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the-kr8tor · 10 months ago

Text

In Deep Water

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW vomit mention, CW Inaccurate medical procedures, CW injury, TW blood, CW violence, TW death, CW guns.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 7 >>> CHAPTER 8

The laughter gets louder as the source of it shows itself aboard the black hellion, the fog makes way like a curtain opening to start a performance.

Hobie's grip is tight, fingers weaved around your arm, bruisingly strong. Your nails dig into his flesh as the uniformed man tilts his head to look at you, his toothy yellowing grin thrown in your direction. His powdered white wig flutters in the breeze, medals glinting off the single lamp on the bow, hands resting on the pommel of his pristine sword. The angelic figure head is a stark contrast to the devil sneering down.

The blackened wood of his ship groans as it continues to break a part of the revenge. The sails unfurled behind him, blue wings fluttering in the wind.

The angel of death has come.

“Look at what we have here.” He clicks his tongue, eyes boring a hole through your skulls, he narrows them into slits, and like a snake, he slithers as close as he can, tethering close to the edge. There's a flash of emotion in his eyes, snarling, the navy man chuckles, the mere sound makes you want to cower. “Hello little birdy, now how far did you fly to get where you are now?”

Hobie clenches his jaw, stepping over to hide you from his view. His hand never leaves yours, the dull ache from his hold says that this isn't just a nightmare.

You want to wake up even if it means losing his hold on you.

“Oh where are my manners? Mummy would whip me if she ever knew I didn't introduce myself to a lady.”

Hobie shifts his weight, ready to pounce if need be. You grab his shirt, making sure he doesn't do anything drastic. Subtly flicking your eyes to the side, you see the crew do the same. They look at you with fear in their eyes, the hunter’s gazes illuminating their contorted faces.

You can't help but let out a shuddering breath, the sound echoing around the open waters, hoping to get your cry for help to somebody who can do something, anything to get you and everyone out to safety.

“My name's Captain Mathias Bradshaw.” He drawls, thin lips curling into a smirk. “This here is my little merry band of sailors who has a bone to pick with—” pointing at Hobie with his thick finger, white cosmetic smeared on his palms. “Him. The red hydra. I forgot to greet you yet, long time no see you rapscallion.”

You hear Hobie's shallow breathing. Grey eyes thundering, a storm brewing, lightning flowing through his veins. The only reason why he doesn't let himself loose on Mathias is your touch.

“You see here, sweetheart,” The man addresses you and you only. “For the past three years your so-called captain and I have had a bit of a tiff.” He chuckles coldly. “A rivalry of sorts.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “Is it still a rivalry if you're leagues above your rival?”

“No, sir.” A gruff voice says, hidden behind the mist.

Mathias turns back around. “Well, we got our answer then.”

Hobie sneakily murmurs to you. “Hide—”

“I'm not done talking!” The sudden outburst makes you jump in your skin.

“You should've been done with your senseless dialogue a long time ago.” Hobie straightens his posture, head held high, a picture of a pirate captain. “Come down here and fight like a fuckin' man, show me your flames and I'll show mine.”

The man scoffs, amusement in his green eyes. “Flames? Yours is barely a spark.”

Hobie scoffs. “Let's be done with it then. Get the closure we both want, fight me in single combat.” Mathias knits his brows, Hobie smirks. “No? Thought you were a gentleman, where's your fuckin' honour?”

A booming laugh replaces Mathias’ scowl. “I guess it died with your little red hair—”

Hobie lets go of you, drawing his gun, pointing it directly at the monster's head. The crew takes this as their cue, doing the same, pointing their weapons towards the men surrounding them.

There's hunger in his eyes, beneath the swirling grey there's a hunger waiting to be fed.

The enemy ships don't even aim their cannons at the revenge, instead they float still in the water, unmoving, the men aboard their ships smirk in your direction like you're being served to them on a silver platter. It's then you notice the sons of the sea’s ship is no more. They took the brunt of the hellion’s collision.

No longer their sails fly, their crow's nest and pieces of wood lay floating in dark waters.

Left behind, slowly drowning in the depths.

You feel droplets sliding on your cheeks, for a second you thought it's your tears. And then more and more of it comes pouring down, splashing on the wooden floorboards.

Thunder booms from a distance, lightning flashes in the sky, lighting everyone's scornful faces.

A few of Karl's men stand with Hobie, clutching their injuries. You don't see Robbie, his lack of presence makes you glare at the sneering men.

“Say her fuckin’ name.” Hobie says through gritted teeth. “After what you did— Say her name.”

“Eh.” Mathias shrugs, “I forgot.” the laughter of his men echoes in the mist.

“You fucker—!” Hobie's hand shakes despite this, he draws the golden gun, aiming it at the navy man whose smirk gets wider.

“I recognize that little blunderbuss.” He chuckles, wiggling his pointing finger, “She pointed that at my head too, you'll be unsuccessful just like she was.”

It takes every fiber inside Hobie to not just shoot and face the consequences later. But he's surrounded, his crew is surrounded, they have no chance of escaping death if he shoots. The only option he has is through single combat and to appeal to the man's ego. He's hoping the idea works.

One look over his shoulder, one glance at your trembling face and he's back to that day, the day MJ was lost. He prays that this day doesn't end the same way three years ago.

“Little dove,” Mathias’ devilish eyes roam over your trembling body. “Look at you,” he chuckles lowly, “I'd say dear ol' Hobie here got an upgrade just because this one's got her head still glued on her neck!”

Hobie almost shoots him until someone from his crew screams, their voice full of malice, venom dripping with every utterance.

“Fuck you!” Gwen exclaims, “Don't you have any honour? She's dead and you're still spitting on her watery grave! After everything you've put her through!”

“Ah! Gwen Stacy, the ballerina turned pirate. How you doin', miss Stacy? I heard your father's still down in the stables, trying to repay his debt to the crown.” he rags her on, scoffing.

“You're still defending her? She's a traitor, a navy spy. The greatest one we've ever had in fact. Her only downfall is loving a bunch of…” he sucks in his teeth, trying to find the word. “Thieves like you. Love got her head cut off and love will be your ruin too.” Flicking his eyes to you, he observes everyone's faces after his tirade.

Hobie steps between Gwen and Mathias, his guns still raised, eyes brimming with the anger of a forsaken God. Yet he remains calm, clearing his throat, standing tall.

“Mathias Bradshaw, I challenge you to single combat, a duel. I win, you let us go. You win and you get to take us all back to the capital.” Hobie's voice booms louder than the thunder above. Lightning strikes near, the water sizzles at the contact. “I know a man of your stature can't say no.”

The man in the uniform guffaws loudly, broad shoulders shaking. “Oh that's hilarious, you think you'd win against me, little pirate? Hmm?”

“Yes.” Hobie doesn't miss a beat.

Mathias smiles, “I guess this one's less messy than what I was planning. Name your terms.”

“Guns only, five bullets. You get shot three times you lose.”

“I'll add a tiny thing to your wager.” The navy man looks over to your direction, pointing his crooked finger at you. “Same terms but I get to keep your little bird.”

Hobie turns to you, wide eyes staring back at you. “No—” He's already shaking his head before you speak up.

“Deal!” You roar above the thunder storm, deciding your own fate. The rain is getting heavier, drenching your terrified self. “The captain will take your terms as long as you honour it.” Nodding to Hobie, he holsters his weapon away from you.

Mathias cackles in the background.

Gently holding on to your arm, you already know what he'll say.

“Don't. Do you know what you just agreed to?”

“I do,” you stare at his raging eyes but they're tender when he looks at you. “I know you can take him, I trust you.” Taking his hand away from your arm, you squeeze him once before pulling him towards you. “Don't play fair, because he won't.” you whisper. “Fucking obliterate him, for MJ.”

Hobie takes you in like it's the last thing he'll ever do. He imprints your touch in his mind, wanting to remember the softness of it when the bullets get too much for him to bear.

He nods slowly, still unsure of your decision. If you trust him enough to sell your soul then he'll fight to the death so you don't have to.

With one last look at you, he turns around, facing up to the man he loathes the most, wanting to just strangle him with his bare hands. Maybe he'll do just that.

For the crew.

Mathias takes his blue coat off, grinning the entire time.

For MJ.

He grabs on to a rope, rappelling off the black hellion, landing in a thunderous impact on the deck.

For you.

Now that he's leveled with your gaze, he's a lot smaller down on the deck, stout with a round belly, face painted with white lead that's currently melting in the downpour. Hobie's taller and slimmer but he makes up for it in his agility and speed. You've seen him fight but Mathias' form could be compared to Finn's build, all muscle and strength hidden behind his uniform.

You're glad this was a duel of pistols if it was any other fight Hobie could be in trouble.

A few of his men do the same, jumping off the hellion while the ones on the smaller ships stay on board but keeping their eyes peeled.

Surrounding the bloodsail pirates, the hands of Mathias' men never leave the pommels of their rapiers. Hobie clenches his jaw, now standing before the king's flame, he can't help but gaze behind the man, back to you and his crew.

Gwen goes to your side, lacing her trembling fingers through yours, Pav sidles behind you, clutching the back of your vest. Miles stands next to Gwen, holding her other hand. You see them look at eachother with a knowing glance and glimmering eyes.

Your eyes meet Hobie's, you give him a nod, eyes full of fury, and trembling lips. You mouth a ‘Bleed him dry’.

The simple act of Hobie smiling at you, makes you tear up. It's the same one he gives you after you patch him up, it's the same one when he handed you the hot chocolate. It's the same smile that makes your heart flutter in your chest.

You're afraid as you part with the crowd to the side of the duelists, lest you get caught in the crossfire. As the one in front, you get a good look at the enemy on the other side, all lined up perfectly like the obedient soldier men that they are. You roam your eyes to their faces, wondering how they could obey a man like Mathias.

You assume the uniformed man walking towards the duelists is Mathias' right hand man. Left eye covered in an eye patch, his hazel eyes observe you. He's carrying a large wooden box, pristine and smooth at the edges with golden locks and embellishments. He opens it with a creak, rain water landing on the wood and soaking the velvet inside.

“You're the challenger, you get the first pick.” Mathias gestures towards Hobie, all smiles like he's not about to meet the end of a bullet.

You stand on your tippy toes to take a peek inside. There are two dueling pistols, flintlocks. One white as fresh snow, one is black like the hellion.

Hobie takes his pick, pocketing what you assume is the five bullets. The black gun in his hand shines when a lightning strikes the mast of the hellion. You hear splintering wood in the distance.

He steps back in place, measuring the metal’s weight in his hand.

“Good choice.” Mathias eyes down the gun. “Death has touched that one.”

Hobie glares, baring his teeth. If only that was enough to kill the man before him.

Mathias takes the remaining gun, wiggling it in his hand. “You ready, little pirate?”

Hobie doesn't show an ounce of fear. “You're going to die today.”

“How confident, confidence alone won't help you aim straight.”

Your entire body shakes whilst they stand back to back, guns raised on their sides. They walk slowly, counting their steps.

The pouring rain doesn't help, raindrops obscuring your vision, the cold mixing in with the ice in your veins.

With every step Hobie takes,

Five

with every hit of his boots on the floorboards,

Four

your heart tries to escape,

Three

pulse hammering,

Two

threatening to give out. Afraid of what's to come. No one else dares to make a sound.

One

Standing end to end on the dock, they turn around swiftly.

After a beat, the man with the box yells. “Fire!”

Bang!

The sound echoes out in the dark, above all the rain and thunder.

Hobie hits his mark, Mathias groans, clutching his dominant shoulder. Smoke bellows out of their guns, dissolving into the rain.

Your words are repeating in Hobie's head ‘Don't play fair’ you say, then he won't play fair.

He notices his bleeding arm, looking down he sees the bullet nicked his skin, leaving an angry gash in its wake. The wood behind him gets the brunt of the bullet, the metal embedding inside, splintering a gaping hole.

You jump when Mathias laughs along the thunder. More and more lightning pierces the sky. You can taste iron in your mouth, not realizing the pain from biting the inside of your cheeks.

They reload, Mathias’ man observing with his watchful eye, making sure they both adhere to the rules; but you highly doubt he's doing it for fairness sake.

Metallic clanking, gunpowder clinking against steel, Mathias' voice enters the fray to your dismay.

“You know, you were too easy to fool.” He starts, finishing up his reload. “You never asked why I left my lieutenant in your hands and why was it so damn easy for you to get my travel documents.” Smiling, the lead on his face melts further, dripping on the floorboards, the white paint mixing in with his blood. “Just like I said, love will be your downfall.”

Hobie doesn't have enough time to squabble, instead he would let his aim talk for him.

“Twenty paces!” The eye patch man yells again.

Hobie and Mathias move forwards, getting closer and closer to each other. You want to put a stop to the duel, but you have to trust Hobie that he'll make it, that he'll win. He has to.

You dare not blink.

“Fire!”

Bang!

Hobie almost keels over, his shoulder heavily bleeds, trembling hand holding his flesh together. You see him smile underneath the pain, following his gaze, Mathias clutches his shooting hand, groaning and hissing. It looks like Hobie shot a hole right in the man's hand. The white gun lays on the bloodied floor, discarded.

Gwen's hold on you tightens, you can hear Pavitr sob quietly.

You catch Hobie's eyes. There's hope in the swirling grey, nodding, you encourage him, mouthing an ‘end it’. He seems to understand, straightening his stance, he reloads the gun as best as he can with an injured shoulder.

Mathias wheezes out a strained laugh. “I gotta hand it to you, your aim is pretty good.” He stands, grabbing his gun on the way up with his uninjured hand. “No matter how amazing your aim is, you're still bloody blind!” He screams, spit flying out of his mouth.

“My two bullets that's in you say otherwise.” Hobie tilts his head mockingly.

“No, no, no.” Mathias clicks his tongue, waving the gun wildly. “You still don't get it do you? You're not asking questions, letting everything fall into your lap, thinking God's on your side on your little revenge quest. But he's not,” he chuckles. “Sacrificing my lieutenant was the best decision I've ever made, especially knowing the fucker can absolutely sing. Loose lips sink ships, little pirate. Do remember that. Especially since you didn't seem to learn from it last time.”

Hobie's face falls, dread filling his chest.

“Bribing the governor to plant my travel documents and telling him to go unwind in a brothel for a couple of days was well worth my coin.” Mathias stretches his shoulder, reloading his pistol with bloodied hands.

He continues. “The two idiots at the gates were…well idiots, I barely had to do anything to them. The lock was a false security to make you sweat a little bit.” The king's flame proves himself. “You're blind. You've focused so much on taking me down that you didn't notice the little details. It's either that or you're also deaf, preferring not to hear your crew's concerns.”

“Not a very good attribute for a supposed captain.” he shrugs, he says his words mockingly.

“Fuck you!” Hobie aims directly at his rival's head.

It's all his fault, everything that led up to this point is his fault.

The gun trembles in his hold. Mathias looks pleased, smiling at Hobie.

“You know the rules.” Mathias sucks in his teeth. “Don't fire until lieutenant Dubois says so or I win and I get your little bird.” he looks over at you. “Oh we're gonna have so much fun together, every night, every day.” His laughter makes you want to grab the nearest knife and shove it down his throat.

You don't back down from his disgusting gaze. “If he doesn't kill you, I will.” Pavitr tries to hold you back. “And it won't be quick.” your voice shakes from sheer anger.

“I look forward to it, duchess.” Mathias spares you one last glance.

You don't notice how Hobie looks angrier than he did, he's clearly holding back. His glare alone could burn a hole through Mathias' skull. Yet he stands tall, getting a second wind; he's gonna shoot a hole in his skull instead.

His head goes a hundred knots per hour, thinking of all the what ifs. What if he just listened, what if he didn't let her stay, what if, what if, what if, the words are tattooed in his mind, clawing and biting at his psyche.

“Ten paces!”

They walk in sync, closer to each other more than ever. Pausing in place, they stare each other down, Mathias' smile never leaving his lips. Hobie's scowl gets deeper with every second that passes.

“Fire—!”

“Fuck this.” Mathias lunges in surprise, grappling Hobie.

Hobie doesn't get a chance to dodge, his gun clattering on the floor as the heavier man tackles him to the ground. The wet floors make it hard for Hobie to find leverage against Mathias who's currently choking him with his large arm.

Chaos ensues, everyone breaks the line, unsheathing their weapons, fighting, steel and skin clashing. Pistols going off left and right, but your main focus is on the two men writhing on the floor.

You hear Hobie choke so you run faster, taking a fallen dagger from a corpse, you quickly dodge people, determined to save Hobie.

“This is what happens when you let your feelings decide for you!” Mathias yells above the mayhem.

Finally making it close to them, in one swift movement, you stab Mathias on his back, crimson ebbs on his white shirt like spiderwebs. He screams, letting go of Hobie.

You don't spare him a glance as you take Hobie by his arm, dragging him below deck. Shutting the doors closed, Mathias bids you farewell with one last cackling.

Guiding him through the corridors, you hope the winding hallways help make it harder for the enemies to find you.

“Y/N.” He wheezes out.

“Don't fucking talk.” Your feet brings you to the galley. Sitting him down, he plops like a fish on the chair, head lolling to the side.

Slapping his cheek, he wakes back up with a groan. “Actually, keep talking. Stay awake, please.”

Hobie nods, “I need to go back up, I can't leave them there.” He tries to stand but your hands stop him, making him sit back down.

“You can't help in this state. Let me treat you then you can go and help.” You look in his pained eyes. “Please, at least let me help with your shoulder.” your other hand fumbles to his back, searching for an exit wound. You already know the answer when you feel the hot crimson weeping out from the puncture left behind.

You plead with your eyes.

“Alright, do what you have to do. Make it quick.” he nods, you leave his side to light a fire in the hearth, laying a metal poker on top of the hot coals. “Can I tell you a story?”

“Whatever keeps you awake.” Taking out the first aid kit from your bag, you notice your hands tremble. They never shake when you're treating someone, with your back turned away from him, you swallow down a sob.

“There was this girl, she had red hair like one of those…” he sighs, injuries aching, throat throbbing. “Apples.”

You reach his side once again, trembling fingers dipping into the wound ointment. “You have a way with words.”

He grabs your shaking hands in his, “Are you alright?”

You pause in your frantic movements, blinking rapidly. “Y-you’re the one who's bleeding right now.”

“You're shaking.”

You twist your wrists away from his touch. “I'm alright, worry about yourself and your crew.”

“You're a part of my crew”

“Shut– just…” you exhale. “Continue your story.”

Hobie nods, eyes drooping. “She just one day showed up on the docks, asking for a place.” He inhales sharply. “I needed to fill the second ship so I agreed, I let her in. I shouldn't have done it.” His eyes well up but no tears fall. “I should've turned her away but she was determined, she had the skills to stay— can you give me somethin’ for the pain? A fuckin' rum or wine, anythin’”

“No alcohol, if you want to bleed out be my guest.” You hold a cloth above his wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding as much as you can.

“Fucker!” He stomps his foot, “you can be such a little shit sometimes you know?”

You can hear the struggle upstairs. Weirdly enough, there's no sound of cannons firing.

“I know—” the ship tilts suddenly, flinging you and Hobie brutally to the side. You do your best to shield his injured self, taking the brunt of the impact, back stinging from the wall.

He lands on top of you, arms on your side, face hidden on the crook of your neck. You can feel his staggered breathing on your skin.

Bottles and pans fly towards you two. Pushing him away, you guide each other to the corner of the room, huddled together, protected by the hearth.

“Shit!” Hobie protects your head with his hand when a pot flies towards you. The ship keeps turning and tossing the both of you until it finally straightens out, you can feel how fast its going by how wild the utensils are swinging.

“Someone got hold of the helm.” He whispers, his cool hand on your tender shoulder. “We're running.” Hobie doesn't say it with pride or dejection, he utters it with embarrassment.

“That's good,” you stand up, giving him a helping hand. “We can get out—”

The unmistakable sound of a cannonball whizzes past and the ship lunges harshly on the side again. You can hear frantic yells from above.

Hobie takes your hand, “I need to get up there.”

Helping him up, you nod. “And you will, let me close that wound off and give you something for the pain and we'll go back up there.”

“Y/N, you can't—”

“We will go up there.” the fire in your eyes makes him obey. “Sit down, I'll make this quick but not painless.”

He flops down, masking the pain with a grimace. Inhaling, he continues. “I let MJ in.”

You pause for a second before taking the metal poker. “Even after seeing all the bloody signs.” He sighs. “Maybe I am blind.”

You hold his face tenderly. “You were, but you still have a chance to change that. You can still help your crew. Make it right for their sake.”

He holds the back of your neck, kneading the skin with his bloodied fingers. “I don't regret letting you stay.”

You look at him apologetically. “You will after this.” Shoving the leather pot holder in his mouth, moving aside his clothes. “Inhale” you place the hot poker directly on his bullet wound, cauterizing the gaping hole.

It sizzles, Hobie holds on to your sides tightly, bunching up the fabric in his hands. Muffled screams eaten up by the leather in his mouth.

You move the rod away once it's done. Hobie's eyes roll in the back of his head. Slapping him lightly, he wakes back up.

“Stay awake, hey. Look at me.” He stares at you through half-lidded eyes. “There you are, captain.” You smile to reassure him. He gives you a tired nod. “Now for the exit wound.”

Hobie inhales, more than ready this time around. His skin is clammy, eyes red from the brimming tears. He clenches his entire body, determined to get it over with. Twisting around in his seat, he hopes the ship doesn't rock as you push the searing metal poker on the back of his shoulder.

With a muffled yell from him, you take the tool away, letting it cool down. Moving his head with your hand, you look at him apologetically.

“I'm sorry, if I warned you first you would've flinched.”

Hobie spits the leather out of his mouth, patting your cheek with his sweaty hand, he leaves it there, stroking your skin.

“I wouldn't have flinched.” He chuckles through the searing pain.

“Of course you wouldn't.” You hold his hand that's on top of your cheek. “You did good.”

He laughs, hand leaving your skin to hold your hand instead. “Not the first time I've felt fire.”

You smile, without thinking, you lay your forehead on his as more cannonballs fly around the revenge.

“You did good too.” He whispers. Eyes closed, he leans away. “Now get me something for the pain and let's get the bastard.”

You smile, nodding to him. Taking a bottle from your bag, you rub mint oil on his upper lip, igniting his nerves, keeping him awake.

“That's the only thing I have that could help. I can't give you alcohol.”

Hobie tentatively stands up, “Maybe after this then.” He groans, slightly limping. “‘m gonna need an entire crate of ‘em.” he thinks adrenaline is enough to keep him on his feet.

He faces you, a ghost of a smile on his pained face. Hobie bends at the waist, you scramble to help him but he refuses with his hand raising to stop you. Taking something from inside his boot, he grabs a shiny and slender thing.

“Here.” Hobie hands a silver dagger to you, intricate carvings of a turtle and a sea snake looping around the glimmering handle. “Somethin’ to defend yourself.”

“Are you sure? It looks—”

“I don't mind givin’ it to you.” He closes your hand around the hilt. “Make sure this one hits his neck this time.”

“I will.” Your eyes fill with determination, adrenaline still coursing through you.

He wobbles towards the door, sparing you a smile on the way.

“Hobie,” you call after him. “Continue your story after this?”

“Only if you tell me yours.” He looks over his shoulder, giving you the same smile he always has.

You scoff with a small smile, “Maybe I will.”

“Let's fuckin’ go and be pirates then.”

—

Getting up the deck was tedious work with all the rocking and shifting from the ship and the wild waves, add that with all the cannon balls whizzing past, it was like riding an angry bull. Meeting halfway with Karl on the way there made it easier, filling your chest with hope.

“Where's Robbie?!” He frantically yells, forehead bleeding, hands gripping Hobie's vest.

“I-I don't know.” Karl's face falls. “But we'll find him, I know he got out.”

“Got out from what?” His voice trembles, “what happened, Hobie?”

Hobie holds his friend’s wrist, “I'm sorry.” Karl weeps. “Go find Robbie and your crew.” He shakes his head. “And get the hell out of here, he's after me not you.”

Karl's eyes fill with tears, flicking towards you who look on with sad eyes. “What about you and the others?”

“We'll find a way out. We always do, remember?” Hobie reassures him with a smile. “Take one of my dinghies, and row the hell out of here.” he takes Karl's hands away from his vest. “We'll see you back at the old place, yeah?”

“You fucking better, Hobart or I'll drown you myself.” Karl takes your hand briefly, nodding. “I hope I see you again, doc.”

“Me too, captain. Find Robbie.”

You part ways with Karl, praying that he finds Robbie and what remains of his men.

“Ready, trouble?” Hobie gets your attention by brushing his pinky against the back of your hand.

“I'm right behind you.”

—

It's war.

The moment Hobie opened the door to the deck you smell petrichor and blood in the air.

You get a glimpse of the battle before he could shut the doors. Bodies, both pirates and navy alike lay motionless on the floor. The sound of thunder mixes in with the pained yells, flashes of lightning illuminates the night sky and you see the faces of the dead clearly.

Two-fingers lay face first on the deck, arms bent at an angle, blood pooling from his head. Through the smoke and splintered wood, Foul screams when a sword plunges through his heart, silencing him immediately. Danny takes a bullet for Finn who promptly avenges him with his cutlass, swiftly separating the man's head from his body.

One face you were hoping was among the dead was missing. Mathias isn't on board.

Something flashes in his eyes when he looks at you. Grabbing your arm, he leans in, your heart stops.

Hobie moves past your head to press his forehead on your shoulder. Bathing in your presence, hand squeezing your skin

“Hobie?”

