#secure docking practices

[thepanvelite]

Sailing Smoothly: Your Guide to a Joyful Boat Ride

Enjoy safe, memorable boat rides by following essential tips provided.

There’s something special about being on the water. The way the boat bobs lightly with the rhythm of the waves, the sound of water splashing against the side, and the fresh, salty air make for an unforgettable experience. Boat rides offer a unique perspective of the world, and with a little preparation, they can be a delightful adventure. Here are some essential tips to ensure your time on the…

[tetzoro]

☽◯☾ - SWORD AND SHEATH

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : After another slew at sea, you and Zoro have the ship all to yourselves as the crew restocks up on the island. They say that curiosity kills the cat, but what happens when you've tamed the beast?

꒰ content ꒱ : MDNI. zoro roronoa x f!reader ; swordplay, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, mentions of spit, pet names (baby, pretty girl), mentions of squirting, lots of teasing and praise — WC : 5.2k

⭑ 𓂃 ꒰ First Quarter ! ꒱ ― Kinktober Masterlist

Each glide of the polish-infused cloth along the Wado Ichimonji is slow, refined. Zoro was using his practiced hand to do the process he’s done thousands of times with the blade he cherishes most.

It was a form of art — the way the blade would be reborn with the shine it was always meant to have, no longer weighed down by the blood, dirt, and sweat that would so often coat it.

The sun beats down on him as he continues his ritual. Sword maintenance was just as important as training; it was cathartic, another form of meditation that Zoro relied on to center himself, grow stronger, and keep his tools as efficient as he could. 

Wiping away the horrors each weapon has seen makes him feel a little more cleansed himself. Zoro has never been one to shy away from a fight or doing what he needs to do in order to survive, but the process just reminds him that he won the battle; he’s the one who gets to clean his blades and move onto his next enemy — the next step in his dream.

His wandering mind can’t help but drift back to you — his bright star in the night sky, the one that silently guides him along and encourages his every step on his journey, even going as far as lighting the way when the path seems too dark. 

After a few moments of being with you, he too feels the weight of the blood on his hands fade away as soon as you lovingly take them in yours. The tender skin of your palms kissing, the buzz of being grounded by each squeeze you grant him and he finds himself able to begin again.

Seagulls chirp overhead as he works, polishing his blades with intent, his focus unshakeable even though the world around him demands attention. The gentle lull of the waves, the whispering breeze in the air, he was able to tune it all out.

But the moment you came waltzing onto the deck, his ears perked up and his nose scrunched, signaling that he knew you were there and mentally preparing himself for whatever you had planned next. If only he knew.

“What do you want now?” The last word dies in his throat as he takes you in, freezing in place. You only see it because you know him so well, and have studied his face and all of his expressions far and wide. 

The subtle widening of his eye, barely a fraction of a difference but it’s a difference all the same. The stoic mask he so often wears, acting indifferent to things such as clothes, slips away as no one could ever ward off the power of beauty - especially yours.

The facade begins to chip away as a blush spreads across his face, gears turning in his brain to find something to say as you make your way over to him.

Because today, the Sunny was docked at an island for a routine supply run and you were all too quick to volunteer you and Zoro to stay back and watch the ship together. He should've known right then and there that you were up to no good but your syrupy sweet eagerness disarmed him. 

But now you were stalking closer to him, dressed up entirely in his clothes – or at least some of them. Adorned in his notable green robe, his haramaki, and completed with his bandana securely tied around your head. His gaze rakes over your figure, taking in the way you look wearing one of his favorite outfits. Swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobs in anticipation. He can’t help but feel his throat close up and trap all the words he wishes to say behind a wall of surprise.

“What do you think?” You ask, your lips bending in a coy manner. 

A blush blooms across his tanned skin in a slow crawl, blossoming into a darker shade the more you twirl in his robe that very clearly shows you’re not wearing his pants underneath it.

His jaw clenched, unable to form any words as he continues to drink you in. This was the last thing he expected from you today, but he really should’ve known better.

“You’re blushing.” You grin, going to poke his cheek. But his reflexes were too sharp, instantly swatting your hand away before turning his head away from you.

“Am not! Shut up!” He hisses out, the blush only deepening as you call him out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, woman.”

“Don’t I?” You move to get back in his line of sight, that disarmingly sweet yet taunting smile still resting on your lips. “Just tell me what you think of the outfit, Zo.”

“You’re wearing my clothes.” He points out, stating the obvious. You don’t bother to hide the way you roll your eyes.

“Very astute of you. Did you have to use your Haki to come to that conclusion?” 

Without another word, Zoro throws you over his shoulder, marching back into the ship and straight for the bunks. You squeal, accusing him of being a brute as you lazily pound your fists against his back. 

Zoro slaps your ass with a sadistic grin that you don’t have the pleasure of seeing before he begins to squeeze and knead the plush flesh, unable to move his firm hand away from it.

He makes his way into the cramped room. It wasn’t his favorite place to take you but it was the closest and climbing up the crow's nest would only cause a delay between him and what he desired most.

After closing the heavy wooden door with the back of his boot, he tosses you onto the bed, letting you sprawl out for him while he places his swords to the side – perfectly lined up as always.

“Wearing my clothes around like this…” Zoro trails off as his eye zeroes in on the way the robe slides off of your shoulder, teasingly exposing the sliver of your chest. He can feel his face heat up all over again. “Are you really not wearing anything under this?”

“Well, the pants didn’t fit me and you don’t normally wear a shirt under this.” The impassive manner in which you said that did not hold a candle to the way your eyes were fired up with a diabolical mirth wrapped up with mischief. Always playing the little minx that would find a way to burrow under his skin and make a home there just to torture him. Or so he says.

“You little...” Zoro quickly crawls over you, caging you in under him, elbows digging into the mattress by your head. “You make it so hard for me sometimes.”

“Do I? Let me feel—” You reach toward his pants but his hand encircles your wrist.

“Oi! That’s not what I meant.” he almost hisses out. He took your wrists in his hands and pinned them over your head on the flattened pillow on his bunk.

The thread of control he was clinging onto was no match for the ember of desire you spark in him. One single strike and it would be burnt out, turning into ash and falling right into the palm of your hand. 

“I know.” You giggle. The damn giggle that never fails to cause something within him to flutter, stirring it around until he had no choice but to act on it. 

Surging forward, his lips aggressively capture yours. There’s no room for easing into it, just a clash of teeth knocking together, swirling with a mix of heady groans and needy moans.

But that’s one of his favorite things about kissing you — how you were just unabashed about how messy it would get. Swapping spit through the sheer force of each other's tongues shoving their way into hot, receptive mouths.

The amount of passion and unspoken feelings he’s able to express through this simple act is something he flourishes at, excelling at unraveling you. Gripping your cheeks, he tilts your head back slightly so he can deepen the kiss — as if he was trying to spill the words that stubbornly sat on the tip of his tongue and have it reach the bottom of your heart.

The call for air was growing too difficult to ignore and reluctantly he pulled back, letting the string of saliva snap and drip down your chins. He leans down, kissing the droplet off of your skin, ingesting as much as he possibly can before looking at you.

You look back at him through half-lidded eyes, melting into the bed already from the ferocity of the kiss. His steely eye trails away from your swollen, lust-bitten lips in favor of taking in the way you’re panting under him. Need takes over him as he reaches for your — his — clothes.

Zoro has disrobed himself many times, but he’s never had to take it off of someone else like this. He knows the way it unravels open and leaves his chest all exposed before he fights someone, but this isn’t one of those times.

With a gentleness that only love could bring, he languidly undoes the robe, pulling back a bit so he can see how the green fabric bunches around your sides, your heaving chest now out on display for him.

Peppering a few kisses down your jaw, his tongue trails your neck as he works his way down to your collarbone and your supple chest. Each delicious drag has you squirming under him, whining about him being a tease.

“You’re one to talk.” Zoro gruffs out with a bite of sarcasm, giving your nipple a quick pinch. He relishes in the yelp of his name that you beautifully let out before carefully trailing his slick tongue along your skin. 

The way you mewl as his lips enclose your pert bud only reinforces the primal desire that’s been raging inside of him since you first came out dressed in that damn robe.

After giving your other breast the same treatment, he presses his lips in the middle of your chest and lets it linger so he can inhale one of the sweetest parts of your body — the one that lays closest to your heart.

Zoro presses wet, open-mouthed kisses all along your stomach, moving further down until easily slipping your panties off and tossing them behind him.

Running his fingers along your glistening folds, he holds back a groan at the strings of arousal already clinging to him.

“Already so wet f’me.” His eye was trained at the apex between your thighs, his tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip. “Gonna prep you now.”

Bringing his face closer, he shuts his eye in a hazy bliss as he takes in your scent. The action always made you squirm but he was addicted to every single aspect of your cunt. He could never get enough of your musk, knowing that heaven was only a taste away.

Before you could complain about him taking his time, he dives in.

It wasn't often that Zoro was in a position to praise you relentlessly while his head was normally buried in your heat where you took everything so well for him. 

So, he’s learned to show you his adoration by the precise swirl of his tongue, making out with your clit and giving into every one of your demands. Groaning against your cunt as soon as he got his first taste, never quite getting his fill of it no matter how much he lapped at it.

“Zo – fuck.” The words rush out from your lungs and assimilate into the hazy tension that’s hanging in the sex-filled air. “Feels so good.”

His hands grip your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulder before moving to grab your ass, digging into the plushness and bringing you impossibly closer as he continues his assault.

“Tastes s’fucking good.” He slurs, the sound presses directly against your clit. Zoro's attention flickered back up to you, dark and stormy eye swirling around with a primal hunger as if he couldn’t ever get enough. “My sweet girl.”

You let out a soft whine as you clutch his hair, guiding him even closer as his tongue slips into your entrance.

He keeps at it, pinching your thigh — a demanding little code he uses when he wants to hear you more. Your saccharine moans, addictingly lewd mewls, and honeyed murmurs of praise.

“Please don’t stop, ah, ‘m getting close!” There was no way Zoro would stop. Not even if he wanted to tease you, not when he was so lost in your taste that all he wanted to do was let you pull him under your current and drown in it.

He vigorously continues to lap at your entrance, attempting to collect every drop of your sweet essence. His nose nudges your clit and he can feel your thighs begin to tremble, locking his head in place. He moves to focus his attention there, the flat of Zoro’s tongue adds more pressure onto the throbbing bud.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your back raises from the mattress when Zoro collects your puffy clit in his mouth, sucking as hard as he can. You choke back a whimper, letting out a noise you’ve hardly ever released before as you claw at his head, humping his face for more.

“Zoro — fuck! Wait, it’s too much!" The words melt into an elongated moan, losing yourself to the drowsy delirium that zoro is spelling out against the bundle of nerves. He gives out a resounding grunt, gripping you tighter in encouragement. 

It’s all you need to let go.

Thank god no one else was on the ship because they might’ve heard the way you cried out his name in ultimate bliss as the taut band within you fully snapped. Zoro didn’t stop, lapping up the slick that gushed from your sweet pussy.

The bottom half of his face glistens in your arousal and he was absolutely drunk off of it as if it was a bottle of the finest sake in the world.

“Keep 'em spread open for me baby, ‘m not done yet,” Zoro said, sitting back on his haunches and taking in your already fucked out expression. “Need you to do that again.”

After sliding off his pants, he grips the base of his cock, giving it a few tentative pumps as his eyes trail back over your body, covered in a sheen of desire. 

If he didn’t crave to be inside of you so badly he would’ve come all over you, making you as messy as possible. His dick twitches at the thought, heat curling in his gut as he imagines you covered in the white of his essence.

“Zoro.” You gasp out, hands digging into the slightly sweaty sheets. The desperation and utter need that coats your husky voice almost does him in. But you’ve had too much control over him today, and he had to gain some of that back.

“Look at you.” Zoro's voice is low, dark and merciless. The deep desire that overtakes him and makes his words more gravely and coarse, sanding over your skin so gratifying it leaves your hips bucking up for more. The sight below him is surely one of his favorites and he plans on drawing it out for as long as he can. “All spread out for me in my bed, still in my clothes.”

Zoro leans forward, lightly tapping his cock against your sticky folds and nudging it through to your entrance, just resting it at your opening, not yet pushing in. His fingers dig deeper into your waist, keeping you in place before you can think about rolling your hips against him, trying to suck him in with all your might. 

“You’re so mean.” A pitiful pout rests on your pretty lips and he almost gives in. Almost. But he knows you so well by now, knows that you’re used to getting exactly what you want and it only makes him want to ruin you more. To put you in a place where all you want is him, all you crave is his touch. And you’re teetering right on the edge, only a simple nudge and you’ll be falling right into his trap. 

“Yeah?” One of his hands returns to his cock, reddened tip angrily staring at you as he starts to pump himself over your mound, spreading his precum all over his length as he preps himself for you. “That’s not going to get you what you want though.”

“Please, Zoro.” You barely breathe out, your need for him so great that it starts to turn painful, the dull ache spreading through your body like a wildfire, screaming out for relief as the flames of desire consume you. You’ve had a taste but you needed more.  The only thing that would satiate you was his cock sliding deep within you. “Please, I'm sorry. Please don’t tease me, come on.”

The whine in your voice has his dick twitching in his hand, ego fueling the blood coursing through his veins. Zoro wasn’t a power-hungry man, he never cared for it in the same way most people did. He liked being strong, he demanded respect, but never wanted to lead — to rule.

But that all changed whenever he’d have you sprawled out beneath him. feeling like the king of the world as one of the most desired women only has eyes for him, begging for his cock, yearning for his love. 

He’d give into you every time, his heart too weak to win against the love he had for you, but he tried to stave it off as much as he could.

“Only if you think you can handle it.” He smirks, tip catching against your clit, your body jolting forward. “See? You’re already so sensitive just from my mouth.”

“Dammit Zoro.” Another mewl that his cock leaps at. Frustration etches across your features, water pooling in your eyes as you continue to paw at him. It’s what he was waiting for — his pretty girl reduced to putty in his hand, ready to be played with. “Please.”

Something possesses him with the plea that pierces his heart — takes over the last cognitive brain cell he has as he lets out an exaggerated spit, the glob landing on his length.

Your breath hitches as he finally pushes himself all the way in, the stretch splitting you open to the point that no noise can come out, finally feeling full of what you’ve been waiting for all day. 

“You turned me into this — fuck — made me like this,.” Zoro swears, his arm wrapping around your back and pulling you flush against him as he feels the way your greedy cunt keeps him snugly in place.

“Are you really complaining about that?” Your voice almost slips into a whine as he pulls back out a little before bullying his way through you as your cunt accommodates his girth — eagerly welcoming him back in. 

“So tight, look at that.” He ignores your snark, opting to fixate on the way you’re swallowing him whole, slack-jawed and practically drooling over the sight. “Made for me.”

You clench at his words which rewards you with one of his sinful grunts, his head bowing slightly as you pulse around his throbbing length.

“Mhm,” You hum, digging your nails into his shoulders, little crescent moons blooming in its place. He lets out a hiss, snapping his hips all the way back in, nudging against your cervix. “Just fuck me already.”

“Always running your mouth off like a damn brat.” He glares down at you but there’s no bite to it — not with the amused crinkles that cradle his eyes with care.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Famous last words.

But Zoro didn’t do what he usually did; flipping you over and fucking you deep in the mattress until the only thing your mouth can do is sing out his name like a mantra.

His eye held the secrets of unspoken words, a question that he refused to waste his breath on — not when he already knew how to decipher the language of his gaze.

You trust me?

As easy as breathing.

Breathy pants escape his lungs as he keeps a steady pace, looking at you. No matter how many times he’s had you under him, you never fail to weaken him.

“I think it’s time we complete your little ensemble here.” 

“Huh?” Zoro doesn’t answer you as he reaches for the Wado Ichimonji. You shift under him in anticipation.

“Relax, baby. I just want you to hold this for me.”

The heavy hilt lays in your mouth, muffling any of the moans that tried to escape it. Zoro's calloused hand runs along your cheek, down your jaw and chin as he appraises the view before him.

The look in his steely gaze was one you were familiar with but with an edge of possession — pride.

Countless times this treasured weapon has been wielded in his own mouth, fighting to protect himself, but more importantly, his crew. Seeing you laid out under him with a lust-blown look in your eye as tears brim your lashes is something else entirely.

“That's it. Keep holding onto it,” His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he slowly begins to thrust back into you. “Just like that.”

You let out a soft whine that sounded like a muffled version of his name. Compulsion drives him to quicken his pace, moving slow and steady until your body jiggles under the ferocity of each stroke.

“There you are. Keep it there for me and I'll take care of you, alright?” 

True to his word, Zoro keeps pounding into you, his other hand trailing down your body and grabbing every bit of you he can get his hand on before his fingers catch your neglected nub between them.

The way you effortlessly clean his dirty hands, having his sword fit in your mouth like this makes it feel like it’s being cleansed in the most pure form possible. Each rapid rock of his hips has your jaw clenching down against it further, all of your enticing noises are muffled by the intricately woven hilt.

“Fuck, perfect.” The praise spills out of his mouth and pools into your gut. “So fucking perfect.”

The hilt started to slip, threatening to clatter against the floor and finishing all the work he had done on it earlier. 

“Hold it.” He hisses, “Don’t let it fall.”

His hips urgently move faster, thrusting harder into you as you try your best to grip the sword in your mouth. But he knows how strenuous it can be on his teeth and jaw, so his hand slips up to cup yours. 

Once you steady the sword, his hand trails down the sheath but his eye never leaves yours. With a bated breath, he begins to slide the sheath off, watching as your eyes widen in curiosity but make no protest to stop him.

The blade was now out, facing him and gleaming under the rays of light that poured into the room from the tiny window. The sight had his hips stuttering — the element of risk now flirting with his innermost desires. 

You were perfectly safe in his arms, he was the one who should be worried. He knows how sharp those blades are, how a tiny graze could pierce his skin.

Yet the siren call of the silver glint beckons him as it sits so prettily in your mouth — a tantalizing sight. You may be the one under him but he was the one surrendering to your power.

Many more possibilities flashed in his mind, darker desires that had him pressing his chest flush against yours, the Wado Ichimonji only a few inches away from him.

But perhaps another time he could fully indulge in the temptations that swam around in his mind, wondering how far you two could go for each other.

For now, he missed kissing you, missed your lips on his, consuming the very air from his lungs and replacing it with your sweet noises that breathe him back to life. So he bends down further, expertly taking the hilt in his mouth and pulling it from yours.

He gives you a few deep thrusts before he rises up, ready to put the sword aside but your arm stops him.

The look in your eyes mirrors the same desire that licks at his gut, and he knows you two are on the same page — just like always. 

“You want me to keep it out?” Zoro can’t hide the tone of surprise in his voice as he lazily humps against your hips. You give him a shy nod. “Why?”

“It could be fun.” The way you’re looking at him right now is killing him, slowly shredding away all of his worries and pushing him into the pits of temptation. 

“It could be dangerous.”

“But isn’t that exciting?” Zoro swallows hard. It could very well be exciting, showcasing your trust for one another but…

“I don't want to hurt you.” He couldn't live with that, knowing that one of his blades had hurt you in a way you didn’t want. He'd rather slit his stomach open than do that. 

“You wouldn’t but I'll tell you if it does, I promise.” You reach up and caress his cheeks with a tenderness that has him choking for air. “Our safe word can be… sake.”

“Okay.” The unease that previously rested on his shoulders flows down his back and far away from him as he lets out a soft chuckle. “Sake it is, you ready baby?”

After a quick nod, Zoro brings the Wado back between your two joined bodies.

The cool metal kisses your skin as it trails along a precise path with absolutely zero intention to harm. But to have the infamous pirate hunter Zoro hover over you, a dark gaze latched onto the point of his katana to your skin that’s budding with gooseflesh sends a chill down your spine.

It takes everything in you not to arch at the thrill, the simple act could nick your skin and end this before it even begins.

“How's that?” Zoro's voice sounds a million miles away as your blood thrums loudly in your ear. The swordsman lets out a groan as you salaciously clench around him, his fist tightening around the hilt as he continues to glide the metal along your skin. 

“So good,” Your breath hitches as he continues to graze it over your collarbone. “Knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Zo.”

“Never.” He gruffs out, trying to keep his eye open although the fluttering of your walls tempts him to shut them in bliss. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out like this.

Trust could be hard to find in this new world, he was lucky to find a crew that he knew would always have his back throughout everything. but this? This was so much more than that.

To be able to have you in the most vulnerable position imaginable with a blade dancing along your skin, and enjoying it not because of the act itself, but because of the trust and respect the two of you have built for each other, growing into something he’d never dream of attaining. 

If he wasn’t careful, he could finish right now as pleasure shoots down his spine, desperately begging to fill you up. But the last thing he’d ever do was leave you ever wanting more. 

Gently putting the blade aside, he ravenously crashes back into you with a new spark of ardor — chest to chest, ferociously driving into your cunt before his lips meet yours once again.

He kissed you and tasted the familiar steel, but mixed with your sweetness that he’d never stop chasing as long any time he’d have to put this blade in his mouth.

“So fuckin’ good.” The words sink into your lips, unable to move away from you for too long. His hips erratically move now, no set rhythm as they chase the high you both desperately seek. Your nails claw into his back and force a guttural groan out of him, wanting nothing more than for you to mark up his whole body. “So fucking good for me.”

Zoro never minded pain, it came with the territory of who he is. But having you inflict it on him was the sweetest sin he’s ever known, his body bursting with pleasure as it threatens to come undone and feed into all of your desires.

“Zo-!” you gasp out, tears brimming with droplets of devotion that he can’t wait to lick up. “‘m close!”

The sweet sound of your cries only fuels him more.

“Go ahead baby, let go.” His gaze is trained on your expressions, soaking them up as it morphs into an unyielding force of pleasure.

As your back arches up into him, he’s quick to flatten his palm there, keeping you flush against him. He can feel every tremor and tremble, each of your nerves and neurons firing off and coursing through your veins.

A wave of ecstasy crashes over your body, freezing each of your limbs in place and threatens to drag you to oblivion. 

“Almost there, just a little longer.” Zoro pumps into you, your cunt clamping down on him to the point he almost has to pull out as you squirt all over his lower half and the already messed up sheets. “That’s it, fuck yes-“

Zoro begins to release in your cunt with a grunt of your name, letting you milk his cock as his body shudders in the eternal bliss you so readily provide him. He pulls out at the last rope of cum, letting it land on your mound before he nudged your clit with his softening cock, ensuring to make a mess all over your pussy.

“Zoro!” your body jolts, fingers gripping his bicep. “‘m sensitive.”

“Then come here baby.” Zoro pulls you into his strong arms, carefully eyeing the blade that was still unsheathed and still set aside. 

Zoro's calloused fingers catch your earlobe, gently massaging it as he inspects it.

“You know, you still need one more piece.” Zoro's gaze is intense as it sets on you. His hands trail down your body, lightly massaging it as he works his way down in a soothing manner.

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“When the others get back, we’re going into town so we can get you your own pair of earrings.” He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze. “Just like me.”

“Really?” The mind fogginess of the shared desire breaks away from the way beams of light emit when you smile at him.

He nods, brushing his lips alongside the temple of your head. Zoro presses his nose into your hair and inhales it.

“Quit sniffing me.” You let out an amused scoff.

“Nah, you just smell so damn good like this.” His lips move to kiss along your face, pressing into your neck before inhaling once again.

“You mean sweaty?”

“Drenched in sweat, arousal and me.” His voice is low in your ear and you crinkle your nose at the strange, but endearing compliment.

“Freak.” You tease, snuggling into him, feeling the way his muscles ripple around you in his strong, unrelenting hold.

“Takes one to know one.” He chuckles, feeling his body start to settle from the intensity of his high, melting into you and the mattress as a nap threatens to take hold. But he just had one more question. “So, if you’re dressed as me, does that mean you can drink sake as well as me?”

“Maybe we should find out.”

tags: @thesunxwentblack @autumnstuffs

[rafeandonlyrafe]

reckless

words: 2.3k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, male receiving oral, aged up!rafe (28), age gap (reader is 20), reader kinda dumb and stupid tbh, breaking and entering but actually technically she didnt break anything so just entering, urban exploring

“stay away from that house.” your friend warns, following your eyesight to get light shining from only one window, the rest of the house covered in shadow.

“why?” you question, curiosity growing.

