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killerpancakeburger · 3 months ago

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Scary Dog Privilege 3

You thought your days as Ghost's handler over since he started seeing Soap, but when someone's bold enough to lay hands on what's his, you feel obligated to intervene to prevent a massacre.

Inspired by this post by @shotmrmiller /Soap pic cred goes to @yumethefrostypanda

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, light smut, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, Ghoap x Reader, dom!Ghost, dom!Reader, sub!Soap, light degradation towards Soap. Soap gets treated like a mutt, Ghost is Smug™️, what else is new! I can't write smut so they don't go all the way sorry 😔 1.4k words.

Part 1. Part 2.

When Ghost gets progressively murderous, glaring hard, who needs to defuse the situation? You, again.

Someone is getting brutally murdered tonight, you think to yourself as you coolly take another sip from your glass.

When you joined your colleagues for a drink earlier in the evening, you were not counting on Ghost and Soap's presence. Your butt had barely grazed your seat that the scotsman was enthusiastically waving at you from across the bar, turning himself into the center of attention, while his taciturn companion was looking you up and down, dark stare as intense as ever, sizing you up like you were a potential adversary… or prey.

You had given a half smile and a reserved hand motion in return, before refocusing your attention on the people you came with.

You were still mad at Ghost, after all.

The bastard had been toying with you, letting you believe that, maybe, there could be something more between you two. Then you discovered he was fucking around with his blue-eyed Sergeant too.

Not appreciating being just another conquest, you had been keeping your distance from him.

Until now.

Until the beauty sliding her way to Johnny catches your eye. She's undeniably attractive, and with the confidence to match. Maybe a bit too confident, you gauge as your eyes follow the motion of her hand informally palpating Soap's bicep.

You glance at Ghost, curious of his reaction.

What you find sends a cold shiver down your spine. If looks could kill… the poor thing would be dead several times over. In very gruesome ways.

It's a miracle she doesn’t feel his deadly stare piercing her skull, like he was trying to headshot her unarmed.

He hasn’t budged an inch, but even from afar, you can read the tension in his muscles— the line of his jaw, the strain of his forearm, the clench of his fist. Even with the mask, you can guess the scowl twisting his features.

You swear you can hear his glass of whisky wince under the pressure of his vice-like grip.

That's when you decide to prevent a carnage.

Finishing your drink, and informing your coworkers that you’d be back soon, you make your way to the bothersome couple and their no-less-bothersome third wheel, quickly plotting a plan of attack. How to get her to give up her target without causing— too much of— a scene?

Walking by Ghost before reaching your goal, you hiss at him under your breath: “Behave.”

Sneaking behind Johnny, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, embracing him from behind with a sickly sweet smile for your mark, fingers crossed that he'll play along, or at least keep his big mouth shut.

Chest pressed against his back, and lips close to his ear, you ask out loud:

“Sweetheart, who's your friend?”

Before the forenamed can reply, the woman snaps back, all her smiles and seductive tone gone out the window.

“No, who do you think you are?”

Outch. And to think you're doing all this to preserve her life. Ungrateful much?

You tighten your grip over Soap's possessively, your cordial expression not faltering.

“You should know not to go after taken men.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't see your name anywhere on him.”

So that's how she wants to play this, uh. Time to show her you can beat her at her own game easily.

“Oh, my bad, forgot to mark him before letting him out.”

Your hand leaves Johnny's chest to grab his jaw between thumb and forefinger, with enough strength to turn his face away from you, but not enough to hurt him, and making good use of the newfound access to his throat, you bite.

A strangled little noise escapes him, but you barely pay it any mind as you look up to stare at your opponent defiantly, and the mix of shock and revulsion in the grimace twisting her features tells you you've won. She gets up and takes off with a scoff. She must certainly take you for a freak, but it's a small sacrifice you’re willing to make.

Releasing Soap, you slump by his free side at the booth with a heavy sigh.

“Sorry. Don't be mad at me, that's all I found to make her leave.”

“I don't think ‘mad’ is what he's feeling now, luv.”

You glare at Ghost, irked by how satisfied he sounds. He half-turned your way, one arm leaning on the backrest, one hand squeezing his Sergeant's thigh.

“L.T.”, hisses the latter through gritted teeth, and it sounds like a plea, while absolutely refusing to meet your eyes.

“This is all your fault, you know,” you groan in the culprit's direction.

“S’that so?”

The smugger he sounds, the hotter your blood runs. It's not until you can feel his warm breath on your skin that you realize that, in your anger, you leaned towards him so much— and he returned the favor— that your faces are inches away. You even reflected him without meaning too, seizing Johnny's other thigh to balance yourself, causing the aforenamed to gulp.

“Sure it's not an excuse to drape yourself all over Johnny?”

You've never wanted to strangle someone so badly.

“You're delirious.”

“Gonna have to take responsibility for the state you've put him in.”

“That's bullshit. Johnny, tell him it's—”

Your mouth abruptly close as you take in the Sergeant's flustered state— half-lidded eyes, flushed face and ears, imploring expression.

“Guess I'll just have to demonstrate, then…”

Turning his words into deeds, Simon grabs your hand and directs it towards Soap.

“Nonono, Simonplease—”

In other circumstances, you would have put a stop to this. Set Ghost straight, shield Soap, embody the voice of reason. But…. Your mouth is dry, your skin ablaze, lust the only thing on your mind. It's like Johnny's beseeching whine caused most of your blood to desert your brain and rush South.

And Simon's actions are not helping— quite the opposite.

He guides your hand to his Sergeant's crotch, and the hard-on you find there sweeps away all the doubts you had about him not being into this, nor into you. The contact wrests a hiss from your target, and you look up to find him biting into his fist— a desperate effort to keep quiet. Glistening blue eyes bore into you, and you forget about anyone else's existence until Ghost speaks up again.

“Believe me now?”

The trip back to the base was a blur. One second you were in the bar, engaged in a staring contest, the next the sound of the lock of Ghost's bedroom rings out in the silence.

You barely find your bearings that Soap gets shoved on his back on the bed, and a warm hand on your back makes you land on him right after.

“Oof, what the fuck,” you complain as you rise on your forearms.

Soap isn’t deterred by the manhandling at all— used to it?—, instead lifting his head to nuzzle against you with a happy sigh. That's only then that you realize you somehow fell with your chest right in his face.

You attempt to get up on all four, but Johnny's grabby hands on your ass pinning you against him make it difficult.

“Bloody hell Soap, let me get up.”

He whines in protest at the command but obeys anyway.

You crawl backwards to meet his eyes. Next thing you know, his hand slips behind your neck to notch your mouth with his.

He's panting when you split up. The view makes you chuckle good-naturedly.

“So worked up already. I barely touched you.”

When he attempts to kiss you again, lips brushing yours, you recoil and perch on his lap.

You tug at his shirt and he sits up straight without needing to be asked twice.

“Let me look at you.”

Cradling his face, you stroke his bottom lip with your thumb as you contemplate him, taking in his dilated pupils and disheveled mohawk.

Enjoying his obedience as much as his eagerness, you let him remove your top, grope your chest and suck at your nipples.

Lost in his ministrations, you would have almost forgotten about his lieutenant's presence until a gloved hand slides from your hip to cup your crotch, and a warm torso presses against your back. You turn your head to get a look at him but he objects to it.

“Don't mind me, love. Focus on Johnny, yeah? Got the poor thing all pent up.”

The above-named openly moans at that, and you make a mental note— “likes when we talk about him like he's not there.”

There's a gap between Ghost's words and actions though, and it becomes incredibly hard to concentrate on Johnny when he slips his hand inside your pants to tease you with his fingers while kissing your neck. Of course he's doing this on purpose, the smug bastard. The night promises to be long.

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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eddie brock wanting to go out with reader, so she dresses up but venom takes over and compliments her in his own weird ways <3

Your ring nearly snags a thread on the inside left cup of your dress, and you carefully retract it before it can tear the garment. There's a lace edge beneath your bra that's itching something fierce, and you can't wait to take the dress off tonight.

Or, of course, have it taken off of you.

"Eddie?" You call through the apartment, now peering down at your necklace as you try laying it against your chest in a particular way, "Ready to go, babe?"

"Yeah," He calls from the kitchen, the soles of his dress shoes clicking against the wood floor as he comes to find you, "I was thinking we could- woah."

His abrupt stop makes you glance up, and he's got his eyes glued to your dress. It's a new one, a rich brown hue that drapes down your frame like you're a modern-day Jessica Rabbit.

I take it you like the dress," You laugh, watching Eddie's cheeks go pink. He needs a moment to recover, and you're patient enough to give it to him, but venom isn't.

With a series of ungodly squelches the symbiote envelops your boyfriend, sharp, jagged teeth already set in a grin that barely holds back his massive tongue. His eyes are narrowed and it makes his grin that much more predatory, a look that sends a shiver down your spine.

"I do not know why Eddie will not talk." Venom leans in, hulking figure crowding your own smaller one, "But I want to. You look delicious. You look like chocolate."

"Yeah?" You grin at Venom, fingers fiddling with the silky fabric of your dress, "Thanks, Venom."

"Do you know what I do to chocolate?" Venom leans in farther still, until you can feel his breath fan over your face. He's intoxicatingly large, and your vision is entirely taken up by him.

"I do," You laugh, reaching up to cup his cheek, "I've found enough massacred remains of hershey bars around this place to know you're not gentle with them."

"I would like to do that to you." Venom's tongue comes out to lick over his teeth, a slimy, dripping, circular path, "But for your comfort I think that we should do it on your bed."

"Not right now," You lament, leaning your forehead against his and kissing the space where his nose should be, "We have to eat first. But maybe you can arm wrestle Eddie for me later, big guy."

"I would win an arm wrestle." Venom boasts, thinking literally instead of picking up on the broader meaning of your words, "Eddie is a weak loser."

"A weak loser who's paying for my dinner tonight," You pinch at Venom's arm, though you're sure it doesn't hurt him, "Lemme see him again, V. We can't be late to this place or we'll lose our table."

Venom is very polite with you. He follows orders seamlessly, shrinking back into Eddie until the man's tanned skin breaks through the black goop that had been swarming it. He's on you in an instant, hands against your hips and nose knocking into yours, "You think I'm a weak loser?"

"No!' You laugh, kissing the smile he's trying to tamp down in the name of dramatics, and wriggling from his grip to grab your helmet off of the counter, "I just think Venom could beat you in an arm wrestle."

"It's true," Eddie calls after you, jogging to catch up as you head for the door, "But it's not nice!"

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bfpnola · 1 year ago

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IMAGE DESCRIPTION ADDED. REBLOG THIS VERSION AND THANK YOU @lab-labrava FOR WRITING IT!

ID: An infographic from the Instagram account @letstalkpalestine consisting of 10 slides. Image 1: The title page of the infographic. The text says: "Let's talk Anti-Zionist Jewish History." A smaller subtitle underneath the title says: "Jewish solidarity with Palestine until today." End ID.

Image 2: The infographic continues to the next panel. The text says, "As long as Zionism has existed, so has Jewish resistance to it. While today the majority of Jewish people and communities worldwide still have a Zionist connection, more and more Jewish people, especially from the younger generation, are unlearning Zionism & speaking out. Swipe to learn more about just part of anti-Zionist Jewish history - since there's more than we can fit in 10 slides." A semi-transparent image is overlayed in the background, of someone holding up a sign that reads: Jews for Palestine! #Free Sheik Jarrah. End ID.

Image 3: Icon of a location tag next to the words Eastern Europe. In large, blue text is the word "The Bund" and the subtitle describing what it is, "A Jewish Socialist movement, established in 1987." The following paragraph says, "Opposing Zionism from the start, its 50-year tenure saw hundred of thousands of members across Eastern Europe advocate for workers' rights and cultivate a Yiddish culture." Location tag and the title, "North America." The paragraph says, "After mass immigration to the US in the early 20th century, [American Jewish Labor groups] (highlighted in chalky blue and bold white text) criticized Zionism for its colonial, nationalist, and bourgeois nature." Next to this text, is a circle with women protestors holding up signs. End ID.

Image 4: The title, "Middle East and North Africa." The paragraph states, "In 1945 a group of Iraqi Jews founded the Anti-Zionist League. They recognized Zionism as a form of colonialism linked to Western Interests. They hosted events and published pamphlets throughout the Middle East about the difference between Zionism & Judaism. They warned that Zionism is dangerous to Arab Jews, forcing them to split their Arab and Jewish identities, and urged the UN to create a unified Palestinian state.

Image 5: The panel is titled, "Anti-Zionist Jewish figures." A faded image of Hannah Arendt's visage is in the background. Overlayed on top, the following paragraphs discuss her. "Before 1948, several prominent Jewish leaders and scholars came out in opposition to political Zionism. Writers like Hannah Arendt turned against the Zionist movement and opposed a Jewish state. They correctly predicted a dark future if Zionism continued on the same path in Palestine. End ID.

Image 6: The day after the Deir Yassin Massacre in 1948, when Zionist militants wiped out the Deir Yassin village & its inhabitants, Albert Einstein wrote: "When a real and final catastrophe should befall us in Palestine the first responsible for it would be the British and the second responsible for it the Terrorist organizations built up from our own ranks. I am not willing to see anybody associated with those misled and criminal people." The former paragraphs are imposed against a tan, parchment fragment, in typewriter font, and the letter ends with Sincerely yourn, Albert Einstein, both his signature and typed name. End ID.

Image 7: Titled "Anti Zionism Today." Blue sketchy image of someone's hand gripping jail bars breaks up the following paragraphs which say: Jewish solidarity with Palestinians is growing around the world, including even some Israelis who take the basic step of refusing Israeli military service. As punishment, Israel imprisons these conscientious objectors — but unlike Palestininas, they have a fair trial & often severe relatively short sentences of a few months . This is a first step towards solidarity and has the real consequence of depriving the occupation state of its soldiers. End ID.

Image 8: Titled "Israel's Crackdown on Jewish Anti-Zionism" Behind this text are a picture of handcuffs. In the corner is a picture of Jonathan Pollak. The following text says: Jonathan Pollak is a Jewish Israeli and long-time anti-Zionist activist. Israel has detained him several times, most recetly in January as he protested with Palestinians in Beita, (a Palestinian village) for allegedly throwing stones. Jonathan has been violently attacked for his activism. In 2018, Jonathan was slashed across the face by settlers who ambushed him outside his workplace. Earlier, in 2005, Israeli soldiers shot a tear gas canister. directly at him, causing internal bleeding in his brain." End ID.

Image 9: Semi-transparent image of an umbrella behind the title text is "Jewish Anti-Zionism isn’t one ideology. It’s an umbrella movement that encapsulates multiple communities and beliefs towards decolonizing Palestine. Some motivations or Jewish anti-Zionism include: 1. Pursuing millenia of Jewish tradition as a diasporic community 2, Detachibng religious and cultural tradition from political nationalism. 3. Socialist visions of a Jewish Society. 4. Believing in the right to self-determination for Palestinians Standing up to Zionism is: 1. Standing up to apartheid and colonization. 2. Standing up for a liberated, equal, and just Palestine from the river to the sea.

Image 10: An ending quote, and call to action, by the Anti-Zionist League. It says: "Jewish Men! Jewish Women! Zionism wants to throw us into a dangerous & hopeless adventure. Zionism contributes to making Palestine uninhabitable. Zionism wants to isolate us from the Egyptian people. Zionism is the enemy of the Jewish people. Down with Zionism! Long live the brotherhood of Jews and Arabs!" --The Anti-Zionist League. End ID.

#israel #jewish #jews #jumblr #palestine #resources #history #resistance #genocide #instagram #ethnic cleansing #activism #zionism #anti zionism #socialism #colonialism #colonization #judaism #free palestine

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diamonddaze01 · 2 months ago

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38 “I am not losing to you again!” + Seungcheol (naturally lol) ☺️

game over!

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader | wc: 929 words prompt: "I am not losing to you again!" | warnings: none

The neon lights of the arcade bar pulsed in rhythm with the bass-heavy music, painting streaks of pink and blue across the glossy black floor. Seungcheol leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped around a sweating glass, when his attention was pulled toward the growing crowd near the DDR machine. Cheers erupted as someone nailed another perfect combo, her movements sharp and fluid, like she was born to do this.

“Who’s that?” Seungcheol asked, tilting his head toward the commotion.

Joshua followed his gaze, then smirked. “Oh, that’s Y/N. Umji’s friend. We graduated together.”

“You know her?” Seungcheol narrowed his eyes, his competitive streak already buzzing to life.

Joshua shrugged lazily. “Kinda. We’ve hung out a couple times. Didn’t know she was, like, a DDR god, though.”

Jeonghan, propping himself up on the bar beside them, chuckled. “Cheol, isn’t DDR your thing? You’ve been bragging about being unbeatable since freshman year.”

“I am unbeatable,” Seungcheol muttered, straightening his posture. He set his drink down and adjusted his sleeves, eyes locked on the DDR machine like it was a battlefield. “Guess I’ll have to remind everyone.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow as a playful smirk tugged at his lips. “She’s been going for thirty minutes straight, man. You sure about this?”

“I’m not losing to anyone tonight,” Seungcheol declared, his jaw set.

The closer he got to the DDR machine, the clearer you became—a whirlwind of movement that barely seemed human. Your feet moved like they were magnetized to the arrows, hitting every beat perfectly as your eyes remained glued to the screen. Sweat glistened faintly on your forehead, but your breathing was even, steady, like this wasn’t even a challenge.

As the final song came to an end, the crowd burst into applause. You stepped back from the platform, brushing stray strands of hair from your face, and laughed as Umji handed you a water bottle. “Easy,” you said with a grin, wiping your forehead.

Umji nudged you suddenly, her gaze darting to Seungcheol. “Heads up. Challenger approaching.”

You turned to see him: tall, broad-shouldered, and exuding a quiet confidence that teetered on cocky. His dark eyes met yours, and his lips curved into a small smirk. “Mind if I take you on?” he asked, his tone casual but competitive.

You cocked an eyebrow, unable to hold back a grin. “You think you can keep up?”

“I don’t think. I know,” he shot back, stepping onto the machine with the kind of swagger that made Umji stifle a laugh beside you.

Five minutes later, that swagger was gone.

Seungcheol was bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air as you hopped off the platform without a single misstep. The crowd’s cheers blended with laughter as Jeonghan slapped the bar in delight.

“That was fast,” you teased, offering Seungcheol a sip from your water bottle. “Not bad, though. For a beginner.”

Seungcheol straightened, his pride taking a visible hit. His hair stuck to his forehead, and he looked up at you with a mix of disbelief and begrudging admiration. “Beginner? I’ve been playing since middle school.”

“Really?” You feigned surprise, lips quirking. “Well, you’re doing great. For someone who just started.”

A new song began to blare from the machine as the crowd egged him on for another round. “One more,” Seungcheol said, stepping back onto the platform. “This time, I’m winning.”

He didn’t.

