together. You finally had your brother on the phone. You weren’t going to waste the whole conversation crying. “Nothing,” you managed. “I’m ok, I just– I’m just so happy to talk to you.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and you thought that maybe his voice sounded a little thick too. “Me too. I’m so happy to talk to you. I’m so sorry it’s been so long. How are you doing? Your messages, you sounded– Are you ok?”

You sniffled as you tried to nod and then realized he couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m good. It’s just a little lonely here. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. Everything’s so different here without you. Shit, it’s late there. What are you doing up?”

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Steve hummed and there was a tone to it you couldn’t quite decipher. “Is Ransom there?”

“Yeah, he’s asleep upstairs.”

“And how is he?” Steve’s tone was decidedly cold now.

“He’s fine,” you said, ignoring it. “His work’s been really busy too.”

“And how’s he been to you?” he asked and you definitely didn’t miss the challenge there.

“He’s been fine, Steve,” you said and you weren’t sure whether or not it was a lie. “Everything’s fine.” You’d already decided you weren’t going to tell him about the job thing. That wouldn’t do anything but upset him. Get him on a plane here, maybe, so he could try throwing his weight around. You rolled your eyes. It was better this way. “I’ve just been unpacking mostly. Nothing too exciting. What about you? What’s going on with you? I want to hear everything.”

“You’re sure it’s not too late there?”

“No, not at all. I’m wide awake. And nothing much to get up for in the morning anyway. But if you’re busy or need to go to bed or something, you can go whenever you need to.”

“Not a chance. I wanna talk to you as long as I can,” Steve said. And you knew he couldn’t see it, but you grinned into the phone anyway.

Tag list is open

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[blueicequeen19]

Charter

Warnings: boss JJ & his employee, 5 year age gap, oral, protected sex.. might make this a series.

I forced a grin as my dickhead of a boss strolled in, his red work shirt cut into a cut off and his hat on backwards. I tried not to stare along with every other female in the shop as he joined me behind the counter, plastering a smile to his face as he faced the customers. It was hard not to stare at his sun kissed muscles or the clench of his jaw or the blonde mop of hair that was curling under his hat.

“How’s it going, boss?” I asked, wanting to fill the silence after watching him flirt with another married woman. Who knew women were so interested in fishing gear?

“It’s going.” He grumbled, before giving that charming smile to a group of teens buying shirt’s. I’m pretty sure they’d purchased every single one we carry but whatever.

The rest of the night went like always. He was talkative to everyone but me, I stocked shelves, his blue eyes caught mine as he glared at me and I tried not to roll my eyes. He was so hot but he was such a moody prick. I often wondered why he even hired me if he was going to be so shitty all the time.

“Your money is in the back.” JJ finally said as I flipped off the lights and locked the doors at close.

“Thanks.” I chirped as I followed him in the back, the money drawer tucked under his arm. I grabbed the envelope of cash with my name on it from next to the safe and tucked in my pocket as I waited for him to ready the bank deposit for Monday. I hauled myself up on to the work bench, my legs swinging as I scrolled through my phone. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally the lights were flipped off and I set my phone down just as I felt him near me. My heart started to race when I felt him brush up against my knees, forcing my legs to part. I couldn’t see more than an outline of his body in the dark but I could feel the heat radiating off him. The need.

“Now you want something to do with me?” I taunt, tracing my finger up his forearm. A moment passes and I feel his breath on my face, the mint gum filling my head.

“Shut up and take your shirt off.” JJ said softly, making my insides tighten as I obeyed.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head before reaching back to flick the clasp of my bra open then dropped it too. His hands found the tops of my thighs and I panted as his groin made contact with mine. I could hear how hard he was breathing as his hand came up to palm my breast. I arched into his touch, filling his hand with the flesh. His free hand did the same, massaging and kneading the flesh then tweaking my hardened nipples. I was rocking against him for friction, my body screaming for more when he stopped.

“Get on your knees.” I nearly moaned hearing his voice deep with lust just as I heard the clink of his belt.

I lowered myself to the floor, my hands finding the tops of his thighs when I felt the smooth tip of him kiss my lips.

“Suck.” I didn’t have to be told twice. I swiped my tongue of his slit, circling it before sucking it into my mouth. I heard a gasp of air leave him as sucked on the swollen tip, his precum coating my tongue. When his hands yanked my hair free of his tie, I took him deeper as he started to control the pace. I gagged, my knees screaming from the hard floor but I didn’t stop. Just when his grunting comes quicker and I know he’s about to cum, the ring of his phone has me nearly jumping out of my skin like someone had caught us. I’m even more surprised when he digs his phone out and answers it while keeping one hand in my hair.

“Yea?” JJ says calmly into the phone, keeping his voice even and lust free. I move my hand to his balls and he jerks, hand tightening in my hair.

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.” A pause.

“Alright, thanks.” JJ hangs up and I’m hauled to my feet, his hands quickly undoing the buttons on my shorts before bending me over the workbench.

“Have to make this quick.” JJ grunts from behind me.

“Somewhere else you need to be?” I hear the tear of a foil packet, my body trembling with anticipation.

“Actually yes.” Then he’s pushing inside me. I open my mouth on a moan, his cock too big to go in easily without any foreplay, but his hand slaps down over my mouth as he pulls my body upright against his. I could feel him everywhere, he was so deep.

My nails dig into the workbench as he starts to fuck me hard and fast. I moan into his hand, his heavy breathing in my ear as he fills me up over and over again. I wasn’t sure how we got here. I didn’t think he could stand me but I was the only one who didn’t put up with his bullshit and didn’t drool over him all the time. One night we were arguing then he was fucking me and we just never seemed to stop. The only thing he’d said after was this stayed between us or I could go work somewhere else. I didn’t tell him that he paid more and with cash so I kept my mouth shut. Even if it was because more of the fact that he fucked me like no one had ever done before and less about the job. I should be partly ashamed of myself since I don’t know a goddamn thing about him aside from being my boss. I know he’s a live or die Pogue, especially with the word tattooed around his knuckles on one hand. I know he’s five years older than I am. I know he runs a very successful charter and doesn’t know a stranger but that’s it. I know nothing about his personal life or his friends or what he does when hes no longer inside me. He could have a wife and kids at home for all I know but he never wears a ring on his ring finger, just on the others.

“Focus.” JJ growls in my ear, making my breasts bounce with every harsh thrust. I arch my back, pushing back against him as I reach down to stroke my clit. There was something so hot about the fact that I was completely naked and he was fully clothed.

“You wanna cum for me?” JJ covers my hand on my clit with his own, making me apply more pressure while his other hand muffles any noises I make. I nod, my body tensing as fire fills my veins and my insides tighten.

“Let go. Let me feel this tight fucking pussy squeeze the life out of me.” My mind and body shatter at his filthy words, everything going black for a moment as he fucks me through my climax while stroking my clit hard until I’m panting and trembling. I can’t hold myself up any longer and he pushes me down on the table, fucking me so hard the workbench slaps the wall until finally he stills with a breathy moan, making my toes curl as he fills up the condom inside me.

I shudder as he pulls out, leaving me aching and empty, while he discards the condom and buttons his pants. A moment later he’s pulling my shorts and panties back up and handing me my shirt and bra.

“I have to go.” He says urgently so I quickly redress and follow him to sit the alarm. We don’t say anything as we exit the back door after setting the alarm. His steps are quick as he goes towards his truck but he suddenly drops his keys with a curse just as I hear the FaceTime ring on his phone. I don’t mean to ease drop but I’m parked behind him on the street and when he answers, a child’s voice has me stopping in my tracks.

“Hi daddy, are you on your way?” My heart sinks. He does have a kid at home. Or kids. A daughter specifically. One that has him grinning ear to ear as his snatches up his keys and unlocks his truck.

“Yea princess, I’m on my way.” His truck starts and pulls away before I can even unlock my door. I don’t think I know how right now.

JJ Maybank has a daughter.

[kripledcrakr]

Sanji × Fem!Reader

Sanji is hot, yes. And this is mainly based off the Live Action version so, yehh.. wouldn't really say spoilers as I jumped parts a good ammount to reach the smut, but enjoy~! @gamekun I dedicate this to you.

