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wh0re43van · 1 year ago

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Sparks (Evan Peters X Reader)

Summary: You’re a set director on American horror story’s Freakshow. Evan has been trying to convince you to ‘smoke and chill’ for months, but you’ve always rejected him in fear of jeopardizing your job. After a particularly stressful shoot, Evan finally convinces you to spark with him.

Warnings: intense smut, face fucking, choking, drug use.

Word count: 3k

A/n: This is my first time writing in awhile so I’m bit rusty

"Hey y/n I just re-upped,” Evan announces as he walks up behind me. “He's got the best homegrown around and It's cured perfect every time. Come to my place tonight and I'll let you sample," He offers as he slips an arm around my shoulder. "You don't even have to match, just give me something else in return," he says lowly in my ear. My heart skips a beat and my cheeks blush red. Evans been blatantly flirting with me since we started shooting. It's been my own personal hell having to reject such a perfect man because its 'not professional to have personal relations with the cast'.

"Evan," I sigh as I look up at his dark eyes. "I honestly would love to-" he cuts me off.

"Then consider it y/n," he simply states. I smile at him. I have to admit that he's starting to wear me down

"Evan, I have to finish my walk through before the shooting starts" I turn back to the counter to consult my mockup. He backs up and leans against the wall.

"I’ll just keep you company then," he grins.

•

‘Fuck’ I curse internally as I run from a very angry Mr. Murphy. One of my idiot crew members forgot to do their only job and set out the menus for the next scene. We’re an hour behind on filming and we’re only here for three days. The director is pissed to say the least.

I throw open the door to the storage room and start ripping open boxes. I swear I'm going to lose every last ounce of sanity I have left. We started shooting two hours ago and I've rolled my ankle, got broken glass stuck in my hand, and of course, been bitched at constantly.

"Did you find them?" Evan questions as he closes the door behind him.

"What?" I ask, not processing what he's saying as I rip haphazardly through every single cardboard box in this room, brown paper flying everywhere.

"Did you-" He begins to repeat, then pauses. I feel him grab my arm gently, stopping my whirlwind of motion. "Y/N," he says calmy.

"What Evan?" I snap at him. I can feel the stress dripping out of every pore of my body. Turns out stress smells a lot like sweat. Evan jumps a bit at my tone, then simply points his 'lobster claw' to a box of pink menus that I opened without even realizing it. I was so stressed and overwhelmed I didn't even realize I found the goddamn menus four boxes ago.

I groan and lay my head on Evans chest.

"I'm such a fucking stupid idiot." I mumble his white shirt, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Evan chuckles and clumsily lifts my chin up with his makeup bound hands. His smile immediately drops when he sees my face.

"Hey y/n don't cry," he coos, his voice laced with concern.

"Evan I'm losing my mind," I sniffle as he pulls me into a hug.

"You know what you need?" He asks I shake my head 'yes.'

"A blunt." We both say in unison. I feel his cheek stretch into a smile against mine, proud of himself for finally convincing me.

•

My hand shakes as I ring the doorbell to Evans hotel room.

“Ma’ Lady,” Evan bows as he opens the door for me. What a dork.

“Thank you good sir,” I attempt a curtsy as I walk in. I guess were both dorks.

We chuckle as he latches the door behind me.

“Right this way,” he ushers me to his balcony looking over the city. I step out onto the cool concrete, hearing Heaven Beside You by Alice in Chains playing. There's two bean bag chairs set up with a bundle of blankets on each one. Purple and white string lights hang all around the ceiling and railing of the small balcony.

“Wow Evan, this is really cool. I’m impressed with how you spend your free time,” I admit, sitting down in one of the chairs, pulling a blanket into my lap.

“Actually,” he sits down in the chair beside me as he picks up the rolling tray. “I’ve never done this before. I set all of this up as soon as I got home,” he chuckles.

“I don’t even know what to say,” I tell him honestly. I’m dumbfounded. This might seem like a small gesture, but this is one of the sweetest things anyone’s done for me. He went out of his way just for me.

“Then don’t say anything. Just grab me that bong,” he grins, pointing to the glass sitting on the ground next to the door. I stand up and bend over to pick up the simple clear bong, feeling Evans gaze burn into the back of me. When I hand him the piece, I get close enough to his face to see that his eyes are already glossy.

“Evan Peters,” I tisk. “did you start with out me?” I ask putting my hand to my chest in faux offense.

“I was a little nervous, I’ve been waiting for this for so long… I was scared if I was sober I’d mess it up,” he admits. His pale cheeks tinting pink.

“I’m flattered,” I smile. He opens the metal grinder sitting on his lap and begins to pack the bowl. “but it is rude to start a sesh before your guest arrives.” He hands me the packed bong.

“Well how’s bout you get this all to yourself and we call it even,” he wagers. I take the bong with a smile, accepting his offer. As I put the cool glass to my lips, I reach for the lighter on Evans thigh, but he snatches it, looking me in the eyes as he flicks the zippo, igniting a hot bright flame that he circles around the bowl. He begins to pull the flame away, but I grab his hand to hold the light in place for a couple more seconds. His eyes widen a bit and he smiles.

“Damn I’m glad I didn’t want any,” he chuckles, finally pulling away to spark his own joint. I pull the stem and inhale the milky smoke sharply, holding it in my lungs for bit before exhaling slowly. The smoke clouds around my face before a small gust of wind disperses it.

“Yeah, me to,” I grin softly as Evan takes another hit off his joint. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but with the past few weeks I’ve had, I’m goanna need a lot more than some weed to recover from all this stress,” I take another hit and lay my head back in the soft chair, finally feeling my muscles relax as the golden light flows through every nerve of my body. I turn my head and open my heavy eyes to look up at Evan.

“Wow that is bad,” he says, staring at something in the distance. I take this moment to truly admire the man beside me. The purple lights cascade onto his sharp features, violet pin pricks reflect in his coffee-colored eyes. The wind blows his loose brown curls around on his forehead as a rough hand holds the paper filter up to his pink lips. The end of the cone glows crimson as his chest rises, taking in a hit of hot smoke. Evan looks down at me to finish his thought. Had I been sober, I would have quickly looked away. But right now, nothing could tear my eyes from this perfect image in front of me. Evans’ eyes lock into mine as he releases the smoke slowly out through his mouth and nose. “Y/n, I-“ he begins, but before he can finish, I sit up and pull his face into mine. Gently kissing him, the smell of smoke mixed with his cologne is intoxicating all on its own. He tenses for a moment, processing what had just happened, before putting his hand on my back to bring me closer.

“I’m sorry,” I pull away suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so forward. Evan looks at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks for a second before furrowing his brow,

“Are you kidding me,” ashes fall from his joint onto his pants, reminding him of its presence. He takes small drag before finishing. “That’s all I’ve wanted since the moment I saw you.” I smile at his confession. He holds the joint to my lips offering me a hit. We hold eye contact as I pull the smoke into my mouth, then to my lungs. “You’re beyond beautiful y/n,” he compliments. I lean into kiss him, shot gunning the smoke to him. He kisses hard and inhales the smoke as if it’s his last breath. He sits the joint in the ash tray then puts his hand on the back of my head, gently but firmly, so I don’t pull away this time, Evan exhales the smoke though his nose, so he doesn’t have to break the kiss. I clumsily crawl into his lap to straddle him, and his hands instinctively grab my ass. The heat from his hands warming me through the thin fabric of my leggings. I feel hungry, starving for more and more of him. As my knees sink into the soft chair around him, I begin to grind my hips against his.

“Evan,” I breath out, begging to feel more of his skin on mine. He looks at me with lust filled eyes and kiss bruised lips as I begin to lift his shirt up. He grabs my hand gently.

“Let’s go inside, darling,” he whispers. “You never know if one of those creeps are near by.” He looks around, checking for paparazzi. I was puzzled for a second, before remembering Evans’ status. I nod and climb off him. He stands, his dark jeans tented at the crotch and his white t-shirt rising and falling quickly on his chest. He grabs my hand to guide me inside.

“Can’t forget this,” I grin, stopping to grab a fresh blunt and the zippo. He chuckles as I spark the cone. He pulls me into his lounge, locking the door and closing the blinds. After I had a few hits, I hand the joint to Evan as I sit down on the leather couch.

“We don’t have to do anything more than this if you don’t want y/n,” he almost whispers through the smoke, sitting down next to me. I look into his desperate eyes as he hands me the warm paper.

“Please,” I inhale. “Please Evan I need you,” I beg the stoned man in front of me. With that, in one swift move, he takes the cone from my hand, putting it on the side table ash tray, removes his shirt and smashes his lips to mine, laying me down on the sofa. His kisses trail from my lips to my ear. Grabbing my throat gently he whispers. “You have no idea how desperate I am for you,” all I can do is moan in response my brain too high off THC and lust to form a coherent thought. His kisses continue trailing down my neck as his fingers work with the buttons on my black flannel. He smiles like a child when he sees that I have nothing underneath the warm button up. His mouth quickly drops to one breast swirling his warm tongue around as his hand massages my other breast, sending me into a fit of pleasure. After giving the same treatment to the other side, he rips off my leggings. He grabs the waistband of my thong. “May I?” he asks with heavy bloodshot eyes.

“Please,” I nod. He wastes no time removing the flimsy fabric and spreading my already trembling legs. He dips a long finger into my heat, groaning at how slick I already am.

“All this, just for me?” He licks the fluid off his finger, just to dip it back inside of me and out once more. “Have a taste baby,” he reaches his finger up and I close my mouth around it, licking seductively, making sure to keep eye contact.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Good girl,” he praises with a kiss on my nose. He quickly dips his head back down, licking from my entrance up to my clit, sucking and licking with expertise, earning a loud moan and a string of profanities from me. I quickly feel my orgasm building in my stomach, but its not enough.

“Evan, I need you to fuck me, please,” I whimper. He pulls his head up, his mouth and chin shimmering. I definitely didn’t need to ask twice. He jumps up dropping his pants and boxers allowing his perfect cock to spring free, giving himself a few good pumps. I shiver at the sight. Evan dips his head down to my core one last time, giving me a kiss then allowing a trail of warm spit to drip down and trickle to my entrance. The sight is enough to make me melt into this sticky leather couch. Evan lines his length up with me, pulling my hips up and guiding me onto his dick. Slowly filling me, stopping halfway in allowing me to adjust, but I don’t want it. I buck my hips forward, making him bottom out immediately. A string of curses leaves both our lips as he pokes at my stomach from the inside. He begins thrusting quickly, taking the hint that I’m not wanting to make love tonight. Evans’ toned body begins to shimmer with sweat as he brings a strong hand to my throat squeezing the sides, making me just lightheaded enough to intensify the pleasure. He looks down at me, biting his lip, as he watches my face contort in pleasure from what he’s doing to me. The louder I moan, the harder he pounds into me. My breathing starts to hitch with each thrust as I clench around him.

“Evan I’m going to-” before I can finish my sentence, he pulls out completely, making me groan from the sudden empty feeling. I curse and open my mouth to question him.

“Turn over,” he demands as he stands up. I obey and begin to shift on the couch. “hands and knees.” He specifies, slapping me hard on the ass, I cant help but giggle as the sting lingers on my sweaty skin. I prop myself up on my forearms on the arm of the couch and spread my legs, wiggling my ass a bit as wait for Evan to fill me back up.

“Your body is so perfect,” he says as grabs and kisses my ass before I feel him line himself up again, quickly thrusting in to satisfying the ache in the empty space he left behind in my stomach. Once he finds his rhythm, I feel his hand snake around my throat and the other around my torso as he pulls me flush against him. My shoulders press against his as I arch my back. In this new potion, he hits my g spot perfectly.

“Shit Evan! Yes please,” I pant. “just like this. Please fuck me just like this! Don’t stop,” I plead as I squeeze his strong arms that are wrapped around me. Even groans lowly at the praise.

“I need you to cum y/n,” he whispers in my ear, reaching down to rub circles on my clit. “Can you do that for me, gorgeous?” All I can do is moan and nod my head ‘yes’. His thrust propels me towards my orgasm as I scream out profanities. “That’s it, good girl,” his hot breath moans into my ear laced with the smell of stale smoke. I curl my toes and grip his forearms with all my force, leaving nail marks as my whole body tenses, then releases in pleasure.

“Evan I’m cumming!” My screams and the sound of our skin slapping together fill the room. “Fuck you make me feel so good,” I whimper as he begins to slow down his thrusts, allowing me to ride out my high.

“Good job baby,” he pulls out, pumping himself. “now get on your knees. Open your mouth.” I quickly obliged. I drop down and look up at him. The sight of his heaving, glistening chest and his brown curls sticking to his red sweaty face is enough to make me orgasm all over again. He reaches his veiny arm down and pulls my hair into a ponytail and. I happily open my mouth for him as he gently taps his rock hard tip on my lips, I moan quietly as he begins to slowly thrust in my face. I take it upon myself to press his dick as far as I can down my throat, gagging as my nose touches his abdomen.