Five games later, the scoreboard was a massacre. Your name dominated the rankings, while his sat embarrassingly low. By the seventh game, his foot slipped mid-song, and he barely caught himself from face-planting.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” he finally groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. He staggered off the platform and leaned against a nearby table, panting. “You’re not human. I’m convinced.”

The crowd, now thinning, clapped you on the back and murmured their farewells as you stepped off the machine. “You’re not bad,” you told him, an amused glint in your eyes. “Just… not good.”

Seungcheol looked at you, red-faced but grinning. “You’re brutal.”

“And you’re dramatic,” you shot back with a shrug, your tone light.

Jeonghan and Joshua approached then, Joshua slinging an arm over Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Man, I thought you’d last longer than that. Seven games, and you didn’t win a single round?”

“Shut up, Josh,” Seungcheol grumbled, but his smile lingered as he wiped his brow.

He glanced at you again, and this time his confidence wavered. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he was working up the courage to say something. “So,” he began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Can I, uh… maybe get your number? For a rematch. Or something.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. “A rematch? After that?”

“Well,” he said, his tone softening. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be DDR. We could just… I don’t know. Talk sometime?”

Umji elbowed you in the ribs, her grin practically splitting her face. You rolled your eyes at her, but a smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed a napkin from the table. Scribbling your number down, you handed it to him. “Next time, try to keep up.”

Seungcheol stared at the napkin like it was the key to redemption, his cheeks tinged pink. Jeonghan laughed so hard he had to steady himself on Joshua’s shoulder.

“You’re done for,” Jeonghan said, clapping Seungcheol on the back. “Completely wrecked.”

Seungcheol didn’t care. He folded the napkin carefully, tucking it into his pocket. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking at where you disappeared into the crowd with Umji. A sheepish grin spread across his face. “But it’s worth it.”

send me an ask for my drabble game!

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munson-blurbs · 7 months ago

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Your date--or non-date--with Eddie was ruined when he dodged your kiss. Or...was it? (5.4k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, Reader wears a miniskirt, drinking, drunkenness, making out, heavy petting, mentions of smut, mention of masturbation (m), idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

chapter eleven: undo, undone

He pulled away.

You leaned in for a kiss, and Eddie pulled away.

The full extent of rejection hadn’t even set in before you felt something cold and wet on your leg. An electric blue liquid dripped down your shin, traveling in winding paths like veins.

Haziness shifted into perfect clarity, flinging you into sudden and unwanted sobriety. The music was too loud, the dimmed lights still too bright. Every conversation was now too loud, the floor sticky beneath your Doc Marten-ed feet.

When you mustered up the nerve to look at Eddie, you saw that he had fared even worse; his entire left pant leg was drenched and already reeked of gin and the cerulean syrup stained his sneakers. His eyes widened as he processed what had just happened, a startled deer in the headlights.

“Oh my God; I’m so sorry!”

The drunken apology snagged your attention, coming from none other than the woman who’d brutally massacred Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. She stumbled forward again, and whatever remained of her drink sloshed over the glass and onto the floor.

Her lower lip jutted out into a pout and panicked tears welled in her eyes as she looked from you to Eddie. “Have you seen my boyfriend?” Her words were slurred; ‘seen’ came out as ‘sheen.’ “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“I’ll help you find him.” Anything to get away from Eddie, to avoid the thundering question: Had he pulled back because of the spilled drink, or did he cause the spill by pulling away?

It had to be the latter. He probably regretted ever offering to celebrate your graduation and would spend the rest of the evening ruminating over how he’d inadvertently led you on. Was it dedicating a song to you? The dancing?

Except…neither of those had been his idea. You were the one who insisted he sing karaoke. You were the one who asked him to dance. He relented to appease you, and you’d completely humiliated yourself by stretching his kindness past its platonic confines.

The woman latched herself onto your arm with one gin-soaked hand and swiped at her cheeks with the other. Up close, she barely looked old enough to legally drink. “His name is Charlie.”

“Huh?” Her boyfriend. The one you were supposed to be locating. “Oh, right.”

Eddie scrubbed his jeans with a wad of flimsy napkins, muttering under his breath when they left a papery residue in their wake. He grumbled something about the restroom before storming off in that direction.

Your new drunk companion rested her head on your shoulder, permed hair tickling your neck.

“What does Charlie look like?” The bar wasn’t big, not even by New York City standards, but having a general idea of who you were looking for would be a massive help.

She just laughed softly, a joke only she knew, head lolling as she spoke. “Y’know…tall-ish. Blue eyes. Has, um, hair with a little woop thing.” Her palm mimicked an ocean wave. Just as you had predicted, the gesture provided nothing of relevance towards your search.

You gritted your teeth in a forced smile. “Okay, right.” Sucking in a harsh breath, you led her to the bar and ordered two waters, practically shoving the condensation-frosted glass into her hand.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” It all came out as one word: Wheresyourboyfren?

“He’s not—” You shook your head; there was no sense in trying to explain the situation to a wasted stranger. “Bathroom.”

The girl’s droopy lids snapped open. “That’s where Charlie went!” She threw her head back and cackled, and you quickly roped an arm around her waist to keep her from teetering over in her too-high heels. “You’re gorgeous, by the way. No wonder your boyfriend looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess.” Her mood rapidly shifted to one of ire as she threw out, “Bet he’d never leave you alone in this skeezy bar.”

Except he had left you alone in this skeezy bar—and he wasn’t your boyfriend.

You could still feel his soft cotton t-shirt beneath your fingers, the way his curly tendrils of hair brushed along your hands. The gentle nose crinkle each time he smiled at you from the stage was forever etched into your brain.

At what point did he realize he’d made a mistake? When did regret tarnish his good deed?

Tears pricked in your eyes as the weight of humiliation now set in. Your mascara would run, but who cared? It wasn’t as though you had anyone to impress anymore.

The TV above the bar flashed with the red and blue of police lights, the colors blurred by your own tears. You blinked them away just in time to read the closed captioning scrolling along the bottom of the screen.

The frontman of an up-and-coming punk band once again finds himself in legal trouble. Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist for Death’s Echo, was arrested early this morning for disorderly conduct and public intoxication.

The video showed a young man keeping his head down so his shaggy blond hair covered his eyes, his hands cuffed behind his back and rendered unable to shield his face.

This is not the first time Dalton has landed himself in hot water. Just last week, the troubled musician was arrested for allegedly driving under the influence; his court date is set for early next month. All of this erratic behavior has fans wondering how this could impact the band’s first world tour, set to begin mid-June.

A professional photo of Death’s Echo took up the entirety of the screen. There was Caleb Dalton, front and center, shirtless and brooding. To his immediate left and right were two other men, one incredibly tall and lanky with gleaming chains dangling from both his neck and the belt loops of his dark-wash JNCOs. The other was shorter, stockier, wearing a black tank top that was littered with holes. If Eddie’s recollections of swanky hotel rooms and impromptu helicopter rides were true, the holes must have been purposefully designed to heighten the band’s grungy look.

But the member who snagged your attention was the only woman in the group. Her eyes, thickly rimmed with kohl and sheathed in a smoky shadow, bore into your soul. Blonde hair fell in jagged layers and framed a heart-shaped face, her crimson-painted pout simultaneously beckoning suitors to come hither and stay away.

You imagined those lips on Eddie’s for half a second before your drinks threatened to make a reappearance.

The report ended with the obligatory statement: “Dalton’s rep could not be reached for comment,” before shifting to the next story.

Tongue firmly adhered to the roof of your mouth, you gulped down some water in hopes of ungluing it. In hopes of sorting out your thoughts, jumbled from embarrassment and the jolt of alcohol to your system.

If Eddie had seen that…you couldn’t stomach the thought of him watching as his replacement’s lips subtly curled into a smirk as he was shuffled along towards the police car. That was the smirk of a man who knew he’d evaded the law before and would likely do it again. Fame and fortune certainly had their ways of tipping the scales of justice.

The news would almost certainly usher in unwelcome memories of his hometown and the people who took joy in vandalizing his trailer. The people who continuously made his life a living hell and faced no consequences because of their pristine reputations and Eddie’s tarnished one.

You shoved the information deep down and vowed to never let it bubble over. If Eddie found out on his own, that was one thing. But you refused to further ruin this evening for him.

“Dianna?”

A man’s worried voice called out from the back of the bar, his sandy eyebrows pinched together as he scoped out the cramped venue. With his crisp button-down and khaki pants, he could be Eddie’s polar opposite.

“Oh my god! Babe!” The girl yanked herself from your light grasp. You realized that you hadn’t known her name until that moment, though there was a decent chance she wouldn’t even remember it if you’d asked. She stumbled over to the man—Charlie, you assumed—whose concerned expression dissolved into relief the moment she flung her arms over his shoulders.

Charlie pulled her close and let out an extended sigh. His jaw relaxed, lips pressed to her temple as his frenetic energy tapered and his heart rate slowed. “Scared the shit outta me, babe.” He murmured against her ear. “Why didn’t you stay at the table?”

Your heart ached at the way he held her close, a precious commodity that he would protect with his life. Would Eddie ever touch you like that? Would he leave protective kisses all along your shoulders, nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck? Would he panic if he thought something happened to you?

If his rebuff of your kiss was any indication, it was highly unlikely.

Dianna shrugged. “I wanted to get another drink, but then I spilled it all over her boyfriend,” she said, pointing to you.

Charlie looked in your direction as though seeing you for the first time. “That explains the guy standing at the sink, washing his pants.” His fingers sifted through the blonde curtains that flopped right back to his forehead, adding to no one in particular, “Dude looked pissed.”

Your stomach roiled, whiskey and vodka burning at the base of your throat. Between your unwelcome advances and Dianna’s drink snafu, Eddie’s good deed was far from unpunished.

The urge to empty the contents of your stomach only heightened when you imagined the look of utter disgust Eddie must have worn when you leaned in for that kiss and the embarrassment he felt on your behalf. A man bought you a drink, obliged your request for a dance to a mediocre karaoke rendition of a song, and you took that as some grand romantic gesture? Pathetic.

It was just another way that you let people down.

Eddie’s expectations of a night out with a platonic friend.

Mom and Dad’s expectations of you taking over the motel.

Your own expectations of Eddie secretly harboring romantic feelings for you, strong enough to shine through the cloud of insecurity constantly surrounding you.

Once again, you were a disappointment.

The room’s walls began closing in, filling your lungs with wet sand that clung to the muscle and made breathing an impossible task. A fuzzy film blurred your vision and warped the room until it was utterly unrecognizable.

Air. You needed fresh air and to get far away from this godforsaken bar. A wave of heat crashed over you again and again, dousing you in your own perspiration and keeping your feet pasted to the floorboards.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t—

“Heiress?”

Eddie’s voice shredded through anxiety’s haze, his worried tone bursting the bubble with a violent pop. The world began shifting back into place, your mind floating back down in reluctant reunion with your body.

“Hey.” Strong palms clasped your trembling shoulders. He leaned in to ensure you heard him over the pulsing music. “Let’s get outta here, okay?”

Your response was a meager nod. His fingers glided down your bare arm, goosebumps rising in their wake, as he took your hand and led you outside. The burst of night-chilled air was a sweet nectar; your bones drank it up like a delicacy.

Diaphragm loosening, you took one shallow breath, then another that rested a bit deeper in your chest. You anchored yourself in the moment until you once again recognized the subtle press of your lungs against your ribcage.

Home. You needed to get home.

Peering down to check your watch, you realized that Eddie’s hand still clutched yours. The pad of his thumb traced lazy lines along the skin between your thumb and forefinger, steady as a heartbeat.

“It was getting kinda crowded in there, huh?” It was said entirely for your benefit, you knew: Eddie was accustomed to packed arenas and sold-out stadiums.

Another nod. “Y-Yeah, I wasn’t expecting it t-to be…” That was the whole reason why you’d suggested a Monday night, but Karaoke Night must have brought in an influx of new customers. Couple that with the end of the Memorial Day weekend, where people didn’t want the party to end after the family barbecues wound down, and you had the perfect recipe for an overcrowded bar.

Eddie dug into his back pocket as the two of you began walking back towards the motel, procuring a dented box of Camels and his trusty lighter. His eyes, illuminated by The Brink’s dim neon signage, flicked over to yours. “Is it cool if I…?” He raised the cigarette, pinched between his pointer and middle finger, unlit until you gave your approval.

“S’fine.” You watched his thumb glide over the sparkwheel, igniting a tiny flame. The scent of burning tobacco wafted off of the end of his cigarette, the wind blowing a curl of smoke in your direction.

He waved his hand to ward it away from you. “Sorry,” he mumbled. When he took another drag, it happened again. “Jesus Christ. Here.” Tucking the cigarette between his lips, he planted his feet behind you and placed both hands on your shoulders, stopping you in your tracks. Electricity crackled beneath his touch, his fingertips the lightning and his voice the gentle rumble of thunder.

Stop it, you reprimanded yourself. He dodged your kiss. You can’t be thinking this way anymore.

He sidestepped to your right, the breeze now carrying the smoke away from you. Another deep inhale had the flame ripping through the paper, ash building up on the cigarette’s tip. The flakes floated down and decorated the tops of his sneakers in a gray snow. A warning sat on your tongue, hampered only by the cool dampness suddenly touching your bare leg.

Eddie grimaced at the way you stumbled and stepped away slightly so the wet denim no longer pressed against your skin. “I got most of the drink out, I think. It’s just soap and water at this point.”

You stopped again, stooping down and pinching the fabric of his jeans between two fingers. The scent of gin still clung to him, though not as strongly as it had immediately following Dianna’s spill. Or maybe it was just the tobacco’s heaviness that overpowered it. That damn cigarette, so smugly perched where you longed to be.

“I’m doing a load of laundry tomorrow,” you managed, shaking off the remaining thoughts of Eddie’s lips as you carefully stood up. The last thing you needed was dizziness spinning you to the ground. “I can throw these in with my stuff, if that’s okay.”

Eddie grinned. It was the first glimmer of happiness you’d seen from him since asking him to dance.

“Trying to get in my pants, Heiress?”

Your feet caught beneath you. You dug your heels into the pavement to steady yourself, sending up silent praise to whatever omnipotent presence kept you from falling flat on your face.

If he was joking with you…he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t unnerved by your attempt to kiss him.

You invited relief in, just enough to loosen a retort from your arsenal.

“Don’t make me rescind my offer,” you quipped back. “And in the meantime, I’ll just tell people you pissed yourself.”

Eddie quirked up an eyebrow. “On the outside of my leg? I can see why you studied psychology instead of anatomy.”

There was nothing you needed to focus on less than Eddie Munson’s anatomy right now, the way it might feel against your own, within your own. Not when the ship had only just begun steering down the right course again.

“That girl found her boyfriend, by the way. Or, he found her, I guess.” It was the first subject your brain latched onto. When Eddie’s reply was a confused stare, you hurriedly elaborated. “The girl who spilled her drink on you.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He flicked some more ash from his cigarette and took another wistful drag. “This whole night was a blur.”

You forced yourself to choke down the insecurity that had lodged itself in your throat. “Rockstar can’t mix liquor like he used to?” You tutted disapprovingly. “Maybe you’re getting a little rusty. Out of practice.”

“Please.” He scoffed, snuffing out the cigarette on a brick wall. “Did you see my moves tonight?”

You certainly had. Each hip swivel, each pelvic thrust was firmly etched into your memories. And then there was the way he’d danced with you, leading with the confidence of an order but the tenderness of a suggestion.

“Fair enough,” you conceded. The fresh air was working wonders; you stood a bit straighter as you continued walking alongside him, your footsteps in time with his own. “I still can’t believe you sang Elvis.”

“Me either.” Eddie laughed through his nose. “I was going to sing something Ozzy-adjacent, but then I saw Heartbreak Hotel and figured it fit better with, y’know, our whole thing.”

Our whole thing. An invisible and intangible thing, but he felt it, too. Felt it enough to acknowledge it aloud.

A smile blossomed on your lips. “You were easily the best one up there. Singing, dancing…all of it.” Flattery embedded in truth, you noted the tips of his ears tinging red.

“I don’t think anyone would mistake me for a dancer.” He chuckled, hand swaying out just enough to find purchase on your back and pull you an inch closer.

You swallowed back desire and forced yourself to focus on anything but the press of his fingers against your spine. “N-No future career in Elvis impersonation? Or ballroom dancing?”

“Nah.” Eddie shook a stray curl from his eyes. “And I definitely stepped on your toes while we were dancing.”

“You didn’t.” If he had, you didn’t notice, too swept up in the warmth of his closeness to even register any overlapping feet or bumping knees.

Someone barely visible in the inky night lugged a garbage pail across the sidewalk, the scraping of metal bringing your heart into your throat. The noise must have startled Eddie, too; his fingers tensed against your side to hold you in place as he stepped in front of you.

“Shit.” He swore under his breath. Nervous, awkward laughter permeated the air when he realized that the threat was no more than a dented hunk of metal. “Sorry about that. I just thought–”

“S’okay.”

Comfortable silence, as much as the city streets allowed, accompanied you as you walked back, broken only by crickets’ rhythmic chirping and car engines revving down the boulevard. Eddie’s eyes stayed alert to his surroundings and his grip remained tight around your waist, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from the earlier scare. His chest nudged your back; you could feel his heart thumping a protective beat.

A hunger to kiss away that fear, to nuzzle yourself into him until his pulse steadied and his breathing regulated, settled into you. You were starving to restore his lightheartedness.

Eddie’s voice was rife with apprehension when he spoke again. “I, uh, think we got interrupted. Back at the bar.”

He looked away as he spoke, and it took a moment for you to register what he said. Surely he wasn’t referring to the kiss—or lack thereof. He wouldn’t be bringing it into the conversation now that the embers of your embarrassment had finally stopped burning bright.

You shoved the thought far from your mind, temporarily quelling the memory’s intensity and allowing yourself to think straight. The slow dance–he meant the slow dance being interrupted. “The song was almost over, anyway,” you said softly.

“I’m not talking about the dance.”

Oh. So that meant…

“Heiress.”

A hint of a warble clipped his nickname for you. Eddie’s left hand wrapped around your upper arm, fingers barely touching skin, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. You caught the way his tongue flicked over his lip, the way his cocoa irises darkened even under the streetlamp’s flickering light. Fuzziness filled your brain; your breath hitched in some unknown space between your lungs and your throat.

His right thumb brushed your chin, your jawline, memorizing the texture of your skin. He smiled, the gentle upward tug of the corners of his mouth suddenly the center of your focus.

“Heiress,” Eddie repeated, the word a whisper that left your bones humming.

You nodded, your own fingers tangled in his cotton shirt, pulling him an inch closer that still felt like he was a mile away. He would never be close enough, you realized.

His palm slid to your cheek, his fingers tucked behind your ear, beckoning you to take that small step forward and bridge that gap. It was your choice. You could back away and unfurl your fingers from around his shirt. You could ignore the aching need in your core, the one that matched his.