He smiles, moving his hand up to cup your jaw. Chuckling, he cleans his dried blood off your cheek with his thumb. “Do me a favour, Scuttlebutt?”

“What is it? We need to get up there!”

Hobie ignores you, leaning away. “Survive for me would you? Live, find your family. Promise me.” He sniffs, eyes glinting.

“What?”

“Just promise me, trouble.” He shakes you.

“Alright I promise. Can we—”

“I'm sorry.”

“What—?” Hobie pushes you hard, you fall off the steps, landing on your behind, he exits without looking back, shutting the doors closed. “What the fuck?!”

You rattle the doorknob but it's no use, he locked it on the outside. Frustrated, you try to kick in the door, hurting yourself from the hard wood.

“Fuck! Hobie!” You bang the door, peeking through the keyhole you see carnage as Hobie makes quick work of the remaining men. “Let me help!”

The sound of cannon balls going off almost deafens your eardrums. If only you had your lockpick you could open it.

Your lockpick.

It's a stretch but you still run towards your cabin, feet thudding loudly, echoing around the hallways that you've memorized.

You feel relieved after seeing your door. Shouldering it open, you frantically search for the metal on the shelves. The tip of it scratches your hand but you don't care, already bolting off towards the exit. Running off with your bag tied around you, hoping the medical kit inside is enough to treat the wounded, you hold the lockpick in your hand while you run.

Your hope dwindles with every cannon hitting the ship.

Doors whizz past, ankle stinging, the sounds of screams and gunfire makes you sprint faster.

You don't notice the blood soaked hulking man leaving Hobie's cabin.

Running into him, you stagger, tumbling down, heart falling into your stomach as he looks down at you through his nose.

“Hello there.”

Scrambling to get to your feet, you slide under his legs, stabbing his achilles heel with your lockpick. The man screams in agony, you take the opportunity to sprint like you've never ran before. You'd take running away from O’hara any day.

Your lungs scream for you to stop, but you go on as you hear thundering stomping behind you.

There's no exit and you can't run forever.

The metallic click rings behind you, rounding the corner, you barely dodge the bullet aimed at you, nicking your hip.

“Shit!” You almost fall yet you continue on, entering the library, you shut the doors behind you, locking it swiftly.

Lifting your hand away, the sight of your own blood turns your fear into fury. With your trembling hands, you unsheathe the dagger from your belt.

You have a promise to keep, and you never break a promise.

Hiding behind the armchair you always sat on, you crouch down, gripping the dagger, ready to strike like a viper in the sand.

You look back on what she taught you, “Strike fast and hit hard. Don't give them a chance to get back up.” her voice whispers it to you and you intend to follow it.

The door bursts open, splintering the wood to a thousand pieces.

“The captain wants you alive, little birdy. This doesn't have to hurt if you just come with me, eh?” You hear him chuckle lowly, blatantly lying to you.

His heavy footsteps thud closer.

You use the shadows as your guide, the oil lamp left open on the corner table does the work. For once you thank Gwen for forgetting to close the light.

“I can help with your wound. Glue your wings back together again” he whistles. “The red hydra can't help you with that but I can. I'm a surgeon you see.” Getting closer and closer, you time your strike right.

You come out of your hiding place with a battle cry. Still crouches down, “I highly doubt that!” Slicing his tendons in one quick movement. The second he falls to his knees, you stab him in the neck.

Stepping back, he chokes in his own blood. With wide eyes you flinch when he stands, seemingly unaffected but his shaking pupils say otherwise. With a garbled noise from your assailant, he reaches for you.

“What the fuck?!”

With a split second decision, you dodge his hands, moving backwards, throwing books from the shelves which bounce almost harmlessly on his head and body.

There's a loud thrumming sound outside, its warbling is almost mechanical but definitely something an animal could've made.

He heard it too, pausing in his movement for a second before he lunged towards you. With a scream, your back against the corner, he jumps you.

Your head hits the wall in an ugly crunch, seeing stars, sliding down the wall, landing on the floor, he chokes you with his bare hands. Indistinct noises escape from his mouth, your dagger nowhere to be found in his throat. His entire body hides anything in front of you, drowning your vision, filling it with your murderer. His blood drips down on your face, almost drowning you in it.

You know he's running on fumes but based on your vision fading, lungs gasping for air, you think you'd go out first before him.

Hands grazing something metallic on the floor next to you, you inch your fingers towards it. Finally finding your grip, you smack it on his head.

You've got a promise to keep after all.

He yells, the oil from the lamp spreading on his skin and clothes, engulfing him in flames.

You frantically roll away, killing the fire clinging to your clothes until there's nothing left but burned cloth.

The flames light up the entire room in orange and reds, the paper around him helps feed the fire as he tries to desperately put it out.

There's that thrumming again.

You watch on, holding your tender neck. Your face is flat, eyes reflecting the fire that's quickly eating at the man. Fabric burns on his flesh, flesh turns into charred muscle, the fire eats at that too until he falls, silence hanging in the room except for the fire cackling, ashes and flames surrounding his corpse.

You stand up, ratty shoes stepping over fire to grab the fallen dagger with a thick cloth from your bag.

For a second you stand amidst the fire.

The thrumming outside and the warmth wakes you up, flames licking at your clothes, it's heat scorching your skin, nose filling with smoke. Even with all the pain you still escape with your life, determined to keep your promise.

Running outside the former library, the cracking of splintering wood fills your ears, you instinctively dodge, backing away before the mast of the revenge falls on your head.

Shielding your face, you cower. The mast stills, sharp wood lay next to your feet. Tentatively opening your eyes, the sounds from above are clearer in your ears, all the screams and guns going off, you hear it loud and clear that you can decipher whose screams belong to whom.

The fog enters below deck through the gaping hole left by the broken mast. All the while, the smoke from the library rises up, replacing the mist.

Your exit.

You don't hesitate to climb up. Jagged edges of sharp wood rip amd snag your clothes, stabbing your skin. Finding leverage, you manage to prop yourself up on the deck, meeting face to face with a lifeless Ned.

The light in his eyes is gone, unsung music escaping from his open lips. Skin dirtied by flowing ichor.

You don't hear anything else other than skin meeting skin in a brutal dance.

“No.” You quickly jump up, leaving the fire behind you to consume, to devour what's left of the revenge. “Ned?”

Desperately feeling for a pulse, your heart wretches in your throat, saliva filling your mouth, bile rising up from your gut.

There's no pulse.

With a choked sob, you close his eyes for him. The sound of wet punching makes you turn to your side. Hobie's eyes are wild, vicious and desperate, bloodied knuckles pummeling the man under him. Skin broken, nose cracked, skull open for the world to see. Yet, Hobie doesn't stop even with the obvious signs of death. Fueled by rage, he paints the wooden floorboards with the man's brain.

It all feels sickenly real, your heart is still beating in sync with his punches but there's so much death around you that you feel like you're a part of the dead. Blood and smoke filling your senses, adrenaline slowly washed away like the tides.

You're sitting in a graveyard and nobody else has noticed.

“Hobie.”

His fists pound harshly through the man's head, splintered wood now embedded in his skin.

You apprehensively crawl towards him, your various injuries aching, blood seeping out from your hip. The chaos around you still continues on while he still doesn't stop.

“Hobie—” your fingers brush his arm, he flinches back, fist raised to knock you out. But he halts, knuckles kissing the tip of your nose, painting it with crimson.

With wide eyes, he heaves, muscles tensed, grief all over his expression. You shove your fear down, holding his raised knuckles, moving it away gently. You hold his face in your other hand, smearing the fresh ichor on his cheeks, staining your own skin.

“It's done, he's dead.” You nod, caressing his face, turning it away from the carnage below him. “Hobie,” you unclench his fist carefully, shattered bone and hair sticking to him. With a shallow breath, you let the tears flow on your cheeks. “He's dead.”

His face flashes with fury only to be triumphed over by misery. With a heavy heart, he nods.

Behind Hobie, a uniformed man raises his pistol, without a second thought, you take the golden blunderbuss from his waist, hastily aiming it directly at the man's head.

Your ears ring, the smoke from the gun blinds you for a second before you see your target fall dead with a bullet right between his eyes, blood splattering like fireworks from his head.

Hobie looks at you in surprise, taking his gun away from you carefully. Hands soft on your raised skin. He pats your cheek and you could only shake your head.

“We need to—” the ship collides with something, Hobie holds you close, covering you away from debris. With his embrace, he protects you. Scarred hand on the back of your head, face hiding in the crook of your neck. Leather, sea salt and blood invades your senses.

The hellion is once again looming over the revenge, its golden façade cracking under the damage made by Hobie's ship.

Mathias shows himself, looking worse for wear, he wobbles on two feet, clutching his injuries.

You hear footsteps around you, raising your head, eyes widening at what's left of the crew, they stand behind you and Hobie. Wiping blood off their faces, reloading their guns, sharpening their swords. The red sails of the people's revenge still fly above, more than ready to take what they're owed, no matter what it takes.

Gwen's blond hair is dipped in ruby red, hands tight around her blunderbuss. Miles wipes his face clean, stepping next to Gwen with clenched jaw. Pavitr stands directly behind you, face covered in what you hoped to be someone else's blood. He nods, reassuring you.

Yuri and James take one look at Ned, their expression alone could make you weep again. Finn, crouches down next to you, nodding wordlessly, blue eyes glossy.

Hobie exhales, with shaky legs he stands up, helping you back to your feet. Gripping your knife, you scowl at the man above.

“How cute. The power of friendship isn't enough to save you.” Mathias says through gritted teeth.

The rest of his crew arrives, there's less ships than before, proving how the bloodsail pirates is a force to be reckoned with. They have what Mathias doesn't have, giving them something worth fighting for.

Mathias nods, signaling his ship to turn their cannons towards you and your family.

You step in front of Hobie. “I have a proposition!” Yelling above the rain and metallic clanking, you push away Hobie's hand from your shoulder.

“What is it?” The man rolls his eyes, looking incredibly bored. “We can't be here all night.”

“Me,” the crew voices their concerns, Hobie takes your hand, face terrified.

You smile, “it's alright.” Whispering to him and the crew only. With tearful eyes, you turn back to the devil above. “You seem like you really want me, so fucking take me instead. Let them go.”

You feel the heat beneath your feet. The fire devours everything just a few feet below you.

They all yell your name behind you. Protests fill your ears but you choose to ignore them. You feel his calloused fingers squeeze your hand.

The man guffaws, “Holy shit! You like them that much?” He observes Hobie's contorted face.

“You like her that much?” He chuckles. “You know what? I don't even want you that much, sure, get on up here, birdy!”

There's that thrumming and warbling again. It's much clearer now that you're above, it seems like it's coming from beneath the ship.

“Come here and take me then!” The rain mixes in with your salty tears. Raising your arms, shoving everyone away, you taunt him. “But let them go or I'll plunge this dagger through your eye!”

“Christ, you're as insane as him. Perfect for eachother eh?” he sighs, gesturing for his cannons to cease. “I'm already satisfied even though a few of your men escaped from a dinghy but eh, I'm sure I'll get them soon enough. Just like how I'll get you one day, little pirate. I'm a very patient man, I'll wait three more years if I have to.”

Hobie's face is full of anguish when he swivels you around to look at him. “Don't fuckin' do this. He won't keep his word,” he flicks his eyes to Mathias, then back to you, grey eyes darker than before. “the moment you step foot on that ship he'll kill you.” his mind comes back to that fateful day.

He can't let that happen again, not to you.

You look at him softly. “I know, but I'll make it hard for him, that'll give you enough time to escape. Hobie, I have nothing else, just this.” swallowing the lump in your throat, there's heat under your eyes. Taking his hand, you squeeze it once. “Let me do this, for you and for them. You still have to get your revenge so let me do this. Don't let him win.”

“You promised.” His voice cracks.

“I don't think I can keep it now.” You flick your eyes behind him, the crew looks on with grief marring their eyes. “They're too young for this, Gwen, Pav and Miles, they deserve to live too.”

You hear the rope fall from the hellion's deck. “I'm glad I got stuck in that net even though you made me walk the plank.” chuckling through the tears, you give them your best smile to remember you by.

“Don't leave.” he pleads.

Sliding your hand away, you take one last look at them, making a sketch of their faces in your mind to remember when the inevitable happens.

“I have to go now or this won't work.”

The captain has no plan on how to fix it, how to fix everything, and he beats himself bloody for it.

Turning around, with every step you take feels heavier than the last. You make amends to her in your mind, praying that it reaches back home. You also thank her, but you don't regret running away that day.

You'll never know what lies for you up north or if there's someone there waiting for you. If there is someone, you apologize to them too.

You leave traces of yourself to the people behind you with the hope you live on through those pieces. That at least they won't forget your name.

The howling wind and rain whips at your drenched form, committing the feel of it to memory.

Grabbing the rope, you fight the urge to look behind.

“Hurry up, birdy!” Mathias cackles. “Come on then—!”

The thrumming is deafening, everything seems to freeze mid motion.

Giant mounds of flesh rise up from the water. Snake-like features curl above, rising to the heavens, cutting through the grey clouds.

You can't help but be mesmerized by the beauty of it. Iridescent scales glimmer against the lightning, cracked scales teeming in gold. the lightning bolts ricochet off their scaly skin, unharmed.

More serpents appear from the depths, towers of scaled flesh. They rain sea water from above, dripping from their massive bodies.

One curls just above the hellion, opening its eyes, revealing an entire ocean in its orbs.

You can't stop looking at it, petrified.

“Dragons.” You say in awe.

“Y/N!” Hobie races towards you. His hand brushes against your shirt, so close yet so far.

You get yanked up with the hellion, grip still frozen on the ropes. Holding on for life, the beast has curled around the ship, in your peripheral you see men jumping off, splashing down into the depths, taking their chances in the cold.

Facing the creature, they trill and thrum, crushing the hellion and the navy ships in their massive jaws and swirling flesh.

You wake up from the trance they had you in, almost losing your grip off the rope.

“No!” You screech, saving yourself, arm socket straining against your weight. Twirling the rope around your hand, you tie it just like how they taught you.

Palms burning on the hemp, looking down, you're hanging high above the revenge. You watch as the crew frantically unties a dinghy while Hobie and Finn stay behind, they're too far for you to make out what they're doing.

Your only chance is to jump in the water but you know that'll be the end of you.

Water parts for something swimming fast under the water, it moves towards the Revenge. You scream their names in an attempt to warn them.

“Gwen!” Your throat struggles from the screaming. “Brace yourselves!”

The serpent crashes on the starboard side, away from where the small boat hangs. Hobie clings to the remaining mast, knife in his hand. Heart pounding, you watch as Gwen runs towards Hobie, he yells, she shakes her head but in the end she bolts for the dinghy. You nod, hoping she saw that you forgave her.

The beast constricts around the helion, crashing the oak and its gilded carvings in its wrapped body.

You sway in the wind with the serpent’s movements, praying that the rope hangs on to the figure head. The figure head of an angel looks down at you, lifeless eyes observing your slow demise.

This is the end for you, you've never thought you'd be killed by a mythical being turned into reality but here you are, hanging on by a thread, waiting for death to come.

With one last glimpse at the revenge, you see the fire finally reaching above deck. Gwen and the others lower down on the dinghy while Hobie grabs onto a rope, cutting the knot off the steel rings, remembering James' teachings, if he keeps doing that he’ll get yanked up, and with the wild wind, it will surely be a disaster.

You yell his name in a futile attempt to stop his effort at saving you.

Finn raises something in his hands, heaving it over his shoulder.

You sharply turn your head when a snapping sound fills your ears. The hemp untangles, with the rope breaking in the middle, you close your eyes.

The sea serpent lets out a guttural scream, the sound alone sends shivers down your spine. It uncurls around the hellion and you get a glimpse of a sharp harpoon sticking out from its eye.

Falling with the hellion, the serpent's eyes turn from blue to a bloody red, bathing everything in its gaze in crimson. it's the last thing you see before you shut your eyes.

You feel a familiar arm around your middle, looking over your shoulder, you think you've already died.

“I've got you!” Hobie yells, with him carrying you and his hand grasping on the rising rope, he struggles to hold on.

So you help him, wrapping your arm behind him, you hold the rope in the other, face close to his as you two fly above the revenge, swinging and whipping uncontrollably in the storm.

The beast trills, jaw unhinging, its rows of shark like teeth in full display.

“Shit!” Hobie manipulates the rope to swing you two away from its sharp teeth.

It fails to catch you, instead it turns its attention to Finn on the deck.

“Finn! Run!” Your blood curdling scream gets his attention, yet he pays no heed.

But everyone already knows it's too late, with one last fight in him, he raises his harpoon, yelling, meeting the serpent's opened mouth halfway.

It swallows him whole.

You just stare at where Finn once stood, he leaves patches of his ichor on the floor.

The revenge sinks, fire and water engulfing Hobie's home, your home.

“Love!” The name rots in his mouth, it gets you out of your frozen state. “I—”

The last standing mast cracks and breaks apart. You lose your grip on Hobie.

And you fall once again. For a second you fly, eyes peering towards the clearing sky, with white clouds in your vision, you brace for impact.

“MJ!”

That's the last thing you hear as you fall in the depths in a harsh splash.

A/N: so sorry for the late update!! Hope you like it 🫶 (if i forgot to put any warnings on the tags please tell me)

217 notes · View notes

agent-cupcake · 9 months ago

Text

Flashbang

Chapter 6 - Howl

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: A night of several firsts.

Warnings: Explicit smut, violence/death, dub/noncon, consensual drug use

Word Count: 13.5k

Notes: What do you get when you cross a mentally ill reader with a society that abandons her and treats her like trash? I'll tell ya what you get! You get whatcha fuckin deserve [weird culty clown porn]

“Now I wait as love and fate Echo from your lungs Do you, do you, do you want me, babe?”

xxx

A blood red sun set upon the sea, shining a single golden spotlight across the water as pirates rallied for the Final Call. Not even the wind could cut through the kinetic mist of untapped aggression. The pirate ship was a powder keg of violent energy and artistic ego, pressure building and building for this very moment. The crew was ready and the tides were right and the prey was chosen. All they needed was for the curtain to raise.

When the bell finally rang, it would be a lit match into an oil drum.

Not that you stayed around to appreciate any of it. You were safely stowed below long before the first cannon was fired. Like everything else on the ship, the brig had once been a neat, utilitarian holding cell. Time had worn the wood and metal, lending it a creepy, haunted atmosphere, the cramped space a graveyard of abandoned props. The scent of rust and aging wood and thick salty stale rot was borderline suffocating, the air holding you in a shivering cold vice.

All you could do was pull your jacket closer, trying to get as comfortable as possible on top of one of the many prop chests. It was claustrophobically slotted between a barrel filled with batons and a drum that had a violent gash through the top, but it was one of the only places in the room where you couldn’t see your distorted reflection in the cracked funhouse mirror.

Even though everyone assured you it would be an easy victory, even though you had seen Captain Buggy’s Devil Fruit ability, and even though you had witnessed the chaos of the assault on Barley Village, you worried for the crew. You didn’t know how to pray, or even what higher power might protect pirates, but you closed your eyes and hoped very fervently that your new friends and your captain would be fine.

Anything else was unthinkable.

After that, there wasn’t anything to do other than hunker down and endure the night. You thought that since you had seen the violence in Barley Village, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it now, especially since you couldn’t see anything. You thought that you were ready for the shockwave impact of cannons. You thought that it would be okay because you were stronger now.

Maybe, on some level, that was true, but when you heard and felt that first boom your body responded with the unrestrained panic of a wild animal. If you hadn’t peed before you hid away, you would have pissed yourself in pure terror. All at once, your breathing became fast and shallow, your heart pounding in your chest, a cold sweat coating your body. Then there was another boom. And another BOOM and muscles you weren’t aware of until that moment began to tense and quiver, your lungs seizing as if in the throes of hysterical weeping, dragging in air only to regurgitate with a spasming violence.

It was fine. It was nothing like that day. It was fine. Why would you even think of it now? It was fine. It was entirely different. It was fine.

It was fine and yet your body curled up into a ball with your arms around your head and chin tucked against your knees, your eye wide yet dry, your mouth gaping, opening and closing in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. Your brain was on fire and the only thing you could think was that you were going to die. It was as if your body didn’t belong to you, like it had a will of its own, feelings of its own, because you couldn’t understand the reaction, it didn’t make sense.

As the assault above worked its way down, your lantern frantically swung back and forth in a smear of flame. The metal creaked unhappily, the ship complaining all around you like an unhappy beast. Part of the strategy, you knew, was to limit cannon fire. They didn’t want to destroy the ship they hoped to commandeer. But even after it seemed like all shots had been fired, your body refused to relax. Down here, you had no idea what was happening above. No idea if Captain Buggy was okay, or Crina, or Cabaji, or Pippa, or Marty. You wouldn’t know for a while. Possibly hours.

If it weren’t for your state of hyperarousal, you might not have noticed the sound from above. A noise, and a scuffling, and then something that might have been footsteps. Was that the hatch opening?

You held very still, listening intently. Those were footsteps. You weren’t alone. Why? It wouldn’t make sense for anybody to come down here. Not unless something happened. There were plenty of worst case scenarios that could bring somebody down here.

Covering your face with your arm to stem the ragged gasp of your body trying to get air, you checked to make sure you had the knife Marty had given to you safely in your pocket. You didn’t know what you would do with it, but having a weapon was better than nothing.

A man jumped down from the steep ladder with a grunt, landing hard. He stood in the shadows, making it hard to parse details, but you had a feeling. A very bad feeling.

Then, in a moment of true and genuine surrealism, he called your name. Your real name, the one you hadn’t heard since you boarded the ship. He picked his way over to the brig’s holding cell, but the door was too rusty to close, and the inside was filled with more props. You could see him in the funhouse mirror, his image distorted into a creepy facsimile of a human being, his face stretched out and limbs grotesquely skinny.

You didn’t move, half hoping you would be obscured by the amount of clutter that surrounded you.

He stepped back, looking around until his eyes met yours. And still, you didn’t move, you could hardly believe it was real.

“Easy now, I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, stepping into the light with his hands up. “I’m looking for a girl. A hostage. Real short, one eye.”

You didn’t say anything, didn’t move, just looked up at him. Your mind screamed run, but your limbs locked up.

The man squinted, leaning forward to get a better look. “Holy shit, it’s you, isn’t it?”

A little spasm made your body jerk awkwardly, a burst of energy from the part of your mind that wanted to escape.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, holding up his hands to show that they were empty. “I’m here to save you from these freaks.” Your silence made him frown, some of the warmth fading from his voice. “We have to move fast, while they’re all distracted.” He came even closer, reaching out to grab you.

“No!” you cried, recoiling. “I’m not… I’m not going with you. I don’t need to be rescued.”

His eyes narrowed, you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. “You’re not their hostage, are you.”

“No,” you said, once again checking your pocket for the knife, squeezing it so tight that the metal indented your skin. “I won’t go.”

“Look,” he said, his voice hardening. “Your dad’s offering a lot of money for your safe return, so you’re going to come with me. Is that going to be a problem?”

“You can’t make me go with you, I won’t,” you said, shrinking back. You were essentially cornered, but you were also closer to the ladder than he was. If you could scramble up and close the hatch, you could find a place to hide.

“I want you to know that if it were up to me, I’d let it be,” he told you. “But you’ll have to figure that out with your dad.”

With a burst of energy you didn’t know you had, you sprung up and practically fell off of the chest, scrambling towards the ladder.

He swore, grabbing you by the arm to jerk you backwards before striking your face. With your momentum broken and then flipped, you couldn’t adjust, going down hard and hitting the floor without feeling much of anything, just the mindless, deafening fire burning up your entire face. You were blind, your right eye streaming, seeing nothing except dark. The man hauled you off of the floor, grabbing your arms to painfully twist them. Your left shoulder socket screamed with red hot pain. That soundly snuffed out any will you had to fight.

“I’m going to… To wrap you up. Try not to hyperventilate,” he advised, his words muffled beneath the sharp ringing in your ears. You realized that you weren’t blind, you had crashed into the light and shattered it when you fell. The man did as promised, covering you with a sheath of coarse fabric. It smelled dusty and a little rotten, it was probably one of the prop curtains. You didn’t have time to struggle before he threw you onto his shoulder, knocking the wind out of you all over again.

Blood rushed down into your pounding head, mixing with the potent disorientation of being struck. It pulsed against the burning flesh of your cheek, you could practically feel the swelling. You knew you needed to escape, but if he dropped you while climbing to the upper deck, you could seriously injure yourself. And what good would it do? There was no way you could escape, you would only invite more pain. Maybe some people got used to it. They could take beatings and bear the pain with their teeth grit, but that wasn’t you. Already your head hurt so bad you worried you were going to vomit, your face burned, your left shoulder screamed, and your breathing was dangerously unsteady, muffled and hot in the cocoon of dusty fabric. The pain you felt now was nothing compared to what it could be, you knew that profoundly, and you couldn’t handle that.

Think.

You had to think.

When you gingerly raised your right arm to check, you found that your knife had stayed in your pocket through the ordeal. You couldn’t be stupid about using it. The blade wasn’t long enough to do much damage, the most you could hope for was that it’d give you a chance.

Even muffled by the curtain and pierced by the sharp ringing in your ears, the sound of the battle was deafening when he reached the upper deck. Your final night in Barley Village had given you a hint of violence’s atonal song, but when the man carried you out of the hatch, it hit with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Screaming, shouting, clanging, popping shots, howling like animals.