“Holy fucking shit baby,” he pants out, now fucking my face. It doesn’t take long before he’s twitching in my deep in my throat and the salty pre cum drips into my mouth. “That’s it baby, fuck,” he swears as he grips my hair so hard I can feel a few strands snapping. It takes all of my strength to pull my head a away.

“Cum on my face, please Evan,” I gasp for breath, looking up at him with tears running from my pink eyes, as thick strands of spit string from my lips to his perfect dick. With a few pumps, and his death grip still on my hair, I open my mouth and hum in satisfaction as he releases his strings of hot liquid all over my face. He groans and curses, finally releasing my hair.

“Fuck y/n,” he sighs, looking down at the beautiful mess he’s created on my face. He brings his thumb to my mouth scooping up some of his cum and bring it to my lips. I smile around his thumb, lapping up all the liquid. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are,” he looks at me with such strong admiration in his eyes, I can’t help but blush as I lay my head into the hand he puts on my cheek. “Lets get you into the shower,” he begins guides me to the bathroom but I stop him.

“Don’t you want a cigarette first” I offer, grabbing the menthols from my flannel pocket. He grins. “Well, I’m not going to ever turn down a cigarette after sex that good,” he looks at the state of my face again. “But let me at least wipe off your face first. It’s the least I could do.” I giggle as he walks over to get a wet rag. This is absolutely worth risking my job for.

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ghostbsuter · 1 year ago

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The house of Nightingale & Constantine ( P. 2 )

> previous part , > next part

.・゜-: ✧ :-

"Okay, who the heck is that?"

Danny storms out of the elevator, positively pissed at the appearance of another old house in his territory.

"Frederich Isak Showenhower, aka Freakshow, current heir of a long line of thiefs." John lets out a suffering groan, not even daring to take out a cigarette under Alfred's sharp gaze.

"Shoot, freakshow?"

"You know him?"

"Ancients, he mind controlled me at some point."

(He isn't gonna knowledge the narrowed eyes of the bat. Nu-uh.)

Constantine whistles at that, giving a wince. "Yeah, we all had go through that at one point."

"Didn't know he was a descendant of an old house, but I don't recognise the name Showenhower?"

John clicks his tongue, shrugging. "They branched out from the original house of Chatterton." He points at the screen, showing their current annoyance for all to see.

"What strange is, is that the house of Chatterton had many names in its line, so why is Showenhower of all the current heir? I'm calling tomfoolery."

"Oh no, I'm fully agreeing."

"Care to share with the class?" Jason, Red hood, asks, eyebrow raised and leaning against the table.

"Houses of the dark, old ones at that, are powerful." Danny explains. "The original house is always the most powerful, each branch can, depending of how far the connection is to the original, be very weak or very strong."

"But this here?" John gestures to the screen. "This smells like betrayal."

"The house of Chatterton was one of the youngest of oldest houses, new compared to the Nightingales and Constantines." The younger took over again, frowning.

"And yet Showenhower is the heir, which shouldn't happen since the family is rather estranged from the original. It should've only happen when no other house, those closer, are unable to take the title."

"It means they disappeared, and one cannot simply disappear once connected to a house of dark." The Hellblazer looks grim, eyening the golden pocket watch.

"Midnight soon," he glances at the Nightingale. "Should we?"

"Where are you going?" Bruce steps forward, cowl laying like a hood behind him.

Danny peers up at the man, apologetic. "B? Can you let me and Connie handle this?"

The man is looking at Constantine with sharp eye, conveying his message and intent clearly.

("Let him get hurt and we will hunt you down.")

"Alright, chum. Be careful."

He receives a bright smile, making it almost, only almost, worth it.

"Alright, chum. Be careful."

He receives a bright smile, making it almost, only almost, worth it.

Nightingale looks at Constantine.

These are no normal circumstances.

"The house of Nightingale offers a temporary truce until the suspected betrayal of a house of dark is fully investigated."

"The house of Constantine accepts the temporary truce offer and gladly accepts the request of help for the betrayal of a house of dark."

They shook hands, whispering "so mote it be." to legalise the spell and then are off to go.

Danny waves at his family as John teleports them both away.

"I'm betting 50 bucks that Constantine fails in protecting danny."

"I bet 60 for danny finishing the job!"

"70 for–"

(Bets were made, and all parties waited for the true end.)

#dcxdp #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc #the house of constanine and the house of nightingale have infinite beef #but they have bigger beef with Showenhower #theyre also 75% sure alfred is of a old house #they take names and kick ass #when dick finds out danny had his first ever detective mission #hes gonna bring him to disney land #good father bruce but at what cost #danny and john have family beef #but together they have more beef against a third house #guess that pokemon #itsssss #a clown #whos gonna get his ass beat

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taintandviolent · 10 months ago

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Star of the Show - Jimmy Darling x Reader

warnings: dub-con, drug usage, unprotected sex, orgy, smut (female and male receiving), reader x multiple partners (Amazon Eve and Jimmy Darling). a/n: 3k words! basically, this is uh - y'know. inspired by the orgy scene in Freakshow. this is... shamelessly also me dipping my toes into an Amazon Eve x reader fic because big tall lady make the brain go brrrrrr. that's all I can say about myself here okay? shh. also this was written after a very long bout of writer's block and exhaustion, so i'm rusty and clunky. apologies.

full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! /

Warm sun filtered in through the canvas, warming your exposed limbs. Lids peeling apart, your first visual was red and white stripes, and the second visual was your own body. You’d woken up in nothing but a satin robe that didn’t belong to you. Still muzzy from sleep and whatever else you’d done, you stumbled around to find your dress and thankfully, it had been thoughtfully draped over a nearby bench. You replaced it with the robe, and made your way outside, pushing the flaps of the tent aside.

You weren’t sure how it started, or what was said specifically to cause your lapse in morals. Normally, you’d never do something like that. Honest. In fact, you were always such a good girl that if you ran home and told your friends what you thought you’d done, none of them would believe you. Not you, they’d titter. You can’t even tell a fella that you think he’s cute!

Last night, once the crowds had cleared the field, leaving nothing but crumpled tickets and popcorn bags, you remember wandering into the main tent. They were all there, the freaks. You remembered the way they’d looked at you, all of them smiling dangerously at you as you stood in your pretty mint-green sundress. For whatever reason, you’d been persuaded to take one, maybe two, maybe three, hits of whatever the nice German lady had offered to you - and that’s where it all went wrong. Or perhaps where it all went right. You didn’t remember much else after that.

Shading your eyes from the sun, you peered out into the fairgrounds. They were empty, save for the smaller tents and caravans that encircled the main big-top tent. Dabbing at your forehead with the back of your hand, you trudged through the high grasses. An eerie feeling settled over your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine despite the heat.

What had happened last night? You racked your brain. Tent full of people… German lady… that guy. The handsome guy with the … oh. Jimmy. His name was Jimmy.

As you rounded the corner, recalling the most you had since you’d stumbled out into the morning, coincidentally, he was there. Across the field, The Lobster Boy bent down to hoist a heavy-looking bag over his shoulder before straightening back up. He caught your gaze with a grin and winked. The boyish charm he presented skilfully extracted a carnal reaction from your body. Suddenly, you remembered a whole lot more.

Last night…

As someone undressed you, carefully, you stared up at the massive inside of the tent. It seemed to go on forever. You had been looking at - no, gazing dreamily at the world through a sheer, white curtain, like the ones your mother hung up during the summer time; the ones that fluttered in the hot breeze and seemed to make the air that filtered through smell sweeter. Everyone was moving slower than they should have, and you leaned your head back on the curve of the chair, inhaling a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

It felt like there were a dozen hands on you, petting you, skimming the ticklish flesh of your inner thighs and the crooks of your arms. Some of them were cold, some of them were clammy, and some of them felt like they didn’t belong to humans. Everyone was murmuring and someone called you an angel. You threw your head in the direction of the sound, hoping you smiled. Another person caressed your cheek, cupping it tenderly. You hmm’ed in adoration, trying desperately to discern figures. You’d never felt so venerated in your life; everyone was obsessed with you. The star of the show.

One figure that you could recognise, solely because of the height of them was Eve. Amazon Eve. The tallest woman you’d ever seen, and possibly the most beautiful. She, who you had immediately taken a liking to during the show, was now caressing your bare chest. The delicately explorative way that she handled your breasts, rolling your nipples in her thumb and index finger made you whimper in delight, squirming helplessly on the chair. She pressed a few delicate kisses along your jawline before pulling away to look at you, letting her hands ghost over your exposed flesh. She softly trailed her fingers along your ribs and your sides, fluttered over your hips and neared your centre before sweeping back up along your stomach. Your lids drifted shut, revelling in the sensation.

“Little pretty thing,” she said, very close to your ear. Your brows lifted high on your forehead, pathetically trying to pull your eyelids open again. Eventually, the seal broke and you looked around, focusing gradually.

She was above you with one knee on the chaise, towering like a building. A building that smelled like cherries and flowers. Behind her, blurred dots of string lights, framing her like a picture. She had a pretty face and a warm hand that stroked the side of your cheek. She leaned down, pressing her lips against yours. You melted, wrapping your arms around her soft neck to bring yourself closer, and deeper into her mouth. You’d never really thought of kissing a woman, but the warm, honeyed way that she tasted had you craning your neck to follow her as she straightened up, wanting more.

Eve leaned down, kissing you again. Her large, soft hands dipped in between your legs, and as soon as she felt the slippery warmth that met her fingertips, she looked off to someone. For a fiery moment, her middle finger encircled your clit, sending shivering waves through your body. But too quickly, the moment ended, and her hands gripped your wrists, fingers overlapping as she pulled them from her neck.

“My friend Jimmy is gonna’ take care of you now. Okay, sweetheart?” As she moved off the chair, she brought your hands down to your sides where you flattened them against the textured velvet. You babbled, protesting her leaving, but she shushed you with a single finger, assuring you that she’d be right there. You didn’t want her to – a thought that tantalized you. She was so gentle, but so commanding in her motions.

At the sound of a belt buckle clanking, your head lolled sleepily to the side, lids heavy. Jimmy? Jiiiiiiimmmy…. you tried to remember who Jimmy was, but your mind was far too busy sounding out the name syllable by syllable, repeating it over and over again like a mantra to even conjure up any mental pictures. Thankfully, standing behind her was an attractive man with thick fingers. Long fingers. But something looked off.

You lifted your head off the chair and blinked heavily, giving him a woozy, half lidded look. His caramel locks were separated with sweat, a few stray strands hanging in front of his brow. You blinked again, clearing your vision. Open pants hung at his hips. Fused fingers wrapped around the base of a thick, red-tipped cock, hand pumping it slowly to keep it hard. Though, as soon as he saw you, naked and sprawled out on one of Elsa’s luxurious chaise lounges, with your legs falling open slightly to expose your cunt, he had little issue with that.

C’mere, doll face.

He closed in the distance between you two, letting his erection guide him like a compass to what it wanted most. Another man and Jimmy exchanged some words that you couldn’t understand. Frustrated by the lack of attention, you reached out for him sloppily, like a sleepy child. Your hand slapped the air until it found the warm fabric of his cotton undershirt.

“F-feels…. mmmff…”

He chuckled at your avidity, glancing down at you. “Alright, baby, alright…”

You looked dreamily up at him, wanting him to fall on top of you and shower you in kisses. He had the darkest eyes you’d ever seen. The darkest eyes. Like two cups of black coffee, warm and inviting.

Jimmy’s thumb found its way into your mouth, pulling your bottom jaw down to make room for his cock. With peaked brows, you mewled dreamily, wrapping your lips around his single digit and sucking hard. His skin was salty, the sweat of the day settling in the creases of his hands.

“Ohh, god damn - you’re so eager…. Suck on this instead, huh?”

Again, he used this thumb to manipulate your jaw, tugging on it. You opened it further, your tongue lolling out hungrily. The corners of your mouth were pulled upwards; you felt so good, so light and breezy. He was so handsome and you’d do whatever he wanted you to.

You blinked, watching as his cock neared closer. You’d never given a man a blowjob before. For a brief moment, your eyes were wide, pupils dilating in concern, but as soon as the head of Jimmy’s cock was hot against your tongue and warm, salty pearls of pre-cum oozing from the tip, glistening and catching the reflections of the string lights from above, you eased into the action. Your mouth stayed open, as Jimmy was the one guiding his dick inside, knowing full well you didn’t have the strength to do it yourself.