You deserve to be happy, he’d said.

And for once, you allowed yourself to believe him.

You believed him when you stepped into him, your chest against his, rising and falling in perfect synchronicity. You believed him when noses clumsily bumped together as you sought his lips, the lips from which symphonies of music and laughter flowed. You believed him when you finally found them after the agonizing seconds, minutes, hours, days–time both hastened and ceased to exist–and connected with Eddie on a level only ever reached in your runaway daydreams.

Expectations slid down your back and swirled down the storm drains when his tongue sought entrance at your lips. There was no school, no motel, no troubled lead singer. There was only you and Eddie.

A calloused palm clutched your shirt, the fabric bunching between his fingers. The fervor of his tug pulled the neckline down past your collarbone to reveal one white bra strap.

Eddie’s lips danced over your uncovered shoulder, forefinger sliding under your bra strap and toying with it once his mouth returned to yours. The touch was burning, the promise of pleasure sending sparks careening down your spine. The flames spoke nonsensically, whispering to let him undress you right here in the street.

His hunger for you was seemingly just as insatiable. The hand that rested on your cheek dove to where your skirt curved along your ass, wrinkling the stiff denim as he squeezed harshly. You let your own grasp fall from his collar to his biceps, feeling them instinctively flex beneath your touch.

More. You needed more. You needed all of him, needed to give him all of you, until you were wholly unified with no clear beginning or end to you and Eddie as separate beings.

Your hips rolled into him, a soft moan leaving his mouth to safekeep in yours. You let it trickle down your throat, relishing in the subtle hardness that you felt pressed against his fly.

A shoulder collided with his and sent both of you stumbling, Eddie only holding you tighter to prevent a fall. His arms wrapped around you as he scowled at the man who dared to occupy the sidewalk while the two of you were locked in an embrace.

“We’re in the way,” you murmured against him, nose grazing the hint of stubble peppering his jaw.

Eddie said nothing in response. His eyes shone with equal parts determination and desire. In one swift, impulsive motion, he grabbed your wrists and led you off to the side, away from any passersby.

“‘S probably better that we stop.” The disappointment weighing down his words spoke volumes. “Your shift starts soon.”

You shook your head. “We can be fast.” Your lips attached to his neck, sucking lightly as your teeth grazed his exposed skin.

“Look at me, Heiress.” Eddie sighed and leaned against the nearest lamppost. He kept two fingers curled into your belt loop, bringing you with him. “I don’t wanna do this with a timeclock going.”

“It’s fine, really.” Kissing him forever still wouldn’t be long enough.

A chuckle punctuated his breath. “When we do that…” His thumb brushed over your lower lip for a second time. “I’m not gonna be rushed. I’m gonna need hours, Heiress. Because once I have you like that, I’ll never be able to stop.”

Heat seeped into every pore, bringing with it a familiar ache. Needs and wants blurred together until they were indistinguishable from each other, his kisses having siphoned all logic out of your mind.

You allowed a moment for the fog to clear and reality to settle. No, you couldn’t fake illness and burden your parents with an extra shift, just to have sex with Eddie. No, you shouldn’t run your fingertips along his zipper and awaken the beast that he had managed to quell. No, you wouldn’t let lust wield its power like a mighty sword, slicing into all reasoning until it was unrecognizable.

“Y-Yeah.” You swallowed back temptation, your gaze falling to where his arousal was still evident in his jeans.

Eddie’s eyes followed yours, accompanied by an embarrassed huff of laughter. “Don’t worry about that.” The tip of his nose grazed your earlobe as he whispered, “I can take care of that later.”

His admission brought the imagery of him laying back in his bed, boxers haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs and hand wrapped around his cock. You wanted—needed—to know how he touched himself. Did he tease the head with his thumb? Did he use his other hand to cup his balls? Did he gradually edge himself or did he sprint towards euphoria?

The cold metal of his belt buckle brought goosebumps through your shirt fabric as he kissed you once again, too briefly. Always too briefly. What you wouldn’t give for just a few more moments alone with him to unfasten that buckle yourself.

“Heiress?”

Eddie’s smile lifted you out of your thoughts, the smirk informing you that he knew you weren’t paying attention.

“Hmm?”

Lips connected to the soft skin just below your ear; your body reflexively arched into their butterfly touch. “What time are you doing laundry tomorrow?”

“Oh, um,” You calculated silently, the inside of your cheek trapped between your teeth. If you went to bed at 6 A.M. and then slept until early afternoon… “No earlier than two. I can knock on your door when I’m ready.”

He nodded as he threaded his fingers with yours. A current of protection surged through the lines etched in his palms, wrapping you in a cocoon that kept the rest of the world at bay. The sounds of car horns and pedestrians’ conversations and the subway rattling under the grate faded into the background, too dull to even hear. There was no one except for you and Eddie.

The motel entrance loomed ahead, the dimming sign filling you with ambivalence rather than its usual sense of tranquility. Despite the headaches and heartaches it brought, it was still home.

Tonight, however, you approached it with newfound apprehension. Entering the lobby meant that you had a choice to make: You could keep your grasp on Eddie’s hand and risk your mom seeing, or you could let it go before she noticed.

You reluctantly untangled your fingers from his, anxiety defeating you with a fatal blow. His hand draped over your wrist for the briefest moment before falling unceremoniously to his side. It hurt to look at the confusion pinching his brows together, his mind spinning to determine the miscalculation that caused you to let go.

Telling Mom would be too complicated; you’d basically be subjecting yourself to a lecture on the unprofessionalism and dangers of forming romantic relationships with the guests.

No matter that you’d never pursued so much as a friendship with a guest prior to meeting Eddie. No matter that, with him, you felt more whole than you’d ever been. More true to your authentic self.

Mom looked up before the bell jingled, a product of her maternal sixth sense. There was no missing your smudged lipstick or the pinkish-red marks across Eddie’s mouth that nullified any alibi he might create.

“Did you two have fun?” To her credit, Mom kept her tone nonchalant, but her narrowed eyes saw it all.

“Mhm.” You scraped at the corner of your lip, as if that would conceal the evidence. “Eddie sang Elvis at karaoke.”

That got a smile out of Mom, her posture softening slightly. Still, distrust radiated off of her skin, twisting the knife of inadequacy deeper into your stomach. She glanced between you and Eddie, sizing up the situation. There was nothing she could say at that moment. Not with Eddie standing right there.

“I’m gonna get changed and I’ll be right back.” You couldn’t bear to meet her gaze as you walked to your room.

A piece of you hoped that Eddie would be waiting when you returned. You stripped off your skirt first, the denim dropping to the ground and revealing your panties. They were, in fact, pink and lacy; the kind that one might wear if they planned to show them to someone else. As if you and Eddie would have been able to sneak past your mom unnoticed.

You tugged on a pair of jeans, too worn and wide-legged to be capable of showing off your figure.

The make-up you wore to the bar was too dark for work, and you scrubbed at it until mascara residue stained your white washcloth black. You rinsed, scrubbed, and repeated until your face was bare. Tired eyes stared back in the mirror.

Honesty was a weight in your chest, anchoring you in an abyss of your own shortcomings. It pulled you down, down, down until the waters were too murky and the pressure was too strong to swim up to the surface.

With a deep breath, you pushed off of the sink ledge and headed back to the lobby. Only Mom was there, her disdain no longer hidden now that the two of you were alone.

“Eddie’s in his room,” she said, as though reading your mind.

“Okay. Yeah, he’s probably tired—”

“You know better than to get involved with a guest—employee—whatever he is.” Mom waved her hand in irritation. Her voice was sharp, cleaving through the facade with one cut, yet hushed in case of eavesdropping ears.

You cast your eyes down to the floor. “We’re—we’re not involved. Things just got out of hand, but we’re colleagues. Friendly colleagues,” you added off-handedly.

Mom sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you making friends,” she started, “but it’s not a good idea for you to get close to Eddie. If you have an argument or a falling out…”

“I know.” It compromised too much. Eddie could pack up and leave at the drop of a hat, and the motel would be without a handyman. You weren’t sure how the place survived before he was around, changing light bulbs and plunging toilets and tinkering with minor electrical problems. Now that he was here, he was an invaluable asset.

“Okay.” Mom looked at you once more, a warning flashing in her eyes. “Okay.” Stepping out from behind the desk, she watched as you took her place.

“Mom?” All of your truths begged and pleaded to be unleashed. Your feelings for Eddie, graduate school, plans for the future.

She stopped, stunned by the vulnerability in your tone. “Yeah?”

Tell her. Stop being a coward and tell her.

“I’m gonna wash clothes around two tomorrow, if you need anything done.”

Failure.

Mom loosened a breath that blew away some of her anger. “I’ll ask Dad, but I think we’re good.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I know running this place hasn’t been easy, but we’re really proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Every ounce of your remaining strength was spent on tempering your emotions, swallowing the pit that formed in your throat. “Get some sleep.”

The ugliness of your lies wrapped around you, constricting vines that dug into your skin and severed the flow of blood and air.

The daughter they were proud of didn’t exist. Maybe she never did. And the daughter they had was surely nothing less than a disappointment.

It wasn’t until the silence settled in, swallowing you whole, that you realized you’d never bid Eddie good night.

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@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin @hellfire--cult

#eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam #smut

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superkirbylover · 1 year ago

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FINALLY!!! the VERY final refs for the ponified cast of pizza tower. everypony has the same name except for pizzahead, who's called pizzahoof. pizzahoof was also designed by @c0met-dr01d!! go check them out :]

under the cut is me rambling about their cutiemarks (or lack thereof) and other design choices

gustavo's cutiemark is a pizza with three mushroom toppings, because he's a chef, and earlier in pizza tower development, he was a gnome! this isn't the case anymore though, but i still like to think he is. that, and i just associate him with gnome forest, so it felt fitting. plus, i suppose it adds to the mario comparisons lmao

peppino's cutiemark is a pepperoni pizza alongside a pizzacutter. i know people are raising eyebrows at the pepperoni, but my excuse is... uhh, they're not actually pepperoni. it's like, some vegetarian alternative. probably made of flowers or some shit. the pizza is obvious, he's a chef and he cooka-da-pizza. the pizza cutter isn't just to hammer that in, but it's also a callback to the various times throughout pizza tower development where he used to have a pizza cutter buzz-saw! especially in pizza massacre

noise's cutiemark is a bomb with its fuse lit, because it represents his explosive personality and he often uses bombs. dude is wacky, unpredictable and can be a feral fucking thing. also something about acting, being a mascot or being in the showbiz somewhere in the mix. he has a tail, but it's just... in his suit. he's a dumbass

noisette's cutiemark is a ruby chocolate bar. she runs a cafe, and while she presumably has Really Weird Taste, i figured it would be a really cute fit for her. it's sweet, just like her! and pink. just like her!

fake peppino deliberately does not have a cutiemark. it's to add to the sense of "failed clone," where many aspects of peppino have been successfully recreated (body type, hair color, coat color, outfit, facial hair) but other small things have been muddled or changed by mistake (height, eyes not staying in their sockets, hair being more smooth looking, face shape). not to mention, he's made of dough, like his original clone counterpart. in the show, it's established that only ponies can have cutiemarks. while he looks like a pony, who's to say he really is one?

stick's cutiemark is that television hud you see when you have enough money to buy a boss gate in pizza tower. i chose this cause on top of being a tv, a reoccurring object throughout the game, it also has some modifications to make it more... stick-y. it has his hat and a propeller coming from the top, and if you know stick, that man likes to make shit, specifically to sell and make money. that's also why there's a money sign in the tv. stick has a tail stub but i never really draw it myself. he's completely bald. mind you, he still has his coat, but no mane, no tail. zilch. he's a bald motherfucker. also stick's magic color is green

pizzahoof also does not have a cutiemark. he's a fucking cheese pony, why would he need one? dude just exists to be silly and whimsical. giving him one i feel would go against his character of just being clownish, doing what he wants when he wants, regardless if it means others suffer because of him or not. also, he's MADE of CHEESE!!!

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doubledaybooks · 2 months ago

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“According to one scholar, the “ideal victim” in the Troubles was someone who was not a combatant, but a passive civilian. To many, Jean McConville was the perfect victim: a widow, a mother of ten. To others, she was not a victim at all, but a combatant by proxy, who courted her own fate. Of course, even if one were to concede, for the sake of argument, that McConville was an informer, there is no moral universe in which her murder and disappearance should be justified. Must it be the case that how one perceives a tragedy will forever depend on where one sits? The anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss once observed that, “for the majority of the human species, and for tens of thousands of years, the idea that humanity includes every human being on the face of the earth does not exist at all. The designation stops at the border of each tribe, or linguistic group, sometimes even at the edge of a village.” When it came to the Troubles, a phenomenon known as “whataboutery” took hold. Utter the name Jean McConville and someone would say, What about Bloody Sunday? To which you could say, What about Bloody Friday? To which they could say, What about Pat Finucane? What about the La Mon bombing? What about the Ballymurphy massacre? What about Enniskillen? What about McGurk’s bar? What about. What about. What about.” -Patrick Radden Keefe, SAY NOTHING

#nonfiction #say nothing #patrick radden keefe #ireland #irish history #history #the troubles #bloody sunday

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

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watching you with wonder

joel miller x reader joel claims to have heard something interesting. too bad he keeps insisting he needs more information before he can tell you | 5.4k a/n: same universe as come care about me but not necessary to read that one first! joel is soft, this is my version of him where he and ellie heal and he gets to have a life etc etc etc | domesticity, post-part i jackson au, joel is a flirt and a gossip but good thing you are too, a fair amount of kissing, fluff, softness, peace and all that good stuff. part 3 here! series masterlist here.

It's been a long day. The supply run you'd been dreading went off without a hitch but you were out of the gate at sun-up and in the saddle for most of the morning and afternoon. Your legs are sore, your back is sore, and you're dirty from a day outside the walls.

You haven't seen Joel since this morning. Not unusual, not by any means. Most days you're both doing something in town, occasionally one of you out on patrol. You're partial to the plant work and Joel likes to chop wood or check out houses that need upgrades with Tommy. But after a day like today you want nothing more than to go home and complain about how much you miss cars while Joel works the knots out of your shoulders.

But tonight is Festival Night. Nothing big, just a dance at the barn that serves as the community center with music and drinks and food. And Joel, despite his insistence that he's Jackson's resident grump, will be there, because Tommy will have asked him to go and he doesn't like disappointing his brother. And, though he'll never admit it even to you, he enjoys community events. He gets to see the people he loves having a nice time and feeling safe.

So you head from the stables to the main hall, not bothering to stop at home. Jackson seems to be lit up extra special, the air a little lighter due to the laughter and music brightening the night. The noise becomes almost overwhelming when you open the door and slide inside, dropping your pack against the wall. It's much warmer in here and you unbutton your coat as you make your way through the crowd, waving to people as you go.

Joel is here somewhere but you don't try too hard to spot him. You know he'll find you. Someone calls your name and you pivot on your heel to find Ellie waving at you from a...poker table?

"Wanna join?" she asks once you walk over. Next to her is Tommy, who looks significantly less excited than she does. "I'm teaching Tommy how to play poker. Oh, sorry, I'm fucking smoking Tommy at poker."

"I know how to play, you little shit," Tommy growls. "Who taught you? This isn't poker, this is a fuckin' massacre."

Ellie cackles and tips her chair back so she's balancing on the back legs.

"I'll pass this round," you tell her. "Looks like you've got him handled."

"You just want to find Joel." She looks at you in that uncanny way of hers like she knows all of your secrets. But this is one you have no problem admitting.

You smile at her. "Seen him?"

"Now that you're here I'm sure he'll slink out of whatever corner he stuck himself in," Tommy grumbles. "Girl, you sure you ain't countin' cards?"

You leave them to it and wander over to the bar. Astrid pours you a glass of something amber. You take a sip and let the burn warm your throat, your stomach. The music behind you picks up and there's laughter and you turn to see people pairing up and flocking to the floor.

You close your eyes to enjoy the sounds that mean peace, safety, home. It never gets old and you never quite get used to it. You inhale deep and -- ah, yes. There it is. A smile spreads across your face as you breathe in wood glue, gunpowder, the soap you make at home. Your heart beats a little faster, even after all this time.

"Hi," you say, opening your eyes. Joel stands in front of you, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass similar to your own. His hair curls at his collar, edges still a little wet from the shower he must have taken before coming here. His shirt is rolled to his elbows, his jacket clearly discarded somewhere. Your gaze trails up his chorded forearms, his watch securely in place as always. This is what you've called his "nice" shirt, a deep green that makes the grey of his beard all the more striking and brings out his eyes.

Eyes that settle on you in a way that sends heat up your spine.

"Howdy," he says. "You just get here?"

"Like you weren't watching the door for me," you tease. He shrugs and reaches for you, his free hand curling around your hip to tug you close for just a few moments. Joel presses his lips to your cheek lightly, his beard scratching your skin as he pulls away and settles at your side, arm resting on the bar behind you.

"Well, I ain't seen you all day," he reminds you. As if you could forget. Every second you're not looking at him you sort of wish you were. There aren't many good things left in your life -- all of them are in this town, now -- and you tend to hold on to the ones you still have with both hands. Joel, despite the fact that he'd argue with you over it, is your good thing. Your best thing.

"Miss me?"

"Dumb question," he mutters.

His fingers brush against the back of your bicep, warm through your jacket. "How was the run?"

"Easy. Long." You take a sip of your drink. It's still warming but doesn't measure up to the solid warmth of the man beside you. "I came straight here."

"That would explain why you smell like shit," he drawls. You smack his chest. He doesn't so much as flinch.

"Rude."

Joel watches the crowd and you watch him. That's how it usually goes with you two. You figure he's watching for threats, for any sign of something going wrong. It's a habit most folks here find hard to break. He's watching Ellie, who has left the poker table behind, twirl some of the children around with Dina, he's watching Tommy try to teach a few drunk guys how to square dance like he does every Festival. Joel curls his hand around your shoulder and you lean back into the touch.

On a night like tonight when joy is more contagious than the fungus spreading through the rotting world, Joel loosens up a little. It's a good look on him and it only ever means good things for you -- he laughs more, he touches you more. But most importantly you know he lets life in. He lets that knot you know is in his chest, the one made of fear and loss and survival and all of the horrible fucked up things he's seen and done, he lets it loosen even just a bit. He lets himself feel the good things, too. How much the people in this town respect him, care about him. How much they appreciate him. How much they love him, how much you love him.

You look at him in the soft light of the barn. There's a tug to his mouth that you know.

He looks smug. It's a nice look on him, a relaxed one. He looks too handsome for his own good. And though you love him, love how he's enjoying the night, like hell you're going to let him stand there and get away with whatever he's cooking up.

"Joel Miller, why are you looking so pleased with yourself?"

"No reason," he says. He takes another sip of his drink, side-eyeing you over the rim. This man.

You tap the heel of your boot against his. "Don't make me beg."