Warning: FemDom, Pegging, Praise, Swearing, Sanji is a goddamn bottom, both characters are switches. <3

You grew up along side Sanji, from the day you were dropped on that ship to following the boy around in the kitchen to help with anything at all.. However Sanji was always picking fights with the head chef because he wanted to have something cooked a certain way. Which that went on for ages, until the night pirates came to raid the ship.. " Sanji Im scared! " You sobbed, holding onto him whilst he backed you both up into a corner, a knife grasped in his hand tightly. " Don't worry, I've got you. " You knew he was brave, Sanji always was even in the most fucked up of situations,, However you knew that you both didn't stand a chance against a ship of pirates. And soon enough a big scary man barged through the door proving your point exactly,, the man however started looking around to notice what Sanji had last been cooking,, what he did next shocked you, he tasted it and said that it was good but needed oregano which caused Sanji to launch towards the man while screaming. " SANJI NO! " You yelped, chasing after him blindly.. Then everything blacked out,, you did not remember much after that.. You woke up on a cold wet rock in the middle of the ocean, with no one around. " What happened to everyone? " You heard Sanji ask the man,, The man of course said they all died before throwing a bag at him. " This is for you and her, go slow as its the only rations we have, and dont bug me unless you see a ship. " And with that.. The horror of your life began in motion, for days on end you sat at the edge of the rock beside Sanji, never speaking a word...

Time Skip ➜

The man who had rescued you both soon enough became a guardian of sorts, as well as revealing that he was a pirate named Red Leg of the cook pirates. At some point he even retired and became the chef and owner of a restaurant named Baratie. Along side were you and Sanji who were still as close as ever, you dare say you even became a couple after long enough. Zeff was always harsh on Sanji about his cooking, but Sanji put up with it and kept creating new things,, Till the day a bunch of shit excuses of pirates came into the place. One wearing a straw hat, one with 3 swords,, one with weird hair,, and another, a female with orange hair. Sanji became almost instantly infatuated with the orange haired woman which caused your blood to absolutely boil. You knew he was a flirt by nature to get better tips but, the way he absolutely stared at her didn't sit right with you. That night you hardly saw him, he was off doing god knows what with seas know fucking who. It was the first night you had slept alone in the bed and you hated it.. You hated it so much that you even cried a little.

Time Skip ➜

After having gotten to know the band of pirates as well as help Zeff save the green haired one youd come to learn was named Zoro, you'd forgiven Sanji and he apologized for being so absent so everything was back to normal as it should have been. All good things come to an end at some point, always.. and that ending was the day Luffy was almost killed by Arlong.. Nami had betrayed the entire group and fled with the map Luffy so desperately fought to get,, but even in the situation being so dire you couldn't help but stare at Sanji. After he dove into the water to save the little pirate, he sat knelt on the dock panting softly.. The unholy thoughts that racked your brain watching him kneel like that was the most inappropriate thing for the moment.

Even later that evening while everyone recuperated themselves you were lost in thought, imagining the ways you could bend the blonde to your will. You couldn't lie, the last time you and Sanji had been physical was months ago now, and it made your thoughts even worse. " Y/N? Are you alright? " Luffy called, eyeing you from his side of the ship which snapped you back to attention, nodding quickly before standing. " Im.. going to go find Sanji, try to get some rest guys. Goodnight " You muttered, glancing at Usopp before fulling leaving.You eventually did find Sanji, in your bedroom on the Baratie packing some of his things. " So you're going with them? As Zeff said. " Sanji only nodded, continuing as he was until you came to stop him by grabbing his arm. " Do you plan to take me with you or leave me here? " And with this you saw pain cross Sanjis face. " I can't take you with me, this is dangerous, and Zeff needs you.. And I won't be anything if I stay on this ship. " You only grinned, taking his words as a challenge. " You really think, I'm going let you walk out of here without bringing me with? Think again, now be a good boy, and kneel for me my love " Sanjis face now went blank, almost like he stopped thinking but his body obeyed like it always has and sunk down to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. " Im.. forgive me mon amour.. I will not abandon you here.. " At this you smiled softly, running your hand through his hair while he leaned into your stomach. " Can we have some fun..? " He muttered just loud enough for you to hear it, which caused your smile to grow ten fold,, as your hand traveled along the crown of his head to the back of his head you grabbed a handful of his hair to pull his head back. " You best apologize to me first, for threatening to leave me on this ship. " You could see it in his eyes he was internally screaming. Normally Sanji had control but every now and then you'd have the wheel,, and he was always so cute as a submissive little whore between your legs doing everything possible to please you.

Before you knew it he had already pushed your lower clothing down,, almost if a core memory he instantly started to place kisses along your stomach and thighs, but avoiding your cunt until given permission.. " Go ahead~ " You cooed softly, moving to lift one of your legs onto the stool sitting at the end of your bed to give Sanji better access of which he quickly took advantage of.. The feeling of his tongue cirling around your clit had you moaning softly while grabbing his hair harder,, pushing him as far against you as you could.. You didn't care if he suffocated right now either, just wanted your release and to punish him for possibly leaving you. " Fuck.. just like that,, good boy... " You kept spitting out small praises between moans that seemed to urge him on even more,, suckling harshly on your small bundle of nerves which caused your vision to explode in stars. Before you got to the edge though you could feel him starting to slow, starting to gain control of the situation which urked slightly as you were the one holding him buried in between your legs. " If.. you stop, I won't even touch you Sanji. " Your voice croaked, breathless from how well he was able to use his tongue but,, guess that's given due to him being a chef having to taste his food. Your threat alone caused an audible whine to escape him while he started back up his momentum, easily bringing you crashing over the edge onto his face.

After a moment of coming down from your high you'd let him pull away,, and my fucking God the view of his flushed face,, hair sticky from sweat as well as the puppy dog look in his eyes almost had you bursting again, it was earlier on the docks but so much hotter,, but now it wad time for his punishment. " Up. " You commanded gently, watching as he stood and a wave of confusion crossed his face,, " Stay still~ " You cooed, moving behind him, now going to grab one of his ties he normally wore.. but it was specifically the one he's tied you up with before. " Strip for me baby~ " He still couldn't see you which made him nervous,, worried of what was running through your brain. Once he had stripped entirely you'd grab his arms and pull them behind him to start tieing the soft fabric around his wrists,, you could tell his brain instantly stopped working which you took advantage for to be able to push him onto the bed once you tied the final knot. The fact you had this man bent over your bed with his hands tied gave you such a powerful feeling. " Say.. What do you think I should do to punish you? .. Should I just tease you or,, " As you spoke your hands started to grope his ass gently. " Should I see how well you could take me this time? " You watched him visibly shudder at this,, shudder at the fact you had threatened to peg him, but honestly he didn't seem against it. " D-do your worst.. " He huffed, his accent making his stutter sound so much cuter. You'd specifically ordered a special item just for the case a nice 8 inch dildo with a strap to go around your hips. He couldn't see the size or what you were holding in general since his face was buried against the pillows,, most likely mentally preparing himself. " Cmon my love~ spread your legs for me~.. " You purred softly, trailing one hand along his back while the other held a small bottle of lubrication that tilted slowly to pour a little ammount onto his hole. " Hey that's cold! " He yelped, pulling away only for you to laugh softly and rub his lower back. " It's okay dear,, it'll warm up soon enough~ " And you were correct as you just as quickly grabbed the base of the dildo to line it up with his entrance before slowly pressing in, watching the man before you moan out like a whore at the stretch was the last thing you'd expected,, " Oh? My Sanji is a little whore huh~? " You voice purred, now pushing half way inside, giving him the false hope that was all until you slammed the last half inside of him and you could swear he came just from that. " S-shit.. Y/N.. please move~ " He mewled, whining softly while trying to move himself along the dildo only to have no luck as you pulled away slowly, snapping your hips to shove back deep within him causing even more filthy mewls and begs to grace your ears. " That's my good boy.. Always doing so well for me.. " With each word you spoke you made sure to insinuate it with a thrust, burying as deep as you could within him. " im- I can't take it! Is too much I'm gonna explode! " He cried out, causing your pace to speed up even more until the point you had to lean over him for support while railing him over and over.. " Do it. Cum for me like the slut you are. " You spat, watching his body spasm as his own orgasm washed over him harshly. " That's it.. Relax.. " You purred, leaning into giving him the affection he deserves for being so good, as you pulled out and took off the harness you saw that he was still trembling slightly. " Damn, I didn't know you liked taking it up the ass that much~ " You laughed, smacking his ass before climbing onto the bed to untie his wrists from their binds. " Fuck you. " He mumbled, blushing heavily while turning over to look at you. " I just did. "

Time Skip ➜

The next day you and Sanji had both piled onto the Straw hats ship and started along your way,, Sanji of course wanted to ignore Zeff but in the end caved and said his goodbyes. " So guys! What's on the dinner menu?? " You heard Luffy shout, clapping his hands together. " Well tonight I will be making a smoked salmon with my special sauce. " Sanji responded, which caused Luffy to run around happily. " And you, I'll deal with you after Y/N. " That stopped you dead in your tracks, looking towards Sanji who only winked before walking away leaving you dumfounded. Well shit.. You were fucked.