Your lids drifted shut. For a second, he felt bad. You were real out of it, but before he had a chance to dwell on it, a wanton haze consumed him as your pretty lips closed around the blisteringly hot tip, your precious flushed cheeks caving in. Inside, your tongue caressed the slit, lapping up the pre-cum like it was ice cream. You hummed around his cock as he began pumping it in and out. You may have been out of it, but boy were you going at his cock. Your tongue flattened against the thick vein on the underside of his cock, rubbing at it.

He groaned low in his throat, caressing the underside of your jaw, all the while resisting the urge to bring his hand to the back of your head and guide his cock deeper into your mouth. He was weak with arousal. In truth, he was almost embarrassed at how badly he wanted to lose it in your pink, waiting mouth.

“Baby, baby….” Jimmy’s head lolled back on his shoulders, his lids fluttering helplessly as you sucked. You mewled again, the vibrations sending a shockwave through his cock. He bucked his hips in and out of your mouth, focusing hard on the way that your plush, soft lips popped over the head every time he pulled back.

“Take her, Jimmy,” someone said. It was a male’s voice, low and gruff, a slight accent to it.

Though you didn’t know who the voice belonged to, Jimmy hurriedly obeyed it. Whether or not he wanted to stop, the reality was that you had him wound up too tight; he was ready to bust and needed to quickly change positions before the inevitable happened. Sucking in a deep breath, he withdrew his cock from your mouth. Long, sticky strands of saliva and cum strung from your lips, dribbling onto your chin. Moving quickly, Jimmy took hold of his cock and crawled onto the chaise, on top of you, looking fixedly down at your form. You hadn’t quite recovered from the position change, and needed a little help; he let go of his cock, gently pressing his fingers into your cheek, and pulling it to face him. You blinked a few times, before smiling brightly.

“ H-hii …..” You breathed, woozy. “Hi Jimmy…” You were very proud of the fact that his name came out normal. In your current state, it felt like an arduous task. “Hi Jimmy,” you said again, delighted. You laughed girlishly, and Jimmy felt a pulsing heat in his groin. He hadn’t heard a sound as sweet as that in years.

“Hey, baby…” He smiled crookedly at you. Warm and soft like honey. “You want this?”

You knew what he was asking. Your weighted gaze dropped between your bodies. The feverish, scarlet tip of his cock was leaking beads of pre-cum onto your bare tummy, bobbing heavily up and down with each breath he took. You felt your pupils dilate again, hungrily, craving the monster in front of you. You knew what it tasted like, you now wanted to feel it ripping you in two. You gave him an excited nod. The inside of your brain felt like it was jostled around by the action, so you huffed out a steadying breath.

Excited by your consent, Jimmy wasted no time and reached down. The pads of his fingers found your slick entrance, toying with it slightly to spread the slippery, clear fluid around your cunt. He slipped one of his pincers inside, bringing a gasp from your throat. “You like that?”

You nodded again, much slower this time and reached for his bicep. Once you found it, you gripped it tightly, readying yourself for the oncoming storm. He lined his dick up and brought his eyes back to you.

“Look at me, baby.”

You did. He grinned.

Watching you, he stuffed himself inside, swallowing dryly. His eyes danced over your face, picking up all the subtle, lustful little changes; your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, your brows peaked together in an expression of slight discomfort, your lips parted with a delicate whimper as your slick walls swallowed him whole. This pulled a throaty groan from Jimmy. It was such a display, and for a moment, he wondered if you’d ever been with a man. How obedient and pliable you were underneath him… was that pillowy soft virginity or just the drugs kickin’ in?

Thinking was hard and instinct took over again, wiping all thoughts from his mind, save for the way you felt. You were warm and tight, clenching around his shaft. He jerked his hips up into you, protruding veins massaging your walls. Your attention dropped between you two again, eyes glazed over as his thick cock disappeared inside you, bottoming out each time.

Jimmy, on the other hand, had moved to focus on the way your tits bounced with the power of his thrusts. The visual drove him crazy. Made him hungrier. Craving your taste, Jimmy’s mouth was suddenly on yours, sloppy and hurried. His greedy tongue felt around every inch of your mouth and slipped wetly along your tongue. You did your best to keep up, tasting him all the same, but he was taking the lead. You inhaled a big breath through your nose and moaned into his mouth.

There was a cacophony of pleasure around you, coming from every direction. Wet sounds and hushed moans, peppered with lewd mutterings. Somewhere in your mind, you knew what you were a part of, what you’d stumbled into. Had you been more coherent, it might’ve embarrassed you, but the deep, carnal sounds that Jimmy was making were the only ones that mattered. Suddenly, you furrowed your brows, frowning into the kiss; someone was incessantly petting your hair and grumbling excitedly behind you. You tried to wave them away, but when you lifted your hand above your head, Jimmy reached for you, pinning your hand there.

“Mmmhh…” Breathless, Jimmy pulled away to look at you again, breath rushing out from between kiss-swollen lips. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you harshly onto his cock. You winced, but pressed your legs open further, hungry for the sensation. Eve came from behind Jimmy, pausing to run her hand through his caramel coloured hair, gripping it tightly briefly before letting go. Jimmy moaned above you, and before you could protest someone took hold of your hands at the wrists, holding them firmly above your head. With a little whimper, you tried to wrestle around from them, but failed. Eve’s sweet voice came from behind the chaise then, praises drifting down atop of you. Your head rolled upwards to the sound of the woman’s voice, again trying to find it. You couldn’t, and it didn’t seem like Jimmy wanted you to. His conjoined fingers were on your face again, gently pulling you back to face him.

“Eyes on me, baby… right here… that’s it. Atta’ girl.”

You blinked a few times, refocusing on his face. His tanned skin had a blush to it now, covered in sweat. He humped you furiously, his dick slipping in and out of your weeping cunt, rocking your body back and forth. You were close, there was an unmistakable tightening in your abdomen. Jimmy seemed to know this. More than knowing it, he could feel it; the way your tight little cunt quivered, clenching tighter and tighter around him. “C’mon baby, lemme’ hear that voice of yours…”

You opened your mouth, letting the whining moans free.

“Good girl,” Eve cooed above you. “Such a good girl…”

As you continued meeting Jimmy’s thrusts with moans, he picked up his pace, hands snaking around the back of your body to take greedy, punishing fistfuls of your ass. His hands were so big and seemed to envelop you entirely, kneading your soft curves like dough. He came with a low grunt, gripped you hard and pulled himself into you as he climaxed. Jimmy coated your insides like the glaze on funnel cake, and you got to feeling even woozier than before. The feeling was too much, and pushed you over the slick edge. You let out a shrill cry, pulsing around him, fighting against Eve’s grip, who held you fast. There were sounds all around you as you came, excited murmurs and whispers. As your orgasm ebbed and Jimmy softened inside of you, finally, your hands were freed, and they found Jimmy’s florid, sweaty neck, pulling your forehead to his chest.

You remembered the way his chest heaved laboriously above you with each breath, shaky with expelled lust.

You blinked, your jaw hanging slack. He was still standing there, looking at you with that syrupy flirt in his eyes. You were suddenly dizzy with need. The ache between your thighs was no longer inexplicable, and your heart thudded in your chest.

“Hey!” Jimmy called across the field, one hand extended in a friendly wave. “We oughta’ do that again sometime, baby!”

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz/ @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @babygorewhore / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @slvt4jamesmarch / @poltoreveur

#fuck it here it is #Jimmy Darling #Jimmy Darling x reader #Jimmy Darling x you #ahs smut #AHS Freakshow #American horror story #Amazon Eve #Amazon Eve x reader #myfics

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ao3usermelancholyhues · 9 months ago

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𝟗𝟗% 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

steve harrington/eddie munson for @steddiemicrofic’s march prompt: pin, 388 words. ft. extension of That Boathouse Scene, light/implied dom/sub, awkward boner | M rating read on ao3

Steve’s pinned up against a corrugated iron wall, broken glass bottle at his throat. He’s on his tip-toes to keep away from the sharp edges, head tilted back as far as it’ll go. He’s never been so scared for his fucking life (and that’s really saying something, considering how life’s been going the past couple years).

He’s also never been so fucking hard.

Don’t get him wrong, he really doesn’t want to get stabbed. It’s not the risk of death that’s doing it for him.

It’s the way the town freakshow’s got him held there by his jacket, so close Steve can smell his sweat; can see it glisten on his upper lip, something he could lick. Steve’s never wanted to be anywhere near Eddie Munson before, especially not in a creepy boathouse—wanting to lick him is a little bit of a jump. Steve’s going to blame that on the pinning down too; he’s always been a sucker for it.

The whole thing’s just weird, but Steve knows that’s nothing new considering the situations he’s been in while he tries to help these teenagers save the town over and over because the door to Hell or whatever won’t fucking stay shut.

Eddie’s got a wild look in his eyes, like he might really do it. Really pierce Steve’s throat.

Steve feels his cock flex like it wants to get even harder. His skin feels buzzy, and he wants to squirm, but he resists. Just in case he, y’know, gets stabbed for it.

Dustin pleading for his life in the background is kind of sweet, but Steve’s wishing he didn’t have the audience since it feels like his dick is going to burst out the front of his pants. Even if he knows he’d probably be bleeding out next to the tarp without him.

Dustin’s technique works, though. Eddie releases and the longest minute of Steve’s life ends. Kid’s got a future in hostage negotiation.

He doesn’t have time to ponder the whole thing now, not with the latest curse on Hawkins going strong, but Steve satiates himself with the thought that it was definitely not about Eddie and just about the pinning. Like 99% at least.

It’s something they roleplay, much later, with Steve’s legs around his waist and a bottle that Eddie filed down the edges on.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddiemicrofic #fic

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lunamothmayhem · 2 months ago

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Good Night(Wing) Chapter 3 part 1 (the Nightmare) part 1

I'm just gonna post the little bits I finish writing so I don't lose motivation before I finish, cause this is getting bigger than anticipated and taking longer than I wanted to finish writing.

The warm feeling of contentment flowed through his veins, The purring in his chest growing, as the echoes of their siblings, I haven’t seen Jazz in months, laughter filled though his ears. The knowledge that his family was safe and sound in his apartment, Jazz is in college, Ellie and Dan are with CW, Sam and Tucker are with their families, that they knew they where safe and that he’d keep them that way and they’d do the same had him smiling as he let the darkness surround him in the joy-love-safe-warm-protected-happy- he felt from them.

Cold crisp air twirled through hair, carrying the delicate tones of children’s laughter and giggles, the deep baritones of adults chattering and a deep sense of being surrounded by joy. Through the trees lights flashed and sparkled, over top a fairs wheel spun slow. Feeling content and with a smile on his face, he moved towards the smell of buttered popcorn and cotton candy, mixed with the smell of animals outdoors. Walking closer through the trees, blue flyers of some sort danced in the wind, ‘Grayson’ being the only word he caught.

Anticipation curled around him and with a pep in his step he rushed towards the sound of fun and joy, of home, whose home, not my home, never more than a nightmare, almost running into circus goers. Laughter bubbled up and head on a swivel he looked for an old friend. Rushing past clowns, a shudder ran through them, blowing balloon animals he kept an ear out and heard her. A bellowing a triumphant bellow of an elephant from his left, changing direction and almost tripping over his own feet he rushed over.

Tears caught on eyelashes and his cheeks hurt from the beaming smile on his face as he pulled up in front of Zitka, How do I know her name, and he laughed as she reached for them with her trunk.

“Hey girl, I know it’s been a while,” He leaned into the hug, hiding his face against hers as the tears finally broke free, “but are you excited for the show tonight?" No please no, He pulled back and she gave an agreeing hum, before nudging them with her trunk towards the sound of two people chatting behind him. Mom, Dad. A picture of a small figure in a teal suit standing next to a towering behemoth in orange both holding weapons, and an all-encompassing feeling of dread and fear ran through them.

Turning around he sees two adults in matching green and yellow leotards laughing and smiling. The woman had dark brown curly hair hanging around mid-back, her warm brown eyes crinkling up in the corners as she turned towards him. The man’s cobalt blue lit up with sparkles and he crouched down with open arms as he saw him. Not wasting another second, he rushed and jumped into his arms laughing through his tears.

Warm arms circled around him settling on his back and pulling him into a warm chest, falling up and down with every breath his father, not my dad, took and the laughter turned to sobs as the tears kept coming. Burying their face in their dad’s, Not My Dad, shirt they heard their mom, not my mom, who are you, Who Are You, kneel next to them her hand rubbing slow circles on their back.

“Oh, my little Robin, what’s wrong dear?” Pulling his head away from his fathers’ chest, he turned to face his mother, wrong, Wrong, WRONG, and wiped away his tears.

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

So yeah, still working on this. didn't even get into when freakshow shows up or the nightmare really starts, but I'm getting there, really sorry for the long wait.

This is part of a prompt by @azulhood

#dpxdc #goodnight(wing)#wip #part 1/?