“some asshole lives there. i guess he got real rich when he was young and now he spends all his time inside hiding. the whole island hates him but nothing he did was bad enough to land him in prison…” your friend gives you a serious look. “or at least nothing they can prove.”

you're new to the outer banks, but she already knows your personality. you're defiant and confident, afraid of nothing.

it's why despite her warnings the next night you're scaling up the fence and hopping over to the other side. you note the well taken care of yard, whoever this guy is must still employ a lawn crew.

you keep your footsteps light but unhurried as you walk around the exterior of the enormous house, still just the one window with a light on, like no one else has been in any other part of the home for a long time.

you figure a house like this might have security, but you live only a block away and would certainly get to your house before any cops would show up.

you peer in a few windows, but it's too dark inside to really make out anything. you make your way into the backyard, looking down the long dock to see a yacht. you consider exploring that first before shaking your head and focusing back in on the house.

in your old city, you had a habit of breaking into places. not to steal or damage anything, just for the thrill of getting in and looking around, knowing you're not supposed to be there.

you peer in through the glass doors. it's not that late, only 11pm, but you figure the old man who lives here must already be upstairs and hopefully asleep as you grip the handle.

you wait to hear an alarm from just your touch, but when the house remains silent, you attempt to turn the handle, surprised and happy that it's completely unlocked as you slide it open.

you step into the living room, looking around at the intricate and clearly expensive decorations. your friend was definitely right about this guy being rich, but of course he is if he lives in a neighborhood like this.

“damn.” you mutter to yourself, stepping closer to a fancy vase sat on a table. you purposely leave the glass door open in case you need to make a quick escape out.

your eyes take in every piece of art hung on the wall and gold detailed lamps as you head further into the house, peeking into rooms as you quickly map out the layout. you note the stairs in the center hallway leading up, able to tell there's one light on and deciding quickly to avoid it.

you make like the rush of breaking into places, but you certainly don't like getting caught as you tiptoe into the kitchen next. out of pure curiosity, you open a couple cabinets to find them well stocked.

you focus in on the fridge next. you don't intend to steal but maybe this guy has a couple bottles of beer that won't be missed.

you frown when you realize it's mostly healthy food and energy drinks as you close the fridge, practically jumping out of your skin when you realize there's a tall man with his arms crossed, leaning against the cabinet.

“what are you doing here?” you yell, backing up and putting the island between you and him.

“bold of you to ask me that considering you're the one breaking into my house.” the man's voice is easy going and gentle despite the circumstances.

“your house?” you look the guy up and down. “i thought the guy who lived here was old.”

he moves to the island, placing himself directly in the middle so you can't bolt away, a movement you're very aware of.

“and what made you think that?” he questions. it's hard to tell in the low light, only the faint glow of buttons on the fridge and a bit of moonlight creeping in, but he looks young. your guess is late 20s or early 30s, not like the senior citizen you were picturing.

“my friend told me some asshole-” you cringe at the bad choice of words but continue on. “lives here who got rich when he was young.”

“hm, yeah that does sound like me.” the guy hums. “so what, you were gonna steal from me?”

“no.” you quickly shake your head. “i don't steal, i have no need. i just… like urban exploring.” you decide on saying.

“mmm, isn't that usually exploring abandoned places?” he questions, somehow still carrying on the conversation so naturally, like you're an invited guest rather than a trespasser.

“i thought this place was basically abandoned. like i said, thought you were old.” you shrug.

“well, im only 28, so if you consider that old.” he crosses his arms, muscles bulging.

“im 20.” you say, swallowing thickly. 

you can see the gleam in the man's teeth as he smiles. “interesting… come with me.”

his command is so effortless, you find your feet moving before your mind catches up, following him deeper into the house and up the stairs.

“what are you going to do with me?” you ask, worrying he's going to call the cops. your parents would be pissed if only a week after they move you out of the big city you get arrested again.

“did your friend happen to tell you why i stay in this house?” he hums, opening a door and beckoning you in. you quickly realize this is the bedroom with the lights always on.

“um, just that you did something and no one likes you.”

“that's exactly right, even though i did nothing wrong. i only ever wanted to protect my family.” you see anger briefly take over his features as he relieves whatever memory that made him so hated. “but still, it's hard being lonely.”

he takes a couple steps forward, swinging the door shut behind him to keep the two of you in there, alone. “it's why id like your company…”

“y/n.” you mumble your name. you don't bother to give a fake name.

“y/n.” the name rolls seamlessly off his tongue, like a purr. “im rafe.”

“what do you mean by company, rafe?” now that you're in the light and can get a good look at him, you're hoping it's what you're thinking.

“isn't it obvious?” he quirks his head to the side. “i want you to sleep with me.”

“okay.” you whisper. you're certainly not inexperienced or against sleeping with random guys, even if your friend did warn you about him. you've already gone two whole weeks without getting anything, and you're starting to feel a little high strung.

“perfect.” rafe crosses past you, placing himself on the edge of the. neatly made bed. “undress.”

his command is once again so simple and effective that your hands begin moving instantly, pulling off your tank top to reveal your bright pink bra before sliding your shorts down next to show off the matching underwear.

you turn your back towards rafe and look over your shoulder as you slide your panties down, revealing your bare ass and pussy before kicking off your sandals. 

you walk over to rafe slowly, a smile on your face as you undo the last piece of clothing covering you and let your bra drop to the floor.

“fuck, you're sexy.” rafe leans forward and grabs you, hands gripping your ass, squeezing the plump flesh there. he doesn't bother to wait for you to recover as he sits you onto his lap, cunt being pressed into his thigh as his mouth devours yours.

you can feel his need in the kiss, how starved he is from touch as you begin to kiss back, hands rubbing all over his front.

you only briefly stop the kiss to yank his shirt off. you're not surprised by his muscles, you could tell how perfectly built he was even in the dark kitchen.

rafe begins to slide your pussy against his pants, wetting his thigh as your clit drags against the material.

“fuck, you're already so wet.” rafe moans into your mouth. you don't pause to tell him that you always get a little bit wet in excitement when breaking into a new place.

“let me blow you.” you slide off, already missing the feeling on your pussy as you pull at rafes pants. he lifts his hips to help you and you waste no time, pulling his underwear down as well.

rafes cock pops up, hard and ready for attention. you push his thighs open with your hands so you can nestle between his legs, smiling as you watch a bead of precum from before licking it clean.

“god.” rafe groans, a hand fisting in your hair, tangling his fingers into the strands. “it's been so long since someone else has touched me.”

you feel bad for rafe in that moment, but it's quickly forgotten in favor of wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and giving it an intense suck, wanting to show him a truly good time.

you begin to bob your head, slowly taking more and more of his length into your mouth. he's not the biggest you've ever gotten with, but his girth certainly makes up for it as you get used to him pushing at the walls of your throat.

you'll certainly need more attention to your pussy to be able to take him as you reach down and rub your fingers against your clit, wanting to jump on his cock the second you're done blowing him.

“how are you only 20?” rafe asks, talking mostly to himself considering your mouth is occupied. “you suck dick so well.”

you don't want to comment that you've had lots of experience, but you have a feeling he won't judge you for it. so many guys sleep around yet want every girl to be a virgin, and that's certainly something you don't subscribe to.

with a final push, you're able to take rafe all the way down as you nuzzle your nose into his skin, gagging slightly but able to hold for a decently long time before you need to pull off to take a deep breath.

“come up here, baby.” rafe says, tugging your hand that isn't still playing with your pussy. “want to fuck you.”

you wipe your mouth before standing up, glad you weren't on your knees for long as you move onto the bed.

“fuck me good, daddy.” you purr out, staying on your hands and knees and swaying your ass to entice rafe as he moves behind you.

“oh, i will baby.” rafe rubs his cock through your folds, not bothering to offer to put on a condom when you so clearly don't care.

rafe teases you, pressing slightly against your entrance before going back to rubbing against you until you're frustrated and aching. you're about to open your mouth to complain, to tell him to hurry it up, when his cock plunges inside of you in one quick motion that has you screaming out.

“oh, fuck!” you squeal as rafe instantly begins pounding into you.

rafe smiles as he looks towards the window, slightly cracked. he hopes the neighbors hear your screams and moans of pleasure and learn that he's not just willing to stay inside for the rest of his life. no, rafe is crafting his revenge against the town and when the time comes, they will all regret the way they treated him.

rafe looks down at you as he thrusts into you, your head hung forward and curls bouncing with every movement as he punishes your cunt.

“shit.” rafe groans, pulling out to quickly flip you onto your back.

his mouth meets yours just as his cock reenters you, kissing you wildly while he thrusts without abandon, letting himself loose on you.

rafe can feel himself swelling inside of you and tries his best to hold back from cumming, fingers reaching to your clit to focus on your pleasure before his own, wanting to extend this as long as possible.

“god, you feel so good.” you moan out, jaw slackened even as rafe continue to kiss around your mouth, eyes glossed over in pure pleasure.

“yeah?” rafe smiles. “you gonna cum for me?”

“mhm. keep- keep rubbing.” you tilt your head back as he swipes over your clit, back and forth, building you up while his cock fills out your insides.

“come on, baby.” rafe moans out, kissing you again, unable to stop even though he wants to hear your moans. his hips move faster and faster until he can't hold back anymore, pulling out and releasing all over your stomach in long ropes.

you squeal out as he pinches your clit, triggering your own orgasm as your entire body shakes, back arching off the bed.

“fuck!” you shout. “rafe!”

you both flop against the mattress, breathing heavily as you recover, pussy dripping wet onto his blankets.

“thanks for the company.” rafe smiles, causing you to laugh.

“yeah, always happy to stick around.” you giggle, leaning into his side. there's certainly no shame cuddling up to him after what you just did.

“would you… would you come back tomorrow?” rafe asks, pushing a strand of hair off where it was sticking to your face.

“first week in a new town and i already found myself a fuck buddy? hell yeah ill come back tomorrow.” you kiss rafe quickly before standing up off his bed, putting your tanktop and shorts back on but leaving your wet panties and bright bra on the floor.

“but have pizza, im a classy girl after all, i only let you fuck me once before buying me dinner.” you walk out of the bedroom to rafes deep chuckle.

[milotraflgkl]

Safe Word

SANJI X FEM!READER !SMUT!

note: THIS IS A REUPLOAD!!! content: SMUT!, safe word mention, sanji being a loser but also amazing in bed, finger, eating out, praises. WC: 2346

Sanji slowly looked up at you, “A.. A safe word?” He muttered, his cheeks turning slightly pink and his tone softened as if anyone could hear you two when you weren’t even near the crew. His eyebrows pressed together and he licked his lips as he looked back down at the meal he was prepping, he took a moment to continue his work his eyebrows staying where they were before he turned to look back up at you. “Why would we need a safe word?” He asks, his facial expression stuck on confusion but as you watched you could see how it slowly shifted to worry. “I haven’t been, hurting you during it.. right?” He asks, as he stops what he’s doing and quickly rounds the counter to stand next to you.

His hands quickly came up to your face and his thumb brushed your cheek gently, “No! Not at all Sanji.” You reassured him, you paused for a moment your facial expression struggling to find a set emotion to land on as your lips pursed out and then were brought back in. You opened your mouth, “But I wouldn’t… mind if you were a bit rougher.” You finally spat out the words, you felt your body become hot and you knew that the blush was obvious especially since you could see Sanji turn into a bright red tomato. “Oh… Oh…” He choked out, you felt his hands become sweatier and he slowly took his hands away.

He turned away and made his way to work on his dinner, “We aren’t that far from the next island.” He spoke out, you snapped your head to look towards him. “Wha..What?” You muttered, “We will get a room on the next island.” He said, his voice was deeper and as you watched him you saw how red the tip of his ears were.

The next few days were pure torture and it didn’t help that Sanji was practically teasing you, the way his eyes would stare at you until you connected eyesight and then he’d move his eyes down taking in every single inch of your body. The way his hands would linger a bit longer then would softly move away from your skin leaving chills down your spine, almost feeling yourself lean towards his touch not wanting it to leave. You couldn’t do anything about it either, especially with the lack of privacy getting Sanji alone or even being alone yourself was a rare delicacy. But what you would do to just jump onto Sanji and let him use you for his, clear desires? It felt like it was taking years to get to the next island, your body aching in need the more you thought about how far the island was and yet how close Sanji was.

Finally, the day had come, the ship was put securely into a spot on the dock and the crew had finally decided on a good place to stay. Sanji and you were put in a room together because of your relationship but also because Sanji double-made sure with a quick request told to Nami. You felt yourself become more tense and excited for night to come, as the crew went about their normal routine of gathering supplies then heading to the closet bar to finally relax after so many days of sailing.

You sat at the bar and drank a small martini that had a paper umbrella in it, that was so graciously gifted to you by the bartender who had the hots for you. You didn’t pay him any mind more so lost in the thoughts of why Sanji had been so distant yet so close, as well as the sound of chatter and music taking up the rest of any other space that could’ve been left to think about the bartender who constantly had his eyes on you. You slowly stirred the paper umbrella around in the drink, your elbow against the counter and chin being held by your hand. As the bartender came over for the fifth time to interrupt your thought he asked if you were enjoying the drink and if you needed anything else, as well as sliding in a smooth flirt. You giggled at the notion, more flattered that he found you attractive. You denied a new drink and silently ignored his flirt unaware of the glaring eyes only feet away from you, it didn’t take long for you to notice when you felt a hand snake against your back and hold the side of your body tightly. You quickly turn and look up at Sanji who was already staring at you, a soft smile on his face and his beautiful blue eyes admiring your facial features. But most importantly your lips, it seemed that after a moment of looking at the top of your face, his eyes froze at your lips and didn’t move an inch. “Hi, Sanji.” You spoke out finally and his eyes immediately snapped to look back into yours, “Hi [Name].” He responds.

It didn’t take much longer until two of his fingers gently moved to find the bottom of your chin, pushing your head up a bit more before he leaned himself closer to you and pressed his soft lips against yours. You could taste nicotine fresh on his lips, he must’ve just come in from a smoke. You thought to yourself before they were interrupted by the feeling of his hand softly grazing your knee and moving upwards on your thigh, threatening to reach up the bottom of your dress. You looked down at his hand and grabbed it gently, “What do you think you are doing?” You ask him, Sanji looks at you with desire glossed over his eyes and his pupils blown out absorbing ocean-blue eyes. “I got us a room.” He responds as he squeezes your thigh gently his lips gently grazing against yours, you shudder at the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You nod unable to think properly about the situation you are in, Sanji gently moves his hand to grab ahold of yours and pulls you along with him as you leave the bar. Sanji leads you through this building and up the stairs until you find a room with the numbers that match the numbers engraved on the key that Sanji held in his off-hand. He slowly lets go of your hand and unlocks the door, stepping inside the room and then holding the door open for you as you step in afterward.

With one swift movement, Sanji grabs ahold of your waist and guides you to the bed, he’s gentle with his actions still keeping up his gentlemanly personality. His lips quickly find yours as well as his hand finding the nape of your neck to hold you closer, while his hand left on your waist gently pulls you closer to his hips allowing you to feel the bulge that pressed harshly against his nice dress pants. You moan as you feel him pressed against you and this only allows him to slip his tongue into your mouth, it’s slow at first the way his tongue dances along with yours before he becomes desperate for more as if he is starving and wants to taste more of your lips. You begin to run out of air and pull away from him, a trail of saliva connects between your tongues as you both look at each other with lust and need. Sanji didn’t waste any time as he moved back to you and kissed gently along your jawline, you tilted your head allowing him more access to your neck, and as if he read your mind his lips slowly trailed down your neck beginning to give gentle bites to it. He began to slowly suck on your skin leaving marks that would be visible to everyone the next day and as an apology for being so harsh he’d kiss it gently, his hand slipping up your neck and up to your head to hold it.

He wanted you to feel secure and safe before he allowed himself to go crazy, His hand on your waist gripped tightly before it found its way down to the bottom of your dress and slowly snaked its way underneath. It sent a shiver down your spine at the way his thin and cold fingers ran across your thigh ever so softly, it did make you feel extremely safe and well cared for. The way his fingers gently lifted your dress upwards and the hand that had held your hand slipped down to grab the zipper of your dress pulling it down. The straps of your dress fell off to the side and revealed your chest that wasn’t hidden by anything as you decided to not wear anything underneath. Sanji pulled away from your pretty and purple-decorated neck, his eyes slowly moved from your neck and down to your chest as he let out a shaky breath at the sight of you. “God… [Name]…” He moaned out as his hands slowly made contact with your breasts and held them gently before his fingers moved to gently twist at your nipples. The small whine you released from your throat was as if the angels from heaven were singing upon Sanji to come toward the gates of heaven.

Sanji didn’t spend any time before he reached his head down and his mouth found the soft skin of your breasts, he gently kissed it and then left a few open-mouthed kisses. “God [Name]…” His hot breath against your chest made you shiver, “You are absolutely beautiful.” He whispered against your skin, as his hands slowly moved from your breast and slowly moved to the rest of your dress tugging it down slowly until it rested against your hips. His hands shook against your skin almost with nerves that he could easily break you like you were the finest china in the world. His hands gently squeezed your hips before he continued to move your dress down your thighs, he took in a shaky breath as he looked at your lower body covered by lace underwear. You had to lift yourself slightly to get the dress to slip from under your butt and Sanji continued to take the dress off and then dropped it onto the floor.

He wasted no time latching his lips back onto your skin, his lips dragging down slowly before they reached the hem of your underwear and the feeling of his warm breath sent a shiver down your spine and a shock to your core. “Relax [Name].” He whispers against your skin, his hands slowly moving to push your shoulders back as a way for him to tell you to lay back which you did gladly. “I’m going to treat you tonight~” He hums, he looks down your torso to catch sight of your eyes and the two of you stare for a moment before you watch his curled brow disappear below down to your clit. His tongue dragged against the fabric and the feeling of his spit mixing with your already-soaked underwear caused you to whimper, “S..Sanji..”. You begged him as your hand found his golden locks to hold them. “Use your words, princess.” He speaks between your thighs, and you become flustered at the explicit words that you would have to say. “Please take my underwear off…” You beg him, your hand tightening against his hair which causes him to groan and send vibrations to your core.

“Of course princess.” He responds, his fingers sliding up from your thighs to grab the top of your underwear and slide them off throwing them off to the side. “So wet for me~” He sings out before he dives in. The feeling of his tongue caused you to yelp in shock and your back arched as his tongue began to swallow you whole, the feeling was so overwhelming as his tongue curled inside of you. His fingers followed after, and two of his lanky fingers slipped into you and found the spot that made you sing out that sweet sweet melody Sanji loved to hear. His fingers moved inside of you with such skill, that your back began to arch more. “Ngh, Sanji please…” You hummed out your knuckles becoming white from holding onto his hair so tightly, He didn’t he was relentless with his tongue as it moved inside of you. As he worked inside of you, his tongue hitting every spot and his fingers pumping in and out of you quickly.

You were squirming underneath him but his hands held onto you so tightly that all of your movement was limited, “fu..fuck” you muttered, “I’m… I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered out, but Sanji didn’t stop. He kept plunging his tongue into you relentlessly and his fingers continued to reach the spot, it didn’t take long before you began to release yourself into his mouth and Sanji took in every single last drop that you let out. Even with the sounds coming from your mouth, he held your hips tightly and didn’t seem like he was going to let go of you anytime soon. He swallowed your release and continued to eat you out, it took you a moment to realize that he was still eating you out. The feeling was becoming overwhelming and overstimulating, your legs began to tighten around Sanjis head which he slowly held your legs apart. He didn’t stop, he was eating you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to eat in his life. It took you a moment before you quickly slipped the safe word out, which Sanji stopped and looked up towards you. You watched his face emerge covered in your juices, “Princess… I’m not even done.” He whispered to you his pupils blown out.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When the app tries to make you robo-scab

When we talk about the abusive nature of gig work, there’s some obvious targets, like algorithmic wage discrimination, where two workers are paid different rates for the same job, in order to trick occasional gig-workers to give up their other sources of income and become entirely dependent on the app:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Then there’s the opacity — imagine if your boss refused to tell you how much you’ll get paid for a job until after you’ve completed it, claimed that this was done in order to “protect privacy” — and then threatened anyone who helped you figure out the true wage on offer:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/07/hr-4193/#boss-app

Opacity is wage theft’s handmaiden: every gig worker producing content for a social media algorithm is subject to having their reach — and hence their pay — cut based on the unaccountable, inscrutable decisions of a content moderation system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/10/e2e/#the-censors-pen

Making content for an algorithm is like having a boss that docks every paycheck because you broke rules that you are not allowed to know, because if you knew the rules, you’d figure out how to cheat without your boss catching you. Content moderation is the last place where security through obscurity is considered good practice:

https://doctorow.medium.com/como-is-infosec-307f87004563

When workers seize the means of computation, amazing things happen. In Indonesia, gig workers create and trade tuyul apps that let them unilaterally modify the way that their bosses’ systems see them — everything from GPS spoofing to accessibility mods:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#gojek

So the tech and labor story isn’t wholly grim: there are lots of ways that tech can enhance labor struggles, letting workers collaborate and coordinate. Without digital systems, we wouldn’t have the Hot Strike Summer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/02/not-what-it-does/#who-it-does-it-to

As the historic writer/actor strike shows us, the resurgent labor movement and the senescent forces of crapulent capitalism are locked in a death-struggle over not just what digital tools do, but who they do it for and who they do it to:

https://locusmag.com/2022/01/cory-doctorow-science-fiction-is-a-luddite-literature/

When it comes to the epic fight over who technology acts for and against, we need a diversity of tactics, backstopped by tech operated by and for its users — and by laws that protect workers and the public. That dynamic is in sharp focus in UNITE Here Local 11’s strike against Orange County’s Laguna Cliffs Marriott Resort & Spa.

The UNITE Here strike turns on the usual issues like a living wage (hotel staff are paid so little they have to rent rooming-house beds by the shift, paying for the right to sleep in a room for a few hours at a time, without any permanent accommodation). They’re also seeking health-care and pensions, so they can be healthy at work and retire after long service. Finally, they’re seeking their employer’s support for LA’s Responsible Hotels Ordinance, which would levy a tax on hotel rooms to help pay for hotel workers’ housing costs (a hotel worker who can’t afford a bed is the equivalent of a fast food worker who has to apply for food stamps):

https://www.unitehere11.org/responsible-hotels-ordinance/

But the Marriott — which is owned by the University of California and managed by Aimbridge Hospitality — has refused to bargain, walking out negotiations.

But the employer didn’t walk out over wages, benefits or support for a housing subsidy. They walked out when workers demanded that the scabs that the company was trying to hire to break the strike be given full time, union jobs.

These aren’t just any scabs, either. They’re predominantly Black workers who rely on the $700m Instawork app for gigs. These workers are being dispatched to cross the picket line without any warning that they’re being contracted as strikebreakers. When workers refuse the cross the picket and join the strike, Instawork cancels all their shifts and permanently blocks them from new jobs.

This is a new, technologically supercharged form of illegal strikebreaking. It’s one thing for a single boss to punish a worker who refuses to scab, but Instawork acts as a plausible-deniability filter for all the major employers in the region. Like the landlord apps that allow landlords to illegally fix rents by coordinating hikes, Instawork lets bosses illegally collude to rig wages by coordinating a blocklist of workers who refuse to scab:

https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2022/10/company-that-makes-rent-setting-software-for-landlords-sued-for-collusion/?comments=1

The racial dimension is really important here: the Marriott has a longstanding de facto policy of refusing to hire Black workers, and whenever they are confronted with this, they insist that there are no qualified Black workers in the labor pool. But as soon as the predominantly Latino workforce struck, Marriott discovered a vast Black workforce that it could coerce into scabbing, in collusion with Instawork.

Now, all of this isn’t just sleazy, it’s illegal, a violation of Section 7 of the NLRB Act. Historically, that wouldn’t have mattered, because a string of presidents, R and D, have appointed useless do-nothing ghouls to run the NLRB. But the Biden admin, pushed by the party’s left wing, made a string of historic, excellent appointments, including NLRB General Counsel Jennifer Abruzzo, who has set her sights on punishing gig work companies for flouting labor law:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/10/see-you-in-the-funny-papers/#bidens-legacy

UNITE HERE 11 has brought a case to the NLRB, charging the Instawork, the UC system, Marriott, and Aimbridge with violating labor law by blackmailing gig workers into crossing the picket line. The union is also asking the NLRB to punish the companies for failing to protect workers from violent retaliation from the wealthy hotel guests who have punched them and screamed epithets at them. The hotel has refused to identify these thug guests so that the workers they assaulted can swear out complaints against them.

Writing about the strike for Jacobin, Alex N Press tells the story of Thomas Bradley, a Black worker who was struck off all Instawork shifts for refusing to cross the picket line and joining it instead:

https://jacobin.com/2023/07/southern-california-hotel-workers-strike-automated-management-unite-here

Bradley’s case is exhibit A in the UNITE HERE 11 case before the NLRB. He has a degree in culinary arts, but racial discrimination in the industry has kept him stuck in gig and temp jobs ever since he graduated, nearly a quarter century ago. Bradley lived out of his car, but that was repossessed while he slept in a hotel room that UNITE HERE 11 fundraised for him, leaving him homeless and bereft of all his worldly possessions.

With UNITE HERE 11’s help, Bradley’s secured a job at the downtown LA Westin Bonaventure Hotel & Suites, a hotel that has bargained with the workers. Bradley is using his newfound secure position to campaign among other Instawork workers to convince them not to cross picket lines. In these group chats, Jacobin saw workers worrying “that joining the strike would jeopardize their standing on the app.”