His eyes flash but he turns into your space, the solid shape of him curling around you as well as his arm. In another world, in another life, he could be a handsome man picking you up at a bar.

"I heard somethin'," he says, voice low. "Somethin'...interestin'."

"Really?" You look around the barn as if the object of his gossip will materialize in front of you. "Tell me."

He leans back and you have to stop yourself from following. "Don't think so."

"Joel."

This man can be such a shit when he wants to be.

He holds the hand carrying his glass up in surrender, the brown liquor sloshing close to the rim. "Hey now, don't go shootin' the messenger."

"I can't because he won't tell me the message."

"S'not anything worth tellin' just yet," he drawls. "I need a little more intel. Y'know, make it worth your while."

You sigh, hamming it up a bit by thunking your forehead to his collar. Joel huffs a laugh and fully drapes his arm across your shoulders, warm and solid.

It's all fun but you know there's a note of truth to it. Joel can lie better than most people but he doesn't lie to you. "Fine. You get away with it for now."

The song changes to something old and slow, something you recognize but don't quite remember the name of.

"Only if you dance with me," you say. You swallow the last of your drink and push off the bar, sliding out from under his arm. You hold your hand out to him and wiggling your fingers. "It's only fair."

He sighs like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he is, sometimes. But right now his cheeks are a little flushed from the drink and your flirting and you want to see how far you can take it.

"Unless I smell too much like shit," you goad. You don't actually think he'll go for it. Joel doesn't dance. It feels like the kind of good time, the kind of joy that is forever stuck in the past, left behind twenty odd years ago. Honestly, you think he'll just drag you home and have his way with you in your warm bed.

But he manages to surprise you.

Joel throws back his drink and grabs your hand. His thumb strokes your skin.

"S'pose it is," he says. "You don't smell that bad."

A delighted laugh spills from you. He leads you to the already-crowded dance floor, pulling you close with a hand on your back. You rest your arm on his broad shoulder and hook your thumb in his collar.

"Not so bad, is it?" you say. Your faces are so close you're practically cheek to cheek. You feel his breath on the shell of your ear, his beard a little prickly against your cheek.

"Could be worse." You and Joel gently sway and you toy with the ends of his hair. Over his shoulder you can see Dina and Ellie dancing, arms wrapped around each other tight. You close your eyes and match your breaths to Joel's.

"We should do this more often," you say. "Bet they'd let you play guitar at the next festival if you wanted."

Joel hums.

"Don't forget you have to deliver the firewood to the school tomorrow." He presses his hand to your back and pulls you even closer. "Are you listening to me?"

"Mhm."

"Joel --" Your eyes fly open and you try to pull away to goad him but he holds you steadily against him.

"Hush," he says, fingers squeezing yours. "I'm enjoyin' the moment."

You allow it.

___

The gossip Joel mentioned is in the back of your mind but you know he'll tell you when he's satisfied with his information gathering or whatever the fuck he's up to. Sure, it's silly, maybe even pointless but you like to think of it as a display of the trust you have in each other. You trust Joel with your life and you've put that into practice, watched him bloody his knuckles for the ones he loves. You also trust him with your heart, your body, your mind. There's no part of you that his hands haven't touched, haven't loved in the jagged, intense way of his.

Plus you enjoy seeing him pleased with himself, which you know he will be once he has the whole story to tell you. It's not a mood you see on him often.

You finally have a free night and Ellie asks you to come over to try out a new video game Jesse found for her on patrol. Joel waves you off when you offer to stay in with him instead.

"Means I'll get some peace and quiet to finish my book," he grumbles, handing you your coat even though you're walking across the yard. He's already peeled off his boots and looks half-awake in the dim light of your entryway, glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater.

"More like you're going to sit in bed and fall asleep reading without me talking to keep you awake."

He sends you off with an eye roll and a soft kiss which you turn into two more, just because. Maybe a few years ago he'd sit in the chair downstairs and wait for you to come home. He does like to play his guitar on the porch when it's not too cold, keep an eye on things. But you'll be with Ellie just out back and it's been a long week. It's no small point of pride that, with the help of your reassurance and persistent care and his own conviction, Joel allows himself to relax a little. "Have fun."

You do. Ellie and Joel have a history that is complex and tender, so much so that sometimes it's too much for both of them. After it seemed like she was open to it, you've tried to make sure you and her have a relationship all your own. She's smart and funny and fiercely loyal to the people she cares about. You feel lucky to be one of them.

But she still annihilates your ass when it comes to video games.

"You know," she says, cracking her knuckles after yet another defeat. "It's embarrassing as shit how you literally lived in a time where you could play these like, whenever you wanted. And yet it's me, who was born after the world ended, who keeps winning."

You make sure to look unamused. "Whatever." You stand, stretching out your spine with your arms above your head and yawn. "It's teenage luck." You have no idea how this girl stays up so late all the time.

"I guess I'm just good at everything."

"Oh, you sure about that?" She hands you your coat and tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt. "I've seen you in a kitchen. You might want to rethink that one."

"Psh," she says, waving you off. "Who needs to cook, anyway?"

You slide into your boots and shake your head. "I'm actually shocked Dina puts up with you."

"Hey, fuck you!" she cries, though she's hiding a smile. "No insulting me in my own home. It's Joel's fault, anyway. He can't cook either."

You snort. "Don't I know it." She grins at you fully, the one you call her shark-tooth smile, and you grin back. "Thanks for this, kiddo. I had fun."

"Yeah, maybe one day you'll win." You tug her in for a quick hug which she allows before squirming away. "Alright, alright. Go make sure he didn't burn down the house without you, or something."

It's late, late enough that you feel yourself getting more tired with each step back to the porch. Joel left the back door unlocked for you. You latch the deadbolt behind you and peel off your outer layers in the dark. A quick glance in the kitchen tells you Joel put your stuff from dinner away and is probably in bed. He's left out your mugs, ready for the morning, and the list he's been making of things you need to do around the house before it snows. You love to see the pieces of your life on display like this -- signs that this is a home.

You don't bother being quiet when you climb up the stairs because you know he'll be pissed if you don't wake him to let him know you're home. The bedroom light is on but when you actually go in you see he's in bed with his book in his lap, glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes are closed and his bare chest rises slowly.

He's probably only half-asleep, probably heard you come in and decided it was safe enough to shut his eyes until you say something. So you get ready for bed quickly, tugging on soft clothes and brushing your teeth before creeping over to his side of the bed and perching on the edge of it, resting your hand on his thigh under the covers.

"Joel," you say softly. "Joel, are you asleep?"

"Yes," he grumbles. His eyes flutter open, the piercing grey a little clouded with tiredness. He reaches for his glasses and pulls them from his face a bit clumsily. "You okay? You n'Ellie have fun?"

"We did. She's so good at video games it's a little scary." You pluck the frames from his hand and fold them, setting them on his bedside table with his book. He grunts and pushes himself up a little more in bed, his leg pressing against your tailbone through the blankets. It's a real show of your restraint that you don't run your hands over the golden and hairy expanse of his chest, the broad line of his shoulders. Instead you reach for his face and he lets you, eyes crinkling at the corners as he tries and fails to hide his amusement as you trail your fingers through his hair. Just being here with him makes you a little sleepy, your body catching up with your mind at how you always feel safest when he's in the room with you. "S'cold, though. I think we might need to put some more insulation in the shed for her."

"Alright," he says. Joel wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls your palm to his cheek but quickly flinches away. "Christ," he mutters. "Your hands are cold." He encases both of your hands in his and rubs slowly, throughly.

"Let me get in bed, then." You make no effort to move.

Joel blows on your fingers and, in a move that's tender even for him, presses his lips to their tips. "I ain't holdin' you here."

"Sarcasm," you say. "And Ellie claims you're not funny." Joel scoffs and you laugh, rising from his side of the bed and making your way around to yours. Joel flicks back the covers and you slide in, facing him.

"Light off?" he asks. You nod. He shuffles around to flip the switch and then settles into his side with a groan. It's dark but you know his face with your eyes closed, let alone in the moonlight of your bedroom. The gash on the bridge of his nose, the scruff of his greying beard, the nicks along his cheeks and temples. The age spots, the wrinkles, the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, these days more from smiles and laughter than stress and worry. Or so you like to think.

"Got any gossip for me yet?"

Joel huffs. "Not quite."

"Jooooooel," you whine, scooting closer. You hook a leg over his and slide your hand over his stomach, fingers catching on the hair above the waistband of his sleep pants. He makes a noise deep in his throat but otherwise allows it.

"I ain't givin' you half-assed information," he says. "It'll be worth the wait."

With Joel, it always is. You consider dragging it out a little more but you're cold and tired and he's so warm and you barely saw him at all today. "Alright," you say. You pull yourself even closer under the covers, dragging your nose over the hollow of his throat, his beard a delicious scratch on your skin. Your hand curls around his hip and he reaches for you on instinct, warm, callused palms sliding under your sleep shirt to press into your bare skin.

He huffs a tired laugh, chest rumbling with amusement. "What're you up to?"

"You're warm," you say into his skin.

"And you're handsy."

You trail your lips up to his and press them to the corner of his mouth. "You love it."

"Guess I do," Joel says. He catches you in a lazy, slow kiss, tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you part them. He licks into your mouth like he's got all the time in the world and you let him. His nose presses against yours and you sigh even further into the embrace, pressing as close as you can, as if you could crawl into him and stay there forever. Any cold lingering in your bones is dispelled by Joel's touch, by the thigh he wedges between your legs. This could turn into something more, and you love when it does, but tonight it's just about being close. His hand trails up your side to cup your face as the kisses get lazier, sleepier. You're slotting his bottom lip between yours when he pulls back and --

Yawns in your face.

He looks a little surprised and then frowns. You laugh and smooth the crease between his brows before kissing him once more.

"Jesus, Joel," you say. "Bedtime."

"Was sleepin' fine before you got here," he grumbles, but in the same breath he wraps his arm around you and tugs you with him as he turns onto his back so your head lays on his chest. You match your breaths to his. He presses a kiss to your hair.

___

Two nights later you wake to an empty bed.

You sleepily trail your hand through the sheets and find they still carry Joel's warmth. He must have gotten up a few minutes ago. You force your eyes to open but don't see a light in the bathroom, find no shadow in your eyesight. You can hear his voice in your head saying go back to sleep, s'nothin' but you know better than to listen to him when it comes to this. It's not like you'll be able to until you know he's okay, anyway.

So you wrap the blanket from the foot of your bed around yourself and shuffle through the house and down the stairs.

"Joel?" you call quietly.

"Kitchen," he replies, a warm grumble in the still of the night. You didn't even look at the clock when you got out of bed but it must be late.

He sits in the dark at your small kitchen table, eyes fixed on Ellie's garage out back. He's put a shirt on. Of course. Nightmare. This is where he always sits after he has one. His hands are wrapped around his mug. Based on the smell it's chamomile tea -- the only time he'll drink it instead of coffee is on nights like tonight. He had no idea it even grew in the greenhouses here until you presented him with a jar of it for Ellie back when you were still tiptoeing around whatever was between you. Those days are long gone.

"You okay?" You keep your voice hushed. It's rare these days that he'll want to be alone. You're the only one who gets to see him like this other than Ellie. It took a while but now Joel lets you comfort him, he lets you hold him together when he needs it.

He tears his eyes from the window to meet yours, chin tipped up as he gets a good look at you in the dark.

"M'alright." You take a few more steps into the kitchen and he frowns. "You cold?" He reaches for you with one hand, beckoning you close. You step into his space and he wraps one arm around you, leans his head against your soft stomach. You untangle from the blanket slightly to run your fingers through his hair. The touch is as grounding for him as it is for you.

"What can I do?" you ask him, ignoring his question.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through the blanket and your sleep shirt. "This is just fine. Just need a minute."

"You wanna take that minute on the couch?" He grunts his assent and you step back to allow him to get up. He leaves his mug on the table but catches your hand to pull you with him.

Joel sighs when he settles into the worn cushions, knees spread wide and head tipped back as be breathes. He doesn't look any more tired than usual but you can tell he's still holding onto whatever sent him down here.

You press into his side, legs curled underneath you. His arm settles heavily on across your shoulders and you rest a palm on his knee.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He turns his head to face you and his nostrils flare as he frowns.

"Nothin' new," he sighs. "A pretty old one, actually. Haven't had it in a while. 'Bout stuff from when we were on the road."

If he wants to say more he will. You don't know what it's like for him to worry about Ellie -- you only know how youworry. Once the sun rises he'll probably trudge over and knock on her door, ask if she wants to go for a ride. She'll complain about being woken up but she'll agree because she knows him, too. She'll see the tension at the edges of his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. There have been nights when you come downstairs to find her sleeping on the couch, too, just because she wanted to be sure he was okay.

You lean your head on his shoulder and breathe with him. He picks up your hand and rubs his thumb across the back of it slowly, as if he doesn't even know he's doing it.

Sleep is a near thing when Joel eventually clears his throat. "I got that gossip for you." His chest rumbles and you perk up, pulling back to look at him. His eyes have a bit more spark, a bit less of the far-away look he had when you came down the stairs.

"Oh, do you now? Finally?"

"You're just impatient," he says. "Hadn't heard directly from either of 'em so I wasn't sure. But I tracked it down and got it from the source."

"You sound like a detective from one of those old shows. Got it from the source," you say, pitching your voice low and imitating his drawl.

He manages to look unimpressed. "I don't have to tell you."

"Joel."

"Alright, alright. Well, it's about Wendy and Fred."

You sit up. "The couple that met on your group patrol?" It's something you and Ellie tease him about -- his accidental tendency to play matchmaker. Sometimes he leads group patrols for new folks or younger community members who are now old enough to join the roster. You think he probably enjoys scaring the shit out of them a little but he's also good at it, teaches them well and makes sure they're safe. Around the time you met you'd heard about a couple who met on a patrol and hit it off. It's happened a few more times with Joel's groups but Wendy and Fred are the only ones who have stayed together.

"Mhm. Word is they're gettin' married."

You gasp. This is very far from what you expected him to tell you. A lot of the gossip you and Joel share is about people breaking up or sleeping together or moving out of Jackson. Sometimes it's petty theft or in-fighting at the council. But this? This is downright romantic.

"Married?" It's not uncommon these days but most people don't bother. But most importantly it means one thing -- there's going to be a party. "We haven't had a wedding in...forever," you say wistfully.

"Been a few years, yeah," Joel agrees. "Folks'll be excited."

"How did you find out?"

He shifts on the couch a little and you take control of your clasped hands, holding one of his in both of yours as you trace the lines on his palm, the veins that go up his arm while he talks.

"Heard from one of the guys at the festival that Fred was lookin' for a ring. Wanted to get the word out to some supply runs but without her knowin'. But I wasn't sure, since I hadn't seen him in a while. Then I saw Wendy at the pantry few days ago and she looked real happy. I didn't pry but asked her how things were and she was chipper as hell."

"And that wasn't enough to tell me?"

He squeezes your shoulder.

"Yesterday Fred cornered me when I was headin' home and told me flat out. Thanked me for some fuckin' reason and said Wendy agreed to marry him. Kid looked like he was gonna throw up, he was so excited."

Joel's voice is warm. "You are such a romantic when you want to be," you tell him.

He smirks. "Heard that before."

"It'll be nice to have a celebration. If we're invited, you're dancing with me again."

"We better fuckin' be invited," he grumbles. "I introduced them."

"So you admit to being a matchmaker?"

He huffs. "Nah," he says, a little softer. "Dumb luck. S'how you get good things these days."

You shift under his arm a little bit. "Maybe," you reply. "I think we've earned a few of those things."

Joel drags a hand down his face. It's a motion that usually means he's chewing on what to say next. You spare him.

"This --" you gesture between the two of you "--and all of this --" you wave your hand at the room, the house "-- is more than I knew I could want. You, this house, that feisty, wonderful girl out back. This whole town. Waking up every morning and not dreading another day on this hellish planet. I didn't know this existed anymore, Joel, let alone that it was possible for me. And I think we've earned it."

He's quiet for a few breaths. "C'mere," he says softly. You don't know exactly what he means but he pulls you into his lap so you're straddling him, his arm firm around your hips. It could be a heated position, often is, but here it's just to be close. You catch yourself on his shoulders and drag your hands up to his cheeks. You hold his face in your hands, thumbs stroking the soft, forever-bruised skin under his eyes.

"You sure got a way with words," he says thickly, gaze heavy. "Don't know what I did to deserve this but I ain't gonna question it."

You wrap your arms around him and properly embrace him. He presses his palms to your back and hooks his chin over your shoulder. Your breathing syncs up and you swear your heartbeats do, too. Your whole body, your whole being tuned itself to Joel a long time ago. You'd do everything you've done twice over to get here.

As if he hears the desperate devotion of your thoughts, Joel pulls back so he can lean up for a kiss. It's more intense than you expected it to be, like he's trying to tell you something with the press of his mouth. You know what he's trying to tell you -- you always do. Joel is better at showing you how he feels than telling you.

He suckles your lower lip and you tug on the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise low in his throat and you swallow it. You could touch him forever and never get enough. The firm planes of his back, the knot of tension always present in his shoulders. The scratch of his beard, the press of his nose against yours. You want to stitch yourself to him so that you never have to let go.

"S'your turn," Joel grumbles against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath.

Your brain is a little fuzzy. "Hm?"

"For somethin' juicy."

It's a funny word coming from his mouth and it makes you laugh. His arms tighten around you and he drags his nose down your neck and breathes deep. You can get some gossip for him. You'd do much worse without being asked. Sometimes you think there are no limits to what you'd do for this man. It's a big thought, a dangerous thought, one that's suited to the world you live in now. You don't mind it.

"I'll get you something good, Joel Miller. I promise."

"I know you will," he says. "I trust you."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction

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a-killer-obsession · 7 months ago

Text

Shared Smiles [Heat x Reader]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Despite being forced on board against your will, you find yourself connecting with a commander, and finding solace in your shared traumas.

CW: wounds, off-screen amputation, loss of limb, comfort, trauma, mentions of mutilation, fingering, p in v sex, afab reader

WC: ~6k

Masterlist || AO3

The chains holding you creaked slightly as you swung back and forth, blood running down over your face and dripping to the floor below you as you hung upside down. Your ankles were bound together in metal cuffs, your hands tied to your torso with chains, and your body bare save for your panties and the many fresh wounds that littered your body. Two Supernovas of the Worst Generation stood in front of you, Eustass ‘Captain’ Kid and his first mate, Massacre Soldier Killer. The captain pressed his boot against your face again, letting back off and making your body swing, the ankle cuffs digging into your skin at the added pressure the movement created.