Your kidnapper’s grip on you tightened, although you were less inclined than ever to struggle, your body seizing up in response to the cacophony, withering in fear. You wanted it to stop, you wanted to get out of the noise, to escape to where it was quiet. Not outside quiet, but the inside kind. You could feel it creeping up with its anesthetic-like haze, your mind’s best attempt to protect you from the fear and the pain and the horror.

No, you couldn’t withdraw. You had to be brave. You would not let him take you back to your dad. You could not let him take you away from Captain Buggy.

Figuring out where you were was too difficult when there was so much noise and activity. He would be taking you to the Jolly Boats, wouldn’t he? That was the only way to escape. You needed to act while you were around people, where you could escape into the chaos. Better to take your chances amidst a brawl than let him get you onto that boat.

Slowly, you reached into your pocket and found the knife. Moving as little as possible, you worked your arm back down to hang forward. Fumbling blindly, you felt for the notch to flip the blade out, nearly dropping the weapon in the process. But you got it, readjusting the handle to hold it in your fist. Wrapped up like you were, there wasn’t much space for you to get good leverage or hit especially hard, but it was all you had. Biting into the loose fabric of your jacket to keep yourself from vomiting, you slammed your fist into your kidnapper’s back blade first. You imagined Buggy behind you, pulling your hand out to thrust it back in, helping you just like he had on that day. Once, twice, three times and then the man practically threw you off of him with some expletive that you were pretty sure ended in bitch.

For a second you were falling blindly, wrapped in a suffocating shroud. Then the deck caught the bend of your spine, your momentum rolling you away into a painful sprawl. You fought wildly to free yourself of the fabric, your panicked limbs thrashing desperately.

“You fucking—you stabbed me?” The man shouted incredulously. You shucked off the dusty cocoon finally, sour bile dribbling out of your mouth as your body finally relented to the stress. You choked and coughed it out, unable to do anything else with the massive jolt of sensory overload. You thought the fighting was loud and frightening from within your curtain cocoon, but it was nothing compared to finding yourself on the deck in the midst of a true hostile takeover.

The man was right above you when he stopped in his tracks, something emerging from his chest. He looked down at it in surprise, but the blade pulled out just as quickly. He pressed his hand against the stab wound as blood began to gush out, looking more like ink than anything else.

Before he could do anything, he was stabbed again, the sword sticking through his chest and out the back of his hand. When it pulled up and out, his body followed it. He hit the deck with a heavy thump, his body spasming as it tried to expel the blood in his lungs. Behind him stood your vengeful guardian angel. Cabaji lowered his sword, his expression unchanged as he stalked past your would-be kidnapper.

“Are you alright?” he asked when he was close enough for you to hear him. You stared up at him blankly, unable to comprehend the question.

The man on deck in front of you wasn’t dead. Even as he choked on his own blood, he went for his weapon. Scowling, Cabaji pushed him down with his foot and finished him off, carving a bright red smile across his neck. The man dropped, his eyes open and empty.

Cabaji sheathed his sword and offered you a hand. You took it and stood weightlessly, your head as light as a balloon. The world spun, blinking out of reality before it slammed back into you all over again, you were made of lead. Were you crying? Or just sobbing? You realized right then that your hands were shaking violently. The entire world shook and trembled.

“You can’t stay up here,” Cabaji told you.

You nodded, agreeing because you knew you should.

“Stay close to me,” Cabaji told you. You nodded again, clinging to his back. Cabaji didn’t stop you from holding onto his scarf, practically burying your face in it, ignoring everything else as he guided you across the deck. Every muscle in your body strained with tension, the scent of blood and smoke and gunpowder choking you, the howling of men and explosions and steel only barely piercing past the ringing in your ears.

From what it looked like when you dared to look, the fight was very one-sided. The Buggy Pirates had overwhelmed the other ship with their noise and number. You passed beneath a screaming, thrashing woman who hung from the rigging, it looked like she had climbed up in an attempt to escape and gotten tangled up. Somebody had thrown one of the powder bombs at her, painting her in red. Richie the lion had joined the fray, looking every bit the beast you feared. Bodies littered the deck, their inky blood reflecting the colors flashing in the sky. And the pirates, people you knew, rejoiced in it, cackling and dancing and killing with a reckless joyousness you couldn’t fathom.

A surprise party. As in, the other ship must have been surprised by the vicious crowd of circus performers throwing a party on their ship.

It was grotesque. Unnatural. You didn’t belong here, it didn’t make any sense that you were. It didn’t make sense.

When Cabaji stopped at the quarterdeck hatch leading down the officer’s quarters, you nearly fell against him. He opened it up, stepping aside to usher you through. It was on unsteady feet that you stepped down onto the ladder, and with clumsier hands that fumbled. You hit the floor hard on your tailbone. There was no pain. Cabaji jumped down next to you, once again holding out a hand to hoist you back onto your feet.

“Go into the captain’s cabin and lock the door.”

With the battle muffled, your deafening heartbeat took its place. You nodded, swallowing hard to pop your ears. “Yes,” you said. “Yes, sir.”

Before he could ascend the ladder again, you grabbed his hand, looking him in the eye with a sudden, vivid flash of hyper reality, every detail of the ship and the man in front of you viscerally present.

“Thank you, Cabaji.”

Although his severe expression remained, you thought you felt him squeeze your hand in passing reassurance before swinging around to rejoin the chaos above.

The trip back to the captain’s cabin was just that—a trip. After locking the door, you stumbled your way past the antechamber where you would normally wait and into Captain Buggy’s bedroom. For a long moment, you stood there looking at Buggy’s bed which you had neatly made earlier that day. His desk, littered with a familiar mess.

This was real. All of it.

Doubling over with a hard punch of nausea, you rushed to the bathroom, barely getting the lid up before you threw up everything in your stomach. Supper had been a while ago, there wasn’t much to expel other than acid, but your body violently convulsed in rounds as if to get rid of something more, something worse. Trying to rid itself of the sickness that nestled right into your bloody, corrupted insides, desperate to cleanse itself of the sticky rot that thickened your blood and made your head ache.

But that relief never came.

When you were so emptied out inside that your body couldn’t justify even dry heaving, you stood up and flushed the toilet. Moving slowly, lethargically, you grabbed the nearest liquid—a bottle of disinfecting alcohol Buggy used to wash his pierced ear—to rinse your mouth. It tasted foul and felt worse, but it removed the taste of vomit from your tongue.

With slow, stumbling steps, you went into the bedroom and poured yourself a cup of water, drinking until you couldn’t take any more and then-

And then what?

You stared at the worn down edge of his desk and even though you weren’t moving, couldn’t even feel yourself shaking anymore, the world was collapsing around you. It felt like that one time you fell out of one of the buildings northside, that hook like drag from behind your bellybutton as gravity got a hold of you, the terror that came moments before the agony of crashing onto the ground.

Not knowing what else to do, you huddled in the corner. Not on the bed, but behind it. Hiding.

You wanted to shut it all off, to retreat into the inside quiet like usual, to go where the world couldn’t touch you. There was too much pain and horror. Too many thoughts you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking. You did not belong here. You wanted to go home.

That pathetic thought broke through the fragile composure you’d maintained and you curled up into yourself, crying openly. You didn’t want to be here anymore, it was scary and violent and loud. You wanted to go home.

Pressing a clammy, trembling hand to your cheek, you could almost feel your dad’s touch imprinted on the skin, burned there as surely as a brand.

You closed your eye and it was as if you were in the familiar old sitting room with the overstuffed upholstery and fire that burned so brightly yet never seemed to put off any heat. That night, the last night before he left, dad called you to sit at his feet, appraising you with tired, bleary eyes. At the height of his fury, he looked more vicious god than man, towering above you with lightless pupils and a blank expression. Now he looked old and worn out. His days at sea had carved a million little creases into his face, the leathery flesh sagging off the bone from one too many emptied liquor bottles.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as he stroked your cheek. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know, daddy.”

“My sweet little girl.” His words slurred together like they always did when he was in an affectionate mood. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“You’ll be good now, won’t you? You won’t misbehave while I’m gone?”

What you wanted to remember was agreement. A bland ‘yes’ that you didn’t mean because of course you were going to run away. But that’s not what happened. That’s not what you said that night.

“Please don’t go,” you begged. That part of the memory was the most important because you understood it now. If he had stayed, you wouldn’t have left. You would have died in that house if he was there to keep you with him. Because you didn’t want to leave, not really. But you knew you couldn’t stay, either. You had to at least try to get out. But dad stroked your cheek and told you he would be back in a blink, that you wouldn’t have time to miss him.

You saw him off the next morning, your shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what you were about to do. What you had to do.

Destiny, fate, a bad joke—you didn’t know what to call it. Inevitability, maybe. Now you were here.

Your own hand dropped from your cheek, falling limp to the floor beside you as that memory fell away, replaced with another.

“If he doesn’t kill you, your dad will. Do you really think you’ll ever be able to hide from him?” Randall said that right before you cut him—cut him a huge red smile—and he was right. That’s what this was.

What happened tonight had been a deliberate attempt to kidnap you, to get away while everybody was distracted by the raid. Maybe your dad would be able to guess which merchant ships the Buggy Pirates would raid based on the stolen maps. Maybe he sent messages out to a few mercenary types, people who would be on board to protect the goods anyway, people who wouldn’t mind abandoning their crew for a bigger payout. Maybe this was just the most rotten confluence of bad luck and coincidence.

The execution was overshadowed by the far more intimidating message of it all. He would never let you go, not you, not his sweet little girl.

There was no quiet, not inside or out. The thrashing, raving thing within you screamed, and you did too. A ragged and terrible scream that ripped up the inside of your throat. It was pathetic and ugly. More than anything, it hurt.

Even if you went back to him, he would know what you had done. He would know that you weren’t his little girl anymore, that you were tarnished. One life burned for another you could never have. No matter what you thought or told yourself, you weren’t a pirate. You were a fake. A coward.

And there was nothing you could do. Not now, not anymore. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

For the first time since boarding the ship, you thought about what led you to this point. Really thought about it. The sneaking, the hiding, being strung up and threatened, the cage. Standing behind Randall with a stranger at your back, a knife in your hand, a blade to the neck of a man you had loved nearly all of your life, a man who never loved you. Screaming. Blood dripping down your wrist.

Murderer.

There were moments in your life that you thought were too much. You stopped crying, stopped shaking, stopped breathing, and knew, knew with absolute certainty, that you could not handle any more. Then time continued to march on, pulling you right along with it, and there was nothing other than your suffering, it was without end, and you wanted to die—more, you wanted to never have existed in the first place.

Those moments didn’t come when dad beat you, or when he screamed at you, or after losing mom, or because of what happened to your eye, or seeing Randall marry another girl. Pain and fear and sadness were immediate. Pain and fear and sadness, no matter how intolerable, made sense. At least you weren’t alone, at least you had a tether—even one that was barbed and electrified.

True misery, the kind that made you want to claw your way out of your skin and rip out your still-beating heart, was a solitary experience. It came when the cellar door closed and you heard the lock turn. When your desperate pleas and apologies and cries were met with silence because nobody was close enough to hear them. Those dark hours you spent curled up on the stone floor shivering, listening to your wheezing breath shudder in and out of your lungs. When the quiet didn’t come and you realized the enormity of imprisonment. It wasn’t that you were trapped in the dark, dank cellar with rats, or in a house with your angry dad, or in a town where everybody thought you were a freak. Hell was realizing that you were trapped within yourself, with the monstrous creature who lived in your head, the one that hated you so bitterly. Was that you? You without any mask at all, exposed and plain and wretched and a murderer.

It was too much. You could not handle it.

But there was nothing else. No one else. And you only had yourself to blame.

There was something Randall used to tell you. He’d laugh good-naturedly and say you’ve really stepped in it now. You could hear him now, as clearly as if he were right next to you.

You’ve really stepped in it now.

You heard the door unlock and open from the other room. The sound jolted you stiff, a gasp leaving your sore throat.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Buggy called, shutting the door. Hearing that it was him made your shoulders relax a little. Did that mean the fighting was over? “Babydoll, are you here? Cabaji told me you were naughty and he had to put you in time out.”

“I’m back here,” you called on autopilot, your voice cracking.

You had no idea what happened now, or what you were meant to do. There was nothing you could do to hide the fact that you had been crying, no matter how much you wiped your face. Bracing yourself for anything, you got to your feet. Standing up so fast made you dizzy, and suddenly you felt quite aware of how ridiculous it all was. Pathetic. A pirate wouldn’t cower in the corner of a room crying like a child. A grown woman wouldn’t do that.

You reached up to pull down your bandana, only to poke your left eye. It must have come undone sometime during the attempted kidnapping. You lost your knife too. That hurt worse than losing your bandana, nearly prompting you to start crying all over again.

“Where oh where has my baby gone,” Buggy began to sing as he walked through the other room. “Oh, where, oh, where can she be? She whines so sweet, like a bitch in heat—” He reached the open doorway, smiling as soon as he saw you. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, sir,” you said, your head bowed to hide your splotchy red face.

“What were you doing?”

You sniffled. “Nothing, sir.”

“Aw, did the big scawy fight make you cwy?” Buggy asked. You shook your head fast, unwilling to trust that your voice wouldn’t break if you spoke. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s okay to be scared your first time. Even I was a little freaked out during my first big raid.”

You dared to look up, your eyebrows furrowed. “Really?”

“No,” he said, laughing as if the thought itself were too ridiculous to entertain. “Can you imagine me being scared?”

He took his gloves off, tossing them aside. Buggy had lost his hat and coat and his clothes were splattered with blood and colorful powder and who knows what else, but he wasn’t wounded. He was fine, and he was in good spirits. That was good.

“You know,” Buggy finally said to break the silence, “if you want me to keep you around, you’re gonna have to suck it up and put on your big girl pants. Nobody likes a crybaby.”

“I know,” you said softly, self loathing making your chest swell, sitting heavily on your heart and lungs like a tumor. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“God, you’re so… so pitiful,” Buggy said. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna do it for me tonight. We’re drinking.”

You side-eyed his collection of bottles. The sweet liquor he had shared that first night was an outlier, most of what Buggy drank was much harder and more abrasive. Even the smell made your stomach turn, you had no idea how he could handle it. “I’m okay,” you said, wiping your eye again.

“Oh, right. Poor little baby can’t handle her liquor. Don’t worry, Captain Buggy has just what you need. I scored this a month ago at a club owned by this Saydon guy.” He walked over to the armoire, shuffling around the clutter before finding a bottle. “He’s a thieving sack of shit without an original bone in his body, but I had a good time fleecing his stupid customers. This,” he held up the bottle as he turned and approached you, “is the good shit, straight from some rich guy’s personal stash. I was going to sell it, but I’m willing to sacrifice a few berry to cheer up my pathetic little charity case.”

You swallowed hard at the offer, looking from his smile to the bottle. Thick red glass and a real paper label, although the text was illegible.

“Let me pour you some so we can skip to the part where you’re not making me miserable and we can celebrate my brave and triumphant victory.”

“Okay,” you said. It was fine, probably some type of opiate. Your dad had given you that sort of thing to help you stave off the hysteria before. It would be nicer than feeling like this, wrung out and hiccupping in the pitiful clutches of despair.

“Gotta be careful not to overdo it. Hey, you wanna eyeball this for me?” Buggy asked, laughing as he measured out the tincture and added some water. Seeing your lack of smile as he handed you the cup, he sighed dramatically and grabbed one of the bottles from his desk. “A toast to the flawless victory won tonight by the most fearsome captain in all of the East Blue.”

“To Captain Buggy,” you said. Buggy drew back the bottle, giving you a sharp look. Sluggish as your brain was, it took an excruciatingly long few seconds to realize what he wanted. “To Captain Buggy, the future King of the Pirates... and-and the best man I’ve ever known,” you tried again.

“Eh… I’ll take it,” he allowed with a shrug, tapping his bottle to your cup.

The drink was as terrible as you expected, but the taste of bitter medicine was still better than hard liquor. Buggy clearly didn’t feel the same, downing a mouthful without even wincing before unceremoniously collapsing onto the end of his bed. You ran a hand over your face. Red, hot, and a little swollen. You knew you looked rough, probably about as bad as you felt.

“You weren’t this weepy last time,” Buggy said. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”

“Of course I was,” you said, frowning. “I was worried about all of you. I… I don’t know what I would do without you, Captain Buggy. I’m sorry, I’m…” You shook your head, trying to clear it somewhat. “It’s silly.”

“Yeah it is. Those idiots wouldn’t be able to hurt me even if I was doused in seawater and blindfolded,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and leaning back on his elbows. “It was so easy, barely even worth bragging about. After I killed like ten of his men, the captain came out with this huge sword—clearly compensating for something. I let him get a good swing in right through the middle, and you should have seen his eyes when I put myself back together. His reaction was even better than yours. I’m pretty sure he shit himself.”

“And everyone else?” you asked.

“Yeah, they did fine too,” he said flippantly. “Frankly, it was boring. For me, at least. I could probably have taken them down all by myself.” He sighed dramatically. “But, hey, it was a good learning experience for my freaks.”

You nodded, dropping down to your knees to take his boots like always.

Buggy capped the bottle and buried it in the sheets, pulling something out of his pants pocket. You glanced up to see him messing with something wrapped in thin foil wrapping before forcing yourself to focus on the nightly ritual of wrestling his boots off. They were splattered in blood, a fact you only realized when some of it smeared onto your hands.

“I found these in his office,” Buggy said after you got the first boot off. “Salted caramels. They’re a bitch to get out of your teeth, but-” Buggy popped one in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste, “sooo good. Want one?”

You were more concerned with the unabashedly vulgar moan than you were with the candy, it took you a second to remember the question.

“Oh, um. Yes,” you finally said. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, but don’t tell anyone that I’m playing favorites,” Buggy said as he unwrapped another, sitting up to hold it out. When you tried to take it, he pulled away. “Ah, ah, ah. Open wide, babydoll.”

You frowned, realizing that he meant to feed it to you. “Why?”

“Look at your hands! Have you got any idea how nasty blood is? Come on, say ahhh.”

You sat up to take it with your mouth, he pulled it back at the last second, your lips closing around empty air.

“Oh, you almost got it,” Buggy teased. “Try again.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Captain Buggy, why…?”

“I’m teaching you a valuable lesson. If you really want something, you have to work for it.” He held the chunk of caramel up again, within reach. Once again, you tried to eat it, but he pulled it away again. “So close,” he taunted. Every time you leaned closer, Buggy pulled it away, scooting further up the bed to keep it just out of reach, laughing the whole time. It forced you to crawl up, bracing yourself on the edge of the bed to chase the prize. Once you thought you really had it, uncomfortably hovering above him, he looked you in the eye and popped the candy into his mouth. “Guess you didn’t want it that bad,” Buggy said with a big grin, the words gummed up as he chewed.

Flushing with embarrassment, you sat back onto your knees.

“You know,” Buggy said, sitting up. “I had a dog once that did the exact same trick. It wasn’t as good as when you do it, although he was a lot better at actually getting the treat.” Foil crinkled and, this time, he pressed the caramel directly against your lips, pushing until you accepted it. You were too caught off guard by the way he’d put it into your mouth to do anything other than automatically chew and swallow, barely tasting anything. “See?” he asked. “Delicious, right?”

“Yeah,” you belatedly agreed, the word coming out on autopilot.

“I can’t stand having sticky fingers,” Buggy said, tapping his tacky fingertips together with a frown. “Be a good little puppy and lick them clean for me.”

You blinked, laughing dizzily in disbelief before you fully comprehended what he said. “What?”

“It’s what dogs do, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, wagging his fingers in front of your face.

“You mean it?” you asked, hoping that he was just playing with you.

“Yes, I do,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “It can’t be that much more embarrassing than doing tricks, right?”

So it was just another game. An embarrassing one. It felt dirty, like something you shouldn’t have been doing. But maybe that was in your head. Maybe Buggy didn’t see it that way. It was fine. Avoiding looking up, you opened your mouth for him. He said to lick them clean, but it was more practical to close your lips and suck until there were no more traces of caramel stickiness on his skin.

“And Cabaji says you’re dead weight,” Buggy said, satisfied. Pulling his fingers out of your mouth with a slick pop, he leaned back again, grabbing the bottle from the sheets to take another drink.

“Cabaji says that?” you asked, confused. You and Cabaji were, well, not friends. But he saved you. When you thanked him, he squeezed your hand. Hadn’t he? When you tried to think of it, the whole night floated somewhere distant, far beyond the warm bubble of this room, there was a chance you made that part up.

“Are you ever gonna finish up down there?” Buggy asked as if he hadn’t heard you, raising his remaining boot. Somehow, you’d forgotten that removing his boots was the reason you were on the floor to begin with. Trying to shake your head clear, you braced yourself to get his boot off. It took more effort than it probably should have. Your limbs had loosened, your head light like a balloon. When it came free, you tipped backwards, thumping down on the floor. There was no pain.

Buggy laughed. Surprised at first, then louder, a big belly laugh.

You sat up, dazed and frowning. Your expression only made him laugh harder. When his amusement settled somewhat, he managed to speak. “You okay?”

“It’s not that funny,” you said.

“You know when you see a kid trying their little heart out to do something, but they keep failing because they’re so small and stupid? It’s like that,” Buggy said. “Watching you struggle with everything you try to do is half the reason I keep you around.”

Frowning with all of the indignant strength you could muster, you got your legs beneath yourself, using the edge of his desk to stand. Although it had probably been more of a gradual process you were simply unaware of—that would explain your lack of concern with his antics—it was only when you were upright that you fully realized the impact of the medicine.

Woah.

Breathing deeply, you followed the motions of getting a rag to clean up your hands, surprised at how lethargically you moved, how warm your skin felt. Annoyed, you pushed off your jacket, relaxing when its weight was gone from your shoulders.

You mumbled an apology, something about the room being too warm, turning to look at Buggy. The air felt so nice brushing against your bare skin, like warm little whispers all over your arms and legs.

“Hey, kiddo, you’re lookin’ kinda flushed,” Buggy said. “I didn’t give you too much, did I?”

You blinked slowly, caught off guard by the way his pale skin glowed in the warm lamplight, the way it highlighted the shadows beneath his cheekbones. “What?”

“Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to you.

It wasn’t a long distance, a few feet at most, but your legs weren’t steady at all. You let go of the desk and almost immediately tipped forward.

“Sheesh,” Buggy said with a laugh, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself at me.”

“Sorry,” you said distantly, trying to get your bearings. The melty lightheaded feeling had your head spinning, reality shifting on its axis before snapping back into place.

“It’s not like it's the first time,” Buggy joked, grinning. Standing like this, your hands on his shoulders, you were so close. His breath smelled like whiskey and caramel and his makeup had faded and smeared after the fight. You wanted to be closer, to feel his bare skin against yours. That would be so nice, wouldn’t it? He was warm and solid and-

You looked around, overcome with the absurdity of the situation. How long had you been in here? The air was warm and too close, and your bandana was gone when you nervously tried to pull it down.

“Sorry, um… What?” you asked with a confused smile, trying to focus your thoughts. “I… can’t think…”

“It’s not like I keep you around for your brains,” Buggy told you. He sounded a little drunk, smiling that boyish grin you usually only saw in the morning. “Why don’t you sit down? We’re still celebrating.”

“What about your… your makeup?” you asked, trying to find a familiar point to tether yourself with.

“What about yours?” Buggy asked, running his thumb over your cheek. “It’s smeared all over your face. You look like a one-eyed racoon.”

“Oh, I… I forgot,” you said, running a finger under your eye. It came away smeared with black makeup. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy said, “Actually, you look kinda cute like this—all cried out and red and pathetic. I don’t know why, but there’s something about that sad look you get that really turns me on. Is that weird?”

A beat too late, your eye widened in surprise, your shoulders raising defensively. “You can’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” You floundered, searching for the right words. The other night when you were drunk, the alcohol made your thoughts scatter, difficult to interpret. This drug was different, it eased away the edges. Too many words and a very soft world in which to speak them. That was confusing, just for a different reason. “Because it’s not true,” you finally said, almost proud to have remembered what you meant to say. “You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

Buggy laughed. “I don’t have to make shit up to embarrass you. Half the time you spare me the trouble and do it yourself.”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Don’t worry,” he said soothingly, “I’m into it.”

You looked at him for a second before laughing nervously, a little tremor working down your spine. “Captain Buggy, I, um…”

“Don’t you trust me?” he cooed in an overly saccharine tone.

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re not afraid I’m trying to pressure you into something, are you? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with sitting together. I bet you sat on your dad’s lap all the time,” Buggy said as he pulled you towards him, scooting back to make more room for you to sit.

“Not… like this,” you said, your nervous smile straining as you tried to twist sideways to sit with your legs across his lap because that was the normal, safe way. Sitting with your legs straddling his hips was entirely different and wrong. “Isn’t this… awkward for you?”

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” You tried to hold your weight off of him, one foot on the floor, but he reached around to hook a hand around your thigh, forcing you fully onto the bed and onto his lap. “Yeah, just like-” Buggy’s words cut off with a groan when you tilted forward, a sound that made you tense up, very, very aware of his hips between your thighs.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to squirm away. “Did I hurt you? I can… move…”

“No, don’t,” Buggy said, his hold on your hips tightening. “It’s, uh…” He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. I swear I never even thought this sorta thing was hot before now… Like, sure, I guess it’s a little charming when girls get coy and act like they’re innocent, but, I don’t know, it’s so played out. But then the real deal comes around and suddenly I get the appeal. I really get it.”

