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yandere-wishes · 5 months ago

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Alice in Marvel-land

𐙚Yandere! Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Reader x Yandere Wolverine (Logan Howlett)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ In some worlds, you were Logan's little darling. In others, you were Wade's starry-eyed lover. But here in the void, there is only one of you and two of them.

⁀➷ GORE, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Deadpool being Deadpool.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ IDK, probs the Deadpool and Wolverine soundtrack

Logan feels the world slipping away.

Piece by piece, atom by atom.

In a blink, he's falling down darkness.

An endless rabbit hole.

What was the name of that fairy tale you liked so much?

The one with the girl who gets lost in splendor?

The dust is kicking up, framing the sunset portrait along the horizon.

The envoys are nearly home, this time they've brought someone back. The cage balls chime along the unsteady road. If you squint just far enough you can almost make out vibrant specks of red and yellow.

Strange, the void tends to wash out bright colors. Well, it tends to wash out just about everything.

You scrape your nails along the skeleton's sockets. Leave crescents in the decaying cartilage. "They're almost here" you call out awaiting Cassandra's next move. You watch dolefully as she's transfixed on a portal. The sparky thing unfurled like a fresh wound, strewing salt on persistent lacerations. She watches her brother, or well some variation of her brother. Surrounded by his new family, surrounded by those he loves. He's forgotten her, or maybe never even knew her. You think that the latter would hurt the most.

"Cassandra" Your voice rises in octave, this time getting her attention. "They're here".

"Coming" She sings, voice so chip it almost sounds like unshed tears. You send a final glare at the portal before it collapses on itself.

If you tried hard enough, maybe you could bring yourself to understand her pain. Those pesky notions of desperation for someone to love. But it

doesn't matter now everyone you've ever loved is dead anyway. And unlike Cassandra, you've long since given up on the childish dreams of being rescued by someone who would offer up love so freely.

"Maybe shut up now"

Logan's nerves are frying. Thin strings snapping with every syllable that leaves the red merc's mouth. He's starting to appreciate Stryker in a way he didn't even know he could. The man was a psychotic sadist but at least he knew when to sew someone's mouth shut. Maybe he can convince this Cassadra chick to do the same.

Logan's eyes are almost at 90 degrees of a roll when they stop. He stops, frozen. In the gaping mouth of the rotting skull, something all too familiar stands.

Or rather someone.

Someone he knew.

Someone he loved.

Your name tastes bitter on his tongue. All death and whisky.

Maybe cause it's been so long since the attack. Since he walked off for the night and left his family to die. Cause the last time he saw you, you were a mangled corpse laying in an open grave. Deadweight as he cradled you in his arms.

You walk closer. Face painted in too many shades of confusion.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Damn, he's started quoting that stupid book again.

"How do you know my name" You ask. You look just as beautiful as he remembers. Spine carved straight in pride with perfect lips, perfect eyes. His talons itch to glide across your soft skin, to feel you so intimately once more.

"LOOOGAN did you see what the bald chick just- HEY!!"

It takes too much effort to pull his gaze away. To stare at red and black and be reminded of cruel realities. But Wade has a tendency to be a persistent ache, some unwelcomed anchor to every problem he's ever had.

Only this time when he actually looks at him. Looks at the jittery body that's stilled abruptly. He can't help but be glad that he did. A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat. Maybe Wade's shut up for good this time.

He always knew you were special but this is truly a miracle.

"IT'S YOU!!"

Nope, didn't work. He knew he couldn't be that lucky.

Wade whispers your name, a forgotten prayer. Logan didn't even know the loudmouth knew how to pray. But he seems to almost soften when he sees you. That feral, cheeky killer, looks so so soft when he stares into your doe-eyes. Reaching out zealously to twirl a lock of your hair around his blood-soaked finger.

He can almost feel Wade choking on your essence, heart erratic, like a child finding a lost toy. He's drowning in ecstasy, and Logan is almost tempted to join him. You're here, a breath away. So close it's taking every ounce of self-control not to pull you to his chest and keep you locked between his arms until he finally dies too.

"Penunt look that's my girl!!"

"Your girl!?"

He had taken you for granted as he tends to do with most peaceful things. The realization had occurred a little too late. Right as he had been emptying a round into the target of the week's head.

He lands.

Arms high like an Olympian pleasing the crowd.

He wonders if he can make you cheer for him.

Clap and shout his name as he twirls around the mess he's made.

He wants to feel loved, although he'll never say it out loud. He's only ever been good with words when they're laced with sarcasm and profanity.

And maybe 'I love you' is just about the most obscene thing he can ever say to someone as sweet as you.

Wade plays the white rabbit, fluffy coat stained red from every kill. Tricking poor Alice into following him down cruel rabbit holes. Making you chase him through labyrinths then leaving you at every turn. He leads you to every kill, makes you watch as he dances in slaughter. He can even feel your eyes right now. Starlight slicing him open to quench vulgar interests.

Alice always follows the rabbit.

He stalks closer, white eyes fixated on your deliciously bewildered expression. Precious thing caught in a warzone. He can almost taste you on his tongue, the sharp tip of a star slivering the inside of his mouth, soft hands painting crescent moons along the back of his neck. He needs to carve his essence across your lips, to pour the after-kill adrenaline into your soul. He needs you.

Only this time...

This time he'd been too distracted. So caught up in claiming you as his victory prize that he didn't notice the grizzled man clinging to life...

And a pistole.

The bullet punctures his shoulder. An afterthought.

But the lead keeps going.

Penetrating the air until it lands bunglingly between your eyes.

You fall into his arms.

Deadweight.

Did the white rabbit ever miss Alice?

Did he ever realize how truly special such a curious girl made him feel?

He doubts it.

Doubts that a stupid rodent would have better emotional stability than him.

He's been given a second chance. A whole plethora of them actually. He's been deemed holy, righteous. And aren't gifts of marvel bestowed upon the truly blessed? What better blessing than the sight of you standing amongst the sand and skulls?

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

He lets the blood trickle down his claws.

What else is there to do but dream of you?

It's the fourth day of his massacre and he's lost count of how many humans he's killed. Maybe cause after the first hundred the faces tend to blur.

He leaves your pleasants in between the rotting carcasses and broken glass. Only taking the torturous parts of you. The things that can hurt him. The sharp edges that he can slit his pulse point on, the vague memory of your glare before you cried. The soft skin of your neck between his jagged teeth.

Enough to keep the hate burning.

He wonders if the creatures of Wonderland wept after Alice left. He wonders if Wonderland lost its wonder.

But now you're standing here.

Alive.

And he wants so badly to remember the sweet taste of your lips. The soft push against his chapped lips as he swallows you whole. Even desperate rabbits can go a little feral. His eyes take in every breath, every scowl.

Alive.

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

Aliath skids forward, mystified in lightning and smoke. You feel your bones collapsing under the rugged man's, Logan's, vice grip. You thrash and scream trying to break free but he only barks out orders to his friend before they take off running.

"Your safe, don't worry we got you." There's a comedic cadence to every word Wade says. You can almost fool yourself into enjoying it if the two weren't actively attempting to defy Cassandra, to defy Aliath, to defy deities and absolutes. To ripe you away from the only semblance of opulence you've come to know.

"Let me go, you custome-wearing freaks." His gripe tenses. "Don't struggle so much, we said you're safe, now hold still" Logan's anger ripples through you. It's almost muscle memory to still, to obey.

Did you know him? Know them?

In some past life too out of reach?

The ground shutters to a jagged rhythm. You're flying up, escaping the misty horrors of the ground. Your head pounds with the force, air slapping across your body as you taste the cotton of the clouds between your teeth.

Is this how Alice felt as her head hit the roof?

Wade mutters about the stars and educated wishes. About people who live and matter. Logan slices through his thigh, the mercenary's optimism making his body ring with phantom pains.

No one matters.

And when they start to, they die.

There are cruel absolutes in this world. He's tasted them all. Let them slice his tongue and heart and danced to every tune they've sung. He rips his claws out and digs them into Wade's chest.

Again

And again.

Wade savors the salty tang of blood inside his mouth.

Licks his teeth and runs his tongue over the gaping holes.

He's sitting in the front seat head rolled back.

High off the blood and adrenaline and the thought of having you so close.

"I take it all back, the Honda odysseys fucks hard"

Bones crack, interrupted mid-heal as Logan turns his head to glare. "Shut up" he rasps and Wade almost, almost, hears approval.

There's a low moan reverberating across the broken car. Late night sleepy mumble that's half 'I love you' and half 'I need you'. Neither one has heard it in such a long time.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty? Kinda surprised you could sleep through all of that" Wade shimmies to the back, only to be greeted by your foot smashing into his face, cracking his nose open, and sending a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He pins your knee to the seat and wiggles himself between you. caging you with his elbows as he stares down at your pretty face. "Miss me, angel baby?"

"Wrong fairy tale" Logan turns around in his seat, claws out running them across your cheek "Please stop, just let me go" you've never begged before, never fallen so low. But these two things, mutants, mutates, or whatever they are, scare you. Reckless, suicidal, dangerous. You feel so helpless in their presence. Never knowing you're to be kissed or killed.

"You're as lovely as I remember" The melancholy colors him in a monochrome of sympathy. Here is a man who's gone through every horror and still gets out of bed. Or maybe he has to, maybe he can't quite die and can't quite reach heaven. So he gulps down his immortality with black coffee to at least pretend he's being buried six feet deep. "Even after all this time I still love you" You almost melt in his brown eyes. So lonely, so desperate.

Kill or kiss

You want him to do both. Want to kiss extinction on his lips while being impaled by the claws. Kill or kiss.

Both, both, both.

"You know~" Wade pushes himself up, "I think your dress should be red...and black. To match your favorite man."

"Who the hell said you were the favorite?" Wade leans forward, in a blink he's gripped Logan's wrist and lunged the Wolvarine's claws into your abdomen.

You writhe, the bones and metal feel almost heavenly inside of you. When he retracts the claws you moan out, it's too saccharine to hold back. Everything feels so much lighter, colorful. You feel your essence slipping out, gushing over the back seat.

Red waterfall, so pretty.

Dress stained red.

"Told ya so!"

Wade pulls you roughly by the shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. He's so cute, fickle Cheshire cat, tongue dancing across your mouth, slitting itself on your peaked teeth, and filling your mouth with thick red caterpillar smoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You really are God's perfect idiot" Logan's anger is tangible, sweet, and bitter like hatter tea at midnight.

"S'okay Logan, it feels nice" Your words slur, slipping gauche from your tongue as you giggle profusely. You feel like Alice cracking open Wonderland's ribs, crawling inside, and smearing the wonder across your face.

"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one" You've heard these words before, Alice's words. she's right. Your fairy tale is painted red with pretty, crazy, princes who think that slicing open a princess is easier than kissing her. You reach out for Logan, desperate for a kiss. "eat me" you mutter, and Logan's face morphs into pure terror "Wade what the hell have you done to her?".

"What? It's better this way trust me"

"I hate you"

Logan bends, meeting you halfway. He kisses you with all the wary of a dead man walking. All teeth and heart and bitter memories left to rot three lifetimes ago. He pushes himself between your bones, trying to carve out his ethos in your body. He'd burn the world so long as he gets to keep you.

You squeeze your thighs around Wade's muscular thighs and hips unlocking a gibby giggle from the man. His mask is half pulled up as he trails sloppy fervorous kisses across your neck and chest. The nostalgia slithering under your skin has you squirming, you've been through this all before. In a past life somewhere where storm monsters and voids don't exist. "Remember how good this feels?" Wade mumbles as his fingers dig into your puncture wounds, drawing slow, desperate moans from your puffy lips. You don't dare answer you don't know what would be worst admitting to liking the loudmouth ministrations or admitting there were other versions of you out there, other happy versions.

"Oh for hell's sake," Logan reclines the front seat and shuffles closer. Pulling down the back of your dress. His kisses are bite marks in disguise rabid and feral, the two things the man will never escape. His name rolls across your tongue, you let it slip in an airy moan. "No fair " Wade complains "I want you to say my name too." He pulls out his baby knife and etches the skin of your thighs. Scribbling doodles of stars and half hearts and the little symbol he wears on his belt. "W-wade" you gasp never knowing whether to scream in pain or giggle in bliss.

Logan laughs into your neck. You didn't even know he was capable of such a gentle thing. You bite his lip playfully. Dragging your fingers across his muscular arms. Your thumb pushes into the space between his knuckles asking for the claws. For the most macabre parts of him. You glide your tongue across the parish where flesh meets metal. Kissing the metal and bones and lapping at the blood. Watch curiously as he draws out a long airy sigh. "Good girl" he mumbles voice marred with ecstasy and you almost see the ghost of a smile smear across his pretty lips.

Wade's thumb gently rubs against your hips. Softly usering you into peace, tranquility. Your eyes get heavy, the car gets blurry. The grotesque realignment of their bones steering you into a deep, content sleep.

"Hey Peanut, you think Alice in Wonderland here would mind if we keep going? "

"Shut it, moron "

"Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if only I knew how to begin.”

🎀Bonus

Deadpool: "Do you think the author's going to write about us again? Or is she planning to finally write that Dune fic she keeps talking about?

Wolverine: "I have no fucking idea what the hell you're even talking about.