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skyloftian-nutcase · 7 months ago

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The Pirate (Dad Squad)

EVERYBODY COME GET YOUR LINEBECK SOUP!!

Abel shook the strange feeling off of himself as they stepped through the gate created by the item. If it had led them here, that likely meant its twin had opened a portal to this land as well.

Blinking a few times to reorient after the brief kaleidoscope of light, Abel took in the sight of a bright sun, the smell of sea salt, and the sound of crashing waves. They were obviously by the ocean, though he had no idea where in particular, or what sea. He only knew of the Lanayru Sea, but tales spoke of other bodies of water that rivaled it.

Rusl walked ahead first, adapting quickly, eyes alert but face placid. Abel watched the Fierce Deity walk after him, unreadable as usual.

Something clearly caught their attention as they stood at the edge of the dock, staring. Abel peeked around them, wondering what it was, when he caught sight of the scene.

A ship was sinking. But it was moving towards them. Its deck had just been submerged, and its mast was all that was remaining. A man stood atop it, glaring ahead fiercely as if willing the boat to make it to the dock in time, but his posture was proud as if this had been planned all along.

What in the world...?

The mast managed to reach the dock in the nick of time, allowing the man to step off. He blew out a sigh, looking like his knees were about to buckle, when he caught sight of the group of men. He sized them up quickly, eyes widening a little at the sight of the deity, and then waved sharply. "How's it going? I'm just passing through. Gotta go now. Important things to do."

"Wait," Rusl interrupted, stepping into his way. "Can you tell us where we are?"

The man blinked, hackles less raised, confusion evident. "Where you--this is Mercay Island. How do you not know that? What, you get clocked by those red spandex wearing freakshows too?"

Abel immediately stiffened. "The Yiga were here?!"

"The who?" the man bounced back, looking even more confused as the wind whipped through his dark brown hair.

"It's a group of demon worshippers," Rusl explained. "They've taken our sons. We're tracking them. Where did you see them?"

The man's face flushed, eyebrows coming together in outrage. "They took someone of mine as well! And he's my best crewmate! Well, he's my only crewmate, but that isn't the point! I came here in search of a new ship to track them down since they--they sunk--"

Here the man sniffled, glancing away in seeming anguish at the lost of his boat.

"I'm sorry about your ship," Rusl said appeasingly. "But perhaps we can help each other."

The man hummed, crossing his arms and squinting at them as if he were debating the matter.

Abel started to grow impatient. "Do you want to find your crewmate or not?"

"Don't get short with me!" the man snapped. "I am Linebeck, captain of the seas, and I know this place better than anyone, especially you guys. I'm your only chance to find those freaks, so you're going to take orders from me now!"

The Fierce Deity picked the greasy looking man by the back of his coat, bringing him to eye level. The man, in turn, squealed, flailing his arms and legs in a desperate maneuver to get out of the hold, yelling, "LET ME GO, YOU BEACHED WHALE!"

Abel glanced at the deity, tempted to tell him to toss the man into the sea, but if he truly had seen the Yiga, then they unfortunately needed his help. Rusl just sighed, seeming to grow a little tired of being the sole negotiator of the group.

"How do you propose we find the Yiga if your ship has been damaged?" Fierce asked, silencing the man's squeals. "If I retrieve it, will you be able to repair it expediently?"

"Retrieve--it's sinking into the sea, you small brained land mass!"

Abel did have to almost laugh at that one. Rusl looked unimpressed by the man's impolite demeanor, but at least his insults were entertaining. Nevertheless, they needed to move.

Fierce seemed to sense Abel's impatience and Rusl's disapproval, casually tossing the sailor aside as he walked up to the mast. The man spluttered, shakily trying to get to his feet before promptly falling back on to his backside as he watched the deity singlehandedly start to pull the ship out of the water with a firm grasp at its mast. Abel heard the wood start to give, though, not tolerating the force it took to fight the water crushing the rest of the ship, and he put a hand on Fierce's shoulder. "Let it go. We'll have to find another way."

Rusl turned to Linebeck. "We'll work with you, friend, but not for you. Understood?"

Linebeck gulped, still trying to process what he just saw, and then he huffed, rising. "F-fine. Whatever. But I'm still in charge."

Abel felt his eyebrows pinch together. "That's not--"

"Let's go!" Linebeck announced, twirling around and marching towards the island. "I know just the ship we can acquire."

The three trudged behind him somewhat reluctantly. Abel bristled at being given orders from someone like this, but he kept his mouth shut for now. Instead, it was the sea captain who spoke first.

"So... what are all your names?" he asked as he continued to stride ahead.

The Ordonian answered first. "I'm Rusl. This is Abel, and Fierce."

"Fierce?" Linebeck repeated, glancing back at him. "Weird name."

"It is my title," Fierce clarified.

"Title? Who calls you Fierce? Fierce what, Fierce Breaker of Personal Boundaries?"

This man talked entirely too much.

"What's the plan?" Abel asked before the conversation could continue.

"That ship," Linebeck said, pointing towards a relatively large ship sitting in the harbor. "We can use that to track those scum."

"If you already had another ship, why were you perturbed at the loss of your other one?" Fierce questioned.

"It's not his," Abel surmised quickly.

Rusl smiled, rolling his shoulders. "All right, then. Who owns it?"

Abel glanced over at the Ordonian, a little baffled. He still hadn't entirely wrapped his head around what kind of work this man did - he was the most polite and kind of the group, easy with people, yet he condoned stealing in a heartbeat.

Not that Abel wouldn't steal if he had to, but... he had to. Rusl was... he didn't know. This just certainly was not the first time the man had done it, that was for sure.

And clearly, this sailor was more akin to a pirate.

Sighing heavily, Abel listened as Linebeck prattled on about some women "who won't be a problem," and the three men started moving steadily towards the boat.

Surprisingly, it only seemed to have two women aboard - Linebeck claimed that the rest of the crew was at the market. That at least made things simpler.

The four moved quickly. Rusl crouched low, leading the way and pulling out a dagger he hid in his belt. Despite being quite the swordsman, Abel had observed that Rusl often resorted to a dagger in close combat, and the more he saw it, the more he questioned the blacksmith's occupation. Fierce, on the other hand, left his hands open, likely not wanting to use his powerful blade on a couple women guarding a ship. Linebeck was also unarmed, curiously.

Sighing, Abel unsheathed his sword. He caught up to Rusl, and the two rushed up the gangway, picking a target and quickly overpowering them. Rusl never unsheathed his dagger, only using its small hilt to smack the woman across the temple, knocing her unconscious and covering her mouth as she fell. Her companion caught sight of him before Abel could get to her, yelling, but Abel easily tossed her overboard while Rusl pushed the other down the ramp.

Fierce walked aboard next, glancing around, while Linebeck sauntered aboard. The pirate's face was tight, as if he hadn't quite expected the ferocity the men had displayed, but he tried to cover it with a quick little, "Well done. Now we can depart."

"Not yet," Fierce said quietly, his voice in that low tone he used when stalking prey. Abel immediately went alert, whirling to find what he was looking at, when--

"Intruders!!"

Turning sharply, Abel saw a woman pointing from a door leading below deck. Within an instant, at least ten other women appeared, all armed and snarling.

"You said they were in the market!" Abel yelled as he readied for a fight.

Linebeck didn't reply, seemingly vanishing into thin air, and Abel only caught sight of his blue tailcoats slipping under a barrel.

"Did--did he just--"

"Not now!" Rusl snapped as their enemies charged on them.

Abel focused quickly, dodging a strike from a nearby fighter before parrying her blade and kicking her away to create some distance. Thankfully, he still had at least one functional shield left, and he quickly used it to block a jab from another enemy. Before he could retaliate, the two women were swept away by a... screaming woman?

Abel glanced to his right to see Fierce holding one of the fighters by her wrist and using her as a weapon to ram into the others. At his questioning glance, the deity explained, "The little hero usually does not approve of killing mortals. If these women prove problematic, I'll eliminate them, but for now--"

"Behind you!" Abel interrupted, pointing as another fighter tried to leap off the rail of the deck and stab Fierce in the head. The deity swatted her like a fly, and she rammed into the opposite end of the ship.

"Jolene!" some of the others shouted. Abel immediately perked up at the reaction - clearly this woman was important, maybe even the leader.

"Toss her off!" Abel ordered the deity, moving to intercept a few other enemies. He glanced to his left to check on Rusl and found the Ordonian starting to accumulate a pile of enemies who were on the ground writhing or motionless.

The former knight felt a swell of pride for his friend before looking back to see Fierce easily throwing the leader off the ship. As predicted, the others followed to check on her, leaving the men in peace temporarily. Abel put his sword and shield away to pull out his bow and arrows while Rusl pulled the gangway up to prevent them from returning. Moving to the edge of the ship, Abel nocked the arrow, aiming for a second before letting it fly. It sank into the woman's shoulder, making her scream in pain.

He nocked another arrow.

"Abel," Rusl interrupted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The fight is over."

Abel continued to stare at his target. Killing her would put the rest of her crew into chaos. It would prevent them from following them.

Rusl's hand tightened a little, reassuring but firm. "Abel."

Sighing, Abel slowly lowered the bow and arrow. His focus was interrupted as he heard splashing, glancing over to see Fierce throwing the bodies overboard.

There was a scrape of wood on wood, catching the men's attention, and they all drew their weapons to see--

Linebeck, peeking out from under the barrel. "Oh, are they all gone?"

I'm going to kill him. Abel marched forward, eyes alight with rage, when he was held back by Fierce, who pinched the back of his tunic to prevent him from moving ahead. He turned to snap at the deity, but his words were quickly overrun by the pirate, who dusted himself off and continued, "Well done, then! We're ready to set sail! I'll man the helm."

As he moved forward on the deck, he scurried all of a sudden, filled with seemingly feral energy, and stood on his tiptoes at the railing, shouting, "THAT'S FOR ALMOST BLOWING UP MY SHIP TWO WEEKS AGO, JOLENE!"

Before anyone could comment, he rushed to set sail as if his life depended on it, guiding the ship out to sea.

Abel blew out a frustrated breath, and he felt Fierce release him. He kicked the barrel under which the pirate had been hiding, taking little satisfaction from it but having to get his anger out somehow.

Rusl took a moment to calm himself as well, though far less noticeably, before he walked over to the wheel. "So where are we going?"

"Bannan Island," Linebeck answered, eyes on the horizon. "That was the direction they went, towards the north sea. They also claimed to be going to a Banana Island, so I think they heard the place's name wrong."

Banana Island. Goddess. Sometimes Abel was almost embarrassed that these were his enemies. Though it simply proved that sheer numbers could cause enough of a threat, despite how idiotic they were.

There was silence for a while as Marcay Island grew steadily smaller. The adrenaline of the fight wore off, and Abel slowly slid to the ground, feeling his stomach grow steadily more upset at the tossing of the waves.

"Who are these people, anyway?" Linebeck eventually asked, glancing at Rusl. "What do they want?"

"They essentially want to see the world burn," Rusl answered, crossing his arms. "Somehow that involves taking our sons hostage."

Linebeck pursed his lips, debating some issue, and sighed. "Well, that's rotten luck. Good thing you have me."

"Oh yes," Abel huffed. "Where would we be without you?"

Linebeck didn't seem to catch his quip, or if he did, his rebuttal was interrupted by Fierce asking, "Why did they take your crewmate?"

Linebeck's face soured, and he glared ahead of him at nothing in particular. "Whatever the reason, Link can probably get himself of out of it. But... I need a crew. So I'm finding the kid."

Link?!

No. Surely not. There was no way this disgrace of a man had a Hero in his crew, and--

Oh goddess he did, didn't he? That would be why the Yiga targeted him.

"Our boys are named Link too," Rusl said, eyes widening a little as he came to the same conclusion. "Heroes of Hyrule, spread across time. I think they must be targeting them because they know they'd stop them otherwise."

"Heroes? Hyrule?" Linebeck repeated, staring at him. "My kid isn't a--I mean, he's--look, he's my crew, and... he's a good kid, but..."

The pirate bit his lip, staring at the wheel a moment, still and silent. Worry etched every feature before he shook his head.

"The Yiga will perish," Fierce assured him. "We'll find your child."

Linebeck flushed. "H-he's not my child!!"

"Right," Rusl chuckled, patting the man on the back.

Abel sighed, ignoring the pirate temporarily and looking at at sea. The horizon bounced up and down along with the ship, giving him a headache, and he closed his eyes. He wondered if they'd actually have any luck this time - all they'd found were scraps of information and cold leads. This attack seemed fairly fresh, so hopefully they could make it in time.

Ugh. Closing his eyes made the seasickness worse.

Thunder rumbled, catching Abel's attention, and he hastily opened his eyes to see dark clouds ahead. "Uh..."