“Last chance,” the redheaded captain gloated, kneeling and grabbing a handful of your hair to force you to look at him. You could barely keep eye contact, not out of fear but, because you'd been upside down for so long that you were nearly unconscious. “I don't usually give out mercies like this, but your skills are useful to me, and my girls enjoyed your company before you fucked up”

Said fuck up was simply rejecting the large man of his sexual advances. You'd met some of his crew, a couple of girls named Hip, Hop, Quincy, Emma and Dive, at a bar nearby. You'd seen a lot on your travels as a for-hire mercenary, but female pirates were not common on the Grandline. They'd made you laugh, a rarity for you, and hadn't judged your unusual mask that hid your mouth and the end of your nose. Of course they hadn't, they were used to a first mate who covered the entirety of his face in white and blue stripes. They didn't even ask questions about it, which was a breath of fresh air for you, only commenting on how cool the sculpting that decorated it was - a relief of a open lion's jaw, with large, sharp teeth and a lolling tongue, trimmed by a nose and cheeks curled mid roar. The whole mask gave you the appearance of having a lion's snout, and along with the clawed gloves you wore during combat, was the guiding force for the moniker the marines had given you: ‘The Lioness, [Y/N]’.

Now, had your rejection perhaps been a little harsh? Maybe, by normal standards. A large, attractive man with such infamy as him was probably not rejected often, let alone with such sass. You knew you had a knack for being too brutally truthful, never filtering your words or pulling your verbal punches. It'd gotten you in trouble on more than one occasion, but you were a talented fighter, fast and agile, you didn't usually get caught in situations like this. When the Massacre Soldier snuck up on you in the alley outside though, you found you were no match for him, he had such a high bounty for a reason.

“How bout it little kitty?” Kid purred in faux sweetness, bringing you back to reality, blinking as you fought the pull of unconsciousness. “You can join my crew, or you can stay here and get tortured till you die. This is the last time I'll ask”

Did you want to be a pirate? No, you liked running solo, you liked having the freedom to go wherever you wanted and take whatever jobs were convenient. Having your life dictated by someone else was the last thing you wanted, and being around the same people every day would make it hard to avoid forming attachments. You had sworn to never get close to others again, after your last relationship resulted in the unforgivable reason you wore the mask. Making friends you'd never see again in bars was one thing, but you weren't looking for long term relationships, platonic or not. On the other hand, you liked being alive. You would not let a man be your death, not after everything you'd been through.

“Fine,” you spat. The single word was a struggle to push out, your head felt like it was in a vice and the rest of your body was going numb as a new droplet of blood rolled down your face and caught in your eyelashes.

“Wise choice,” the first mate noted from behind his unreadable mask. “One of our commanders is gonna love that pretty little smile of yours”

“Bite me,” you spat back, voice laced with venom.

“Tell the girls to clean her up and get her settled,” Kid addressed the first mate as he used his devil fruit to release your bindings, dropping you to the hard floor unceremoniously. He threw your mask at you, bouncing with an audible clunk off your already sore head, and you grabbed it greedily. Killer watched you with empathy as you desperately covered your mouth back up, he knew that feeling well and felt like an asshole for knowing what you hid underneath. You shot daggers up at him as the mask was settled in its rightful place, the room brightening for a moment as the door opened for the captain to leave before returning to its barely lit state.

As the months passed, you found yourself feeling surprisingly comfortable amongst the Kid Pirates. It'd taken you a while to heal and stop being so jumpy, but it came as no surprise to learn you were not the only crew member who had been hired via torture after pissing the short-fused captain off, and they all thought it was hilarious in retrospect. You hoped one day you'd find it funny too, but for now you still had aches from where new scars pulled taut on your skin as you moved. You found yourself at home among the other girls, and learned that Kid protected them with fierce loyalty. You had expected to have to reject more advances from him, but as it turned out, he treated the girls on his crew like sisters, and after months of getting past the violent way you were brought on the ship, you found yourself able to laugh in his presence. You never expected to enjoy the life of a pirate, but in truth it was nice to not have to fight for everything and take care of yourself, it was soothing to know someone had your back if you got into trouble. The girls had been diligent in tending to your wounds and nursing you back to health, and you'd gotten to know them well over the last few months. At first you thought about running every chance you got, but now you felt a pang of guilt whenever you thought of leaving the women you'd come to call friends, and ultimately pushed away the idea of leaving all together.

Much like the first mate though, you never removed your mask in front of the others. They'd allowed you to put up a curtain around your cot so you could sleep without it in privacy, you ate your meals in solitude sitting on the figurehead skull of the ship, and thankfully the showers were built as separate cubicles with doors. Nobody asked why you wore the mask, they respected your privacy the same way they respected Killer's, to ask what lay underneath would be a disrespect against both of you. As for the two that had seen, Kid and Killer kept your secret, even from the other commanders. Their word was gospel, so nobody pried, and it helped to make you feel safe here. You hadn't gone this long without someone asking about what the mask hid for months, the only questions you ever got from the crew were in regard to the mask itself. How was it made? Why a lion? Where did you get it? Is it annoying to wear? Curiosities that you couldn't fault, but always asked in a respectful manner.

This evening, like many other evenings, you found yourself drinking with the crew. It was a crew of around thirty, and although there were a few members held higher than the rest - the captain, first mate, and four commanders - it was clear the whole crew were friends, and there was no divide when they drank. You found yourself sitting next to Heat, a quiet, tall man with an almost grey skin tone, thick blue hair that fell in waves, and an almost perpetually sad expression. He was sweet, and easy to be around, and you often found yourself seeking his company. He didn't pry about your past as long as you didn't ask about his, and he was okay with a comfortable silence, making him one of your favourite people to spend time with, along with his best friend Wire, another commander who was similar in personality, though a lot more stoic, an a significant amount taller. Heat looked tough, but on a more personal level seemed far too soft to be a pirate. He didn't have a devil fruit, but he could breathe fire, and his long thorn-like tattoos fascinated you. He was an interesting man, someone you could see yourself opening up to in the past, if you hadn't sworn to close your heart from all men after the betrayal you experienced with the last one.

For obvious reasons, you didn't actually drink around the others, you just took part in the conversations. Unlike the Massacre Soldier, who could thread a straw through the holes in his mask, your mask was one solid form, the only holes being a mesh for ventilation hidden under the top row of sharp teeth, and the holes in the lion's nose where there the anatomy dictated, again so you could actually breathe. You enjoyed the company none-the-less though, and you'd never been one for drinking before the mask anyway so it was no loss. You didn't like the way alcohol made you feel, you preferred to keep your wits about you. That was another thing you enjoyed about Heat, he was your comrade in sober arms, also preferring not to drink. Apparently last time he got drunk he accidentally set fire to a bar, so he chose to stay sober for everyone's safety.

You laughed wholeheartedly as Quincy fell victim to a well planned truth or dare, admitting she'd had a raunchy sex dream about another crewmate, Bubblegum, the crew erupting in laughter as the two of them flushed bright red. The laughter died down and it was Quincy's turn to ask a question to the next victim, and your breath caught as you thought she was going to pick you, only to move one more over and pick Heat. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Truth or dare Heatie!” She coughed out, trying to quickly divert the crew's attention.

“Truth,” he replied calmly.

“Okay, mmmm,” she pressed a index finger to her mouth as she thought, “tell us who you have a crush on!”

A few of the crew went “ooooooh” as Heat turned bright red, and Kid sat up, his attention piqued.

“Look how red he is!” Kid barked, “there's definitely someone!”

“Tell us! Tell us!” Someone called out.

“It's… it's…[y/n]” he finally stuttered out, finally breaking, curling in on himself and trying to hide his flushed face from you. Your own face went pink at the admission, you hadn't expected it at all and there were butterflies in your chest. Heat quickly picked the next victim to move the attention, and you quietly excused yourself from the gathering.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” Heat said softly as he approached where you sat on the figurehead skull, facing the ocean. You quickly wiped your tears and sniffed, replacing your mask which you'd removed to keep it dry from your crying. “Were you crying? [Y/n] I'm so sorry, please forget I said anything, it's just a dumb game”

“It's not that, Heat,” you sniffed, “it just… brought up some not very nice memories is all. It's not your fault”

“Oh, well I'm sorry anyway,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, “do you want to talk about it?”

“The last man I was with was not kind,” you tried to explain, “he… decided I was no longer worth the trouble, and he did this,” you pointed at the mask.

“Can I… see?” He asked shyly.

You looked out to the ocean, thinking hard about whether you were ready for that, ready to let someone past that heavily guarded wall. If anyone would understand, it was him. In truth, you didn't want to carry this burden alone anymore, and you knew he was more than willing to carry it with you. You looked around the deck for spying eyes, and seeing no other life you gave him a small nod and patted the figurehead next to you, inviting him to come sit. He climbed up and sat beside you, cross legged and patient. You sighed nervously as you unlatched the mask with shaky hands, turning to him anxiously.

“Oh,” he said softly.

Staring back at him, stretching from the corners of your mouth to the apex of your jaw, were the jagged scars of a Glasgow smile, just like his own. His heart stung when he saw it, he knew the pain you'd been through, physical and emotional, and the way you no doubt feel every time you look in the mirror. You turned away from him again, replacing the mask and looking back out to the ocean.

“Did you kill him?” He asked, shuffling a little closer so your shoulders touched, staring out to the sea with you.

“Yes,” you replied flatly.

“Good,” he huffed. “How long ago did it happen, if you don't mind me asking”

“Three years,” you idly picked at the cuticles on your fingers.

“The dysphoria will pass, in time,” he assured you, then pointed at his own scars, “rival gang, eight years ago. I wore a scarf over the scars for five years before I finally got comfortable with my own reflection. It'll pass, and nobody here will judge you when it finally does”

You nodded quietly and rested your head on his shoulder, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence till you started to fall asleep and decided to head to bed.

“MOVE, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Heat shouted at the other crewmates that had crowded around your fallen form.

In a blink of an eye, everything had gone so very wrong. The crew had been raiding a marine base, rampaging through it as they always did, cutting down marines left and right. Nobody could have known the building you were fighting next to was structurally unsound, closed off from use years ago, scheduled to be demolished before it could collapse on someone's head. One small shake of the ground from a nearby explosion and the whole outer wall crumbled, burying you in heavy cement faster than you had a chance to register what was happening. The crew had been quick to dig you out, working together to move the large slab of concrete that was crushing you. Heat took in your seemingly lifeless body with baited breath, the limbs on your right side twisted in unnatural positions, deep purple bruises already forming on any skin that was visible, blood running from your nose and ears.

Your body moved just a little, and suddenly you were screaming. Awaking in absolute agony, everything was on fire, you could barely think through the pain. Only one coherent word escaped you, a shrill, desperate scream of his name, before the world went black again. Thankful that you were unconscious again so you didn't have to feel your injuries, Heat carefully lifted you, holding you close to his chest as he carried you back to the ship, tears silently rolling down his cheeks and neck as he tried his best to keep it together for you, to get you somewhere safe and start the long, hard process of healing.

For five days you slept in the infirmary of the Victoria Punk, and for those five days Heat never left your side, sleeping in an old metal chair next to you, his head against your arm and your good hand held gently in his, praying to whatever god that would listen that you'd wake up. His back ached from sleeping upright, he had deep, dark bags under his eyes, and he smelt as bad as he looked, still covered in the grime and blood from the battle, refusing to leave your side for long enough to shower. You needed him here, he needed to be here when you woke up, because you had to wake up, and he fought tooth and nail against anyone who dared to try and drag him away.

When you finally awoke, you did so with a small whimper, unable to remember what had happened, or understand why half your limbs weren't reacting the way you wanted them to. Heat had been asleep next to you, but was quickly at attention, standing over you and making sure you knew he was here before you had time to question whether you were all alone.

“Shh, don't try to move,” he said softly, stopping you from sitting up too fast with a firm but gentle hand against your chest, “you got hurt real bad, but you're safe now, you're gonna be okay”

Your hand flew to your mouth, feeling for your mask, looking up at him with wide shocked eyes when you found it was missing.

“Shh, shh, it's okay,” he took your hand back in his and removed it from your face, “only the doc saw, nobody else except Kid and Killer have come in here, and they said they'd already seen”

Your breathing calmed down again as you accepted his assurances, squeezing his hand and trying to sit up again. You wanted, no, needed to know how bad the damage was, you needed to see for yourself. You felt heavy, no doubt from painkillers, but you could still tell something was very wrong, your right arm and leg still not responsive. Heat saw your efforts and sighed, he knew there was no keeping you from it any longer.

“I'm gonna help you sit up okay?” He slid his arm around your shoulders and held the other against your chest, “But I need you to not panic. Your injuries were life threatening, Emma did everything in her power but she couldn't save everything”

You tried your best to stay calm but you couldn't help but start to hyperventilate as he sat you up and pulled the blanket that covered you aside, finally seeing the damage for yourself. Your right arm was in a cast, from your armpit to your hand, set in a bend. Your pinky and ring finger were missing, only stubs of them remained. You were wearing nothing but your underwear, your entire torso wrapped in bandages, healing graze marks and yellowing bruises peeking out from wherever the wrapping didn't cover. But the worst of the injuries was your right leg. Or rather, lack thereof, because from your mid thigh down was just empty space where your leg should have been, a bandage wrapped tightly around the short nub that remained.

Heat held you tight to his chest as you took in the damage and started to sob, your tears soaking into his corset shirt and rehydrating some of the blood and dirt on his chest. You weren't sure how long you cried for, at some point he climbed up on the bed and sat behind you, rocking you back and forth and cooing reassurances in your ear until you were able to settle your breathing and your sobs turned to teary-eyed hiccups.

“It's gonna be okay,” Heat assured, his arms around your torso as he pressed a kiss to your dirty hair, “Kid is already working on a prosthetic for you, Emma said the amount she was able to save is plenty to learn to walk again with one, it's gonna be okay, I'm gonna be here the whole time”

You nodded as you let yourself rest back against him, the weight of your emotional burden too much to bare alone anymore, letting him support your exhausted body and keep you afloat.

A few days had passed and Emma, as the ship's doctor, had cleared you to leave the infirmary. You couldn't walk given you would need two working arms for crutches, and with your dominant arm out of action you struggled at even the most basic tasks, so Heat insisted you stay with him. He'd pulled a spare mattress from the henchmen's quarters and was sleeping on the floor with it, leaving the entire queen size bed for you. As a commander he had his own room and a small humble bathroom, nothing compared to the grand rooms Kid and Killer had, but it was private and it was comfortable, and it kept you from embarrassing yourself in the middle of the night whenever you needed to go to the bathroom. He'd even rearranged his room for you, and made Kid install metal railings, all you needed to do was hop a few supported steps to make it to the toilet. If you had to travel any further he didn't hesitate to carry you, he didn't even need to be asked, all you had to do was look at him and he was moving.

The first thing you needed after leaving the infirmary was a good wash. Emma had done her best with Heat's assistance to sponge bath what they could to keep your wounds clean of the blood and debris you'd been covered in when Heat had carried you in, but you really needed a soak to wipe away the thick layer of grime. You couldn't wash yourself though, you needed to keep your casted arm out of the water, which meant a shower was out of the question - not that you'd be able to stand in one - and with only one hand there was no way you were washing your hair on your own. Even with the one working arm, your chest and side were still aching from the deep bruising you'd received as a result of being crushed, you were lucky you hadn't broken any ribs, but every movement hurt badly.

Emma had offered to wash you, but you'd surprised yourself and Heat by asking him instead. Somehow you felt more comfortable with the idea of him seeing you naked. Not that you had anything against Emma, you just felt safest with Heat. He'd carried you wordlessly to his room, wrapped in the infirmary blanket, and sat you on the closed toilet seat in his bathroom while he ran the water. Emma had given you the all clear to remove your bandages, though the one on your amputated leg would need to be replaced afterwards, so you worked on removing them while you waited. When the water was ready he helped you to your… foot… and held you steady while you used your good arm to manoeuvre your underwear past your hips, letting it fall to the floor at your ankles and leaving you entirely naked in front of him except for your cast.

He lifted you gently and lowered you into the water, your good arm around his neck for support. Using the old bandages he fashioned a sort of sling hanging from the curtain railing to keep your other arm out of the water, so you wouldn't have to worry about holding it up yourself the whole time. He was so careful and methodical as he washed you, a light dusting of pink on his cheeks the whole time, unable to look you in the eye for shame of how much he enjoyed seeing your naked body, how much he enjoyed touching you, when such horrible circumstances had led to this.

He avoided your genitals, letting you wash them yourself, and you sighed as his strong fingers worked shampoo into your scalp, washing away thick layers of grime that a sponge bath couldn't touch. It was quiet and intimate, the only words shared being him asking consent and you granting it as he worked on the different parts of your body, wiping away the blood and dirt. You whimpered as the cloth ran over your stump, burying your face in his chest for moral support as he diligently cleaned the old blood from it, the conditioner in your hair transfering to his skin.

Finally finished, he discarded the cloth and held you close while he knelt next to the tub, and you couldn't help but cry more at the awful state of your body. He didn't question your need to cry, he just held you while you got it all out till you took a deep breath and pushed yourself away from him, nodding that you were ready to move on. He rinsed the conditioner from your hair and drained the tub, wrapping you in a soft towel as he picked you back up and carried you to the bed. He held you in his lap as he dried you with an extra towel, patting dry your hair and wiping the dewdrops from your limbs. He held you firm to his chest, your arm around his neck, your head tucked under his chin as you listened to his rhythmic breathing. It was enough to lull you to sleep, so he carefully slipped an old baggy t-shirt over you, trying his best to not wake you, and tucked you into his bed, leaving you to rest.

It'd been close to six weeks since the accident. Your arm cast had been removed a week ago, so you were now able to get around on your own using crutches, though the distance you could go before tiring was limited. Kid had built you a beautiful prosthetic leg, even going so far as adding a lion's clawed paw for the foot to match your mask, and Emma had given the go ahead for you to try using it in a few more days. For now, your stump remained covered in a compression sock, to promote healing and make sure it was ready for the prosthetic to be fitted. Kid had become an unlikely ally in this battle, having lost a limb himself he understood how you were feeling, and had helped you through more than one dark episode while you mourned the loss of your leg.

Mostly though, it was Heat that was there for you. You were still staying in his room, even though you assured him you could manage on your own. He insisted you would be more comfortable here, and try as you might he refused to share the large bed with you to at least alleviate a little of your guilt, telling you over and over that he was more than comfortable on his mattress, even though it was clear to everyone that his back was hurting and his eyes had heavy bags. You could hear him toss and turn at night, his quality of sleep significantly diminished because of his chivalrous sacrifice, but he'd give up anything to make you even slightly more comfortable. You had to admit though, having the privacy to sleep without your mask without fear of peeping toms was a luxury in itself. You didn't wear the mask in the bedroom, more than comfortable without it in front of Heat. He still helped you bathe, but it'd become significantly less awkward, now a time for conversation and laughter. You no longer had a cast to keep dry, and you really didn't need help anymore other than getting in and out of the tub, but neither of you had said anything about it, so he happily continued to help you, and you graciously accepted the help and his company. Subconsciously, neither of you wanted to let go of that time alone together, and you secretly enjoyed the feel of his hands wandering over your body, and the way he silently scanned your curves, a quiet hunger in his eyes that never left no matter how many times he saw you naked.