🪐@yandere-romanticaa @bad4amficideas @sugarplumz100 @oscarissac2099 @facelessfionna @siphite @tocotuesday69 @linoleunm @mei-simp @shamelessdarkprince @gabriqllas @lovely-liliacs @shiroi-asashin17 @failinguniversity

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woahjo · 7 months ago

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katsuki rarely drinks. it's not something he enjoys. but one one night, he shows up at your once-shared apartment, smelling like liquor. something sweet and fruity, liked he'd tried to wash a bitter taste from his mouth. to someone who doesn't know him the way you do, a tired sobriety may be assumed. he's that sort when he drinks.

he smiles when he sees you, a bashful kind of smile, despite not having spoken with you for months and you realize that maybe he's forgotten. maybe he's forgotten the last few months when he moved his stuff out of your place, the period of time after the break up where no one would bring up your names in front of the other.

"katsuki? it's the middle of the night," you say to him through the half open door. "what are you doing here?"

katsuki looks at you, clearly tired, and he swallows thick before opening his mouth and closing it again. you wait for him to find his words.

"i wanted to see you," he says.

"you don't live here anymore," you remind him gently, though you're not sure why you assume that he believes he does.

katsuki glances at the ground and then uses the doorframe to steady himself. you can tell that he's trying not to scare you, trying not to use the sheer size of his body. there's something cautious and equally careless about his motions and you tilt your head.

"katsuki?"

"why don't we talk anymore?" he asks you, swallowing again. you wonder where his friends have gotten off to and at what point int he evening they'd noticed that he wandered off.

the question tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the man in the doorway. it's a pathetic sort of feeling, a weak longing in your chest. you're not sure how to answer. after the break up, things just sort of... fell off. there was nothing to say anymore.

"I want to talk to you," he admits.

this is a side of katsuki that only you are privy to. a quieter, gentler side of him. one where he can openly admit his wants and faults. an exposed bleeding wound that katsuki has never really been able to sew shut.

you shake your head a little.

"talking's hard," you tell him. you're being honest. talking to him is hard. there is so much history there.

"we used to be friends," he reasons, almost as if he's reminding himself.

"yeah," you nod, "we did."

"and now we're not," he adds. "and that fucking sucks."

you nod again.

"it's late, katsuki," you say to him. "you should get home and sleep this off."

katsuki nods, but he lingers. his eyes wander past you into the inside of your apartment, almost as if he can picture himself wandering in. you keep the door half shut.

"we'll talk soon?" he asks, something hopeful in his voice. this vulnerability makes you ache.

"yeah," you respond. "we'll talk soon. fix things."

katsuki nods and then, as if something sobering has come over him, he straightens his back. you furrow your brows as he looks at you, a pink tinge over his cheeks, and wait for what he has to say next.

"sorry to- sorry to bother you so late," he says, a little less gently. he's let a mask slip carefully over his features.

"it's fine," you shake your head. "get home safe, okay? do you need me to call someone for you?"

katsuki shakes his head insistently. "no, no," he says firmly— soberly. "i'm good. i'll see you around."

"okay."

he turns from your step and you watch his back for a moment before quietly shutting the door to your apartment. it feels too quiet now, and you briefly miss the light from the street as you turn back to the empty, darkened rooms.

you wonder if he'll remember coming to your door tomorrow and kick himself for it. you wonder if he'll wake up in the morning, his head pounding, with the mortifying memory of having shown up on your doorstep, telling you that he misses you in a set of different words. or, you wonder if he'll forget. will he wake tomorrow with no memory at all of the first conversation you've shared in months?

it's probably best if he doesn't remember it. then, there'll be nothing to follow up on and nothing to apologize for in the sobering light of day. you won't have to talk to him and be reminded of just how painful every aspect of this is. you have no intention of keeping your promise to talk soon, as much as you might like to fix things. it's best, for the both of you, if you let him fade into the background. then, you can meet him again as strangers—friends of friends—and pretend that the history between you both never happened in the first place.

#bakugou x reader #is this something gang? im rusty #tw.angst #tw.alcohol #im shy idk what this is but it's been a minute since i wrote fic #omg #this isn't a draft i just typed this up

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dear-oizys · 4 months ago

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I just had the most gut wrenching thought about deadpool and wolverine

I was just reading a fic in which there was a throwaway comment about al sometimes telling wade that he should sew his mouth shut ( lovingly of course, (in her own way) ) and my brain decided to spiral

what if someone somehow gets the jump on wade after like a gruelling merc job and kidnaps him??

and of course because they are terrible fucking people they sew his mouth shut and because of his healing factor his lips heal around whatever they used to sew his mouth shut

when logan finds him wade finally he is being tortured by shitty people looking to get revenge and he just rips apart everyone there

finally cause wade can't do it logan has to rip wade's mouth open with his claw

even though his mouth is not sewn shut wade still doesn't talk for sometime cause like even when he was being tortured by ajax when they were trying to bring out his mutation he was still allowed to talk but this time they didn't let him talk and he stays quiet for sometime and everyone tries to get him to talk somehow but he just isn't able to

and one night finally after something happens logan gets through to wade and he just breaks down completely cause wade is talking again and Logan just couldn't bear the thought of never hearing wade's voice again and wade also breaks down cause even though his life has been one trauma after another somethings rattle the shit outta you

#wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #logan howlett #poolverine #wade wilson #deadclaws #deadpool & wolverine #can someone write this #if yes please tag me in it #many thanks

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ameliathornromance · 11 months ago

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“(Y/N), I’m back.” The familiar voice echoed through the encampment.

You bolted out of your tent. He’s back, finally. The last few days had been tough on you.

With a swollen belly, sore feet, and a ferocious hunger, you had begged your Orc Boyfriend to bring you some Deer.

The initial months of your pregnancy were good. You weren’t having morning sickness; you were happy and comfortable.

Your Orc Boyfriend could not stop talking about it from the moment you found out you were pregnant.

“Yes, of course I’d like extra food. Anything for the baby.”

“Of course I’ll take those furs. My pregnant partner needs all the comfort she can get.”

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t go out for the hunt today. My love needs me to help her pick out names for our baby.”

You worried that the other members of the camp would deck your boyfriend if he continued on with it. “I know you’re happy,” you had told him as he draped another fur blanket over your head. “But if you keep this up, I’m worried that the others will sew your mouth shut.”

“Even then, they wouldn’t be able to keep me quiet.” Your Orc grinned as he tucked you into your shared bed. “I’d still find a way to tell them.”

At that, you rolled your eyes and sighed, settling into the covers.

Now you were around the 6 month mark of your pregnancy, your cravings had shot up. You wanted Deer meat. Deer consumed your every thought. Deer, Deer, Deer. Sometimes, the situation became unbearable and tears would flow uncontrollably. Your Orc did his best to comfort you: “there’ll be some more later, don’t worry my love.” He’d sooth you.

Deer were very difficult to catch. They’re quick, light on their feet, skittish. Especially if there’s an Orc approaching. You need someone who was good with a bow and arrows to kill one.

But somehow, your Orc Boyfriend had done it. He was no good with a bow and arrow, but he had done it. Your eyes raked the camp, other Orcs who spotted you chuckling at your expression.

“He’s over there, lass.” Said one, who pointed towards the dining area. “Wanted to make you something nice because you’d been suffering.”

You didn’t even thank him. You charged towards the food preparation area and found him, skinning the animal that you fiercely hungered for.

Your Orc Boyfriend spotted you walking towards him and chuckled. “Be patient,” he said to you as you leaned over his arm. “I don’t want to give you raw meat. It won’t be good for you or the baby.”

You’d take anything you could. Even if the meat was raw. But at your Orc’s gentle hand, caressing your stomach, you grumbled. But stepped back so he could cook.

Sitting on a tree stump, other Orcs passed by. Some offering you Berrys and other fruits to stave off your growling belly while you waited. Gratefully, you took the fruit from them, thanked them.

The camp was incredibly accommodating for you. Female Orcs were rare to come by. Seeing how they clashed with their male counterparts, Orc children were rare. Naturally, everyone was eager to see the baby.

Finally, the Deer was ready. Cooked on an open fire, salted and peppered, you and your Orc Boyfriend sat down together.

As soon as the meat touched your lips, it disappeared in an instant. The craving had settled as you finished your last bite. You let out a satisfied sigh as your Orc’s eyes widened at your empty plate. “Did you inhale it?” He asked, shocked.

You burst out laughing and hit him hard on the shoulder. “No! It just tasted great.” You said.

Your Orc chuckled as he caressed your shoulder.

There was a water pitcher on the opposite side of your boyfriend. You reached for it, doing your best to reach across from him. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. I was worried I’d shocked the thing. I practically had to body tackle it.” He said, taking the water pitcher and handing it to you.

As you gulped down the water from the spout, you choked. “’Body tackle it’!?”

Your boyfriend patted you on the back. Once he was sure you were alright, he replied, “yes. I had to climb into a tree and wait for one to come by the lake nearby. It was lucky the branches snapped when the deer was directly beneath me.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” You gave a quick glance over his form. If your boyfriend had got hurt while trying to capture a Deer, you’d feel awful. The last thing you wanted was the father of your baby to get hurt.

Your Orc chuckled again and reassured, “I’m fine, don’t worry. Orcs possess of stronger endurance than humans.” He thumped his chest with a fist.

Relief washed over you. You knew he wasn’t human, but that wouldn’t stop you from worrying for his safety. “Thank you for getting the Deer. You’re the best partner anyone could wish for.” Tracing his muscular arms, you leaned against him.

Your Orc smiled back, leaning down and pecking you on the lips. “I know.” Rolling your eyes, and looked out to the rest of the camp as they went about their day, the sun setting over the surrounding forest.

Hello everyone! I just wanted to say thank you for helping me pass 100 followers. It makes me really happy that people are enjoying my work.

Patreon

#monster lover #orc fiction #orc x reader #monster x female #orc boyfriend #monster romance #orc romance #monster x human #monster x you #monster x reader #orc #orc x female!reader #orc x human #orc x pregnant!reader

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flamingo-writes · 2 years ago

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A/N: i am back from the dead after months. And it should’ve come as a surprise that I absolutely loved Hobie. Looks like a rockstar and is an absolute punk. My type in a nutshell.

I’m gonna be using some of these headcanon for future

Gal in The Chair — Hobie Brown x Artist!Reader

I think Hobie would be the kind of guy to fall for someone who he’s known for a long while, that being said, you’d perhaps known him all of your life

Having grown together, the two of you shaped a lot of each other’s beliefs. So no wonder the two of you were so compatible.

After the spider bite, you saw the whole journey from Hobie freaking out at first, to him figuring out how to use his new abilities.

He designed his web shooters, being the genius he is with technology. You helped him with his suit, specially his mask.

You became his Gal in the Chair

You liked to fix up and personalise clothes. All of your pieces of clothings came from second hand shops and you gave them a make over doing all sorts of stuff on them to make them unique and yours.

You also did this with a lot of Hobie’s clothes. As well as teaching him how to use your sewing machine.

After graduating high school, you opened a small alternative clothing shop in with unique pieces, doing the same thing you did for your clothes on this one. As well as doing hand made jewerly like bracelets, necklaces and earrings. You also had a talent with plants, managing to almost magically bring plants back to life and reproduce them like crazy, you added selling plants into your small business.

As Spider-Man gained traction, he low key promoted your work to his followers and people who agreed with him. This in order to keep negative attention from falling on you, and keep bad guys from thinking and theorising that maybe you knew Spider-Man.

As a side gig, you educated yourself on coffee making, and learned about the different processes and types of coffee beans there were. It started as a hobby, but soon you also implemented that into your shop.

The fact that you were so versatile, made Hobie feel incredibly proud of you. You seemed to be so independent, and creative and that never ending curiosity and passion made him harvest feelings for you.

Eventually, the close friendship, and companionship grew into affectionate and romantic feelings.

Hobie was always flirty, but it wasn’t until now that you started behaving differently. Normally he played his electric guitar but now you found him playing his acoustic guitar more.

He showed you a song he wrote. And while it was unusual —however, not imposible— to hear a romantic song coming from him, it wasn’t until the first minute that you realised the song was about you.

That’s how he chose to tell you about his feelings.

He didn’t intend for it to be this romantic, he simply one day word vomited the song and used one free afternoon to add the music.

After hearing his song, it was actually you who grabbed him and kissed him.

More than satisfied with the outcome, he kissed you back, put his guitar down and pulled you over his lap.

You two became inseparable since. You already were, but now it was more evident.

You worked at home, doing all the creative things you did, selling them, helping Spider-Man with art shows and gigs.

Those who paid close attention, they were able to determine you were some sort of associate to Spider-Man. However, all of them were also punks and anarchist so of course they kept their mouths shut. Spider-Man was always looking out for those in need. They were going to help a brother back and not tell anyone whenever any authority or weird-looking threat asked if anyone knew Spider-Man, or someone close to him.

You became widely known between Spider-Man supporters, although none of them would ever dare to snitch on you.

After Hobie met Gwen, she brought her over, you two became close friends right away. Letting Gwen crash at your place more often than not. She even offered to help you with the dishes and the groceries as thanks for letting her stay.

“You’re Hobie’s friend, you’re welcome whenever you want,” You’d told her.

Pav was also a frequent visitor. He loved your coffee, he taught you how to make chai. And you had chai ready for whenever Hobie told you Pav was going to be there.

Pav also bought plants from you all the time. Most of them for his mom. He once asked you if you could make a set of earrings and a necklace for his mom.

The set was a success and Pav always told you how much she loved them,

Eventually Miles also came around. And it wasn’t until Miles met you that his suspicions of Hobie and Gwen dating dissappeared.