"Are we going to sail through the storm?" Fierce questioned, staring at the abysmal weather.

"No sailor goes through a storm on purpose," Linebeck immediately said. "That's just suicide. Lucky for you, I'm an excellent sailor. We'll skirt around it - I don't want to lose too much time."

At least Abel could agree with the man on that. But still... even he, someone who did not navigate the ocean, knew not to get near a storm out in the open sea. "Are we sure about this? We should probably try to avoid it altogether."

"And give those sea vipers time to get away?" Linebeck growled, glaring at the clouds. "Ha! I, Linebeck, master of the seas, can handle this just fine! I'm getting my crew back, blast it!"

Well... he couldn't fault him for his determination, at least. But still... Abel sighed, hugging the wooden support rung under the railing, lightly bouncing his forehead against it. "We're going to die."

Abel's relatively mild quip felt more and more like a promise the closer they got. The winds picked up, the sea turning a sickly green, and Abel nearly threw up with how much they were being tossed around. Rusl nearly flew across the ship as one wave almost overturned them, and Fierce had to grab him by his shirt to save him. The three men clung to the rail desperately, occasionally getting beaten by walls of water spilling overtop them.

Abel looked to the helm worriedly, feeling completely out of control and petrified, only to see Linebeck standing firmly, holding the wheel with a steel grip. He glared defiantly at the sea, almost daring it to try its worst, confident and firm in his stance.

At the sight, the former knight had to admit he felt almost a little reassured.

Another wave crashed into them, and Abel watched Linebeck release the wheel a moment, letting it turn sharply, guiding the ship to ride with the wave. Then he grasped it, guiding the mast with gritted teeth as he fought against the whipping winds. Fierce pulled Abel close, shielding both him and Rusl with an iron grip to the railing so the waves wouldn't knock them off.

Honestly, with the way they were getting tossed, Abel would be surprised if they didn't capsize. He clung desperately to both the rail and the Fierce Deity, feeling the mythical being's strong arm pressing him and Rusl closer together. Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, some kind of finality or certainty in each other's eyes as they nearly flew over another wave, facing it head on.

They still had to find their boys. Abel had to get back to Tilieth. He'd survived a damn apocalypse, he wasn't letting this be what killed him.

Glancing up at the pirate again, Abel saw the same fierce determination on his face. It was a promise, and despite how Abel's entire world was trying to kill him, he took comfort in it.

Abel closed his eyes, his forehead touching Fierce's sleeve, his hand brushing against Rusl's as they both held on to the deity for dear life, shivering and trusting and letting go.

Hylia... I leave this up to you. Don't let me down.

He lost track of time. All he heard was the crashing of waves, like claps of thunder, roaring in his ears, making his heart pound. But slowly, surely, the boat jostled them less, the wind didn't howl as it had, and the ship rocked and bounced up and down like a hammock instead of feeling like an earthquake.

Abel opened his eyes, dripping wet, tasting salt and bile, and saw sunlight.

Linebeck smiled down at them, hands on his hips, looking triumphant. "Told you I was the best."

Rusl barked out a laugh, slowly rising while Abel continued to shiver in Fierce's hold. "Well, I'm certainly impressed."

"Are you alright?" Fierce whispered softly, his arm shifting to rest his hand on Abel's back.

Hesitantly, Abel rose, testing his legs, though his knees certainly felt like they could give out at any moment.

It was official. He despised sailing.

But he could recognize and admire skill when he saw it. "Well done, Linebeck."

The pirate beamed, postiively preening at the praise, and Abel found he couldn't hold himself together any longer, leaning over the rail and vomiting.

Linebeck cackled quietly, heading back to his original spot. "Well, it isn't for everyone, I guess. But I promise the rest of the way is less rough."

Rusl helped Abel sink back to the floor while Fierce grabbed some water at the Ordonian's request.

"You good?" Rusl asked. He was shivering too, just as soaked to the bone as Abel, but he seemed far better put together.

"Nothing fazes you, does it?" Abel asked hoarsely, somewhat annoyed and jealous.

Rusl smirked. "We all have our strengths. You're certainly a better fighter than me."

If you say so. Abel pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a little less nauseous, and accepted the water Fierce offered him.

The sun slowly dried everyone off as they continued to make their way to their destination. Eventually, Rusl, being the talkative man that he was, starting gently interrogating their captain while Abel leaned against Fierce with his eyes closed. The deity didn't mind, letting himself be a pillow, but Abel could hear fabric shift as he turned to listen in to the other two.

"How did Link become part of your crew?"

"Well, I was hunting treasure," Linebeck explained. "Link wanted to find the ship I was looking for. His friend, uh, needed some help. So we worked together. I figured the kid worked so well it only made sense that he stick around. He..."

Here the pirate paused, and Abel looked over at him. His eyes were cast downward, and though shadows pulled at the dark circles under his eyes, he had a gentle smile on his face.

"He's a good kid."

Fierce sighed quietly, barely audible over the breeze. "I must figure out why these Yiga are after our children."

Linebeck grew flustered. "I said he wasn't my kid!! Look, he's just a useful member of the crew, okay? Honestly, I'm not that soft!"

Fierce blinked, the slightest crinkle to his nose, a dead giveaway that he was bemused. "You speak of love and affection as if they are weaknesses."

"Wha--I--this is silly, I am a pirate, and--"

"And?" Rusl prompted, eyebrows raised, a mischievous, gentle smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. Fierce may not have understood the man's blustering, but Rusl clearly was just trying to mess with him now, seeing right through his bravado.

Personally, Abel was just a little exasperated by it. Men who pretended they were "tough" and nothing affected them all the time simply to show off annoyed him. He used to maintain a calm façade not because he was trying to prove a point, but because the last thing people needed was to see someone in charge panicking. This was different. This wasn't a way to keep others feeling safe and secure, this wasn't a means of protecting others, this was a pitiful attempt for Linebeck to protect himself.

Perhaps it wouldn't annoy him so much if he didn't suspect the man behaved this way in front of his kid too. He could act a fool to others, but if he denied his affection for his boy right in front of him, Abel did not approve of that.

But he didn't have to say anything. Fierce's innocent confusion would tear down his argument well enough.

Linebeck huffed, looking like he was scrambling for an argument, but Abel had to interrupt it when he caught sight of something. "Is that land?"

Everyone turned to look, seeing a small splotch of yellow and black andd green, and Linebeck laughed triumphantly. "There it is! Land ho! I told you I would get us there in record time! Now hold on, you sorry land slugs, we're coming in fast!"

He was true to his word as it seemed to take little time to reach their destination. For once, it was blessedly easy to find their target - a large ship with the Yiga symbol on its mast, painted sloppily as if it had just been done, was at the port. Linebeck worked to slow their approach, when Abel instead insisted, "Don't slow us down, just ram it - we'll take care of the rest!"

"There's a cannon on this ship," Rusl noted.

"We can't risk hurting the boys if they're aboard," Abel argued, shaking his head. "Just damage it enough to stop them from escaping, and we can board."

Linebeck nodded. "Just so you know... it's uh, all up to you once we get there. I'm a fantastic fighter, but I'm afraid my sword is on my own ship."

Rusl and Abel both stared at him dully. "Right."

The men prepared themselves, weapons at the ready. Fierce pulled out his double helix blade, making Linebeck's eyes double in size. "Geez, overkill much? Get ready, we'll hit them on the port side."

"The--the what side?"

"Port, on the port--ugh, on your left!!"

The three moved, and Linebeck snapped, "Your other left!! Left from facing the bow!"

Abel sighed heavily, positioning himself and bracing for impact alongside the other two. As the Yiga ship grew closer at an admittedly unnerving rate, he prepared to jump.

Their boat slammed the Yiga ship, impaling its hull slightly and causing it to rock so severely that they could hear some of the enemies screaming and falling into the sea.

Linebeck roared in satisfaction. "HAHA, TAKE THAT YOU BRAINLESS JELLYFISH!"

Abel let the momentum of the movement carry him, Rusl, and Fierce across as they leapt with the contact. The Yiga boat was still nearly on its side when they landed, causing them to slip a little, but Abel recovered quickly, decapitating the first Yiga in sight before moving on to the next. The team moved quickly, with Fierce taking out swathes of the enemy in one fell swoop while Rusl tore ahead. Abel scoured the area for signs of a leader, entering the underbelly of the ship as well.

When he reached the brig, he froze, breath stolen from his lungs. There was another gate there, its bright kaleidoscope dizzyingly swirling, and two Yiga stood before it, holding an unconscious boy.

Oh hell no! Charging ahead, Abel stabbed one Yiga quickly, kicking the other off the child before finishing him off. Rusl hastened in shortly thereafter, wiping blood of his sword.

"Anyone else?" Abel asked as he knelt down to check on the child.

Rusl shook his head, cheeks flushed, eyes aflame. He held up a booklet. "Found a journal log, though. Might be able to help us."

At this point, Abel honestly wasn't surprised, just exasperated. He supposed the Yiga's main purpose in being here was to take this boy. Theirs were still at large.

At least they'd spared this boy the same fate.

Fierce entered last. "The enemy has been eliminated."

Abel sighed, looking down. The boy in front of him was young, not even a teenager from the looks of it, though he was likely close. His hair was thick and wispy, golden as the sands and thick with mositure and sea salt. He wore a green tunic and undershirt, paired with white trousers.

"Link!"

Catching the men's attention, Linebeck rushed into the room, kneeling down beside the boy. His hands hovered over him hesitantly, face paling at the abrasions on the boy's face. At first his concern was genuine, but his eyes shifted to the dead Yiga around him and suddenly he looked woozy.

Abel fought the urge to roll his eyes. He motioned with his head to Fierce, who quietly removed the bodies. With the distraction gone, the pirate returned his attention to the child, considerably less pale but still oh so hesitant and gentle with Link.

The boy stirred, squeezing his eyes before slowly blinking them open. Abel could see the immediate sparkle of relief as the boy registered seeing Linebeck, and the former knight smiled a little.

Linebeck smiled in return, hands finally settling on the child, patting hsi cheek and helping him sit up. His grip settled on the boy's shoulders, and he took a steadying breath.

And then he started shaking him like a rag doll.

"You stupid sea monkey, what were you thinking do you have any idea how much trouble I had to go through just to get to you, they sank my ship, now we have to get a new one--!"

The other men stared, a little caught off guard, and then Rusl gently pointed out, "Easy, you're going to give the kid whiplash."

Linebeck paused, glancing at them, leaving Link nearly limp in his grip, eyes dazed and clearly dizzy. The pirate huffed, pulling the boy to his feet, and Link stumbled around a few paces before nearly collapsing against him.

Sighing, Linebeck settled an arm around the child to keep him from falling over, letting him lean against him. "Well. The job's done, at least. But... didn't you say your boys were missing too?"

Rusl smirked. "Ah, so he is your boy?"

Linebeck jumped, eyes widening. "W-wha--no, I--you're dodging the question!"

Rusl waved the booklet in response. "I'm sure this log will have valuable information for us. But you and your son should get out of here. We'll make sure the Yiga can't come back."

Linebeck was practically inflating with hot air to rebuke Rusl's claims about him and Link, but he instead stormed out. "Honestly, I rescue you ungrateful sea barnacles and you mock me. I'm leaving."

"You forgot your kid," Abel noted dully as the boy shook his head and steadied himself.

"Link, let's go, what are you waiting for!" Linebeck called from above deck.

Abel put a steadying hand on the boy's shoulder while Rusl smiled warmly at him. "Better get going, son."

The boy looked between them, adn then the Fierce Deity, and then he nodded, saying softly, "Thank you. Thank you for taking care Linebeck."

With that, the kid ran outside, and Rusl laughed. Abel had to chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Let's get through this gate and seal it," Abel suggested. "We can read the journal after we get out of here. The less likely they can come back, the better."

Fierce's reply was cut off by voices from above.

"Linebeck, look! It's Jolene's ship!"

"Of course it is, I stole it!"

"But then why is your ship over there?"

"What?! My ship was--that's my ship!"

"Oh! I think I see Jolene on it!"

"She fixed my ship? SHE STOLE MY SHIP??"

Rusl and Abel exchanged a look, and then they both snickered.

Fierce glanced hesitantly above deck, but Abel shook his head. "Leave him to his fate. Clearly this is not their first encounter, and they've managed without us. We should go."

With that, the three men strode forward, preparing for another adventure.