[teawithmagician]

hector barbossa: a character study

I normally approach complex characters in fanfiction just like medieval knights approached their inevitable doom. "with god's will, we'll manage!" they screamed and rushed forward with no plan. they perished.

so in my last fanfic, Ghostly Accord, I went about Hector on the go just like I went about everything in the fic. I started from the assumption that he is:

a man (pun intended, but then violent 18th-century male socialisation)

a repressed-class man;

an ethnically discriminated man (remember, he's Irish and it's Britain on the waves, and it's the 17 to 18 century);

a man who is an outlaw;

a man who, as an outlaw, managed to live to his late 40ies-50ies, not die, and become a captain of a pirate vessel.

That's pretty much expressed by his character in Pirates of the Caribbean movies: he's rough, tough, has an acidic sense of humour and this habit of people who suffered enough. He, ya know, sometimes just huffs and puffs like a pufferfish just to look scarier than he in fact is. He's louder and more aggressive than he feels and never opens up too much because he learned the hard way how much it can cost him to get soggy.

And then, when tasked with describing Hector's close relationships with other people (i.e. partners, lovers, mon cher), it's not always clear from which side to unwrap him. He wouldn't be too shy or underconfident, because with age you learn that confidence is about looking confident, not feeling it. Also, you don't feel like failing or making a fool of yourself will ruin your life. If anything, it'll annoy you for an evening or two, but that's it.

On another hand, the more you invest in a person emotionally, the more seriously you take the relationship. So I started from afar: from the flirt. Barbossa flirts bluntly and outrageously, almost bullying/taunting Rosa, because he does not expect her to respond in the 1st place.

(1) Before she had time to answer, he tipped his hat, letting his gaze linger on her—her face, her short brown neck and round shoulders—for a moment longer.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ye, Captain. I’ll be seein’ ye again, mark me words.”

(3) “Then ye sure find another way to convince me,” he looked at her bluntly.

(2) “The price be?” she waved her hand invitingly, holding herself with another under the ribs.

“A dance,” he replied, pressing his hands on the hilt of his sable. “One night, ye and me, under the stars. No blades, no tricks—just the music o’ the waves.”

But if she responds, and actually takes his dubious, uhm, charm positively, that would be a bonus; but he does not count on it from the start. He doesn't even count on it when he urges her to sit on his knee. But when she, in fact, does, he's flabbergasted, but just for a second. He never expected his plan to work out, but then, he doesn't mind succeeding.

(1) He smirked and patted his knee. “Come, lass. Sit ye here. A captain’s throne for a captain’s equal—surely ye’ll not deny me the pleasure o’ yer company up close.”

From here, I started a real slow character development in a new setting. I started from physical infatuation, which went well until Jack's taunts, when Barbossa, despite his harsh and confident answers, felt a bit... old for this wild ride.

(2) She crossed the cabin and perched on his knee, her thigh brushing his, her hands resting on his as if he was nothing but a chair to her. As she felt his breath hitch, she wiggled, pretending to make herself comfortable, and slid deeper into his lap, putting her elbows on the table and leaning over the map.

“So,” she said as if nothing happened. “Ships and cannons, aye?”

“Aye,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. He tilted his head, his lips hovering near her neck. She could physically feel the air between them crackle, could feel his hands on her thighs, holding tight, pressing her into him, into his need, arising harder than ever.

There's a moment where he talks to Rosa on Black Pearl, as if answering not to her question, i.e. not to the words she actually said, but to the monologue in his head - that if she actively decided to be with him, then his age is not an issue; thus, he won.

“Hector, ye mangy cur,” Jack took a swig and chuckled. “How’s a grizzled beast like ye hooked… her? She’s a thing by herself, and ye’re—well, a barnacle’s arse.”

Barbossa’s lip curled. He snarled at him back in a heartbeat. “Belay that bilge, Sparrow. She’s with me ‘cause she damn well wants to be.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she said, placing her hand over his. He grunted and responded awkwardly to the words she didn’t seem to say.

“Good. ‘Cause I ain’t changin’. And ye’re here, ain’t ye? Left yer little empire with that maroon lad. That’s sayin’ somethin’.”

But again, despite showing just a tinny-tiny bits of skin under the armour, Barbossa doesn't shed his shell and goes back to his choleric self pretty quick. Even in the face of a greater danger:

(1) Barbossa shifted, grunting, his good leg bending as he propped himself on an elbow; his face twisted, but his soul’s knickers were in an absolute twist. “Bloody Blackbeard—enchanted the damn ropes,” he muttered, his hand flexing for a sword that wasn’t there. “Lost the Pearl—lost me leg.”

(2) “It’s Barbossa, ye rat,” Barbossa growled, slumping onto a crate as the sailors worked. “Get us to Tortuga afore I keelhaul ye.”

The key to Barbossa's character, I think, is not to strip his armour too quickly. Maybe never strip his armour at all. The trick, I think, is to move him slowly to the point where he becomes more comfortable with shedding parts of his armour in the selected person's presence, but I don't think he'd ever be able to shed it in whole.

Because. speaking of Barbossa, there's really a lifetime of struggle that shaped him, and he is already shaped. He's not going to change, because pleasant emotions have value, but not as much value as a person's integrity. And internal integrity - being true to self - seems like the core of both Barbossa and Jack in the movies.

[shady-scripter]

Alone, He Stands

Shock of the Dark

I’m making Bonds of the Knights part of a series now, I guess🤷🏽‍♂️

@isasan347 :)

His stomach hurt. He coughed with the sudden impact. His sword might have stabbed him if not for its sheath.

He was sharpening his sword, chatting with the Smithy, when a single droplet of water shined on his blade. His lips pulled back into a scowl. Only a minute or two later, the downpour took out their fire. His head hung low as he groaned, putting his sword back in his sheath.

He fought his hat back on, hoping it would protect his hair from frizzing out. He internally felt bad for the Rancher. That pelt of his was very easy to tangle and mat.

Wild and Warriors rushed to start braiding Hyrule’s hair. The Traveler’s hair wasn’t much better than the pelt with frizzing up. If too much water got into it while it was out, it would turn into the afro of hell.

And that was when the illuminated purple clouded his vision. Another portal, the Veteran knew.

He stood up from his tree stump and started helping Four and Wind pack their things. Legend went through the portal second, after the Champion and Old Man.

Stepping into the portal was like stepping off of a cliff. When his first foot crossed the barrier, looking for something to plant itself on, it never found it. He tipped forward, his eyes widening as all he saw was black.

Now he was here, his chin aching with the recoil. His groan rang loud. He gathered that this was a closed room, rather than an open forest.

“Old Man?” He looked up, searching for a glare of metal. “Champion?” He searched for the blue the Slate gave off. He found neither.

“I’m afraid you’re alone.” The voice was raspy, but loud enough for Legend to find the owner. In their hand was some magenta orb with two gears turning around it. The gear that rotated horizontally lit up bright purple in some bits.

The orb illuminated his pale face that hid under a hood. Though, what really caught the Veteran’s eye was the golden eye with a slit pupil on his forehead.

He had seen eyes like that. They were in the picture display in the Champion’s Slate. He called them Malice Eyes or Eyes of Ganon.

He reached back for his sword, his senses going off. They separated him. Maybe everyone was separated. To be separated was to be hunted.

He gritted his teeth as he stood, his knees screaming in protest. The man sat in a stone chair way too far for him to be able to sneak him. His medallions might not be a wise idea. This was an enclosed area, one that might easily collapse if more stress was put on the supports.

He found himself groaning again, his eyes meeting the golden Eye of Ganon. The man hummed. “I’m glad you accepted my challenge, Hero of Legend. I am Astor, the prophet tasked with destroying you! How about we make this quick, I don’t like wasting time. Surely you understand.” A grin morphed onto his sickly face.

A mix of purple and black emerged from the orb Astor held and splattered onto the ground. Legend’s eyes never left the goop, his breath catching in his throat. “What the…”

“Rise, my minion! Destroy him!” And rose it did.

It kept its purple and black pattern, but it was creating a shape. Its hair slightly puffy, its shoulders thin, its shirt long, and its legs still knobby with young age.