Miles saw the absolute pure love with which Hobie looked at you. He still made the same sarcastic and cheeky jokes while talking to you. But the way he looked at you was completely different to the way he looked at anyone else.

Hobie convinced Miles to buy a plant and some earrings for his mother.

“Listen mate, this is what my girl does for a living. Plus the world needs to learn to appreciate the handiwork of an artisan,”

Miles was even surprised at how Hobie still looked cool while being mushy and cheesy with you as he hugged you, kissed your head, or played with your hands or hair.

Hobie had zero fucks to give about what people think about him, he doesn’t give a shit about PDA. Gwen thinks it’s gross, Pav thinks it’s adorable, Miles is simply puzzled as to how he is still cool when seeing his parents doing the same thing would make him cringe so hard.

Hobie is amused by the different reactions he gets. Especially Gwen’s grossed out face.

He still loves kissing you every chance he gets. Whether if it’s kissing you passionately. A subtle peck. Sweet kissed on your cheek or your forehead.

#hobie headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown fanfiction

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sissylittlefeather · 4 months ago

Text

Fools Rush In (where angels fear to tread)

A/N: I don't know what's up with me and elevators right now, but here's a one-shot I hatched after a conversation with @atleastpleasetelephone about what I'd do if I met Elvis in an elevator. This is obviously the fantasy version 😂

Thanks to @ccab for helping me with this one. It was a little rough at times!

Warnings: 18+ SMUT minors DNI, cussing, kissing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, someone has a glass of wine

Word count: ~3k

You work at the hotel, so you're no stranger to this elevator. You ride in it all the time to take things up to guests when they ask for them. Thats kind of been your job since you started here three months ago: fetch-things-for-guests-girl. You're supposed to just be working the front desk but for some reason anytime anyone needs anything, it falls on you to run it up to them. You've run up toothbrushes and newspapers and even trays of room service. That's really not supposed to be your job but you're not sure you can say no when they ask. That's probably why you keep ending up on the elevator.

Today, you brought a guest a sewing kit. He was a nice older gentleman and he asked if you could help him with a button on his shirt. Again, not a thing that's part of your job description but you did it anyway. He even tried to give you a dollar for helping. A sweet gesture, but you assured him it was unnecessary.

Now you're on the elevator headed down. Or at least, you were supposed to be headed down but for some reason the elevator starts rising towards the penthouse. You don't think much about it, not sure which rich or famous person is up there right now. You look at your shoes and notice the toe of the left one is scuffed. You're trying to figure out how that might've happened when the elevator dings and the doors slide open. It takes you a second to look up. But when you do, your heart stops and you do a double take.

Elvis Presley.

And he's alone.

He gives you a small smile and steps into the elevator with you. You can't stop yourself from whispering.

"It's you..." He gives you a sideways look and smiles.

"It's me." You look up at the ceiling and try to politely ignore him, assuming he doesn't need another person fawning over him. That would probably get old fast. You look at the buttons. 30 floors. That's a long time to ride in silence.

"Wouldja push the L for me, honey?" You're rattled out of your deep thought by his smooth baritone. It dawns on you that you're standing in front of the only set of buttons.

"Oh. Yeah, sure." You gently press the lobby button with your finger and look at him sheepishly.

"Thank you." The doors finally slide closed and the elevator begins its descent. You've fantasized about something like this happening for as long as you can remember. He's been your favorite singer since you saw him on Ed Sullivan as a teenager. You're not a kid anymore, though, and you know he's been playing Vegas for about a year now. He's a regular here at the hotel, but he hasn't been here since you've been here. You must've had your head buried in the sand to not know he was here right now.

You chance a quick glance in his direction, trying not to make it obvious that you're looking at him. He's absolutely stunning and it's like you can feel him in the tiny room with you, alive in a way that other people aren't.

"You're staring, sweetheart." He says, just above a whisper. You snap your mouth shut and look away panicked. Your heart rate is through the roof and you can't believe he caught you looking at him. But it's so hard to look away from him knowing he's right there.

"I'm sorry." You whisper it quietly and he chuckles.

"It's okay. Happens all the time." You feel him turn to look at you, but you will yourself to keep your eyes forward. "Besides, I don't mind when pretty girls stare at me."

Your head whips around and your mouth opens again. Did he just call you pretty? Now you're looking directly into his face and he's so breathtaking that you feel like you might pass out.

"You always this speechless or is it me?" He smirks mischievously. You've never been known to be quiet. It's him. You still can't find your voice to answer him, though. His smirk falls and he turns back to the doors, sighing bitterly. "Sometimes it would be nice to not have this effect."

You look at the buttons: you're passing the 19th floor. Still so many to go and goddamnit why can't you talk?!

"Sometimes I wish I'd just stayed a truck driver so I could have normal conversations with pretty girls on elevators."

He did it again. He called you pretty. You have to find your voice. You've got about 16 floors before he walks out of your life forever.

"You probably wouldn't be staying in the penthouse of this hotel then." Good God. What on earth made you say that?! You finally find your voice and that's what comes out?!

He chuckles and looks back at you.

"That's the damn truth, honey. I guess I should be thankful for what I have."

"I should be thankful for the opportunity to talk to you like this, but I can't seem to make words. Nobody's perfect." You finally lift your eyes to meet his and he gives a little snort-laugh.

"No, nobody's perfect. Except angels. And I'm not so sure you ain't one." Now it's your turn to laugh.

"Me? Let me assure you, I'm as human as they come."

"Good. Me too." You stare at each other in silence for a bit, both of you taking in the other. "You work at the front desk?"

"I do. I'm the errand girl." You cringe again. He doesn't need to know that.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, you forget your comb or need a set of nail clippers, I'm your girl." It's like your mouth has disconnected from your brain and is working all on its own.

More silence. The elevator is playing a song you recognize and you hum along to try to soothe the awkwardness. To your utter shock, he hums with you. When you pick up the higher harmony, your voices blend and it gives you goosebumps. He doesn't tell you that it gives him goosebumps too.

"Hey listen, I-" He's cut off when the elevator reaches its destination and the doors slide open.

"EP, we thought we'd lost you!" One of his bodyguards hollers and they hustle him off the elevator. He turns to look at you one last time and you wave awkwardly. He smiles and lets himself be whisked away. You put your palm on your forehead as the doors slide closed again.

A wave?! Seriously?!

Then you realize you were supposed to get off in the lobby too and kick yourself for your idiocy.

******

The next day, you come in to work like usual and the hotel is abuzz with the fact that Elvis is back and playing shows. Thats why you didn't know he was there yesterday: he'd just gotten in. You think back to your encounter with him and try not to cry. He called you pretty twice and what did you do? Acted like a complete fool.

Your shift ends at 4:30 and you're just about to pack up and leave when there's a call down to the front desk. Your coworker picks it up and talks to whoever is on the line. At one point, he looks at you strangely. You're not listening to the conversation, but the way he looks at you makes you nervous. Finally, he hangs up.

"I need you to make one last run."

"Mark, I'm almost off the clock. You can't handle it?"

"They specifically asked for 'errand girl'. That has to be you." You sigh deeply and put your purse back under the desk.

"What is it and where?"

"A comb and some nail clippers to the penthouse." You look up quickly.

"Wait, really?"

"Yep. That's what the guy said." Your heart skips a beat and you stand there staring at Mark. "You better go..."

You nod and gather the two things from the place where you keep all the supplies. Then, you make your way to the elevator. Your stomach is in knots the whole way up. It has to be him asking for you, right?

******

Elvis paces the floor in the living room of his penthouse suite. He's only been awake for an hour or so, but he's been thinking about you since he got off the elevator last night. When he told Joe to call down and ask for you, Joe looked at him like he'd lost his mind. But he has to see you at least one more time to make sure what he's feeling isn't real. He had half a conversation with you. Why can't he get you out of his head?

The doors slide open and he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. You step out of the elevator and look around cautiously.

"Come on in, honey." He smiles awkwardly and you almost giggle. You never dreamed he was capable of awkwardness.

"I brought your things." For some reason, it's a little easier to talk to him this time. He laughs.

"Oh, right. Thank you." He walks to you and takes the comb and nail clippers from you and sets them on the table. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Sure! White wine?" You try to smile as he walks to the bar and fixes you a glass of wine. "Listen, I'm sorry about yesterday."

"What do you mean?"

"You probably get tired of people being all starstruck." He hands you the glass and shrugs.

"I'm used to it."

"Doesn't make it right. Can we just start over? I'm y/n." You hold your hand out for him to shake and he takes it and kisses the back of it gently.

"I appreciate the gesture, honey, but we don't need to start over. I'm Elvis. It's nice to meet you." You giggle softly and pull your hand back.

"See you can't do stuff like that!"

"Like what?" His eyes twinkle with mirth.

"Be all charming and cute like that."

"You think I'm cute?" You roll your eyes.

"You have to know you're cute. This isn't breaking news."

"I still like to hear you say it." There's a moment where he's looking down at you and it feels like he wants to kiss you. And he does, he really really does, but he's nervous all of a sudden. He clears his throat and sits down on the couch, spreading his legs wide. He pats the cushion next to himself. "Come sit with me."

You walk over and perch on the edge of the couch by him, sipping your wine and trying to think of something to say that won't sound dumb.

"Are you glad to be back in Vegas?" You wince. You did not succeed.

"Yes and no. I love performing for people. It's my favorite thing. Gets a little lonesome here, though." He's not sure why he's telling you this, but he just feels comfortable talking to you.

"Your... your wife doesn't come with you?" He shakes his head.

"No, she doesn't. And she's not really... I mean..."

"She's not good company?" He sighs.

"No, not really."

"Hmm." You're not eager to be the other woman, but he seems so desperately lonely that it's hard to imagine leaving him here.

"Enough about that. You wanna come to my show tonight?"

"Elvis, it's been sold out for months."

"I'm Elvis Presley. If I want you there, they'll build a table for you." He shrugs nonchalantly, but you can tell it matters if you say yes.

"I'd love to see it." He looks at you with his eyes sparkling.

"Yeah?"

"Of course. I've loved you since 1956. Why wouldn't I want to see you perform?" He raises his eyebrows and you wish you'd kept that part to yourself.

"That long?" You nod sheepishly. He sits up and puts his hand on your cheek. "You're somethin' else, sweetheart. You sure you're not an angel?" A soft laugh falls from your lips and you take a sip from your glass.

"Not an angel. Just a fan." He shakes his head.

"No. Not just a fan." Without warning, he pulls your face to his and presses his lips against yours. Fireworks explode inside you and it feels like you might die with the sensation of his soft lips. After a few seconds, he pulls back, sets your wine glass on the table, and presses his forehead to yours. "You're about the prettiest thing I've ever seen. And you seem to understand me in ways I didn't think possible. I'm pretty sure you're my angel."

You look deeply into his eyes and it's like your souls touch. All of a sudden he's a part of you and the idea of being without him breaks you.

"Elvis, I..."

"I know, honey." He dives back into kissing you, parting his lips to slide his tongue into your mouth. His hand grips your hip and he pulls you onto his lap, straddling his thighs. He mumbles against your lips. "Can I make love to you?"

"Yes... oh God, yes." You moan into his mouth as he lifts you and carries you into the bedroom. He lays you on the bed gently and hovers over you, rolling his hips forward to meet yours.

"My beautiful angel. I want to give you everything."

"Everything I am is yours, Elvis. Please..." He groans and runs his hands over your body, stopping to memorize the gentle curves of you. You lean into his touch, desperate to feel him on your skin. In a shockingly small amount of time, he has you both stripped naked, his body pressed against yours in a feverish frenzy of passion. His hands make hot trails over your flesh, followed quickly by his lips pressing desperate kisses to you. You've never experienced anything like this: the unbridled need for connection and sultry heat as it possesses you.

When he presses his tongue into you, it's like you've been waiting for him your whole life. Your body trembles with need and he moves his tongue on your clit with such fervor that you'd swear he's trying to devour you whole. But the ecstatic pleasure that rushes through you causes you to arch into him, begging for more. He obliges, sliding two of his long fingers into your pussy to tickle and tease you on the inside. You whimper and cry out, desperate for the release that's building in your hips.

"Elvis... god..." You moan, overcome with desire. He licks and finger-fucks you harder than you've ever experienced and you dance on the edge of an explosive orgasm.

"Cum for me, angel." He whispers into you, obsessively chasing your pleasure. It doesn't take long for you to do what he tells you, leaping over the edge into oblivion as your climax overtakes you, spilling out onto his hand as you shudder and pulse and scream his name.

"Elvis! Fuck!" He licks you through it, coaxing more ecstasy out of you as you cum harder than you ever have. When he feels your clit soften and your body relax, he pulls back, lips and chin glistening, and crawls up your body.

His cock aches to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around him and connected to him in an undeniable way. He kisses your neck and shoulder and cheek until he finally lands back at your mouth. You position him at your entrance and roll your hips forward, begging him to fill you.

"Such an eager little pussy. You want me to fuck you, angel?" He whispers it in your ear and you swear you could cum just from his voice.

"Y-yes..." He thrusts forward, his cock pushing into you halfway. You yelp and he stops to give you time to adjust to the size of him. As your pussy relaxes around him, he presses deeper until his hips meet yours and his dick is fully inside you.

"How does it feel?" You whimper and sweat.

"S-so good. Don't stop."