Today (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

[Image ID: An old photo of strikers before a struck factory, with tear-gas plumes rising above them. The image has been modified to add a Marriott sign to the factory, and the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey' to the sky over the factory. The workers have been colorized to a yellow-green shade and the factory has been colorized to a sepia tone.]

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

a little self-indulgent, but may I request Full headcanons of M6 reacting (and accommodating?) to MC who's easily jealous and possessive due to their trauma? (for example, MC got cheated on before and now they can't bear the thought of M6 doing the same to them, if it makes sense.)

thanks!

The Arcana HCs: When MC struggles with jealousy

Julian

Cheating simply Does Not Occur to him. It doesn't enter his mind

Seriously. He doesn't doubt his capacity to be attractive, but for such a complicated person, experiencing love is a straightforward matter for him. He loves you. Why bother with anything else?

Of course, if it's a source of pain for you, then it's a concern for him too. He's had his fair share of unhealthy relationships and isn't in the dark about just how badly cheating will mess someone up

He's also the type to overthink things, so once you bring it up as your own issue, he's naturally taking it on as his issue too

He wouldn't! ... but now he's going to go out of his way to prove to himself that he's not the kind of person who would

It also drives the point home to him just how precious it is to have your trust (and why he really should have never tried to briefly dump you on the docks). That did need some discussing

In general, he's so transparent and talkative with you that there's nobody in his life you don't know about. If he has a high opinion of them, he's already trying to get you two to be friends as well

And if you ever worry that someone else is better for him, he will take that as a challenge to outdo your sense of unworthiness /j

Asra

They would never. You know this. They know this. Every citizen in Vesuvia knows this. The major Arcana know this

But the horrible thing about traumas and fears is that they don't have to be rational to hurt you, and Asra knows that too

Your relationship actually went through quite the rough patch with this at first. Asra's plenty familiar with heartbreak, but he doesn't have a jealous bone in his body and struggles to understand it

What's more, their own traumas make them practically allergic to feeling controlled or trapped in any way, which doesn't help their love of being mysterious and unpredictable

Which, of course, only fed your anxieties, and in turn left him easily triggered if you tried to get a solid answer out of him about what he'd been up to all day on his spontaneous solo side quests

What's most important, though, is that they love you with everything they are, and they're dedicated to helping you heal and being the best partner they can as they build a happy life with you

It's a catalyst for both of you to confront and work through your traumas together - your jealousy, and his fear of constancy

They do find telling you all about their day is actually lots of fun

Nadia

She is so glad you're bringing this up

Would she ever cheat? Absolutely not. She takes relational boundaries very seriously and what she has with you is a kind of love and safety and closeness she's waited for her whole life

However, while she and Lucio never cheated on each other, they did have an open marriage which meant other lovers were in the picture, and knowing you're not comfortable with that is important

She will happily get into the nitty gritty of past grievances and unsatisfying relationships and the details of every boundary

She also strongly values your sense of safety and security with her, and if there's any little things she can do to equip you to battle your demons, she will happily do them. Just tell her what helps

However, it is also very important to her to clarify that your jealousy is your situation talking and not a slight on her character

Because if it helps you heal to see her be transparent with you, she'll practically become glass, but if you start questioning her own intentions and moral code, you're not giving her space to do right

Can and will set things up so you can watch her beat down anybody flirting with her in real time (and kiss you afterwards)

Muriel

Cheating is an entirely foreign concept to him and the fact that someone would actually do that is completely horrifying to him

He is so, so sorry you had to find out what that was like

He's also baffled about how that could even happen. In his case, you're the first person he's even considered having a relationship like this with. Who else would he even want to be with?

The first time you express any insecurity or jealousy about him specifically, he's a little thrown. Just the thought of betraying you like that disgusts him, do you really distrust him that much?

Of course, that's his own traumas and insecurities affecting him, and he knows better than anyone how poor past experiences make him fear hurt from his loved ones which he knows they'd never do

If you have the patience to soothe him when he flinches from your sudden movements or unexpected happy shouts, he easily has the patience to reassure you of your importance and safety with him

He'll also hold a grudge even bigger than yours against whoever gave you that relational trauma. In his mind, they have a reserved spot right next to Lucio in the not-fun part of the afterlife

Still doesn't know who else would find him desirable anyways

Portia

Oh, she gets it. She doesn't necessarily experience this to the level that you do, but she certainly relates on multiple counts

Feeling left behind by a loved one and struggling not to be insecure about it? Check. It's why she's so free to steal Julian's kneecaps

Feeling like she's just the good option people pick until they find their ideal option? Feeling like it's just a matter of time until she gets dropped again, no matter how well-meaning that person is?

Yeah, she gets you. Not to mention that it's a little hard not to compare herself to the incredible people you're friends with who would all clearly love to be the focus of your affections

The fact that you feel this too is such a relief. You two are about to spend so many hours on her couch with tea and baked treats while you talk about your similar experiences and unpack those feelings

And honestly, hearing you voice your doubts gives her space to voice hers. You can be open about how she's clearly the Countess's favorite and she can be open about your past roommate setup

If either of you finds it just a little bit attractive when you get to flaunt your relationship at ambassador events when another partygoer gets a bit too friendly - well - it's a guilty pleasure

Lucio

Look, he knows he's not a shining example of a model citizen, but he wouldn't disrespect the boundaries of someone he loves

At the same time, his assumptions about what those boundaries are aren't exactly monogamous. Will he be in a closed, exclusive relationship with you if those are your boundaries? Absolutely!

Will he need you to explicitly tell him that those are your boundaries? Also yes. Otherwise he might randomly ask how you feel about inviting a new friend to go on a date with you two

He's still working on his emotional intelligence, too, so the chances of him understanding the relational trauma aspect of that are slim

However, he understands the insecurity. You could leave him tomorrow and as heartbroken and betrayed as he'd feel, deep down he wouldn't be able to find it in himself to blame you

The last thing he wants to make you feel is less than or unworthy. You are worth so, so very much and you deserve only the best

Because he's still learning new habits, accountability is something he finds as uncomfortable as he does necessary and while he doesn't need it in this area, he still values it

Still needs reassurances that you don't think he'd actually do that

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 02 wellspring

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, threats of violence, power imbalance, sexual harassment (quid pro quo offer), reader is in over her head, male ocs You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

Win comes around a lot more after your date. 

He buys booths, bottles. Slips tips to any of your work friends who so happen to breeze by and drops bills on the host stand. In one month, more money passes through your hands than the last three combined.

You pay off the rent you'd been dodging. Renew the subscriptions to your motorized blinds and water filter. Get your nails done. A balance of necessities and luxuries. Indulgence to feel alive, practicality to stay afloat. 

In return, every night you're not working, you accompany him on dates—restaurants, galleries, and shows. Stuff previously out of reach for you. He asks you to read, dead scripts that'll never see the screen, but good practice. You show him your self-tapes. A list of the classes and workshops you want to take. And it's like that first dinner. No jokes, no teasing. Win takes you seriously. Says you got a gift, that you're a little diamond in the rough. Raw potential that only needs polishing.

But as nice as Win is, you're not naïve. His attention is a well that could dry up like Tahoe. You're determined to enjoy it while it lasts, though.

Mal stops you one night, just as you're shrugging your coat off, mid-sentence with Irina. She tilts her head and says there's a 'big guy' waiting for you out front. Your shift's covered, and your pay won't be docked. It doesn't click until she tacks on as an afterthought, "Does he always wear a mask?"

You stop, coat half-off, a cold rush prickling the back of your neck. So. Ghost is here. No big deal—it's probably something for Win. However, when you check your messages, there's nothing recent. Must be a surprise, you think, smiling as Irina jabs her elbow into your ribs, purring out, "Have fun, my little Star."

You pull your coat back on, zipping it to your chin as you bolt out of the dressing room. The club isn't quite to capacity, but you weave through the crowd until you reach the doors. You say goodnight to security as the doors swing open and see him dead ahead.

Ghost pops the door to a sleek red car, but the back seat's empty.

"Where's Win?" You ask as you climb in.

"You see 'im?" The door shuts in your face.

Rude. You don't recognize the car, but Win mentioned owning several. Even curiouser, there's no uniformed driver. Ghost slides into the driver's seat.

You give up on questions. All Ghost does is grunt and answer monosyllabically. 

You temporarily lose your ability to speak at all, anyway, when the sidewalks outside get cleaner and the stores trend nicer. You don't want to believe it when he takes a particular turn, heart swelling in your chest, but then yes—he turns again, and the street narrows, feeding into a set of chrome gates reading CynoSure Studios. 

You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

The car slows but doesn't stop as the red light of the gate's security sensors wash through the interior, then flick blue. The gates open automatically, and you're on the move again, passing warehouse after warehouse. All locked up and closed. Ghost takes you to the last one tucked in the corner. The car door opens for you, inviting in the breeze, carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke with it.

"Get out, go in, and give 'im your name."

"Win?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

The look Ghost gives you in the mirror tells you ought to try your luck with the stranger. Not him.

You step out and straighten your skirt, and risk one more question. "Can you at least tell me how long this will take?"

"As long as it needs to."

Helpful bastard. 

Your heels click against the pavement, the sound ricocheting down the boulevard of silent studios, the street stretching out, empty but for the murmur of jazz seeping through the warehouse walls. The door gives when you pull the handle, and warm air brushes over you as you step into the dimly lit, cavernous space.

In the center is a small set. Parts of an old school, traditional family home. A kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. A set of speakers on the cement floor. A man leans on the counter, staring at a spread of papers on the table. 

"Hello?"

He looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face. "Can I help you?"

You give him your name, eyes darting around, finding no others. "I think my–I think Win Goforth set this up?"

"Senior or Junior?"

"Junior?"

His golden oculars flicker, the faint glow brightening as something shifts behind his pupils—an interface scanning through a list, maybe a calendar. "Right. Come on in, then. You're the last girl of the day."

You laugh a little incredulously, confused, and glance back at the entrance. Ghost would hear if you screamed, right? He'd also…respond. Right? 

"I'm the last girl for…?"

"The Lumina Vitae shoot? The skincare line?"

Your steps falter. When you didn't hear back after you'd sent off a dozen self-portraits—your hands lit as best as you could manage with a desk lamp and a timed lens—you prepared yourself for rejection. You knew it was a longshot. No professional help, no proper gear, just hoping beyond hope they were good enough. Yet here you were, apparently in the running. 

"Oh, right. That shoot. Of course, thank you. Hard to keep up these days."

He chuckles. "Sure is. I'm Max, by the way. If you'd just…"

Max helps you onto the raised set, immediately positioning you under one of the dangling set lights. He retrieves a small control from amongst the papers, which you realize are printed stills of various hands carefully posed and photographed. 

"No paperwork to sign?"

He ignores the question and turns up the music. "Hands out." You do, arms slightly bent, palms facing down—basic stuff, he mentions. No papers necessary since he knows the Goforths. With a tap to his temple, a small photographic drone floats onto set from somewhere unseen. Its lenses adjust automatically.

"Remain still."

Then, it's all too fast, snapping photos at a dizzying speed, its movements fluid. He must take a hundred pictures, peppering you with generic, scripted questions. How long you've known Win, your day job, if you're a local, and your family. That sort of thing.

Suddenly, he stops, humming, dark shapes moving over his irises as he reviews shots.

"I'm afraid this lighting is too severe. Mind if we…?" He walks toward the bedroom. "There's a better lamp in here."

"Of course." 

You scurry after, the drone following, and sit on the bed, close to the nightstand where he turns on a gentler lamp. The light's warmer, softer. He instructs you to lay one hand over the other, slightly offset, and you're suddenly thankful for the manicure and the little luxuries Win's generosity affords you.

If this goes well, I could get more than a manicure.  

You buzz at the thought, at the domino effect this opportunity might have. You're so caught up in your daydreams that you barely notice Max moving closer, pupils dilating manually. He reaches out, his fingertip pressing gently against your chin, tilting your face toward his.

"Is Win your only agent?"

The question catches you off guard. You're about to correct him, explain that Win isn't your agent, that you wouldn't even call him your boyfriend, but remember your lie. "Yes."

The drone hums past, its tiny turbines leaving a heated wake. It hovers above Max's shoulder, an impersonal observer. "You're not affiliated with any other studio? You've never worked for Echelon? Parallax? You're not, ah, fucking some other big wig?"

You pull back, lips pressing together, but keep your hands in place. After years of trying to wedge a single finger in the door, scrabbling for every chance, you're not about to fold to a sleaze like him. He's not the first, not the last. Still pisses you off, though. "No."

His irises shift from the soft gold to a harsh, ophidian yellow. "No? Good. Then, maybe we can help each other. I'm, ah, inclined to give you this job. Your hands aren't bad. Small, but nothing a shop job couldn't fix. And no mods. No synthetic patchwork. I like that. Makes me curious how much of you is natural." 

You wrinkle your nose.

"Problem is, Win's signed to take half of your earnings," He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem right, does it? You're the one putting in the work."

You don't answer.

"Why don't we cut the middle man out?"

Dread and disgust churns your stomach. What he's insinuating, what he's suggesting—you think of calling for Ghost just to see Max wet himself. He must not know the lug's here. "And I'm sure you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart."

He snorts. "Of course not. This lot isn't booked until tomorrow morning, and there's a perfectly good bed here…" His voice trails. "I'm sure you can put two and two together, sweetheart."

Bile, sharp and bitter, rises to the back of your throat. You have half a mind to spit it onto his shoes, but instead, you swallow it down, determined to keep it together. 

"Thanks for your time, Max," Hundreds of nights coddling drunk assholes at the club have prepared you for this. "I'll be going."

Max doesn't budge when you stand, forcing you into the narrow gap between him and the nightstand. "You sure about that?" He ducks his head closer, the drone bobbing beside his face. "I'll tell Win you're being difficult, and you know, we actually go way back. Might be difficult to find work on a blacklist."

Your lip curls, Ghost's name tucked behind your teeth as a last resort. "You can tell Win whatever lie you want, I'm not doing this. Not for you, not for anyone. Win's been nothing but kind to me. I don't care who he is, I'm not going to–" You glance at the cheap stock bed, "I'm not going to betray his trust like that."

You don't know where you stand with Win—how serious he is about you, or if anything is even there—but you do know that he's been kind, generous, and this…Fucking some slimeball? Cutting him out for a stupid fancy lotion commercial? You couldn't.

Turning on your heel, you make for the door, fuming, and nearly fall off set.

There, leaning against the far wall beside the door, is Ghost. Arms crossed, relaxed, and looking bored as ever. Has he been inside the whole time?

Behind you, laughter. Max follows, clapping and squeezing an over-familiarly hand on your shoulder. "Oh, Win's got a live one, Ghost. Don't you think?"

What the fuck?

You jerk away from him and trip over your words. "What–I don't–Aren't you with Lumina Vitae?"

Max shakes his head. "Oh, I'm no, not at all. I just work for Mr. Goforth. This," He gestures at the hovering drone. "Is his toy. Feel free to wave. Win will watch this later." He taps his temple twice, and the tiny bot emits a melodic chime before lowering obediently into his hand. "Good job by the way, you passed."

"I…passed?"

Max steps around you. "Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. Rivals. He likes to vet his, ah, company before he gets in too deep." He gathers the stills and shrugs. "Next time you see him, he'll probably have you sign an NDA. That's the usual timeline."

Heat floods your skin, blooming over your face and neck. The entire situation is outlandish, bordering on absurd, but that's the point, isn't it? It's a test. Win is the heir-apparent to one of the biggest names in film, his family worth billions. You knew that, of course, but you've spent weeks skating around it, choosing instead to lean into the fantasy, pretending it wasn't reality until now.

Max watches you stumble off the set unassisted. "Congrats again. See you around sometime."

Ghost stares past you as you hurry across the warehouse, desperate to put distance between yourself and the stooge. Your arms fold over your chest, hugging yourself tightly, the pressure a weak attempt to steady the choppiness of your breath. He peels off the wall, following close enough that you half-expect him to grab you, stuff you into the trunk, and kick off another leg of this hazing ritual.

But he doesn't. He doesn't say a word when you leave the CynoSure lot, or when you kick off your heels and curl against the door. You press your forehead to the cool glass, mind buzzing with static. Again, you're the one who breaks the silence.

"Does Win…Does he test everyone?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes snap to the back of his head. "Does everyone pass?"

"No."

"What happens to–"

"Don't ask."

"Can I ask one more?" You lick your lip and ask before he can refuse. "Would you have helped me, if he…if he tried something?"

The car jerks suddenly, swerving as it barely misses a motorbike you blast past. Ghost swears, hands choking the steering wheel. After a moment, his shoulders sag, and he cracks his neck with a grunt. "'Course. Don't want to be out of a job."

Ghost doesn't take you home. He takes you to Win. No message or call is needed. He's expecting you. You try to think of something coherent to say to him, but you keep circling back to fuck you. You can't say that, though, glancing at the man behind the wheel.

You follow Ghost from the car into the building, squeezing past him into the lift, and settle into a rear corner. One arm wraps across your torso, the other bent at the elbow, fingertips hovering near your mouth, the impulse to chew your nails loud. The doors close, and the lift starts, numbers climbing in a muted LED glow. You stare into the middle, at and through your reflection.

The jolt is sudden. The lift grinds to a halt, and you instinctively reach for the bars on either side to keep yourself from falling. White light shifts abruptly to red. Your gaze whips to Ghost, mouth opening at the sight of his hand eclipsing the screen, a thumb pressed firmly to the emergency stop.

"What are you–" The question shrivels when he takes one step and closes the distance. The space between you almost nonexistent, and erased further as he leans closer. His head tilts down, all angles and shadows under the crimson light. His eyes are a dimmer red than usual, earthy, like rust. His hands slip over yours, his weight shifting to apply pressure. You try to ignore their smothering warmth.

"You and I are gonna have an understanding."

Your tongue twists. You nod.

"You passed Junior's stupid test. Good for you."  Each word drips with disdain, clipped with irritation, like he can't believe you made it this far. "Doesn't mean your pretty arse belongs in this building, on 'is arm, or anywhere near 'is family. Don't care 'ow much 'e likes you or that cunt of yours. One step out of line, an' you'll be landfill. We clear?"

Landfill. "We're clear."

Ghost grunts and lingers a moment longer, his eyes dropping, and for a second, you think—no, you're sure—he's sneaking a look at your tits. But then one hand lifts, and he plants it against your neck. His thumb settles in the notch above your collarbone, pressing lightly. A scan passes over you, invisible but invasive, crackling in your ears. Then he pulls away with a huff, apparently unimpressed by what he found.

The lift moves before you do. When the doors open, it takes every ounce of willpower to unstick yourself from the corner, legs unsteady beneath you.

The condo is quiet. Ghost disappears ahead without you, before you can toe off one heel in the foyer. Your feet throb, but it's nothing compared to the cement block of stress resting on your shoulders. You should've stayed at the club. Between the 'test' and Ghost's brief, terrifying warning, you think you're close to collapse. You walk as quietly as you can, slow, still at a loss for what to say to Win.

You turn the corner into the living space and flinch at a loud pop, followed by a familiar burst of sparks. A champagne bottle sparkler flares, held aloft by a grinning, dressed-down Win. "There's my beautiful star, my Stella," he calls out, jerking his head. "Get your cute ass over here, and let's celebrate, baby."

This night keeps getting better.

"I look cute, huh?" Win teases as you reluctantly tiptoe closer. "Like I'm you. All I need is a skirt."

You don't know how much longer you can keep playing along. "Win, we need to talk–"

He pours the champagne over two glasses, spilling a bit as he looks between you and the bottle. "I agree. We've got to talk contracts." A wide and knowing grin spreads across his face. "Just got the call—you're in, babe. You're gonna be a Goforth Girl. You got the gig."

You blink. "I what?"

Win chuckles. "Don't look so shocked. I've got a buddy over at Lumina. This one was a gimme. Not all of them will come this easy, but hey, it's your first big one, right?"

You sit before you keel over, swallowing hard as your stomach turns in slow waves. Disbelief, confusion, and the remnants of your indignation tangle together in a knot. Your first gig. A real one. Not some odd job handing out flyers in costume or paid-in-exposure promo modeling. A real commercial for a real company with real reach. Still. You need to say something.

"Yeah, but Win, we need to talk about your friend. Max? The creep at CynoSure? He, um, he told me–"

"We'll cover that, too." He brushes it off with a casual wave as he hands you the flute of champagne. "Got a form or two for you to sign in addition to some business about exclusive representation." He looms over you, ringed fingers twisting the stem of his glass. 

You gape up at him, your head a mess from being pulled in so many directions in one night. It would be crazy, right? To say no now. Max's voice echoes in your head, steady and certain: Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. You can't blame him for wanting to protect himself, to protect his family. If roles were reversed, wouldn't you? And if you're going to continue your…entanglement, isn't signing papers in your best interest, to protect yourself?

Win extends his drink. "You'll be a star. We'll make it happen."

We'll make it happen. What else can you say to that? To his complete confidence in you?

Your smile is a brittle thing warped into a crescent, and you watch it in the reflection of your glass as you lift it. "Well, to us, then."

The glasses clink, and you swallow a bitter sip. Win draws you back onto your sore feet for a prolonged kiss.

The slap of bare feet against the floor breaks the moment, eyes popping open as you make a noise into Win's mouth. Across the room, in the kitchen, Ghost reappears. Shirtless. He looks even bigger now, his back a hulking mass of muscle, ridiculous in its sheer width. Scars line his skin, some mods, some implants, but the rest speak to his chosen career. Black ink coils up his arm in a cluttered tattoo, and his skin's slick, the dampness of his blond hair suggesting he came from the shower.

Win pulls away, his mouth smudged with your lipstick.

"Ghost! Join us, we're celebrating! Grab a glass."

The behemoth pauses at the refrigerator, glaring. Despite his state of dress, he's taken the time to hook a cloth mask over his ears, one of which looks puffy. His brow furrows and his gaze shifts between you.

"No." He grinds out, voice low, and a shudder runs down your spine. He lumbers off, water in hand, and Win tuts in playful exasperation.

"Such a buzzkill. Now," His mouth skims your cheek, moving to your ear to whisper. "Where were we, baby?"

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

And you were trapped in this curse (before you ever even knew)

Day 5 of The Long Halloween - event masterlist here

pairing: dick grayson x reader (gender neutral)

length: 8.3k

genre: horror, fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: mermaid dick grayson, witch reader, talk of burning at the stake like one time vaguely, reader almost drowns once

a/n: the trapdoor works bc it's magic and that's the only thing we need to know ok ?? anywaaay here's the one we've been waiting for here's the one we're excited for

"Just one more thing," the mariner says as he tosses the keys to you, watching as you catch them and glance towards the boat that you've just bought. "Don't go in the water."

"Yes," you respond bluntly, watching as your new houseboat bobs and rocks in the waves and tugs at the ropes securing it to the wooden dock. It's a mass of tangled cords weaving through the darkness, and you thumb the keys in your hand as you look back to the mariner. "I know… I've heard."

"Good," he nods firmly, spinning on his heel and beginning to walk away, toward the endless labyrinth of shipping containers and dockworkers and boats pulling in and out of the harbour. "Make sure you keep it in mind. Don't go in the water… for anything."

You watch as he walks away, slipping into the mess of the docks and vanishing from sight, leaving you alone to climb up onto the plank and into your boat - into your new home. It's dark inside, of course, old and musty and crumbling. But it's tucked away in an inconspicuous corner of the docks, away from the city and the police and the witch hunters who walk the winding streets of Gotham. It's safe, or as safe as you can be, practicing the illegal arts. 

A larger wave crashes against the side of the boat and you sway on your feet as the wooden vessel rocks and groans with the movement, the water beating against the sides constantly - as if it's alive, as if it's trying to pull you further under. You know the stories told about the Gotham Harbour - you were warned when you fled to this place.

"Don't go in the water." people say. "There's something out there."

You'd asked around, of course, poked and prodded and peeled back layers of the tall tales that were spun in the darkness of the docks. You're not afraid of it - not the way that the others are. You're a creature of the night, yourself, of course, and things that move in the shadows don't scare you too much these days. It's humans who do the scaring, with their threats and their leering and their witchhunts.

They were small stories, at first - silly little anecdotes that the workers used to tell when their ships pulled into the docks. They would claim to have seen something moving in the water - glimpses of a shimmering, shining, fish-like tail seen out of the corner of their eyes and the faint sounds of a song sung through the fog, tempting and alluring, buzzed through their ears.

But they were harmless - just little stories the sailors would tell for fun to keep one another awake at night while they worked. They were all so sure that it was just tricks of the night and the mist… at first.

But then the casualties started. Sailors began to go missing from ships as they pulled into the harbour and some of them began to swear that they would watch their friends just walk right off the edge of the ship, stumbling and lurching like they were being pulled by something invisible.

"There's something out there," they'd swear. "And it's after us."