On this night, the ship was on route to a winter island, the long reaching weather system already chilling the air significantly as Heat helped you into bed. He stole a chaste kiss on the top of your hair, as he often did these days, before excusing himself to his mattress on the floor.

Hours passed, and he woke as he often did, sighing to himself and twisting his torso to crack his sore back. He strolled in his sweatpants to the bathroom to get a glass of water, thankful that his natural abilities kept him well heated, so he didn't feel the chill of the snowy weather outside. You, however, were not a fire breather, and were very much feeling the cold. You were shivering in your sleep, hunched in on yourself to try and conserve any heat from escaping but failing miserably. He felt a pang of guilt at your shaking form, and opened a cupboard to get you another blanket, only to discover you were already using the extra one. What was he to do? His own blanket was barely anything, more of a thin fabric to cover him for comfort than for warmth, it wouldn't make any difference to put it over you. Should he go find you another blanket? Where from? Maybe he could wake Wire and see if he had a spare? Everyone else on the ship felt the cold the same as you though, they were no doubt all using their blankets.

Stressed that you would fall ill, he pulled at his hair, trying to find a solution, till a small whimper escaped you and the solution was abundantly clear. He lifted the blankets and slid in beside you, wrapping himself around your body, covering as much of your icy frame as he could with his hot skin. Your shivering quickly stopped, and a small smile formed on your face as you settled into a deeper sleep. He let go a sigh of relief and shuffled till he was comfortable, laying so close that his head was on the same pillow as yours. It felt like a violation of your personal space, but he couldn't bare to watch you shiver anymore, and he felt butterflies at being able to hold you so close in what was really his bed, even if it mostly smelt like you these days, not that he had complaints.

You were so warm when you woke up, wrapped in what felt like an army of hot water bottles, your skin sticky with sweat but you were too comfy to care. It took you an embarrassing long time to realise you weren't alone, a soft breath rustling your hair gently in a rhythmic pattern that matched the movement of the warm form next to you. Your eyes traced the thorn like tattoos that ran up and down the arm that was draped over you, a thick, muscular thigh trapped between yours, a pillow of pale blue hair intermingled with your own. You had wrapped yourself around him like a koala on a tree, seeking out his warmth in the night and clinging to it so it couldn't escape. You tilted your head up, your face now millimetres from his, inspecting fondly the scars on his face that matched your own. The dark eyeliner he liked to wear under his eyes was smudged, always too lazy to remove it before he slept, and his chin was covered in a fine layer of blue stubble. You blushed at how handsome he was, and how close said handsome face was to yours, his strong arms wrapped around you like he was just as unwilling to let go as you were.

His eyes fluttered open, his dark irises immediately focusing on you and his pupils blown wide in surprise as he realised the position he was in. He tried to pull away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you pulled him back to you, pressing your lips to his on instinct, in a desperate plea for him to stay. For a moment he didn't move, frozen in fear that this wasn't real, that you hadn't really kissed him, till he finally accepted the reality and kissed you back. His kiss was tender, full of devotion and longing, and you made a small moan as his tongue ran over your bottom lip and his hand wove into your hair. You opened your lips for him and his tongue dove inside, rutting against yours with his own quiet moan as you held him tight, pulling lightly on his hair to wordlessly beg for more.

He rolled you on to your back, pressing his thigh further up between your legs, and you whimpered into his mouth as you tried to roll your hips to rub against him, desperate for friction but unable to get it with your stupid useless stump. Understanding your frustration he ran his hand quickly down your front, threading it under the waistband of your pyjamas and your panties to slide between your wet folds. He pressed a thumb to your clit, circling it as his index finger toyed with your entrance, before sliding in and pumping you with slow, shallow movements that made you cry out. You hadn't realised how badly you needed him, how much you needed him inside you, filling you and sharing your breaths. He pulled away from the kiss and you could see your own feelings reflected in his eyes, all that longing and need and love. Love you didn't think was possible for you to even feel again, but it was there, without a doubt, and you knew he felt it too.

He watched your face carefully as he slid a second finger inside you, then a third, his pace quickening as your walls fluttered around his digits, his clothed erection rutting against the thigh of your good leg in his own desperate need for friction. He wanted to he inside you so badly, he wanted to feel your hot wet walls take him in and see your face contort as you came on his cock, the thought alone was almost enough to make him cum as he groaned and kissed you with fervour. He swallowed your moans as you clamped down on his fingers, your back arching off the bed as you came hard, shuddering underneath him.

As soon as your high had settled, you were sitting up and trying your best to claw away at his pants. You wanted him inside you so fucking bad, you'd already cum once but you ached with need. He pushed down his pants, his cock springing to attention, red and swollen with equal need, precum leaking from the tip. You eyed him hungrily, he was thick and longer than average, a set of three piercings running up the underside, you wanted to know how they would feel inside you. He helped you pull off your own clothes before settling between your legs, his tip prodding at your entrance but not yet inside, much to your frustration.

“Are you sure?” He asked nervously. You pulled him down by his neck and kissed him, forcing your tongue in his mouth before biting his bottom lip, pulling a groan from him.

“Please, Heat,” you begged, “I need you inside me, please”

He returned his lips to yours as he slid inside you, stretching you out, till the need to breathe was too much and you broke the kiss to pant, holding his shoulders tight as he sheathed himself inside you. You let out a stuttered moan, your breathing haggard as you rolled your hips to try and get him to move. He pumped you deep and agonisingly slow, just enjoying the pull of your walls on his length, till you wrapped your good leg around him and pressed your heel against his ass, moaning and clawing at his back as his pace finally picked up. He buried his face in your shoulder as he fucked you hard and fast, holding the headboard above you for support while his other hand held your hip tight, his fingers leaving bruises in your skin. You cried out a flurry of curses, mixed with his name and a string of yes yes yes as he groaned and panted in your ear, whispering sweet nothings and praising you for how well you were taking him.

His movements became erratic as you started to tighten around him again, your fingernails sinking into the skin on his back as you screamed his name and came hard, clamping around his cock and pulling him forcefully with you. His thrusts stuttered and stilled as he unloaded inside you, his hot thick load dripping out of you for lack of space as he shook and groaned. He collapsed to your side, pulling you with him, his softening cock still buried inside you as he held you to his chest. You draped your leg over his hip, kissing him softly, slowly, your tongues pressing together with more careful and tender movements, no longer driven by the carnal need for him to be inside you. You were full and content, comfortable despite his cock still buried in you, you felt like you could stay connected like this forever. He made you feel safe, and beautiful, despite your scars and mutilated body, as he pressed loving kisses over your Glasgow smile, and you returned the favour with kisses traced along his.

#heat my beloved 💙#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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heavenlyraindrops · 1 month ago

Text

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Five

also available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag for other chapters | warnings: light suicidal contemplation, profanity, mild violence.

Summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Five:

Your eyes felt glued shut as you peeled them open, blearily blinking around at your surroundings. You were on a sofa, red and pink lights piercing through your eyelids. Hushed clamour rose from behind the beaded curtains.

“Babette?” Your voice was raspy, your throat was sore.

Babette peered over you with tired eyes. “You’re awake,” she sighed, and you struggled to sit up. Your limbs were aching.

“I’m in the brothel?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Why…”

“He found you passed out in the street, [name],” Babette said gently. You looked at her, confused.

And then it all clicked together.

You shot upright. “Alice.” Your voice choked, and she grabbed your shoulders, trying to wrestle you down. “Where is she?”

“[name],” sit down. Her voice was fierce, yet her face was pleading. You shakily relented, watching her take a deep breath, unsure of how to break the news to you.

“He found her with you… she was…” she trailed off, and looked away.

“Who’s he?”

“Vander.” This question was easier for her to answer. You looked at her.

“Alice is dead.” You stared at your lap. “Isn’t she.” It wasn’t a question. Babette nodded, still not looking at you.

Which is why she flinched so hard when you screamed.

The entire brothel fell silent at your blood-curdling cry of despair. Babette had you led out. “I’m sorry, [name],” she said softly. It was clear the guilt was eating her away, but it was also clear she had no idea what to do with you. “You’re… you’re affecting business.”

You couldn’t have been more furious as the door slammed shut, and pulled your bloodied jacket around you, looking around the street. Tears streaked down your face, salt burning on your cuts and bruises as you raced towards your spot with Silco. Clambering onto the roof, you curled up and waited.

He never came.

The uprising was a fail. Word had already gotten around the Lanes about the massacre. You didn’t see Silco, you didn’t see Felicia, and neither did you see Vander for a week. You lived as an empty shell. Back to square one.

Lonely.

No one to keep you company.

You considered going back to the Last Drop, seeking out Felicia or Vander, yelling at them until your throat was sore. You trusted Vander to keep Alice safe. Was an argument necessary?

Did they even know?

Your anger turned bitter, morphing into hatred.

And where was Silco?

He’d promised you.

You’d had enough. So one day you pulled on your jacket and went to the Last Drop.

The usual bustle was unusually subdued, no doubt following the lost battle on the bridge. Your bloodshot eyes scanned the area piercingly. No Silco. No Connol. No Felicia. They flew to the bar counter.

Vander.

You stormed over.

“Vander,” you rasped. The man looked up at you, and almost dropped the glass he was holding in shock.

“[name],” he stuttered, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen him so apologetic in your life. You stared at him, eyes following his movements. He looked pale and tired, as if he hadn’t been getting enough sleep, and his eyes too, were bloodshot.

“Gin,” you said, staring at him through your hair.

“And tonic? Without the gin?” He asked nervously.

“Gin,” you repeated, and flicked the little blade you kept in your wrist cuff to slowly drag the tip across the wood of the bar top, an elbow on the counter to steady your hunched-over self. The alcohol sloshed in the cup as he set it in front of you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, gaze downcast. You didn’t even bother to hum a simple reply, instead taking a sip of the burning liquid.

After a moment if listening to your silence, he spoke again. His voice was heavy with sorrow. “Felicia and Connol are dead, [name],” he said. You looked at the large palm he had placed against the counter to brace himself. It was shaking.

“And Silco?” You looked up at him, lip trembling.

He tensed. Your glassy eyes widened.

“He’s dead?” Your voice was a whisper.

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t- I don’t know for sure.” His voice was laden with guilt. You stared at him for a moment, studying his gaze.

He refused to look at you.

You pushed back from the bar, taking a trembling step back.

“You did something,” you hissed, nails digging into the splintered wood. He stared at the ground. “Tell me. Tell me now.”

He didn’t say anything. The Last Drop had gone silent.

You lunged at the man, grabbing his collar. “Alice is dead,” you growled. “She’s dead, do you hear me?” Your voice rose to a shout as you shook him. “You told me I could fucking trust you, you son of a bitch.” Releasing his clothes, you shoved him back, throat grating. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO SILCO?!”

“There was a fight,” he started gently.

“Of course there was a fight.” You were tearing up.

“No, a physical fight.”

“Over what?”

He ignored you. “The river…” he took a deep breath.

You stared at him, gut churning. “The river? What about the river?” Your hands flew to your face. “What did you do, Vander?”

He clenched his jaw. “I think it’s best if you leave, [name].”

“What did you do to hi-“

But two patrons were already approaching you, grabbing an arm each. “No no no no no,” you spat, jerking from their unrelenting grip. “I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” you seethed, face murderous as you were pulled away from the bar.

“I’m sorry, [name].”

“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!” You roared. “Do you fucking hear me? KILL. YOU.”

And so you were dragged, kicking and screaming, from the bar, and dumped onto the street in a sobbing, furious mess.

You could feel the patron’s eyes on you as the door slammed shut.

Gathering yourself, you trudged to the river. The sky was dark, and you looked out across the lapping waters as if you’d find Silco down there somewhere. You stepped into the freezing water, shaking.

Your daughter and your only friend were gone. You tipped your head back and took a deep breath, filling your lungs with the air of the fissures. Exhaled. Looked down, and glided deeper into the depths.

Was Silco drifting, drowned, beneath the surface, along the riverbed? You trailed your fingertips across the surface of the water, watching it split and ripple.

What were you to do now?

Your tears fell into the water, watching ripples emanate from where they landed.

You could kill yourself now. Submerge your head beneath the waters and never rise again. Lungs collapsing with the lack of oxygen.

The idea seemed so, temptingly delicious, until you imagined the feeling of drowning, and immediately recoiled. Wading out of the water, you collapsed in a shivering heap on the river bank, dragging your wet, cold knees to your chest.

You missed him.

You missed them both.

Pulling your lighter from your soaked pocket, you ran a thumb across the edge. Shaking with the cold, you flicked it open. You didn’t have a cigarette.

Fuck.

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vinestaffery · 7 months ago

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Scythe X cop or detective reader where Scythe kidnaps reader to join her cult or somthing

of course!! im a bit tired atm and my schedule bursted up again, so the other people that have requested, i will be taking a bit of a while to post them fully, but i promise i am working on them!! sadly this is gonna have to be a drabble, im so sorry </3

Characters: Scythe, GN! Reader Prompt: One-sided Romance I think???, Small Drabble Warnings: Usage of (pet) names; Mentions of murder; Slightly descriptive but vague of how Scythe killed civilians; Religious themes; Kidnapping; Drugging; Scythe being a literal serial killer; Indoctrination(?)

Days were never suppose to be this harsh. You were always looking for new angles for the strange disappearances of many civilians in Lost Temple, yet it seemed like every new case was to mock your work.

Someone was watching you, for all you know.

Days were becoming longer, more dissociative then regular. Someone was watching you, you could feel it. It was like being played with like prey, if anything, a piece of meat in the claws of a carnivore.

But, it didn't let you shoot you down off your pedestals. You still, somehow, no matter what found a way to link to your suspects. White, gold and teal clothing, and the way the victims were left.

Cut, bloodied and garnished. Ripped apart in one slick-move, a slice. Head, shaven off of it's horns before being squashed like a tomato with a heel.

You were connecting up the dots to your very last suspect; Scythe.

You met her a few times, once at a bar, another when you had nearly gotten into some beef with some stragglers late at night. She was somewhat always there to support you, but would be never seen again. You took note of this.

When the investigation was left up to you, the police huddling outside for their break; the sun blared down below the alleyway. The shadows were your spectators, witnesses to a brutal massacre of several.

It was her. It was her, how she always disappeared, how everything seemed to become more of a blur. She was always there.

All she had to do, was find her, or catch her in the act.

"I'll get you, one way or another," you whispered to yourself.

"Well, you've bet to get on wit' it, don'tcha?"

A voice seemed to silence all thoughts. You didn't turn to face the new opponent.

You readied your hand-gun that was strapped to your left thigh, hand hovered cautiously over it.

"You and ya littl' ol' brain, finally come to make senses haven't cha? Fufufu..." Scythe laughed, a claw raised and a large weapon rested on her shoulder.

Your heart was thumping, you had no clue what had happened to the people that were here before; blood leaked across the floorboards.

"You must watch yourself, Snake, or else," you threatened, vile in your throat and hatred in your words.

"Or else what, my fine sheep, you goin' to do something?" Her name-calling was getting on your nerves. "The sheep, the one who follows, threatenin' big ol' me? Why, what a show."

"You best watch your tone, or else I'll get those men to take you away-" "And do what? Shoot me with this?" She plucked a gun from her pocket, you could hear it fall and chatter on the cold, hard ground. It rung in your ears.

"Say, maybe if you are ta hear me out, I'll leave ya' be!" Scythe snarled in a smirk, eyeing at you as you gave a small turn. Your hand still readied by your waist.

"And what must that be?" You questioned.

It took her seconds before she was up close, hand over your prepared one as she pulled you into a hold. Your hands, crunched in her soft leather glove while the other one, outstretched and squished by her metal.

"Scream, and everyone in this town's blood will be on your hands, rabbit," You were petrified but held in your sounds, clogged in your throat. You could just throw up.

She took notice, and started dragging you away. In a sorts of type of kidnapping, it was uncomfortable. She caressed your cheek, holding you close as she kept viable eye on you.

Everything started to become fuzzy, did she slip a drug into you by chance? No, she couldn't have. That's not her sense of style. But, everything and everywhere became unrecognizable.

"That's it, we're nearly there, my sweet," Scythe was astonished at how you were still able to walk, to even keep yourself up with her as you seemed to become tired and unable to respond.

Her scorpion tail came back close to her once more.

"Fucking- scorpion.." You pointed out, the tip of her stinger dripped a certain chemical before you fell into the warm-heated sand.

Light's blared into your face as you suddenly awoke. Your back was in pain, brain spinning and pleading to be free from it's coffin.

"Fuck-.. where?"

"Ah-ah ah! Don't want the doctors hard-work to be demolished shall we?" Scythe's voice rung through the room. It echoed in your ears.

"Where am I!" You screamed, but it seemed no use as she walked over. Her heels clicked to the solid, clear marble ground.

A hand reached over, two clawed fingers pinched at your chin and made her look up. God, she was tall, and quite beautiful, for a serial killer. "Wouldn't wanna wake up the others now, do we?" Her scorpion tail threatened as it reached in view.

Eyes widened, and a simple nod in command. She let go in a rough manner.

"Now, you best listen to me, or else you'll end up the same way those people ended up," Your ears wanted to close, but you made eye-contact with her.

She took it as an agreement.

"You've rose quite an interest in me, my sweet. I wouldn't think such people like ya' would be so heavily fascinated in my work of art," Work of art? What is she talking about? Those were never work of art. Those were polished crime-scenes of horror. Onslaughts.

"Now, I wouldn't want my favourite detective, my favourite sheep to be close to finding out about me now do I?" You shook your head.

"Good. Now, if you want to live and make it out of this room alive, you best follow my words," Alive?! "What do you mean 'make it out alive'? I have no deeds to share with you!" You spat.

"Oh, but you mustn't think of it that way. Think of it as a way of... saving you and mine's life. You see, I work for someone quite special deity," Special? Who could be anymore special then the SfOTH? The respected deities, gods if you will?

"There's no one as special as the SfOTH, those deities would crush someone as despicable as your boss."

That struck a nerve.

"You best keep that mouth shut, or else I will do more damage then what my boss would do to you and everyone in this god-for-saken town," Her weapon in hand, you squeaked. You stayed quiet once more.

"... Now, where was I? Ah, yes. I want you to join me, in order to protect you from the harms that might come your way for your... case," "Work with you?" "Yes."

You could nearly laugh! But you couldn't, you'd die.

"...Any benefits?"

"Oh, darling. Benefits were already arranged the first time we met," You snarled. Of course, she was planning this all along at the very start.

"Now, do we have a deal?"

Silence.

A long, period of silence.

"Well?"

You couldn't stop thinking about your family. Your friends, people you considered close.

"You best answer me, clock is ticking."

Your father, mother, what about your pets? What about, what about, what about?!

A slam of the chair, and a rising heat of pain strucking your face as you cried out.