You giggled at that. It wasn’t funny, you weren’t sure why you would find it amusing. “Shhh,” you said as seriously as you could. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Buggy asked, raising his eyebrows. “Have you ever even kissed anybody?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, I have.”

“Riiiight, that shithead from the other day. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Broke your poor little heart all because he couldn’t imagine looking at your busted eye while fucking you.” Buggy’s hand raised to cradle your head, his thumb tracing the scar beneath your left eye. “Well, personally, I think it’s hot that you’re just as damaged on the outside as you are on the inside.”

“No,” you told him, shaking your head with more vigor than was warranted when you weren’t sure what, exactly, you were protesting.

“Between you and me,” Buggy continued, leaning even closer to speak in a conspiratorial tone, “last time I was jacking off, all I could think about was how adorable it is. Your eyes just scream ‘rape me’ which is weird because only one of them works, and believe me, it makes it pretty damn difficult when you spend so much time on your knees. God, would you even know what was going on if I popped a boner while you were down there? I’m chubbed up half the time and you don’t seem to get it.”

That crossed a line you hadn’t been aware of, and he said it so easily. So casually. The words dripped hot poison into your core, pulling a dark shiver down your spine and an unexpected sound from your mouth. You didn’t mean it, you never really did, but your mind was drifting above the clouds, leaving your body to try and sort out the feelings he so effortlessly dragged out of you. As soon as your reaction registered, you clasped both hands over your mouth with enough force to almost send you tumbling backwards, but Buggy pulled you back, laughing.

“What was that?”

“I… didn’t mean to,” you said, but he probably couldn’t hear through your hands.

“No, seriously. Do you practice these sounds ahead of time, or do they just happen?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, releasing your mouth. “I…” When you squirmed in discomfort, his hips rolled to meet it, grinding directly between your legs. You squeezed your eye shut, just trying to breathe. The drug made your body relax, but it relaxed too much, dragging you down with the heaviness of your flesh. A bubble of sound left you, something like a sob or a laugh or a hiccup. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s fun and, more importantly, because I want to,” Buggy said in a matter-of-fact way. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head again, refusing to look at him as if that would buy you some time so you could find an answer.

“Hey, your captain asked you a question.”

“I… don’t know…” you told him, fleetingly meeting his eye in an attempt to convey your inner conflict, to make him understand what you felt.

Buggy made a harsh sound of frustration, his eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s not really an answer. The last thing I need right now is you waking up tomorrow and crying molestation or some bullshit.”

“I wouldn’t,” you told him. “I don’t want you to-to stop, but… I-I don’t know what… or-or how, I…”

“Ah, I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” he said in a softer tone, looking back down to meet your eye, smiling and petting your hair. “I mean what is the first rule of storytelling?”

You frowned, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Show,” Buggy answered for you, his hand sneaking around to hold the back of your head, “don’t tell.”

It wasn’t a kiss, not at first. At first it was just hot and wet because you didn’t understand what was going on. You knew you were supposed to open your mouth, so you did, but you couldn’t comprehend anything other than the vulgar assault of tongue and teeth. He tasted like salt and caramel and liquor and greasepaint. It was strange to feel his nose pressing against your cheek and the drag of his stubble against your skin.

Then something clicked, your body taking over while your mind faltered behind. With the drug swimming in your system, everything felt at least a little good. The heaviness inside of you was also raw, stimulating warmth, a sort of buzzing wherever the two of you touched. Kissing Buggy felt even better. Being kissed, letting him guide you. It was filthy and messy and a little gross to feel his tongue in your mouth, but it was animalistically hot.

When his hand pushed under your shirt, it tickled enough to make you laugh, squirming in his lap. He groaned hungrily right into your mouth, his hips grinding up against you. With one arm wrapped around you to keep your head in place, the other pushed your undershirt up and out of the way to palm your breasts. The limited exploration you had done with your body had given you the impression that you were indifferent to feeling anything other than disgust and shame, but the sensation of him rolling your nipple between two rough fingers zipped down your spine like electricity.

Even muffled by his mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and whimpering, from helplessly pressing yourself against him for more. He said you hadn’t noticed when he was hard before, but you were pretty sure that’s what you were feeling right then, that it was his erection hot and hard between your legs.

Leaving both nipples hard and painfully sensitive, his hand slipped down to wiggle under the waistband of your shorts. Bad. Bad. Wrong. Very wrong. You pulled away with a harsh gasp, trying to squirm away from that hand.

“Hey, no, it’s okay. I’m just gonna check real quick to see if you’re wet,” Buggy said to console you. His makeup was smeared from the kiss, and his eyes were round and excited. “It’s not weird, I’m just trying to figure out where we’re at with the whole consent thing, okay?”

“Okay,” you mumbled, even if you had no idea what one had to do with the other. The angle was awkward, especially when he had to navigate beneath the confines of your shorts, but his searching fingers found your clothed pussy pretty quickly. His touch shocked you as physically as a jolt of electricity. Even through your panties, there was a foreign intensity to the pressure. More intense, maybe, was the look in his eyes. You expected amusement, but there was none. Stripped of the jokes and the teasing and the smile and the crass comments, he was somebody who wanted. Wanted you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Buggy said, his fingers curling, pushing the fabric of your panties between your folds, and you choked back an embarrassing whimper, your hips unintentionally bucking forward.

“I don’t think this is… I’m really, really sorry, I…” you stammered out, stumbling over your excuses and apologies and anything at all that would get you out of this. “I mean, we shouldn’t, it’s probably not-”

“Shut up,” Buggy told you sharply. “Here I thought I should take things slow so you didn’t feel too bad about it afterwards, but you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No, it… ‘s not-”

“No?” he cut in, easily shutting you up with another curl of his fingers. “So what am I feeling right now. Did’ya piss yourself or something?”

“I didn’t! It’s just…” Hard to think. Hard to talk. Hard to figure out what you wanted. Hard to know what was happening, what he expected. You laughed a little, hoping that he would too, and that this would be a joke, but he didn’t. You broke, shaking your head and whining. “It’s too… too embarrassing.”

“For you, maybe. I mean, jeez, talk about desperate. You really want me, huh?”

“I… I don’t know if… I shouldn’t.”

“God, it’s like pulling teeth,” Buggy said, pulling his hand out from between your legs. “Wait, there’s an idea. Should I go get the pliers? Will that get me a straight answer out of you?”

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the zapping memory of his hand down your shorts. If you didn’t want something, you already would have left, your body wouldn’t be singing and surging to get more of his touch. But you couldn’t say that you wanted to go further either because you could not imagine or conceptualize that happening. More than anything, you didn’t want to be alone. You didn’t want to disappoint him. The idea of being touched drove you wild, but there was a sickness in your stomach that was only getting worse.

“Listen, babydoll,” Buggy told you, his voice lowering, steady like he was talking to a frightened animal. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, but I’m really hard right now so I’m gonna come. You can either stay here and come with me or get the hell out of here.” As much as you could feel Buggy trying to maintain composure, it wasn’t working.

You closed your eye, trying to think, just to scrape together a single coherent thought that would help you figure out what to do, but instead you thought of the warehouse. The air stank of wet rot and ocean air and old metal. “New girl,” Buggy had called, snapping to beckon you closer. Randall knelt on the ground. Pathetic and powerless, groaning in pain. You obliged then, rushing to Buggy’s side, your feet crunching on the broken glass and chunks of old building. Buggy didn’t look angry, not like you feared he would. Instead, he smiled. It was a mean smile, a frightening one. But a smile all the same, a gruesome expression meant to set you at ease, and maybe to keep himself composed. “Are you ready for your big moment?”

“So, uh,” Buggy, the real one, the one sitting beneath you watching with expectant eyes, said, licking his lips, “which is it?”

There was only one answer, there had only ever been one. You didn’t know. These things, your choices, weren’t for you to make. So you didn’t know. Not then and not now. Instead, you took the knife he offered and asked for him to show you how. Instead, you pressed yourself closer to him, hoping that he would decide, desperate for him to choose for you. Buggy moaned, his hips rolling upward to meet yours. He caught himself quickly, practically growling in frustration.

“Fuck… Stop,” Buggy told you in a rough voice, grabbing you by the back of the hair to force you still. “I need you to tell me what you want. Out loud. Right now, so it's on the record.”

“I want,” you told him in a weak voice, stopping there as you tried to find the right words.

“Yeah?” He prompted you.

“I want…” The words sounded so far away, like it wasn’t really you speaking them at all, as if you were trying to guess the right answer. “I want you, Captain Buggy. Anything you want, I’m yours.”

“Finally!” Buggy said with a hoarse laugh, shaking you back and forth. “See how easy it is when you allow yourself to be honest?”

Easy. It was easy, of course it was easy, of course you wanted to give him whatever he wanted, especially if it was you. Anything, anything, everything. Buggy grabbed you by the hips to spin you around, dropping you onto the bed. You landed on your back and bounced twice, dizzy from the sudden shift. Buggy was already kneeling between your legs by the time you blinked your vision clear, roughly getting out of his pants.

“Since we’re being honest now, I’ll tell you something too—I’m glad this is your first time,” Buggy told you, flinging off his shirt before getting you out of yours. He didn’t undress you with any grace, pulling your shirt and undershirt off in a twisted bundle of fabric, leaving you half naked to his manic, hungry eyes. “Opening night is special,” he continued, licking his lips. “It’s something that nobody has ever seen before. Sure, it lacks the polish of later shows, but there’s beauty in that. It’s real, it’s raw. This, right now, is your debut, babydoll. I wanna see you come. Once, maybe twice just to start because then I’m going to fuck you and that…” Buggy laughed, pulling off one boot and tossing it behind himself with a thump before taking the other. You sat up, trying to cover your chest, only to be knocked back down when he grabbed the waistband of your shorts and underwear to pull them down your thighs, curling your legs up to shake you out of them. “It might hurt, after all of this teasing I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back. But that’s good. You want it to hurt, it should hurt—pain is how good art is made.”

Before you could respond to that, he descended upon you. Not a kiss this time. At least, not a kiss on the lips. While his fingers trailed up your thigh, his mouth latched on your neck. The same moment he found your entrance, his teeth dug into your sensitive skin. When he began to suck, his fingers trailed upward to land on your clit.

You might have wailed, if only you had enough air in your lungs to do so. He only got a sharp, pathetic whine and more nervous giggling, your hips jumping up into his hand. Somewhere inside of your swimming mind, there was a thought. A spark of one, a bit of consciousness that had no real conclusion before it bubbled out of your mouth in a string of stuttered “I…I…I…” while your hands gripped desperately at his shoulders. He kept rubbing your clit and you knew, logically, that it would feel better if you stayed still, but you couldn’t.

Buggy pulled away from your neck with a slick pop. “Can you…fuckin’...can you settle down? I can’t do this with you trying to buck me off.”

You meant to tell him that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t keep still, but the only response your drugged brain could manage was a nervous smile and hiccup. Making a sound of frustration, Buggy sat up and grabbed you by the waist to pull you down, his forearm settling across your pelvis to keep your hips flat. With his weight pinning down one leg and your other shoved aside by a not so gentle slap, you couldn’t go anywhere. So you whined, giving up and covering your face with your hands instead.

Buggy laughed. “Don’t act so pathetic, I know you love this. You're sooo sensitive," he said, lazily pushing a finger into your pussy before dragging it out. Letting his fingers glide between your folds with an agonizingly light touch, drawing little circles over your swollen clit. Again and again and again and- "I’m barely doing anything and you're practically having a seizure down there."

You whimpered, squirming beneath him to no avail. He had your hips completely immobilized. Buggy laughed again, slowly sinking his fingers into your pussy. Two of them now. Two calloused fingers to press deep into you, to seek out the spongy spot as they curled and thrust in and out. Slow, painfully slow. There was nothing you could do about it. Push at his shoulders with shaking hands, arch your back to nowhere, shake your head back and forth like it mattered, like he cared. You tried to laugh like he did, needed to diffuse some of the scorching tension, but the sound was breathy and high pitched and it wasn’t funny, it was torture.

Buggy’s fingers finally broke the slow pace to practically slam into you, and it sounded disgusting. Wet, harsh. You couldn’t stop shaking, and there wasn’t enough air, your lungs were being collapsed by the weight of the drug. Despite that, despite everything, your pussy squeezed his fingers, only getting wetter the rougher he got. The noises you made, the mewling and the whining and the moaning, were practically innocent compared to the loud squelching of each thrust.

“It sounds like I’m plunging a fuckin’ toilet,” Buggy said, laughing.

You pressed your palms against your eyes as if that would hide you, caught between humiliation and need. “I’m s-ss-sorry,” you babbled. “It’s… gross… I’m sorry, please just… Stop, it’s—”

“Stop?” he repeated. “Is that what you just said? You’re giving me orders now?” He slowed down, only to add another finger. The frantic rise of tension had your heels digging into his bed, your hands unable to decide if you wanted to cover your face or claw at the sheets.

“No! No, no no—” What were you even denying at this point? It was all incoherent anyway, and you knew you didn’t actually mean it.

“Do you know when I’m gonna stop?” Buggy asked. “After you come all over my hand. So quit yer yappin’ and hurry it up.”

Your whimper was barely audible, but it was one of resignation. He was right, the slick squelching sounds really did conjure the worst imagery. But, somehow, not even that killed your building orgasm. Neither did the musky smell, or the gross feeling of your sweat soaking into his bedding. It was all just sex and, right then, it was hot. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the tightening coil in your core, not even the man fucking you with three fingers, going hard enough to hurt, hooking and curling with each thrust to grind them against the spongy spot inside of you. The only thing that mattered was the pleasure that sat on the very tip of your tongue and how badly you needed it. To please him, to end this embarrassing torment, to stop inconveniencing him. You had no idea if it was what you wanted but, one way or another, your body would expel the foam in your head, the need in your belly. Come or throw up or scream.

With a choked yelp, you came. Your back arched, your body fighting against Buggy’s hold. You had one hand across your face while the other desperately clawed at the sheets and you wanted to fuck yourself on his fingers, to meet them with each thrust, but you couldn’t move your hips. All you could do was take what you were given, endure the helplessness, the sticky waves of pleasure.

And then it was over, just hot air and sweat.

There was a sense that you were not yourself, like you had been unbound from your existence as a person. But also one that stitched you into your hot, heavy skin so tightly that you knew you could not ever be somebody else. The lucidity of the feeling killed your desire, you needed a break. You needed to breathe.

“No more,” you told him, trying to squirm away, to grab his hand. “Please, I… Please, no more.”

“That was it? Seriously?” Buggy asked, incredulously amused. His fingers did slow down, stroking your g-spot in a way that made you twitch uncontrollably. “You just came?”

“I’m sorry,” you said breathlessly, covering your face with your trembling hands.

Buggy laughed in delight. “No, it was,” he said, finally pulling his fingers out and taking his weight off of you, “weirdly adorable. I was just joking about the puppy thing earlier, but you’re kind of proving my point. Girls usually, you know, moan. Or scream or something, I don’t know. What is it, do you think? The daddy issues? Or is it ‘cause I’m the first guy to make you come? Don’t get me wrong, I liked it, it was fuckin’ hot, but now I’m curious. Do you think you can moan like a normal girl at all, or are you just gonna keep whining the whole time?”

“I, um… I-I don’t,” were the only words you could muster as you stared at him, completely still. For a couple of seconds you had fooled yourself into thinking you had escaped the red stained-glass fog of the drug, but the vulgarity drew you right back in, enveloping you in its humid dusk.

Buggy grinned, a mad expression. “Guess we’ll find out.”

When he pulled off his underwear, you didn’t know if it was okay for you to look or not, your eye flicking nervously from his smile to the pale expanse of his torso, following the trail of hair that led down, and down. His cock bobbed up the moment it was free. It was more intimidating of a sight than you thought it would be, giving you that uncanny sense of vertigo, like staring down a very high cliff into some unknown abyss. This was wrong. Buggy clearly had no such reservations, spitting into his hand to stroke his dick as he loomed above you.

“You’ve got me in a romantic mood, you can stay just like that,” Buggy said as he crowded you further up the bed. You stared up at him, stiff and too nervous to move. He frowned. “Okay, well I didn’t mean literally just like that, you’re gonna have to make some room for me.” He gave you a second before huffing in irritation, rolling his eyes. “Fuckin’ virgins.”

Buggy grabbed you, hauling you up the bed to drop you unceremoniously into the pillows. You squeaked, trying to hold onto him while he hiked your legs up his waist. Breathing was difficult, all of the air smelled like Buggy and sex and you were so, so aware of the way it pressed slowly out of your chest. He released your right leg to grab his cock, slicking it between your folds. That made you gasp sharply, your fingers digging into his back.

“Are you trying to scratch me?” Buggy asked, amused but distracted as kept nudging his dick between your folds, his hips rolling forward when it caught on your entrance.

“I… I’m… No-hh—I-I-” Any part of your mind that was still functioning was focused entirely on the pressure of his cock as he pushed forward again, pressing it a little deeper.

“I don’t mind it,” Buggy told you, “but fair’s fair.” He punctuated that word with a harder thrust, pushing his cock past the initial resistance of your entrance. Your eye widened, a sound of surprise practically punched out of your body with the shock of it. His fingers had not at all prepared you for what it would feel like. The insistence. The weight. Buggy smiled, watching your face as his hips rolled forward.

This time, you whined, squeezing your eye shut and digging your fingers into his back, your pussy unintentionally tightening around him which only made the discomfort that much worse, but you couldn’t force your body to relax and you honestly didn’t know if you were trying to push him out or pull him deeper.

“No, look—look at me,” Buggy demanded hoarsely, hiking your right leg back up his waist, not moving until you met his demand. You let out a shuddering breath and opened your eye, looking up at him through tear coated lashes. His eyes were familiar to you, but not like this. In the dim light, all that remained was their devious sparkle, his hunger, his all-consuming lust. You tried to keep your expression composed, to hide your embarrassing reactions, but it was all in vain. The leverage made it easier for him to rock his hips forward, his cock driving deeper, and your expression crumpled as you cried out, you couldn’t help yourself.

The intimacy Buggy demanded of you while splitting you apart became intolerable. You tried to rear back, your back arching beneath him, but Buggy grabbed your jaw to keep you from looking away, to keep you from hiding. You tried to tell him that it was too much, too heavy, too big, too overwhelming, but you couldn’t find the words before he was already thrusting forward again, filling you more and more, his entire body covering yours, his eyes devouring your reactions. He watched with parted lips, his eyebrows raised in some sort of needful appeal. It felt so cruel, but Buggy didn’t look at you cruelly.

It was too much to bear, let alone understand. Giving up on begging him to slow down, you tried to push at his abdomen. Buggy wasn't bothered by it, or by the scrape of your nails along his back, it was like he didn’t even notice.

“Cap-tain,” you whined, the word broken in your mouth, squished from the grip he had on your jaw. When he moved, you could feel how you were shaking beneath him, around him, your heartbeat thumping hot blood between your legs. The pressure was intense, unfamiliar. You whimpered, your back restlessly arching, your free hand clawing at his shoulder. “I… It's… Too much…”

“Yeah?” Buggy asked, managing a smile before that became another moan. “You’re so fuckin’... Fuck.”

It was impossible to not respond to the overt sound of his pleasure, your pussy clenching around him, soaking his cock. It sounded filthy. You opened your mouth to say something and, like he’d been waiting for it, Buggy released your jaw, his hand resting beneath your chin to push your face up so he could kiss you instead. His tongue in your mouth was just as invasive as his cock in your pussy, it felt more like he was trying to eat you, to devour you, leaving you no space to breathe or think or react. You could feel every grunt and groan, feel the way he reacted to every little sound you made.

There was no refinement to it, no mercy, no thought given to anything other than animal instinct and need. Buggy was barely even pulling out, grinding himself into you as deep as possible over and over and over and it was maddening because he wasn’t slamming his cock into you the way he had with his fingers and that should have been easier to take, but there was no release, just more and again.

When he pulled away from the kiss, giving you a few moments to catch your breath, you threw your head back to keep him from kissing you again, worried that you’d pass out from the lack of air. Buggy groaned in irritation, punishing you with a hard thrust. And then another, and another. Skin slapping and squelching and your confused yelps of pleasure or pain.

“I-I—I can’t, I…” Your nails dug into his back, his shoulders, not to make him stop or even slow down, but because you had no other way to express what you felt. “Too much, i’ss—”

Buggy grunted, grabbing your legs again to pull them back up, changing the angle. The surprise zip of pleasure struck hard, making you moan loudly and openly, your wide eye meeting his. Buggy’s lips twitched almost like a smile, a little look of victory at getting such an unabashedly slutty reaction from you. You couldn’t take it back, and he knew he had an advantage, exploiting it with every thrust.

“Come on,” Buggy said, his voice labored and heavy. “Admit it… You love this. You wanted me to fuck you from… from the day we met. You’re a freak.”

“Captain… Buggy please,” you begged, whining his name desperately in a voice that sounded so unlike your own. None of you really felt familiar, not your voice or your body or the sensations. Maybe it was someone else and you were only along for the ride, that would explain why you lacked any and all control over your body, why you could feel the torturous build of pleasure in your core in spite of the discomfort or fear or uncertainty, why you had been driven to true delirium from the way his cock ground against your walls like his fingers had, another point of excess stimulation on top of the overwhelming fullness. You could feel your pussy squeeze around him, feel the fresh wave of slick arousal that coated his cock, spilling out around the seams. You had no control, there was nothing for you to do but hang on and accept what had become helplessness in its purest form.

Buggy laughed, a hoarse, mean sound that stuttered with each thrust before leveling into a moan. You couldn’t help but whimper in turn, your hips moving to meet each rocking thrust, your thighs trembling with how hard they were clamped around his waist. If you let go, you worried that you’d never stop falling, that you would be lost because there was nothing else.

“Buggy,” you whined. “Buggy, I…”

He groaned low, grabbing your hand to hold it with your fingers entwined, pinning it by your head. By now you were chest to chest, both of you sweaty enough to be slick, your breathing dangerously unsteady, lungs puffing the sweltering air. He was kissing you, but every part of your functional mind that still worked was focused on coming. Buggy didn’t seem to mind your preoccupation, content to kiss your open mouth, content to swallow all of your moans. You didn’t think it was physically possible to be closer to another human being, you could feel his heart beating within your own heavy ribcage, feel the rush of his blood through your veins. There was nothing left of you without him.

So, then, you couldn’t do anything else, there was no choice, just that anxious need, some wild feeling that you’d scream if you couldn’t come. After teetering so close for a frightening few seconds, that was the thought that tipped you over the edge, your body tensing and seizing beneath him, disturbing your synchronization as your pussy spasmed around him, your hands holding onto his back in a death grip, pleasure rippling through you, stoked over and over again by the relentless weight of his cock. When you were done whimpering and whining and writhing your way through your orgasm, your body going limp beneath him, Buggy released you from the kiss. You saw a thick strand of saliva pop between you as he pulled away.

“Did you just… come?” he asked breathlessly, incredulously.

You nodded, gasping for air, your glassy eye swirling with moving colors, your hazy mind unable to focus on anything while he was still inside you.

“Guess that answers that question then,” Buggy muttered. Laughing as he began fucking you again, laughing and then moaning, his thrusts less targeted and more indulgent. All he had to do was get his hand on your jaw to remind you to look at his eyes. It made you choke, whimpering as the wake of your orgasm faded into overstimulation all over again. The intensity of too much combined with the trembling pleasure-pain, all of it twisted and hazy red, a world filtered and scattered, intangibly delicious but also anxious and frightening.

Buggy fucked into you selfishly now, his hands digging bruises into your thighs, his thrusts jarringly rough and without any rhythm you understood. But the sounds he made, you liked those. They were almost pained, rising in pitch as he got closer. Lustful appetite in its most crude and feverish form.

“Buggy,” you whined, scrambling to hold onto him, to mitigate the violence of his desire. “Buggy, please-”

He moaned loudly, crushing you, claiming you with his open mouth on yours, all teeth and tongue and hunger. Using you, sparing you no soft affection when he came, burying his cock as deep as possible for those final few sporadic thrusts.

You thought you could feel it, feel his cock twitch inside of you, but maybe it was just your imagination. How could you feel anything other than the steady throbbing between your legs?

Buggy groaned, breathing hard. A second later, he pulled out and flopping onto his back beside you, either missing or ignoring your wince of pain. You covered your face with your hands, willing the world to fall away. You couldn’t understand it anyway, what was the point?

“I was thinking of a more appropriate title for your job,” Buggy said between ragged breaths. “I get worried that-that people might expect too much from you. So I was thinking something like Buggy the Clown’s Cocksleeve or—or the Flashy Fool’s Fucktoy. But just now, it came to me-” He snapped his fingers. “Captain Buggy’s Cock Puppet.” He turned his head to look at you, grinning. “Eh?”

A hard shiver worked down your spine. “That’s gross,” you muttered.

He huffed, annoyed by your answer. “It’s pretty bold to act like a prude when you were creaming all over my dick a couple minutes ago.”

You groaned, covering your face again.

“We’ll work on that,” Buggy said, sitting up. You opened your eye, watching him roll his neck and arms, his shoulders popping. His hair was a mess, a lot of it had come loose, he had to fight against the hair tie to get it out, swearing at it before the thing snapped and he threw it somewhere to the side. You were too sleepy and dazed to care that you were staring at him, admiring him. You did admire him, even if he said things you wished he wouldn’t, or did things you didn’t like. You admired him as your captain. And he was beautiful.