Legend could almost see the lobster embroidery embedded on its chest.

If the Veteran wasn’t sneering hard before, he sure was now. His hand gripped his sword tightly like his life depended on it.

As it dashed at him, the sorcerer laughed, his cackle so broken Legend felt it in his bones.

He steadied himself, planting his feet at the ready.

It isn’t him. He knew that with how the eyes glowed pink and had missing pupils. It isn’t him. He knew by the way his skin was just purple and black that seemed to swirl. It isn’t him. He knew in the way that, as the thing that posed as his little brother, ran at him like he wanted to kill him.

It isn’t him.

He blocked its swing, but it was stronger than it appeared. It was then that the Veteran realized that he had stashed most of his magic bracelets and rings into his bag to make sure they didn’t rust from the rain.

But he did have something, and he was going to use it to its extreme.

Legend pushed the malice Sailor back and dashed to the side. He made it far enough away in seconds to drop his bag. After all, while it was on him, it was weighing him down.

As the faux Sailor ran at him, the Veteran bolted behind him. Before it could truly react, his blade met its shoulder. Relief flashed over him for only a second before a stinging pain was felt in his stomach. He was thrown back, his sword falling out of his grasp.

He keeled over, the dinner that Wild prepared spilled from his lips. He coughed and looked back at his opponent. Its leg was behind it, the sole of its boot flat in the air.

It…kicked me?

He thought that it cooked up some quick spell, but it didn’t. It just…kicked him. He needed his power bracelets now.

He had speed over it with his Pegasus boots, but it hit like he imagined Mrs. Malon would if she was fighting for her life.

Legend rolled out of the way as it punched the ground, creating a series of cracks on the floor. The Veteran hopped to his feet and sped off towards his bag, stopping only for a second for his sword.

“What’s wrong? Running away already? We have so much more time to spend together!”

Legend sneered at the sorcerer’s words, keeping an eye on the space between him and Wind’s malice clone. “It’s more like preparing to properly whoop ass,” he responded through his teeth.

He put on every bracelet and ring that he could before jumping back into action, three goals in his mind.

Kill whatever the hell this thing is, destroy that orb and the sorcerer, and protect my shit.

The faux Sailor morphed its sword into a giant hammer. It had a lot of area on its blunt end. On it, though it was the same swirling purple and black, Legend saw that it was a skull.

Wind had mentioned a weapon called the Skull Hammer.

The hammer had to slow it down, right? It couldn’t be the same speed. But even with Legend’s speed, it demonstrated that it would not falter.

If he took even one hit from that, a good bit of his bones would break. He might even be rendered immobile, paralyzed even.

“Fuck this,” Legend said, his throat on fire. He had to keep moving or it could mean death. At least he was better armed now.

It ran at him, hammer at the ready. He dashed away and heard an audible groan come from its form as it turned.

Legend scoffed as he raised his sword above his head. “Let’s see how much you like fire!” He brought the sword down and fire surrounded him in pillars. A breath caught in his throat as he saw the hammer coming down on him.

The hammer didn’t even hit the ground before it dispersed. The flames ceased, Legend’s sneer faded.

Kill whatever the hell that thing is. Check.

Destroy that orb and the sorcerer.

He bolted to the stone chair the sorcerer sat in and just barely missed the smirk that was on his face.

Bright blue flashed behind him. But before he could turn, his body began to spasm as he screamed.

[alchemisland]

Crust Punk Scene

Thinking back to my days as a crust punk

It was cans everyday before I smoked skunk

Looking back can’t imagine what she thought, mum

I smoked, screamed, pierced myself and battered drums

All my mates over all the time doing what they couldn’t

At home, always people explored shadows they normally wouldn’t

Around me, in this sense I am satan’s sudden student

Said don’t need no education but I’m not the type to bunk

In Ireland we call it mitching, tell you true I never played truant

That game I never played through it, I did do it though

Leaving school, true to my word there, they’re all fools

Drooling on desks, whole thing an out of control April Fool

I rue a man to put a rule on me, do one man, judge ruling on me

Midway through fifth year I elected to leave, selected my reprieve and none could refuse me

I worked in my dad’s while my mates went to school, few quid for the pocket, mostly for booze

The rest I spent on looking punk as fuck, bulletbelts getting delivered bulk

I had more anger in me, and more rips in my clothes, than incredible Hulk

Carry No Banners from Galway became Cut The Reins, went Galway a lot 

Lovely spot but cut the rains

At the Spanish Arch drinking cans all day

They call this place ambition’s grave

Nightlife to rave about, suddenly you’re fifty and never got out

Use the old sessioners as a lesson on what not to be, less than pensioners but close

These licentionnaires with greying hair at college parties plying wares

Only kiss they get result of double dares.

Spent plenty hard cash perfecting my look

Moon in Leo outlook, out with the old room for my new look

Never out unless looking good, flooded with looks my bulk

Onlookers audibly say fuckkkkkkk, like The Wire’s Bunk 

I only cared about being the punkest punk, no giving fucks

More binfrequenting than local fox

Some shouldn’thavesent in sentbox.

Everyday in full costume like an habitual monk

The way you do when you’re young

I wrote punk’s dead in marker on my sleeveless parka shirt from army surplus

I had a navy nike hat with an immortal patch on, buckle had rust

Never saw it again when I left it on a Greyhound Galwaybound GoBus

Frayed with wearing, greyed with caring, grade unerring it was my A hat

I had studs and metal bits glued onto all my jackets

Nothing flair lacking

Nothing’s fair that age

Started using red dax wax to sculpt my hair into liberty spikes

Until my top tips signalled to the rising moon like IRA pikes

No rules except what to think, wear, listen to and how to act

Didn’t realise I was signing a pact, I’m listening to Filthpact

Crusties barely wash after enacting the No Showers Act of 10 years back

Their baggy clothes are filth packed

Like wallowing pigs they’re filth backed

At crust gigs no pints are sold

It’s bold but might get one water to pour in a six pack

Posh father daughters playing at homeless, LATFO lmao

Caught between a rock and NWOBHM, more piss smell than OTO

Bake sale

Pit hair like lichens sprouting my cut off Amebix merchandise

Dreads dirt-caked, Latvian army boots in bad shape, looking like piltdown man

They shout crust as fuck existence in can-strewn Cabra kitchens

They form bands called Nuclear Axe Wound or Mandatory Deexistence

No distance between bands, scene is small and incestuous 

Every second punk kid here attended Wesley, half played rugby

Dad’s in the ministry like Weasleys, but they’re punx see

Purposely didn’t take their pocket money, funds beneath their dignity

Rather play for beers, be dirty and have nits, playing on the streets

Dirty knees kid calls himself a magpie, watches train hopping documentaries

A total crock those demo tracks you sent to me, 4 track ra-punk 

Shit be the scent of me, all kak perfume, two birds and eighty blokes per show

Lops off locks and let grease wind dreadlocks, acquire shocking forehead stick and pokes

Squat the world, he jokes, his dad’s place is on millionaire’s row

Fucked up at the front of the show, milling elbows

Dreadlocks like a dingleberry lasso 

Buckfast purple lips and unwashed teeth on show

Your uncle has a spare rolex, everything gold like butter

Your patch says train robber, another says cradle2gutter

You all absolutely deserve each other.

Hanging around the closest we have to train tracks

Pretending you’re leatherclad raiders outta Mad Max

Spent my inheritance on cans, family won’t see me again

Until I’m in dire need of a lend, I also attend Christmas and holidays

Driving mammy around the bend, arrived for Thanksgiving dressed like a Fallout raider

They have saved up but secluded my money until I grow up, few years finding myself

Finally settle into a position at Dad’s firm, dad’s firm on this decision, I’m binding myself

To his millions.

Yes me boys that’s me gone, striking out west goodbye Muirsin Durkin.

[bound-to-the-sea-are-we]

Will you Join Us?

(Got7 backstory)

It’s been years since Jaebeom sailed the seas, and his oath to never do so again stands.

That is, until the son of the Pirate King shows up, trying to convince him to sail once again.

(1473 words)

Jaebeom could only stare as his life went up in flames.

The ⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️⬛️was burning, setting even the ocean alight with debris. The screams of his men, painful and horror filled, had stopped long ago.

“Captain! Oh my– Captain!” A voice yelled, and Jaebeom looked up in shock.

It was one of his newer crew members, he hadn’t known him all too well before this. But as Jaebeom collapsed into Jinyoung’s arms, he swore that he would never let him out of his sight again.