"I've given you one chance at this, now you best answer me! Yes, or nay?" Scythe knelt down to face at you.

"One."

No Answer.

"Two."

No answer.

"THREE-"

"I ACCEPT! I will join your stupid- fucking team!"

...

"Good."

#phighting x reader #phighting!#੭୧ㅤ﹔ ㅤ vinestafferyㅤ．phighting!#੭୧ㅤ﹔ ㅤ vinestafferyㅤ．inbox #x reader #gender neutral pronouns #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n #੭୧ㅤ﹔ ㅤ vinestafferyㅤ．phighting!scythe #scythe x reader #phighting! scythe x reader #phighting scythe #drabble #oneshot #one sided romance #??? i think

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ashbashsquashmabosh · 1 year ago

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I love the locked tomb because what other series has a polycule known by the plot two of them devised named dios apate major, the deception of God, and includes God and two people who tried to use his jizz to create a baby that would open a tomb by dying in order to set free his barbie shaped frankensteins monster with the power of a massacred planet to kill him

But also has bars like " we have hated each other too long and passionately to stop... but my bones will rest easy next to your bones"

That's not normal

#dios apate #mercymorn the first #augustine the first #john gaius #jod #the locked tomb #biiiig tlt spoilers #tlt spoilers #nona the ninth spoilers #alecto the ninth #alecto the first #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus

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simping-on-the-daily · 5 months ago

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Some Kind of Angry Beaver

Summary: The Wolverine’s massacre has made you lose everything. Your friends are dead, you’ve left home, and the world’s hatred for mutants grows worse. You promise to yourself you’d have a few words to him if you meet again, and you do, at one of the shady bars where you both grieve your losses.

Notes: Reader is a mutant and was with Wolverine for a brief time, very very brief implications of sub!Logan. Not romantic anymore, and yes the title is from ERB deal with it. Worstie is a lot more sad and pathetic since this is early post!slaughter, gender neutral reader, not beta read we die like this universe’s X-Men, I wrote this in a day and it’s absolutely gonna show

Warnings: Logan killed some of Reader’s friends in his rampage, story is based on grief and death, mutant racism, Logan tries to kill himself but he comes back dw, and a whole lotta swearing

Before you met him, you had no clue what a wolverine was.

You’d barely heard of it, having skipped over it in some animal documentary to focus on more interesting animals, like sharks and alpacas. When you passed by a bar with a few cage fights, you heard the name Wolverine for the first time. When looking at the man’s body, admittedly luscious hair with canines and claws, you had assumed a wolverine was some type of dog or cat, before nailing it down to a wolf. Wolverine, wolf, they just added some more syllables to make a difference.

“It’s a weasel.” The man who you now knew was called Logan answered curtly upon your question, looking away from the bed which smelled of steamy intimacy from last night, and thus, turning away from you, who was on the other side, putting your clothes back on.

“That doesn’t seem very threatening,” You quipped back, putting your shirt on. “The fuck’s a weasel gonna do to the lucky guy?”

Logan gave a quick grunt. “They should be more worried about what I’d do to them.”

“If you can avoid their little collars, that is. Fucking bastards and their dampeners.” You said with a sarcastic sigh. The Senate was trying to make them more commonplace, and though the clapback was fierce, you were still a bit wary.

He gave a quick hmph, and that was that.

You stayed together for a few months. It was unforgettable, to say the least. Watching that man squirm under your touch was an accomplishment for the ages, and the moment you made tears come out of his eyes you did a little victory dance in your brain. You bought him dogtags and things you thought he might’ve liked, while he defended your honor in your ring, beating the shit out of anyone who dared to shittalk you.

“You shouldn’t have, sweetie,” You jokingly answered, upon noticing that his knuckles were still dripping red after passing by a beaten guy carried by his friends, making small comments about how dumb he was. You noticed some scars subtly close in, and turned away, pretending you saw nothing. “His ego can’t take another hit.”

“Can yours?” He answered, and your only response was a pinch of his cheek.

Of course, it didn’t last. Nothing bad happened, you simply just went in other directions. Logan kept hopping between different clubs with cage fights, and you settled in a small town and made a life there. You never forgot how it felt to touch him, but you’d seen him in action. Dude could do just fine.

You got a job, and got your own group of people. Majority of them were human, but like hell if that mattered. You shared good drinks of booze together and you cared for them. Brittney gave birth to a child, and god that kid was the cutest, fattest little fucker you’d ever seen. A few years had passed since you’d met Logan, and by then you were content. Your abilities were accepted, you’d gotten your own little found family, and you comfortably nested yourself in the community.

Brittney and her new fiancé, Ken were going to NYC for a vacation, and trusted the rest of you with their child. For the best, you know now.

“The X-Men are dead. You should be staying here.” Charlie said, crossing his arms to the couple. He wasn’t exaggerating, the X-Men were dead. Their mansion was ransacked and their bodies were fucked. You remember holding in the urge to puke, as the censoring on the news was done horrible, all the guts and gore visible. Jayden didn’t, you remember, running to the toilet and letting out a combination of a vomit and sob.

“We can’t just cancel. I promise, we’ll be safe.” Ken said, though it was obvious he was nervous. “That money can’t just go down the drain, and we’ve shortened it to just two days.”

“The fuck’s the point on going a vacation, then?” You spoke up, eyebrows raised. Brittney looked at me, before back to her now crying baby, probably from all the arguments.

“I have a gun for a reason.” Ken shrugged, and you and Charlie died down. You knew you weren’t gonna win.

“Just….keep Hope safe, alright?” Brittney’s query ended the conversation, as you nodded before giving her a hug. Charlie left the premises, and later you’d see him in the casino, trying to drown out the worry you felt.

You should’ve pushed more. You should’ve tied them to a fucking chair, drugged them with some sleeping pills or whatever. Anything to prevent what happened. But you can’t turn back time, that wasn’t your mutant ability, and now your friends are dead.

So many people were dead.

You spent three days in lockdown. All from some….monster, indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in a path that couldn’t be determined. New York was fucked, Brittney and Ken were fucked. You saw their names on a list of casualties. Jayden wailed for the loss, and you let out a few tears yourself. This shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t ever have happened.

The three days ended, but it felt a lot more like an eternity of Hell. Your town wasn’t touched, but you still saw so much blood as you left your home. Nothing changed and yet it all changed. This didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

When the news told you the culprit of this massacre, you couldn’t resist the urge this time. You puked in your toilet, tears running down your face. Your friends were dead to someone who you knew, who’s cheeks you gently pecked. The hands that you once held were used to slaughter Brittney and Ken and so many innocent people. Logan had killed your friends, had killed you in a way.

The bodies were returned, and you cremated the couple at their funeral. You still had some tears to cry, face blank as you stared at their urns. That was your second last day in that town. Everyone hated you now, your mutant powers were despised once more after Logan fucked everything up. No-one looked at you normally anymore. Their gazes were full of hatred and prejudice and pity and god you fucking despised it. With the knowledge that Charlie adopted Hope and Jayden had absolutely run out of tears, you left, wiping your face as the downpour consumed you.

You passed by, traveling across without a goal. You became closely acquainted with the train and bus, and you once more learned to hide your powers, something that you never thought you’d have to do again. Any progress people might’ve been working on towards total acceptance went down the drain, organizations quickly scrambling to make speeches about how ‘one mutant shouldn’t define an entire race’. You would’ve agreed, but the carnage was massive and you still saw dried blood on some walls from the Wolverine’s rampage is you looked closely enough.

After it rained again, you sought refuge in one of the nearby bars. It smelled of shit of booze, and you took a seat near the front.

“Whatcha want?” The bartender asked, gruff in his voice noticeable, and you thought for a second, looking at all the glasses behind him.

“Second heaviest thing you got.” He nodded, and quickly poured some beer in a glass. You had him a note before drinking.

You comfortably fell in the routine, sitting in silence, all the other conversations providing ambiance to your casual misery. Then, like a lightning strike to a tree, it just had to end.

The door opened again. You didn’t care, but when all the conversation stopped, you looked up. You retched upon seeing the fucker’s face, and moved farther away from the door until you were on the opposite end of the counter.

Logan either didn’t notice or didn’t care, sitting at the counter. “Fuck off,” The bartender almost snarled. “We don’t want ya kind here.”

Logan pulled out a few coins. “Not a paying customer?” He spoke, as if he was ignorant to all the shit he pulled just a few weeks ago.

The bartender grunted, pouring him a glass of wine that was obviously cheap and old. The mutant accepted it anyway, taking a long sip. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself, you thought with disdain, he should’ve been rotting in Hell without a drop of drink and no flames to light up a cigar.

The ambiance stopped, no-one wanting to talk while the beast was around. For some fucking reason, you didn’t move from your seat, and so you were just a few meters away from the ex who took so much from you.

After five drinks, you had enough. You got up from your seat and left some change behind as a tip. A more conscious you wouldn’t have tipped someone who was likely a mutant racist, but you weren’t really thinking. You wanted out, you wanted away from the monster, you wanted away from that bloody wolf.

You walked a few steps away from the building when Logan came approaching you. You paused in place, perhaps by the audacity of his actions.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but you gave a small growl, turning them narrowed again. “For what?”

“I wronged you.” You always did need observational skills to become a good tracker.

“Their names,” You shot back with a snarl, “Were Brittney and Ken, and they were heading to New York. They did nothing to you. And you still killed them.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” He repeated, as if that would make it any better.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” You yelled out, pointing a finger towards the other mutant as you took a step forward. “You slaughtered my friends you fucking bastard! You lost your family, big whoop, what right does that give you to make mine too, you bloody prick?!”

You had thought about this type of scenario before. You wouldn’t give him a verbal beatdown, no, you were too classy for that. You’d say one sentence that would crush his resolve and leave him astounded as you walked away, knowing that your friends were at peace. But you were drunk and angry and your family was fucked over because of this one man, and so you went on, like a lion going overkill when it finally encountered their prey.

“I wish I never fucking met you! It’d be sooooo easier if you were just some psycho rando, but I fucked you! We slept in the same bed and I kissed you and god I fucking knew you. You were one of the X-Men, you were supposed to save the world, but all you do is make things worse!” You sobbed, dropping your hand to your side as they shook.

“And it’s god’s greatest wish that you die alone and scared, just like your fucking victims, but it’s also god’s little gift that you can’t die! And you just had to in-fucking-flict it upon all of us! All you do is make things worse for everyone, you ruined everyone’s life, you ruined my life, god fucking damnit!” You put your face into your hands and sobbed. You must’ve looked so pathetic, having this breakdown on the road in front of your murderous ex.

“I should’ve tried harder.” You murmured weakly to no-one in particular. “I should’ve stopped them. Shouldn't have relented when Charlie did. Should've done more……” Tears and hands muffled your voice. “But I didn't and now they're fucking dead.”

You finally looked up, and just like you, Logan's face was covered in tears. Good, you thought. Let him suffer.

“Should've been there for them.” You didn't expect him to talk. “Should've gotten off my ass and done something. And now they're ten feet under cuz’ I didn't.”

A stray sob escaped your throat again, looking at him, covered by rain and tears and now the moon was out. “Guess we both fucked up, huh?” You tried to smile, head tilted, with it only just looking broken and fake.

“They'd all be disappointed.” Logan confirmed somberly, as he thought back to Colossus and Professor X and Scott, all too aware of their hypothetical reactions if they knew of his actions.

“The X-Men were supposed to be heroes, weren't they?” You looked up at the stars, and held a hand up like you were trying to catch them. “But you were always the best at what you did, and what you did was never heroic. You told me yourself.” Answering your own question, your hand flopped to the side again. The stars didn't feel so luminescent, not right now.

Logan gave a small grunt, trying to wipe away his tears. “I know. I'll carry it for the rest of my life. It's what I deserve.”

“It's what you deserve.”

You spoke at the same time, before you gave a fake small chuckle. “God, you're fucking horrible.” You paused for a second, letting out another pretend giggle. “Thanks for telling me what a wolverine was, Logan. Cuz’ I know that you’re the fucking worst one.”

You lunged forwards and punched him in the cheek. It hurt like hell, and Logan didn't flinch, but fuck did it feel good.

“Fuck you, Logan. I hope you rot in Hell, you bitchin’ bastard.”

He only nodded, tears still cascading down his face as you stormed away and walked away, just like you did to your home.

You found yourself sitting on a bench, still raining and still wet from your encounter. Your ass was fucking freezing. Maybe you deserved it for being such a bad friend. You wouldn't be here if you had been there for Brittney and Ken. You had a lot of tears in your body, you realized, as you sobbed once more, grieving the loss of everything you once had. God, you hated beavers.

Logan hated himself too. That should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t. You were still just as empty and sad as you were this morning, just this time you were drenched and drunk. You looked up at the stars again, and though they were still just as dull as they were when you encountered Logan, you still gazed anyway. They were all you had left.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Logan rushed into the dump he called a home, a retch stuck in his throat as he frantically searched. Your words were repeating once more, becoming one with the fucked up chorus that was his mind, mocking him for even considering that you’d want him back. It was a passing thought that he immediately disregarded, but the voices milked it, acting as though he’d been pining over you for years.

He’d never forgotten you, you were important to him. But you moved on, and so did he, and he tried to shoot his shot with Jean. But Jean’s dead, and you weren’t, and you hated him. As you should, he didn’t blame you, he hated himself. And yet it somehow stung.

The cacophony roared with laughter at his turmoil, and he clutched his head, praying they’d get out. He couldn’t handle your voice, he couldn’t handle Jean’s voice he couldn’t handle Colossus’ voice he couldn’t handle Scott’s voice he couldn’t-

Finally, he found it. He snatched the gun that was hidden in the sofa, a desperate last resort who times like these, when they wouldn’t stop. His finger stroked the trigger almost tenderly before putting it to his head.

“You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

“Bro forgot he has a healing factor. Did all that killing make him braindead or what?”

“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your life.”

He knew that. He deserved all this pain, but Logan was never the paragon of morality. He was a selfish prick, who ruined everything he touched and yet he was the last one standing. But he wanted the voices to go, he wanted them to stop, and he wanted to stop crying because God it’s just been a dam breaking on his face since you yelled at him.

He was alone, and he was scared. Just like you wanted him to be. He embraced the trigger, and felt tranquil as the surge of bullets went through his brain.

It was only serene for a few minutes, but for Logan, the worst Wolverine who killed so many innocents, who ruined any chances of the world accepting mutants, who drunk so much it got his family killed and still drunk? Even a second of that serenity was a touch of heaven that Logan didn’t deserve.

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #x men x reader #simper scribbles #worst wolverine x reader

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girlactionfigure · 2 months ago

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NOVEMBER 4, 2024

WHAT HAPPENED?

A Palestinian-owned café in Oakland, California kicked out a Jewish customer for wearing a blue hat with a Star of David on it, claiming that the symbol was “violent.”

This is a clear violation of Title II of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and California’s Unruh Civil Rights Act. Note that this applies even if the Jewish customer went to the café expecting that something like this would happen (in other words, “he tricked us into discriminating against him!” is not a legitimate defense).

It’s also worth noting this café has menu items titled “Sweet Sinwar” and “iced in tea fada” and its menu is decorated with the Hamas inverted red triangle. The café also openly expresses support for the October 7 massacre.

JVP TO THE RESCUE

What do you do when under fire for antisemitism? You tokenize (Not So) “Jewish” Voice for “Peace,” which openly supports terrorism against Jews and has even glorified Nazis in the past. For more, see my posts “Stop Sharing JVP” and “Time To Talk About JVP…Again.”

For those of us familiar with Jewish history and the history of antisemitism, this is par for the course. In the 1920s, the Soviet Jewish “Yevsektsiya” made it its mission to destroy “traditional Jewish life, the Zionist movement, and Hebrew culture.” The fact that the Yevsektsiya was “Jewish” was central to its purpose. After all, the Soviet regime couldn’t be accused of antisemitism when those shutting down all Jewish cultural and spiritual life were Jews themselves.

WE HAVE SEEN THIS BEFORE

Historically there have been, arguably, two kinds of antisemitism: (1) Nazi antisemitism, in which Jews are physically exterminated, and (2) Hanukkah antisemitism, in which the antisemite does not necessarily intend to take our lives, but rather, seeks to strip Jews of all the elements which make us...well, Jews.

Under the Soviet regime, for example, Jews suffered from “Hanukkah antisemitism.” The Soviets heavily suppressed Jewish cultural and spiritual life, stripping many Jewish families of thousands of years’ worth of history. Speaking or studying Hebrew was punishable by law. So was participating in Jewish religious traditions. At the same time, Jews were unable to assimilate into Soviet society due to their ethnic background. Jews were often imprisoned under false pretenses, accused of vague “Zionist crimes.” People with Jewish last names were subject to highly restrictive university quotas or banned from performing certain jobs.

Maybe you’ve noticed a pattern over the past year. First, it was only “Zionism,” not Judaism, that was a problem, despite the fact that the Jewish connection to -- and desire for sovereignty in -- the Land of Israel is inextricable from 3000 years of Jewish tradition. Then, they started denying our extensively recorded history and origins in Israel. At anti-Zionist Jewish events, now praying in Hebrew is considered “too triggering,” so it’s best to pray in colonial languages, like Arabic or English. Now, the Magen David is a “racist, genocidal symbol,” to quote Palestinian activist Mohammed El-Kurd.

Do you not see what’s happening? This is no longer about the State of Israel, the Israeli government, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, or this current war. This is a thinly-veiled effort to methodically legitimize the discrimination of Jews -- and anything Jewish.

THE STAR OF DAVID

The Star of David, also known as the Magen David or the Seal of Solomon, is mentioned in Jewish texts as early as the first century. In fact, it’s found in coins from the period of the Bar Kokhba Revolt against the Romans (132-135 CE). It was also used as a decorative motif in the Khirbet Shura synagogue in the Galilee in the third century. Though initially merely used as an ornament, the Magen David was ascribed deeper spiritual meanings since the 11th century. It has since been associated with Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism.

In the 17th century, the Jewish community of Prague was ascribed the Magen David as its official symbol. Shortly thereafter, the Jewish community in Vienna also adopted it as a marker. By the 19th century, the Star of David was the distinctive Jewish emblem.

More than anything, perhaps, the Star of David is a symbol of Jewish resilience and survival. For centuries, Jews in Europe and the Islamic world had been forced to wear distinguishing clothes marking them as Jews. After the Nazis invaded Poland in 1939, Jews in Poland and in other Axis-occupied territories were forced to wear a Star of David, most often seen in the form of a yellow badge with the word “Jude” (Jew) or a similar variation. Therefore, for many Jews, the act of wearing Star of David jewelry or clothing is a reclamation of our ancient symbol that was once weaponized to oppress us.

A DOUBLE STANDARD

Hundreds of millions of people have been slaughtered under the banner of Christianity and Islam each. The Crusades alone took about 1.7 million lives. The Spanish Inquisition? Up to 300,000 lives. In the “New World,” some 56 million Indigenous people were killed in the name of Christianity. These are just a few examples. It’s estimated Islam’s conquests alone left some 270 million people dead.