Buggy rolled off the bed. He wore his nudity without a shred of shame. You watched as he poured himself a big cup of water from the jug, downing it all in a steady stream of gulps.

“Thirsty?” he asked, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

You pushed your hair off of your sweaty face, the world spinning spectacularly as you sat up, and nodded. He filled the cup again as you crawled to the edge of the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between your legs, the wet mess coating your thighs.

“Drink up, you were leaking pretty bad from both ends tonight,” Buggy joked as he helped hold the cup steady in your shaking hands. You hummed, not really caring about his words because the water was the best thing you had ever tasted in your entire life, and it felt even better on your dry tongue and throat. He took it when you were done and you wiped your mouth, an anxious question forming in your mind. You weren’t sure if you were supposed to leave or not.

But you weren’t sure if you could move, either. Maybe you would just stay there forever. That didn’t sound too bad.

Buggy turned off the lights and threw himself onto the bed, uncaring that he was lying in the mess the two of you had made or that he was sweaty and grimy.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

What were you doing? Why were you here? What had you done? “I… um-”

“Yeah, I don’t actually care,” Buggy said through a yawn. “It’s been a long day and I’m wiped. Get up here.”

It took a moment for you to follow the simple order, but you managed to crawl up the bed. Rather than suffer your nervous attempts to find a spot that wouldn’t disturb him, Buggy grabbed you, pulling you against him like a child with a toy. He was hot and sweaty and the amount of weight he put on you wasn’t exactly comfortable, but you didn’t dare move—you didn’t want to move. His skin smelled like greasepaint and musk and sweat and gunpowder and leather and you drank it in, accepting your discomfort because it was Buggy.

In the swampish dark left behind in the red heat of passion, and especially in his arms, you thought about the affection you felt when you looked at him. It was only natural that you would love Buggy. Not as a lover, but as anybody would love their captain. To serve him as you had sworn, your love had to be absolute. But then you wondered what he felt for you. It would be too much and much too soon to ask for love, but surely there was something.

You, with a shocking amount of clarity given the fogged state of your mind, decided that you would ask him and accept whatever answer he gave. Emboldened by that resolution, you looked at him.

Buggy was already asleep.

#opla buggy #opla buggy x reader #buggy x reader #one piece live action #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #my writing #flashbang #tw.dubcon #not sfw

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simp-ly-writes · 4 months ago

Text

The City

─────── · · THE SERIES: PART TWO

PAIRING: Enver Gortash x fem!Reader, Wyll Ravengard x fem!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Across the seas you are studying to finally cement yourself as a high lady and 'worthy' of being beside the Duke's son in the publics eye. Yet as time slips through your fingers, and you have had no word from your lover- a face from the past decides to make their presence known once more after going through hell.

─ · · WARNINGS: contract marriage, child abuse, bullying, anxiety attacks flashbacks, overall angst with fluff

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 5,000

─ · · A/N: I have to start making chapters shorter- my computer begs me.

─────── · ·

“Anger, resentment and jealousy doesn't change the heart of others-- it only changes yours.”

Shannon Alder

─────── · ·

When Gortash resurfaced, contract burned to the ground and an echoing voice shattered his mind with great ill intentions. He listened to the life the voices promised, that he realised he wished upon himself and strived to mould it into reality. Taking back to the Lower City and its sewers, his heart felt heavy with memories that the voices dampened with his mission they provided.

He infiltrated the underground network, mingling with Guild, Zhentarim, and Thugs alike. He carefully observed their trade networks and studied their trade secrets as he temporarily acted under their needs before running back off with the information to the now abandoned factories on the shoreline.

Hands running with memory, he used the metal scraps and various stolen powders to craft numerous weapons of destruction. He looked at himself in the gleaming metals, felt the various nicks and bruises across his hands from the work before turning the market on its head. Exporting his work to make numbers, he took hold of the unsuspecting and thrusted them to make his ultimate designs.

Mere weeks into his developments, various characters of his past both from hell and sewer came back with contracts in hand and meetings to be scheduled as he charmed and dined their offerings to build himself up more. Soon enough, Enver Gortash was making lucrative business as a black market arms dealer, sending a thousand ships full of weapons and bombs to neighbouring wars without a blink towards the headlines and the various zeros that followed.

Using this newfound income, Enver looked to legitimize his business, exploring other avenues and sectors. Combing his way back into the light, his eyes winced at the harsh sunlight casting judgement across his pale skin before shaking hands with misters and misses to dukes and duchesses alike. But with surface level interests came newfound dangers brought into light as many looked to take down the approaching tidal wave of Envers overtaking of the manufacturing scene, especially those connected to the Knights of the Shield as many attempts at his life were made over glasses of wine, the occasional bathhouse, or underground dispute.

He looked for a bodyguard and found himself back in searching the hells like the devil himself did to him. Casting up a contract to a young tiefling named Karlach, she protected the supposed businessman with her life and fiery passion. Often casting jokes to try and catch a sliver of a smile she thought to be imagining, or the slight twitch to his eye. The facade Enver put up was perfected as his signature gilded across multiple pages and shook hands with the upper echelon of society.

It was during one of these events that the whispering wind had caught his breath and taken his life back to an old one he thought to have forgotten long ago. He watched as a striking young woman in an equally lavish gown practically skipped down the cobbled streets, a dashing young man chasing after her, a sword swinging by his waist with every step he took.

Your face caught him standing there in the street as you simply overlooked him and took around a corner. The young man seemingly out of breath gripping his knees as he called out your name that had Enver feeling weak himself. Gripping his hands into fists, Karlach raised a brow- this was the most emotion she had ever seen her boss possess as she quickly looked over the square for a possible association.

“Is everything alright boss?” Karlach asked tentatively, hands beginning to reach around her back to draw a weapon as Enver began to walk forward with large strides without another word. His heart was racing, his eyes begging to cast upon your form again as he wondered if you would remember a boy like him.

His mind then flooded as a foreign weight fell upon his right shoulder, he remembered your head falling against it during the early morning hours after you patched his hand. Next, a memory of you pulling him into the very factory he worked out of now. Sneaking around the various guards and filling your bag full for the next day where you spent all day trying to make his drawings a reality and then you were at school. Him seeing you for the first time, reading with you on the bench behind the church and holding you as the children screamed.

When he looks down the alleyway you went down, he finds it empty- as if you were only a figment of his imagination, a ghost of an older life. He looks down to the ground, confused as he asks the voices in his mind if he had truly lost it only to receive no response. Karlach waits for him, guarding the small space as she silently understands what her boss had seemingly lost but was increasingly distracted by his sudden display of emotion. In the end, she had not readied herself for the onslaught of it as a heavy heart soon turned to anger and ultimately her destruction.

Feeling the after waves of his own enslavement, for catching a glimpse at what could have been you and him. He was taken back to the hells from a portal supported by Helsik and struck a deal with Zariel. The Crown of Karsus for a pivotal role in the new world alongside a new product offered now that he had been working diligently on for many years now, an infernal engine- the test subject? Karlach.

Lost in the need for his pain to be felt, he used it on the only person he was able to call a friend in the past decade they had been working alongside one another as the voices demanded it, only to mute and combine in the sound of one, Use those weak to build yourself stronger.

Who speaks? Enver asks himself as the roaring fires and the woman's screams are left behind as he emerges from the portal once more.

You are to be my Chosen, the voice disregards the question at first, only leaving a lingering presence in the back of his mind as he beds a red-headed lady to gain himself more notoriety in the higher circles. Weapons at their throats, hidden by words as he looked towards politics as he pulled out to finish and hastily takes himself out of the bed as the woman gasped for air, her eyes still closed in bliss before snapping to the sound of the door slamming closed.

Enver walked outside the estate, still adjusting his long coat against his body before entering the dying streets. Walking back towards the factories, the voice revealed themselves to be Bane, the God of Tyranny and Lord of Darkness as the sun fell upon the shores. On his path he looks back to see the hill where he first met you, the marks the woman left across his back still aching as he feels bile run up his throat as he crashes into the side of a building for support.

“Lady Jannath,” he whispers to himself, testing the name for he didn’t care to remember earlier but knowing he is not alone he asks the voice ever present. Will she see me- love me enough to hate me- to lothe me? My actions and desires?

She left you, remember chosen? You were rotting in hell as she was begging for the Duke's boy. Do not forget that you are bettering this world by rebuilding it. We have no need for the girl-

You speak in such absolutes…

As you will learn to force them.

─────── · ·

Enver Gortash would become a common name discussed in every home from within the gate- his popularity overshadowing any dirt to be found in the scraps he did not already erase. Bane led Gortash to acquire more power and influence within the political inner circles surrounding Baldur's Gate as he became referenced to be the future military advisor after his connections in the weapons industry. Driven by his growing ambition with the Crown of Karsus in hand, the knowledge of this artifact set in the hands of another slipped within the underground and underdark as Myrkul and Bhaal also wished to play house with the city.

Cornered one day in his own factory, a blade thrusted in between his ribs by the Chosen of Bhaal and the barking dog of Ketheric Thorm, the Chosen of Myrkul, in his face. He was left with little room but to ensure a favorable alliance with his compliance. Showing the wicked two the power the Crown could offer within ancient Netherese texts they searched to enslave an Elder Brain to support their deities alongside their own personal desires. Splitting the crown within three Netherstones, unleashed sins were planned to swarm the coast.

Sins plagued the man as desire soon overtook. Gortash had people keeping tabs on every moment of your life. He read upon your family's new estate, the friends you networked with, the first apprenticeship you gained under Ravengard to your training with the flaming fists before discussions of you being sent away to learn under foreign education. Rage would be too small of a word to withhold the pure fury that raged through Envers veins.

The little boy within him crying out to see his only friend betrothed to another. A sick jealousy plagued his mind as he kept photos of your graduation, set your favorite flowers by his bedside and had even stolen your couple's portrait of you and Wyll from the Dukes estate. The son's face was ripped apart, leaving you alone on the canvas to shine beautifully with the fresh oil paints. Gortash would find himself sitting in front of you many nights as he told you his wicked plans- as if trying to gauge a reaction from your unmoving character.

He would silently await your answer before looking at the various sculptures surrounding the room that silently judged the lord to be. And in a moment of great weakness, watching from one of the balconies of Wyrms Rock fortress as he temporarily visited as a guest. He watched your ship sail away. You running away, just as he was finally getting everything he ever wanted. In this moment of bitterness, of weakness and hurt pride; he decided to show his strength and took tadpoles to the instigators of it all.

─────── · ·

The cobbler house was quiet on a weekend night. Oil lamps threatened to flicker out as Enver moved effortlessly under their light. Bane praised his forward thinking, of gaining the purest image from highly supportive parents- parents that would never speak down to him, beat him, torment him so horribly. These people would no longer sell him out, cast you aside.

His mother was frozen in a silent scream as Enver gripped the woman by her long brown hair with a fist. He tilted his wrist, applying more tension to her scalp as he presented the wiggling tadpole in front of his mother. Not a smile, tilt of the eyes or breath exited Gortash as he watched the worm wiggly its way in behind her eye. She trashed and groaned, nails digging into her son's wrists as red blood dripped to the floor to show his humanity.

His father laid there still, his insides casted upon the floor as he chanted your name in a silent prayer before Gortash calmly strided his way across the rickety old floors that creaked and groaned under his weight. He dropped his mother to the floor with no further regard, her head slamming against the warm rugs as she laid their limp. Eyes wide, breaths shallow, mind searching for answers to only curse the devil of her own son.

His father made no protests, his fate sealed as the tadpole slithered up his neck. Gortash leaned against the countertop. His long black coat swayed slightly in the cold night air making its way through the lofty space as he watched the insertion take place, watching as both of his parents kissed his boots as he slammed the store door behind him before taking into view your boarded up storefront.

A few books were still visible in between the planks as Envers' heart clenched in his chest. He craved the pain of feeling you- even the loss of you. It was in this pain Gortash first found his path, his deity, and yet he still prayed thankful to having met you. He wished to have you hear everything you made him realise, to have you see the perfect city of people he commanded, and he would command you to stay rather than leave.

─────── · ·

Salty sea air wafted into your senses as you strolled across the white sand coast line. Your head was full of recalling teachings and notes you studied the night before in your dormitory. Looking up at the sun, you still had time before you were to meet with your peers at the Library. You were counting down the days to your final written exam.

Chuckling at yourself, or to the picture of self you keep in your mind. You wonder what home will look like in your return. If the same restaurants you love and remember are still in business. If your few school friends have returned from their studies as well. Some had gone off to Bards College while others chose to study among the druids or with the Society of Brilliance in the Underdark. A shiver runs across your spine at the thought of traversing such lands after you learned of the great diseases that had coated the lands. The text brings a tear to your eyes as you rubbed them in equal tiredness.

Yet nevertheless, you would miss your fellow students, your mentors and coaches. You were one paper away from being a qualified court member and would hold enough dignity to take Wyll’s side- Wyll. Your heart echoed with a few painful aches, you wondered what he would look like now. It had been years since you had seen him as you looked down to your bare left hand, the emptiness of it holding weight as you rubbed at your ring finger, tension only growing with festering fear of what if?

You wonderdered if the young man you had left was already holding court meetings, dancing with other young beautiful women and orchestrating deals for the city. You pondered if he still enjoyed taking walks around the garden, sneaking off into the lower city for a semblance of normality- or had the new reality already overcome that? Your mind was a storm of wild thoughts and fantasies as you bumped into your fellow students in the halls and stumbled into the library with a shy smile once realizing you were late.

The tables were filled, nearly every seat taken as one of your classmates moved their bag for you to take its place. Books were strewn across the table, empty tea cups littered the jackets of books as you found space to open your notes and started to review while doing your best to shake your thoughts of the beach.

─────── · ·

Darkness soon painted the skies, the room filled with candlelight as you wrote your final sentence and signed off your name. “Are you ready for the closing ball this weekend, (name)?” one of your peers asked as they helped you to pack up your belongings. Taking a pause, your books floating over your bag, you raised an eyebrow in question towards them- a silent ask for them to continue.

“There are spokespeople coming from neighbouring continents to hire us after graduation, surely one of your professors has spoken to you about this?” they continue, eyes growing wide as you shake your head, “No, I have not but I already have work for me back at home.”

“Oh, do not tell me it is with that ‘betrothed’” your peer makes quotations around that final word as they make a big display of looking at your hand. A sad yet knowing look casting over their features. “You must know that without the ring or paper, they are merely words and just that.”

“But I do believe it to be true,” you hold strong, eyes unwavering in their own even as your voice tilts, the lack of Wylls replies to your letters over the past three years eat away at your belief as time progresses.

“I just don’t want you to lose your future, that is all. But please, do speak to at least a couple of employers… you never know what can happen,” they grab your hand with these parting words. You can only offer a small nod before watching them leave the library as you continue to pack up your belongings. Maybe I shall talk to a couple, no harm in conversation… you think to yourself before walking back to your silent dormitory. Doing your best not to wake the other students by the creaky floors or heavy oak doors as sleep soon overcomes you.

─────── · ·

Flowers wine themselves up every bannister and set upon every table as you make your way into the ballroom. Your paper sits safely in one of your crates already making its way back to the mainlands. Suits and Satin has your back feeling cold and missing Wylls warm touch that led you around events like this. A pleasant smile coats your face in a mask as you take a champagne flute and turn to raise it towards your headmaster. Cheers erupted throughout the room as you swallow down the liquid before settling the empty glass back upon the try.

Music breaks the words as you stand at the refreshments table, picking away at the snacks and delicacies that sit in the shapes of animals and famous sculptures. Taking a laugh for yourself, you steal the middle finger off one of the food displays and place it on your plate as you look to find an empty table.

You watch as your classmates talk with their dance partners. A thousand ages and backgrounds fill the room as the spilling of fresh ink catches your intrigue. Your friend appeared to be correct as you watched them leave with a well dressed man towards one of the offices, a paper sealed in their hand as they cast a wide smile before exiting. Exhaling a breath, you pick at your food and observe the floral decorations at your table with false intrigue.

Soon, overwhelming sadness finds your reflection in the various glasses sat atop the table. Wyll had not shown up, you had an understanding that he would not but the hope for a surprise was soon overshadowed by its lack of presence. A sudden hand has you startled as it presents itself in your face. A handsome young man stands before you, his smile a bit crooked by the chip in his left large tooth, yet by the well trimmed golden hair he presents and the tailored clothes across his back- he comes from a good background.

“A dance for the lonely?” he asks, fingers stretching winder as you place your hand in his own and are hoisted up into the life of the party. Various gowns sound like waves crashing against the polished floors. The music comes crashing over every laugh and conversation as you allow your years of practice in the Ravengard ballroom to lead you through the dance.

“Penny for your thought, my lady?” the man asks with a curious tint to his gaze but before you can reply, your partner is being switched as you spin into the arms of another. “The colour suits you,” they simply state. The lack of polish in their voice catches you off guard- the same tones that you worked hard to make your voice forget.

You notice the long black coat they wear near the bottom signs of obvious wear and tear are sound as stitches are coming undone. Their top is hastily buttoned, their shoes dull, and their hair- your breath catches in your throat as you feel them grip your waist tighter. Your cheeks flare up with warmth upon recognition as you rack your brain for a name- Enver Gortash.

They smile, looking down to your lips as you whisper their name. “So you do remember me,” he comments, seemingly to himself as he pulls you away to a large twirl before slamming you back into the privacy of his arms. “Of course I would remember my childhood friend,” you say back. Your head starts to feel heavy from all the memories that flood in as you press your forehead to his shoulder.

You hear the small gasp Enver takes in, feeling the familiar weight of you on his shoulder and he has never felt such comfort. Taking one of his hands from your waist, you feel how his hand hesitates before gently stroking up and down your back. His touch has your shoulders dropping and you would not stop the smile that spreads your cheeks. A laugh of disbelief is shared between the both of you. The music eventually fades as you open your eyes once more, you go to bow, picking up your skirt but he takes your hand and drags you out of the ballroom and into the study wing.

The hall remains empty besides the few staff that run trays to and fro. Your eyes cast upon his broad shoulders and the hair he still has not styled since his youth. His smile is genuine when he turns around and casts you a wink before holding a door for you to enter. You hesitate to turn around until the sound of a click before taking the sight of him in full.

“You look so…” words fail to come to mind, your hands still shaking as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. You struggle to feel everything in this moment as he tilts his head and raises a brow, asking you to continue with a wave of his hand. “...so old.” Your hands grasp your mouth, shock holding you still as you yell internally. His laughter fills the small room as he takes large strides over to you, pulling your hands from your face to hold between his own.

“How you wound me,” he responds, a playful tint to his brown eyes, “and here I thought to find a beautiful and reputable young woman.” You scoff at his words, pulling your hands gently away with a shake of your head. “Alright and like we didn’t steal from half the population of Baldur’s Gate.”

“But look where it has placed you, exactly with my words…” his sentence trails off as he twirls a strand of your hair before looking outwards at the window behind you. You look at the side of his face, taking notice of the tens of scars that litter his jaw and cheeks. Your fingers brush against the raised skin, you feel him twitch away before pulling himself back to your touch, allowing you to observe.

“Where have you been old friend?” you ask quietly, a part of you scared to know an equal part of you burning with curiosity. “Where haven't I been,” he responds coldly before remembering his company and releasing a large sigh. He leans against a desk nearest to him as you watch his movements, holding onto every word he speaks- his voice deep and captivating to your senses beyond belief.

“When you left, my parents soon realized their mistakes. We were struggling and there was only so much a boy could carry those nights and every night the weight increased as I looked for a way out. But when I received one, it was never one I could have begun to imagine. To face such hardships, torments, and then utmost cruelty… it took hold of me in the hells-fire and I burned so much of myself in those years.”

“Enver-” you start to speak, hands looking to comfort as he settles them back at your sides. He refuses to meet your eyes as he turns to observe his shoes. Your heart aches at the sight of that young boy sitting behind you, picking away at the edges of his, or well your books.

“I was put under contract and under lashes. I bled and bruised, I worked for my life and with the lives of others. I put souls onto paper, took notes with their blood and found a way out years later. I thought of you, on the tiled floors. I often pictured your presence, heard your voice, I searched for you in the Lower City upon return- I had never thought you would move so far or remembered you to.”

Tears stream silently down your face, guilt rises with the treats you feasted on earlier. You beat yourself for not thinking to take him with you- for not thinking over one action versus the years you spent together. “Why did you cast me away then? If I had known-”

“No.” His voice is cold, his eyes snapping to you as you feel like that small girl within the trinkets and wires once more. His mother’s voice ringing in your bones as your eyes plead for answers for a forgiveness for what you do not understand but your own humanity. Enver continues, “You got the better family, the better spoils, you deserve the better life. I could not take that from you- even at times a part of me wished I did. Wished that I did not have to suffer alone but then I would be forgetting the old you. The malnourished, the angry and spiteful. I never wanted to forget her as it seems you never have forgotten me.”

“I thought of you too, you were all that consumed my thoughts at every dinner I attended- at every sparring session I went through. Surely if you are here tonight… has there been some semblance of good?”

He stands to full height, picking up your chin as his thumb brushes away your tears. “Good things do not come to men like me, we must chase them against the better judgement of others or else we will never see them. I am what I need to be, I worked for this, worked to see you once again. And here I hope, before I tell you more that you see me the way I do you?”

You drop your head into his hand, your own raising to play with the various gold designs intertwined with his collar. “Of course, you are my dearest friend of all- for all time.” And then hurt flashes in the man's eyes, he drops your head once more, his hand flexing before closing- his legs carrying him towards the exit. Your eyes grow wide, watching as the man departs without another word. Your head spinning for answers, for an explanation to his answers and just as you turn back down the hall. Enver Gortash had vanished and a staff member was placing yet another glass of champagne in your hand as you headed back into the ballroom.

─────── · ·

THE CITY: THE SERIES: PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE ... you are here

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miserymerci · 10 months ago

Text

Day 2: Eavesdrop ->

Fluffy February Day 1 : Snow - The Unchangeable Changes

@fluffyfebruary

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: MK and Sun Wukong

(Father-son relationship, comfort)

Summary: Set right after the gang flees from Lady Bone Demon in S2 E10, they set off on a journey to the west- but the west is a long way from the familiar comfort of home. MK struggles with the sudden changes.

It didn’t often snow in Megapolis.

The last time it had snowed in the city was before MK had even been born; thirty years ago in the midst of an unnaturally-cold winter. Before that, it had been another forty years since it had snowed.

So, yeah, MK had come to terms that he would be an old man before having a snowball fight– but that had been all right. Megapolis was his home . Even though it had crushed his little five-year-old dream of being like those kids in the movie, MK was still MK, snowy weather or not.

The absence of stars on this dark, fuzzy night was replaced by snowflakes.

Specks of snow fluttered down like dust in the sunlight. It glittered and twinkled playfully with every twist and turn, as if it were laughing.

Snowfall could mean plenty of things: play, innocence, purity.

When the first flake glided down onto MK’s skin, all he could think of was the cold embrace of destiny.

He backed out into the doorway of the ship.

Of all the nights MK couldn’t sleep, it had to be this one: in the chilly, still night, miles away from home, hope and faith a spark against a storm.

The snowflakes laughed at him.

Yeah , out of all the things that MK needed right now, this one was very low on the list, thanks.

“Perfect night, ey, bud?”

Beside him, Monkey King stretched two hands up before one of them settled on MK’s shoulder.

“Sleeping through something like this is for dorks ,” continued Monkey King.

“Oh– oh . Yeah. No, I’m– I’m not one of those,” said MK.

Monkey King snickered, turning away from MK to look up at the dizzy snowflakes caught in the gentle breeze.

“What a view,” said Monkey King, after a few moments. “We should get out of the doorway and have a closer look.”

“ You can. Um, it’s a little too cold for me though. Was thinking about going back to bed.”

Monkey King smiled, shrugged, and let his tail brush MK’s arm as he emerged onto the ship’s deck.

MK’s hand went out to grab him– warn him, stop him, something–! But the snowflakes welcomed the King of the Monkeys with weightless kisses on a fuzzy head.

MK swallowed and huddled up in the doorway.

“Are you scared of snow ?” asked Monkey King. He turned to face MK, eerily backlit by what little moonlight could reach past the dark clouds.

“I’m not scared of snow ,” said MK, frowning at the teasing tone of his mentor. “It’s just cold . I’ve never seen it snow before.”

“ Really ?”

“Monkey King, you live near Megapolis– we don’t get snow.”

“ Oh , right,” he looked up at the sky. “Sorry, I forget that not everyone’s been to as many places as I have.”

MK rolled his eyes at the boasting, but he wasn’t actually all-that-annoyed at Monkey King’s antics– it was this blasted weather .

He watched the snow flutter. Something deep and blue flickered at the core of each and every flake, like an echo of a call: of an everlasting promise that was less of a ‘pinkie-swear’ and more of a ‘I vow eternal misery to you and your children, and also everytime you tie your shoe you’ll mess up and only make one loop’.

The snowflakes laughed at him.

MK needed to go back inside.

“What’s on your mind?”

MK turned back to his mentor.

Monkey King was settled against the railing of the ship, tail swaying as if it were trying to copy the gentle lull of the breeze, the snow a fresh powder of promises on top of his head. He stared at MK with a strangely-troubled expression.

The break in the perfect snowfall was a relief .

“A lot of things, actually,” said MK, voice cracking past his doubt. “I can name a few at the top of my head. Like: I don’t have my powers anymore, I lost your Staff, Lady Bone Demon is on our tails, and I’m starting to feel a little…” he shrank away from a snowflake that got too close to his hidy place, “…wrong, I think.”