“How did you–” He choked out.

“I hadn’t gotten back with my supplies yet, and so many things held me up, and then they wouldn’t let me into the shipyard because they said a ship was burning… That’s… everyone else…? Jinyoung asked hopefully. His eyes went wide as Jaebeom shook his head, and he whimpered softly. Jaebeom was reminded, once again, that Jinyoung was about his age… and he was quite young himself.

Jaebeom gently dragged them both away from the wreckage, feeling numb. But as he looked back at the embers of his last life, he spoke a promise into the night.

“I will never sail again.”

Several Years Later…

Mark cursed as he weaved through Park Port, dodging pirates left and right.

“I wanna sail, I said! Not find my own crew. Stupid Pirate King.” He grumbled, avoiding stepping on one of the large banner’s with the mayor’s face on it. He yelped as he was pushed anyways, falling into an alley.

Mark took a deep breath, then stepped back out.

“Stupid… Park… Port… Stupid rumors of Captain Bones and legends and ships–”

He grunted as he finally made his way into the tavern he’d been looking for, The Green Bird’s sign bright with fresh paint.

Mark stepped inside with a sigh, heading straight to the counter. Another man was there, ordering something.

When asked, later, Mark would never be able to point out why he knew the man was significant. He just did as he slid up next to him.

“Just an ale, please.” He told the barkeep, and turned to the man.

His hair was long, brushing his shoulders, handsome if a bit unkempt. His face was clear of scars, minus a single one spanning the bridge of his nose and underneath his eyes.

His eyes were different – one ice blue, one soft green. He was roughly the same height as Mark, wearing an unassuming white shirt, brown pants and boots…

And a brown coat blackened by scorch marks, with a hat that had half a red feather missing, the tips clearly scorched.

Mark gaped.

“You’re Captain Bones.” He breathed softly.

The man gave him an odd look and turned, taking both of the drinks he’d ordered.

“You’re mistaken, lad. The name’s Jaebeom. I’m certainly not a sailor, much less a pirate captain.”

Mark shook his head, beginning to speak, but Jaebeom cut him off.

“Besides, even if I was, I’ve sworn never to sail again. Those days are long behind me.”

Mark could only watch as he stalked away.

~~

“What story am I telling you, little rooster?”

Mark hummed, settling into his hammock as he thought. He looked up at his papa.

“What about your friend, papa? The one that made you sad?”

The Pirate King grinned softly.

“Aye, they called him the Captain of Bones, with how many bodies he left behind. More ruthless than any pirate I’ve ever seen, but he had his soft spots, if ye knew where to look.”

Mark’s brow furrowed, serious in the way only a child could be.

“What happened to him, Papa?”

“What happens to all good pirates, little one?” The Pirate King said ruefully, “The navy. Ambushed him in a safe port, set fire to his ship. Tales go, only he and one other made it out alive. Some say he settled in Park Point, a ghost of a man, swearing to never sail again.”

“Is it true?”

“I suppose you’ll just have to find out some day, little rooster. Go to bed now.”

~~

“You’re back.”

Jaebeom’s friend said, surprised. Mark shrugged.

“I want to sail with him. Course I’m back.”

The other man chuckled.

“Park Jinyoung. No relation to the mayor.”

“Mark Tuan.”

Mark grinned, shaking his hand.

“Any recommendations on drinks?”

“No. Go away.” Jaebeom said as he came back to the table, handing Jinyoung a tankard.

~~

“Morning boys!”

“How are you this annoying this early? Go away!”

“Nah, thought I’d stay and shoot the breeze a bit.”

~~

“Pretty sure I’ve told you to go away quite a few times.”

Jaebeom said, exasperated as Mark sat at their table once again. Jinyoung was nowhere to be seen.

“Told ya.” Mark hiccuped, voice slurred slightly. “Wanna sail. Can’t with dad.”

Jaebeom’s head tilted.

“…why not?”

Mark pulled the medallion out of his pocket, and Jaebeom was shoving it back there a second later.

“You can’t go flashing that around, what were you thinking?”

Mark shrugged.

“That’sss why.”

Jaebeom blinked at him for a moment, then pinched his nose.

“Idiot.”

~~

Before Mark had quite realized it, it had been two months, trying to get Jaebeom to sail again.

He was starting to get a bit discouraged. Giving up wasn’t in his vocabulary, but Jaebeom was just as stubborn.

Mark rolled over with a groan, wincing at the ringing in his ears.

…that… that wasn’t his ears, a bell was ringing, something was going on—

~~

By the time Jaebeom and Jinyoung made it to the docks, the fire had been put out. People were muttering quietly, talking amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Jinyoung asked one of the dockyard workers, and he grimaced.

“If ya knew anyone over in the West Quarter, say goodbye. Slavers attacked early this morning, weren’t found out until they set the fire to get away.”

Jinyoung’s face went white as he turned to Jaebeom.

“Mark was staying in the West Quarter.”

Jinyoung wasn’t shocked that Jaebeom’s first instinct was to get drunk, but he was angry about it. He wasn’t expecting the older man to come back much sooner than he expected with a silver compass in hand, swaying, but standing, speech unusually unslurred.

“The guy at the magic shop said it can track desires.”

Jaebeom said, gripping it hard.

“Let’s go get our crewmate back.”

~~

Mark’s head hurt.

He was tired.

He wanted to go home.

He shifted again, wincing as the rope bit into his wrists. They’d found his father’s medallion in his pocket and had tied him to the mast, saying if he was a pirate than surely he could take it.

That had been three days ago, and he’d only had a cup of water since. His lips were cracked and chapped, and his legs had long since gone numb.

“Captain!” One of the slavers called, “Ship, three points off the port quarter!”

“Finally, our contact.” The Captain muttered. He stalked up to Mark, turning his jaw.

“They’ll take to you just fine.”

The other ship came alongside them quickly. But Mark’s eyes widened as Jaebeom was the one who stepped onboard, and not some sort of slaver.

“Ah, governor—“ the Captain started, and Jaebeom held up a hand, grinning sharply.

“Actually, you can call me Jay B. Or, perhaps you know me better as Captain Bones. Not my place to dictate how people know me.”

His grin turned deadly.

“You have something of mine. I don’t take kindly to that.”

The Captain opened his mouth to speak. He was falling with the force of a gunshot a moment later.

“Let’s not. Saves time.” Jaebeom growled, and the battle began as pirates rushed him left and right.

Mark saw firsthand why they called him the Captain of Bones. He was a terror, men falling left and right.

A stray bullet severed the rope holding Mark, and he fell, numb legs unable to hold him any longer. Jinyoung appeared by his side, grinning fiercely.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Jay B—“ Mark protested, but Jinyoung hauled him over his shoulder.

“Cap’s doing just fine. Haven’t seen him this much in his element since before our last home sank.”

Sure enough, Jaebeom swung back over after the slavers had been taken care of, a single scratch on his leg.

“Those kids down below have a sharp aim.” He laughed, seeing Mark’s face.

“Didn’t realize I wasn’t one of them.”

“You… came for me.” Mark said, the act truly sinking in now that everything was over.

“You… I didn’t think—“

“Well of course we came.” Jaebeom said, snorting as he tilted his head, grinning widely. “Can’t get far with a crew of two. Crew of three though… that doesn’t sound half bad. Besides. I think the world could use a little less scum, and I’ve got a magic compass now.”

Mark grinned back at him.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

[nelegance]

Chapter 5: Share

I stood in my room after Lestat left. I felt strange. Like I was suddenly overtaken by sadness. He made me happy. I think. Now he was gone and I was back to being invisible And silent. Not for long though.

Things changed quickly. The next day after meeting Lestat, I was given a new room. A real room. It was basic but clean and most importantly, had no fumes. I ran to the window right away. I hadn’t had a window since I arrived. It was raining outside. People ran across the muddy lane from this way and that. Some held newspapers over their heads to protect themselves; like the worse thing was a few raindrops on their hats.

It was a dull day. Cleaning rooms, preparing them for another round of business transactions. The usual. I was excited that I would get to help the new songstress put on her various costumes throughout the night though. They were so pretty. Simple dresses but with so many things that sparkled under the dim light. But at the last moment, I was told I wasn’t needed and that I could go off to bed. And I did that. I crawled into my bed and stared up at the yellowed ceiling. I knew why I suddenly wasn’t needed. I unknowingly ratted out Gwen. If that one moment, that one stupid moment in time with Lestat had ruined everything, it was time to move on. Yes, I wasn’t getting paid but I was getting tips. Now the tips disappeared. Along with the one bright moment in my life. I curled up on my side and cried. I was frustrated and didn’t know what to do next. I quickly snapped out of my self loathing though when a knock came at the door. Lestat leaned in without me giving him permission to enter. (As usual.)