"Oh, my angel, I'm won't stop. Not until I know you're fully satisfied." He groans as he begins to pump into you with more speed and intensity. Your breasts bounce and he bends down to kiss you as his cock pounds you, over and over again. He fucks you like this for a while before he pulls out and rolls you over on your stomach. You moan as he pushes into you from behind, pressing his lips to your back and shoulders repeatedly.

The overwhelming sensation of being filled and fucked from behind threatens to push you into another orgasm. He slides his hand between you and the mattress to reach your clit and run over and around it with his fingertips. The orgasm crashes into you like a freight train as you scream into the mattress and cum on his dick.

"That's it, angel... I'm so close." Your pussy squeezes him and he grunts, no longer able to hold back. His cock throbs and fills you with his release in the aftershocks of your own climax. He whispers in your ear as his body jerks into you. "Yes, honey, yes..."

For a bit, he lays there with his head on your shoulder, the sweat dripping off of his hair onto your back. Then, he pulls out and rolls you over, collapsing on your chest and breathing heavily.

You run your fingers through his hair and hum again. He closes his eyes and soaks in the intimacy of being this close with you. The heavy weight of loneliness that's usually in his chest has dissipated and it feels in this moment like he'll never be lonely again. He looks up at you from where he's settled between your breasts.

"Stay with me."

"Tonight after the show?"

"Forever." It's crazy to consider. You've known each other less than 24 hours. But you hear the word as it exits your lips.

"Yes."

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist;

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you

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petit-etoile · 1 year ago

Note

Congrats on the 200 Followers man! Here's my drabble for ya, go nuts on what you wanna write from this; “Kiss me and/or shut up.”

your heart understood mine

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 919 content warnings: ne.il new.bon said something about little astarions once & now i have Thoughts other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, idiots in love, established relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils, be added to the taglist here

summary: 'When am I happiest?' / 'When I'm looking at you.'

‘So,’ Astarion says casually, staring at his nails. ‘What do you think the answers truly are?’

‘The answers to what?’ you ask.

‘Don’t play coy,’ he says. ‘The little…love test. I was rather pleased you didn’t expose me in front of a stranger, but now I’m curious.’

You remember Zethino now. You take a moment to glance at him, though your hands are still busy sewing away at a tear in your armor. Astarion is watching you while wearing a guarded half-smile, neither interested in his nails nor in your messy stitches. Your cheeks heat up and you look back down at your uneven handiwork. Your throat tightens a little.

When you had asked him if he had wanted to participate with you, you thought Astarion would reject it. It seemed silly, so out of element for the both of you that the thought of him genuinely agreeing never crossed your mind. Yet now he questions you about it, questions you about your answers, and you feel more nervous now than you had when Zethino called you stira. Astarion takes your armor from you and begins patching it himself, fed up with your clumsy stitches.

‘The heart is fraught, so let us begin with the joyous,’ Astarion recites sarcastically. ‘When is he happiest, my love?’

‘I don’t think you’ve ever been happy,’ you say quietly.

He hums. ‘Well, that’s mostly the correct answer,’ he says. ‘But you’re missing something. I know you can guess it if you really put your mind to it.’

‘You’re happiest with me,’ you say bravely.

You look him deep in his eyes, holding your breath. He laughs and nods, chuckling to himself while he tries to salvage a piece of leather. You think he might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell with how pale he is.

‘Many things delight the heart,’ Astarion continues, mimicking her monotonous timbre. ‘Only one makes it sing! Tell me, my sweet, what does he desire more than anything.’

Revenge. You had told the dryad he wanted revenge, but didn’t go into detail, not in front of someone unfamiliar. You watch as he untangles the thread, his hair soft and elegant, his hands assured and practiced. There lives a colony of butterflies in your chest. Your heart is beating so loud you’re certain he can hear it.

‘A life with me,’ you say.

‘You,’ he agrees.

‘A gaggle of little Astarions trailing around,’ you add.

Astarion looks up sharply, his mouth hanging open slightly. You press your lips together immediately and try to think of an apology but there’s something beneath his careful façade. You were right. You realize it now. You press a hand to your chest as if to stop your heart from pounding. Astarion wants a family, and he wants you, and even beneath that desire for revenge and for strength, once he succeeds then all he wants is you. He looks back down at your clothes in his lap and laughs shyly. You think you might faint.

‘The last, um, question,’ you stutter. You realize your palms are sweaty and blush.

‘Fear sits in the soul of all,’ Astarion says finally, voice soft. ‘To tame it, we must name it. What is his deepest fear?’

This time, you feel as though the answer isn’t so easy. Beneath the fear of Cazador and the fear of the mindflayers, there is something else brewing. You’re afraid to even mention it, but he’s curious and genuine. You slide closer to him and pull part of your armor into your lap so that you share the burden. He presses his nose to your temple and you distract yourself by touching the part of your armor he’s managed to save from your haphazard repairing.

‘You’re afraid of never breaking the cycle,’ you say carefully. You bite your bottom lip. ‘You’re worried that after all this rage, there’s no relief.’

‘Shut up,’ Astarion says.

There is little to no heat in it. You shake your head.

‘You’re afraid the you before Cazador is no longer there,’ you say. ‘And you’re afraid that because I am human, that there’s a ghost of you that comes after me.’

‘Shut up,’ Astarion insists.

‘Kiss me,’ you whisper. You turn to meet his lips.

Astarion presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You cherish it no matter how fleeting the kiss is. The silence, the quiet sorrow. It’s almost worth it for how he gently presses kisses against your temple and into your hair. He will never confess that what you said is true, and you’re almost thankful.

‘My turn,’ you say, clearing your throat. ‘When am I happiest?’

‘When I’m looking at you,’ Astarion says without hesitation.

‘O — Oh.’

‘You desire a lifetime with me,’ he says with a practiced blasé shrug. ‘And little Astarions of course.’

You flush. ‘Shut up.’

‘And,’ he adds, ‘you’re deathly afraid of spiders.’

He laughs and kisses you again, and you wish you could bottle up the sound in a music box to play it back when you’re feeling lonely. You know what Zethino meant now when she said your bond beat with pleasure. You blossom beneath his careful musings.

‘See? We’re close as can be,’ Astarion murmurs. He rests his chin on your shoulder and brushes his thumb against your thigh. ‘But darling, if we’re going to have a lifetime together, we really must work on your stitching.’

‘Only if you’ll teach me,’ you say.

‘Oh, I’ll be the best teacher you’ve ever had,’ Astarion agrees.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #from ，carcosa .#my fic #pandimoostuff #* a thousand lives，and one #*bites my hands*#SEE I CAN WRITE HAPPY STUFF #ignore the slight angst in the middle

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ladykailitha · 1 month ago

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The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 16

So... in my defense I was really sick yesterday and accidentally scheduled the post for 10:17am and snuck in chapter 16. And I didn't even realize it until the other chapter had several likes, comments, and reblogs.

So I'm posting this now as a sort "Sorry I fucked up! Enjoy an extra chapter on me!" type thing!

In this we have Steve's no good, horrible, rotten bad day and the end of Act 2.

Also? Cliffhanger!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Steve was feeling all the stares from both his fellow employees and the customers. He felt like shrinking in on himself every time it happened. It was like they couldn’t figure out what was so wrong with him that his dad would chase him out of town. Because most of the town didn’t know.

Clint Harrington had seen to that. Oh, his buddies knew, his wife’s sewing circle and club ladies knew, but the lessers? Nah, they only heard rumors. And whoo boy did Steve hear some wild ones.

Like that he had been caught in an orgy, or that he been dealing drugs out of the pool house or even that he had been caught with an underaged girl.

Thankfully most of the people didn’t believe that one one bit. But it was near thing and if Steve got his hands on Hank Tippets he was going to wring the man’s neck for that rumor.

It was Robin’s day off, and while usually the boss had them work together, Steve was with three other kids.

Three kids who had been slacking all day, making Steve handle the rush and refilling both the ice cream and toppings, and generally just being asses of themselves.

He was on his last nerve.

“Okay, guys!” Steve huffed putting his hands on his hips. “I’m all for slacking, but I am not the only capable of getting out the ice cream. It’s someone else’s turn!”

The two girls rolled their eyes but did what they were told. The boy on the other hand refused to budge.

“Just because you’re older,” he huffed, grabbing a handful of M&Ms and just shoving them in his face, “doesn’t mean you get to boss us around, man. Go back to whatever bridge you crawled out of.”

Steve’s lip curled. “That’s gross.” He rolled his eyes and put one hand on his hip. “And besides I didn’t crawl out from under a bridge, you did. Look at you. You’re hair is greasy, you smell like you haven’t bathed in years, and you have a stain on your shorts I don’t even want to think of what that is.”

“It’s chocolate,” the kid said with a sneer. “So if you aren’t living under a bridge then where are you living?”

Alarm bells went off in Steve’s head. “The only address anyone needs is my PO Box where to send my paycheck.” He shrugged. “Other than that, why do you care? What are you the Feds?”

The kid rolled his eyes at that and walked away. Steve shook his head. He just had to keep his head down and his mouth shut until he found something else.

Suddenly both girls were giggling and shushing each other.

“Hey, Steve can you come here for a moment?” the one called out. “I think the door to the freezer is stuck.”

Steve sighed and went to the back area, but as soon as he opened the door, a bucket of warm, melted strawberry ice cream fell on top of him. It hit the side of his head, knocking the hat off and clattered to the ground. He was covered head to toe in a gooey, sticky mess. It was in his hair and in his shoes and his socks were drenched.

Suddenly laughter filled his ears as he realized what had happened. This had been their plan all day. To get him annoyed enough that he would just barge through and get it dumped on him. He felt like fucking Sissy Spacek in ‘Carrie’.

Hot tears welled up as he tore off apron, stomping on the stupid hat and storming out of there. All the to calls of telling to come back, that it was all a joke, that he needed to lighten up.

He dashed off to his car, leaving behind a trial of melted ice cream. He tried to put the key in the door, but his hands shook too bad. He was forced to sit next to the car as he sobbed.

A man came up to him, waving his hands and shouting. “You there! Get away from that car! That mess will ruin the paint job!”

Steve looked up at him in shock. “But it’s my car!” he protested and showed him the keys. “See?”

“You’ve clearly stolen this car!” the man bellowed. “I’m going to call the police!” He made a grab for the keys but Steve was faster. They wrestled for them.

“Get off me!” he cried. “Help!”

Suddenly the man was being pulled off of Steve and the sense of relief he felt when he heard Hopper’s growling voice asking what the hell was going on, was palpable.

“This boy stole this car!” the man howled, still trying to get to Steve and take the key.

Hopper, who was dressed for work, leaned down to look closely at him. “Harrington? Is that you under all that goop?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, lifting his tear stained face up at the police chief. “My coworkers dumped old and melted ice cream on me and I was just trying to go home.”

Hopper sighed. He shook the man he pulled off of Steve. “That’s his car and if you don’t stop your screaming I’m taking you in for assault and attempted theft.”

The man’s eyes went wide and he scrambled to get away from Steve and Hopper.

Hopper turned back to Steve. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you into your car so you can go home and clean off.” He took the keys from Steve and unlocked the door. “Now drive real careful, all right? Don’t want you in an accident because you’re too emotional to drive.”

Steve nodded. He got to his feet and drove off, clearly being mindful of his state of mind, taking time to do things he wouldn’t normally think about.

Now to go raise fucking Cain with the manager of Scoops Ahoy.

The kids were still doubled over with laughter when Hopper came storming into the store.

“You kid!” he barked causing all of them to stop laughing and stand up straight. He peered at the name tag. “Kyle. Get a mop and a bucket and you mop every inch of the mall that has even one drop of that pink goop.”

Kyle opened his mouth to argue but closed it when Hopper glared at him. He ran to grab the mop and bucket and started with mess in front of the store.

“You two,” Hopper growled, “Close the store now. This the scene of a crime. An assault. I will also need the number to the owner or manager. And I mean I want it yesterday.”

The first girl whose name tag read Mary hurried to pull the front gate closed most of the way. Enough to show they were closed, but open enough so Kyle could get back in.

The other girl crossed her arms and scowled at Hopper. Her name tag said Linda. “No one’s been assaulted. We’ve been here the whole time, we would have seen something like that.”

The gate rattled as Kyle forced his way back in with the bucket and mop. Hopper looked over his shoulder.

“Good,” he huffed in annoyance, “you’re all here. That means I don’t have to repeat myself. I’m referring to the assault on Steve Harrington. Dropping a bucket of that size, filled with melted ice cream could have seriously hurt him. What would you lot have done if the bucket had his his head dead on and knocked him unconscious?”

Kyle scoffed. “Like that could happen. Not!”

“Yeah, kid,” Hopper growled, “you a cop or firefighter or even EMT? You some Doogie Howser or some shit? Because if you’re not any of that then you don’t get to tell me what’s possible or not.”

Kyle gulped and looked away as the girls eyes went wide.

“We weren’t trying to hurt him,” Mary insisted. “We were only trying to humiliate him a little. I mean have you seen that fancy car of his. He doesn’t need this job. We do.”

“It doesn’t matter why he’s working here,” Hopper said gruffly. “He was hired to do the fucking job, just leave him alone. You didn’t even have to like him. Just. Not that.”

Hopper called the manager and he was over in a heartbeat. He spotted the gate down first and then splattered mess everywhere.

“What the hell has happened here?” the man shrieked. He spotted Hopper and first he went deathly pale and then he went bright red. “I want to know the meaning of all this!” He yanked the gate up and slipped inside.