“Feeling wrong about ‘everything’?”

MK swallowed.

“Feeling wrong about ‘ me’ ,” he said, but it was lost somewhere between him and his mentor, whisked by the playful tickle of the wind.

The words might not have reached Monkey King. It was sort of hard to tell, but now he was too embarrassed to repeat himself. I mean– what does that even mean ? ‘Feeling wrong about me’ !? Come on , MK!

The metal of the ship deck clinked lightly as Monkey King neared. Then, a hand took his shoulder.

Something in the midst of the desolate snowstorm warmed.

Monkey King took one step back, so MK took one stumbling step forward into the known.

He was exposed.

The gathering storm giggled with passing nips against every little inch of his skin. Its touch flushed down MK’s insides to settle a deep cold in every organ of his quivering body.

His next breath shook.

Warm palms shifted down to cup MK’s elbows, and they led into another step backwards– another step forwards. Back and forward. Shift and stumble.

Monkey King and MK were in the middle of the storm. The snow, a taunting thing, never let up in their assault. It gathered in MK’s hair and Monkey King’s fur, weighing MK down.

The spiking cold was smug eyes watching him squirm. The biting wind was ghostly touches draining his warmth. The snow was cruel words echoing his swelling fear.

A red cape was tossed along MK’s shoulders.

“Better?” asked Monkey King as he tied the ends together.

“What?”

“You said it was cold? I have a cape? Extra layers?”

MK blinked at him, slowly pulling the cape closer to his body. “Um. I…”

Monkey King had this… look in his eye. It wasn’t caused by something MK did– in fact, he had seen the same look in all of his friends within the past few hours. The day had been cruel to each and every one of them.

Monkey King was exhausted. MK was exhausted. Every single person below deck, struggling to sleep in a land not their own, was exhausted. Next to nothing was perfect right now. They had been chased from their homes by a force that they didn’t quite understand yet.

“Why did you have to leave?” asked MK.

The winds had softened against his cheeks, but maybe they hadn’t been raging in the first place.

Monkey King turned away from him. He looked down, but every side of the ship was occupied by thick clouds. The guilty twitch of Monkey King’s expression sent the dread racing back to MK’s heart.

Quickly, as if he had sensed the change, Monkey King slung an arm over MK’s shoulders and pressed him to his side.

“Thought I could handle it.”

“You knew , and you didn’t tell us.”

Monkey King made a croaking sound.

“Ugh,” said Monkey King, sagging against the ship’s railing, the movement bringing MK down with him, “This is my mess. Watching you take care of it, take the brunt of all this craziness. It’s not fair.”

“I’ve been a part of this craziness. The moment I picked up the staff, this has had everything to do with me, too,” said MK.

Monkey King pulled MK impossibly closer, glaring down at nothing.

“You couldn’t have expected the past to not bite me– bite us – when you let that staff become mine ,” MK added, watching his mentor’s face but not understanding it. “I can handle it . I promise .”

Monkey King’s head shot up to look at MK.

“ Bud , you’re one of the toughest little spitfires I know. You can handle plenty of things I’m not even sure I could have when I was your age.”

“You think so?”

“ ‘Course I do. Ugh. I just have… a sense of duty . You get it, right?”

Flakes of snow had gathered onto MK’s eyelashes. He swiped one hand over his eyes, but his hand felt numb with cold and his fingertips had become a flushed pink. He tested out a sniffle and found that one of his nostrils was clogged.

“Uh. I dunno. I can’t sense much of anything out here.”

“ MK ,” Monkey King stressed. The serious edge to it melted MK’s urge for jokes.

“…I think so,” said MK, looking over his unshakable childhood hero. They were out in the cold, watching the gentle snow welcome them to their journey.

“You think so?” echoed Monkey King.

MK sniffled.

“I do know. Um– I hope I do, I mean.”

“Where’s this doubt coming from?”

It was coming from the Lady Bone Demon– her purpose, her desire, MK’s involvement in it all. It came in the form of flimsy trust and feeling powerless in his own skin. She came with ice and bones and chill. She came with faux winter weather and the snowy tomb to match.

MK focused on the gracious warmth pooling where the two of them huddled together. The wind was a breeze, the storm was an easy drift of little snowflakes.

This snow meant no harm to MK.

“I just don’t want you to think you made the wrong choice… chose the wrong successor,” said MK, weakly. When Monkey King didn’t reply, MK rushed to add, “I– I mean, it’s weird . Just a crazy thought. Not my thought, though– it was Lady Bone Demon’s. She thought that, not me. Because that would be weird .”

Monkey King took a deep breath.

“Everything she’s said was meant to do one thing: hurt you. Hurt all of us. Beating us down– it helps her with her own goal. Did any of her words come from my mouth?”

“Well… no,” said MK. He squeezed his eyes shut, shuddered out a breath, and then winced up at Monkey King. “But I’ve been seeing a lot of it.”

“Oh.”

They stood on the ship deck, watching the weather continue on in the dead of night, until MK’s nose was so stuffy that he couldn’t even breathe through it anymore.

“Maybe it’s time for bed,” said Monkey King.

He shifted to grab the red cape, readjusting it to better cover MK, and then moved on to the snow that had gathered on top of his student. Once the snow had been brushed off, Monkey King stepped back.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for bed,” said MK.

“Oh. That’s all right.”

MK looked over the exhaustion on his mentor’s face again. He stared and stared, through the pretty, white snowfall, until Monkey King smiled over at him; it was a warm, cheeky smile that MK was confident would be the only thing that would never change.

“You want me to tuck you in and read you a bedtime story?” said Monkey King. “I hear that helps babies get to sleep.”

The thought was absolutely absurd. It was such a far cry from what they were even doing out here in the first place. I mean, the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, offering to read a young adult some sort of children's book?

The more MK thought about it, the funnier it became.

“I mean, if you’re offering… ”

Monkey King looked over thoughtfully at the clouds. “It’ll be blackmail for both parties. Neither of us should mention it to anyone.”

“You don’t want to do it?” said MK, feigning disappointment.

His mentor blinked at him. Something fierce and suspiciously life-changing flashed in his eyes, and MK faltered.

“Of course I do, kiddo," said Monkey King, straightening up. "I’d be honored."

MK believed him.

“You know,” said Monkey King after MK was bundled up in his makeshift bed, “I offered you my cape because I thought the problem was that you couldn’t handle the cold.”

“I’m great in the cold!” MK replied before doubling back. “Wait, you pulled me out into the snow thinking that I was just scared of a few shivers ? I thought you were doing some wise mystic monkey-ness stuff back there.”

“Well, I was . Unintentionally.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, you want ‘Llama Llama Nighty-Night’ or ‘Stellaluna’?”

MK sniffled softly.

"'Stellaluna', please."

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #lmk mk #sun wukong #sunburst duo

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lizzy-theshyone · 9 months ago

Text

Soft Moments

a/n: I know I said that I want to write some reader inserts but I couldn't keep it for this one. This is something more wholesome so please bare with me qwq

summary: If Lailah only listened and trusted him for keeping his promise. Luckily Bael did this time, otherwise she would have been in danger.

cw: Implied sexual content, mention of alcohol and drugs

Ship: (Implied Beelzebub x MC x Bael), Bael x MC

word count: 1607

“I’m almost done, Lailah… I promise. You can go ahead, I’ll catch up to you as soon as I am done with all the paperwork.”

An empty promise again. Lailah paces around in the bedroom she shares with her boyfriends. Even though it’s mostly her and Bael since Beelzebub never really is in Abyssos. Anger bubbles up inside of her as his words continue to echo in her head.

“He should just tell me if he doesn’t want to spend time with me…” she mutters to herself but then Lailah stops in her tracks as she looks out of the window, watching the illuminated city streets as an idea pops up in her mind.

“He’ll catch up… Then he should act on it…” the female whispers angrily, blinded by her emotions.

Without any other thought, she leaves the bedroom and heads for the front doors of the palace. He said he’ll catch up to her, right? So it wouldn’t be too bad if she goes ahead into the city, right? Oh, how wrong she is.

Roaming the back streets of the city, Lailah is incredibly blinded by her emotions so she doesn’t notice some Devils following her. As the Daughter of Solomon she is some kind of a celebrity in Hell, but being a celebrity loved by everyone still has its dangers.

“Ah fuck… Where am I? I have been here before but can’t remember where to go now.” Lailah concludes. She stops abruptly and looks around. Abyssos is dangerous even without the angels attacking and she knows that, but her irrational thoughts got the best of her and now she regrets it.

“I hope he won’t be mad at me…” she murmurs nervously when she turns around in order to go back to the palace only to find herself cornered by the Devils that followed her.

“It’s a rare sight to see the Daughter of Solomon alone in the streets of Abyssos. Let us treat you to a drink.” One of the Devils says in a cheerful manner.

Well fuck.

“Would you like to try some high quality drugs as well?” Another one asks and holds a bag with some purple powder out to her.

Lailah tries to swallow that lump in her throat, that has built itself up due to the increasing anxiety. If stranger danger has a personification, it is Lailah.

With a nervous smile she shakes her head, frantic eyes look for an escape route. She knows those Devils wouldn’t want to hurt her, they are drawn to her because of her heritage. They won’t hurt her, right?

“That’s a very kind offer, but I’m afraid I have to decline. I have an urgent appointment.” Lailah claims with a shaky voice. Cold sweat runs down her neck. She shouldn’t have left the palace on her own. She should have waited in the bedroom for Bael, instead of running off alone into the streets of Abyssos, knowing that others would try to get to her, even though if they are nice.

“Are you sure you don’t have some spare time? Solomon always tried to make time for us.” A third one presses and gets a little closer to the female.

Solomon did, but Lailah is not Solomon himself. Her breath hitches in her throat, unable to speak up again she backs away slowly, her body shaking slightly, until she bumps into someone behind her. She turns her head and sighs in relief when she sees Bael standing right behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist.

“The Daughter of Solomon has an appointment with me, so please excuse us.” He tells those Devils while his arm tightens around her waist. The Devils look at each other in confusion and without any other words, the substitute King picks the female up bridal style and leaves the scene with her. His grip on her is tight as he carries her wordlessly back to the palace.

Lailah on the other side fidgets with her hands, unable to read her savior’s face. Is he mad? Is he relieved? He could be anything but happy with how her little stunt went.

“We talk about that at home, Lailah…” Bael announces with his voice being firm as he doesn’t even look at her, his eyes are focused on the busy streets of Abyssos.

He sounds disappointed but not mad, which is not so bad but not so good either. She imagined something better like cuddling or getting laid instead of getting scolded for her reckless behavior which is his right after all. Since she knows how dangerous Abyssos is, especially around this hour. The streets are packed with all kinds of people and not only the nice ones.

The dissonance of the city is far from enough to drown out the silent tension between Bael and Lailah. The dead air between them remains the whole way through the city and into the bedroom. The Devil places her carefully on the bed before he settles down next to her and pulls her close.

“I know you were mad at me for telling you I need to finish the paperwork, but I can’t have you to going out alone at this hour. I know others don’t want to potentially harm you but the city is dangerous… Lailah, you already have a damn target branded on your chest because of that bastard Seraph Gabriel… I can’t have you in any more danger than you already are…” Bael explains in a half lecturing way as he holds her close, his arms are wrapped around her waist and his head is resting on top of hers.

“I know… I’m sorry… I didn’t want to worry you because you have enough stuff to worry about. I was just… mad and felt a little bit neglected though I know you don’t neglect me in any possible way. “ The female whispers and snuggles up to her boyfriend for comfort. The comforting feeling of his arms wrapped around her makes her feel safe and sound. She closes her eyes and hums contentedly, breathing in his calming scent. A long period of soothing silence follows.

“I don’t know why but I really appreciate to have you all to myself once in a while… But I don’t want to come across as selfish. We are three people in this relationship after all…” Bael whispers into Lailah’s hair, breaking the silence, while he draws circles on her skin with his gloved fingers.

Lailah can’t help but chuckle about that, smiling to herself a little and opens her eyes again.

“Treat it like a reward for doing all the hard work that isn’t actually yours… You’re doing great, Bael… but you need to take more breaks, you workaholic idiot.” She states sternly reaching up to pinch his cheek, but giggles as he grabs her wrist and plants a soft kiss on it. This little gesture reminds her that he treats her like a princess whenever they get to spend time together.

“I know… I know, but I want to get the excessive amount of work finished… Though it becomes more instead of less…” Bael mutters and falls backwards into the pillows with his girlfriend and kisses her forehead briefly, earning himself a sweet giggle of her that makes him smile warmly at Lailah. He relaxes a little further and plays with a few of her purple strands of her silky hair, moving her bangs out of her face so he catches a good view on her mismatched colored eyes.

“You know how much I hate it when you do that…” Lailah complains and blushes as he does so, breaking eye contact with him but as soon as she feels his hand on her cheek, she looks at him again shyly. His soft smile sends a warm feeling to her stomach before she leans forward and steals herself a kiss from him.

“I just love looking at your eyes… I think they compliment each other… the dark blue that reminds me of the sea, the yellowish gold that almost matches my own eyes. I know you hate them for their mismatching color, so I have to love them and I am required to love them for you as well…” the Devil confesses with a loving smile on his face and leans in closer to her, his lips almost touching hers.

They keep looking at each other for a while, seemingly minutes, before Bael finally closes the distance between them and kisses her softly, his eyes closing slowly to let himself fall into the comfort of their tender moment. Lailah does the same, letting out a soft sigh and her hands are pressing against him to steady herself a little and to maintain this little moment between them as innocent and civil as possible.

“Only making out tonight? Nothing more?” Bael asks as he pulls away a little with a smirk on his face. His voice is husky and it appears like he is left breathlessly. He pulls her tight to his body by her waist before he takes the initiative to pin her down beneath him, causing her blush to grow bigger.

“As long as we don’t break the bed again, I- I don’t mind us getting at it…” Lailah stutters out while she stares up at him along with a certain sparkle in her eyes, her cheeks have a bright pink hue to them. A smug smile is tugging at the corners of her lips that are sealed with those of her boyfriend as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth, therefore they can finally indulge into their small moment of intimacy.

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb #whb bael #whb mc #whb fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #lizzy writes

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practically-an-x-man · 2 months ago

Note

22 for Lars/Jimmy?

Ooooh thank you!!

22. two miserable people meeting at a wedding au Send Me a Ship and a Number and I'll Write a Short Fic

Oh, and Jimmy's a human in this one, not a ghost XD

____ 'Till Death Do Us Part

Word Count: 1.1k Content Warnings: None really, just a simple meet-cute

Crossposted on AO3 ____

Lars wandered the reception, a half-filled plate of food balanced in his hand. None of it looked particularly appetizing - too... prissy, too fancy, he'd have given anything for a normal ham and cheese sandwich instead of dressed-up wedding food right about now.

They'd really gone all out for this whole getup, and he'd never understood it. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy weddings, not as a concept, but he'd never felt the need to blow thousands of dollars on some flashy blowout when it all would be reduced to holiday cards and semi-forgotten anniversaries in a few years. In his mind, weddings should've been left as a symbol of love for the people involved, maybe a few close friends to share the memory, not some overblown status symbol that cost more than half its guests made in a year.

And he couldn't find a seat.

The only thing worse than being forced to eat prissy food in an expensive suit, he thought, was not being able to eat prissy food in an expensive suit because he couldn't find a place to sit. One of life's many little paradoxes. Lars Pinfield was not a fan.

He finally spotted an empty seat amidst all the extravagant chaos, and beelined straight for the table. He stopped himself just in time, one hand on the back of the chair, and glanced at the dark-haired man already seated in the next space over.

"This seat taken?"

"Go ahead." the young man replied with a dimpled grin, "Played musical chairs and wound up at the delinquents' table, huh?"

"The delinquents' table?" Lars echoed distantly, sliding into the chair and setting his plate of hors d'oeuvres on the table in front of him. There were no place markers set out - something about the bride and groom wanting their families to "mingle", though most of the guests had defaulted to the familiar anyway.

"Sure," the stranger said with a good-natured shrug, and gestured at the other spaces around the table, "Reserved for punk nephews, the wine aunt who probably shouldn't have access to the open bar..."

He waved a hand at himself and grinned.

"....The bride's one gay cousin," he said, then gestured at Lars, "And friends-of-friends-of-friends looking for a seat. All the guests they don't remember inviting. Ah- I wouldn't eat the deviled eggs. Those are my Aunt Mary's."

"What's wrong with them?" Lars asked, bewildered, an egg pinched between his thumb and forefinger. They'd seemed like about the only normal food on the catering table, half-hidden amidst quince canapés and pâté crostini and other foods with far too many accent marks in their names.

"Glaucoma. You've got about a thirty percent chance that orange powder on top is actually paprika and not cinnamon. Dunno about you, but that's not a risk I'd take."

"Right." Lars muttered, and set the deviled egg back down on his plate. The other man shot him half a smile, a dimple creasing one cheek, then crossed one leg over the other and peered out at the meandering crowd around them. He was dressed in a navy pinstripe suit, a red handkerchief in his left breast pocket bringing a splash of color down his chest. His tie was the same shade of red, though his tie clip was banded in an bright eight-striped rainbow. He seemed to catch Lars' eyes lingering on it an extra moment.

"My cousin had the gall to tell me not to dress 'too gay' for the wedding," he said, and twisted his wrists to show off matching rainbow cufflinks, "Funny thing is, I wouldn't even have the cufflinks if she hadn't said that. Bought 'em just to bother her. Figure it's not enough to crash the wedding or start a fight, just enough that she'll feel like an ass for telling me what's 'too gay'."

Lars hadn't even brought cufflinks. His suit was rented for the day. He didn't mind dressing up a little, but his idea of dressing up usually meant a button-down and slacks for work, rarely anything more. He'd have felt underdressed if he hadn't noticed the groom's uncle walking around in a sweat-stained polo shirt all morning.

"I'm Jimmy, by the way." the man added, almost as an afterthought, and extended a hand. Lars distractedly shook it and introduced himself. Jimmy offered him another beaming, dimpled smile, then glanced at the watch on his right wrist.

"There's my token hour, I think." he muttered, "Think I'm gonna sneak out and try to find some real food. Know any good places around here? Preferably cheap? Blew all my budget on the plane ticket."

"You're assuming I'm from London just because I'm English?"

Destination wedding. Wouldn't have been so much of a destination if he hadn't moved to the States for work two years back. Part of him wondered, from Jimmy's accent, if they might've crossed paths at some point or another. Unlikely, given New York City housed over eight million people. But it was an interesting thought.

"No, I'm assuming you've been to London because you're English. I'll take half-credit on my Idiot American card, at least." Jimmy teased, "And if you ever hop across the pond to New York, feel free to cash in that credit and make me drag you around to my favorite pizza place."

Lars blinked. Was he flirting? Did that count as the offer of a date? Or was it just a hypothetical? He had the feeling that Jimmy didn't put much weight into the things he said - he took life lightly, polite but without fear, and that made these things a little hard to judge.

"I'm in New York now, actually."

"Pretty sure we're both in London now, darling." Jimmy shot back without missing a beat, "That or I spent way too much on plane tickets."

"No, I mean- I live in New York. For work. I work in biology."

Parabiology, technically, but the para- didn't usually go over so well on first meetings. Far too many people were quick to deem his line of work a crock of shit, Ghostbusters or not.

"Hm. Well, I meant what I said. Patsy's Pizza in Manhattan. I'll buy." Jimmy said, and brushed off his lap as he stood up. He extended a hand out to Lars, like an old-fashioned gentleman inviting his partner to a dance. "But until then... want to sneak out while we've got the chance?"

Anything would be better than this stuffy reception. He'd been wanting an escape practically since he arrived. And a witty, handsome man with a nice smile, offering to whisk him away... that was one hell of an escape.

It felt like the choice of a lifetime yet hardly a choice at all. He took Jimmy's hand.

"Sure." Lars said, "I'll take you to Poppie's."

#patsy's pizza may well be a real place but it's also a reference to a quiet place XD can't help myself lol #my friends!!!#neonshrike #answered asks #my writing #my ocs #jimmy luciano #ficlet #oneshot

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badbatchposts · 7 months ago

Text

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Chapter 11

While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read previous chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10

Chapter 11 summary: Dara and Crosshair return to town to get more intel, and Crosshair has a creative way of maintaining their cover when a few people get suspicious.

It was late afternoon by the time Dara returned to camp. Tech and Wrecker were stationed near the villa, finishing out their turn on surveillance, while Hunter and Echo rested outside the Marauder. Crosshair, it seemed, had returned before her—she had lost sight of him in the trees almost immediately—but was now sprawled on top of the ship, looking through the scope of his rifle into the distance. She gestured toward him after greeting the others.

“He tell you we’re going back later?”

Echo nodded. “He’s in a bad mood about it.”

“Big surprise.”

Hunter smiled a little. “Hope he didn’t drive you too crazy. What’s all this, then?” he asked, peaking into her basket.

“Dinner. How about you put those knife skills to use. These all need to be rinsed and then chopped.” Dara began unloading her supplies while Hunter and Echo looked at her with surprise. She raised an eyebrow. “What? We needed a reason to be in town, and I don’t like living exclusively on ration bars and dehydrated meals when I can help it.”

“She dug some of those out of the dirt,” Crosshair offered unhelpfully from his nest.

Dara rolled her eyes. “This may shock you, but that’s actually where food comes from.” Hunter gave the tubers a skeptical sniff. “Those need to be cooked before they’re digestible,” she warned. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

She put them to work quickly in the Marauder’s tiny galley, chopping the vegetables and herbs she had purchased at the market as well as the fungi, then mixing seasonings and liquids into the mixture before cooking it down to create a filling. Hunter peeled and chopped the tubers with characteristic ease, vibroblade moving nearly faster than the eye could track it. At Dara’s instructions, Echo boiled and mashed them before they were mixed with a fluffy yellow powder to create a dough. She demonstrated to Hunter how to wet his hands and form the dough around the filling, creating neat little balls that they passed along to Echo to steam in batches. A pleasant smell, equal parts meaty, vegetal, and bready, began to fill the Marauder as they cooked.

At some point Crosshair’s nosiness won out over his aloofness, and he climbed down off the ship to sit in a corner and watch them, occasionally offering his snide commentary on his brothers’ culinary skills. Between rude remarks, he considered Dara carefully, although she resolutely ignored him, sparing him not a single glance. The foraging seemed to support her story of living off-the-grid, although that was also a field survival skill that the batch was reasonably familiar with. She seemed to be at ease cooking, dropping a bit of her guard and the charm that she used to disguise it, and her interactions with Hunter and Echo were amiable more than anything, although Crosshair’s jaw tensed occasionally at the way she had to brush past Hunter when moving about the tight galley.

When everything was prepared, Dara set out the tray of steaming buns on the table. “Alright, that’s it. Dig in,” she instructed, grabbing one in her fingers and taking a generous bite. Echo and Hunter eagerly helped themselves, extolling the virtues of Dara’s foraging skills and cooking lessons as they savored them. Even Crosshair let out a begrudging grunt of approval, which finally drew Dara’s attention to him.

“You didn’t contribute,” Dara pointed out to him critically.

He gave her a smug look. “I provided entertainment and moral support.”

She fixed him with a glare. “I think I should go back alone later. It’s important for us to try to get more information on Prium and the villa, and people find you unpleasant to be around.”

Crosshair raised one eyebrow. “People?”

“Me. I find you unpleasant to be around.” However Dara had managed to hold in her irritation since getting back, it now seemed to be breaking through.

“Dinner was good, but you still have to take him,” Hunter interrupted, rising from the table. “We’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh? Will you?” Dara instantly shifted moods, smiling up flirtatiously at the Sergeant. He gave her a wink and a chuckle in response.

Echo gathered up the remaining food to take to Tech and Wrecker as they swapped shifts. “Next time we do this, I get to go to town and hang out in a bar with Dara, and Crosshair can go on the boring stake-out all night,” he grumbled.

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” she replied charmingly.

Hunter and Echo departed, leaving the pair alone again. Crosshair looked at her carefully. “You haven’t forgotten about our little conversation the other night, have you?” His voice was quiet, casually venomous.

Dara got up, removing their pistols from the basket, and fitting hers into the concealed holster between her shoulder blades before handing the other to him to hide on his person. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

***

The bar was more crowded than Crosshair would have liked, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it was because there was little else to do in the town. The guards that he had noticed outside the lab earlier were there, celebrating the end of their shifts with a green, frothing beverage that reminded Crosshair of swamp water. A few of the other patrons also appeared to be lab workers, judging by their uniforms; they clustered together in small groups, looking nearly as glum as he felt. He would have much preferred surveillance duty. At least it would be quiet.

The lab director had been conversing engagingly with Dara from the moment they had arrived, hardly bothering to feign interest in her fake husband. “So, what sort of projects are you working on now? Anything exciting?” Dara inquired.

Raab tapped the side of his pudgy nose—a little too flirtatiously, for Crosshair’s tastes—in response to her query. “Ah ah, I’m afraid that’s sensitive information. Although I can hint that some of our recent work promises to be quite crucial for the galaxy. Galactic safety and security, even.”

“Of course! We would be nothing without scientific progress. And—forgive me, but is it true what they say about Dr. Prium? I’ve heard he’s quite a visionary.” Crosshair thought he saw a stormy expression momentarily cross Raab’s face at that comment. Dara’s eyes were calculating; it hadn’t escaped her notice, either.