#Tetra and Ciela were with Aryll and Grandma because there are only so many characters I can write that I don't know much about lol #I feel like Rusl might get annoyed with Linebeck occasionally but overall can see right through his little act #Abel on the other hand... whether he can tell it's an act or not he'd drive him nuts LOL #Fierce is just like “he isn't a threat and he's helping me so ok”#I feel like if Linebeck had stuck around and become a permanent member of the squad Fierce would've eventually inadvertently called him out #Fierce: Why do you choose to hide your concern and care behind meaningless words and bolstering bravado? Does it make you feel powerful?#Linebeck: *spluttering*#anyway Linebeck is an excellent sailor thank you for coming to my tedtalk #no matter how goofy or immature or cowardly he is this man is king of the seas and even Abel can respect that #Let Linebeck Be Cool 2024 #and then let him be a goof again lol #this was SO much fun to write oh my gosh #sorry it took a while to write but here it is :)#hope y'all enjoy <3 #also hope Linebeck feels right #Dad Squad #abel #rusl #fierce dadity #linebeck #phantom hourglass #legend of zelda #writing

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nerdygoth77 · 4 months ago

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Songs and bands that I think belong in Fallout

Most of these are heavy metal or rock! So be prepared :)

*"Let's Hang Together" - by Twin Temple. (This band is described as Satanic doo wop and their tune and vibe matches Fallout perfectly. Older sounding music but with a darker vibe.)

*The album called "Hail the Apocalypse" - by the band Avatar. This album has a couple of apocalypse related songs. This album (And the band) really reminds me of the perk Wild Wasteland. The apocalypse is a dangerous and brooding place, but there's a certain level of wackiness and uneasiness to it all. Kind of like a Freak Show.

Smells Like a Freak Show is actually the name of a song on another Avatar album. It also makes me think of Fallout, mainly raiders. The album is called the Black Waltz. The song "Smells Like a Freakshow" Makes me think of The Pack in Nuka World lol

*Every single one of Bon Jovi's songs. Every single one, especially the album "Slippery When Wet."

*Iron Maiden. I really enjoy how they sing about history, war, folklore, stories, etc. All of their songs are incredible, but some of them really fit the Fallout vibes. The song "When The Wild Wind Blows" Is a very emotional and moving song about the end of the world. The world ends in that song by nukes, just like in fallout. Even if you don't like metal I still suggest reading the lyrics, Iron maiden has some incredible story telling.

*Megadeth! They have numerous songs about the apocalypse, how much war sucks, and how the government is terrible. Perfectly fitting for Fallout. Just prepare yourself for the lead singers voice lol

*Black Sabbath - One of the founding fathers of rock. A lot of their songs protest war and the government. Their song "War Pigs" is fitting for fallout's world, along with many others.

*The rest of the "Unholy Trinity" and founding fathers of heavy metal. Led Zepplin and Deep purple.

*Maybe other classic rock bands and singers, like Kansas, Aeorsmith, Heart, Rolling stones, Cheap Trick, and Motley Crue. But these bands are getting awfully close to the divorced dad rock category so always keep that in mind.

*Dangerous Toys (A lot of the rock bands/hairbands that took a more humorous turn really remind me of Fallout. A few Dangerous Toys songs remind me of the radio host "Redeye" from Nuka World's raider radio. Mainly the songs "Gimme' No Lip" and "Teas'n Pleas'n"

*I really want to say Slipknot and Nu metal as a whole. I know Slipknot, Korn, Limp Bizkit, Deftones and System of A Down don't fit Fallout as well as some of the other bands and songs. But the idea of hearing "Break Stuff" While out in the wastes is very entertaining to me.

*Metallica (Just their vibes and sound feel so right for the universe of fallout. Their songs are often about struggles and intense emotions like despair and grief.

*Maybe bands that are nuclear apocalypse and similar themed. Like Nuclear Assault, Municipal Waste, and many more.

*This is more of a headcanon: I love the idea of Pre-bombs Fallout having a large punk/hardcore scene, and lots and lots of Hippies. Just so many people out there doing drugs/chems, living life, protesting war and writing music.

These are just some of the bands that I think would fit into Fallout! If you think I left something out then comment the band/singer! If you have any thoughts/headcanons please share those as well!!

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toaspireintodarkness · 5 months ago

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"Welcome to the freakshow."

League of Villains x reader?

⚠️TW: Blood, vomiting, neglect/abuse, implication of murder ⚠️

I have no idea what this is-- I had this idea and it just-- yeah.

SLAM.

You could hardly breathe. Blood was all over your hands, splattered all over your clothes as if you were a painter just getting done with a masterpiece. But what you had done was far from a masterpiece. You hadn't meant to. It had just happened—

Oh, face it, you had meant to.

You couldn't take the way they treated you. You couldn't take the way you were treated as if you were an abomination to human kind. It wasn't your fault you were brought into this world. It was their fault. You didn't ask for this life. Ha, you were better without it! It was a living nightmare that never ended. A maze you were stuck in, always turning to the monsters lurking in the shadows.

But now you were the monster.

You were in some strange place, a warehouse that hadn't been used in a decade or more. Dust bunnies lined up in armies, waiting to attack and you wouldn't be surprised if there were spiders and God only knew what else was in here. There was a smell, one that conflicted your nostrils. It tickled your nose, freeing it from the metallic and morbid smell of the crimson staining your body. Cigarettes were one thing, but the faint smell of cup ramen was making your stomach churn in ways it should not. You staggered for a moment, leaning against a palete of old bulk products. You rested your forehead on your arm, your throat tightening as a burning sensation crept up your throat.

"Who the hell is there?"

The voice was low and rough. If a corpse had a voice, that's what it would be. You couldn't answer though. Not without emptying your guts everywhere. 'Oh god, what have I done,' was the only thing running through your head. You should've just ran away. You didn't really need to end their lives, did you? Did they really deserve it?

"Crazy, go check it out."

"Why am I—"

Suddenly, everything it was blurred out as the only thing you could hear was the sound of your own vomit pouring out like a waterfall. Only difference was that it was not pretty and serene. You hadn't even noticed that an ash blond girl, she couldn't be no older than seventeen, was staring rather curiously. Her piercing yellow eyes were dancing over your vulnerable form, her lips curling into a smile as she took in the sight of all the blood.

"Is that your own, or someone else's? Did you kill someone? Oh, look at your hands! You killed someone!"

You killed someone.

You killed... them.

You emptied more out of your stomach, choking back on it. "S-sto–" You gasped for a breath of air. Mucus had filled your nose. You had no choice. It was the matter of survival. The matter of your sanity—or did you even have sanity anymore?

"Toga, I asked what the fuck is..." The rough voice had trailed off before staring at you as well. To him... you looked pathetic. You had blindly found one of the most wanted villain groups while running from whatever the hell it was. He gave a sigh an stepped closer, avoiding stepping into your vomit. His hand grabbed the back of your head, jerking it back so you had to look up at him.

He had darkened turquoise eyes that were small in comparison to his eyes, lacking any light at all. His skin was split by deep purple burn scars that was hanging on by staples that so desperately needed changing. His black hair spiked in every which direction, but it didn't look as though it had gel. The right side of his nose had three piercings, and his lobes were pierced along with the top outer part of his ears.

Now, he did look like he would be a monster lurking in the dark.

"How did you find us?" It was a simple question. You should've been able to answer, but your throat was still sore from emptying your stomach. You still couldn't breath properly.

"I don't think they meant to!" A man wearing a black and grey mask piped up, peeping around the palete. He then pointed an accusing finger at you. "They're a double agent!"

"Shut up!" The burnt man narrowed his eyes at you. His eyes were scanning yours, and while he expected something to be underlying the fear and guilt, he found nothing. However, that didn't mean you were to be trusted. His grip on you slackened. "You need to breath. You'll asphyxiate at this point." You shook your head, and you tried to calm down. You would get to a certain point before what you had done flashed back before your eyes and you were back to gagging.

"I think this was their first kill," Toga gushed. "I remember my first kill. It tasted so–"

"Not helping, Crazy!" Dabi had to skitter back upon bodily fluids leaving your mouth to avoid it getting on him. He sure as hell didn't want to get covered in vomit. He bent over, though cautious of the disgusting liquid that layer the floor. "Listen to me. Whatever reason that you had to do it, you had to do it. It was you, or them–hey! Listen to me!" Dabi grabbed your shoulders, pushing you against the palet and holding you up. "Society will run over you. You did what you had to. You stood up for yourself. You defended yourself. Sometimes we gotta do things that we don't wanna do to survive. It's how our fucked up society works."

You had stopped leaking tears and the nausea had slowly faded, leaving nothing but the raw feeling over your body. You mustered the smallest nod. You still didn't speak—you didn't trust yourself to. Dabi released you, taking a step back. He even checked his shoe to see if he had stepped in one of your puddles, and thankfully, he hadn't. "So you were just running away and found us. Fucking coincidence," he breathed the last part.

"I think it's great! They could be one of us, dont'cha think, Dabi?" Toga reached forward and grabbed your wrist, pulling you to her. You tried to be mindful of not stepping in your own mess as you were pulled into a tight side hug. "Look at'em! They're so cute! Especially covered in all of that blood, it really makes you stand out," Toga gushed. "Do you wanna join the League? You'll fit in great!"

"They'll fit in great alright," Dabi remarked. "Shigaraki will have them dusted the minute he finds out that they can't kill without having a breakdown." Toga's grip tightened.

"But it was their first time! You can't tell me that your first wasn't emotional!" Dabi's stoic gaze said it all. "We can help desensitize them."

"You're annoyingly persistent." Dabi's gaze went back to you. "What do you think about heroes?" The way that 'heroes' fell off of his tongue was icy. It was sour as if he had taste of something bitter on his tongue.

What did you think of heroes?...

You looked down at first. The blood had dried and stained your hands. Over the years... heroes had a chance to help you. All of your teachers did. Your friends had the chance to help, even. The one store keeper on the end of the street who always gave you a discount out of pity. Your neighbors who heard everything that went on, because walls were paper thin.

Dabi was right. You had stood up for yourself. For once in your life, you had stood up for yourself. You had gained your long deserved freedom. You were free as a bird... and despite the crimson substance on you... you couldn't help but to feel relief. You felt happy. You even let out a bittersweet laugh, raising your eyes to meet theirs.

"They've never done anything for me... so why should I care about them? All they care about... is themselves." Dabi had the smallest smirk form, though it only lasted for a brief second as Toga did a small dance and cheered before latching onto you again.

"We're gonna get along just fine!" Dabi started to turn, taking a step away before looking back over his shoulder.

"Welcome to the freakshow."

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi x reader #toga himiko #toga x reader #league of villains #oneshot #league of villains oneshot #idk man #comfort maybe

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wraithsoutlaws · 2 months ago

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TITLE: The Dirt I'm Buried In CHAPTER ONE: Smells Like a Freakshow WORD COUNT: 5,828 PAIRING: Dagger/Dum Dum (AU) CW: Drug use, light violence, mentions of child abuse

THE TRUE STORY OF THE WORST BAND YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF: Punk rock degenerate and blood soaked disaster, Dagger is the frontman of RATTUS RATTUS, a band known more for its failures than anything else, but one in which he'll do anything to hold onto.

Ash teetered at the edge of his smoke. Sometime between his last inhale and the chime of the bass guitar beside him, the taste of the cigarette had gone flat. He spun the inhaler between shaking fingers. Gear pushed past him with the edge of his guitar, and if he spared any muttered words, Dagger didn’t hear them. He didn’t hear much of anything at all.

The room dissipated as he watched smoke dance to stilted warm-up notes and idle chatter from the bar beyond the curtains of backstage. His leg bounced eagerly, anxiously as he sat. Since when did a show make him nervous? He scratched at his neck like a noose was tightening. The black threading that concealed the scars felt smooth beneath his fingertips, but the hard edges of the reconstructed voicebox pressed out against them. Six months since surgery and it still filled him with dread. The taste of blood never left either.

He brought the inhaler to his lips and breathed deep and as the chemical kiss sank into his lungs, the world froze around him like the broken frames of an old television set. All his fear seeped away in the space between the pictures.

Red lights pulsed at the corner of his eyes. He realized they were only half open.

“You good?”

The sound was an echo. He watched Dum Dum’s lips move. The chrome edges of his mouth caught the light like glitter. Dagger couldn’t feel his smile.

“Hey–” It was louder now. Accompanied with a heavy hand on his shoulder that left an electric shock across his skin. He could see the sparks like they were real, dancing through the hazey air. “We’re goin’ on. You fuckin’ good?”

“Nova,” Dagger said. His voice tasted like candy. He took another hit and realized the inhaler was spent, though he hadn’t intended to empty it. He tucked his cigarette between his lips like a lifeline and stood, catching his balance on the wall. The ground felt foreign beneath his feet, like he were stepping over clouds. Or sinking.

Gear glared at him from the other side of the room. He never hid his discontentment for drugs. Dagger blew him a taunting kiss as he stepped onto the stage in silence.

The bar was small. Not much different from the basements they’d been booking, but the takehome was bigger. Dagger didn’t do it for the eddies either way. He stumbled toward his microphone and took one last drag of his smoke as the others filled their spaces. Gear to his left, and Moe on his right–stick thin beneath her bulky bass. He couldn’t see Dum Dum but he felt the weight of his steps as he found his drums at the back.