During the First Jewish Revolt, the Romans crucified some 500 Jews a day. Yet I would never dream of denying someone service at a coffee shop because they’re wearing a crucifix.

When Jihadists carry out terrorist attacks, they shout “Allahu Akbar” — the same phrase used by the 1.8 billion Muslims around the world in their daily prayers. Muslims recite the Shahada prayer daily, the same prayer that is inscribed in the ISIS, Hamas, and Al Qaeda flags. And yet, I would never dream of denying someone service at a coffee shop because they’re a Muslim who says “Allahu Akbar” or recites the Shahada prayer.

Under Islamist regimes, such as the Islamic Republic in Iran, women are beat to death for not wearing hijab or wearing hijab “improperly.” But I think you would agree that denying a woman in hijab service at a coffee shop on account of the Islamic Republic’s crimes is plain bigotry.

You may be triggered by crosses, hijabs, or the Star of David, and your triggers may be rooted in valid trauma. But your triggers are no one’s responsibility to deal with but your own, and they are no excuse to lash out in bigotry.

Even if Israel’s actions were equivalent to those of Nazi Germany, equating the Star of David with the Nazi hakenkreuz (commonly misidentified as the “swastika”) is an inherently problematic analogy.

Unlike the Star of David and the Jewish people, the swastika has zero spiritual or cultural significance in German culture beyond Nazism.Within the German context, the Nazi hakenkreuz means one thing and one thing only.

On the other hand, the Sanskrit swastika and other similar symbols, such as the whirling log, have long, rich traditions in their respective cultures. While some Native American tribes have decided to retire the whirling log, others continue to use it. The Sanskrit swastika is commonplace in countries such as India and Nepal.

Sure, if someone with zero cultural connection to the swastika or the whirling log decides to “reclaim” the symbol, I’d probably do a double take and consider it an antisemitic dogwhistle. But when I went to India, I saw the swastika everywhere, and because I am capable of critical thinking, I was easily able to recognize that the symbol has an entirely different connotation in this particular cultural context, despite my personal and family trauma.

A NOTE ON HOLOCAUST INVERSION

Holocaust inversion is a rhetorical tool used to portray Jews as morally equivalent — or worse — than Nazis. It’s often employed in discussions about Israel-Palestine and is frequently used by anti-Zionists.

To understand why Holocaust inversion is unquestionably antisemitic, we must first understand what Holocaust denial actually is. Holocaust denial is not just an outright denial that the events of the Holocaust happened, but more often than not, it’s a denial of well-established facts about the Holocaust. For example, someone who says the Holocaust didn’t happen at all is as much a Holocaust denier as someone who claims the Holocaust did happen, but only one million Jews were killed.

Therefore, Holocaust inversion is always Holocaust denial, because:

(1) it relies on the minimization of established facts about the Holocaust. However harrowing the humanitarian crisis in Gaza — and it is — it’s just in no way equivalent in scale, scope, and methods to the atrocities committed during the Holocaust. This is a historical fact, and denying it is denying the Holocaust.

(2) characterizing Jews — Zionist or not — as Nazis is a denial of the well-established fact about the Holocaust that the predominant force in Nazi ideology was genocidal Jew-hatred. Jews cannot be the inheritors of Nazism simply because the Nazis wanted all Jews exterminated. A denial of this basic fact is Holocaust denial.

For a full bibliography of my sources, please head over to my Instagram and Patreon.

rootsmetals

I sincerely don’t understand how there’s still Jews out there who still make excuses for these people, who don’t see what’s happening. Learn your history. Have some self-respect.

#Star of David #Judaism

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aekatty · 7 months ago

Text

𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢 ⭒✮⭒

yeah, you’re trouble for me…

a/n: his onigashima outfit…that’s all i have to say!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+ !! MINORS DNI

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: enemies to lovers, p in v sex, degradation, rough sex, creampie, kidd is a certified perv lol, reader manages a bikini bar;), no set arc - no spoilers, porn WITH plot, pet names: pretty girl, babe

tags ✮⋆˙ eustasskidd x bartender!reader, enemies to lovers, f!/afab!reader, smut

now playing: trouble for me - britney spears

————

“Another round of booze, and make it five glasses!”

“Uh, sir-”

“I SAID GET ME FIVE MORE”

He laughed as he watched the timid bartender run to the back with a horrid expression painted on their face.

“What’s with all the commotion?”

He looked up to see you, the manager of the bar, with an irritated look on your face. His demeanor changed as he was an awestruck at your attractiveness. A green halter bikini top with a black sarong that barely covered the skimpy bottom that rode up your ass. You had your hand on your hip as you waited for the chaotic red-head’s answer.

He finally snapped back to reality before shooting a flirtatious smirk, “Well, hello there beautiful~”

“I’m sorry what-”

“Name’s Kidd….Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd,” he leaned on the edge of the bar table, his bar stool squeaking in the process.

“Um, ok.”

“So uhhh, nice bikini. Dark green suits ya,” his smirk widening before giving you a flirtatious wink.

“Thanks…it’s a bikini bar?”

He continued on with his failing flirting, “How ‘bout you join my crew, baby girl, cause you gotta nice punk style to ya.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m fine with my job, thank you very much.”

“…So, you got some nice curves-”

You gasped at his pervy comment before furiously slapping his face. How can such a man be this confident? While he’s not wrong, you know how to model a cute bikini, you just couldn’t believe the idiocy and confidence of the red-headed pirate.

He rubbed the part where you impacted his face, “OW, HEY!”

“Is that how you talk to women?!”

Before you could say anything else, a man with blonde hair and a mask lightly tapped your shoulder, “Apologies, miss, my captain is very stupid.”

“IM NOT STUPID-”

“He’s not used to making convo with pretty women like you so you have to excuse his poor manners.”

You felt your cheeks become warm hearing the compliment from the masked blonde, “Well, I guess you’re right...”

He laughed, “You see, Eustass? That’s how you talk to ladies. Now go apologize to her!”

The red-headed pirate poured, “ARGH, ok fine!”

————

After composing himself he nervously itched the back of his head, a flustered face to go alongwith his timidness, “Sorry, pretty girl. I didn’t mean to be a pervert…I think you’re very beautiful.”

You felt a bit relieved hearing his words, but that still doesn’t make up for the nuisance he’s been for your bartenders and customers. You let out a hiss through your teeth as you crossed your arms, “I guess I’ll forgive you…But i’m gonna have to refuse you service because you’re over-doing it with the booze!”

“AW COME O-”

The masked blonde coughed a lil ‘ahem.’

“I mean, I appreciate the thought of you looking after my wellbeing…” he grumbled.

The masked man patted his shoulder, whispering in the red-head’s ear, “Don’t mess this up…” You watched as the massacre soldier exited through the swinging doors.

“Anyways, can you hurry up already? I already dismissed all the other girls and I’m ready to close up shop,” you took a drag of your cigarette.

He grumbled at your snarky comment, “Fine, fine…but one more beer.”

“I ALREADY SAID NO.”

“JUST ONE MORE BOTTLE!”

“IM NOT BREAKING POLICY AND YOU’RE DRINKING UP ALL OUR SUPPLY!”

“PLEASE.”

“NO! NOW SHUT UP! YOU’RE CAUSING SO MUCH TROUBLE FOR ME, GOD!”

You both huffed and puffed after the dragged out argument you exchanged. Who does this idiot think he is? He was so annoying and loud, an arm made out metal, scars all over his toned body…You shook the thoughts out of your head, you could never find this oaf alluring at all.

He growled, “GRAHH, I take back the beautiful compliment! You’re a mean grumpy lady!”

“WHATCHA SAY TO ME?! I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!” You grabbed the tufts of his red feather jacket.

“KICK MY ASS?! YOU’RE A PIPSQUEAK COMPARED TO ME!”

You scoffed, “You’re just mad that I’m cute and hot and you’re an ugly grease monkey.”

“WHATCHA CALL ME?!” He grabbed the straps of your bikini top with brute force.

“I CALLED YOU AN UGLY GREASE MONKEY, USE YOU THE THING IN YOUR FUCKING HEAD WILL YA!!” You felt a vein protruding from your forehead.

You both intensely glared at each other while still continuing your grip on each other’s collars. You never understood why your boss was so open to pirates in his bar; most of the ones you encountered are brutes, loud, and annoying drunks who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.

But there’s something about him that seems so…interesting. In your head, all you could think was how he looks like a brutish monkey; yet, another part of you feels like there’s something different about him. All you could do was just stare-

“Hey, pretty girl, my eyes up here.”

“I WAS ZONING OUT,” you bit hard on your cigarette.

“Staring at my rocking hard pecs, yea ok,” he smirked while softening his grip on your straps.

You scoffed, “You’re built like every other customer who comes over, what makes you think you’re so different?”

He laughed at your bluff, “Whether you like it or not, we’re both similar.”

You thought about it for a second, you didn’t want to admit it but the red-head pirate was right. You both were short-fuses (except, you think of yourself as the “smarter” one). But of course, you admitting this would equal to letting this big oaf win.

You still had a tight grip on his coat, “Even if we did have some type of similarity, you’re a pervert.”

His smirk widened, “Cheap coming from the girl who was literally staring at my toned abs just now. So, really we’re both in the wrong, baby.”

“I TOLD YOU I WAS ZONING OUT-”

“If you dislike me so much, how come you haven’t kicked me out the bar?” He leaned his head on his metal hand.

Oh goddamnit.

“Knowing you, your ass is glued to the fucking bar chair and won’t move,” you lied as you snuffed out your cigarette.

“Well if that the case, why ya still talking to me? You could’ve easily been silent the whole time, but here you are to me…” His red-stained lips forming a devious smile.

You grumbled in annoyance while a heavy blush peaked onto your cheeks, “Shut up.”

His face got closer to yours, the scent of beer tainting his breath which caused you to loosen your grip on him, “Make me.”

————

This is bad. So, so bad. You’re arguing with an annoying red-headed pirate who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut and next thing you’re doing is making out with said pirate while your legs wrapped around his wide waist. His body large stature loomed over you as he had you pinned on the bar countertop. Your lipgloss mixed with his red lipstick as he ravaged his tongue inside your heated mouth, intertwining his with yours.

His sunction on your tongue causing pleasure to build up inside you as you trailed your hands over the scar of his bare chest, his calloused hand squishing the fat of your ass as he teased his fingers under your swim bottoms.

You huffed, “You’re such a brute, y’know?”

“Hah…and you’re just an annoying brat who wants to police everything I do,” he violently smashes his lips back onto you, sucking on your tongue with desperation. Your lips swollen and red as he roughly made out with you — The taste of bitter alcohol lingered in your mouth.

The needy feeling of your clit causing you to buck your hips towards his clothed erection as you sought out for stimulation.

You could feel a smirk on face as he kissed your swollen lips. “Naughty girl humping my cock like a dog in heat.” His hand gives your thigh a tight squeeze.

You felt your cheeks glow with red at his dirty comment, you were so horny for this man it hurt. You continued rubbing your crotch on him, not caring about the consequences you were going to get from him. In fact, it turned you on thinking about the things he might do to you when you disobeyed him like an untrained dog.

Kidd groaned, “Oh, you fucking slut. You wanna be act like one, then fine.”

He backed away from you, causing you to become saddened at his far-proximity, “Show me how you touch yourself.” His eyes darkened as he looked down upon you, his gaze was practically piercing through the windows of your soul.

You widened your eyes at his request. Nonetheless, you followed his instruction as you removed your bikini bottom, revealing your glistening pussy opened your legs enough for him to give him a show. Your cheeks flushed from embarrassment as he watched you with hungry eyes.

You lowered your hand along your sopping wet cunt, a quiet whimper ripped out of you as you rubbed your digits along your erected pearl. You felt as if your legs were giving out as you circled your pearl in a speedy pace. You bit your lip as you held back a loud moan, not wanting to get teased by the red-head.

You lowered your hand as you dipped your middle and ring finger into your soaked opening, your slick coating them --- Slowly, you pumped your opening as you kept your gaze on Kidd. A smirk painted on his face, as his eyes roamed on your spread out figure.

“Fuck…go faster and I’ll give you a prize, babe,” His fingers pulling down on his metal zipper as he reached for his erection behind his white boxers. You simultaneously pumped your fingers faster as you watched him grab his hardened cock through the boxer’s crotch hole — his shaft was pale, bringing out the pink color of his tip; precum dripping onto the wooden floor as it twitched with need.

A hiss escaped through his teeth as he rubbed his thumb over the leaky slit, spreading his precum over the head. He toyed with his sensitive tip as he kept his eyes on your stuffed cunt. The sight of the short-fused captain masturbating along with you was quite a shock, but who were you to complain?

The more you increased the pace of your fingers, the more you felt your orgasm approaching. A part of you wanted to halt this process altogether, yet, you found a sort of pleasure in being controlled by Kidd. You couldn’t explain it.

You knew this was wrong. You knew this was gonna get you in trouble with your boss…But who fucking cares? It doesn’t hurt to break a rule or two!

“Stop.”

You paused your actions; the feeling of your stomach turning from anxiety as you awaited his next commands. He leaned towards your ear, his warm breath hitting along your lobe, “Thanks for making it wet for me, pretty girl~”

Your eyes slightly widened at his comment as you stared back at him with puppy eyes. He couldn’t help but coo at your expression before spreading your legs to make room for his wide torso. You nervously gulped as you felt the head of his cock align with your hole.

“You workin’ tomorrow?”

“No, I’m off. Why you asking?”

He chuckled before darkening his gaze, “‘Cause I’m gonna fuck ya hard.”

You squeaked as you felt him push the head of his cock further into your crying hole. A grunt slipping through his teeth as he felt your gummy walls clench around him, the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix.

“Just yell out ‘red’ if I’m being too rough,” he smirked.

You smirked back, “This ain’t my first time so you don’t gotta be gentle with me. If you break any glasses, I’ll clean em’ up.”

He swore he felt his cock twitch from your confidence before he pulled back his hips and thrusted into you. You gasped at the sudden intrusion before replacing it with a moan of pleasure.

The feeling of his cock bullying your sweet spot became overwhelming as you felt that familiar sensation of pleasure creep up in your pelvis. You instinctually held onto Kidd’s broad shoulders as he continued to thrusting into you, the feeling of his scars tickled your fingertips. Your leg accidentally kicked the empty mug off the countertop, the sound of glass shattering onto the floor not even distracting you from Kidd’s savage thrusts.

The emptiness of the bar was only filled with echoes of your grunts and moans, the sound of skin colliding as he roughly pounded into you. The way his hips followed a pattern as his movements became needier and sloppier. You were becoming drunk off the way he mercilessly used your pussy like a toy.

You felt a harsh slap on the side of your ass causing you to let out a quiet gasp, “what the hell, Kidd?!”

“What? You liked it, don’t lie,” he growled.

You retaliated by slapping his face, a deep grunt escaped from his smeared lips. His face becoming hot from anger and pleasure. “That was kind of hot,” was what he thought. A devilish smile appearing on your face as you watched him rub the impact from your slap.

He turned to you before smirking back at you, “You really like talking back, huh?”

“What? You like it, don’t ya,” a glint forming in your eye.

He chuckled while having a dark look on his face, “Then, turn that ass around, pretty girl.”

You shifted your body as you laid your chest on the bar counter, your feet arched onto your tippy toes as you faced your ass towards him.

You heard a curse slip out of him as he walked closer to your bent over figure, grabbing the plushness of your ass fat. He aligned himself with your hole before rutting his hips towards yours.

Your quiet moans and whimpers were enough to bring music to his ears as he watched his cream-coated cock disappear into your pussy. His eyes focused on the way your ass recoiled from the impact of his hips, it was so intoxicating he couldn’t help but giving it another smack.

You couldn’t help but arch your back as he continuously fucked you silly. It was getting pathetic…really. You for sure knew you were getting fired if your boss walked in on you getting pounded like a slut by a customer past closing hours. Yet, the thought sent your adrenaline running laps throughout your bloodstream.

Kidd panted as he lowered towards your ear, “You like getting fucked silly by a pirate, pretty girl?”

“N-no! T-this is just a one time thing,” you lied as you felt the sweat drip off your forehead.

He chuckled into your ear, “That’s not what your pussy says.”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair as his hips started to lose momentum from his impending orgasm. He let out a deep grunt as he slowed his pace, “How ‘bout I stuff my cum in ya? Bet ya look pretty with my cum dripping outta ya pussy.” You hummed a little sound of approval, “Fuck…I wanna cum on your cock so bad.” He laughed as he caressed your cheek with a painted finger, “So direct, babe…”

He hissed as he bucked his hips further into you as he chased his orgasm with yours. You held onto the counter for dear life as he drove his cock into your g-spot violently.

Suddenly, a wave of release washed over Kidd as he felt his seed escaped his balls, filling your swollen pussy. Your orgasm shortly approached after as your hole swallowed his cock, your legs gave out as you hung onto the counter. Both your faces sweaty and red from the intense heat of your intimacy you shared, clothes strewn across the floor, hair disheveled into a tangled mess while catching your breaths.

He watched in awe as his fluids mixed with yours as it dripped down your leg, leaving a tiny pool of white onto the wooden floors. His calloused finger stuffed the milky white liquid back into your abused hole, “Bad to waste food, manager.” You flipped him the bird in response as you continued gasping for oxygen.

After, the both of you guys washed yourselves up and mopping the evidence off your floors, you both sat down silently in-front of the bar. The silence was so deafening, a pin drop could be heard. The tension was thick, considering you guys fucked not too long ago. And you guys fucked hard…

“So, you gonna pay your tab?” You broke the silence.

His soft chuckle escaped the red-head’s lips, “That wasn’t enough?”

You scoffed while hitting his arm, “Sex doesn’t pay for cheap beer.”

He playfully shoots you puppy eyes before giving up, “Fine, you’re lucky that you’re hot.”

He slides the paper currency towards you, the smell of berries taking over your sense of smell like perfume (cause you a greedy bitch). “That’ll be going towards my paycheck,” you wink.

His booming laugher filled the empty bar, “Join my crew and you can get 10x more.”

You chuckled before grabbing a cigarette from your bikini top and lighting it, “Not the first time i’ve been told that.”

His demeanor switched from cheerful to confusion, “Say what?”

“Strawhat practically begged me,” you used your pointer finger to turn his head towards the wall on his left, a pinboard collection of bounties hanging by tacks.

The word ‘strawhat’ was like a trigger as his eyes landed on the words, Monkey D. Luffy, with a picture of the smirking rubber boy grinning playfully.

He dropped his head in his hands,

“Curse you, Strawhat.”

e/n: srry for the long wait, writers block a bitch + was busy!! (also srry for the shitty ending lmao)

#one piece #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #fanfic #oneshot #one piece smut #smut #eustass x reader #eustass kidd smut

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