Hopper walked up to him. “Mr. Bauman, I’m Chief Hopper and three of your employees set up a bucket trap filled with bad strawberry ice cream, causing it dump all over a fourth employee’s head. A Steve Harrington. I am taking the three kids in for questioning and if I feel it’s serious enough, pressing charges on Harrington’s behalf.”

Murray straightened his back and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Now see here. You have no proof they did anything of the sort. Just Steve’s word.”

Hopper advanced on him, like a panther seeking its prey, but Murray didn’t even flinch. “You’ve got cameras in his place right?”

Suddenly Linda was running for the manager’s office, but Hopper’s voice cracked out like a whip. “You touch that tape and I will absolutely haul your ass in for tampering with evidence.”

Linda skidded to a stop and Murray stared at her agape. “What the honest fuck?”

“I’m gonna take that as an admission of guilt,” Hopper said, narrowing his eyes at her.

Linda ducked her head and slowly walked back to stand next to Mary and Kyle, her hands clasped in front of her.

“I’ll look at the tape and bring it over to the sheriff’s station,” Murray vowed. He turned the three stooges. “And if I find anything on that tape that even so much as hints you did what Chief Hopper is suggesting. Don’t bother coming back into work. Because you’re fired. And I’ll make sure no one in this mall will hire you.”

Hopper nodded at Murray and then turned to the kids. “Now I don’t have enough handcuffs for all of ya, but I’m about to get really creative.”

Steve came home and just stripped his uniform off and just face planted into the bed. He didn’t care about his hair or that he was still covered goop. He just wanted to bury himself under the blankets and never emerge.

He must have fallen asleep because he woken up by Robin on the phone.

“No, Mom,” she hissed. “I don’t care what you say. I’m not going back to working at Scoops. Not after what they did to Steve. And I’m not quitting the Corroded Coffin job. He needs me.”

She paused for a moment. “Nope there is nothing you can do to change my mind. Look there’s another call coming through. Chief Hopper said he’d call with more information.”

Robin slammed the phone down and muttered, “Oh yeah, I’m so grounded. Worth it, though.” The phone rang immediately and she picked it up. “Chief Hopper. No, he’s still sleeping. I would be too after after everything he’s gone through.”

She listened for awhile, putting in the appropriate hum where required.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him,” she said. “I think he’s waking up. Did you want to him? Not a problem. Thank you.”

Steve gave up all pretense of sleep and sat up, rubbing his eyes. His arm was still sticky and gross but he didn’t care.

“I’d tell you to cover up,” Robin said with a grimace, gesturing to all of him, “but you don’t have to.”

He looked down at himself and realized that he had fallen asleep on the covers in just his underwear and socks. “Oh. Sorry.” He pulled a pillow over his junk and stared up at her.

“So as you could probably guess, that was Chief Hopper,” she said. “He said to tell you that he gave each of the perpetrators a little scare down at the station and made their parents come get them. The dude that tried to assault you about your car, was picked up later for erratic driving and given a ticket. Sgt. Callahan pegged him as the guy because he still had ice cream all down the front of his expensive suit and tie.”

“Good,” Steve said dryly. “Bastard. I was literally sobbing my guts out and he was more concerned with the paint job.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “Karma bit his ass hard.”

She sat down next to him and put her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about what happened. I know it’s not my fault or anything, but it really sucks that they did that to you.”

“Thanks Robs,” he murmured.

She stood back up. “I’ve told everyone to leave you alone for a couple of days so when you’re ready to see people again, reach out okay?”

He nodded as she walked to the door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. She turned back. “Just one more thing. Hopper says he told Joyce about the bullying and she has said she’ll back off about the job now. So there’s at least that silver lining.”

“Yeah.”

Steve wasn’t sure how long he laid in bed, but it was obviously enough for a welfare check up from his friends on the staff.

This time it was only Bob and Rosa, but they both looked concerned.

“There is gunk everywhere,” Rosa huffed and waved her hand over his room. “The bed sheets stink and you are wallowing, mi amor.”

“You’ve got to at least shower,” Bob said with a note of distress in voice. “Give Rosa time to clean the room, change the bedding.”

Steve shook his head. There was no need to get out of bed ever again.

Then the door of the hotel room swung open and Bob and Rosa turned.

“Just who are you that you can just be walking in here?!” she bellowed, rounding on the stranger with her duster.

The man raised his hands up in surrender. “I’m Eddie Munson. I pay for the room.”

End of Act 2

Part 17 Part 18

Oops! When I took people off the list, I forgot to add the new people on!

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #age difference #ten years between steve and eddie

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magic-hcs · 1 year ago

Note

So here's a scenario.

S/O is a confident, kind and relaxed person who seems like they can do everything perfectly . But one day the skeleton found out S/O were talking on the phone, responding with only "yes, yes... I know, I'm sorry I'm not good enough ...yes..." while tears falling quietly. Turn out it was S/O's family, always think S/O are not good enough and tell S/O as such, didn't care they hurt S/O's feelings. This is why S/O do everything perfectly, to reach up their family's expectations, and they gain confidence from it, but still feel they are trash when be told it's not good enough by family.

How would Sans, Red, Bear and Syrup react to this situation?

Thank you so much for being so patient with me! I’ve found that I struggled way too much with this for a while, however I don’t give up quickly. I hope it was worth the wait!

Red: UF Sans

Bear: HT Sans

Syrup: US Papyrus

Time to cast some magic and see what we’ll get!✨

✨✨

Sans: When Sans found out what your parents were like, Sans was speechless. It pains him, knowing that your family treats you like that. He could never phantom being anything but supportive towards his younger brother and Papyrus doing the same for him.

It’s not his business to meddle into your family affairs, so he won’t try to intervene or scold your parents: what good would that do? He could make it worse. No, Sans has a different idea. What kind of idea? Well, he regularly invites you to Paps and his family day/nights. Letting you join and experience this side of what family is; supportive, encouraging, and kicking butts into gear when someone’s being lazy in a caring way.

If your parents bring you down, the skelebrothers will bring you up. Showing that no, you are good enough, that you can do it, that you aren’t alone and that there’s someone standing behind you. That there is someone out there who really cares about you.

✨✨

Red: Red has always admired how you are so confident and how you work so hard. At first he just thought you did that for yourself. Red thought that sometimes you had insecurity spells that would hit you at random times which would leave you timid and a yay-sayer for a few days before returning to your old self. But then he found out what was really going on. And suddenly Red really wanted to have a little chat with your family.

How had he found out, you may be wondering. It was by pure coincidence really, Red had fallen asleep on the couch and you were calling with your parents. Red can be a light sleeper sometimes, and it so happened that it was that kind of day. Waking up to your voice, Red listened drowsily.

“Yes, I’m not good enough…”

That woke him right up. And as he continued to listen to the one sided conversation, Red didn’t need to know what your parents said to connect the dots. Oh, yes, Red was pissed. You won’t be wrong to believe that Red shortcuts next to you to snatch your phone from your hand. His words are an intimidating growl that sends shivers down even your spine despite it not being directed at you.

“sew ya fuckin’ bullshit mouth shut.” He barked, and when your parents tried to speak up again Red continued, “get lost and fuckin’ die in a ditch!” Promptly hanging up afterwards, not even waiting for a reply. Not the best choice of words to get your parents to understand how wrong they are about you and the way they treat you. But Red was too angry to really care. No one treats his mate like this, not even the parents.

Red isn’t that good at comfort, however, that doesn’t mean he’s not there for you to aggressively support you in his own way.

✨✨

Bear: If Bear had feathers, they would be ruffled right now. Bear pretty much shares Red’s sentiment: No one treats his mate like that, not even your parents.

But unlike Red, Bear isn’t one for verbal threats. When he knows you’re talking on the phone to your parents and they talk horseshit Bear will just grab the phone out of your hand - rather gently despite his anger, I might add - and quietly listens to your parents discouraging spiel for a moment. Letting them think they’re still talking to you until they realize that the loud, menacing sound of breathing on the other end of the phone isn’t you.

And when they let it show that they know it isn’t you, Bear hangs up the phone.

(For the longest time Bear didn’t speak back because he would get too angry to form words. And without noticing his breathing would get heavier and louder the longer your parents talked, also because he got angrier by the second. Now he just does it to mess with them.)

The first time this happened, your parents realized it very late. “Did you understand a thing I said?” They had huffed when you didn’t answer their rant with a timid, pliant reply. Heavy breathing was the only thing picked up by the phone. Lucky them or they had heard the grinding of Bear’s teeth as well. Your parents had called your name, unsure, and Bear only replied with his raging breaths. That’s when they knew they weren’t speaking to you anymore.

“You…You-Who are you?”

Your parents felt like they were in a horror movie, it was obvious by the hitch in their breath, by the slight quiver in their tone. It was the first time after leaving the underground and having gone through therapy that Bear felt so much satisfaction by their fear. He relished the feeling. He hung up afterwards.

Your parents have gotten quicker with realizing when it’s Bear who’s on the other end of the phone. And if you try to take back the phone, Bear won’t let you. For his slow, slurred speech and delayed ability to process things, Bear is surprisingly swift and has amazing reflexes. Whenever your parents have called, expect to be coddled and worshipped by Bear the entire day afterwards. Practically pressing you inside his ribcage if he could with his insistence on cuddles.

✨✨

Syrup: Syrup wants you to cut contact with your parents. Not that he says that out loud for you to hear of course. But he still thinks you should. He hasn’t even properly met your parents yet, yet he already doesn’t like them at all. Holds a grudge against them from the first moment Syrup overheard you talking to them on the phone.

Oh, how he just wanted to grab the device, check the number (to find blackmail on them for reasons, he wasn’t a tech person for nothing) and block it. But he didn’t. Yet.

What Syrup does do is side-eying the phone whenever they call you. Trying to listen along and interrupt them loudly when they’re about to say something mean about you. Or try to get you to hang up early by making up all kinds of excuses: Sky needs help with something, Syrup can’t find something, you have to see this, you were supposed to hang out with him today, etc.

There was one day where you were really in a bad headspace when they had called. Syrup had seen red that day. He snatched the phone out your hands and growled at the phone. “fuck off. if you can’t see what a wonderful person your child is, then-then maybe you shouldn't have become parents in the first place.” And hung up just like that, without waiting for a response. His face had been flushed orange from anger and his shoulders tense.

Expect lots of snuggles and sweet, funny memes from Syrup whenever you’re down in the dumps thanks to your parents.

✨✨

Thank you for participating in this spell, I hope it was to your satisfaction.

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maybe-im-dark · 2 months ago

Text

Brotherly reunion

Part 1

----

The alley was dark, cast in a murky orange glow from a single flickering streetlight, as Wade strolled down the cobbled path. The TVA had messaged him; apparently the whole time ripper thing had caused an anomaly in one of the timelines and someone had escaped and made their way into theirs. Someone related to Logan, as far as they could tell. So before they pruned them, they wanted him to check it out. Wade hadn’t told Logan about this. He didn’t want him being confronted with his past again, now that he had settled in.

Wade squinted, trying to make out the figure lurking in the shadows, leaning against the brick wall. As he approached, the shape became clearer—a towering man, dark and broad, with muscles that strained beneath a well-worn black coat. His arms, though intimidating, showed a hint of age; the forearms, visible under the rolled cuffs of his sleeves, were scarred and slightly weathered, veins prominent under his skin. There was a streak of grey in his otherwise dark hair, and deep lines creased his forehead and circled his eyes, telling a story of years hard-lived. Wade noticed a slight bulge over the waistband of his black pants, not quite hidden by the coat that had seen better days.

But the smell—that was what hit Wade first. A pungent blend of old, cracked leather, metallic blood, and stale sweat, lingering like a storm cloud over the man. He wrinkled his nose and wondered how he hadn’t been affected by the Transigen GMO's, since he was from the old timeline. He probably had been hunting animals, living off raw meat and not been eating processed food with cornsyrup in it.

„Victor Creed,“ Wade said, drawing the name out with a grin. “Figures that it’s you.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before the aggression returned, his jaw clenched tightly. “You…” His gaze shifted, lingering on Wade’s face with a mix of recognition and distrust. “You’re not supposed to be here, and you’re not supposed to look like that.”

Wade shrugged, unbothered by the towering man’s confusion. “Oh, I look different, huh? Let’s see, last time you saw me, my mouth was sewed shut, and I was basically Stryker’s attack dog. Not a great look, admittedly.”

Victor’s face twisted with anger, and his fists clenched. “Don’t mention Stryker,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “He betrayed us, did something to you!”

Wade raised an eyebrow, fighting back the urge to burst into laughter. “Ah, ‘Weapon XI,’ the silent treatment, I remember it like it was yesterday. But I’m back, better than ever, and with all my snarky bits intact.” He leaned in closer. “So, what brings you to this little universe-hopping adventure, huh? Trying to find Logan? ‘Cause, let me tell ya, buddy, he’s not rolling out the welcome mat anytime soon. In fact, he already killed you, but that was another version of you played by Tyler Mane.”

Victor’s hand twitched, claws extending as he bristled with frustration. “This—this isn’t real. You’re not real. None of this is.” His voice broke for a split second, conflicted memories flashing in his eyes. “Stryker’s playing another trick, isn’t he?”

“Oh, this is no trick,” Wade chuckled, crossing his arms with a cocky grin. “And, hate to break it to ya, but I’m very real. Painfully real.” He reached up to tug at his mask, as if to drive the point home. “I mean, not to brag, but I’m the only Deadpool who can pull off this look.”