A hundred restless eyes bore into him from the crowd, their static energy causing the hair on his neck to stand tall. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, clutching the mic stand to keep himself from floating away. He spared a single glance to Dum Dum and nodded.

Sound exploded all around them. A cacophony of ear-splitting passion as their first song began. Dagger had a hard time keeping track of it, his mind grappling with lights and music and the faceless crowd spinning ahead of him. The broken frames of of the tv set stuttered. Everything was delayed. He came in late, words slurred through the cracking growl of his voice. It sounded wrong. It was wrong. He knew he missed a few and stopped to curse even as the music played on without him.

He almost had it figured when he pulled the mic free and lost his balance, narrowly catching himself on the nearest ledge. Only when he hit the stage hard did he realize it was Gear’s guitar. He dragged him down alongside him, spitting and cursing. The music stalled, fractured like a car crash.

Gear shoved him sideways, knocking him with a knee, and on instinct born of streetfights and bar brawls, Dagger sent his knuckles flying into his face without question. Blood spurted up like a busted fountain. Gear yelped and slammed into him again with a fist and Dagger fell backwards, the world slipping out from under him. Lights and faces and stars circled around him. The world rushed past in a blur of fading color. He tried, in vain, to hold onto it, but he was floating far away.

Somebody screamed at him. He couldn’t make out the voices. He wanted to shake the dizziness from his head but the moment he tried to stand, he doubled over and retched instead. A beer bottle crashed beside him, thrown from the side of the room. Dagger wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled himself up despite his body’s protest. Light burned into his eyes and blinded him.

“Which one of you fuckin’—”

He took one step forward and crashed off the edge of the stage.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He woke to the scratch of a pen. Short, curved strokes along his arm. He didn’t open his eyes yet, he didn’t need to. It wasn’t unusual for Moe to vandalize whichever fresh surface became available if she didn’t have her bass in hand to keep busy, and it wouldn’t be the last time he came to after a bender with a dozen fresh cocks crudely drawn inbetween his tattoos.

He didn’t move. The cracked leather cushion beneath him was cool and sticky and he knew it belonged to the sofa backstage, though he had no recollection of how he got there. Last he remembered was concrete and the burn of acid in his throat. The taste was still there, alongside a knot in his skull that drummed with pain. The monotone blur of voices from the bar came through the thin plaster walls like white noise. There was no music.

But there were words.

“—Bullshit!” Gear’s anger came in a burst. He sounded like a mewling cat and Dagger realized he had broken his nose. It took most of his restraint not to laugh. He kept his eye closed because he wanted to listen, and if Moe noticed the curve at the corner of his lips, she didn’t mention it. “Fucking skezzhead can’t even get through a single song anymore, let alone a set!”

Footsteps circled around the couch where he lied. Heavy-set, dragging like dead weight over the floor. He recognized them instantly.

“Calm the fuck down,” Dum Dum told him, the rasp of irritation apparent in each word.

Gear snorted, or tried to through clotting blood. “When you gonna stop defending him? Don’t you have a spine under all that fucking chrome?”

Dagger almost cracked an eye open at the passing silence until the unmistakable crash of metal into flesh broke through it. Moe’s pen froze as her attention was finally drawn elsewhere in the room. Whatever it was ended fast. He heard Gear grunt as his back hit against the brick wall of the club. Dum Dum gave him a warning shot.

“And when are you gonna get through a show without bitching?”

“Next time he fucking plays one! The gonk’s fried and you know it. He can’t take a piss without you holding him up.”

Dagger’s muscles tensed. Moe resumed her drawing as if she didn’t notice.

“You’re just mad ‘cause he broke your nose,” she added.

He could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m mad because my rent’s past due and this asshole’s having a nap.” He shuffled across the room and threw something down. A moment later his guitar case shut with a click.

Dum Dum’s laugh sounded like a hammer over rusty nails. Short. Metallic. Violent. “It’s all about the scratch with you.”

“No,” Gear said, his tone surprisingly steady. “It’s about self-respect. And if you got any left, you’ll ditch him too.”

His footsteps faded into the noise of the club. Dum Dum didn’t bother going after him. A minute later, Moe moved her pen to Dagger’s face and he finally swatted her hand away.

Dum Dum walked over to the sofa and stood over him, red optics glaring down, fading into a hellish blur as he finally opened his eyes. He had a hard time differentiating between each lens, or making out the rigid line of his frown beneath them. He blinked to clear his vision but it didn’t help.

“Gear’s out.” His voice was flat. It took Dagger a long time to learn how to read him. He still wasn’t sure he always got it right, but now it was unmistakable. He could feel the heat of his anger beneath his skin.

“Yeah, well…” He paused, surprised at the harshness of his own throat. Bile burned at the back of his tongue. He pushed himself onto his elbows and the sudden movement made the room spin. He wanted to puke again. He lit a cigarette to stifle the urge. “Fuck him.”

Dum Dum stood motionless above him. He didn’t like how long the silence stretched, or the look he felt behind the indiscernible veil of red that masked his face. Moe turned around and began packing up her bass, instinctively keeping her own distance from whatever was happening between the two of them.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Dagger asked after another pull but Dum Dum didn’t respond. It seemed obvious, but he wondered if he’d say it. Instead, a cool metal hand stretched out and grasped Dagger’s hair, turning his head left and right, and if he didn’t feel like he might hurl any second Dagger would’ve shoved him off. But Dum Dum leaned down and only then did his vision finally focus and the details came into view. There was a softness in his expression, against the steel alloy etched along his lips. It wasn’t anger. It was something else.

“You look like shit.” A finger swiped over the side of his forehead and it’s the first time Dagger realized he had been bleeding. A drying, itching stain stung against his skin, but there was something pleasant in the dull ache now. “Could bring you by HeavenMed–”

Dagger pulled back and shoved him away. “Don’t think so. Your boys ain’t getting my guts that easy.” He had mostly avoided Maelstrom despite the drummer’s allegiance to the gang, and he intended to keep it that way. Even after the incident–after tearing his vocal chords to shreds–when he needed the help most, he refused the proffered hand. He knew the chromed up ‘borgs wouldn’t stop at the voicebox.

“Whatever. What do I care if you flatline?” Dum Dum shrugged, a stiff movement. He wasn’t very good at pretending. “Least get some fresh air.” He looked over his shoulder where Moe was packing her things, then gestured toward the back door. Dagger knew he wanted him to follow, and after a moment, he did, despite the unwillingness of his legs to carry him. He nearly stumbled over the concrete, catching himself on the edge of the door before it shut behind them. The back lot was nearly empty, but the city beyond surged with life. Distant music echoed on the wind of passing traffic. The sky glittered in neon light. There weren’t any stars in Night City. He always found the name ironic.

There wasn’t any night either.

Dum Dum kept his back to him, gesturing to the empty lane where they had parked when they arrived.

“Gear took the van.”

“So you’ll give me a ride home.”

Dum Dum turned to look at him. “You hit your head too hard. We still have five cases stashed in the back.”

His fingers curled at his sides. Five cases.

Five shipments of hot gear stolen off Arasaka freights at the shipyard and illegally modified by juiced up tech heads, waiting for delivery up North. A couple thousand worth of eddies sitting in a van owned by a bitch. He knew now why Dum Dum led him outside. They never told Moe about their side biz. Never told Gear either, or Maelstrom. It was a secret they shared alone.

He threw down his cigarette. Embers scattered over the concrete and burned out like the missing stars from the sky.

“Let’s go get it,” Dagger said, trying to keep himself steady.

“Look like a gust of wind will knock you down. We’ll pick it up tomorrow, after you get some rest.”

“Thought you didn’t care if I flatline,” he said. “We’ll pick it up tonight.”

“Dag–” Dum Dum stepped toward him.

The concern was starting to make him sick. He backed away.

“What? You agree with Gear?” It wasn’t so much a question. It came from the depths of his throat, stinging with acid and hate. “I’m some worthless skezzhead? Need you to hold my fucking hand?”

Dum Dum’s expression twisted. There it was, that anger he had first anticipated. It was a welcome sight from the pity. His voice came out like a rumble of static.

“Is that what I fucking said?”

“Well you didn’t tell him he was wrong.” He pulled out another cigarette. His fingers were starting to shake. Was it the anger, the drugs, or the nausea? It didn’t matter. Something was crawling beneath his skin, burrowing down to the marrow.

“You’re bent,” Dum Dum said. His eyes fell on him heavy. “Get some fucking sleep.”

His thumb slipped off his lighter and it fell onto the street along with the cigarette. Dagger cursed beneath his breath and when he leaned down to pick them up, the world spun backwards on its axis. His balance went with it, sending him sideways before he could find it again. This time, Dum Dum braced his fall, heavy chrome fingers tightening on his arm to steady him. It was enough to keep him upright but it only lasted a moment. He shoved Dum Dum back, barely recovering his footing and only saving himself on the brick wall of the bar.

His eyes rose beneath the black veil of his hair, fixing on Dum Dum with a narrow glare. He was met with the same look as before–that soft thing. He was suddenly grateful for the blank state of those red lenses. He couldn’t bear to see that look in flesh.

The door flew open and his gaze snapped sideways. Moe shuffled out, carrying her bass on her back. She hardly paid them any attention as a pink Archer screeched to a stop at the curb. A purple haired woman waved from behind the wheel. Moe had a laundry list of Mox girls in rotation. Dagger didn’t recognize this one, but he had no doubt he’d see her again eventually. If the band lasted that long anyway.

As Moe slid into the passenger’s seat he asked for a ride to his apartment. The driver regarded him with a raised brow and agreed on Moe’s insistence. He laid down in the back and tried to ignore the ache in his chest, but the feeling persisted all the way home.

He was nearly asleep when the car pulled up. He half expected to find a fresh array of genitals drawn in between the old ones, but Moe was transfixed in conversation with other woman. He rarely heard her talk so much. When he got to his door he saw the two of them swapping spit behind the windshield, idling in the parking lot for another minute. He didn’t linger to see what else they wanted to do.

His apartment was nestled between the empty rooms of an old motel in Northside. The last tenant, a netrunner, had it paid up for another year before their brain was fried by Netwatch. It was small, almost claustrophobic but Dagger didn’t need much for himself, and nobody complained about the volume of his music. He didn’t mind it. Dum Dum’s megabuilding was only a few minutes up the road and that made things easy, too. He wondered if he was home yet, and then he tried not to wonder about it at all.

Cockroach heard the door open and came running from his space on the bed. Dagger held his hand out for the rat and scooped him up quick.

“‘Lo friend.” He brought him close and smiled, letting the animal sniff at him in greeting. He was Dagger’s oldest friend and the face of the band. Even it’s namesake–Rattus Rattus. He’d always had a respect for the rodent. It’s authenticity. It’s honesty. It knew who it was and lived without shame even as the world stepped over it. And one day, he knew–and the rat knew, too–when the world crumbled and the rich fell, it would still be here. And it would feast on its bones. “I hope your night was better than mine.”

“Well, it couldn’t be worse by the look of it.”

The voice came from the next room, filling the apartment with a boom.

Dagger’s hand snapped down to the switchblade in his pocket. He set Cockroach back onto the bed and let the knife swing open with warning.

The man who sauntered out wore a stiff black suit. Pinstripes made it look nicer than it was. His hair was thinning, and greased back with pomade that left a smell of teakwood all around them. Dagger’s lip curled at the sight of him. He recognized the man, but he kept his knife out nonetheless.

“That how you greet an associate?” Lazlo asked, feigning offense at the blade. He nodded down at Cockroach with a sudden look of disgust that mirrored Dagger’s. “You should take that thing back to the sewer.”

Dagger’s smile was sharper than his knife.

“Ain’t that funny? He said the same about you.”

Lazlo laughed, but the sound lingered like a flat note and there wasn’t any humor in it. He reached into his breast pocket as if he were waiting for the opportunity all along, and slid out his phone. The not-quite-amusement was still present in his voice when he spoke.

“Hell of a show tonight,” he said.

The video was already primed by the time he turned his screen around so Dagger could see it. He recognized the sight immediately–it was the bar from the show, and he was on stage, viewed from the eyes of someone standing at the back of the room. The video shook and blurred as the sound started, clawing its way from the cheap speakers unapologetically. There were only a few notes before he watched himself stumble and collapse onto Gear. He might have laughed at the sight of the broken nose but his jaw was clenched tight. He tasted the vomit again as he retched on screen. Someone in the crowd yelled. He hadn’t heard them the first time but it was unmistakable from the phone.

“Fuckin’ loser.” Their voice carried disappointment, matched with a chorus of similar jeers all around them.