He scanned the room with those icy blue eyes and then landed upon me.

“Why are you crying?”

I sat up and shook my head, “No reason. Can I help you, sir?”

Lestat stuck out his hand, “Come with me. Loui—Mr. Point du Lac would like to speak with you.”

I could hear the squeak of the taps turning off and could catch a glimpse of Lestat’s naked back in the vanity mirror.

“I thought you were going out!?” I shouted from the bed. 

No response. I should have known better than to shout. Lestat never responded to being shouted or screamed at.

I rolled off the bed and entered the bathroom. It was fancy once upon a time. Gold trimmings, a clawfoot tub, warm yellow wallpaper. Now the wallpaper was peeling, the gold was flaking and scratching off to reveal brass, and the tub had chips. The once shiny marble flooring now too showed its age. 

“Get in with me,” Lestat demanded as he took off his pants.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Yeah but why? It’s not really a two person kind of bathtub especially when one person is rather tall. I don’t think I’ll fit. What if we flood the floor? That wouldn’t be good. This is an old house and the floor is already in a terrible state.”

Lestat looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, “pour l'amour du ciel.”

I did love bothering him. A lot.

“I’m getting in…” I chuckled and stepped into the tub.

Lestat got in and put his legs around me so I was face him and he was facing me. He stared at me for a second too long. 

“You’re breaking up with me. You found someone who has better blood and less of a mouth.” I rattled off as tears started welling in my eyes. “I whine too much, don’t I?”

“What? No. No, not at all,” Lestat reached out and ran his finger over my bottom lip. “I like your mouth. I like it very, very much. But yes, you whine far too much. I am used to it though.”

“What then? Why are you looking at me funny?”

Lestat sighed dramatically, “I was just thinking about how bad of a decision I’m making.”

“Hmm?”

“Louis and I have decided that if you wanted to come to the club, you could,” It almost seemed to hurt Lestat to say that.

I gasped and clapped, splashing him in the process.

Lestat pointed his finger at me, “But! But there are going to be rules, okay? I would really like to take you home alive and well afterwards.”

“Absolutely. I’ll behave. You won’t regret it!”

“Oh I very much doubt that.”

“On the topic of things you might change your mind over…”

Lestat ran his wet hand through his hair and tried to lean back in the bathtub as much as he could.

“What now?” He asked, rather harshly.

I bent forward and found my way up his body until I got to his chest. I rested my cheek there, hearing nothing and feeling only the warmth of the water. He draped his hand over my hip.

“Do you think you could call me something other than your donor?”

“I already do. You’re Madeline.”

“But you always introduce me as ‘this is Madeline, my donor’.”

“If this is you asking me to call you ‘my companion’ again, my answer is still no.”

“Because of Louis?”

There was a moment of silence. I had strayed into dangerous territory and instantly regretted it.

“Because you are human and, while I do love you dearly, we share nothing together but blood and sex.” Lestat finally answered. 

And he was right. We shared a house and fucked and that was it really. When he went out, he went out alone. When I went out, I went out alone. We didn’t sit and share funny stories about our lives. We didn’t have any hobbies in common. When he was bored, he would force me to play chess or listen to him read from the most boring books…and yet, my heart was his. Sometimes he would sit across the dining room table from me and watch me eat. He said he liked the glow of my face as I ate food that he couldn’t remember the taste of. Or he would barge his way into the bathroom while I was bathing and wash my hair for me. When I was ill with a fever years ago, he loudly paced the floor because he didn’t know what to do and was convinced he had made me ill when he bit me the night before. I woke up to three different, scared, doctors and two dozen roses scattered around the bedroom. He loved me. But I had to share that love with someone else. Louis.

[total-killer-brainrot]

Hey There Stranger

You paused briefly to take another sip of wine, and nearly jumped out of your skin as the radio at your side crackled to life.

“You done already, sugar? I was just starting to enjoy myself…”

---

You use your old CB radio to help blow off some steam.

---

All my fics are also on AO3

Not Beta Read. Rating: Explicit. Length: 1,472. Ship: Rusty Nail x You. Fem!Reader. Tags: Sexism, Bad Work Environment, Voice Kink, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Begging, Tattoos

---

Today, like every other day spent in your gruelling, exhausting existence, was awful.

Running an auto shop solo, in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, as a young woman, was possibly the worst choice anyone could ever make. 

Your long days were spent either dying of boredom, baking in the hot sun, or getting cussed out by some uptight city fuck boy who refused to believe that you knew more about cars than him. So few of your customers were decent people. In the last week you could probably count two that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. 

Right now you were suffering through yet another obnoxious douchebag screaming at you because he was so sure you were overcharging him. You just stood behind the counter and watched him tucker himself out with a blank stare on your face. Too exhausted to even bother blessing him with a reaction. The door dinged behind him as another customer entered. An older guy, trucker by the looks of it. He gave you a short nod then waited behind the asshat still ranting in your face. 

By the time he had reluctantly paid and left you wanted to break something. Instead you forced a smile and greeted your next customer. Expecting another jackass old guy telling you how to do the job you’d be doing since you were young.

“Some people…” he tutted. Tipping his hat lower so you could barely see his face. Just his stubbled chin and the cigarette held between his lips.

You blinked in surprise. Getting empathy from a trucker in these parts was rare indeed. 

“Right? Fuckin’ audacity man…” You shook your head gently as you relaxed. Something about this guy put you at ease. Perhaps it was his voice. So deep it rattled your bones and made your brain buzz pleasantly in your skull. You could listen to him talk all day. 

Unfortunately for you he wasn’t very talkative. Polite, well spoken, but didn’t say a whole lot. Still you were surprisingly entranced by this stranger. Something about him drew you in. You weren’t the most perceptive person but you could just tell there was something unique about this older guy. But to your disappointment, he left with another nod goodbye before you could figure him out. And you were left with the lingering smell of coffee and cigarettes and the image of his smirk under that dirty old hat.

During your long, lonely shift you did allow your mind to wander. It wasn’t often a guy walked in here and caught your eye. And you’d never see him again. So why not indulge in a little harmless fantasy to get you through your boring workday. Was it really unprofessional to get off at work if you had no customers and were your own boss? Perhaps yes. So it all had to be in your head unfortunately.

-

Once home you were exhausted. Emotionally and physically. And you were still pent up and imagining that one unusual customer in all manner of compromising positions during the rest of your work day. 

Your bed creaked as you flopped down heavily, half full glass of wine in your hand, the rest of the bottle in your other. Already a little tipsy from your first glass. And already well into your second. Fully preparing to spend the night enjoying yourself to wind down from another stressful day of work.

When the most delicious idea popped into your head.

In the corner of your bedroom sat an old CB radio. Dusty from years of being forgotten. Despite the machine’s age, you still knew it like the back of your hand. Years of talking to your pa while he was on the road. It took you a minute to set it up at the end of your bed. Heart skipping a beat excitedly as the familiar crackle of the radio coming to life hit your ears. 

You flicked it to an empty channel. As fun as the risk was, you didn’t want anyone to actually hear you. Just the thought that someone might stumble across this channel by chance was enough to make your thighs press together. Just tipsy enough to think this was a good idea.

It didn’t take you long to rid yourself of your remaining clothes. Splayed out across your sheets with the little handheld microphone pressed close to your lips. A delicate sigh escaped you as the tips of your fingers slid through your folds and the tension started to seep out of your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you allowed your imagination to run wild. It was easy to conjure some make believe man on the other end of the radio. Listening and guiding you along as your fingers pressed down gently on your clit. There was no rush. You could take your time and enjoy the slow build of pleasure. Letting your moans fill the radio channel with no need to quiet yourself. 

You paused briefly to take another sip of wine, and nearly jumped out of your skin as the radio at your side crackled to life. 

“You done already, sugar? I was just starting to enjoy myself…”

You gaped at the little machine. Face turning hot. How long had this rando been listening? Had he heard everything? Was he jerking off right now? And… Why did that voice sound so familiar? You had to slog through your hazy thoughts for the owner of that perfect growl. Then it hit you. The older guy who had come into your work. The whole reason you were doing this to blow off some steam. You sat up slowly. Keeping your eyes on the radio like it would attack if you looked away.

“Can’t be getting all shy on me now… keep going.” 