But nothing could be proved, of course, and none of the workers hauling illegal magical goods in and out of Gotham by the shadows of night wanted to be caught, so no one went to the authorities. And people just kept… disappearing.

And over time, naturally, the stories began to grow. The size of the tale began to double, then triple, until the tales told of a huge, serpent-like, scaled appendage that had the strength to crack the hull of a ship with one swipe. For some of the smaller vessels, the huge tail would wrap around the body of the ship, snapping it in half and dragging it to the bottom.

It glowed, they said, bioluminescent blues and greens and violets lighting up the water, a shimmering, shining beacon of death moving silently through the blackened depths.

But, you think pointedly as your boat rocks and sways and you swing the door open to let the sea breeze fill the stale interior. It's all speculation - some twisted story to justify the ships that suddenly began to go missing, some kind of hallucination that the survivors spun in the wake of trauma.

As you walk back outside to lean against the railing of the boat and peer into the murky depths of the harbour, you remember what the mariner had said to you when you bought the boat, watching as you'd counted out bills in front of him, both of you insisting on a cash-only transaction.

"The ships still come in and out," he'd said lowly, his arms crossed as he stared out towards the rolling waves. "But folks are getting antsy - scared. Some of the buyers want their shit moved other ways. You know, coming through the city on trucks instead."

"And does that work?" you'd asked absently, stacking money neatly as you half listened.

"Not really," he'd admitted. "It's all still taken to the docks, and… well, you know."

As the boat rocks and you shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the conversation, you can't help but let the mariner's words spin around your mind just a bit more. You can't help but picture it in your head - dockworkers, moving through the thick fog that filters through the night, wandering off the wooden edge and into the water like those sailors, pulled and pulled and tugged under by something monstrous. 

Droplets of rain begin to fall from the darkened, thunderous sky and you shiver as you stare down into the water for a moment before crouching. Slowly, carefully, you stick your arm through the railing of your boat and let your fingers dip just below the surface, feeling the icy waters for a moment before pulling back and inspecting your hand.

"Don't go in the water," people had said. "There's something wrong with it. There's something cursed about it." You hum in thought as you try to rub warmth back into your fingers, the freezing sensation from the water sticking to you and travelling up your arm as the rain begins to fall steadily. 

You've heard the stories, you know what Gotham is - a festering breeding ground for illegal magic, with its waters serving as a dumping ground for the pollution that comes with it. Years of it have turned the harbour into a magical chemical wasteland, and you shudder as the coldness seeps further into your skin and begins to turn your fingertips blue. 

"Don't go in the water," people had said, lest you find yourself developing a glowing blue-green tinge and struggling to breathe in air above water - lest you freeze over and stumble back in and fall down into the depths.

Don't go in the water - it will never let you out.

Below the surface of the water, two milky blue eyes stare forward - stare at you. Afternoon rolls into night and days roll into weeks and he watches, lets his tail swish through the water, sending waves crashing against the side of your boat. The vial that you'd been dipping into the water slips from your grasp and into the depths below. But you just sigh, mostly unbothered, before filling a second vial with the murky, darkened substance. 

You're not like the others, he finds - you're not scared of him the way that the others are. You're curious, instead, and it's a curiosity that he finds himself mirroring throughout the days, watching you as you study the water, filling vials upon vials with it and bringing it into your little floating home.

But there is, he realizes over time, still a fear in you. As he haunts the waters underneath your boat, he sees the way you shrink away from the dockworkers - the way you back away from the lights and noises of the city and keep to the relative safety of your boat. He sees your fear and recognizes it - sees it the way that he sees his own.

He knows, somewhere deep and intrinsic, that you're hiding from the same world that he is. And that curiosity in him becomes bravery as he watches you dip that second vial into the water and he sees your fingers, once tinged blue-green and frozen from the polluted waters. They look healthy now, warm and nimble as they pop the cap onto the vial. He stares, as much as he can with his milky, clouded eyes, down towards his own hands and wonders, ever so hopefully, if you can help him, too.

So he watches. And you, in turn, watch back. You begin seeing it, every now and then and out of the corner of your eye - glimpses of a large, powerful, scaled tail. Flashes of that glowing blue-green hue. Whispers of a song over the breeze. And that curiosity that he's become so fond of as he circles your boat in the darkness of night, trying his best to watch you - he finds that curiosity mirrored as you lean over the railing, eyeing him through the rippling waves. 

It's late one night, the moon hanging low in the darkened sky as the waves roll through the harbour, when he swims idly through the waters underneath your boat. He wonders, ever so curiously, if all people like you are so clumsy as you drop a vial you'd been working with, the dropper in your hand falling into the waters below and sinking towards the bottom. You sigh, a long-suffering sort of thing as you grip onto the railing and try to balance with the boat's swaying and rocking. 

You're standing slowly, your hand still wrapped tightly around the wooden rail when something crashes out of the water towards you. You lurch back a bit, your feet unsteady on the damp wood, but a strong arm wraps around your waist and keeps you upright while you stare at the being in front of you.

The creature haunting the Gotham Harbour, the monster of the deep, the serpent stalking the waters and pulling sailors to their deaths. Here he towers before you, his arm retracting away from you so that he can prop himself up on the railing of your boat and let his lengthy, scaled tail swish through the water beneath him.

You slip towards him as the force of him - as the weight of his enormous finned tail tips the boat ever so slightly and brings you closer to him. He looks down at you, leaning forward with his human torso as his eyes, milky and blurred, stare down and you grip onto the railing between the two of you in an effort to keep yourself upright.

When your knuckles brush against the jagged scales, though, an intricate pattern of blues and greens and violets scraping against your skin, he hisses and bares sharped, razor-like canines at you.

But you just blink, tipping your head back to look up at him - at his eyes and the white swirls clouding them over. Because you know what it looks like when magic rots you from the inside, when it eats away at you and turns you into something nightmarish. And you've been studying this water - you know of the pollution and the poisoning and the horrors that it causes. 

So you reach, out of instinct perhaps, towards him. You reach as your eyes sweep over his hair, bluish-black and dripping, over the water droplets that run down his abs and towards the gills covering his ribs, twitching and fluttering and struggling. You reach, and you're not all too surprised when he hisses again and lurches away from you.

But he reaches a cold, wet hand towards you instead of fleeing further and all but throws something at your chest, making you stumble back with a huffed breath and grab it before it falls. And it's the vial, you realize numbly as you stare down at it in your hands - the one that you'd dropped. His claws, you notice slowly, have hit you, too - ripping through your shirt just a bit and prompting little trails of blood to ooze out, darkened by the blanket of night that covers the two of you. 

"You -," you begin, but the creature is already pushing himself away from the railing, diving gracefully back into the water with a deadly silence and leaving you with your head spinning and your lungs burning as you stare at the water where he once appeared. 

Admittedly, the next time you drop something over the edge of your boat, it's more intentional than it usually is, and you crouch rather close to the water with your arms wrapped around your knees while you wait to see if he'll show up again. Sure enough, it's mere moments before he propels himself out of the water and drops the lost object onto the wooden deck, staring toward you with those milky, vacant eyes. 

You stand slowly while he stares, his arms propping him up on the railing while you move towards him. He stays still, this time, tense and unwavering as you step closer and look at his faded, unfocused eyes.

"I can help you," you say, pointing first at your own eyes and then at his. "Let me?" He just stares, though, white, glazed eyes looking on as the gills that line over his ribs twitch and shiver, morphed and altered by the harbour waters, forgetting the feel of the clean, cool oceans. He can't leave, you realize. Gotham Harbour has ensnared him, turned him into a monster that could only ever exist and survive here. 

He disappears as you study him, slipping back into the murky, blackened water and leaving you sighing, your shoulders slumping in momentary defeat. 

But then you hear it, a faint banging sound coming from inside your home - and you lurch, moving to rip open the door.

You see it then, the trapdoor that you have partially covered by a rug and the latch trembling with the force of something shoving at it from underneath. You move forward in a rush, after staring and blinking and letting your mind reel for a moment, to unlock the latch and let the trapdoor swing up and open, wrinkling the rug and covering it in that cursed harbour water as the creature pulls himself up through the opening and leans on his arms to look at you.

You stare, mouth slightly open as you take in the creature in front of you, letting his tail swish and move in the waves beneath him and dripping water onto your floor. 

"…Help me," he says slowly, and his voice is smooth, soft and sing-songy in a way that makes you walk towards him and fold yourself down onto your knees to look at him face-to-face.

"You can speak?" you ask in lieu of a response. He frowns, his dark, water-slicked brows bunching together as he stares in your direction. 

"There is a part of me that's human, after all," he says quietly. You huff out a breath and reach for him ever so slowly, letting your fingers hover for just a moment before making contact with his cheek. He makes a surprised little noise, jerking his head away from you for a second before shifting on his palms and leaning back into your touch.

"Thank you," you murmur quietly as you trace a finger over his brow bone before letting your forefinger hook under his chin so that you can tilt his head slowly and look at his eyes. 

"Can you… fix it?" he asks slowly, a hesitance in his smooth, silky voice.

"I can," you respond simply, smiling ever so lightly even though you know he probably can't really see it. "I said I'd help you… and I will."

It's a slow process, of course, to begin to heal and change him after that, bringing the colour and life back to his eyes. It's weeks of him pulling himself up through the trapdoor in the bottom of your boat to let you poke and prod at him, giving him various vials to drink from and coaxing him to tip his head back so that you can drop strange liquids into his eyes.

It's difficult for him, you know, odd and uncomfortable and frightening. So you don't mind, really, when he hisses and snaps his teeth and grabs your arm to dig his blue-black claws in until blood runs down your skin. He doesn't mean to, you know. So you let him.

And it works, much to his delight - the magic you use on him begins to soothe the symptoms of the polluted water. He's still this thing, of course, he'll never go back to being a regular mermaid, but he's not in pain - not the way he was before. His eyes don't burn and his head doesn't feel light and dizzy anymore, riddled with haziness and pain. 

Eventually, the white milkiness fades and his irises shine blue once more - it's not the blue they used to be, you're sure. They're vibrant and glowing and unnatural, but they're blue and they're his and he can see the world through them, finally. He can see you - really see you for the first time. 

"Hi," you breathe quietly, a smile flitting gently across your lips as you watch him blink rapidly, his eyes glancing quickly around the space to take in his surroundings properly for the first time in so, so long. 

And then, of course, his eyes find their way back to you, kneeling on the cold, wooden floor so that you're at eye level with him and looking at him with those big, hopeful eyes of yours. He reaches for you, then - he can't help it, not when you're kind and gentle and staring at him like he's something precious. You let him, though your brows shoot up in surprise when he leans forward.

"You're beautiful," he says lowly, close enough to you that his breath touches your face. You make a small, surprised sort of sound and glance away from him, but he reaches for you with a firm hand, cupping your cheek and smashing his lips against yours in a firm kiss. You make a high-pitched, surprised noise somewhere in the back of your throat and when he pulls away you shift on your knees, clearing your throat and looking at him in bemusement. 

"Thank you," he says simply, and you nod and hum in mock understanding.

"I'd like to, uh, I'd like to try fixing your gills a bit, too - if you'd let me." The grin that he gives you in response to your request makes you bite your lip in immediate regret.

"I think I'd let you do just about anything to me now," he says flippantly. You sniff indignantly and rub a hand over your face harshly, but cold, smooth fingers wrapping around your wrist stop you. 

"Oh, that's just…" but you trail off as he pulls up your sleeve slowly, revealing dark, crimson welts where he'd dug his claws into you so many times. You stay still as he stares, holding your breath as he runs a delicate finger over the cuts and looks unblinkingly down towards them.

"It's… it's ok," you say slowly. "It's alright."

"Seems like such a monstrous thing to do, doesn't it?" Dick says, ignoring your words. "To hurt the thing that's trying to help you." When he looks up at you then, you take notice of his clear, unblemished eyes for the first time. They're sharp and flashing, the deep blues and violets swirling in them as they draw you further, further, further in. 

He looks… dangerous, you realize sluggishly. He looks a bit like a wild animal, and as the waves beneath your boat crash against the wooden hull and water sloshes up from the opening onto his torso and your floor, you think, rather distantly, about the stories of the creature who haunts the harbour - who drags people to the depths. 

"Are you?" you ask quietly as your heart hammers against your ribs. "Are you a monster?" His grip on you tightens and you find yourself entranced by the shimmering colour of his eyes - a part of your mind begins to panic, begins to try to break away, but you find that you just… can't. 

"Oh, I wasn't always," he murmurs lowly. "But I think I am now. I think I was turned into one, don't you?"

"No…" you respond slowly, placing your hand over his where it grips your wrist and watching as the touch seems to shock him out of whatever trance he'd been in. "I think that's up to you." He blinks at you for a moment then, reeling, it would seem, from the entire interaction before he looks back down and sees the way he's gripping your arm, the cuts blemishing your skin there, oozing thin trails of red over his hand. 

You sigh in relief, much to your own guilt, when he wrenches his hand away from you and steadies himself as water sloshes up against him. As he breathes deeply and runs a cold, blue-tinged hand through his hair roughly, you stand and turn to rummage in a chest for bandages and ointment and whatever else you need.

"I didn't -" he starts.

"I know," you cut him off, tucking yourself into a chair some distance away from him and rolling up your sleeve so that you can dab at the wounds gently. "It's alright."

"Then why won't you look at me?" he asks, and there's a harsh edge to his voice that makes you pause. It's a divergence from his normal smooth, silky voice that wafts over the breeze and has sailors stumbling towards him in a haze. It's wavering, now, jagged and honest and it makes you huff out a breath.

"Careful," you quip, but you still don't look up. "You sounded almost human there." You hear him sigh quietly and the waves rock the boat as he shifts his stance and pulls himself up and further out of the water. 

"What are you doing?" This time you do look at him, throwing down the bandages that you'd been unravelling as he pulls himself further into your boat, letting his tail propel himself out of the water until he's laying almost on his back on your floor, propping himself up on his elbows and tipping his head back to stare at your ceiling as he drips water onto your rug.

"You're overextending your welcome, Dick," you say eventually, but there's a distinct lack of bite in your voice and his lazy grin proves that he knows that it's not a real jab, not when you say his name so sweetly - the name that he's whispered against you like a secret all those nights ago.

"I'm looking at your home," Dick responds easily, and you follow his gaze up toward the dried herbs hanging from your rafters.

You sigh, then, rolling your neck to try to ease some of the tension as you gather your first aid kit and bring them back toward him. He watches out of the corner of his eye as you kneel beside him once more, your knees hitting the soft rug with a dull thud as you begin unravelling the bandages once more.

Dick rolls onto his side to face you, though, propping himself up on just one elbow and reaching to take the bandages from your hands and coax you into giving him your arm. 

"You're a bit hot and cold, aren't you?" you observe quietly, your voice a low murmur as he takes your injured arm so delicately in his hands and begins wrapping the bandages over the damaged skin.

"I don't mean to be," he answers honestly. You just shrug.

"I don't mind… I think we all are sometimes," you say honestly. He glances up at you, the blue of his eyes shimmering as he draws his brows together.

"You've only been kind to me."

"You haven't known me that long," you point out, but he just shoots you a scathing look.

"You might… just not give yourself enough credit," he offers as he finishes bandaging your arm, securing it and smoothing his hands over it to ensure that everything is as it should be. "I think you're a good person," he says earnestly.

"I think you're a good person, too," you reply easily, but he freezes at your words for a moment before he pulls his hands away from you and rolls onto his back, letting his shoulders thump against your rug as he lays his hands over his stomach.

"There's not much of me left that could be seen as a person," he says quietly, and as his tail swishes, it bumps against the side of the trapdoor opening. Glancing at it for just a moment, you wonder how big it really is - how far down into the icy, blackened depths it really goes.

"I don't know," you start, and your teasing tone has him narrowing his eyes at you as you raise yourself up to shuffle closer on your knees and lean over him, bracing your hands on either side of his head as you look down at him scrutinizingly. "Your eyes look pretty good to me. Almost human."

He makes a face at that, wrinkling his nose as he lifts his hands off of his stomach to let one wrap gently around your wrist and the other smooth over the back of your thigh where you're still leaning over him.

"I don't care for being human," he huffs. "Just not… this." You let your eyes flicker over his torso at his words before they settle on the gills lining the sides of his ribs. He watches, one hand still trailing up and down the back of your thigh as you shift your weight slightly. When you place one hand overtop of the gills ever so gently, your palm just barely brushing against them, you watch as they twitch and move. 

"I said I'd help you with that, didn't I?" you murmur, looking down at the way they move underneath your touch. 

"That was -" he starts, and he looks away with a bashfulness - with a guilt that doesn't look like it belongs. "That was before I hurt you."

"Oh, I don't mind," you respond easily, shifting your weight back onto your palms where they now rest on either side of his head again. "Just as long as you never look at me like that again." You lean down as you speak, comforting the guilty look in his eyes with a kiss on his cheek that has him sighing underneath you. 

"I think you should keep it unlocked," he says quietly, and you hum in confusion before glancing at the lock of the trapdoor and grinning just a bit.

"What, you planning on dropping by?" you quip, but one of his arms slides around your waist and he pulls you closer to him, your thighs widening as he tugs you down. 

"Probably," he answers easily, and you huff a bit.

"What if something else decides to come pay me a visit, hm?" You say it mostly as a joke, but Dick's look sours and you catch a glimpse of his sharp, deadly canines as his lip curls in unhappiness.

"I won't let that happen," he offers firmly, his grip on you tightening. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"Well," you say, a bit breathless. "I guess I have nothing to worry about, then."

"You're distracting me," you murmur, sighing long-sufferingly when you're met with nothing more than a watery giggle in response to your chastising. You're sitting on the edge of your boat, cross-legged to keep your feet from touching the water as your hands flit over his gills to check the progress of their healing. 

But his hands roam over you, too, smoothing over your ribs and twirling your hair through his cold fingers as he watches you work. Below you, somewhere in the impossible, twisted depths of the harbour, his massive tail thumps against the underside of the boat and tips you forward until your forehead knocks against his chest and he giggles again in that tantalizing, siren-like way of his.

"Really, Dick," you continue as you plant a hand on the smooth, cold skin of his chest to steady yourself and huff in mock annoyance. "You should be much better now. Is it… do they feel different?"

"Of course," he answers quickly, but when you purse your lips in annoyance, he grins flippantly and you feel his twisted gills twitch under your fingers. "They do," he assures gently, a bit more serious this time. "I… I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like…" 

He stops then, looking out towards the docks and the endless, tangled maze of shipping containers and docked boats as you watch him. You smooth your hand more firmly over his side as another wave rocks the boat and you wonder, with a bit less concern than perhaps you should have, if it's him that's churning the waters down below - or if there's something else down there in the blackened depths. 

"You're free now," you supply for him when he doesn't finish speaking, and he starts in surprise and snaps his gaze to you, looking at you imploringly with those widened, twisted blue eyes.

"Free?" he asks haltingly.

"Mhmm," you nod slowly. "It's… I don't know. It's this place, isn't it? It's that water." You reach up as you speak, smoothing his bluish-black hair out of his eyes and pressing your lips together as you consider how to explain it - how to define the twisted curse of this place that you've both found yourselves trapped in. 

"It's like, once you're here," he begins, pausing and looking out towards the vast harbour, the endless darkness of the water seemingly swallowing the sunlight that touches it. "Once you're here… you can never really leave."

"It's… yea. Something like that," you agree, chewing your lip as you roll his words over in your mind. And it's like he knows - it's like those impossibly blue eyes can look right through you when he stares, because he taps his finger against your hip and you blink up at him.

"What about you?" he asks softly. "What curse is keeping you here?"

You open your mouth to respond, to say something in comfort as the twisting trap of the harbour looms behind you, but a noise on the dock startles the two of you.  By the time you realize that it's a couple of dockworkers wandering too close to your secluded little safe haven, he's already slipped from your grasp, disappearing into the icy, cursed waters below and sinking to somewhere where you can't follow.

Huffing a bit, you stand and stretch and stare out towards the water for just a moment before heading inside. And as you look out, as you stare and hope and wait, you see the ripple of something breaking through the surface - you see the shimmering, finned tail pop out of the water just enough so that you know… he's still down there. He's right underneath you, haunting the waters that he now calls home. 

"I'm going to start keeping that locked again if you don't stop doing that," you say breathlessly as you put a hand over your heart. The trapdoor at the bottom of your boat had just been swung open rather abruptly, slamming against the wooden floor so that he can pull himself out of the water.

"Why are there so many people searching the docks for you?" is all he says in response, his eyes flashing as he stares intently towards you. You just sigh and move to sit next to him, crossing your legs on the plush carpet and leaning on your palm as you look at him.

"They're witch hunters," you say simply. "This is illegal, you know."

"But you help people," he presses, something swirling in his eyes as he leans closer to you in anger. "What will they do to you when they find you?"

"Haven't you seen the smoke?" you shrug, leaning back and blinking as the intensity rolling off of him in waves makes you dizzy. "They're witch pyres."

"What?"

"It's a death sentence," you explain patiently. "If they can prove that someone's using witchcraft, it's… there's a death penalty. They're just hanging around to see if they can catch me. They can't arrest me without proof."

He stares at you, then, for a moment long enough that you shift where you sit and sigh deeply. But then he turns to stare out of one of the glazed windows, eyeing the flickering shadows of the world outside as if every one of them is a threat.

"Why not stop, then?" he asks quietly, keeping his gaze on the window.

"Stop?" you splutter. "Why would I?"

"Because you'll die," he says firmly. You smile gently, a bit too at ease with the whole thing than he is.

"We all die for something," you say softly. "I may as well die for living." He looks back at you, then, something large and sad and haunting in his gaze as he stares down at you. A bit of water sloshes up onto your floor as his tail trashes through the water below and you cock your head to the side in question as you wait for him to speak.

"I thought that once, too," he says slowly - haltingly, like the words scrape at his throat on their way out. "I thought that, when the poachers caught me - when they shipped me to this place like cargo. And when I escaped… I thought these waters would kill me."

"But isn't it better," you respond softly, smoothing a hand over his heart as he looks down at you with furrowed brows, his hair dripping water down his face. "To die free, in the seas, instead of in a cage?"

"That's what I thought," he nods.

"And now?" you ask slowly. A frown tugs at his lips and he sighs as he looks down at you, his lips pressed together into a thin line. 

"Now I wonder… if this is what this place has turned me into… what will it do to you?" You straighten at his words, huffing out a breath in surprise as he stares imploringly at you. But then you clear your throat and let your gaze rake over his figure. Glancing at the gills that now sit healthy and fluttering, at the crystal clear gaze of his eyes and the steady beating of his heart.

"Don't say it like there's no going back," you say instead of really answering. "I can't turn you back into what you were before, but you're whole again now, aren't you? You're free, remember?" He just sighs at that, though, and lets his eyes close as he leans forward to press his forehead against yours. Droplets of water drip from his face onto yours, leaving tangled trails of shining, cold wetness over your cheeks.

"But what will you do, then?" he asks quietly. "If I'm not here to keep you safe?"

"I'll be alright," you whisper back, smoothing a hand over the back of his neck to rub soothing circles into his skin with your thumb as you let your eyes flutter closed.

Dick's hand finds your waist and he tightens his grip, his fingers pressing in as if you'll disappear if he doesn't hold on. He thinks of it - of the wide blue seas, of the breeze and the rolling waves and sun beating down. He thinks of the freedom beyond this tangled web of darkness and something painful tugs at his heart.

As he opens his eyes and tilts his head back to look down at you, small and alive and looking up at him with a trust that he's never known before, he wonders if perhaps this is the real curse of Gotham. It's not that you can't leave - it's that, suddenly, you find that you never really want to.

But, of course, the stories have continued to rage on outside of your little safe haven, and whispers spread through the tangled streets about the creature in the deep… and now those stories include you. People have begun speculating that there's a witch practicing in the harbour, and stories tell of someone helping the monster of the water, making him stronger and more powerful and more capable of harm than ever before. 

And you hear them, of course, the tales and the rumours and the fear that begins to spread. It seeps into your home, oozing through the wooden planks and wrapping around you at night as you sit alone, no longer finding company in the blackened waters below.

You sent him away, you remind yourself. You gave him freedom and now he's gone. It's a fact that you remember with a startling zip of panic one night, when the moon hangs low and your breath fogs in front of your face as you wind through the maze of the docks quickly and quietly.

It's not often that you leave your boat these days, but it has to happen sometimes - and judging from the glinting stares of the dockworkers, you're not the only one who knew that. You know that you're being followed - you know how this night will end. The law may have to wait for proof to see you dead, but the poachers slinking around the docks and hauling illegal cargo aren't bound by such rules, and the menacing cloud hanging over you proves that. 

You freeze suddenly, jerking yourself out of your thoughts as you stare out at the dock in front of you - at the raging water beyond and the poachers that you can see just beyond the shipping crates. You have nowhere left to run, you realize haltingly. There is no safety to be found for you on this cursed night.