Victor growled, taking a threatening step forward. “I don’t know who you think you are—”

Wade cut him off, raising a finger. “You know, for someone as big and bad as you, you sure smell like Logan’s second-hand gym socks. Must run in the family.”

Victor froze, his claws twitching. “You think you’re funny?” he snarled, his voice low but tense with restrained anger.

„Oh absolutely“, Wade said giving a little bow. „I’m hilarious. My one-man show is practically sold out and it features a lot of jokes about feral mutants with serious anger issues! Wanna hear some?“

Victor’s eyes bore into Wade’s, flickering with a mixture of hatred, recognition, and reluctant restraint. He took a shaky breath, his chest heaving, but not attacking yet.

“Look“, Wade said. „I’ve been through enough timey-wimey nonsense to know when someone’s having an existential crisis. Just breathe, big guy. You’re in another universe. One where I’m free to talk as much as I want, and where you—if I’m reading the room correctly—are basically a walking time bomb of confusion and anger.”

“So, instead of fighting like the predictable musclehead you are,” Wade added, pacing around him in a circle, “how about you tell me why you’re here? I mean, you’re probably wondering where Logan is.“

Victor stared at him. „This version of you knows Jimmy?“

Wade didn’t miss a beat. „Oh, we know each other. We’ve fought together, bled together, saved the world, argued about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza.“

Victor’s expression darkened, his eyes flickering with a mix of confusion and anger. „Where is he?“

„Oh, don’t worry, he’s around. Probably off brooding in our living room, glaring the TV down and petting Puppins. He’s probably pissed i didn’t tell him where i was going.“ Wade stepped closer, now inches from Victor’s face and whispered theatrically. „But between you and me i think he'd be a bit scared of seeing his big brother. Daddy issues, maybe?“

Victor snarled and lunged, his claws stopping inches from Wade’s throat. „Tell me where he is or i’ll make sure you never talk again.“

Wade’s eyes lit up with excitement. „Ooooh, threats! They’re like foreplay but with more sharp objects.“ He reached out and gently pushed Victor’s claws down, unbothered by the danger. „But fine, fine, i’ll take you to him. I’m sure he’d love to see you, big guy. Just don’t get too emotional, okay? I’m not good with tearful reunions. Makes me all…verklempt.“

Victor’s lip curled, a hint of a growl rumbling in his throat, but he seemed to rein it in, his eyes still blazing with barely-contained fury and something else—something raw and almost vulnerable, though Wade knew better than to bring that up.

“Fine,” Victor snarled, falling in line behind Wade, who, with an exaggerated swagger, began leading the way.

As they walked, Wade couldn’t resist the urge to chatter. “So, what brings you to this universe anyway? Bad breakup? Midlife crisis? Need a bit of family therapy? Though i gotta warn you, this Logan is not your Logan. He’s from a different universe. I’ll explain more on the way.”

Victor’s silence was absolute, his jaw tight as he focused ahead, each step heavy with tension. Wade continued to grin, unfazed. He knew Logan’s brother was trouble, but he couldn’t help but poke the bear—especially when the bear looked so damn serious about it.

„Anyway, should we grab chimichangas to bring home? You must be hungry. Or are you just gonna go and hunt down a squirrell?“

Victor didn’t answer, his fists still clenched as he glared at Wade, but there was a slight shift in his eyes—a mix of fury and pain he couldn’t quite hide.

#hugh jackman #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool #ryan reynolds #poolverine #deadclaws #victor creed #sabretooth #xmen origins #liev schreiber #it's here #oh lord it's here #victor's stink is bad #oh lord i can smell him

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the-kr8tor · 10 months ago

Text

Starlight and Seafoam

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 6.9k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW blood, CW food mentions, TW death, CW injury.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 10 >>> CHAPTER 11

The street is bustling and teeming with people as you pay for the new mortar and pestle that you've been saving for a long time. The coins clink on the counter as you drop it on the wood. You hate to see your hard earned money go but you're glad that you have your very own mortar and pestle in exchange.

“Careful now it's heavy.” The old shopkeeper smiles at you.

“I've got it, thank you!” You heave the heavy stone in your small arms, waddling towards the door, struggling to open it with both arms occupied, a kind gentleman opens it for you and you smile politely, your mother didn't raise you to be rude after all. “Thank you, sir.”

“You're welcome.” The stranger says with a gruff voice, his large frame casts a shadow over you, fancy clothes making you gawk. Gold threads sewed into the finest cloth. His brown eyes only spares you a quick once over, tufts of chestnut hair flowing in the breeze, chiseled face turning towards the shopkeeper.

Walking out of the store, the door shuts closed behind you. Eyes still glued to the rich man, someone taps you on your shoulder.

“Careful, kid, that one can and will buy you if you don't stop gawking.” Sherry, an old neighbor of yours warns you. Her husband shushes her, eyes rolling at her gossiping. “Don't you shush me, Mickey, I'm right y’know!”

“The bloke's right there, love!” Mickey whisper shouts, he turns towards a customer, scowl disappearing, smiling politely over the vegetable stand.

You notice some people whisper too, from the butcher across the street to the florist on your right. Their main topic is the mysterious rich man in the store you just left.

Sherry clicks her tongue, slyly beckoning you over, whispering close in your ear. She smells of lettuce and cigars.

“Listen, girl,” you nod, trusting the adult. “you better get home ‘cause word around town is that wanker right there is a skin trader.” She says the word with malice. “See his fancy dancy clothes? He got ‘em from selling children like yourself.”

“What's a skin trader?” You ask, eyes wide and concerned. The mortar and pestle gets heavier in your arms.

“Didn't dear old mum warn you about ‘em?”

“Stop scaring the poor child, Sher.” her husband warns, busy with a line of customers while his wife gossips with a thirteen year old.

“This ‘ere is a private conversation, Mickey!” She turns back towards you, “Jus’ be careful, kiddo. I like you, you've got ‘em magic hands with them herbs. I don't want you gettin' sold off to a noble house, yeah?” you nod, “Stay away from him and you'll be good.” Shrugging, she pats your head.

“I don't think my mum would sell me.” You say with a small voice, fingers grazing over your necklace that's tucked under your blouse.

She scoffs, “tell that to little John, he was sold off for a bag of coins a few days ago.”

“Sher.” Mickey warns as your blood runs cold.

You know John, you've played with him a few times even though he runs his mouth like a sailor. Now you know why you haven't seen him around town. Nerves alight, you stay away from the shop's door.

Home calls for you, but you still have other errands to run.

“I've gotta go, thank you, Sherry.” You start to walk away with heavy strides and worry written on your face. She won't do that right? You thought. She loves me like her own, she can't— won't do that to me.

Mickey calls you back, “oh Y/N, grab a few of these for you and your mum, yeah? I know they're your favourite.” he smiles, putting a handful of cherry tomatoes inside the mortar.

“Thank you!” You smile, “It's her favourite too!”

“Aye, I know.”

His wife slaps him upside the head, “the fuck you mean ‘you know?’”

You leave before you get stuck in the middle of their argument. In your peripheral, you see the well dressed man leave the store without buying anything, he walks over to Sherry and Mickey. You don't stay long to hear their conversation.

—

Despite hurrying home, you end up walking towards the cabin with the sun already setting. Leaves crunch under your foot as you yawn, but your smile stays on your lips, happy enough that you have your newly purchased instrument in your arms, even though it's extremely heavy combined with the old canvas bags on your shoulder full of supplies you and your mother needed for the rest of the month.

Finally seeing the small cabin makes you weary, wanting to lay down in bed until she calls you for supper. Based on the smoke billowing from the chimney, you guess she already started cooking for dinner.

The heavy door creaks open as you push it open with your shoulder. “Mum, Mickey gave us cherry tomatoes! And you can't believe what I just heard—”

You freeze in the doorway, your mortar and pestle falls in your arms, clanging loudly on the wooden floor, it splits in half as the cherry tomatoes tumbles out of the mortar.

There he stands, the same well dressed man handing your guardian that you call mother, loved like your own mother, hugged like your own mother a bag of coins. They both pause in their movements.

The man cages you with his stare, an unreadable expression on his face, hazel eyes reflecting the fire in the hearth, turning it to crimson.

“Mum?” you frown, tears brimming in your eyes.

She can't, she won't but she still did it.

“Y/N, this is—”

“How could you?” You ask, broken, heart left split in half like the mortar on the floor.

She looks at you apologetically, hand reaching towards you instinctively. Your home seems to suffocate you.

The man exhales sharply like he's in pain. “I passed by her a few hours ago. She looks just like—”

You don't let him finish.

Bolting away with only the clothes on your back and the spare change in your pockets, you run as fast as you can without looking back.

“Love?” Hobie says it tenderly that you thought he was calling for someone else, again. “Love?” He calls a bit louder.

Hobie wakes you up back to reality, back to his hold. His thumb wipes the tears sliding down your cheeks, eyes glazing over. He sits on the edge of the pool, the fire next to him warming his drenched clothes whilst you float with only his hand anchoring you near him.

“I'm sorry.” He whispers.

You twist around in the water, arms placed on the ground next to him, fingers twisting around the frayed thread on his pants. Chin resting atop your elbow, you watch the fire crackle and burn timber.

Hobie's hands slide over to your nape, caressing softly, hoping it would make up for what you've lived through. He knows it doesn't, but he still wants to try.

After minutes of silence and listening to your soft sniffles, the warmth of the afternoon sun and fire illuminating your deep frown and tear stained cheeks. Hobie breaks the quiet.

“MJ—” for a second you thought he's calling you by her name again, and it shatters your heart all over again. “She…she was—”

“Don't tell me just because I told you mine.” You look up at him with sadness underneath your eyes. “Only tell me when you're ready.” He nods, squeezing you in thanks. “I told you mine because someone else has to know, just in case—”

Hobie knits his eyebrows. “In case of what?”

In case I die, in case I decide to stay on the island and you leave. In case, in case. You have a lot of them but you spare him the heartache. He'd do the same. Someone has to know your story, that's how you can live forever, you remember her old words.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He understands, “alright, keep your secrets.” flicking his eyes down, he observes your fingers mindlessly playing with its thread. “Stop tryin’ to take my trousers off, you can just ask.”

You chuckle softly, the first time he's heard it since you sobbed in his arms a week ago.

“You wish, Hobie.”

He dramatically clasps his hands together, eyes closed like he's in prayer. “I wish Y/N would just ask me to take my trousers off.” He laughs, almost not finishing his own joke because of it.

You pinch his leg, earning a yelp from the pirate captain. “You always say something that ruins the moment.”

“You were chuffed though”

“Mm-hmm.”

He looks towards the beach right in between the trees. “It's finally low tide. C’mon, scuttlebutt, I've got somethin' to show you.” He stands up, giving you a helping hand.

“I swear if it's another pair of crabs fucking—”

“That was one time, get up or we might get stranded.”

“We're already stranded.” he frowns at your words.

You've been down since the night you cried in his arms. He's worried, properly so, used to the embers in you, used to the loud banter, it's only right that he worries. You're on your last legs, everything that has happened managed to catch up to you, and for him it's crawling up his neck like a swarm of ants, biting and nipping at him. But you're the priority, his priority, if you fall then he would tumble harder, landing on his face with a sickening crunch.

He doesn't mind, not finding it cumbersome, because you'd do the same for him too. Or he hopes you will.

Hobie has tried everything to make you feel better, caught fish the right way even though it made his blood boil with impatience and frustration. Shot at a seagull with the last of his bullets for a variety of meat that only made you sob for how tough it was. Not even chocolate can brighten your mood nowadays. He even postponed leaving the island until you're back to your usual self. But he knows you two can't stay here forever or the ants might finally reach his head, gnawing at his cheek, eating through his skin. Or worse, kill the fire inside you.

As a last resort, he has thought of a plan, although it's a gamble, a toss of a coin, whether or not it might make you feel worse or better then it all depends on how he acts. Hope is his main choice of weapon yet hope can kill you too.

Hobie huffs, crouching down to face you. His voice is soft. “We're not stranded, we're leaving tomorrow but before we do I have somethin’ to show you.” You look up at him with a frown.

You don't even want to leave anymore. What's waiting for you once you get on land? Nothing, nothing's waiting for you, just more longing for a family you might have and you might never have. And you're frightened at what awaits you.

“Do you want to really leave?” You ask forlornly.

“As much as I love our days here surviving, we have to leave eventually.” He's not sure either, he wants to stay with you but he has responsibilities to the crew and you. He knows you can't stay here or he might never see the fire blaze inside you again. “All I know is my crew might be waitin’ for us, yeah? Now get up.”

Might and Us, the words are a mind killer for you recently.

“Y/N, I know it's hard,” he cups the back of your head. “But you have to stand up, could you do that for me? I'll walk with you the entire time, I promise.”

“What if—?”

“Don't, remember what I told you? Don't let ‘em kill you for the second time.” His eyes bore into you. “Please? C’mon you even got me sayin’ please.”

With an exhale, you manage to clasp your hand in his. Hobie lifts you up to your feet. Water sloshes as you leave the pool, clothes drenched, air making you shiver.

“You hang around me too much.” Hand still in his, he leads you out to the eastern side of the island. “You've become too polite.”

“Is that supposed to be horrible?” Hobie takes his hand away for a moment to grab his vest that's hanging from a branch. “You're not even that polite.” he drapes it over your shoulders, taking your hand back in his hand.

Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, his scent clinging to you like the heat on your cheeks. You put your arms inside, wearing his vest proudly like a medal. Laying your cheek on his shoulder, he laces his fingers around yours, squeezing it tenderly.

It all seems natural to you now, all the wordless affection and care that you both act upon. You know this won't last the moment you two leave the island. So you savour it as much as you can, letting all of it linger in your mind, tucking it away until you need to relive it along the way.

“I'm polite,” you walk on soft leaves to grainy sand, the low tide providing a way towards a smaller island with rocky terrain. The sun beams just behind it, it's a beautiful sight but Hobie's eyes are on you. “If I want to.”

“Sure you are.”

He moves your intertwined hands behind him so he could exchange it with his unoccupied hand, holding you close. Like a moth to a flame, you half embrace him, hand on top of his waist, grasping softly at his skin, memorizing every indent. His warmer hand rests atop yours, while the other has managed to snake around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

Like broken pieces of a shattered glass, you fit together.

Hobie drowns in all of you. Your scent and touch leaving a mark on him, not like a scar that says that you've hurt him in the past, no, it's much more like a wound, a wound that he'd gladly let fester just so he can revisit you, revisit how you look like when you smile or cry, revisit how your soft palms touches his marred flesh.

He'd poke, prod and bleed the wound just to feel your touch again.

It's a lot harder to walk entangled together on the sandy bridge that connects your island to the other, but you two don't seem to mind as you leave your footprints on the sand.

“We have a couple of hours to explore before high tide or we'll get stuck here for an entire day.”

Would that be so bad?

You hum, “explore what?” Voice muffled by his shirt, he rubs softly at your upper arm, warming you.

“You'll see, I know you'll like it.”

“Great, you're gonna kill me.” You joke monotonously.

“Never,” he whispers into your hair. “I'd do it on our island instead.”

You chuckle, “how would you do it?”

“Stake to the heart.” You almost didn't understand him whilst his face is buried in your hair. “Classic.”

“Or you could choke me with the pomegranate seeds.”

“You'd like that, huh?” you can feel his smirk atop your head and you swear he kissed you faintly like a feather landing on you.

“I don't mind dying by fruit. Better yet, death by chocolate.”

“I'd mind, it would be hard to do that. Just think of the bloody logistics.” you two stop walking, finally reaching the tiny patch of land.

“For a second there I thought you didn't want me to die.” He leans away, hand still clasped in yours.

“That too.” You smile at him genuinely. Hobie enters the crevice in the wall, jagged rocks against his calloused hands. “C’mon then.” He holds his hand out to you and you don't hesitate to take it.

“Oh you're definitely gonna kill me.”

His laugh bounces around the cavern as you two shimmy towards the light at the far end of the tight alcove. Darkness soon envelops your vision. His piercings shine, acting as your guide. Like a ship to a lighthouse.

“It's a bit dark, Hobie.” Your voice echoes, concern laced in your voice. Not questioning your trust in him but concerned for what the dark could reveal to you.

“I've got you, just keep holding on to me, yeah?”

You sniff a reply, the dampness from the stone makes your nose itch from the musk.

Your feet splashes on a puddle, almost yelping at the sudden wetness. He holds on to you tighter while the rocks scratch at your back.

Hobie pauses before making way for you to pass through, making sure you don't trip on the way out.

The light almost blinds you as you finally make it to the end. Eyes adjusting, you squint at Hobie's gleeful face.

“We're here.”

Just behind Hobie is a massive ship, half of its hull is missing, mast broken, white sails fluttering aimlessly. There's something eerie about it, from how the sun's light filters through the cracks in the cavern ceiling, to the chipping golden paint that decorates the sides; barnacles have made a home on the broken bottom and crabs skittering away to its crevices. The sodden wood is inflated from the currents, wear and tear evident on its oak. It's gorgeously morbid when you think about the people who might've perished right there.

“Whose ship is this?” Your words echoes and bounces off the cave. You'd be lying if you didn't think it was the revenge for a split second, if not for its unfamiliar figure head, you'd collapse right on the spot.

“Don't know, I think It's navy but it doesn't have their flags so probably a merchant ship.” He comes closer to you, palm brushing over yours. “Look over there.” He glances behind you.

Turning around, you see several tally marks on the wall, an indication that someone survived. You glide your hands carefully over the marks, eyes curious and in disbelief.

“I counted, they were here for six months.”

You whirl around, “six? Fuck.”

“They got out though.”

You knit your brows. “How'd you know?”

“Come with me?”

“To the ship? It looks like it's about to collapse any second.”

“I tried climbing it, it's stable.” Hobie reaches for you, and again you take his hand.

“If I fall I'll blame you.”

“Thought you're good at climbin’?”

“Houses and trees, not a dilapidated ship that's more than ready to be scrapped. That thing looks older than us combined.”

“Fine, I'll climb up first and I'll help you up. Deal?”

“Christ, fine, but you owe me the rest of the chocolate.” you watch him climb a crate, effortlessly reaching the ledge of the deck, hauling himself up quicker than you thought. “Show off.” You say under your breath.

“Heard that.” Hobie peeks down, “the chocolate's all yours, now get your arse up here.” he crouches down, hands at the ready to help you up.

Copying his movements, you jump up, he immediately grabs you. Putting your foot up in a crack for leverage and with Hobie's help, you manage to get up onto the deck.

You sit next to him, stretching your wrists.

“See, not too bad, right?” The wood creaks right as he says it. “Maybe we shouldn't sit or stand on the same floor board.” He stands up but before giving you space to lessen the strain on the old wood, he helps you up once again.

“Thanks, I can stand up on my own y’know.” Yet you still take his hand.

“I know, I just don't like it when you're on the ground, you always look like you're about to bite my ankles.”

You laugh and he smiles triumphantly. The sound echoes, it reminds Hobie of the days spent together on the revenge.

“That's true, It takes every bone in my body not to.”

He smiles lopsidedly, shaking his head at you. “I have to show this to you.” He exclaims excitedly. “Just be careful of where you step.”

You pause in your movements, “shit, alright.” testing the floorboards, you slowly clamber your way towards him. “How'd you even find this place? Did you go spelunking without me?”

“Found it on our second day, thought you wouldn't like to see a broken ship like this so soon.”

You smile softly at him, heart reaching towards him and he thinks he chose right.

Hobie opens a barrel, “Look at this, found it when I actually explored the place.”

You take a peek inside, hands leaning on the barrel. “Dried pomegranates? Look at that, your murder weapon.” flicking your eyes towards him, a teasing smile on your lips.

He huffs with a grin, hands placed on his hips. “So violent. You've been hanging around me too much eh, captain?”

“Hmm, I like the sound of that, Captain Y/N. It has a nice ring to it” chuckling, your hands instinctively inch over to his. He meets you halfway on the rim of the barrel, pinky intertwined with yours. “You wanna sleep separately from now on? Since we spend too much time together and all that.”

Hobie scoffs, sucking in his teeth. “Please, you can't sleep without me now.”

It's true, you've spoiled yourself with his warmth next to you every night.

Rolling your eyes, feigning offense, you change the subject. “What's with the pomegranates?”

“They planted it, using their own supplies.”

“Cute, they left a piece of themselves on the island.”

“More than that, because of ‘em we get to eat the fruit they planted. They helped us survive.”

You shake your head, “no, you helped us survive. You did all the work, Hobie.” Taking his hand, standing toe to toe with him, you stare at his eyes for too long that you drown in his eyes. “I never got to thank you for…everything. Thank you, captain, truly.”

His breath hitches in his throat. Warmth emanating from you, eyes sparkling under the sparse light and sand clinging to your hair, he feels himself carve your name on his skin; right next to hers, right next to the scar she left.

“I rendered the great Captain Hobie Brown speechless. I think I deserve some kind of medal for that—”

Hobie cups your cheeks with both hands, leaning in, the act has you shutting up immediately.

You hear wood cracking underneath your feet. You were above deck then a second later, you're groaning on the floor, laying on his chest, facing a skeleton.

“Oh fuck!” You flinch back, Hobie holds you in place with a hand on your waist. Straddling him, you look at the decaying skeleton on the floor. “Shit—” you notice the body under you. “Oh shit!” Holding his face, you roam your eyes for any visible injuries.

“You should write poetry, you have a way with words.” He says with a wince, peeking at you through his eyelashes, he pats your thigh and you get off his aching body.

“Are you alright?” you ask frantically, checking the back of his head for blood, thankfully you find none. Panic sets in your bones, crawling on all fours, you smack his leg.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?” Hobie sits up, with his legs moving, you can finally breathe.

“I thought your legs—” the wood creaked above, eyes widening at the barrel tethering on the edge, threatening to fall.

With Hobie still shaky from the fall, you grab him quickly, dragging him away from the falling object at the last minute before it collapses on both of you.

He grips your arm, staring at the space where you two were just in a second ago. The heavy barrel now occupies it, dried pomegranates spilling out from the split wood.

“Holy fuck.” He heaves.

You drop next to him, sliding down on the rotten walls. “Holy fuck is the right word for it.” he cranes his neck to look at you. “Death by pomegranates.”

You two watch your faces morph into a smile then into a grin and then to full blown laughter.

The loud noise scares the crabs away, dust flies around and there's splintered wood laying on the floors. Despite it all, you and Hobie continue to laugh. His head laying on your chest, hand around your middle and the vibrations from his chest making you laugh harder. With your hands around his torso, fingers splayed on his back, the both of you meld together in laughter.

“Mystery solved, that's how I could die by pomegranates. Take notes, Hobie.”

He inhales before leaning away, “you saved my arse.”

“Well you saved me too, we're even.”

Hobie thumps his head on the wall just like you have. His hand searches for yours while he stares at the skeleton left next to the barrel.

You find him first before he does, immediately weaving your fingers around his, you smile despite the near death experience.

“How would you do it?” He breaks the quiet.

“Do what?” you turn your head to look at him, he's calm, face relaxed.

“Kill me.”

“Hobie—” you groan.

“Humour me, love.”

“Fine,” you sigh, “poison probably.”

“Poison? Really?” Chuckling, he clasps your hand. Your stomach somersaults at the simple act.

“Mm-hmm, I figured that I can't possibly fight you, I can't shoot you so I'd do it in a subtle way. So, poison.”

“Fuckin' hell, I'll never let you cook.” Hobie turns his head towards the skeleton again like it would suddenly stand up and attack.

“You never let me cook anyway.”

“It's because you always burn it.”

“‘It's because you always burn it’” you mock his tone, “fuck off.”

Hobie guffaws which makes you laugh too.

The laughter subsides once again, he taps your thigh, leaving his warmth embedded in you.

“He has a nice hat,” groaning, Hobie stands up, stretching his back, giving you a glimpse of his skin.

You turn away, watching the pomegranate seeds tumble down. “Who?”

“This bloke.” He bends down, taking a tricorn hat off the dirty floor. “See? There's even a bird on it. Is that silver thread?”

“Let me see.” You stretch your hand up, he lifts you up with one tug.

“There, stitched around the bird.” Hobie points at the fading design.

You can barely make out the emblem, its beak barely there and wings almost indistinguishable. The silver thread weaves around it, the only fully visible thing.

Brushing the pads of your fingers around it, you tilt your head at Hobie. “I think it is, and it's incredibly filthy. Put it back, it's been here for more than twenty years or more.”

“How would you know?” He stares at you, perplexed.

“Judging from the decay,” you gesture around the skeleton, figuring it's too rude to point at it. “and adding the fact it's exposed to the elements, it's been here a long ass time.”

Hobie’s eyes brighten, “you fuckin' bookworm.”

Sticking your tongue at him, cheeks warm, “How'd you know the survivors got out of the island then?”

He shrugs, hands still holding the musty hat. “They left a note on top of a couple of graves just behind the ship.”

“Bullshit, now you're just making shit up.”

He chuckles, the sound similar to a giggle. “‘m not lyin’, cross my heart!”

“Sure, and I'm a selkie.” Sarcasm rolls off your tongue, “I'm going outside.” You begin to walk away, finding the space stifling from all the dust and death that surrounds it.

He quickly places the hat on top of your head and you jump away, flinging it off your head then throwing it at the perpetrator.

“What?” He laughs, “It looks better on you! He clearly doesn't need it anymore!” joking, he tries to put it on you again and you push him away as a warning.

Your smile betrays your true emotion. “Don't—”

“Alright” Hobie surrenders, placing the hat back where he found it, hands next to his head, he slyly inches towards you.

“Thank you, now can we go? High tide’s coming—”

He suddenly lunges for you, picking you up as you yelp and wiggle in his arms. His arm is underneath your knees, the other is around your torso, hands placed right above your ribs. You drown in him once again. Cackling, he walks towards the hole in the wall.

“Put me down!” you bunch up his shirt in your hands, “Hobie!”

“What? I'm taking you outside, it's clearly not safe here, love!” Your squirming has him holding onto you tighter. He grins widely, carefully squeezing out of the broken hull and into the light and fresh air.

Being this close to him, you notice the small dimples on his cheeks. Restraining yourself from poking it, you can't help but stare up at him like he's the sea himself. Deep and full of secrets, secrets that you're more than willing to dive for. A terrifying force on the surface but once you're underneath the tides, you see his true self, all the love he harbors for the people, all the hate that has made him who he is.

With his waves crashing against you, he smoothens your edges with his touch, if you're not careful, he'd erode you until you're nothing but a speck of sand.