His voice was firm. No room for argument. And that voice really did something for you. You could practically feel the way you dripped with arousal as his tone lowered in demand. 

With a nervous sigh you tilted your head back. Fingers finding their way back down to your core. For a brief moment you wondered if he could hear the slick noises it made, then you heard him hum happily and your suspicions were confirmed. You bit your lip hard as you slid two fingers inside your cunt easily. Too embarrassed to moan as openly as you had been moments ago.

“You know I wanna hear you, sugar.” He grunted. You let out a weak whimper that he cut off with another groan. He was definitely jerking off as well. The image of that alone made you weak. Those large, tattooed hands gripping his cock. Leant back in his beast of a truck. Perhaps a cigarette between his lips. His hat pulled low so only his salt and pepper stubble was visible. Your mind ran wild and you didn’t notice yourself start to get louder once again until he interrupted your thoughts with a devastatingly hot,

“Good girl.” 

Holy shit. You couldn’t remember a time where you had needed dick as badly as this. You pressed your thumb to your clit once again as your fingers curled inside you. Whining needily into the mic. Barely registering the pleased grumble you got in return.

“Fuck me…” You gasped out. Pleading for him without realising you had even opened your mouth. “Please.” 

He laughed. It was so deep and so damn condescending the humiliation nearly pushed you over the edge. Just barely able to keep your cool.

“Darlin’. I’m not even there.” 

You couldn’t stop the frustrated groan as it crawled up your throat. Turning your head towards the radio as you heard something slick from the other end. Drawn back to that image of him getting off to your moans. Your hips rocked upwards. Chasing the pleasure as it twisted your stomach. Loving that he was enjoying this just as much as you were. 

“Please…” You begged once again. You heard his breath hitch, then a loud rumble. He must have just started his truck. Your heart skipped a beat and you gasped excitedly. Eyes rolling back into your head as you felt your orgasm start to crest.

“Don’t you dare cum till I get there. You gotta wait for my cock, ok baby?”

You froze. Holding your breath as you fought off the pleasure. It was torture to pull your hands away but at this point you would do anything he said. You nodded. And it took you way too long to remember that he couldn’t see you. Yet.

“Yes.” You knew you already sounded like a mess. Breathless and needy. You quickly tacked on the end, in hopes of gaining his favour. “Sir…”

His low chuckle made you squeeze your thighs shut. So fucking desperate.

“Now, where you at, sugar?”

[the-stray-storyteller]

Write Questions

*tips hat* @ashwithapen

Tenderly tagging: @tea-and-mercury @thetruearchmagos @theroseempress @desastreus @kooperation1101

(questions given at the end.)

1) What motivates you to write?

Well it's in my username. I am a storyteller. It's what I have loved doing from a very young age even thought it wasn't through writing. I enjoyed telling about mythological stories to my friends and dictating stories through dance. Writing is just something I picked up a few years ago. The ability to create new worlds from my imagination and bring other's to it is fucking amazing. Not sure if that's a proper answer or not.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

*laughs bitterly* I am not a big fan of my own work. Also I don't remember my work or other's work well enough to remember a line I liked a lot properly. However...I found this line a long time ago and fell in love with it.

"Now, do not misunderstand me; when I call myself a shell I mean–a used up bullet casing. As in, the aftermath of something lethal.  As in, an echo of inflicted evil."

The post is here.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Skyler from Defenders. I don't know why...they are just so fascinating to me. Well Skyler from three years in the future of the original storyline. The current Skyler I am writing is a fucking asshole.

Future Skyler acts like a cat (there is actually a reason behind that) and is adorable and an excellent flirt. They overthink things when it's not necessary and doesn't think at all when it is required. They are mythology obsessed (like me). They also refuse to learn magic in an academy because they are afraid that learning it in an academy will cause them to loose interest in it. So they are self taught.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Daydreaming about plots and scenes that I will never write.

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Describing stuff I guess. Idk.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Interaction. I LOVE THE INTERACTION. I was on wattpad before I came here and I felt so lonely over there. No one talked to anybody (at least not me). It just felt so cold over there. Then I came here and SUDDENLY there were so many fucking writers to talk to. There were tag games and ask games. Writing tips and resources would pop up on my dash. Then the memes and so many more things.

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I just spam words onto google docs. And occasionally plot on sticky notes. That is all I do to write. I don't use any program or anything.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. *more screaming*

There are too many. First things first. The piece of worldbuilding that will always remain my favourite is:

The names that the Facility assigned to the trainees in my WIP, Rebel.

In the Facility the identity of the trainee is taken away once they join. The Facility renames them and it is a psychological move which is similar to the whole 'if you give the dog a name then it's yours' kind of thing. It is a power move to show that the trainees belong to the Facility, they belong in such a way that the Facility can rename you.

So anyways.....the name given to the trainees is the first three letters of the month they were born in a dash and the day were born on. For example the main character: May-05

If a trainee with a similar birthday joins after the first May they will be named:

May-205

And the next will be named:

May-305

and so on.

The second piece of worldbuilding I am proud of is the still developing magic system in Defenders. I have a whole fucking doc for it.

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

My darling...if you didn't love writing you wouldn't be here worrying about it. If you love writing I am sure the ideas are just baking in you head. You just have to wait for it to be ready and then it will come out of the over by itself. Till then just make another cake or a small cupcake, maybe some cookies or something entirely different.

(Has my advice giving improved? I am usually shit at it)

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

@avocado-frog my first mutual who is also my first friend in this hell site. He has been with me from the very start. I love him and his over detailed WIP.

@holdmyteaplease she is just a ray of pure beautiful sunshine. HOW ARE YOU SO SWEET? You have no idea hos much you make me smile.

@i-eat-books-and-nutella she really isn't online on tumblr anymore but she is the first beta reader I have had. She has read all of my works and supported me to this day.

@toribookworm22's worlduilding wednesday asks helped me out of a really bad writer's block (not really a support thing but it helped me so much)

ANYWAYS...

THE QUESTIONS:

1) What motivates you to write?

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

[grandinternetcollector]

Going Local: PR Agencies for Crisis Management: Who to Call When Your Reputation’s on the Line

Introduction: When Your World’s on Fire

Picture this: you’re scrolling through X on a Tuesday morning, with coffee in hand, when you see your company’s name trending for all the wrong reasons. A customer’s rant has gone viral, or an employee’s mistake is now a screaming headline. After 25 years writing about PR, I’ve seen this movie play out too many times. Your reputation, that fragile thing you’ve spent years nurturing, can crumble in hours. A 2023 Weber Shandwick report says 63% of a company’s value is tied to how the public sees it. That’s not just a number, it’s your livelihood on the line.

Remember United Airlines in 2017? A passenger dragged off a plane, a viral video, and poof $1.4 billion in stock value gone in days. But they fought back with apologies, policy changes, and smart PR moves, proving that the right crisis management can save the day. This article is about those lifesavers — crisis PR agencies — and why local ones often pack the biggest punch. We’ll also tip our hat to PR Agency Review, a game-changer for finding the right agency through their killer online presence and outreach.

What’s Crisis Management in PR, Anyway?

A. The Art of Putting Out Fires

Crisis management is like being a chef in a kitchen where everything’s burning. It’s about handling scandals, lawsuits, or social media meltdowns with cool-headed strategy. It’s not just PR, it’s PR on steroids, where every word and move has to be perfect under insane pressure.

B. So, What’s a ‘Crisis’?

A crisis is anything that makes your stakeholderscu, stomers, investors, employees, lose faith. It could be internal, like a data leak or an executive behaving badly, or external, like a boycott or a natural disaster. Think of a tech startup’s app crashing on launch day versus a restaurant chain caught in a food safety scandal. Every industry’s got its own flavor of chaos. In 2024, PRovoke Media found 78% of crises blew up on social media, making it a whole new ballgame.

What Do Crisis PR Agencies Actually Do?

A. Their Playbook

These agencies are your 911 call when things go sideways. They:

Craft Messages: Write statements that say “we care” without saying “we’re guilty.”

Tame the Media: Handle pesky reporters and push for fair coverage.

Watch Social Media: Keep an eye on X or TikTok to catch trouble early.

Talk to Stakeholders: Calm down investors, staff, and customers.

Rebuild Trust: Plan the long haul to get your good name back.

B. Inside the Chaos

I once got a peek inside Golin PR Agency during a client crisis. It’s like a newsroom on energy drinks — teams poring over data, hammering out statements, and coordinating with lawyers faster than you can say “breaking news.” Golin’s TAIlored Intelligence tool crunches audience vibes in real-time, turning panic into a plan. It’s wild to watch.