You think idly, as you stare out towards the abandoned waters, about what he'd said to you before you'd sent him away. You'll die for this, he's promised. If you set me free and you stay behind, you'll die in this cursed place.

Of course I will, you'd thought. But you hadn't expected it to be so soon. A thunderous wave crashes up onto the wooden dock and you consider, for just a moment, how lucky you may be to die free, standing on the edge of this curse and leaning out towards the open seas. 

And then you hear it, the dull footsteps and the jeering of approaching poachers, violence dripping off of them and staining the space between you all. You see it, the glint of a knife being pulled from somewhere hidden, the rolling shoulders of a man succumbing to fear.

And then… and then…

The huge, finned tail of a creature born of cursed nightmares and vengeance, breaking the water's surface to arch high overhead and make everyone stumble to a halt. You think, rather alarmed, that you really, really hadn't realized just how much of him he'd kept unseen - you notice it for the first time as the sheer size of the scaled tail fills the sky above you, the shimmering, thick fins blocking out the moonlight and casting a great, swallowing shadow over the dock in front of you. 

And then it moves, swift and powerful enough to send a gust of wind in your direction, tearing through your hair as you watch the tail smash through the wooden dock between you and the poachers. They scream, panicked and stumbling as the dock splinters and cracks and crumbles underneath you all, and the tail simply raises again to slam down a second time, now aiming directly for the men.

You hear it, as you stumble and misstep, the wooden planks collapsing beneath you - you hear the sickening cracks of the poachers being slammed by the tail, crushing them as they scream.

But then the wood under your feet finally gives way, and you find yourself plummeting into the icy, darkened waters below.

And these waters, you recall in a hazy, far away sort of way, aren't fit for humans - even ones like you. Dark and cold and murky, it burns and freezes and blurs out your mind and thinking. Stay out of the water, you think as you sink further down, down, deep towards the bottom, the faint lights of the dock disappearing above.

Stay out of the water - or it will never let you out.

You notice it in a sort of trance, as if it's happening to someone else and you're watching through a window - you can almost feel it, the arms that wrap around you, cold and firm. You can almost feel the water move around you as he begins to pull you up, out of the impossible depths and back towards the surface, towards the light and the warmth of the open night sky.

The water is impossible to see through, dark and muddy and hazing your vision, but you can see, through the cloudy ripples, the bioluminescent glow of his tail - like pinpricks of light, blue and violet and green, swirling all around you. 

You let your eyes try to follow the lights, but they twist and move and spread so far away that they fade into the depths, and the sight has you choking out a gasp and spluttering as the toxic water begins to fill your lungs - it has you reeling as you wonder, yet again, just how monstrous his figure really is.

But then the trapdoor of your boat is being slammed open from underneath and he's pulling you out of the water to lay you onto the plush rug in your home, letting you cough and splutter and gasp for breath. You tremble and shake, the cold from the water seeping into you and freezing you from the inside out as your lungs struggle and burn from the air you're trying to gasp in.

Dick's learned, though, you think distractedly as you watch him pull himself up and out of the water after you. He understands the witchcraft that you do and the potions that you make. It doesn't take long for him to have you pressed against him, curled into his chest as he brings vials to your lips gently, urging you to drink until your lungs begin to expand properly and your eyes focus on him.

By the time your mind begins to clear again, your chest rising and falling in a steadier pattern as your breathing evens out once more, Dick's laying on the rug next to you, curling around you in a protective sort of embrace, and you sit up just enough to see the beginnings of his tail winding around you as well until you're in a makeshift sort of nest. As your eyes follow his tail through its twists and curls and settle on where it continues down into the murky water, you can't help but think back to the impossible power of it that you'd witnessed before. 

"Don't move," he murmurs sternly, tugging you back down to press you against his chest again. You're still shaking, trembling from the cold that still lingers under your skin, and the sight makes him frown as he swipes a thumb over your lips as they stay stained blue from the freezing temperatures of the water. His skin, as he shifts against you, you're sure doesn't help - always cold to the touch, always inhumanly freezing. 

"Just let me get something," you respond quietly, your voice raspy from the strain you'd put on your throat and lungs. A frown tugs on his lips, but he lets you stand on shaky legs and take just a few steps away from him to snatch the blanket off of the back of your armchair before you're stumbling back to him. That frown of his doesn't begin to ease until he's got you pressed against him again, the blanket tucked securely around you and his hands flitting around, smoothing down the fabric and tucking in the corners.

"I thought you were gone," you admit softly, your face pressed against his chest. His hands still a bit before he's smoothing a palm over the back of your hair and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

"I wouldn't leave you like this," he responds gently, his voice soothing in that soft, slow way of his. "I couldn't leave you to do this alone."

"But what about you?" you push. "Don't you want to go home?" Dick sighs at that, wrapping the blanket tighter around you where it's begun to slip off of your shoulder. 

"There's something about this place," he muses, like there's a point that he's sidestepping - like there's something that he doesn't want to admit. "I guess I couldn't really find it in me to - there's something about… I don't know, this place. This city and this harbour and… and you. It's like I'm rooted here."

"I'm… sorry," you offer gently. He just places a soothing kiss to your cheek and squeezes you gently in his arms as if to say it's not your fault. This isn't your curse. This isn't your trap.

"I think…" he begins slowly, smoothing a hand up and down your spine. "That there may not be anything for me out there anymore. Not… not with this curse of mine" He glances down at himself as he speaks, at his twisted tail and the way the scales ripple and catch the light. You may have healed his pain, sure, but not even you could turn him into what he was before.  He's this monster now, warped and twisted and deadly… and that's just the way it is, he thinks. 

"I suppose," you respond slowly. "There's no breaking curses like ours. Maybe there really is no escaping this place."

"But is it so bad?" he offers gently, crooking his forefinger under your chin to make you look up at him, to sweep his thumb over your bottom lip once more and feel the warmth returning to you, flushing your skin. "Is it so horrible to share a curse like this?"

"No," you murmur as his lips find yours, soft and gentle and cold to the touch. "Maybe it's not."

"And besides," Dick adds, a humour seeping into his voice that has you narrowing your eyes in suspicion. "It seems you clearly need something lurking in the water to look out for you."

"Um… do you need to deal with that?" The woman you're speaking to is staring at the trapdoor in the bottom of your boat with a concerned sort of shock as the hinges rattle and the lock creaks.

"What? No, no, it's -" you say as you slam your foot onto it, stomping the wood aggressively. "It's just the waves." She's looking at you like she doesn't believe you, and the banging sound that's coming from the trapdoor isn't helping much, you're sure.

"Alright, I - um, that's right. I - I have your payment here," the woman continues politely, handing you an envelope. You flip it open to count the bills in it quickly, keeping one foot planted firmly on the rattling trapdoor. It may be illegal, this practice of yours, but condemning witchcraft has yet to make it unhelpful. Even now, months after your move to Gotham, you have a steady stream of customers slipping into your boat and asking for your help. 

  "Ok, come back soon!" You call as the woman makes a hasty exit after you've approved her money, glancing back to the trapdoor with a scared sort of look before she disappears. 

It's once she's gone, then, that you lift your foot and unlock the latch before stepping back just in time for Dick to throw the door up and open with a loud bang. 

"Why did you lock it?" he huffs as he pulls himself up, catching the towel that you toss to him.

"I always lock it when I have customers," you sigh good-naturedly, sitting next to him and watching as he hastily dries off himself, keeping the polluted harbour water away from your rug. "We really… we really can't be seen like this."

"I don't know what you mean," Dick sniffs indignantly, but the sly look that he shoots you as he tosses the towel aside says otherwise. You let him get away with it, of course, doing nothing but settling further and letting him sprawl himself across your lap. 

"I'm serious," you say, but you begin to card your fingers through his hair gently as you chastise him and you watch as he lets his eyes flutter closed, his tail swishing through the water below you and rocking the boat in soothing movements. "All of us have to be careful. There are rumours of a purge going on - people are even talking about bringing the vampire hunts back."

"Vampires?" Dick opens one eye to squint up at you. "In Gotham? That can't be true."

"You'd be surprised," you murmur, but you shush him nonetheless, letting him close his eyes again as you smooth over his furrowed brows with your thumb. 

"You're not… you're not really upset, are you?" he says slowly - quietly, like he's afraid of the answer.

"With you?" you respond easily. "No, never." You lean down to kiss him, then, delicate little things placed first on his lips and then across his face as he relaxes against you. You both know, by now, that you're not really upset. How can you be? When you have a home and a practice and a rather vicious guard dog who loves you so much.

How can you be upset? With this life that you've built for yourself and this curse that you've tamed.

[deathbyclown]

Casual Thing Pairing: OPLA!Buggy x Reader (afab) Rating: Explicit Words: 3200

Summary: Reader and Buggy have been hooking up, and today is no different. Reader works on Buggy’s crew and after rehearsals Buggy wants to enjoy his little plaything.

Note: established ‘relationship’, blowjob, fingering, vaginal sex, objectification, Buggy calls reader a lot of names (nearly all of which are degrading) in case that’s not ur thing. It’s just smut, no plot!

(Can I offer you some porn in these trying times?)

AO3 Link 

You pulled at the ropes to the sails, yanking in tandem with your crewmates, furling the sails so the ship wouldn’t go too far off course while the majority of the crew was at rehearsal.  

“Hurry up! You’re already ten minutes late!!” Buggy barked, pacing behind them as they worked. No one dared to mention that Buggy never had to be on time. Everyone worked on Buggy time; they would perform when he was ready, and wait patiently when he wasn’t. And apparently they were ten minutes late to Buggy’s impatient schedule. 

The muscles in your arms flexed, straining against the heavy weight of the sailcloth, gripping the rough rope tightly until the pirates on the mast could tie it closed. Buggy stood right behind you as you huffed and struggled, the extra attention making you sweat even harder. He didn’t say a word to you, but you could feel his eyes on you. The feeling of them, of his proximity, made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand.

Recently the two of you had been messing around, nothing too serious, but it was happening more frequently. At first it was every once in a while, usually when the ship was docked and re-supplying. Then it was after successful raids. Then it was after a night of drinking. And then on any day when it wasn’t sunny. And then it seemed random, Buggy’s disembodied hand pulling your arm down the hall of the ship to a supply closet, to his dressing room, to the bottom of the ship, to his Captain’s quarters.  

You had slept so infrequently in your own bunk that your roommates were becoming suspicious. But thankfully no one had mentioned anything to you yet. They knew you were sneaking off to sleep with someone, but if they knew who, they were smart enough not to mention it. But you were sure everyone knew at this point; Buggy lacked any kind of subtlety, despite his attempts to be so. 

Once the sail was secured, everyone scrambled to the tent, yourself included. You rushed past Buggy, whose hand followed you and squeezed your ass, making you yelp, but you kept going, trying to pretend nothing happened, your face heating as you heard him cackle behind you.  

Real subtle, Captain.

You got ready with the others, changing your shoes to your more sturdy and flexible flats, which was better for tightrope work. Buggy burst into the tent, already shouting at people as he walked by them, making his way to his throne so he could keep an eye on everyone while they practiced. 

Usually rehearsals started with warmups, then people would do their specific routines, and then it would be a full show run-through. All in all it probably took about three or four hours, depending on whether or not Buggy wanted to interrupt to lecture or re-arrange certain acts. So you did your stretches with your fellow tightrope and acrobatic performers, glancing every so often at Buggy, who, once again, was unsubtly watching you. You tried not to let your pleasure show at having his attention, but you couldn’t help the small smile growing on your face as you continued stretching. Even if you guys were just fucking, it felt special to have him watching you like this.  

And if you bent your body in a more appealing way, if you pushed out your ass more, pushed your breasts together and leaned forward so Buggy could look down your shirt while you went through practice and rehearsal...well...it was all just a coincidence. Buggy couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, unusually quiet for a normal rehearsal, but no one was complaining. In fact, everything went so smoothly that it finished earlier than normal, everyone mulling around, wondering if they could leave early until Buggy shouted at them for standing around, ordering them to clean up and get back to work.  

The tent cleared out at record speeds; no one wanted to stick around in case he changed his mind. You started packing up too, changing out of your shoes, ready to follow the crowd but Buggy’s hand tugged on the back of your shirt, pulling you away from the rest of the crew filing out of the tent. You followed the hand, letting it guide you to the darkened edges of the tent until his arm shot out from between some crates and pulled you to him. 

He backed you into the corner of a stack of crates and boxes, keeping you hidden from view. Buggy kissed you hungrily, his hands going straight to your hips, pulling you against him. You melted at his touch, kissing him back with as much fervor. He licked your mouth and you opened, your tongue pushing against his and he groaned, grabbing handfuls of your ass to grind you against his hard cock. He kissed along your jaw to your ear, lightly nipping at the lobe, making you shiver.  

“Y’feel that, you fucking tease?” His hot breath tickled your ear, and he thrust against you, rubbing his erection against your hip. You whimpered, nodding once, your eyes sliding closed, getting swept away by the feeling of him as his hands travelled up to your breasts, lightly squeezing them.  

He sucked marks into your neck as he circled your nipples through your shirt. You shivered at the pleasure shooting through you, your underwear becoming sticky from his teasing. He sucked harder, fingers still playing with your chest, making you whine. 

“You want more? Beg me.” His voice low, commanding, his slick lips tickling your neck. 

“Yes, please, touch me more. Please, Captain.” You begged, giving him what he wanted. He groaned, rubbing his straining erection against you. He ripped off his gloves and reached under your shirt to touch your breasts, pleased to find you weren’t wearing a bra. 

“Little slut, always ready for me to take what I want.” His lips found yours again as he pulled at your nipples, swallowing your moans. His fingers circled and played with your breasts and the teasing starting to be too much; your pussy was aching, you need to be fucked, desperately. 

“Buggy.” You moaned against his lips. 

“Yes. Say it. Say my name.” He said hurriedly between kisses, swiping his tongue into your mouth. 

“Pleeease.” You whined, gasping as he pushed your shirt above your chest, bending down to run the flat of his tongue on your pebbled nipple. “Buggy.” You gasped, your hands shooting to his grip his shoulders as he sucked, his teeth grazing the soft flesh of your breast.  

“I need you inside me.” You panted, biting back whines and moans, hands clenching hard into his stiff coat. 

He huffed against your breast, kissing the soft flesh before standing to pull you back against him, kissing your lips. He slid his hands into your pants and underwear and slowly pushed them down as he ravaged your mouth. You held onto his arms, breaking away from the kiss to catch your breath, soft sounds escaping from you as his hands cupped your bare ass.  

“You me to fuck you, whore?” He asked with a smug grin, watching your eyes, and leaned forward to be right in your face, “earn it.” 

You shivered, mouth gaping as he pushed against your shoulders, forcing you down onto your knees. You looked up at him, feeling exposed, half naked, slick and aching, clenching around nothing as he pulled his cock from his pants. He stroked himself a few times, giving you a half grin, slapping his cock against your cheek. Your eyes slid closed, your lips parting, ready for him to push his cock into your waiting mouth. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” He reprimanded, grabbing your face with one hand, squeezing your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him. “My little plaything has to work for her reward.” 

“Yes, Captain.” You mumbled out, his hands pressing your cheeks hard enough that it was difficult to talk. 

“Go ahead, show me how eager my whore is to please me.” He let go of your face, letting his cock bob freely in front of you. Your cunt clenched at the sight of it. He was thick, uncut, proportional to his body, curving very slightly upward, the pink head of him glistening with pre-cum. You swallowed hard as your eyes met his. He was leering at you, and your attention was caught once again by his cock that he wiggled at you.  

You reached forward, placing a soft kiss on his leaking tip, licking your lips to taste bitter salt. You licked his head, swirling your tongue and wrapping your lips around him to suck lightly, lovingly. He groaned above you, a hand resting on the back of your head, not yet pushing you onto him. You eased your way down, licking him as best you could as you pulled him deeper into your mouth until you went as far as you could go and used your tongue to press and stroke the thick vein of his cock. Buggy’s breath came more heavily, softly muttering things you couldn’t catch, but whatever he was saying it seemed like you were doing a good job. With one hand on the shaft of his cock, you bobbed on the top half of him, using your tongue to massage his head whenever you could while your hand lightly twisted and pulled him with the movements of your mouth. 

Buggy’s voice turned more whiny, higher, huffing and praising you. “So fucking good. You love my cock, don’t you? You’re so pretty like this. So so good, sweetheart.” He was babbling at this point. You melted at his appreciation, his praise. Part of you wanted to make him cum like this, down your throat, or maybe with your mouth open and tongue out so he could see himself making a mess of you. But the other part of you needed him inside your cunt. You shivered at the thought of it and moaned around him. He moaned in return, pushing against the back of your head and moving his hips forward.  

“Take me deeper.” 

You obliged, relaxing your throat to swallow him all the way down to his base, your nose pressed firmly to the front of his unzipped pants. You couldn’t do much when you had him this deep, it was already taking you a lot of focus just to not gag and choke around him. You pulled back slightly to take a deep breath through your nose and pushed forward again, swallowing around him. He groaned above you, putting both hands on your head and he gave short quick thrusts into your mouth, making you gag and choke. You had to pull off of him, coughing with tears in your eyes. He knelt down, both of his hands still on the sides of your face, and pulled your saliva covered lips into a messy kiss. He trailed kisses up your cheek and over your eyelids and you sighed in pleasure. His warm lips felt so nice on you skin and you hummed as he kiss your lips once more. 

“You’ve shown me what a good whore you are. You still want my cock, sweetheart? You still need me to fuck you?” He teased, biting at your jaw and nibbling your neck. You let out a pathetic little noise, nodding as he licked your neck. “Say it” he growled against your skin. 

“Please fuck me, Buggy! I need it, I need you.” You pleaded, trembling with your desire. He let out a shuddering breath against your neck and bit down, sucking harshly at the skin, making you keen. 

“Of course, anything for my pretty toy.” One of his hands reached between your legs, two fingers gliding against you, playing with your clit. You gripped his shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug, gasping and whimpering into his ear as he rubbed quickly, the sensation too much, too fast. He chuckled into your hair, his hand gliding through your folds to press a finger into you. You moaned, dropping your forehead to his shoulder, gushing as he pushed his finger in deeper. It felt so good, but it wasn’t nearly enough.  

“You’re so wet for me.” He murmured, his voice low and deep. He pushed a second finger into you, your pussy squelching loudly as he thrust them into you. “How do you want it, sweetheart? How do you want me to fuck you?” 

You swallowed hard, your skin tightening, making your hairs stand on end. “Please, anything, just need your cock, Buggy.” You begged, kissing his neck, rubbing your head against his shoulder. Suddenly you felt his arms reach under yours and pull you upward. You yelped, grabbing onto whatever you could reach as you felt weightless for a second. He kissed your cheek and turned you around to lean forward on a stack of boxes. He stood behind you, leaning over top of you, and lifted your shirt to kiss your back as his hands reached under you to fondle your breasts. His cock rubbed against your ass, and he tried to slide it downward against your folds using his hips. His cock kept poking against your asscheeks and you could feel the pre-cum smearing against your skin. You reached behind you, helping to line him up as he continued to play with your tits. He wasted no time pushing forward once he felt his head breach your entrance. You both groaned loudly and your eyes fluttered closed at the satisfying feeling of him filling you. 

He gripped your hips and started a quick pace. You gripped the box you were leaning over, your knuckles white, a continuous whine leaving your lips, like he was fucking it out of you. Buggy slapped your ass and you clenched around him. 

“This cunt was made for me. My perfect little fuck-hole.” he panted, picking up his pace. 

“Yes! Just for you, only for you.” You hurried out breathlessly, trying to stifle your cries of pleasure. 

Buggy’s hand slipped under you, playing with your clit as he fucked you. He pinched and rubbed you, making you jolt and squirm. You dropped your head against the box with a thump as he started rubbing in faster circles, his fingers slick with your arousal. You lifted your hips to press further against him chasing after the pleasure building in your core. He leaned over you, pressing deep into your pussy and circled his hips, his thick cock stretching you, his fingers on your clit never stopping. You shuddered, your jaw hanging open, brows furrowed in concentration, clenching hard against him, so close to your climax. He groaned against your back, nipping your skin and then left open mouthed kisses between your shoulder blades. His forehead rested against you as he shallowly thrust into you, his place slowing down immensely. You pushed back, trying to get him to pick up the pace again and he chuckled, standing up from you, letting you fuck yourself back against him.  

“Mmm, you should see this view.” He husked, grabbing your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks. You moved faster, your ass meeting his hips sharply, trying to chase after your denied orgasm. He started to meet your movement, thrusting into you until he was gripping your hips and fucking you in earnest. He pulled your hips up, making you arch your back and stand on your tip-toes, the new angle made you see stars, and you cried out as he hit you just right.  

You reached a hand down to bring yourself over the edge, but he batted it away and circled your clit with his own fingers instead. You let yourself get carried away, the build overwhelming you, this was in his hands now and you felt like you were coming up to something big. You trembled, clutching at the box beneath you, his fingers and cock working in tandem, his hot breath fast and washing over you, everything pushing you closer and closer until it came crashing over you. You clawed at the box, unable to stop your moans and sobs of pleasure, Buggy’s name tumbling from your lips, thanking him, praising him, as you came hard.  

“Fuck! Gonna fill this greedy little pussy.” He grunted, his jaw clenched. He pounded into you wildly, his grip on your hips bruising. He moaned loudly as he came after you, his hot cum filling you, your fluttering cunt milking him. You cursed breathlessly, your cunt clenching and twitching on its own, as if trying to swallow up every last drop that Buggy gave you. 

You were barely able to hold yourself up, black spots dotting your vision, and it didn’t help that Buggy was now fully resting on top of you, your sweaty bodies making your skin stick to each other. His arms wrapped around you and held you tight, his hips pushing hard into you, lifting you slightly while his cock was still so deep inside, making you groan, your walls still sensitive. He kissed your shoulders, his lips and nose dragging over your sticky skin. 

“That was amazing, sweetheart.” He panted, rubbing his cheek on your back, his stubble scratchy, but not unwelcome. 

“Mmm.” You agreed, too fucked out to say much of anything. 

His hands gently stroked your sides as he slid out of you and stepped away, leaving you to hang over the box. You could feel his cum beginning to ooze out of you and you felt him spread your lips to watch. Your cheeks heated with embarrassment and you hid your face in your arms, but there was something about him wanting to see how he filled you, how he marked you, claimed you, that made that little spark of arousal curl through you again. 

“I don’t think I can walk.” You slurred, slowly standing up, your legs trembling. With one arm to support yourself on the boxes, you tried to reach down to grab your pants and underwear, huffing in amusement as your clothes kept slipping through your fingers. 

“Looks like I played with my toy too hard.” Buggy rumbled behind you, pulling you flush to his chest, kissing the top of your head. His hands detached and he pulled up your underwear and pants for you, patting your pussy before returning his hands to his wrists. He turned you in his arms, holding the majority of your weight, and pressed a kiss to your forehead, looking down at you, his fingers on your chin. You noticed his own clothes were already back in place, albeit a little disheveled, and his makeup was smeared around his mouth. There were red hickies along his neck and jaw which were beginning to darken.  

He scooped you up into his arms, grinning at your momentary surprise, your eyes widening and hands shooting out to grab onto him. You smiled up at him once you realized what was happening and reached forward to give him a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips and he kissed you back, making the kiss filthy by licking into your mouth, tasting you, feeling you. You moaned into his mouth, your hands wrapping behind his neck, holding him tightly. 

“Let's go back to my room before I bend you over these boxes again.” He huffed against your cheek. 

“Aye aye, Captain.” You agreed with a tired, but satisfied smile. 

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 4: Strangers in the Night

series masterlist

The Northern Edge: 1 Mile into Canadian Waters

The salty breeze of the sea blew over the deck of the sea-worn vessel, carrying with it the smell of salt water, fish, and hard labor.

The crew of the sea-vessel scurry about the deck, hauling ropes and supplies, calling to eachother as the ship rocks on the choppy waters of the open sea.

The waves splashed against the sides of the boat, spraying the salty water on the crew, causing a few of them to swear and grumble as they were spattered.

The crew haul up another load of scallops, the net on the end of the rope heaving as it was pulled up. Once the scallop-filled net was on the deck, Nunes rushes over to pull the release lever, dropping its load of scallops across the deck.

Shells covered the wooden deck in a sea of white foam, Skeemo cursing as he accidentally stumbles and kicks shells across the deck with his boots.

“I don’t know guys, I think she really likes me” Charlie continues to argue his case, tugging his gloves more securely on to his hands as the other two men begin shoveling the scallops into buckets.

“You’re delusional, my friend, black label doesn’t like anyone in the way you’re dreaming up” Skeemo says as he shoots Charlie a smirk, which he only rolls his eyes to in response as he joins them on scooping up the scallops off the deck floor.

“You’re better off focusing on choosing between law school and being a deckhand, Charlie” Costa can be heard chiming in as he crosses the deck to head into the Captain’s quarters, most likely to rejoin Tom in discussing their next spot to hit.

“What? You don’t think I have a chance?”