Dagger’s teeth ached from the pressure. He saw the bottle hurled toward him much clearer than he had beneath the bright lights. His fingers stiffened around the knife bearing witness to himself–blood covered and puke stained and fucking pathetic–falling gracelessly off the stage. The crowd grew restless and before the video cut to black he could see Dum Dum pick him up.

Lazlo returned the phone to its proper place and patted down the wrinkles in his stupid suit. Dagger wanted to carve the smile off his face, but he bit back on his snarl, hoping to betray the shame that threatened to rip him in half.

“Well,” he started with forced casualty. “That’s punk rock for you.”

“Well,” Lazlo repeated with a mocking cadence, poorly imitating the southern drawl that tinged Dagger’s words. “Punk rock don’t pay the bills, does it?”

He brought a hand up to his throat, scratching at the stubble that he hadn’t shaved. A pointed gesture. His beady eyes followed down to Dagger’s neck, to the thick lines that insulated his surgically reconstructed larynx and the artificial cartilage that kept everything in tact. As if on command, Dagger could feel his throat tighten, itch, burn beneath those black eyes. He spun the knife in his hands, considering. Lazlo didn’t bother looking down, but his nose pointed toward the blade.

“I would advise against violence. It would only complicate your situation.”

“My situation?”

“You aren’t the first little rat to be guided by a wedge of cheddar. God knows you won’t be the last. This city is full of them, and they all think they can cheat the maze. But they can’t see past the wall ahead of them. You understand what I’m saying, Anson Wade?”

He felt himself flinch at the name. He wasn’t used to hearing it anymore. The knife stopped moving but he didn’t realize he had stilled.

Lazlo stepped sideways, pretending to examine the meager home decor around them. A few crooked posters with knives poking from the walls like a giant corkboard. Overflowing ashtrays. His mother’s vintage paperback bible tucked halfway beneath a pile of dirty clothes–he picked it up, ran his fingers over the spine. Dagger’s whole body tensed.

Lazlo continued unperturbed.

“See, the rat lacks the foresight to know he’s being watched; that his whole little world is just a cage, carefully constructed by those who’s deft hands control the maze–people who can add a wall as simply as they can knock one down.” He cracked the bible open, but he didn’t peer down at the pages. His gaze fixed on Dagger, the smile beneath which looked carved by wax. “How’s the farm, by the way? How’s your mother?”

The question tore the air from his lungs.

The bible slammed shut and Lazlo threw it aside. He wasn’t interested in the answer, and in fact, he probably knew it better than Dagger did. The non-threat settled between them heavy, but the man wasn’t done. His face dropped, twisted, the mask of politeness discarded as quickly and as easily as the bible on the floor. He hulked forward before Dagger could blink, eyebrows knitted in rage.

“Don’t forget who this belongs to–” His hand clasped tight around the seams of Dagger’s throat, choking the rest of his breath away. He clawed at the meaty wrist holding him in place, but a gold watch kept him from drawing blood. He wanted to use the knife. He wanted to drive it into his skull. He wanted to skin him into ribbons. But he couldn’t. “Get me my fucking money or I’ll rip that voice back out.”

As soon as the words left his mouth he pushed Dagger back and released him, immediately smoothing down his suit and straightening his jacket across his shoulders. He cleared his throat, and the mask reappeared as if it had never left. He smiled, self-assured.

“Hell, the music scene would probably thank me.”

Dagger choked out a cough, grasping at his reconstructed throat. It felt too tight, like something had shifted, snapped. His chest heaved, panic flooding through him the same way it had the first time he felt blood fill his throat, his vocal chords torn, voice gravel. His knees nearly buckled, but he managed to find the edge of the sofa before he crashed. Cockroach scurried over to him, narrowly avoiding Lazlo’s shoes as he made his way out the door.

“Your next payment is due in a week,” he said plainly. Dagger almost didn’t hear him over the sound of his own ragged cough. “I trust it won’t be late again.”

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he took a full breath, but Lazlo was long gone. He leaned back on the sofa, gently kneading the black lines on his neck. He wasn’t certain something hadn’t broken, but when he opened his mouth he could still speak.

“Fuckin’ asshole.”

Cockroach forced himself beneath his hand and Dagger scratched his head in kind. He was grateful for the distraction, for the company. For the eyes that regarded him without judgment. His heartbeat began to slow as he lit a cigarette. The smoke burned on the way down. Smoke, vapor, rage. It eroded him from the inside out. He was lost when he learned of his condition. The vocal hemorrhage was only the start. He pushed through it for too long, until the damage festered in his throat and something inside of him finally gave up.

Even his own voice had had enough of him.

Lazlo was a last resort. A self-proclaimed pawnbroker out of Watson. He wanted the surgery fast, without the scratch to pay for it.

A rat in a maze.

The walls towered over him now.

Cockroach flattened himself on his chest.

“They don't understand,” Dagger told him. And they didn't–nobody did. Not Gear. Not Lazlo. Dum Dum…He ran his hand over the rat's fur. He found him in an empty lab in the Badlands. He was almost naked then, skinny and covered in scabs. A mess just to look at, and alone. But in spite of that, he had freed himself of his cage. And when Dagger picked him up he saw a man in a lab coat lying on the floor, deft hands stiff at his sides and his face chewed clean from his skull.

There was a way out. He just had to find it.

Cockroach squeaked in contentment.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He parked two blocks down and walked the rest of the way. He was familiar with Arroyo, but had a hard time distinguishing the streets from each other. The neighborhood was far from the meat and glamor of the city and it’s beige monotony reminded him more of his days riding roughshod through desert hills with the nomads than suffocating beneath the neon skies of Night City, but the sameness always confused him. Identical houses, cars, broken windows. If he squinted he could see the promise of suburban life, but it looked more like a postcard that fell into the mud, boot prints marring the image.

If he was honest, it felt a little bit like home.

He turned a corner and saw the van parked down the road, bathed beneath the orange glow of a streetlight. Gear’s house was dark. They used to play in the garage. He didn’t know where they’d set up now, but he wasn’t about to let Gear take any more from him.

The van was a glorified junker. It barely ran, coughed smoke like tar, and bore a paint job of the band’s signature iconography: the black rat. But it was one of Gear’s more important contributions–big enough to lug their kit and still house the cases for delivery.

Dagger approached slowly, keeping his eyes trained on the house. After a moment he lifted the hood and ripped a choice wire out from the side with well practiced fingers. He learned when he was young which ones to pull and which ones not to touch. When he jimmied the door open the alarm didn’t sound and he slid into the back without hesitation. The second floor he’d built six months earlier creaked almost imperceptibly beneath his weight. He was certain that Gear was oblivious to it, but he wanted to check just in case. He kicked a pile of garbage out of the way and pulled up the stained carpet to reveal a layer of sheet metal. It didn’t match the rusted body of the van, but it sat perfectly in its place. Beneath it he found the guns. Their armored cases untouched, and much more adequate security than their surroundings.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

On his way back to the front seat, he glanced up at the house from the windshield. It wasn’t all bad with Gear, but Dagger wouldn’t miss him. A sellout posing punk, walls lined with Kerry Eurodyne. More concerned with how many eddies a song is worth than what it means to sing it.

Dagger’s throat burned as he lit a cigarette.

It all comes back to scratch.

If there was a point there, he didn’t dwell on it.

Gear was a dick, that’s what mattered. In the flickering street light his eyes scanned over the artwork that Moe had left on his arms and he smiled. Without another thought, he rummaged through the discarded trash in the back until he found a half empty can of spray paint. He jumped out of the van and crept onto the steps of the house. His optics illuminated the night as he drew the paint longways over the door, across a front window, and back around again until the lines connected.

A cock to rival all others.

Dagger smiled, appreciating his work with the smug arrogance of a toddler before retreating.

The van started with a backfire but he didn’t stick around long enough to know if Gear heard it as he sped down the street back toward Northside.

He should’ve gone home.

By the time he realized he missed the turn to his apartment he was already standing outside of Dum Dum’s door. The megabuilding moved around him like a living beast, loud and feral. His head still hurt, and he knocked impatiently.

Dum Dum didn’t look entirely surprised to see him when he opened the door, but he didn’t much look happy either. Dagger pushed past him all the same.

“Wanna smoke?” he asked in what he hoped would be seen as an apology. To anyone else it might’ve missed its target, but Dum Dum knew him better than that, and when offered one from his pack, he took it with a nod. Dagger fell back into a threadbare chair and swung a leg over the armrest. “Got the van back.”

“That was quick.”

“And I didn’t need you to hold my hand neither.”

“I didn’t say–”

“I know. I’m fucking with you.”

Dum Dum groaned and lit his cigarette. “The guns?”

“They’re in the back.” Dagger leaned his head back, painfully aware of all the shifting pieces within his neck. His gaze followed Dum Dum as he sat on a busted coffee table in front of him. His apartment was bigger than Dagger’s but not by much. Not enough to keep their knees from lightly touching as they sat across from one another. They had spent many nights here, like this, writing songs and smoking. It was here where they made the band. And here where Dagger told him wordlessly with a bleeding throat that it might have to end.

“We can run ‘em tomorrow,” Dum Dum said. “I got a few days free from biz.”

Dagger nodded. Smoke painted the room in a blueish haze. His eyes felt heavy and in the brief moment he let them close he could see the video from the bar in his mind again. He forced it away quickly and focused on Dum Dum’s optics, watching the color bleed into the room.

“You know the first time I ever went to a show?”

Dum Dum hunched forward, inviting the answer. Dagger let the memory replace the one behind his eyes as he recalled it.

“I was thirteen years old. Snuck off the farm with a passing caravan that took me far as the city. I weaseled my way into a bar and caught some no nothing band I never heard of before. The sound was shit but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that my whole body hurt from a black eye and a broken rib ‘cause my daddy caught me smoking his cigarettes the night before. Didn’t matter I lost my boot in the pit or that I hadn’t eat for a day and a half. It was the first time in my life I wanted something to last forever.” He fumbled with a fresh cigarette, rifling through his pockets in search of a light. Dum Dum came closer and lit his smoke with the end of his cigarette. The smell of burnt wires lingered when he moved away. “I got clocked for a minor and the cops took me home. Got another shiner after that. I looked like a goddam raccoon, but it was worth it. My god, it was worth it.”

Dum Dum laughed through smoke. “You remember the band?”

“Nah. Never seen ‘em again either, but it’s the feeling that mattered.”

The feeling that stayed with him for the rest of his life, even now, nestled so deep in his chest he could no longer detach it from himself. If he ever made someone feel the way he did back then, maybe the bitter taste in his throat wouldn’t burn so strong. His fingers met his neck again, cigarette burning idly.

“Y’know, ever since this–” he tapped the threading along his skin and paused. “I thought it was over. The band. The music. It hasn’t felt the same since. If my last show was the one tonight I couldn’t live with myself but maybe Gear’s right.”

He felt suddenly raw. Dum Dum was quiet for too long. He expected the same look of pity he had gotten before. Expected to hate it. To feel the sick rise up like fire in his chest.

Dum Dum took one more pull from his cigarette then snuffed it out on the scarred surface of the coffee table.

“Fuck that,” he said with the same rush of a gunshot. “And fuck Gear.”

Dagger straightened in his chair from the unexpected ferocity. Whatever fire that spread through him wasn’t born of anger or shame. It was different. It was kinder.

“First time I saw you on stage was that night at Totentanz, remember? You were fronting for–what were they called? Corroded Cannibal or whatever the fuck.”

“Corroded Corpse,” Dagger corrected. There were plenty of bands before this one. None of them stuck around. The show at Totentanz had been their last.

“Yeah, yeah. My head was splitting. Had Brick on my ass and a new recruit turning psycho. Gang split halfway down the middle. Then you came in. You blew the amps early and the mic kept cutting out. Couldn’t understand a word you were saying. Hell, they almost chased you outta the club but you climbed up the rafters and finished the set on the skywalk. It should’ve been shit, but it’s like you said…” He stood and towered over Dagger as the smoke cleared between them and a smile spread over his lips. “It didn’t matter. I was hooked.”

The words came down on him like a salve. Heavy in their simplicity.

He thought back to that day when he was thirteen. Young and rabid and lost. To that music he didn’t remember but which etched itself onto his soul. A song that led him forward, through ghost towns and Night City. To the bands that didn’t last and the one that finally did.

To here. Blood covered and puke stained and fucking pathetic.

Warm beneath red spotlights.

And he smiled.

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: dagger #dum dum #x: perfect drug #my fic tag #rattus rattus au #lird. im tired of working on this chapter so im detaching myself from it now #hopefully to keep the momentum going into ch 2 #also sorry for all the oc's i had to make background characters #but i still hope to at least get moe in cc soon :3 #dagger's not quite as unhinged in this au so he gets pushed around a little #and music is his outlet here instead of murder so .#(well. for now :-))

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