“Yes, yes,” Raab said, a little huffily. “We owe a great deal to our founder. He’s a brilliant man.”

Dara leaned in conspiratorially and rested a hand on Raab’s arm, ready to exploit the employee’s apparent resentment toward his boss. “Without a doubt. But I think we all know that so often the people at the top love to take the credit and pass the blame. So I just wondered if he’s as incredible as they say he is. I’m sure many people at the company are integral to its accomplishments. You direct an entire lab, after all.”

Raab preened a little under the woman’s attentions and chortled. “I must admit, Prium can be something of an eccentric. And very protective of his research. A bit paranoid, if you ask me, hardly trusts anyone.”

“Paranoid? Surely not. He must trust you, after all, you’re his right hand!”

Crosshair thought that she was laying it on a little thick, but sure enough, the Sullustan puffed up proudly and not a little arrogantly.

“Indeed! I daresay I’m the only one in the company who’s ever been to his home lab,” Raab boasted. Perhaps he was even dumber than he looked.

Dara’s feigned confusion, drawing her eyebrows prettily together. “Home lab? But he has a top-tier facility right here in town, with a full staff.”

“Ah, yes, but he prefers to take on some of our special projects alone. Top secret, you know? He won’t even let his maids clean up after him down there, has to do it all himself! Can you imagine?”

Dara had the conversation well in-hand, and Crosshair allowed his attention to wander. She was good at getting people to talk, and he wondered, yet again, what it was that she was hiding behind all that carefulness. Since their confrontation the other night, she seemed controlled by an iron will; although she had protested against his involvement in her part of the mission, she had mostly just ignored him, not rising to his needling remarks, no rage or frustration peeking out beneath her mask. Irritation, yes, but she seemed dead set on not reacting, especially not in front of the rest of the Batch. She was getting along well with them; the dinner stunt had ingratiated her with Echo and Hunter, and no doubt Wrecker and Tech would be similarly impressed.

He needed to find a more efficient way to break her.

With a malicious smirk, Crosshair took advantage of Raab’s momentary distraction from the conversation as he greeted one of his passing employees and pulled Dara into his lap. She didn’t have time to protest discreetly before Raab’s attention returned.

“Hunter. What’s gotten into you?” Dara scolded lightly. She swatted at his chest, giving him a severe look which she transformed into apologetic before directing it at Raab.

“Young lovers! Can’t keep their hands off one another,” the Sullustan said, directing a sordid look at the both of them which raised Crosshair’s hackles. He didn’t like Raab imagining what the pair of pretend newlyweds might be getting up to in their private time.

Squirming a little, Dara continued the conversation with the scientist as Crosshair idly rubbed one possessive hand along her thigh, relishing her warmth under his palm. For a moment he was even grateful to be out of his armor and in civilian clothes; he could feel every shift she made, every slight shiver and reaction to his touch as her body pressed against his. Glancing around the bar, he noticed the guards from the lab were staring at them and glared back until they looked away uncomfortably. When he traced his fingers up to the nape of Dara’s neck, she finally broke off her chat with Raab.

“Well, I think we had better get going, since Hunter can’t seem to behave any longer. Thank you so much, Doctor, it’s been a lovely time.”

The scientist looked at her seriously, then grasped her outstretched hand, unexpectedly raising it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “The pleasure was all mine. How wonderful to meet such an enthusiastic mind.”

Lifting Dara off his lap, Crosshair stood and nodded coolly at the Sullustan, and they exited the bar. The second they were in the moist, open air, Dara reached over and pinched his arm.

“What the hell was that,” she hissed.

He shrugged, mentally resolving to get her back for the pinch as soon as possible. Perhaps with a pinch elsewhere, somewhere it would make her jump. “We got what we needed.”

“I could have gotten more.”

“Yes, I’m sure you could have spent the whole night flirting. Would you have preferred me to leave so you could get on your knees for him and see what else he’d tell you?” That had done it; she was furious, clenching a fist like she was barely keeping herself from hitting him.

“You kriffing—” she began explosively, but Crosshair interrupted her, hauling her into the dark entrance of a closed business and pressing her up against the door. Before she could keep talking, he kissed her hard, memorizing the surprised squeak she made with enormous satisfaction.

“Eyes on us,” he breathed into her ear when she broke away. “Lab guards from the bar.” A shared glance told him that she understood before she pressed her mouth back against his, throwing her arms over his shoulders and running her fingers along the back of his neck and scalp.

Hungrily—there was no reason for him not to enjoy this while he could—he pried his tongue between her lips, deepening the kiss, smirking at how she let him in to explore her mouth with barely any resistance. That wasn’t to say she was hesitant; in fact, her tongue met his eagerly, vying to taste him back with an intensity that shot a pulse like electricity straight to his hardening cock.

Crosshair nibbled her bottom lip, sliding his hands down her waist and along the curves of her hips, then pulled away to suckle at the crook of her neck, grazing his teeth along the delicate skin. Oh, how badly he had wanted this, to have the chance to pick her apart.

“Oh, Hunter,” Dara moaned a little more loudly than necessary. Fury swelled up in him to hear her saying his brother’s name yet again, goading him with it. Baring his teeth, he bit down harshly at her throat. He was hoping to hear another of those little squeaks, but having no such luck, he ran one hand along her ass and thigh before hitching her leg up at the knee to wrap around his waist and press her tightly to his erection.

“You’re going to pay for this,” she murmured. Crosshair exulted in the venom in her voice, enjoying it almost as much as the way she couldn’t resist pushing a little closer to grind his hard length against her center.

“So will you, burk’yc.” He trailed his lips down to her collarbone, tugging the top of her shirt down a few inches to expose more of her flesh to his attentions.

“Not here, darling,” Dara giggled, the malice back under control. “Why don’t we take a walk to somewhere more private?” Smiling wickedly at her, Crosshair let her leg drop to the ground and, keeping one hand controllingly grasped around the nape of her neck, led her through the dark streets in the opposite direction of the Marauder.

“Still watching?” she muttered a few moments later as they entered the forest surrounding town.

“They gave up following a few minutes ago, but we should take a roundabout way back to be sure.” Dara swatted at his hand when he made no move to release her.

He watched her slyly and let her go, inserting a toothpick in his mouth. She was seething, barely keeping her anger in check. Lovely, he thought.

“You couldn’t think of any other way to deal with that situation?” she finally spat out.

“Don’t forget, you’re the one who started all this, burk’yc,” he crowed.

“Oh, but you’re certainly the only one who enjoyed it.”

With his keen eyesight, Crosshair could tell she was grinding her teeth, but he knew it was too dark for her to detect his smug look in turn. “Just like how I’m going to enjoy how you try to explain that pretty new bitemark on your neck to Hunter,” he replied.

This time, when Dara pulled her knife, she was threatening him. The darkness was his ally as he deftly disarmed her, catching her by the elbow just as she stumbled over a tree root.

“Kriffing kark. I can’t see shit out here,” she huffed. Shaking out of his grasp, she pulled a flashlight out of her pack and marched off, not once checking to see if he followed.

***

That kriffing asshole. She was going to kill him. As soon as they were back to Ord Mantell, she was going to kill him and leave before his brothers could get their revenge on her. She would have to make it quick—without the element of surprise she doubted she would be able to take him down and then of course she wouldn’t have the time to spend flaying every bit of his skin off or engaging in all the other various and sundry forms of torture he deserved, but still, she was going to kill him.

And before she did that, she was definitely going to fuck Hunter and make sure he knew all about it.

Dara tried to slow her breathing, unclench her fists and jaw. She was laying on the nose of the Marauder, staring up at the stars, trying to recognize the shapes they took on this unfamiliar planet, connect them into new, mysterious geometries, create neat little polygons to shove her thoughts into—one of the many rituals she’d created to help tamp down her emotions when they threatened to burst out of her like a dam breaking. If she couldn’t quiet her mind, she’d never get to sleep, and tomorrow they were supposed to make their plan for infiltrating the villa.

Speaking of which, that smarmy Sullustan had given her a bad feeling. Whatever it was that the lab was working on, she had yet to hear of something considered essential for galactic security under the Empire that wasn’t terrible news.

And she could have found out more, if it weren’t for that kriffing asshole.

That asshole, who had taken every opportunity today to touch her (and she must really be touch-starved from living alone so long, his hands on her had felt so good) then accused her—not for the first time—of planning on sleeping with someone to get something out of them, then the kiss (his mouth was so hungry, he was a better kisser than she’d imagined) and his closeness (kark, when she’d felt that pressed up against her she’d nearly forgotten where they were) and he’d left a bruise on her for anyone to see, the controlling little—

She was going to scream if she kept thinking about this. Which was exactly what he wanted. To drive her insane.

She was going to kill him.

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon

A quick note on my posting schedule! Work is pretty busy right now and, although I have a lot more of the fic written, I've skipped ahead a bit in my drafting so this is the last complete chapter I have in order, which means I need to dedicate some time to filling in the gaps. This means that the posting schedule will likely slow down from twice a week--I'll still try to post once a week or once every two weeks to keep things going at a regular pace!

In the meantime, I really appreciate comments for encouragement and hope you're enjoying it!

#the bad batch #bad batch #star wars #clone force 99 #tbb crosshair #clone wars fanfiction #tbb hunter #sw tbb fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfiction

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srorgana1 · 1 year ago

Text

Picture Perfect

Rock Star Kylo Ren/Reader

Warnings: Expecit Sexual Content, Marriage, HEA 🥰

Epilogue to Into The Reverb, requested by the lovely @ladyzimmerman

“Hold on Kylo” Patrice says, powdering his forehead and cheeks lightly “there ya go.” You look between them confused. What is happening? Kylo seems to sense it, side eyeing you. “Don’t worry baby girl it’s a surprise” he says as Patrice fixes his collar, exposing more of his tattoos.

Your lip quivers as you bite it. You have no real reason to be anxious but yet, yay anxiety. You try to stave off the incoming invasion of irrational thoughts. Should you be doing this? Is it too soon? Yes, the single is a hit on YouTube but is it really enough to warrant having an interview and photoshoot with Revolver Magazine? You didn’t honestly think so but the studio felt otherwise.

“Hey Y/N” a feminine voice says, rudely but thankfully interrupting your impending spiral. You look up to see your stylist for today looking at you, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised and blush brush in her hand. Your cheeks heat up instantly. “Sorry Patrice, what did you say?” you say, hoping she won’t judge you too much.

She chuckles, giving you a soft smile as she puts down her brush. “I said you are done and wanted your opinion on it but obviously you have other things on your mind.” “Is it that obvious?” you mumble as you look down at your newly manicured hands clutching your phone. The dark wine colored stiletto nails make your hands look like they don't belong to you.

“Babe, it's okay. This is a celebration of you and your achievements. No one is here to bring you down” she says softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You know what I see? I see a hot badass bitch who stood up to the industry, gave it a big fuck you and then turned it on it’s head for the better, all the while snagging the hottest man in the scene.” You feel your blush deepen at her multiple compliments.

You know she is right. The lawsuit against First Order Records and the residual fallout did revolutionize the music industry. It exposed the over control the big corporate labels had over their artists and how they were unfairly compensated for their hard work. Many artists took the opportunity to jump ship and sign on with smaller studios where they had more freedom and control of their art. Fans were divided, but most of them loved that their favorite artists had a say now.

D'Kar had been growing by leaps and bounds, opening two new studios in Miami and New York. You had gone and helped Chewie get the Miami office off the ground, signing up and coming artists at every turn. You really enjoyed talking with them, learning about their unique viewpoints on music. It was fascinating.

The Knights of Ren continued to be successful as well, winning best new album at the Billboard Music Awards and Heavy Music Awards. You traveled with them to the UK for the awards show, smiling like a fool when they performed Never Giving Up live. The media presence was intense, requesting interviews but you declined stating you were there to support them.

When you returned back home, Kylo quickly asked you to move in with him. He didn’t make it a huge deal, just saying there was no point in being apart. You accepted and offered Rae your place, knowing it was bigger than her current place and would be the perfect spot for her to raise Kayla. You and Kylo took your time and ultimately made his place a home, a perfect mix of the two of you.

You continue to be KOR’s senior producer, assisting them in developing new ideas and music. Their newest album is due for release in March but their newest single, a collab with Horizons and AntiChri$t, a dark trap/Hip-Hop artist from Echo Station Records, was currently blowing up the charts. You loved watching Kylo work, always amazed at how he weaves himself into each note.

So when he caught you one evening toying with a song idea, he pushed you to try. You did after much coaxing and through the support of D’Kar and The Knights you released an acoustic song online. It was simple but full of meaning and emotion. Kylo and Vic of course didn’t take no for an answer and played the musical accompaniment on the video as well as the subsequent recording.

You had never been so nervous in your life as you were that day, setting off a severe panic attack. Kylo held you tight, talking you through your breathing exercises. You begged him to call it all off, saying you weren’t ready but he refused. He showered you in loving kisses, telling you how worthy you were and how much you deserved this.

Kylo. Your heart warmed at the thought of him. Your amazing, goofy, sexy but sweet, talented man. You love him so much and you thank the stars every day for him. “Yeah you're right, I know I’m luckier than most” you say, giving her a small smile. She smiles back as she grabs her hairspray.

“If it means anything my Arielle loves your song, she says it's really deep” she says as she spritzes and does her finishing touches. You never expect it to blow up the way it did. It felt good to know your song is touching multiple age groups. It was a perfect example of how music was truly something everyone can enjoy.

“Well if you want I can say hi to her if you want” you offer. “Really?” she says with wide eyes “no no that’s too much. I think just a picture with you will be enough. Are you okay with that?” You smile and look at her through the mirror knowing you two are becoming fast friends. “I think I can swing that”.

A knock on the door pulls both your attention. “Are you decent?” a prim English accent says through the door. You laugh and shake your head. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before” you say as he enters. “Yes, that's what I’m afraid of,” he says, sounding uncomfortable.

You giggle softly at the memory of him catching you and Kylo in your hotel room last month. He had squawked about it being lewd and indecent while Cassian laughed his ass off calling him a hypocritical prude. He must be thinking of the same memory because his cheeks reddened as he huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t” he says, the side of his mouth twitched upward. You give him a smug smile, saluting him through the mirror. “You did great Patrice as always” he says, walking up to the two of you and handing her a stack of bills. “Pleasure as always Huxy” she says as she packs up her bags. You stand, tucking in the front of your shirt as you join them.

Patrice must have told Hux about the photo, motioning to the both of you as he raised up her phone. You wrap your hand around her waist and smile, taking a couple photos with her. “Beautiful” he says as he hands her phone back. She smiles warmly and gives you both another quick side hug before slipping out the door.

“How are you feeling Y/N?” he says as the door clicks shut. “I’m okay, just nervous I guess” you respond, your fingers beginning to fidget. “Don’t be, this is the easy part. You killed the interview, now you just have to stand there and look pretty” he says as he phone buzzes. Easy for him to say, you think as his eyes darken and eyebrows furrow at whatever he reads on the phone.

“Sorry love but I got to go, the assistant will be here in a bit to escort you. You look beautiful and you will kill it” he says quickly as he turns, leaving you alone. You take a breath, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. You wonder what could be so important that would make Hux react like that.

“Fuck I thought he’d never leave” a dark smooth voice from the side, surprising you. You yelp, your heart almost leaping out of your chest. You turn to see Kylo’s head peeking out from the dressing racks, a huge shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Kylo! What the fuck!” you exclaim as you hold a hand to your chest, willing your galloping heart rate to a normal level.

“Sorry baby girl, it was just too perfect” he says, laughing as he ducks his head under the bar, exposing himself at last. You take him in, his fresh white button down and distressed black jeans definitely was not what he was wearing when he dropped you off, but damn did he look good. The soft white cotton fit his broad chest well, the first couple buttons left open to expose his tattoos. You eyes reach his face to notice the hunger in his rapidly dilating eyes. “Hmm” he growls “you look stunning” he says as he takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to him.

The smell of his Tom Ford cologne hits your nose, making you want to melt into him. Damn him. You huff as you school your features, smack him in the chest. “Ow what’s that for?” he says dramatically, suddenly starting to tickle you. You squeal, pushing yourself closer to him to avoid his fingers. “Stop! Stop! Ok Ok!” you giggle “you just scared me is all.” He smiles, his fingers grabbing at your curves as he places a big kiss on the top of your head.

“God I love you” he says, squeezing you lightly as he takes your hand in his. You look up at him and his amber eyes say it all. The amount of love this man has for you still scares you at times. You truly cherish how much he trusts you with his heart. You sigh happily, knowing you will never be alone again.

You look down at the arm wrapped around you, the skin on his wrist still pink and healing. “You know you can cover it up if you want to” you say as your fingers trace one of his newest tattoos. “Why would I do that, beautiful? I got it in honor of the happiest day of my life. If someone doesn’t like well fuck them” he says, kissing your entwined hands. You nod in agreement. It was the happiest day of your life as well.

He holds you close, his cologne and his warm breath on the back of your neck soothing you. You feel him kiss there softly, his facial hair a hard contrast to his plush lips. Your body instantly reacts to his attention, a shot of desire making you shiver. The growl he lets out vibrates through you, further stoking the flames. He grinds his hips against your ass, his cock hardening quickly within its confines.

“Really Kylo? We don’t have time for this” you say, trying to distance yourself from him. Clearly he knows you are literally going to have photographs taken the whole world will see right? His grip tightens, his teeth lightly scraping against your neck. “I need a fix baby” he whispers against your ear, his tip of his tongue tracing the shell.

“We can’t. The assistant..” you gasp, your breath catching as his hand skims over your breasts. “We have ten minutes, I paid him off and I owe Vic a back massage for getting Hux out of here” he says as he spins you around and places you atop the vanity. Your hands slide down his neck as his lips slam into yours, his kisses needy but aggressive. It further ignites your need for him.

His wicked lips torture you, his tongue coaxing moans from you as he shifts your hips up, his fingers working the buttons on your pants. “You have to be quiet for me, baby girl” he says, his fingertips now tracing the top of your underwear. He smiles wickedly as you nod quickly, already desperate for his touch.

He starts kissing your neck, his fingers descending slowly, teasing you further. You gasp as his thick fingers finally reach your pussy. “Fuck me, you’re soaked Y/N” he hisses, his fingers exploring further and pulling your now useless underwear aside. Your grip tightens around his thick muscles as he inserts one finger, pumping slowly.

Damn his fingers. They are always so perfect. He knew from the beginning how to play you to make you delirious for him. You fight to keep your eyes open as the core tightens. “Fuck I love you like this” he growls, slamming two finger inside. He crooks them to hit your g-spot and rubs the heel of his hand against your clit. “Fuck” you whine, your hips shifting more forward.

“Shh, lemme do the work baby. Gotta keep you photoshoot ready. God damn it, this is so fucking hot” he grits out, biting the junction of your neck lightly as resumes his thrusting. You bite your lip to stop your sounds of pleasure. “I feel it baby girl, I feel you winding up. Please baby I need it” he says his voice getting lower and huskier.

Your body responds immediately, your back arching as your orgasm crashes over you. He swallows your moans with his own as you cum all over his fingers. “I love you, I love you” you chant breathlessly, placing your forehead on his as you catch your breath. “I love you more” he responds softly “I’m so fucking lucky.”

“We both are” you say as you take a deep breath, your body clinching as he removes his fingers. “Very true and it’s not just because I get to worship you whenever I want” he says as he licks your arousal off his fingers, his eyes closing in bliss. You fight off another shiver upon watching him. Damn him for being so fucking sexy.

A knock on the door breaks your lust filled bubble. “Kylo?” a shaky voice says “You good?” You look at him as he steps back, offering you his other hand. “One minute” he calls out as you take it, hopping off the vanity and putting yourself back together. You fix a couple flyaways and your mascara, smirking as you see him adjusting himself in the mirror.

“I can take care of that after” you whisper as the door opens, revealing a skittish looking assistant. Kylo places a hand on your lower back, leading you out to the hallway. “I am looking forward to it” he responds, patting your ass lightly. The assistant looks at the two of you nervously. “Lead the way Michael, after the shoot I’ll sign your stuff” Kylo says, running a hand through his hair.

The assistant nods, his face a little less nervous as he leads you both to a large room full of people and equipment. The photographer sits in a directors chair, barking out orders as assistants rush back and forth. Two of them pull you from Kylo and lead you forward to a source of the shouts. “Luke?” one of them says nervously. The orders stop instantly as a pair of blue eyes land on you. “Ms L/N? Pleasure to meet you” a short gray haired man says, offering his hand.

You shake his hand, hoping it’s not too sweaty. “I know you are new at this so here’s the synopsis. We will do pictures standing, on the coach and by the bike. Biggest thing to remember is not to stress, I’m here to lead you through” he says, one hand messing with the camera settings.

“Thanks Luke” you say as you are led in front of the cameras, the assistants hovering as Luke begins barking out orders once again. You try your best to keep your face neutral, not letting the assistants’ stressed energy get to you. “Okay Y/N I think we are good to start” Luke says transferring to the stool next to his chair “take a deep breath for me okay”.

You do so, shaking out your limbs and fixing your shirt once more before getting into position. Arms crossed with a relaxed posture with one hip leaning on the side of the couch. “Perfect” Luke says, camera clicking away. You spot movement behind him, your heart warming to see Kylo standing behind him, a soft look overtaking his features. You smile involuntarily, your nerves lessening when you hear him say “I love you”.

You are led through a couple different positions, both standing and sitting on a black leather couch. They were very professional, with just a hint of sexy. Luke complimented you through it, finally calling for a water break and a background change.

Two assistants rush you, pulling you aside as the couch is removed and replaced by a vintage Harley motorcycle. You smirk at the multiple memories of a very similar one. “Mine’s better that’s for sure” he says as he comes up next to you, immediately wrapping an arm around you. You nudge your hip out to bump his as Patrice fixes your makeup.

He kisses the top of your head, releasing you as Luke calls his name. You watch him wink as he turns and lumbers to the motorcycle, shouting something to Luke. No. No fucking way.

Patrice’s laugh pulls you from your shock at the dramatic turn of events. “What? He didn’t tell you? Figures” she says, trying to compose herself as she fluffs your hair and adjusts your shirt to more off the shoulder look, exposing your collarbone tattoo as you hear camera clicks behind you.

She smiles wide, her eyes sparkling with happiness. “He paid us all to keep this part a secret as a surprise for you. Yes, some are for the magazine, but most are for you two as your wedding photos.” Your eyes widen and begin to water as your jaw goes slack, finally putting it all together.

“Now don’t start that! Don’t make me have to redo my work” she says sternly. You shake your head, laughing at the ridiculousness of all this and how much Kylo fucking loves you. It’s seriously unbelievable. “Hey, you got this, okay babe? Just enjoy the moment” she says, leading you up to your man. You take his awaiting hand, his eyes darkening once more as he takes you in. “Yes Kylo keep that fire” Luke yells “Y/N get closer to him, yes like that.”

You get as close to Kylo as you can, your back to his chest and his arm around your waist. He nuzzles your shoulder in a couple while in others you share soft kisses. “Thank you” you whisper to him when Luke calls for a lighting change. “No need to thank me baby girl. You make me the happiest man on the face of this earth. It’s time the world knows” he says as he kisses you again.

“Alright guys final position” Luke calls out “ okay arms around her Kylo, yep that’s right. Remember left hands exposed and facing out, good perfect” He encircles you, a strong protective shell from the world. You know when you’re here you're safe because your husband will do anything to protect you.

As on cue, Kylo lays his head on your shoulder, his long black hair hiding his face. You feel him leaving kisses on your skin as you turn your head, nuzzling your nose into the side of his head. “Shift your arms down Kylo, yep perfect I can see her tattoo better now” Luke says as the camera rapidly clicks. “I love you Mrs. Y/N L/N-Ren” he whispers into your skin.

See the whole collection including original story:

You can’t help the tears that well up as your fingers caress the raised tattooed roman numerals on his side of his wrist. “Okay perfect guys, now show off the finger tattoos.” Kylo shifts a little bit behind you, raising his head to kiss your check. You hand lays over his, your matching delicate ring finger tattoos and wedding bands facing the camera. “I love you too Mr. Ren” you respond knowing no matter what life gives, you have each other and nothing will never ever break it.

I hope you all enjoyed their HEA, I know I did 🥰❤️ lemme know what you think on here or on A03 ❤️

#adam driver #knights of ren #kylo ren au #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #rockstar! kylo ren #kylo x y/n #kylo fanfic #star wars au #hea #kylo x reader #kylo smut #rockstar au #adamdriver #anxiety disorder #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren fluff #Spotify

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unholyhelbig · 5 months ago

Note

dog, ur into wenclair??

Title: The Cardinal & Her Raven

Ship: Enid Sinclair x Wednesday Addams

Summary: Wednesday Addams doesn't run away from a challenge, unless it serves to protect Enid Sinclair. Enid won't give in, and the two dance around one another in a fight for love.

Warnings: Blood, Hypothermia, abdominal wound, scars, angst, medical terminology, horrible grammar (I don't proofread, we know this) Disclaimer: Characters are aged up.

Buy me a coffee; my mother is sick, really sick, and her insurance is kicking her out of her rehab facility. Myself and my sister are responsible for 3700.00 a month to keep her housed. Help us, help her!

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Enid Sinclair kept her eyes on the cardinal that stared down at her unblinkingly from a gangly branch. It’s body was plump, fluffed up with layers of dark red feathers. The beak was startlingly orange, snapping open and closed as if it were trying to speak to her. Its words were stuck in it’s throat and Enid smiled weakly at the fact.