“You have to be lucky to have a chance with Mabel, that’s all I’m gonna say” Nunes adds in which only makes Skeemo bellow with laughter, sharing a fist bump like they have an inside joke Charlie is clearly missing.

He straightens up, a confused boyish smile on his face, “I don’t know I think I’m lucky, I mean she drove like a goddamn NASCAR driver to get me to the dock in time”.

“Finest kind” Nunes shouts in agreement, thumping his fist to his chest and pointing it over at Charlie, making his smile widen.

Skeemo shrugs, “look all we’re saying is you’re gonna get in a lot of trouble with that, Mabel is as good as they come but…”

Nunes gives him a look, subtly shaking his head. Charlie catches this and almost asks what it is they know and he doesn’t.

But then Tom is yelling from the Captain’s quarters, telling them to get a move on, how they don’t have all day.

The crew rushes to finish clearing the deck of scallop shells as quickly as possible, kicking the shells to the side of the ship and tossing the rotten ones overboard. They work with practiced efficiency, moving quickly to clear the deck and readying the net for another drop.

As they go about working, Charlie finds himself thinking over the conversation with the guys, and how their choice of words as well as their aloofness to the situation made him feel some type of way.

Charlie didn’t know it then, but lucky won’t be a stroke of fate in his favor, it would be a person.

____________________________________________

Despite knowing you should just leave it be, you find yourself on your way to Mabel’s place, a need to apologize burning deep in your chest.

You’d tossed and turned all night, your mind replaying your last conversation with Mabel over and over again. The words left unsaid, the tension between you, all of it swims through your head and keeping you restlessly wired.

That, and you couldn’t get comfortable, it’s like trying to lay with pins and needles. Everything fucking hurts.

The words and the tension between you two keep replaying in your head like a broken record, keeping you from finding any sort of peace.

It's early morning now and you find yourself on your way to her place, driven by a need to apologize, to bridge the gap that has grown between you. Lack of sleep isn't the only thing you blame for this unexpected visit - there's a heavy guilt gnawing at you.

You have no problem admitting on your own when you’re in the wrong, however, you do tend to do the exact opposite whenever you’re being called out.

You pull up outside her place, your heart pounding in your chest. A whirlwind of emotions threatens to drown you - guilt, regret, worry. You know deep down that you shouldn't be here this early, that she will definitely be angry with you for showing up unannounced at the crack of dawn. But the pull to see her, to apologize, to fix things, is stronger than your logical thinking.

Just as you cut the engine, your heart sinks as you hear the front door slams against the wall, the sound jolting you from your thoughts and pulling your gaze.

And then your stomach drops as you realize it’s Charlie, his expression twisted and his eyes rimmed, as if he hasn’t slept at all. His gaze then finds your car, and in that moment all thoughts of apologizing to Mabel vanish, replaced by a deep sense of dread.

“Shit” you mutter, tugging at the doorhandle and being quick about slipping out of the vehicle. You’d rather him take it out on you than your car.

You walk around the hood of your car, raising your hands in an attempt to calm him. "Charlie," you call out, your heart pounding in your chest “come on man take it easy we can talk about whatever this is-“

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER! This is YOUR fault!” he roars, now barreling towards you with vendetta.

A second later, you spot Mabel bursting out of her apartment, her face filled with confusion and worry at the sound of shouting. She stops at the sight of the two of you, her eyes darting between you and Charlie.

Just as Charlie swings at you, Mabel yells "Charlie, stop!", her voice echoes through the early morning air, laced with concern and a hint of anger.

Even busted up, you manage to sidestep his punch effortlessly, years of experience kicking in. You grab his arm and twist it behind his back, pinning him face down against the hood of your car with a firm grip.

You lean in close to him, your voice firm but calm as you say, "Charlie, I need you to chill the fuck out. I'm not trying to hurt you, but don’t think I won’t." You keep him in place, your grip unyielding despite his attempts to break free.

“LET ME GO, YOU PSYCHO!” You can feel the tension coursing through his body, the coiled energy of a fight or flight response, but you remain calm, your attention focused on keeping him still.

Mabel steps in, her voice raised in anger as she roughly pulls you away from Charlie. "What the hell is wrong with you two?" she scolds, pushing you back, eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You're attracting attention and acting like idiots!"

As you're pulled away from Charlie, he instantly stands upright, rubbing at his twisted arm with a sullen expression. He pins you with a glare over Mabel’s shoulder, and it makes something that taunts the line between possessive and protective stir within you.

You start to open your mouth to protest that he started it but Mabel cuts you off before you can say anything. “I don’t care what bullshit you have to say!” she says, her voice raised and authoritative. “I don’t care who threw the first punch. You’re both acting like fucking idiots right now! Why are you even here, in the first place?”

You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch in your throat. You weren't expecting this confrontation, and the intensity of her questions has you uncharacteristically taken aback. "I..." you start, searching for the right words as you wet your lips.

"I came here to talk to you."

Charlie can't help but scoff in disbelief, throwing his arms up in the air and shaking his head at you. "This is exactly what I was talking about, Mabel!" he exclaims, his voice sharp and angry. "Lucky just shows up at your place, like it's not a big deal! This asshole is playing you, and you just eat it up!"

You feel a pang of confusion and a small sting of hurt at Charlie's words. You had come here with the best intentions, but his anger and suspicion make you feel like maybe you've made a mistake.

Mabel on the other hand, whirls on Charlie and snaps at him, her voice filled with anger. "I meant it when I said this conversation is over! So fucking drop it" she says firmly.

Charlie starts to protest again, his voice loud and agitated. "You're my girlfriend! How you’re going about this is deflective and complete bullshit-" he insists, his face reddening with anger.

But Mabel cuts him off with a mirthless laugh, her eyes narrowing as she retorts, "Since when? You haven't exactly been acting like it lately, have you?"

Mabel steps closer to him, her voice rising as her pent-up emotions finally boil over. "You haven't been supportive of me wanting to go to community college, or did you forget about that in the midst of your self righteous quest to be the hero?!" she lists out, her voice growing more heated as she continues.

"This actually your fault, you know that right? I did YOU a favor, put myself in a compromising position. Now I’m fucked, I was gonna go to community college. Jesus, Charlie, you’re barely present in the conversations when I’m trying to talk to you about it!”

Charlie throws his hands up in frustration, his own emotions finally bubbling over. "I don't know what you want!" he explodes, his voice rising.

“What do you expect me to say, huh? Look where you come from and look where I come from, I don’t know what you want me to say to you! I have no place to do that!”

Mabel looks at him in disbelief, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "The point isn't about giving me exactly what I want," she says firmly, stepping back and pinning Charlie with a steely gaze.

"The point is about you showing that you care, that you care about my dreams and ambitions. And clearly" she continues, her words stinging, "you don't."

You glance anxiously back and forth between Mabel and Charlie, feeling increasingly out of place as their argument continues. It's clear that their conversation is spiraling, with Charlie saying all the wrong things and Mabel's frustration and anger growing by the minute.

In your defense, you hadn't intended to witness this blowup. Charlie had brought their argument outside and kept on pushing all the wrong buttons.

You know Mabel can handle her own, but if he doesn’t check it, you’ll easily knock his teeth down his throat.

“I do care-“Charlie begins to protest, but Mabel cuts him off before he can say more, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm.

"Oh, you care? Really?" she retorts. "How exactly have you shown me that you care? Because from where I'm standing, you’ve been no where when I’ve needed you the last few days".

You step up, interjecting into their argument with a tentative murmur of her name, trying to defend Charlie. "Mabel," you murmur, feeling a pang of empathy for Charlie, despite your… reservations about him "don’t-"

Mabel pivots her attention to you, her anger now directed your way. She punctuates her words with a warning jab of her finger in your direction, her voice sharp and biting. "Stay the fuck out of this," she snaps, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. "This has nothing to do with you-"

Charlie cuts in abruptly, his attention shifting to you as he points at you, his tone accusatory. "It has everything to do with Lucky! What's with you always being there whenever something bad happens to her, huh?!” he accuses, his voice laced with suspicion. "You always happen to show up and play the hero, don't you? You’re fake as shit, I mean Lucky isn’t even your real name, does anyone know it?!-“

Wow, okay, so much for trying to defend him. This is why you’re never the bigger person.

Mabel pushes against Charlie's chest, her frustration and anger causing her to lose control. Her voice is a mixture of anger and desperation as she snaps at him, her words laced with a mix of hurt and anger.

"Lucky is the only person I've ever been able to count on! My whole life!" she exclaims, her voice rising on each word. "You're always late, or you blow me off, or you make me feel like my dreams don't even matter. But-" she gestures towards you, something a bit softer involuntarily slipping into her gaze.

"-Y/N has always been here for me, before you, and now clearly after you”.

It’s been so long since anyone has referred to you by your legal name, rather than the nickname you chose to start going by back in your adolescence. And the fact that it’s coming from her mouth makes it all the more meaningful.

The revelation lingers in the air for a charged few seconds, and as Charlie glances between the two of you with an unreadable expression. It’s almost like he knows he’ll never be able to compare to the history you two share.

Still, Charlie retorts, his voice strained with stress and responsibility as he defends his actions. "I have my brother to think about," he says, his expression earnest. "I'm doing everything I can to keep us both safe. You have no idea what I'm dealing with”.

The silence that follows his words is heavy and deafening, hanging in the air like a thick veil.

You and Mabel exchange a knowing look, both of you thinking the same thing. His excuse, no matter how genuine his feelings for his brother are, comes off as selfish and self-centered. It's as if he's using his brother as a shield to deflect criticism and avoid taking responsibility.

And considering the situation, where you stand, the danger you’ve put yourself in for her safety, this seems to be chipping the headstone of whatever is going on between Charlie and Mabel. Because as her face shifts to something venomous, a look you’ve had directed at you once before, you know he’s fucked.

Mabel's tone is cold and unforgiving as she utters her biting words, her voice laced with a biting sarcasm. "Unbelievable," she says, her eyes hardening as she looks at Charlie. "I should've known an entitled, rich jackass like you would be this selfish. Honestly, I called it. What a waste of my time."

The moment hangs heavy in the air, thick with tension and raw emotions. The slowly rising sun, its soft light bathing the scene in an early-morning glow, seems to do little to soften the heated confrontation. Mabel and Charlie stand facing each other, engaged in a tense standoff, each unwilling to back down or concede.

So, you take it upon yourself to try and help.

In an attempt to diffuse the tension, your arms raised in a mockingly serious gesture as you glance up at the sky.

"Excuse me, oh wise clouds above," you declaim, "is the elephant in the room with us tonight?" Your words hang in the air, the sarcastic question adding a touch of levity to the otherwise heavy atmosphere.

Mabel shoots you a sharp glare, clearly not amused by your attempt at injecting some humor into the situation. "I want you both to leave, I can’t think with all the bitching" she instructs firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. Without another word, she turns and heads towards the stairs leading up to her place, her footsteps heavy with the weight of her anger and frustration.

The tension between you and Charlie is palpable, neither of you willing to meet each other's gaze. The silence is thick with unspoken words and lingering resentment. After a few moments, Charlie breaks the stillness, his movements stiff and tense as he turns and walks away without a glance back.

The sound of a truck starting up fills the clearing, tires pushing along pavement fades into the distance, leaving you standing alone in the heavy atmosphere.

You turn towards your car, preparing to follow Mabel's demands and leave. But then you pause, your hand on the door handle, torn. There's something nagging at you, an itch you can't quite scratch.

Your mind begins to race, thoughts flickering through your mind like a slideshow of memories. You think back on all the other times Mabel has told you to leave, the heated arguments, the strained moments, the harsh words exchanged. The weight of each memory hits you like a punch to the gut.

The thought of Mabel being alone, feeling isolated and abandoned, cuts through your thoughts. You know her better than that. You can picture her up in her apartment now, still angry and upset, struggling to cope with the fallout of her fight with Charlie.

This realization hits you like a wave, and with it comes a second realization that you shouldn’t have listened to her when she told you to leave.

Not now, not a year ago, never again.

Against your better judgement, you let go of the door handle, steeling yourself for what lies ahead. You take a deep breath and turn away from your car, facing the stairs leading up to Mabel's apartment.

It's a risky move, going against her wishes and potentially angering her even further. But the thought of leaving her alone, hurting and vulnerable, doesn't sit right with you.

This time, you'll stay, despite the potential consequences.

Personal growth? Perhaps. Or maybe you’re just done using her chasing you off as an excuse for not fighting hard enough for her.

You don't even knock. It's an unspoken agreement between you, your oldest routine. She never knocks either, because a door means nothing when a person is your home.

So, you open the door without making a sound, gently pushing it open and stepping into Mabel's apartment.

You step around the changing divider, your footsteps almost inaudible on the rug. Mabel glances in your direction, noticing movement from the corner of her eye. She pivots quickly, turning her head to look at you with a mix of surprise, anger, and resignation.

The atmosphere is heavy with unspoken emotions, a thick tension hanging in the air. Frustration, hurt, anger - they all churn within you, blending together in a bittersweet cocktail of feelings. Both of you are aware of the lack of communication that has led to this point. So many moments left unexplained, all the opportunities wasted.

It's a familiar dance. One you've both participated in before, each one taking turns in the lead. The silence between you is deafening.

Mabel surges forward, her anger and frustration bubbling over. She tries to push at you, her movements weakened by the maelstrom of emotions raging inside of her.

The words she means to muster up, words meant to tell you to leave, lodge in her throat, unable to escape. Instead, they come out as a strangled sob.

You catch her wrists as she lashes out at you, holding them firmly but gently. Wordlessly and without a second thought, you pull her into a tight embrace, feeling her body relax and sink into your arms.

For the first time in over a year, Mabel crumbles, her emotional walls finally crumbling as the weight of the past week crashes down on her. Her body trembles as she muffles her sobs into your chest, letting go and surrendering to the overwhelming emotions.

The feeling of holding her is both familiar and new at the same time. Your heart aches for her, each muffled shudder feeling like a stab to your chest.

But you swallow your own emotions, smothering them in order to be there for her in this moment. Your grip is firm, reassuring, even though your own eyes sting with unshed tears.

Mabel suddenly pulls away, sniffling and wiping at her eyes, trying to compose herself. Her voice is soft, a mix of irritation and vulnerability as she utters the question, "God, why do you always do this?"

The question hangs heavily in the air, loaded with the complexities of your relationship.

You stand there, stunned, your confusion evident on your face. You utter a soft and puzzled, "I don't understand."

The words betray your own emotions - confusion, hurt, guilt - all swirling together in a chaotic storm within you.

Mabel stands with her back to you, her arms crossed tightly over her chest in a defensive, closed-off stance. She gnaws nervously on her thumbnail, a nervous habit that surfaces in moments of stress.

After taking a shaky breath, she answers, her tone defensive. "You always show up, even now a year later, even after what happened" Mabel says tremulously.

"Whenever I'm upset, whenever I'm hurt, you're always there. You always show up when it matters, and you're always so fucking good to me in those moments," she adds, her voice catching. "And it just... it pisses me off, you know? You piss me off."

You listen as Mabel speaks, her back still turned to you. The mix of emotions in her voice is palpable, each word she says is laced with pain and confusion, a complex maelstrom of feelings that reflect the history between you two. You listen in silence, absorbing everything she says, feeling the weight of it in your chest.

She continues, her voice a mix of anger and hurt, "You’ve always had to be the one to save the day. What's your deal, huh? Why can't you just leave me alone? Why do you always have to do this?"

As you step forward, shaking your head, you utter a pleading, "don't do this."

But Mabel's emotions are already boiling over, and your words seem to only stoke the fire, rather than quell it.

She turns to face you, her eyes blazing with an intensity that matches the whirlwind inside of her.

"You know what, let’s fucking do this, it’s long overdue!" she practically snarls back, her voice sharp and defiant.

The flashback hits you forcefully, transporting you back to a time when similar words were exchanged, when the same argument erupted between you.

Your anger flares in your chest, mirroring the intensity of that moment in the past. You straighten up, challenging her with your own declaration, "fine! You wanna do this now? Wanna let it out on me again? Go ahead! It's about time!"

Mabel surges forward, her frustration flaring as she pushes at you with surprising force. You feel this one, body still aching from the other day, but you bite your tongue and swallow it down.

The last thing you need is to let her see you weak, or make her feel worse than she already does.

Her voice is sharp and filled with accusiation as she demands, "why didn't you tell me the truth about Weeks?"

You push her hands away, your own voice taut with frustration. "You already know the answer to that," you retort, your own emotions bubbling to the surface "I already told you why."

Mabel steps forward to push you again, only this time you step back, the motion forgotten as her voice rises, "in the four years we’ve known each other you never once told me, so don’t give me that same bullshit excuse about how you were ashamed." The hurt and betrayal in her tone is palpable, reflecting the weight of the secret you carried.

“I am ashamed, why the fuck do you think I stopped running with him after everything that happened?!” You retort back, running your fingers through your hair.

“You still had every opportunity to tell me, and you didn’t! I had to find out FROM HIM!”

Tears stream down Mabel's cheeks, raw and exposed. The disappointment in her eyes cuts deep as she shakes her head at you.

"I hate you," she whispers, her voice thick with hurt, "because you made me fall for you, knowing what you knew, along with the fact Weeks is the reason my mom got into drug dealing. Which you also conveniently forgot to mention”.

The anger roars to life inside of you as you throw your hands up and ask pointedly, "so is that why you ratted me out to him? To get even? Even after I torched his stash? I only did that because of your vendetta against him!"

Mabel points a threatening finger at you, "I never asked you to do that for me," she snaps, her words heavy with anger and guilt. "Even now after all this time, do you really still think I set you up? That I wanted to watch him beat the shit out of you?!"

“I don’t know what to think, you cut me out and disappeared before I could make you talk to me! I only know what he told me, he’s family Mabel-“

Your protest is cut off abruptly as Mabel's voice cuts through the air, her words filled with pain. "Yeah, well, I'm your family too!" she says, her voice rising in volume. "And the truth is, I didn't have a choice! My hands were tied!"

Your voice rises to a near shout as you insist, "everyone has a choice!”

But before you can continue your protests, Mabel drops a revelation that cuts through your need to be heard.

"He threatened me," she utters in a shaky voice, "if I ever told you the truth."

The anger that flared within you simmers down into a state of confusion. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath as a moment of silence descends upon you both, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

There's a visible shift in Mabel's demeanor as the initial acrimony of the argument begins to subside. The fire in her eyes dulls slightly, replaced by a flicker of regret.

It's as if the impact of her words in the heat of the moment is starting to sink in, and she begins to feel the weight of the things she said.

You take a step forward, your face contorted from the tangle of emotions inside you. Your voice is quieter now, the anger softening into a mixture of hurt and a need to understand. "Mabel," you murmur, voice strained, "what truth?”

Mabel hesitates, her head shaking in a reflexive defensive motion. She tries to turn away, her body angling away from you. But you reach out, catching her arm gently, your touch light but firm, silently insisting for her to face you and tell you the truth.

Your eyes meet, and that's the moment when Mabel's defenses crumble. The weight of the secret she's been carrying for the past year comes crashing down as she finally utters the confession. "I told my mom," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt and pain. "I told her what you did and… she sold you out to Weeks”.

Mabel continues, her voice shaky and her eyes filled with a mix of emotions. She wets her lips, her mouth working nervously as she struggles to get the words out.

"I... wanted to get back at her, have her know the drugs she cares about more than her kids was gone" she confesses, her voice laced with a strange blend of guilt and bitterness.

"For everything she put me through, for the years of pain and neglect. It was a moment of weakness, the words just came out on impulse. I didn’t think it would spiral out of control like it did."

Mabel's eyes harden as they meet yours, a cold expression settling on her face. Her voice takes on a matter-of-fact tone as she continues. "Weeks found me the day before he confronted you," she says, her words cool and detached. "He threatened me, told me if I wanted my ‘bitch of a mother’ to still have his business then I needed to keep my mouth shut, and if I didn’t…”

Your stomach twists as the gravity of her confession sinks in, the hurt and betrayal from that day welling up inside of you once again. But this time, a hint of understanding begins to surface, a piece of the shattered puzzle slotting into place.

Even with the truth now laid bare in front of you, your mind races with question after question.

But the only coherent words that escape your lips are simple: "Why? Why didn't you tell me?" your voice cracks, a mixture of hurt, confusion, and desperation.

Mabel's frustration flares as she pulls away from your grasp, her voice sharpening. "Because you think you're invincible," she retorts, words laced with anger yet again.

"He knows I'm the one thing that makes you weak. That's why I couldn't tell you, because you would have barreled in, with no care for your safety, and gotten yourself killed”.

The words cut deep, like a sharp jab to your chest. Your own emotions rise to the surface, and you snap back, raw with hurt and betrayal.

“So you just clocked out and chose money over us? Over me?!" The disbelief in your voice is mirrored by the hurt in your eyes, the reality of her choice ripping through you once again.

Mabel throws her hands up, “it was never about the money!" she asserts, her voice sharp with emotion.

"I don't want to be the one who’s in love with you when you inevitably get yourself killed!" the words escape her lips in a pain-filled outburst, and the way she freezes right after only tells you it was an admission she didn’t mean to confess.

The tension in the room evaporates suddenly, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. You and Mabel stand there, facing each other, the weight of the truth now laid bare between you.

The air is dense with the enormity of everything that had gone unsaid for so long, all of it sitting wide like a gaping reopen wound.

Mabel's voice is soft and raw as she speaks, her words heavy with pain and weariness. "I can't keep doing this, with you," she says, her voice trembling just slightly. "I can't keep worrying about you, knowing that one wrong move could get you killed. I can't keep reliving the fear every time I think you're in danger."

Your jaw tightens, your gaze fixed on the floor as you mutter softly, the words a quiet confession filled with determination. "I can defy him and screw him over, Mabel, but… I can't abandon him after everything he’s done for me."

You’ve felt this weight for years now, heavy on your shoulders is obligation, loyalty, and a deeply ingrained sense of responsibility.

Your eyes meet Mabel's, and in that moment, you see the pain and hurt etched on her face.

Her voice is a broken whisper as she asks, "But you can abandon me, and that's okay?"

The question hang heavily in the air, a raw and vulnerable plea that cuts deep.

Your head shakes in vehement denial. The words are strained, a mixture of hurt and frustration twists your features as you retort, "I never abandoned you. You were the one who shut me out and told me to go".

Both of you stand there, the realization of your own shortcomings and those of the other dragging heavily on you.

However, with emotions running so high, it's clear that this conversation has reached a temporary stalemate.

Mabel turns away from you, her voice hoarse from all the shouting, uttering "just leave."

Her body language betraying hesitation, there's a hint of something in her voice that suggests she might not entirely mean it. There's a strained, reluctant look in her eyes, a flicker of conflict warring within her.

Which is exactly why she turned away from you, because she knows you’ll see it, you always see right through her eventually.

For the first time, you stand your ground, refusing to be pushed away. The hard part is over, the truth and lies laid out in full view. You're done letting her keep you at arm's length, done with the secrets that have torn you apart.

You’ve both made mistakes, even if they were with the right intentions.

With determination in your eyes, you decide that you won't let it continue, that you won't let the lies keep you apart any longer.

“No, not this time. We've spent too long dancing around each other, hiding behind lies and half-truths”.

Mabel glances back at you, her expression torn between surprise and a hint of stubborn resistance. But it's her eyes that speak volumes – there's a flicker of something there, a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, something more like hope.

She doesn't respond right away, the internal struggle playing out on her face.

Eventually, Mabel mutters something under her breath, finality in her voice.

"I guess you'll just have to stay then”.

previous, next

[cynicalrosebud]

Rumor Has It (3)

Part 1 Part 2

I blinked after a coffee fueled daze and this shite was written, and I don’t proofread very much, so enjoy!

Dividers and banners by @strangergraphics , check her stuff out, I could scroll through them for hours!

Amsterdam, Netherlands October 29, 2022 0500 hours

The safehouse was dimly lit, cluttered with maps, weapons, and tactical gear. Price, always the epitome of calm even in the midst of chaos, meticulously cleaned his rifle. Across the room, Gaz glanced through the intel on his tablet, his focus unwavering despite the occasional glance towards Rumor.

Rumor, seated at a table with a cup of strong coffee, wore a wry smile. If he was a cat, the sergeant would have bet that his tail would be swaying slowly. His Welsh accent lent a certain smoothness to his words as he spoke. "So, Gaz, you’ve got everything sorted for tonight then? Or do you need me to double-check anything?"

Gaz glanced up, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. "No, I’ve got it covered. Just making sure we’re not missing anything crucial."

Price, overhearing the exchange, couldn’t help but chuckle. "Rumor’s right; we need to make sure everything’s in order. Can’t have any surprises tonight, especially not the bad kind."

Rumor’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his long fingers on the creaky table, his casual demeanor contrasting with the seriousness of the situation. "Oh, I’m sure Gaz’s got it all under control. But if you need a hand with anything, just give me a shout. I’m very good at checking gear, Cariad.”