When You Know You Need Help — Yesterday

You need a crisis PR agency when:

Reporters are circling like sharks.

#YourBrandIsOver is trending.

A lawsuit or leaked memo hits the news.

Customers are bailing, or investors are sweating.

I saw Golin PR Agency in action with a 2022 tech client hit by a data breach. Users were livid, but Golin swooped in with honest apologies and got the story spun positively in places like Forbes. They didn’t just fix it — they made the brand look human.

How to Pick the Right Crisis PR Agency

A. What Makes a Great One

You want an agency that’s quick on their feet, tight-lipped when it matters, and has scars from battles like yours. Speed is everything — news doesn’t wait. Discretion keeps sensitive stuff under wraps. And experience means they’ve seen your kind of mess before.

B. Questions to Grill Them With

Before you hire, ask:

Do they get your industry, whether it’s tech or healthcare?

Can they prep a crisis plan before the storm hits?

Have they tackled global or legally messy cases?

This is where PR Agency Review is a godsend. Their platform digs into agencies’ online presence, client reviews, and outreach, so you can find a partner that feels like they were made for you.

The Best in the Crisis PR Game

A. The Heavyweights

Edelman: They’re the big dogs, saving Pepsi from that 2017 Kendall Jenner ad disaster with a heartfelt apology campaign.

BCW: A powerhouse for corporate and healthcare crises, born from Burson-Marsteller and Cohn & Wolfe.

Brunswick Group: The go-to for financial or geopolitical messes.

Weber Shandwick: They pulled a retailer out of a 2020 PR trainwreck with slick moves.

B. The Boutique Champs

Sard Verbinnen & Co: Perfect for hush-hush mergers or lawsuits.

Levick: They shine in high-drama personal or corporate crises.

Don’t overlook heroes like W2O Group. Their healthcare and tech know-how, mixed with sharp storytelling, makes them a standout for targeted crises.

Plan Ahead or Pay Later

I’ve seen companies treat crisis prep like flossing, something they’ll “get to later.” That’s a rookie move. A 2024 Salient PR study says firms with plans, like media training or mock crises, bounce back 40% faster. Waiting to react is like cooking without a recipe in a Michelin-star kitchen. PR Agency Review spotlights agencies that push proactive planning, using their online outreach to connect you with the prepared.

Stories from the Crisis Frontlines

Case Study 1: Celebrity Brand Meltdown

In 2023, a celebrity’s makeup brand got roasted for shady product claims. Levick jumped in, rolling out apology videos and influencer partnerships. They clawed back 60% of lost sales in months.

Case Study 2: Tech Startup’s Data Disaster

A 2022 fintech data breach had users ready to riot. Golin PR Agency moved fast, using data-driven messaging to calm the waters and land positive press. Their hustle was unreal.

Case Study 3: Healthcare Recall Nightmare

A 2021 medical device recall shook a healthcare giant. W2O Group kept it real with regulators and patients, turning a potential PR graveyard into a trust-building win.

Big Lesson: Move fast, be honest, and talk to everyone who matters. Agencies like Golin and W2O, with their data smarts, are the ones to beat.

What’s Happening in Crisis PR Right Now

Social media’s the spark for 80% of crises today, per 2024 stats. Tools like Golin PR Agency’s AI trackers are changing the game, sniffing out trouble before it goes nuclear. Smaller firms are strapped for cash, but boutiques like Levick bring laser-focused expertise. A decade ago, crises simmered for days — now they explode in minutes. PR Agency Review’s online presence helps you find agencies with the digital tools to keep up.

Where Crisis PR Is Headed

AI’s the future, predicting public moods and drafting responses faster than ever. By 2030, PRovoke Media says 65% of PR budgets might go to digital tools. Local agencies are rising, bringing cultural know-how to global brands. But tech can’t fake heart — empathy still seals the deal. PR Agency Review will keep growing, using its outreach to link you with local experts who get your market.

Wrapping It Up: Reputation’s a Long Game

A crisis isn’t just a bad day — it’s a chance to show your grit. The right PR agency doesn’t just stop the bleeding; they set you up to come back stronger. Whether it’s Golin PR Agency’s data wizardry, W2O Group’s industry chops, or a boutique’s nimble moves, your pick is everything. PR Agency Review makes it easier, using their online presence to match you with the best. In a world where trust is gold, crisis PR turns your worst moments into your greatest comebacks.

[polyhexianbirb]

The Web: I grew up with spiders in my bedroom. They sleep up above my bed at night. I used to pick them up and cuddle them. I woke up in the middle of rhe night to them crawling up my legs. They never bit me, but I have had horrifying moments of spiders bigger then my hands just crawling up my legs from under the blankets, or that time when I was a kid and a redback crawled out from a doll I was holding.

The Spiral: I got lost in a supermarket once last year. I had went down an isle to grab something, but then it seemed like I was the only one there. It was a store I was unfamiliar with, and since there were no windows I got so disorientated that no matter where I turned I ended up at the same spot. I had to call my dad to come and help because I was so lost I was in tears. I didn't have my glasses with me to I couldn't read the signs either!

The Corruption. I used to go on Pathfinder (a type of scouts that was organised by my church) camps and we'd often camp out in the middle of nowhere. I once woke up the bugs galore in my tent and blood all over. Turns out I was on my period, but I didn't realise that when I woke up. All I saw were the bugs and this massive dead spider at my feet and I screamed. I haven't went camping since.

The Dark: I was experiencing a moment of sleep paralysis, or at the very least I was stuck frozen in a state between awake and sleep. My brain was dreaming but I was awake, and unable to move my body. There had been a man in my room, in the corner, floating above the floor behind where the door would be if my door was open, but it was shut. His skin had been pitch black but I could see him vividly in the dark corner. He tipped his hat at something, and I could feel a hand on my hips and waist, as I sleep on my side, and it was petting me. I had to pretend I was asleep otherwise some part of me knew that something bad would happen. I eventually passed out.

The End: I was riding my bike down to the road to my grandparents' place. It was only a 5-minute bike ride, and we were in a very rural area, so this is what I usually did after school for just a quick chat or to show them something cool. I was going down a hill and about to go around a corner. I couldn't hear anything but the wind in my ears, and I had looked to check behind me (I didn't normally do this, but something made me) and I saw a truck behind me about to cut the corner. It was going faster than It should've in this zone, and especially for a corner like this, let alone the fact that it was cutting the corner. I had tries to steer off the road but my bike hit a bump and swerved the opposite way that I had intended to, onto the road. I managed to somehow get back into the gutter, it's a blur how. My dad said he heard a truck horn honk but I hadn't. I was shaking so much my legs wouldn't work. I dont know how I got back away from becoming mashed under the truck's wheels.

The Desolation: I love fire. I used to light the poo tickets on fire in the school bathrooms. I carry with me 3 lighters at any given moment. Also we once had to evacuate our house due to a bushfire.

The Slaughter: I have 4 swords in my room and I'm getting more soon. :D also in high school I used to stab people who were being mean to me with my nails or lock picks. I also dislocated a kid's shoulder once in year 6. Also I think I generally just fear war. I watched Schindler's List at a wayyy too young age and it has scarred me for life. Weapons are cool, though.

The Eye: I stream, like video games and art and stuff. I get to talk to people all over the world like this, but of course not everyone is cool and it's kinda unsettling sometimes. Like this one person who seems to always compliment me? They seem nice but a lot of the time its excessive and just makes me uncomfortable? But then again I don't handle compliments from strangers too well. But, I do have this constant fear of my hyper religious grandparents finding out. I stream horror games, stuff like Phasmophobia and Resident Evil and they'd disown me if they found out I'm sure. Whenever I talk to them there's this constant dread over me that they'll learn about this aspect of my life.

The Lonely: I had no friends for a solid 3 years of my life, and because of that I've developed some pretty bad social anxiety that makes it almost impossible for me to function at all in a group of more than 3 people. Also I get seasonal depression and overall my bouts eith the Lonely may only be few yearly but it always sticks with me and leaves that lasting "nobody cares" that the Lonely loves.

Tma enjoyers, reblog this post with fears you feel like you'd be marked by and the experience that gave you said mark. I saw a post like this a while back and I found it interesting.

[synonymroll648]

sokeefitz, but fitz is aro and so the triad is made up of queerplatonic keefitz, queerplatonic sophitz, and romantic sokeefe, and they all love each other equally in their own ways. that’s it. that’s the post.