The bird stood out from the drab white environment, a splash of ink among an unwritten tragedy. She found it fit that she would die in the presence of another creature that was so much smaller than her. It was safe with its talons wrapped around the bark, head lilted in annoyance of the intrusion.

When Enid coughed, her throat gurgled. The overwhelming warmth of blood spilling from her mouth and onto the stark white snow brought her comfort, if not for a moment. She had been so cold before this. The ice was pressed close to her bare skin. The dark red had crusted around her cracked lips, so thick.

She was thankful that she had shifted back as she crawled across the white powder, using the rest of her energy as her bones writhed under her skin, breaking crudely and reforming into something one could only describe as human.

Enid had never felt desperation like this before, the need to touch every part of herself to the snow. Just hours before, as she ran with crystals etching into her fur, she figured she would never feel warmth again. Now, she did everything save from shedding her skin to envelope herself in the cold.

You’re dying. Her wolf echoed glumly in her ear. When she smiled at this, her teeth were stained with a rusty orange. She could taste the metal on her tongue. When she lifted her head with great difficulty, she found interest in the trail of blood that melted the snow in her obvious path.

Yes. She was dying, and she was welcomed to this face. The wolf that she shared her broken body with was pacing circles in her mind, discontented with her ability to give up. They were going to freeze out here, and she wouldn’t be found until spring.

When Enid’s flickering stare returned to the cardinal, it had been joined by a Raven. Its oil-slick features caught the sun with a startling purple. It watched her with a beaded eye, unblinking, undeterred. The wolf-girl laughed, winced as her abdomen constricted around the silver blade that bubbled her skin when she touched it.

I get it, Wednesday. She swallowed back a groan of agony, wrapping her hand around the handle of the weapon. She could hear the sharp sizzle of flesh. Even in her dismissal of pain, this was the most dangerous affliction. I was foolish to follow you.

She clenched her eyes shut to block out the Raven as it chased away the cardinal. And she pulled with a suffered whimper. This would relieve the pressure against muscle and veins. She could bleed out before she froze. She could relieve the festering in her gut.

“Fuck!”

I’d be her last word, her last shout of effort. Just as the tip of the blade reached the edge of her wound, it was shoved back down, perhaps a tad bit deeper than it was before. Her body threatened to curl into itself, a string of growled expletives deflating her.

The Raven on the branch had turned into a woman. No- no, that wasn’t right. Her vision was blackening at the edges, but she had enough sense to clock the bird that was still gloating from the branch. A familiar, perhaps, shielded with magic.

Her mind couldn’t make sense of the woman, wrapped in layers of dark wool. She smelled thickly of spice, and melted snow. It countered the vicious odor of rotted blood. But those eyes- those wide and dark eyes were so familiar. Despite their boiling rage, they carried a bit of tenderness.

“Stupid mutt,” her breath pushed past her pitch balaclava in a rise of condensation. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to pull the blade out?”

There were hands prodding at her naked body, searching for the source of the blood and wishing to quell it. Enid couldn’t stop the cynical giggle that escaped her. Nor could she stop the darkness that soon followed.

When Enid finally awoke, she drew in a greedy and despite helping of air that resulted in nothing but pain. She dug her heels into a scratchy mattress and struggled to get enough leverage to push her into a sitting position. This was not a room she was familiar with, nor did it bring comfort.

It was a cabin, dark brown shiplap lined the walls, and the mounted head of a steer grinned glared down at her with it’s marbled amber eye. She shuddered away from it, muscles tensing before she pressed her fingers against a sticky bandage across her abdomen. The slightest bit of red bloomed against the center.

She ran a thumb over the adhesive, peeling it back in the slightest before she was interrupted.

“Don’t touch that.”

A squeak escaped Enid. She reached for a random pillow that was embroidered with the image of a bear with two of her cubs. It was extremely tacky, and not at all the goth style that the woman in front of her stuck to like glue. She was expecting a small coffin stuffed with fluff. Never flannel bedsheets.

“Wednesday.”

It was a warning growl for her decency, but she was leveled with a cold glare. The scent of chamomile tea tickled her throat. If Wednesday had dragged her all the way here, then she was more than accustomed to Enid’s naked form. It didn’t make the blush against her cheeks any less prominent.

She carried a tray with a bowl of stew and the aforementioned tea. The smells mingled deliciously, filled Enid’s lungs. She couldn’t’ stop the noise her stomach made in response. Wednesday placed the food down on the small, dusty desk. She crossed her arms over her chest, stance tight.

“It was foolish to follow me.”

“It was foolish to run.” Enid shot back deftly “And to booby-trap your place?”

“It was to keep insipid dogs from disturbing my peace.”

Enid snapped her jaw shut. Pain was needling under her skin, something she had to swallow back. Crystaline blue eyes flickered down to the intricate lattice of the duvet. Wednesday had warned her explicitly, but with the rest of the deadpan words that pushed past the curves of the girls lips, Enid hadn’t taken them seriously.

A heavy sigh cut through the near silence of the room. The cabin settled around them, a wolf-whistle of wind shaking the structure. Wednesday approached the side of the bed and splayed her hand against Enid’s chest.

The wolf could feel blood rush past her ears, eyes widening as she looked at Wednesday, traced the freckles that were smattered across her cheeks. She’d spent time in the sun, there was a redness to her skin, a reflection of white light against the endless and dense winter landscape.

Enid’s back was against the mattress now. She resented that she was so pliable under the flitting Ravens talons. She easily could have thrown her off, even in her altered, silver-ridden, state Enid had immeasurable strength.

She folded under Wednesday’s touch. Her balanced weight was familiar and welcoming. Enid tried desperately to regulate her heartbeat. She was certain that the spread palm on her chest could feel the heavy thud behind her ribs. If Wednesday had noticed, she didn’t say a word.

“You ripped your stitches. Stay still.”

Wednesday pulled the adhesive from her abdomen. Enid let out a deep primal snarl and arched her back. She could feel tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Maybe she deserved that for disobeying explicit instructions.

There was a ghost of a smile on Wednesday’s lips. She was enjoying Enid’s pain, but not enough to unbury the dimples that the wolf had only seen twice throughout their entire relationship. Her eyes shifted to the wound caked with black and hard blood. Wednesday had anticipated her and armed the grounds of the cabin with enough silver to render her useless.

Wednesday scooted down, pressure igniting a heat throughout Enid’s body. She fought back a tremble. The girl that was on top of her was nothing but clinical, but her soft and warm breath against her bare abdomen made goosebumps betray her.

“Once you’ve recovered, I expect you to leave.”

“I’ll do no such thing. Do you know how long it’s taken me to find you?”

She’d busied herself with rethreading a needle, dark and soulful eyes flicking up to meet Enid’s once more. There was disdain in them, but a little bit of pride there too. If she could outrun a werewolf with impeccable scent and tracking skills, then she could outrun anything.

“I don’t care how much you want to martyr yourself, Willa.”

Wednesdays features hardened as she plunged the needle into skin. Again, Enid grunted, but was careful with her strength, save for bucking the only one trained in medicine into the bedframe. Her teeth grit, she felt every pull of the surgical thread, each pinch and prod.

“Martyr?” Wednesday scoffed humorlessly “per l'amor di Dio, you were stark naked in a valley waiting for the winter to take you. If it weren’t for your supernatural ability, you’d have frozen to death long before you pitifully dragged yourself into the sun. Are you that careless with the life I’m trying to protect?”

“What is a life, my life, without you in it, Wednesday? I told you to stay. I begged you, because we could have figured it out together. But you ran like a coward.”

The word tasted heavy in her mouth and Wednesday’s movements stilled against her. The Addam’s family has been called many a things, but never once were they labeled as cowards. Wednesday had wrestled with the idea of returning to her lover. Even straddling her now, feeling the heat seep through her jeans,

“Perhaps I am a coward, but at least I am not a dull-witted one.”

This time, Enid felt the need to escape from under the weight of the woman who fit so easily on top of her. She did so gently, despite her festering anger, by grabbing both of Wednesday’s hips and lifting her with little effort until she could be nudged to the side. With great difficulty, and burning from her wound, she scrambled to a standing position.

A squeal of shock had escaped Wednesday and it left Enid flustered. She wished she could scrub the pink from her cheeks, her body betraying her.

“Take it back.”

Enid knew she looked like a child, crossing her arms over her mostly bare body. Her jaw was thick-set and a slit eyebrow was raised. She hadn’t dyed her hair in months, the deep blue fading to a soft periwinkle at just the tips of her wild hair.

Wednesday could see the cotton-candy pink of her scars, not just the three that slashed through the woman’s cheek and eye. It was a rare sight, but there were long marks from her shoulder to her spine. They’d gushed an insurmountable wall of blood when skin had first broken. Wednesday resented the fact that she felt pride bubble up in her chest at how selfless Enid had been all those years ago.

“No, I will not.” Wednesday stood and peered up at Enid, crossing her own arms. “Things are easier if we are apart, Enid.”

“When have you ever cared about easy? The Wednesday I grew up with, the one I’ve known for all these years, never would have backed down from a challenge.”

“That’s what you think this is? A challenge? This is life and death, and despite my attachment to the imagery, I am not ready to die.”

Quiet enveloped them both, and Enid’s shoulders dropped in the slightest degree. Wednesday itched to run her fingers down the markings on Enid’s skin. The blade that had pierced her abdomen was sure to leave a nasty mark.

Enid let out a shaking breath that fanned across Wednesday’s cheeks. Despite herself, she felt tears start to build against her waterline. The shorter girl looked away, let them fall to the cotton of her shirt without consequence. She wasn’t afraid to cry in front of Enid, never had been.

The wolf curled her finger and lifted Wednesday’s eyes to her own. “You are not going to die.”

“You are so sure of this fact.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Willa. I’ve grown stronger, as have you.”

“As has Tyler.” The sigh escaped her heavily. “That creature has vowed to ruin my life, and you, silly mutt, are my life. I can keep moving, keep the both of you away.”

Enid frowned and ran her thumb over the damp freckles on Wednesdays face. They were talking in circles. Her stubbornness was chased like the tip of a tail. Aimlessly. She’d made it innately clear that Enid was not wanted by setting traps. Yet, Enid would let each of them carve up her skin, just for a small blissful moment.

Her words came out small, dejected. “Why won’t you let me protect you?”

Enid dropped her head, Wednesday brushing her nose against the wolf’s own. Enid failed at stifling a whimper. It tumbled from her mouth and made her feel vulnerable. Wednesday swallowed hard and brushed her fingers against the adhesive of the bandage.

“Once you heal, I expect you to leave. This time, properly dressed for the weather.”

“Willa…” It came out as a desperate plea.

“Stop following me, mia lupa.” Wednesday gritted, breathe hot and smelling of freshly picked mint. “Next time, I won’t show mercy.”

#Wednesday Addams #enid sinclair #wednesday x enid #wednesday is soft for enid #enid x wednesday #wenclair #wenclair fanfic #wednesday fanfic #Wednesday addams x Enid Sinclair

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cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien · 1 year ago

Text

Solar Opposites in: Solar Monsters (by @avaveevo)

Ch. 9

That night, David sneaks into Mrs. Brandy’s mansion, where he destroys a chained lock with a pair of sheers by cutting them as he sneaks into the basement. He then sees a pair of old viles, needles, danger sign viles and powders. He then sees a gamma ray where he fixes a screwdriver and starts to turn on the ray.

David: That’s right! Make Me stronger! Make me unstoppable!

The ray fires at David as he began to a radiation that is starting to infect his whole entire DNA. But, nothing happens. Then, he touches a metal pole and suddenly his skin turns metal.

David: Pretty neat power…

He then start to a demon lizard as his hands to turn to scales. He begin to grow amazed by this new power as he begin to a torn paper with the headline. “Chimera”. He then grins evilly as he picks up and sees three kinds of viles as he picks it up, but then Mrs. Brandy enters.

Brandy: Hey! How did you-

David grins evilly as he merged with the floor, much to Brandy’s horror.

Brandy: H-how did you do-

David: You see here m’lady? I have finally gotten the right mixture of any monsters there is with my old DNA mixtures those Morherfuckers took away from me for three years. And now I have the right strength that I need to get back at those who banished me!

Brandy: GET OUT OF MY MANSION!

But, then David merges himself with a giant machine and knocks Brandy out, as blood leeks from her forehead.

David: Bitch.

Suddenly, David heard footsteps echoing from downstairs, which belong to Alice as she comes downstairs and grows alarmed but what she saw.

Alice: Mrs. Brandy? Is everything alright?

Alice then sees David and gasp as she backs away in fear.

Alice: Wh-whoa are you?

David: Your worst nightmare.

David gots out a strange-glowing Ruby as he merges it with Alice as she screams. Then, it cuts to Terry looking at his hands.

Terry: What is wrong with me...?

He then remember his dream last night, of how long he has it for 13 years and made a decision as he heads up to the ship, as he searches for something.

Terry: Come on! Come on! There’s gotta be something that can help me….

Suddenly, Terry sees a DNA blood machine as he picks it up and grows amazed. So Terry cuts himself and pours his blood into the machine. Then, the machine starts making a sheet as it pops out and shows the results. It shows him details about the DNA of the Mundane and how it’s been running in Terry’s side of family for years.

Terry: What?! No! That can't be real!

Terry starts breathing in and out as he starts to panic then he sees a book on Shlorp’s Creature and grabs at it as he hides in the manc ave. He then opens a book trying to search for the word, “Mundane” desperately.

Terry: Where’s the damn page?

As Terry kept turning the pages, he stops and sees the picture of the Mundane in a page. Terry then sees the page as he turns it over and looks in wonder as he began to read through it.

Terry: Holy shit. reads through it ”Mundanes” dangerous strong touch muscle-bound beasts after a huge amount of depression slowly engulfs a Shlorpian. It has very unique abilities such as super strength, lava impacts and hawk vision. It gets stronger when craving on meat. The meaning of “Mundane”… also means lost in the shadows… Warning: Be sure to not words that haunt you cause to get overwhelmed! Consequences can be disastrous!

Terry gasp in shock as he drops the book. He puts a bookmark on the page and closes the book as he hides it under his bed. Then, he has an idea. He starts doing research on the Mundane in ship as he kept them hidden from Korvo and the kids. He then found pictures of the Mundanes through history as he prints them out.

Terry: Got it!

He then looks at them through history but grows terrified about seeing what the Mundane has done. Destruction, blood sheds, mayhem, rampages and gore.

Terry: Why would...why would anyone do this?!

Terry then suddenly hears a phone call as he picks it up. It’s Beverly as he groans and accepts it.

Terry: What skank?!

Beverly: Terry! We must talk! There is a man who could help you.

Terry: What do you want?

Beverly: His name is David. He is an expert on monsters. I met a week ago after your husband’s award ceremony. He has done experiments which includes tigers, dogs…

But Terry listen closely and the realization has hit him. Beverly is helping FBI MOST WANTED!

Terry: No! No! No way!

Beverly: What? What are you talking about Terald?

Terry: You're helping FBI's most wanted! I won't help you! EVER!

Beverly: No he’s not. He’s a scientist. He wants to help!

Terry: No!

Beverly: What is your problem? That man is trying to destroy all the monsters in the crummy fucked up town! I had to give him information about you and your friends.

Terry: I'm not helping you!

Beverly: Terry! I don’t care what you say! David has the right to send monsters after your friends! I had to no choice! I wanted to prove Korey wrong! He is nothing but a smart-ass fool! You and your family deserves this punishment!

Terry: DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT MY FAMILY LIKE THAT! hangs up

Terry then throws the phone to the in rage as he breaks in berserk tears in his knees. Then it cuts to Yumyulack taking his pills after his eyes starts glowing a little. But, then he remembers the traumatic flashback of him attacking Jayden and begins having a panic attack.

Korvo: comes by the room with laundry Yumyulack?

Nova: Yumyulack? Honey are you okay?

Sonya: screams Something’s wrong with him!

Jesse: Aunt Nova! I’m so scared! Do something call 911!

Sherbet: Don’t worry, I’ll go call them right away!

Yumyulack then collapses on the floor as his eyes starts flickering purple and he starts crying as tears of fear falls down like a waterfall.

Korvo: comes up to Yumyulack Hey hey. It's okay. Sssh. It's alright.

Yumyulack starts breathing in and out anxiously which made Korvo gasp and embrace his son.

Yumyulack: Dad, I'm scared...

Korvo pulls Yumyulack closer to him as he began to soothe his little Replicant.

Korvo: You're okay.

Then, the words echo into Yumyulack as the scene shifts over to a flashback back on Shlorp 13 years ago. Shlorp was a huge mess after a storm. A baby’s cry was heard as it shows a baby Yumyulack crying. Then, Korvo comes up his infant son and picks him up as he starts soothing him.

Korvo: Hey hey. It's alright, my little sprout. You're safe with me. As long as I'm here, you'll be fine.

Baby Yumyulack kept on crying as Korvo puts him close to his chest as he hears Korvo’s while Korvo continues soothing him.

Korvo: Sssh. Sssh. It's okay. You're okay.

Baby Yumyulack weeps as he looks up to Korvo as Korvo smiles and gently wipes away baby Yumyulack’s tears with his left thumb.

Korvo: You feel any better?

Baby Yumyulack coos as he kept feeling Korvo’s heartbeat and Korvo pulls his baby close to him safely. Then, baby Yumyulack closes his eyes and kept cooing as Korvo kiss him on the forehead and kept soothing him.

Korvo: I'm here. You're okay.

Baby Yumyulack smiles silently as he cooks and falls asleep while Korvo smiles at him. The scene then shifts back to the present as Yumyulack’s eyes develops tears as he finally breaks down more in tears as Korvo kept comforting him.

Korvo: Sssh. You're okay, my little sprout.

Yumyulack then hugs Korvo, much to Korvo surprise but he smiles as he pulls Yumyulack closer to him. Jesse and Sonya and Pupa then look at each other sadly as they look down and tears appear in their eyes.

Jesse: Korvo, we’re scared. We think Beverly wants to get rid of us.

Pupa: Mm hmm

Korvo: Well, I'm not letting that happen. I need to talk to Terry.

Jesse: We’ll do anything for you guys! We’ll get trap gears, call a body guard, run away to different country… just please… we don’t wanna lose you…

Sonya: runs up to Korvo and hugs him tearfully Please, don’t let them woman take us away! Please no….

Korvo then hugs and comforts Sonya, like a good Papa Wolf would do.

Korvo: Hey hey. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll find away to get Beverly away from us. We won’t let her and her so-called partner ruin our lives. You kids don’t worry, you may be a bunch of fucked-up little rascals! But, you four are my special fucked-little rascals! Come here.

The kids started crying as Korvo hugs and comforts him while the camera zooms in on a photo of the Solar Opposites family, which is the day got their picture four weeks after they adopted Sonya. Then it shifts over to Terry, where he is looking down tearfully as he looks at a picture of him and his family. Then, his thoughts of Beverly continue to haunt him as the words that Beverly said about him enters his mind as he starts groaning. He finally snaps as throws the picture of him and his family to the ground as breathes in and out. Terry then looks at mirror as his eyes starts glowing orange.

Terry: No! No no no! Not again!

Then, he hears a knock on the door as he starts panicking.

Korvo: offscreen Terry?

Terry quickly hides the stuff he did for his research under the bed as he starts to breathes in and out. But, he tries to remain calm once Korvo comes in.

Korvo: is there anything wrong?

Terry: Uh..um…

Korvo: Oh nevermind. You must be recovering over what happened last night. Is that all?

Terry: lying Uh yep. Definitely. Sure had a rough day, but I’m getting better. I was just doing…

Korvo: Doing what?

Terry: Oh um research on history. Yep. Definitely history.

Korvo: Uh, I was just leaving to get us some supplies. But, I am so happy you’re finally being so smart. For once.

Terry: …Yeah…definitely…

Korvo: kisses Terry on the cheek Well, if you need me, I’ll be at the store. See you later honey. I love you. closes the door

Terry: I love you too. looks down sadly

Theb, Terry then looks at the broken family frame as he sheds a tear. Terry then thought of something. Suddenly, Terry writes a note while a tear drop fell, put some pillows under the blanket, then grows nervous and makes sure all of the stuff is under the bed. Then, he makes sure no one is listening and then suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his head.

Terry: FUCK!

Terry kneels down as his eyes starts glowing then visions of the monsters Beverly and David sent begin to haunt him.

Terry: Make it stop! Korvo, help!

But, then his eyes starts glowing orange as blackness starts spreading all over his body and he starts growing bigger and muscular. Terry suddenly moans in pleasure as he transforms. Terry’s mind starts to overcome his muscles growth cause his clothes to rip into pieces as he cries out in pain as tears burst from his eyes.

Terry: I-I WANT IT TO STOP!!!

But then his voice deepens as Terry starts growling clenches his big muscular fist. He kneels on the floor with his fist helping him stand. Now a Mundane, Terry roars and bangs his chest like a gorilla and pants. Then, he collapse on the floor as he begins to cry.

Mundane Terry: This isn’t fair…

Mundane Terry kept weeping when suddenly, he got up and looks around his body.

Mundane Terry: running a hand over his muscular body I feel...so different. So good.

Mundane Terry that looks at the mirror as he looks at his Mundane Body’s reflection for the first time.

Mundane Terry: Holy shit. I look hot.

Mundane Terry then stops as he sees a moving light. He looks at the window and sees the lighthouse at the beach pier below. He looks down and then at the mirror one more time before his vision starts to static and he feels pain again. Mundane Terry lets out a loud roar and then starts breathing in and out again as he feels his mind taking over as tears burst again.

Mundane Terry: G-Get out of my head!

As he starts breathing in and out tearfully, Mundane Terry begins to feel his Mundane Instincts taking over before he says one final thing…

Mundane Terry: Korvo...help me...

Then, Mundane Terry roars again as he starts snarling. Mundane Terry then claws the room in frustration as he destroys stuff and then breaks through the window as he heads to the other side of town. Cue this song:

Mundane Terry leaps up to the other side of time and then lands on a lamp post as he views the city. Mundane Terry then snarls and he then pounces down as he throws stuff at people while the sunsets. Mundane Terry then attacks a man as people scream and ran away. He then punches glass and Mundane Terry then jumps and lands on the roof as he sees a crook trying to rob someone and attacks him. Mundane Terry roars and ends up mailing several people as he starts destroying stuff. Mundane Terry then sees a butcher shop and grabs a huge meat and devours it. He then turns out and see a neighborhood nearby as he throws the meat to the ground and runs again. As he kept running, Mundane Terry feels his spirit guiding him as he lands on top of a radio station and looks down like a monster as he growls. Mundane Terry then roars.

The scene then cuts to Korvo coming back after transforming back from his human form and then sees the Replicants firing laser guns at each other.

Jesse: laughing No! Stop! Please! Don’t laser me! That tickles!

Sonya: You’re dead bitch!

Yumyulack: In your dreams, motherfuckers!

Jesse: Hey! No fair!

As the Replicants and Sonya play with each other while laughing, Korvo smiles at his children as he heads upstairs. He opens the door while humming until…

Korvo: Hmm?

Korvo looks around the room and notices some of the stuff were messy, with claw marks and stuff.

Korvo: Damn it Terry…

As Korvo heads over, he suddenly stepped on something. Korvo then sees the broken frame with a photo of him, Terry and their children as he gasp.

Korvo: Oh god, Terry darling. What have you done. We were supposed to...

Korvo then notice something on under the bed while picking up some broken glass pieces of the frame. He picks it up and it turns out be file based on Terry’s family’s bloodline.

Korvo: What the fuck is this?! Terry, what did you-

Then, Korvo looks around Terry's room and finds pictures of Mundane monsters in there. He gasps.

Korvo: No...

Korvo becomes shock and starts to shake the bed.

Korvo: Terry? TERRY?! WAKE THE FUCK UP, YOU LAZY-

Korvo removed the blanket, only to see that Terry has replaced himself with pillows and there’s a note on it.

Korvo: gasp What the?

Korvo picks up the note and it says:

To my Loving Korvy,

I’m sorry, but… I have to leave.

The truth is my family and I are half-mundane and it’s very dangerous.

So, I’m not coming back until I gain control of this monster inside of me, because I don’t want you, the kids and our friends and honorary family members to get hurt, because I’ll lose control if I don’t learn to control it.

I love you all so much. Please don’t tell the kids where I am, because I don’t want them to worry…

-Love, Terry

Korvo gasp in shock.

Korvo: Wait WHAT?! Terry, why would you...wait.

Korvo then notices something that made him realize something. He looks at a book about monsters with a page on mundanes bookmarked. He opens it and reads about the Mundane.

Korvo: gasp No…

Korvo start to panic as heartbeat sounds are heard from the background, then his face starts to harden into anger as his eyes began to glow.

Korvo: That fucking LIAR!

Korvo then transforms into his super Shlorpian form as he roars and punches a wall in anger. Yumyulack and Jesse heard the roar along with Sonya as three kids head upstairs and went into Korvo and Terry’s room upon seeing Super Shlorpian Korvo. Sonya gasp upon this revelation.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: TERRY!

Korvo flies up to find Terry from the hole in the roof as the kids gasp.

Sonya: Mr. Korvo?

Yumyulack: Oh shit! We should go after him!

Jesse: Yeah! I think something is really wrong!

The Replicants then grab Pupa and after Yumyulack, Jesse and Pupa turns into their human forms, head right out the door in a panic as they follow Super Shlorpian Korvo.

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