Gaz’s gaze flickered towards Rumor, his nerves evident. "Uh, thanks. I appreciate it."

Price, catching the subtle flirtation, gave Rumor a knowing look. "Easy, Rumor. We’re on a mission here. No time for charm."

Rumor’s smile widened slightly. "Just trying to lighten the mood, syr. It’s not every day I get to work with legends like ye."

Price’s grin softened. "Flattery will get you everywhere, but let’s keep it focused. We’re heading out in an hour. Make sure you’re ready."

Gaz nodded, clearly trying to maintain his composure. "We’ll be ready, sir."

As the clock ticked down, the team prepared for the mission ahead. The tension was palpable. Even as the mission loomed closer, there was a certain camaraderie forming between them, with Rumor's charm adding an unexpected layer to their interactions.

0600 hours

The night was thick with fog in Amsterdam, the city's lights barely piercing the darkness. Rumor, Price, and Gaz approached the water's edge, the cold air heavy with anticipation. Their mission was clear: infiltrate the barge, secure the target, and exit without a trace.

Price, taking charge, leaned in to address his team. “Alright, team. We’re hitting the water now. We need to clear the docks, take out any patrol boats we encounter, and then board the barge. Stay sharp.”

Rumor, his confidence unwavering, replied, “Got it, Price. Just lead the way, and I’ll make sure we’re not swimming in trouble.” Gaz had done a minor look into the limited info on Rumor. Known for his exceptional recon skills, the Welshman was adept at locating enemies and navigating through complex environments.

Gaz, slightly flustered but focused, adjusted his gear. “Understood. What’s the plan once we hit the shore?”

Price’s orders were clear as he scanned the dark silhouette of the dock and the barge moored nearby. “We’ll approach from the rear entrance of the barge. It’s less risky. Rumor’s leading us, so follow his lead. We need to take out any patrol boats first.”

The trio slipped through the water with practiced ease. They swam toward a buoy where they would emerge and make contact with Kate Laswell.

Emerging from the water beside the buoy, Price activated his comms. “Laswell, we are in position.”

Laswell’s voice came through the earpieces. “Copy, John. What do ya got?”

Price held up his binoculars, scanning the barge. “I got AQ loading cargo into a barge.”

Laswell responded, “That’s your target. Get onboard and find out who they’re working with.”

Rumor, with a playful grin, swooned, clutching the spot over his heart, “Ah bless me, I hear angels in me ears, ready to take me home to me mam.”

Laswell’s voice, with a hint of dry amusement and a touch of firmness, replied, “Rumor, save the poetry.”

Price chuckled quietly and said, “Rog. Out here”

Laswell’s voice faded as she ended the comms.

Price turned to his team, his gaze sharp. “We’ve got sentries on the perimeter. Stay low and keep alert.” He handed Rumor the binoculars, who checked the area with practiced ease and then passed them to Gaz. As their fingers brushed briefly, Gaz’s cheeks reddened slightly, but he quickly refocused on the task at hand.

Gaz, now holding the binoculars, peered through them. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye on the perimeter.”

Rumor, showcasing his expertise, addressed the pair. “Understood. I’ll handle the navigation.” His knowledge of the barge’s layout and skill in locating enemies made him the perfect guide.

The barge loomed ahead, dark and imposing. Inside, every sound seemed magnified.

Price, scanning the dark silhouette of the barge ahead, added, “We’ll approach from the rear entrance. Less chance of running into guards that way. Rumor’s leading us in, so follow his lead.”

Rumor, with a slight grin, remarked, “I see the hat still never comes off, syr.”

Price shot Rumor a brief, amused wink despite the seriousness of their situation. “Keeps the rain out of me eyes. Plus, it’s good for keeping the noggin warm.”

Gaz, still focused but slightly flustered, adjusted his gear. “Let’s get moving. We don’t want to hang about.”

Navigating through the barge, Price maintained control with clear directives. “Watch for guards. Stay silent and sharp.”

Rumor, now fully focused, scanned the surroundings with a keen eye. “We’re clear so far. Stick close and follow my lead.”

Gaz kept his gaze alert, trying to stay composed. “Point the way, Rumor.”

As they approached their target, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Rumor’s usual charm was replaced by a focused intensity. He turned to Price and Gaz, whispering, “Almost there. Stay alert.”

Price met Rumor’s gaze with a nod of fondness. “Check. Let’s get this done.”

With their objective in sight, the trio moved with determined precision.

The barge was eerily quiet, its darkened interior filled with the sounds of dripping water and the creak of metal. Rumor, Price, and Gaz moved with practiced stealth, Rumor pausing by each door, expertly checking for traps and disposing of them when needed.

They advanced cautiously, their breaths steady and silent.

Rumor led the way, his expertise in recon work making him the ideal guide through the dimly lit corridors of the barge. He signaled for Price and Gaz to stay close, his eyes scanning every corner for potential threats.

Price, his demeanor serious, held his weapon at the ready. “Keep it tight. We clear the barge, take out every enemy inside, and secure any intel we can find.”

Gaz, his gaze sharp, nodded in agreement. “Understood. Let’s move.”

The trio continued, taking out enemies with swift and precise movements. Each opponent was neutralized before they could raise an alarm. Rumor’s keen sense of direction and ability to memorize layouts made short work of their path through the barge.

They reached a central room, where the remaining enemies were gathered. With a coordinated effort, Price, Rumor, and Gaz engaged the foes in a stealthy firefight. Each shot was calculated, minimizing noise and chaos. The battle was fierce but efficient, ending with the last enemy falling silent.

Price, surveying the area as text tones rang in the room, turned to his team. “Check their phones. We need any intel they’ve got.”

Gaz moved quickly, scanning the phone of the defeated final enemy. After a few tense moments, he found a series of text messages that made his eyes widen. “Looks like the Las Almas cartel is working with Al-Qatala. They’re planning to transfer someone into the U.S. The transfer’s happening at Café Gracht at 8am.”

Price’s eyes narrowed with concern. He activated his comms, his tone urgent. “Laswell, we’ve got a situation. The Las Almas cartel and Al-Qatala are coordinating a transfer to the U.S. The operation’s set for Café Gracht at 8am. We need you to locate the café. Something big is about to go down.”

Laswell’s voice crackled back through the earpiece. “Copy that, Price. I’ll find the café and get everything in motion. Keep me updated.”

Price turned to Rumor and Gaz, his expression resolute. “Alright, we need to get out of here and prep for the next phase. We’ve got a lead on where this transfer is happening, and it’s crucial we’re there to intercept.”

Rumor, ever calm, nodded. “Understood. Let’s get to extraction and prepare for the next move.”

With their mission on the barge complete, the trio retraced their steps, moving efficiently to their extraction point.

As they exited the barge, the fog of Amsterdam enveloped them once more. The night air was filled with the promise of further action, and the stakes had never been higher.

[toulousewayne]

A Robin’s Quarrel 🏹⚔️

Red Robin X male!reader with a male Amazon.

Summary:Your a male Amazon/Gargareans,who is sent to the Man’s world to find Ares and stop him from enslaving humans and killing the Amazons. You need Tim’s help in your quest to stop Ares.

—————

The island of Thalarion was home to a race of men similar to the Amazons, they’re known as Gargareans. Most of the men there are reincarnations of men who had died in battle. Zeus and the other Gods created them to be equal to the Amazons and they’ve lived here for centuries. Many of the men there trained and practiced their skills, none really craved for more than that. Except for one Gargarean, Argus.

He had heard stories of the Goddess blessing those with gifts of children and families, he loved and would die for his brothers but he longed for something more.

Against his King’s orders he read secret documents and one night during a full harvest moon the island was in a celebration and feast. Argus ventured to a small part of the island and into a cave they long had been abandoned. He made a small offering on the alter and used his blood. He begged and asked the Goddess Hera for a child. Many of the islands inhabited were adults and returned as such, no male child had been on the island. That night lighting struck the alter sending the man away.

On the alter was a bundle wrapped in red silk, Argus unwrapped it and found a baby boy sleeping peacefully. When he returned to his brothers it caused the festival stop and almost none of them had seen a baby. The king was furious and nearly had Argus killed but several men vouched for him and refused to allow the King to harm him or the child. From then on the child would be look after by the entire island, and the King too grow to like the boy, he was named Y/n.

———-

Y/n was a curious and cheerful boy, he loved learning from his father, watching the men train and learning with the King and his Advisers.

Y/n was trained in combat and was a skilled swordsman and archer. Argus and the King meet several times to discuss the boys futures. By the time Y/n was Eighteen it was determined that he would be the Gargarean’s champion and would go to man’s world to defeat Ares who had long become twisted on his plans of world domination. Y/n was to be sent to stop him like the Amazons had let Diana leave years prior.

“My son,Y/n brings me great join that you will be our champion but I will never be able to be okay without your presence.” Y/n teary eye hugs his father before standing before the King.

“You have brought great joy to this dull island little solider. You will bring great honor to us all and you will be sent where none of us have ever been. Do not forget your training and remember Ares will have spies you must trust your own judgment.” Before he left the king gave armor and weapons.

“This sword was once used to slay the Gorgon Medusa, the Harpe of Perseus. Shield of Achilles. Lastly, this item will be a Lasso of your own.”

“What does it do?” Y/n asked securing it to his armor. The king grinned grimly.

“I hope you never had to use it, but you must go now.” Y/n boarded a boat was pushed from the island by two of the strongest men. He waved goodbye to his father before him and the entire island was covered in smoke and was never seen again.

When he awoke it was nightfall again and he saw a land with large buildings and shining lights.

“Great Hades this place is dark and smells.” Once he touched the dock he draped himself in a cloak and wandering to the street. The people around him gave him strange looks. He wondered around until he heard a loud ringing.

He ventured around the corner until he saw a sea of red and blue light flashing in front of a pantheon like building. Drawing closer he walks inside and heard shouts and loud banging.

He turns the corner to see a man with half his face deformed firing a large gun at a boy closer to his age in red, black, green and yellow colors.

“Why do you flip around so much?” The boy turned to him with shock.

“You gotta go before he—“

The man chuckles,”Brought a friend with ya kid? Too bad the coin says you both get you die tonight.” Two-Face starts shooting at Y/n. Y/n in one swift moment shields the young hero and uses his braces on his forearm to deflect the incoming bullets. Once Two-Face’s has noticed he gets pissed.

“What kinda freak are ya?”

Y/n smiles, I believe that if anyone in this room is a freak it would be you my friend.” Before Two-Face can reply Y/n takes his shield and throws it disarming him, next he takes the lasso and wraps Two-Face up and yanking him up.

“You-“ he’s cut off by Y/n lifting him off the ground and staring up at him.

“Why are you desecrating this building.” The hero wants up and places a hand on Y/n’s braces.

“It’s okay, I can talk him from here.” Y/n looked down at the hero, he nodded before untying Two Face who collapsed to the ground and was swiftly knocked out and hand cuffed.

Red Robin turned to the boy and stopped him before he could leave.

“Thank you, but I had that under control. Who are you?” Y/n eyed him.

“I’m Y/n of Thalarion, I’ve been sent to Man’s world to find and stop Ares. Who are you colorful mortal?”

Red Robin raised a masked brow. “Red Robin,why are you in Gotham?”

Y/n shrugged. “My boat brought me here, I’m sure Ares’ not far from here.” He turns and leaves. Red Robin chases after him and he sees him already across the street pointing a sword at a taxi.

“Are you Ares’ Chariot driver, speak now and I will spare you?” Red Robin swiftly runs to him and pushes him out the road as the taxi driver swears and shouts at the pair.

“Why did you do that, he could have lead me to Ares!” Y/n is angry and it’s only now Tim notices how the young Thalarion towers over him by a foot and a half.

“Look your never gonna find him this way, I have friends. Allies who can help. If you trust me I can help you, but I need you to trust me.” The young Thalarion huffs and calms down.

“If you insist, take me to these friends of yours. My quest is too valuable to wait.” Red Robin sighs and ushers him to follow.

———

The two stand on a rooftop in Gotham City Sqaure and Y/n is taking in the city for the first time.

“Is this where you lived,thigh lights are..breath taking.” Red Robin turns to him and walks to the edge where he’s standing.

“I grew up on the outskirts of the city, but yes every once in a while I do take in the views. Unaware to him Y/n looked at Tim as he was talking and returned his gaze to the city.

“These friends of yours how will they help, do they know where Ares is?” Red Robin looks down at the ground.

“I don’t know, but I think they’ll have more for you to go on.”

“Red Robin.” The pair turn to see Batman and Wonder Woman.

“Great Hera, I didn’t even know there were still Thalarions.” Wonder Woman looked at the boy in shock.

“What is this about Ares returning?” Batman eyed the young Thalarion before.

“I’ve been sent to find him and stop him, Red Robin says you have information. After that’ll be on my way.”

Batman didn’t move and Wonder Woman was slowly regaining her composure. “Yes, and if it’s true and he’s returned they we don’t have much time to prepare.”

“Red Robin and I we will meet with you later. I’ll contact you.” Wonder Woman nodded and turned to Y/n.

“Follow me.” The two flew off Batman looked back at him.

“Where did you find him?” He turned to grapple.

“He found me,he saved me.”

“Hmmm.” Batman grappled towards the city with Red Robin not far behind him.

[haechanhues]

last minute of golden hour; yours | chapter one

pairing : first love! haechan x fem!reader

genre : small coastal town romance. first love. fluff. pining. suggestive. angst.

warnings : none. slight show of anxiety. meet cute with someone that isn't our main lead.

summary : is first love meant to be the way it is for the town's golden boy and everybody's baby angel?

word count : 2.3k

main masterlist

You feel like you’re drowning, suffocating under the continuous added layers of perfume and hairspray. Voices unable to match with their owners, bouncing around different conversations and vibrating against the high ceilings of the hub. 

The only thing that has been grounding you is the hands that keep you securely in the middle, protectively barricading you within their familiarity. Soothing you. But you feel that Yunjin is unable to hide her excitement as her focus has been zig zagging between you and the atmosphere, falling in love with its entirety. 

It’s been motivating, to see her so passionate and all fired up, it drove you to attend all the lecture classes that Yunjin practically pleaded with her eyes to attend. Introductory lectures on college experience seminars. Every guest speaker. An endless pile of brochures. Hauls of freebies and trips to the onsite bookshop had done anything but slow her down. 

Yunjin’s eyes had rounded, the sparkle doubling as she engaged in conversation with equally interested attendees next to her. 

“I have to ask him,” Yunjin’s excitement has made its way into her voice, her usual smooth tone raised a little in joy and her attention on a particular professor’s area of expertise. She gives your arm a last squeeze, a quick check in with Chaewon before she approaches the professor with bumbling tension. 

“I’ve never seen that girl so excited,” Chaewon snorts. You nod in agreement. 

Chaewon, nowhere near as excited to attend the amount of lectures as Yunjin but attending anyway. She, more or less, has been there to be your moral support. 

With a slight push against a large broad back that almost tramples you both, Chaewon concedes with both arms raised, her grasp becoming stronger, “Let’s get a coffee.” 

Your sigh of relief is all Chaewon needs for permission, coming behind Yunjin and her lively mannerisms to intercept her growing bag of tertiary consumerism, the older girl securing it over her shoulder. Yunjin casts a quick look at the thief before continuing her conversation, her joy no longer contained by any material restrictions. 

The walk to the coffee stop is shorter than you thought, but the volume decreases so significantly that your ears feel like they’re ringing. The quiet is welcomed  by your relaxed smile and the creamy hot chocolate that Chaewon orders for you. 

While Chaewon pours her packet of extra sugar over her large caramel latte with a chocolate swirl, your eyes scan the different rooms of the first floor. Doors each marked differently. Study rooms numbered 1-3, stray music rooms and an island of fancy seats with a charging dock. 

One room though, piques your interest, “Hey-” 

Chaewon’s attention is on you in an instant, her tongue tucked into the crease of her lip in anticipation, “Yeah?” 

She sips at her latte, eyes closing briefly at how good the taste is before she tries to follow your line of vision. 

“Dance room,” You smile at the girl in front of you. Knowing her next actions as if you wrote her in your journal pages. 

Chaewon’s eyebrows skyrocket upwards in intrigue, “Yeah?” 

You nod, your smile growing even wider. Chaewon stands, “Well, it can’t hurt to check out the competition…” 

Her short hair bobs as she jogs to the doors of the dance room, immediately finding a small gap in the paper barrier of privacy. You follow after her, feeling like little girls on sugar as your hands find a home on her shoulders using her as leverage to tip toe over her. . 

“Woah,” You murmur your appreciation, drinking in the large mirror and the clean surface floors. The different coloured lights are so different to the ones at your high school. Chaewon, although less than impressed, is still raving. 

“Fuck I could kill for that space,” Chaewon groans. You chuckle, knowing that Chaewon complains about the lack of space in her own studio at least twice a week, “You need to date someone in the dance major purely so I can use this room.” 

Your lips curl, “Mmm, maybe.” 

“Mmm, maybe,” Chaewon teases, “You barely even try to play along with me. He’s on your brain a lot, huh?” 

If the warmth blooming on your cheeks and spreading across your chest is any indication, shes right.  And she knows it. 

“Excuse me?” The voice that interrupts you is both unfamiliar and the baritone rattles your gut. You turn around, hoping the residue of embarrassment has completely rid itself from your face. A tall figure stands a reasonable distance from your table, but close enough for curiosity to muddle with your brain. He’s handsome, an envy-inducing pretty face and a disarming gaze that is made obvious when his eyes jump between the two of you. 

You realise that you’re the only one that’s walking up to him a little too late, the alarm on your face laughable and Chaewon’s attempt to rein it in is completely ruined by her shaking shoulders and uncontrolled pig snorts. You grit your teeth, facing the boy meekly. 

He swallows, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to- you know. You dance?” 

“I don’t,” Your hand falling to your chest, before referring to Chaewon with a polite hand instead of a rude finger like she deserves, “She does though.” 

Chaewon waves, her smile unaffected by your thoughts of displeasure and anxiety. 

“Oh,” The boy coughs, “Sorry, I just- honestly I saw this shifty dude around your bags so I came here…” 

You turn to look in the direction he's looking, making a small note of a suspicious figure hanging around the hub, checking tables and every corner available. When you turn, your expression is mildly thankful, choosing to accept the kind concern of the guy in front of you.

“Oh, thanks,” Casting a quick glance back at the possible offender, you smile back at the incredibly handsome boy in front of you, “Do you go to university here?” 

The boy shakes his head, “I’m thinking about it though. I’m a little stuck on choices at the moment but my older brother goes here so it’s always going to be an option….” 

“Really? That’s cool. What’s his major?” 

His smirk is completely involuntary, “Dance.” 

“Ohhh,” You muse, “That’s why.” 

His laugh is melodic and smooth, “That’s why.” 

“I’m Y/N by the way,” You greet, loving the confidence that has settled into you as you greet someone new. Finding it as pleasant as it is rare. There’s something about people like him that brings something out in you. 

The boy bites his lip slightly, “Hyunjin.” 

You really wish you didn’t get so distracted so easily. If it hadn't been for the gasp you let out and the suspicious guy, then his name wouldn't have been stolen so sharply. Only possibilities are left over. You thought that maybe his name ended in 'Jin'...or it could have been '-Chin'. '-Shin-' was an option as well.

You don’t know. 

And if it wasn't for the way you clutched at his wrist, he would've noticed you had difficulty getting his name. He would've noticed that the shifty guy had made an attempt to steal from a table, leaving only a commotion as he flees. He would've noticed it all, if he had not been captured by you, "Oh my god I just saw him steal.'

Chaewon, though, will remember that moment for a lifetime. Her baby growing up and rizzing every boy in her bubble. 

Hyunjin's lip trembles at an attempt to keep his temptation at bay. He so badly wants to say something like 'you owe me' like the cool guys do in all those movies.

But he doesn’t want to be creepy. 

Or too much. 

Or fucking cringe. 

So he withholds, instead he lets himself get suckered in by the fact you're still touching him. Your hold on him isn't necessarily flirty but he's smitten regardless. He thinks he may even adore you at this point, because he can tell you don’t even know you’ve got him like this. Too cute. Too sweet. Angelic. 

Then, the worst thing that could ever happen happens, '-Jinnie.'

Hyunjin almost curses. Thoughts of homicide running amok as his older brother, who's own smile has grown at the sight of a pretty girl having a literal hold on his younger brother. Hyunjin himself wants to sigh. The utter torture he's going to have to endure from the moment he hops into the lonely car all the way into next month already traumatises him enough to create distance between you both.

“Uh I gotta go,” Hyunjin murmurs, insanely fed up already, “Nice meeting you.” 

“You too, wait wait-“ You’re so sweet about it, and his heart flutters as you hurry to place one of the little free marshmallows on his palm, “Thanks for saving our bags, Jinnie.” 

If Hyunjin was stronger or more honest, he would've admitted he didn't like marshmallows all that much. But you bet his ass ate it because you offered so sweetly, so heartwarmingly - he ate that marshmallow you gave him with the biggest grin on his face. His brother's incessant and irritating teasing powerless against his good mood.

Jinnie, you called him Jinnie. 

When the handsome boy leaves, you turn around, pout on your face because your cup is not as warm as before and Chaewon is still in need for a stern talking to after the shit she just pulled.

However, you're pleasantly surprised by the appearance of Yunjin again that the conversation is forgotten as soon as it was remembered. Wanting to seek her validation and her comfort, you start to let out a mumble of a whine-

“He was cute,” Yunjin sings. 

Your face falls into deadpan, both girls giggling and rolling their eyes at your expense. You send a quick smack to Chaewon’s arm who rubs the slight sting away. 

“We get it,” Chaewon smirks, “You already have a boy at home to rizz up…” 

Oh my god, seriously? 

Chaewon laughs at your flustered and bumbling state, stuttering all over the place. You’re seriously so cute. 

“What did the professor say?” You turn to Yunjin who has only resorted to smiling at you fondly, her look almost motherly before your question resonates and has her bumbling back to the girl she was before, almost hopping as she explains the theories that the professor had either proven or disproven. 

She continues her story, her arm locked in yours as she explains wholeheartedly. Her voice volume is less passionate as the train station nears, her energy depleting. The urge to snooze becoming more and more appealing. 

The three of you pile on the snacks, Yunjin picking out an assortment of fresh fruit, Chaewon stocking up on chips, cheese and crackers with a whole jar of pickled relish and then finally you with a block of chocolate and sparkling juice. 

Chaewon lets out a small noise of amusement, “We’re so very grown up.” 

You pay separately, meeting up in the middle to use the paper bag that Chaewon brought. The air is noticeably more crisp as you exit the train station supermarket, finding warmth in the overhead headphones that you had decided to bring along with you. A few stragglers of equally exhausted people leave the clean train quiet, preferring the comfort of their own thoughts and relying on their music or readings to entertain them. The three of you are comfortable, Yunjin opting to cuddle into Chaewon and leaving you to listen to your playlist by yourself to your heart's content. 

The trip takes three hours, yet it feels like only one. 

When the train pours into the familiar environment, the glittery horizon of an orange blue sea and buildings a lot smaller than the skyscrapers that had loomed over you all day. It’s comforting, paired with the smooth R&B tunes playing in your ears. 

Home. 

It instantly has your shoulders relaxing, making you realise just how tense you have been all day. It’s indescribable, how good home feels to you. How good home is for you. A notification pulls you away from the view and you check it habitually. 

How was it? 

A simple message and it sends you into an emotional overload. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything - a question that your Mum could have sent you. But it’s different because it’s from him. 

“What’s got you so happy?” Chaewon’s voice is slightly husky from her admittedly better than expected nap. 

You turn the phone screen toward her, watching as her eyes flick across the message. The smile on her face deepens as she sees how affected you are. 

“Reply to him,” Chaewon urges, then she closes her eyes jokingly, “Here, I won’t even look. I’m not here.” 

The narrowing of your eyes is half hearted, already raising your phone closer to you, potential branches of where your conversation leads to is racing through your head and has you obsessing over the little details. 

“Dreamy,, he likes you just….tell him how your day was,” Chaewon advises, “Be honest about it. He’ll reply to anything you say, trust me, you could say you sand your mermaid tail scales down and he’ll find a way to reply.” 

You take her advice appreciatively, amusement and nerves in your thumbs. You begin with the good things before letting your thoughts become more and more honest as his replies continue with so much interest you want to chastise yourself by how worried you were. You even mention Jinnie. Which gets you a little weird conversation you’re trying not to be so delusional over. 

Oh. 

Was he hot? 

Honestly, he was a little. Very pretty. 

Hmm. Did he give you his number? 

No 

Did you? Give him your number? 

No..

I didn’t haha

Good girl x

Good. Girl.  Good girl. He said ‘good girl.’ With an ‘X’. An ‘x’ was a kiss. That was something, right? Right? He was flirting just now, right? 

Okay, i’ve gtg now. Am I seeing you tomorrow? 

If you want to. 

I do

You bite your lip in anticipation, your fingers dancing across the screen boldly. It’s nerve wracking. 

Then, yeah. You will. 

<3

next chapter: chapter two

author's note : first chapter done!

[nerdraging4point0]

Power Play // Chapter 11 // Hockeyplayer!Noah AU

Tropes and tags: hockey player romance, angsty romance, hidden relationship, forbidden relationship, smutty, MF, PinV, public adjacent sex, rough sex, minor cnc dynamics, multiple POV, hockey player shenanigans, locker room talk, aggressive hockey players, possessive male, protective male.

Fanclub: @tearfallpixie @ladyveronikawrites @beaker1636 @missduffsblog @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @rumoured-whispers @sorrowsofsilence @sundamariis @letmeadoreyoux @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @mysticdoodlez @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @somebodyels3 @missduffsblog

Shout out to @flowery-mess who has been loving this series at every turn! Thank you 🙏

Sarah's POV

We stepped off the bus in Orlando, just outside the towering ice rink, I could smell the muggy salt of the air and the humidity hit me like a truck. The game wasn't for several more hours, but our team's media and PR representatives were already in full swing, eager to capture crucial pre-game moments of the players entering their new territory before they hit the ice.

I hadn't traveled with the team all that often, opting to stay home for most games. But this time, things were changing. The Otters, a newly formed team in the Orlando area, were in need of more players to help build up their roster, and a new nurse position had opened up. It was an opportunity I couldn't pass up, even though I hadn't really told anyone about it, except for Jack. I knew my father would likely try to persuade me to stay by his side, which, if I'm being honest, hadn't been so bad lately. But then there was Noah - the complicated, brooding asshole who had been the source of so much tension and unspoken feelings since the season started. Ever since our stolen moment in the supply room, he had become distant, barely looking at me or speaking to me, and his aggression on the ice at the last game had been more intense than I'd seen in a while. Maybe, I thought, this move to a new team, far away from the drama and the complicated situationship, could be the fresh start I needed, the chance to finally find some clarity and peace, away from the emotional turmoil that had been weighing me down.

As I stepped into the bustling entry dock, I took my spot next to Veronica and Ashley, the public relations manager and our social media extraordinaire. The air was electric with anticipation as the players began to file in, each one acutely aware of the watchful eyes and cameras trained upon them. Ashley was animatedly pointing and leaning in close to her assistant, instructing her on the ideal angles and lighting needed for the best social media shots. From what I could overhear, her assistant would be responsible for capturing the still images while Ashley herself moved in to secure high-quality video footage.

The players, who had endured this routine countless times before, entered the dock with a practiced nonchalance. They moved with an effortless grace, spacing themselves evenly and resisting the urge to hurry through the gauntlet of media attention. It was almost comical to watch these towering, broad-shouldered athletes attempt to affect an air of casual indifference, as if tall, handsome men in tailored three-piece suits strolling through a throng of cameras was an everyday occurrence.

Sanchez was the first to catch my eye as he strode in alone, his left hand casually tucked into the pocket of his sleek gray suit. His dark hair was styled back with a liberal application of gel, giving him a polished, sophisticated look, and his face was clean-shaven, allowing his Rolex to take center stage on his wrist. As he passed our little trio, he turned his head slightly, lowering his sunglasses just enough to lock eyes with me before giving a subtle wink and pushing the frames back up his nose. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his blatant display of cockiness - he was the epitome of an athlete who truly believed he owned the team.

Veronica leaned in close, whispering in my ear with the same tone of disgust that I felt, "He thinks he runs the show, doesn't he?" We watched as the rest of the team filed through, each one distinct in their own way. Ruffilo and Pierce walked side-by-side, engrossed in a deep conversation, while Nick's dark hair was neatly tied back in a clean bun, his charcoal suit devoid of a tie. In contrast, Pierce had opted for a periwinkle suit that perfectly complemented his sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

As McClain and Sanders glided past, their shoulders brushing together in perfect sync, I could barely tear my eyes away from the captivating scene unfolding before me. Noah and Karlsson, the dynamic duo, strolled by playfully shoving one another, their pearly white smiles lighting up the room. I had expected Noah to don a classic black suit, perhaps even mirroring Karlsson's ensemble, but the two had decidedly gone above and beyond for their grand entrance. Noah's lithe frame was impeccably fitted in a rich, wine-colored suit, the three buttons fastened neatly as his black shirt peeked out ever-so-slightly at the collar. In contrast, Jolly's dark navy ensemble was left intentionally unbuttoned, the tails of his jacket open as he casually slid his hands into his pockets, forgoing a tie and leaving the top buttons of his shirt undone for a relaxed, effortless look.

Veronica's sultry voice suddenly broke my train of thought, her bottom lip slipping between her perfectly veneered teeth as a cherry red gloss glistened on her lips. "Now that's a media shot," she purred, her gaze fixed intently on the stylishly dressed players. Grateful for the distraction, I quickly reached for my buzzing phone, relieved to see the number for the Otters medical director displayed on the screen.

The sudden interruption provided the perfect excuse to extricate myself from the uncomfortable situation I had found myself in. Hastily excusing myself, I hurried to answer the call, eager to shift my attention elsewhere. To my pleasant surprise, the caller was none other than the medical director for the Otters, the opposing team we were playing against. "Good afternoon, Ms. Brody," the director greeted me warmly. "We noticed the team arrived safe and well, and I was wondering if you might have time to meet with us now, rather than waiting until our originally scheduled 4 o'clock meeting?"

Without hesitation, I eagerly accepted the invitation, practically sprinting towards the locker rooms as I hung up the phone. Weaving my way through the throngs of players, I made my way down the hallway, following the director's detailed instructions to locate the home team's lounge and the conference room where they awaited me.

Just as I was about to reach my destination, I was stopped in my tracks by the familiar voice of Pierce. "Hey, where are you headed in such a hurry?" he inquired, his brow furrowing with curiosity. Caught off guard, I hastily concocted a flimsy excuse about needing to meet with the medical staff to stay up-to-date on the latest care and treatment protocols. The words felt clumsy and unconvincing as they left my lips, and I could see the skepticism etched across Pierce's face. "Okay, well, make sure you take notes," he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. "We like having you around, wouldn't want to lose you 'cause of an error or anything."

As I watched him rejoin his teammates, a curious mix of emotions washed over me. Pierce's parting words had struck a chord, leaving me feeling unexpectedly touched. It was the first time I had heard any of the players express that they genuinely enjoyed my presence and valued the work I did. In that moment, I found myself reluctant to continue on to the meeting, my previous eagerness replaced by a newfound hesitation and a desire to linger in the warmth of Pierce's unexpected acknowledgment.

I made my way into the conference room, my palms sweating and heart pounding, I couldn't help but feel completely out of my element. I shook hands with each member present, gave my best smile taking a seat across the table from them. Here I was, a highly qualified and experienced nurse, the panel before me was an intimidating one - a group of stern-faced doctors and athletic trainers, all of them seasoned veterans in their fields. I tried to sit up straight and appear confident, but inside I was a bundle of nerves. What did I have to offer? Sure my academic and rotation skills were some of the best in my class, and I recently had some hockey experience. I had spent years honing my skills, earning certifications and accolades, but now all of that felt inadequate as I faced this daunting interview. The head doctor, a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, began firing questions at me rapid-fire, grilling me on my experience with athletic injuries, my familiarity with the unique demands placed on professional athletes' bodies, and my ability to think quickly and adapt in high-pressure situations. I did my best to respond articulately, highlighting my extensive trauma training and my calm, level-headed approach even in the most chaotic circumstances. But I could see the skepticism in their eyes - these were people who pushed their bodies to the absolute limit every day, and they needed someone who could keep up.

As the interview progressed, I found myself increasingly unsure of my chances. The team trainer, a stern-faced woman with piercing eyes, seemed particularly unimpressed by my answers. I worried that my personal background with the current team's coach would be seen as a weakness, that they would view me as someone who wouldn’t have gotten the job without her father.

As the interview finally concluded, a sense of dread and self-doubt began to creep over me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had utterly botched the entire process, completely failing to showcase my true skills and capabilities. All the confidence I had mustered up beforehand had evaporated, replaced by a crippling insecurity that left me longing to retreat back to the familiar comforts of my team. With heavy steps, I made my way through the bustling locker room, bypassing the lively camaraderie and boisterous music that normally would have lifted my spirits. Instead, I felt isolated and out of place, my sole focus being to reach the small, tucked-away office where my dad and Jack were waiting.

The moment I stepped inside, their eyes immediately locked onto me, and I could feel the flush of embarrassment creeping across my cheeks as my glassy eyes betrayed the inner turmoil I was experiencing. My dad, sensing my distress, reached out with a gentle concern, using the childhood nickname he hadn't uttered in years - "Firefly, what's wrong?" I took a deep, steadying breath, struggling to hold back the sniffles that threatened to escape as I recounted the disastrous interview.

"Daddy, don't get mad, but I thought I would be a good fit for the Otters as their head nurse. I had an interview scheduled for four o'clock, but they moved it up to just forty minutes ago. Daddy, it was brutal - I felt so out of my league, and I'm convinced I didn't answer any of the questions right. I feel like I absolutely fucked it up." The words tumbled out, laced with disappointment and self-doubt that I couldn't quite shake.

As Jack quietly excused himself and retreated from the office, shutting the door behind him, I felt tension settling in the air. My father, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation, gently placed the stack of papers he had been reviewing down on the desk before him. Taking a long, steadying breath, he turned to face me, his gaze conveying a mixture of concern and affection. "Is being here so bad?" he asked, the weight of his words hanging heavily between us.

I swallowed hard, my heart racing as I struggled to find the right words. "No, daddy, that's not it," I replied, my voice trembling slightly. "It's just...I'm an adult now, and I don't want people to think that I only got this job because you're my dad. I don't want them to think that, because you're my father, I can get away with whatever I want." The admission spilled forth, my fears and insecurities laid bare before him.

My father's expression softened, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sweetie, I didn't pick you because you were my daughter, although that would be reason enough," he said, as I wiped the tears from my cheek. "I picked you because your skills were exceptional. I've seen your grades, your clinical evaluations, and I've heard nothing but great things from your professors." He held up a hand, silencing my attempt to argue. "And don't even try to tell me they said those things because I'm your father. I had Jack call, and no one knew you were my daughter when we spoke to them."

Stepping around the desk, my father enveloped me in a warm, comforting embrace, his strong arms offering a sense of security and reassurance. "Sweetie, I'm sure you nailed it. If they extend the offer, I advise you to do what you think is best - stay or go. Either way, your daddy is proud of you." His words, spoken with unwavering conviction, soothed the anxieties that had been weighing so heavily on my mind, and I found myself melting into his embrace, my fears slowly dissipating as I basked in the unconditional love and support of my father.

Noah’s POV

The sweat chills my forehead as we battle in the heat of the game, muscles burning with the exertion. My left calf throbs with a sharp ache - sometime in the first half, my leg had stretched out too far as I dove for the puck, the sudden overextension pulling at the tender muscle. But there's no time to nurse the injury, not when the Otters are pressing us so relentlessly. They may be leading us by a mere two points, but their seamless teamwork and razor-sharp communication puts our own disjointed efforts to shame. Our captain seems disinterested in coordinating the team, preferring to simply bark orders and expect us to fall in line without any real guidance. One small fuck up and he's quick to berate us, his face twisted into a snarl behind the bite guard clenched between his teeth. I can see the tension in every line of his body as he carves furious paths across the ice, desperately trying to regain control of the game - a game that seems to be slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts. The Otters may have the advantage in skill and strategy, but our own internal discord could very well be our downfall if we don't find a way to come together as a cohesive unit, and soon.

Players from both teams converge in a frenzied scrum at the end of the ice, their skates carving up the frozen surface as they jostle and shove for position. The Otters' center and his flanking teammates are locked in a desperate search, their eyes scanning the chaos for any opening, any sliver of space they can exploit to get a shot on goal. In the midst of the melee, McClain is zeroed in, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the puck as if it were a venomous rattlesnake coiled at his feet, ready to strike. I try to keep track of the elusive rubber disc, but in the heat of the moment, Sanchez comes barreling through, shoving past me and nearly knocking me off balance and onto the ice. Just as I regain my footing, Jolly glides up behind me, lending a steadying hand and helping me find my edges again as the players crash violently into the boards, all of them clawing and scraping in a fierce battle for possession of the puck.

The deafening roar of the crowd quickly gives way to a stunned, eerie silence as the sickening sound of the violent collision echoes through the packed arena. It's a chaotic blur of bodies and jerseys as the players collide, limbs tangling together in a violent frenzy. Suddenly, fists are flying and a wooden stick is snapped in half, the pieces clattering to the ice as the referees rush in to try to separate the brawling athletes. Teammates frantically scramble to pull their players back, desperate to deescalate the ugly situation.

"Charlie!" one of the Otters players shouts out in anguish over the panicked screams of the crowd, and as the bodies clear, my eyes catch the horrific sight. The fallen center lies motionless on the ice, his limbs twisted at unnatural, sickening angles. A dark, ominous pool of red is spreading beneath his left arm, the crimson liquid contrasting against the white ice. The crowd watches in a stunned, horrified trance, the only sound a hushed, disbelieving whisper escaping my lips: "Fuck."

The scene was nothing short of harrowing, as all eyes remained fixated on the crumpled, motionless figure lying on the frozen surface. In a frantic blur of movement, the medics rushed to him, their swift actions cutting through the eerie stillness that had descended upon the arena. The spectators, gripped by dread, waited with bated breath.

As the officials carefully surveyed the ice, assessing the aftermath of the recent scuffle, one of the referees suddenly caught sight of something that immediately piqued his interest. Peering down, I noticed a faint trail of red leading away from the Otter's center, the faded lines disappearing beneath the skates of my own teammate. Sanchez, unbothered, stood calmly with his stick resting casually on the frozen surface, his eyes locking momentarily with those of the officiating crew. And with a sickening, almost taunting sneer, he turned and began making a beeline straight for the penalty box.

***

"What the fuck was that, Sanchez?" my accusatory question hung in the air, laced with the bitterness of a game that had slipped through our fingers. The injury earlier had been the turning point, the moment where everything unraveled and our hard-fought efforts came crashing down. With their center replaced, the Otters had seized the momentum, and try as we might, we just couldn't regain footing, sinking deeper into the agony of defeat.

“What the fuck was what, Sebastian?” he growled at me.

Following the end of the game the rest of the team, still clad in their sweat-soaked uniforms, confronted him relentlessly, voices raised in a cacophony of outrage.

"You fucking brutalized him!" one teammate shouted, the accusation hanging heavy in the air as Sanchez, freshly showered and changed, met their gaze with a defiant shrug.

"Did you see me brutalize him?" he sneered, shrugging his shoulders as he drawled, “It was an accident.”

"Bullshit!" Pierce screamed from across the locker room unwilling to accept Sanchez's nonchalant dismissal of the incident that had cost them the game. Faces were ready and adrenaline was high, I was about to pull back and sock my fist into his smug face when coach barreled into the room.

"Sit the fuck down, all of you!" he bellowed, his voice booming through the tense silence. Collectively, we scrambled to obey, eyes locked on the coach as we settled onto the bench. Coach's hands twisted and clenched, his eyes bulging with barely-contained fury. "That was some bullshit out there," he spat, his words laced with venom. "You played like thieves, not like a team at all. This is NOT how I trained you."

Nick, unable to hold his tongue, suddenly blurted out, "It's all Sanchez's fault!" The accusation hung in the air, drawing a swift retort from Sanders. "Coach, I think Sanchez should be in trouble for this, not us!" he countered.

But coach would have none of it, his booming voice silencing the bickering. "I don't want to hear the blame game!" he bellowed, his face flushed a deep crimson. Turning his gaze to Sanchez, his expression hardened. "Sanchez, your playing for this season is under review. Pending Owens' injury assessment."

At the mention of Owens, a hush fell over the team, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily. I could barely choke out the words past the rage in my throat. "How is he?" I asked, my voice trembling. Coach’s expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his features.

“At the moment, can't feel his fingers. Sarah and Leo are helping the nursing team with him before sending him to the hospital.” Coach took a deep shaky breath, “I want everyone to shower, pack up and be ready to go. No talking, I want silence. You are all punished, as of this moment you are no longer an NHL team on the way to winning the cup, you are now a rookie team who could learn some manners through discipline.” he stormed away leaving the rest of us sitting in guilt ridden silence. The air in the locker room was thick with tension and unease as we sat in stunned silence, the weight of Coach's words hanging heavily over us.

My heart raced, adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I stared at the spot where he had stormed out, his booming voice still echoing in my ears. I couldn't believe it - one moment we had been riding high, on the cusp of victory, and the next everything had come crashing down around us. Sanchez gripped his gear bag, tossing it over his shoulder as he left the locker room.

“I hope Sarah and Leo can help him.” Jolly's low, hushed voice carried through the silence.

“She’s good, she’ll figure it out.” My little fox knows her stuff. I had full confidence that she was the one who could uncover the truth. She was sharp, determined, and wouldn't rest until she got to the bottom of this. I knew she had the skills and the drive to dig into Owen's medical report and find the evidence we needed to take down Sanchez.

“We need a new captain.” Nick declared, the team collectively nodding their heads.

“We should take a vote,” Pierce offered “Give it to Coach when we get back to Santa Monica.”

“Sanchez won’t go quietly,” McClain warned.

“We need a solid replacement if we are going to go for that target.”

The debate soured and I drowned out the voices, ignoring it all as we each took our showers. The walk back to the bus, and arriving at the hotel was coated in deadly silence. Jolly and I made it to our room and I tossed my gear off in the corner, Jolly flopped on the bed kicking his shoes off letting them fly across the room. I stared at my bed, hands in my pockets deep in thought. My little fox. I hadn’t seen her, felt her, talked to her in weeks-had I fucked it up? My eyes glanced over at the NDA agreement hidden secretly in my backpack. I didn’t need to read it.

The journey back to the hotel had been cloaked in a stifling silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts and unanswered questions hanging heavy in the air. Reaching the hotel, I tossed my gear aside carelessly, the thud as it hit the floor barely registering. Jolly flung himself onto the bed, kicking off his shoes with a frustrated huff, sending them flying across the room. I stood there, hands jammed deep into my pockets, my gaze fixed on the empty mattress before me. The memory of her - my little fox-lingered, a phantom presence that I hadn't been able to reach in weeks.

Had I truly messed things up this time?

My eyes darted to the backpack where the NDA agreement lay hidden. I had signed it the night I got it. I didn't need to re-read the terms; they were seared into my mind. Now, with Sanchez's unsportsmanlike outburst threatening to bring the relentless media vultures circling our team once more, I knew I would need to rely on that NDA to cover my tracks - and hers. Any hint of scandal, any whisper of impropriety, would no doubt be dredged up and paraded before the world as if our team were some twisted reality TV spectacle. I had to protect myself, had to shield us both from the consequences should our clandestine relationship ever be exposed. That NDA would save me from being fired by the coach, certainly, but it would do nothing to stop him from hating me as her father.

But you know what, I didn’t care anymore.

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

Everybody loves Yandere Zhongli, I get it. His character's perfect for it. He's got the authority and everything, being an Archon and 6000 years old. You can't outsmart this man. He's got a million tricks up his sleeve and can read you like an open book. Heck, he's even got the erosion debuff that slowly eats away at his mind in obscure ways. He's practically asking to be written as your yandere love interest. Buuuuut, I present to you Zhongli x Yandere Reader instead because why not? ◈ Contains: Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional manipulation, implied reincarnation, soulmates maybe, immortals/mortals in love, angst, reader death

The Gaze of a God

You were immediately taken with the handsome consultant and him with you. He was unlike anyone you had ever met. The two of you were inseparable after that stroll, seeing each other nearly everyday. Zhongli exuded a sense of mystery and his patient demeanor invited you to pry and tug at his layers. Everything came off effortlessly as if he had been waiting for you to come into his life and do exactly that.

One lazy morning after he had stayed the night, Zhongli whispered into your ear that he loved you and promised that he always will. You believed him because you really thought you knew him then. It wasn't until you peeled back those last layers that you realized how little you actually knew about the man lying beside you on your bed. What a fool you had let yourself become. After that moment, everything changed, simply because you found out that your charming lover was in fact Rex Lapis, the supposedly dead Geo Archon. Were you really his lover, or just his temporary fixation? At first, he did everything in his power to soothe the insecurities in you, reassure you repeatedly that you still have him in the palm of your hands. You'll never believe him again, of course.

What if someone else manages to catch his eye when he leaves your sight? How unreasonable for a mortal to hold the gaze of a god for longer than the blink of an eye. Your entire lifetime would pass by just as quickly, much less your fleeting youth. What then will you hold Zhongli's gaze with? He would be free to look away once your time is up. Was it that selfish to demand his undivided attention for this tiny sliver of his life? Every time he agrees to another unreasonable demand to appease you, the invisible binds would get tighter. He'd apologize for not giving you the security you so craved for, but you knew better than anyone that there was no way he ever could. Just the thought of growing old alone terrified you. He would be right beside you, holding your hand, but a god could only be a witness, not a true lover to you. Everything you asked him to do, he agreed to, but it'd never be enough. He would only sigh and hold you tightly every time he found out you did something foolish out of your unfounded fear of losing him.

By the time your hair had turned white and wrinkles covered your face, your lover had all but sealed himself inside the subspace he created for the two of you, isolated from the rest of Liyue. Upon his disappearance, a few of his closer acquaintances did approach you to ask where the Wangsheng consultant had gone. You reassured them with lies. Zhongli was simply fulfilling his contract to you. You weren't obligated to disclose it with anyone else. As you lay on your deathbed, eyes straining to gaze upon your lover's handsome face, youthful as he'd always been, you wondered if he ever regretted being with you. Perhaps he really shouldn't have approached you and introduced himself that summer afternoon by the dock.

Your lover planted a tender kiss to your forehead and gazes at you as if you're still that beautiful, radiant person he saw that day so many years ago. He still loved you, but for how much longer, now that your time was finally coming to an end? You wondered how it was possible that this man had not left you when there was no way you could've stopped him. Through the years, you continued to spiral, sabotaging the relationship and everything joyful about it. His promise to love you never faltered. He was your bedrock and despite your fears, he never crumbled. If you couldn't even trust the God of Contracts to uphold his word, perhaps you couldn't trust anyone at all. Maybe in your next life, you'd be able to trust him. It was too late this time. How foolish of you to spend all these years testing his love for you instead of cherishing it. A lifetime of doubt, what a cruel way to spend the precious time you were given. Even if he was still willing to find you in your next lifetime, maybe you didn't deserve to be found.

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

What would a monarch actually be doing while ‘on the job’? How much stuff did Franz Joseph need to sign off on that he could be working through all his waking hours? He oversaw a lot of governmental entities in a tumultuous time, but what were less loaded up monarchs doing? and are there any first person sources available online you would recommend?

Franz Joseph is in some ways the perfect example to illustrate the "guy with a job" part of kingship, because he spent all day a lot of days doing it. He also put his vocation on the census as "self employed bureaucrat" (yes, really). What the Sisi-media industry doesn't want you to know is that he was rather boring

But he was also a micromanager and made himself more busy than necessary. A lot of monarchs have a main minister that has some title like chancellor or head minister or something like that, and their job is to mostly run the government and bring only the important things to the monarch. Franz Joseph's predecessors had Metternich, in his early reign he had Schwarzenberg, and then no one really filled that position for the rest of his reign. If you don't want to be busy all day as a monarch, have someone do the job of sorting the little things from the big things.

What kind of stuff was he dealing with? Well, it is basically everything a government does (which isn't the most helpful answer, since much of what a government does isn't intuitively obvious). But it might include:

Foreign Policy Decisions that need approval. Big things like alliances and smaller things like who gets to be ambassador to a small unimportant state.

Budgets and expenditures that need to be signed off on

Expenses from the royal family (the more siblings you have, the more of these there are)

Infrastructure decisions (want a train from point A to point B? Want to build more docks at a port? Ask the emperor)

Appointments of people to civil service jobs.

Appointments to military roles.

Military decisions like funding. Army and Navy. These aren't even necessarily war decisions. Soldiers and officers need a salary too.

If the state has oversight in relation to the church, everything to do with that.

Meeting with banks to secure loans for big projects that the state wants to do, like building railroads or other similar big infrastructure.

Everything that regional governors bring to you, which can be all of the above.

Meetings with ministers so they can tell you about all of the above.

If there is an elected assembly, meetings with the head of that about what has been passed.

And one very important one: Petitions. Because the emperor (or king) is the head of justice, he can hear petitions to intercede on all kinds of cases and disputes.

I'm probably still missing some things there, but that hopefully gives you a sense of how much and how many things it is.

While there is a moral argument against absolutism (one person shouldn't have that much power), there is also a practical one. Every single administrative decision having to go all the way up to the monarch and get a personal signature or approval is really really slow, even if your monarch works all day, which is not the norm.