Hands atop his shoulders, Hobie stops laughing the second he sees your eyes gleam over, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving half moons on his skin. He doesn't mind, he'd let you mark him if that's what you truly want.

“You alright?” He whispers, staring down at you like the sky above, beautiful and out of reach, a cloud soft and fleeting, stars that guide him in the night. A hurricane that has sunk ships. He thinks he's one of those ships.

You wonder if he used to look at her like this too. Your hold on him loosens.

“Don’t look at me like that.” You say, voice quivering. His face goes slack, eyebrows furrowed. “Like I'm her, you know I'm not her.”

You've struck him with lightning.

You leap off his arms, wobbling on your feet. He stretches his fingers, ghosting over the shape you've left.

“What do you mean?” He asks even though he's afraid of what you're going to say.

You smile bitterly. “I remind you of her. And I'm not her, Hobie.”

“I— where is this coming from?”

Sniffing and shaking your head, “nevermind” you begin to walk towards the exit.

“Y/N,” Hobie grabs your hand, letting go immediately when you flinch like he has burned you. “Not bloody nevermind, what's wrong?”

Gwen and Hobie's arguing finally escapes its cage, their angry words thrown at each other have finally eaten through the back of your head, revealing a wound that hasn't closed. Together with the numerous times he has called her name instead of yours, you collapse under all of it.

He loves her and not you.

You avoid the swirling greys, arms crossed, head down, staring at your worn out shoes. It's better this way you think, cut it off like a lame limb before it spreads to your heart. You're letting him go, and it pains your soul to do so.

“You only like me because of the circumstances.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Hobie's not mad at you, he's angry at the conversation and the idea that you've dug up.

Does he? Does he only like you because of her? Did he only let you in at the start because of her? He only knows what he currently feels for you right now.

“You like me because of the circumstances! If we weren't stuck here together you wouldn't be.” A thunderstorm has broken through.

“After all this time together do you really think that?” He asks the question for you and for himself.

Your hands shake, tears almost spilling over. You don't let it, not in front of him. “You tolerate me.” twisting to face him, you regret the words you've thrown, but it has to be said or the relationship would've been built on lies and love for another. “You called me by her name when I fell and when you slept. I–I don't know, Hobie, I really don't know.”

There it is, the knife that was made to split skin and bleed. Instead of Hobie holding it, it's you. But he helps you bury the steel in his body, helping you twist it, helping you bleed him.

“You were there?” You nod, “I— you do remind me of her… it's uncanny sometimes.” You stifle a sob, head held up high. “And I don't fuckin' know, Y/N. All I know is I like you despite the bloody circumstances.”

Hobie closes his eyes, rubbing it with the heels of his palms. “I'll see you back at the island.” He leaves, and you just watch.

Falling to the ground, you hug your knees, letting it all crumble around you.

—

You haven't slept, bags under your eyes, headache pounding in your head, the sound of soil getting dug out behind you has become a comfort not a nuisance.

You haven't looked at the source of the sound since he started, letting his quiet curses and groans fill you with sadness and guilt. With the sun rising, and a new day coming, you sit up, palms raw from your clenched fists.

He tried to do something nice and you threw it back at him with venom.

Heading towards the shore, kneeling down, you let the salt wash over the crescent wounds. Wincing at the stinging pain, you lift your hands away from the water, lingering, watching the sun rise with heavy eyes. The humidity stifles you, choking you almost.

You clutch at your chest, imagining that your necklace is still hanging around your neck. Wishing for the comfort it brings, but the gold isn't there and the only comfort you have is now cold around you, avoiding your presence since yesterday. The closest thing you have is the pearl in your pocket, so you place your hand inside, rolling the smooth edges around your fingers, letting the cool surface ease you.

With a shaky sigh, you trudge towards the grove, grass grazing along your legs, you stand stiff at the sight.

Graves, he's digging graves.

Covered in dirt and sweat, Hobie digs a hole in the ground using a sharp stick. Lips wobbling, you let a tear fall before wiping it away.

“Hobie.” You call his name softly, voice breaking. He doesn't look up, you notice his arms shaking from fatigue. “Hobie.”

He pauses mid dig, “what?” Asking sharply, his eyes are dark, worse for wear. “Don't ask me to stop, Y/N, because I won't.”

“I was gonna ask if you needed help—want my help.”

Hobie tosses a stick at you, “this is the last one.”

Nodding, you grab the stick from the ground. Jumping down the hole, you wordlessly dig across him. The rough wood opens the scratches on your palms, dribbles of blood rolling down like the tears you've shed.

“Is this Finn's?” you ask with apprehension.

Nothing.

“Ned’s?”

Still nothing, he swallows thickly.

“Mine?”

Hobie stops, sighing, “Do you really think I can do that just because of yesterday?” Do you think he is a monster?

“No. I was trying to lift the mood, I realize now it's in poor taste.”

“I would have laughed if we weren't digging a grave.”

“Graveyard humour.” you say flatly, stabbing the ground, digging even when your palms bleed, even when your blood falls inside the grave.

Hobie exhales, eyes heavy with fatigue, dirt underneath his nails.

“You want to stay.” he says with certainty, cutting the uncomfortable silence.

“I do.”

“You won't survive here alone.”

“I know.”

“Then we'll come back here, once everything is said and done.” He looks at you, “we'll come back here.”

“Hobie—”

His eyes flicker down to your hands, the stick now red from your own hands. “You're bleedin’”

With concern he drops the makeshift shovel to cross the small distance, slowly taking your hands away from the tool. Your skin clings to it like the roots of a tree.

“It's fine.”

Hobie clutches your hands, palms above your own, trying to stop the bleeding. “No, it's not.” No, you're not fine.

“It's just from…everything. I'll clean them so they don't get infected.” you try to leave but he still holds you tight.

“I'll clean it.” Let me help, please. He screams inside his head. Just this once, let him stop the blood instead of the one bleeding you dry.

You glance at him, lines marring his face, grey eyes laid upon a bloodied field. Lips pursed into worry.

“Alright.”

—

The silence makes you squirm in your seat, watching the waves on the shore, you let him clean your hands, trust him to clean your wounds.

Hobie carefully wraps your hands with a tattered part of his shirt. He smells of the familiar herbs and soil, eyes glued to your bandaged hands, he finally speaks.

“She was killed in front of me.” His voice lacks the usual tone, grief weaved around the sentence. “When the black helion sailed next to us I knew that she was already gone.”

You look at him, it's the least you could do.

“She called for me while Mathias had his sword right next to her neck. And I cowered under the deck until she asked with a smile if she could see me.”

Listening with tears in your eyes, Hobie avoids yours.

“The second I showed myself…he cut off her head. At first I thought it was her last attempt at hurting me, seeing her dead. But after a while I… I think she wanted me to be the last thing she ever saw because she grinned like she used to when she saw me.”

He raises his head to meet your tearful eyes, “Mary Jane, that was her real name.” He chokes before inhaling deeply. “An orphan like me but she got the wrong end of the bloody stick.” He spits the words angrily. “She wanted an out, that's why she went to Mathias. We fought when she told me she was navy, but I knew…I think I just didn't want to believe it.”

Your heart breaks for him.

“I want to avenge her not just for MJ but for everyone else who got the wrong end of the bloody stick. Thirty of my men died that day, I can grieve for them everyday for the rest of my life but it wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.”

Hobie lets your hands go softly on your lap.

“It's better to be angry than to wallow in myself. They wouldn't like that if I did so I let myself be angry for their sake.”

You reach for him, surprising himself, he welcomes your touch. Holding his face like you hold the entire world in your palms, you kiss the corner of his eyes softly, encouraging him to cry.

Laying your forehead against his, you whisper the words to him like a secret shared between two lovers.

“Let me be angry for you just this once, e–even if it's just for today, let me carry it for you. And I'll be angry for you if you ask. Just ask me, Hobie.”

“Just for a minute.” He whispers back.

“Alright, just for a minute.”

Hobie drops his head on your shoulder, hiding his face from the world, arms enclosed around your torso, you let him cry.

—

You help Hobie bury the empty graves. Pomegranates and colourful flowers on top of each one except for the three at the very back. You whisper goodbyes to each one, giving Finn's, Ned's and the crew he lost with extra attention and extra love.

You leave a bar of chocolate on top of Finn's grave, his name written on a piece of driftwood. ‘beloved friend’ you've written under his name then you realize it's not enough to describe him, so you write ‘best chef in the world’ next to it, laughing to yourself once you finish it.

“I think he'd like it” Hobie said whilst he places the folded sail on top of Ned’s empty grave. He wrote next to his name, ‘a shit lyricist but a good friend, beloved by everyone’ and you sobbed wetly at the words.

You just stare at the graves for the men you killed, imagining them rotting under it. They were once children, you thought, but you don't regret it, because you lived because of what you did, lived because of what you endured.

Just as you're leaving the thicket, giving the crew one last goodbye, you watch Hobie write her name and you leave, giving him privacy.

You wait for him patiently under the trees, right next to the raft full of supplies you've gathered. Eyes downturned, cheeks stained with tears, you hear the rustle of leaves from behind and you don't mention the missing necklace from his neck.

“Ready to go?” He asks.

No.

“Yes.”

Hobie goes around the raft to push, you copy him.

“Is that—?” He stops, hand above his eyebrows, shielding it from the sun. “Holy shit.”

You follow his line of sight, perplexed, until you see five figures waving wildly at you.

“It's them” Hobie looks at you with relief and you almost weep once again.

“It's them.”

A/N: Before you all get mad at me for Miguel, all will be revealed in the next chapter. Thank you for reading!

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 4 months ago

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I'm on a roll with AU these days, so. Cowboy AU ! Outlaw Dewdrop x Sheriff Swiss...with a twist.

It's been a long fucking day. Very fucking long. Swiss' back aches as he leans back into his seat, blinking when the lines of barely legible handwritting still swim in front of his eyes, even now that he's looked up from all the paperwork.

Yawning, he looks around his office, lazily blinking. A light breeze brushes his face, making him frown and glance at the half opened window. Hadn't he closed it ? Swiss tries to recall, hours blending together in his memory. Maybe he didn't, maybe he forgot.

Once he's locked it, Swiss snatches his hat, delibarating between popping to the saloon or just staying home.

"Be the sheriff, they said, it'll be fun, they said," he grumbles, making his way downstairs, "they just forgot to mention the fucking paperwork."

It's all fake complaints, though. No matter how much paperwork makes him want to hang himself sometimes, Swiss loves this town, loves taking care of it, protecting it, acting for the people that make it such a bright and homely place.

Plus, he rocks the hat he was gifted when he became sheriff. That thing is probably his most prized possession.

Once in the kitchen, Swiss makes a beeline for the nearest bottle, in dire need of a little something to clear the fog in his brain from answering letters, approving or denying demands and signing what needed to be signed for hours.

The bottle leaves the shelf too easily, snatched with too much strenght for its weight. Swiss frowns, looking down at the bottle. It's three quarters empty, which doesn't sit right with him. He's sure, absolutely certain he left it more full than this.

All at once, Swiss becomes keenly aware of his surroundings, his senses sharpening in an instant. Noticing things he hasn't prior.

The rim of the bottle is still wet, a stray drop clinging to the neck, not having had time to reach the bottom. A glass is missing on the shelf. The memory of the window he thought he had closed flashes back in Swiss' mind.

His hand flies to his holster just as the distinct sound of someone cocking their gun breaks the silent, followed by a voice.

"Touch that gun and i'll have to scrub your brains off the floor," it says.

Swiss freezes, slowly raising his hands on either sides of his head. He hears steps, then a hand relieves him of both the guns he carries, as well as the knife hidden in his boot - quite the predictable place to keep it, Swiss will admit.

"Turn around," the voice orders then.

Swiss does, half smiling.

"Very rude way of starting a conversation, don't you think ?"

"Who says I want to talk ?"

Swiss groans as he takes in the man facing him. Long hair, mismatched eyes, sharp features, a scar tugging the right corner of his mouth up in a perpetual smirk ; a familiar face, one plastered on every available wall of every town.

Dewdrop, wanted for a baffling amount of crimes Swiss can't be bothered to remember, dead or alive. Reward : Swiss can't remember that either, with how often it changes.

The outlaw amongst the outlaws.

Swiss raises an eyebrow.

"Well, you see, people love chatting with me, so I just assumed you were as dying to hear my voice as the others."

Dewdrop scoffs, though he's smiling, a thin, sharp thing that reminds him of a blade. The fucker is holding a glass of Swiss' liquor in the hand not gripping the gun.

"Sorry to disapoint, sheriff, but if i had the time to sew your mouth shut, I would."

Swiss tilts his head.

"Rude. Almost as much as drinking my stash away."

Dewdrop downs his glass, maintaining eye contact the whole time, carelessly setting it on the nerby table with a satisfied smack of lips.

"You have enough liquor to drown in it, I'm sure my share won't be missed."

Swiss almost doesn't catch the quick way Dewdrop's eyes rake over him, up and down and up again, pausing momentarily at the silver of belly exposed by his raised arms. Almost.

"What I do miss are my guns," Swiss huffs, eyeing where they've been unceremoniously shoved under Dewdrop's belt. The outlaw takes one out, examinating it with an approving hum : they're very nice guns, well-cared for. Then he puts it back, still at his own belt.

"You'll miss a lot more once i'm done."

Swiss' eyebrows climb up his forehead ; there is a vague innuendo to be made, he thinks, but between the tiredness still weighting on his shoulders and the way his eyes keep stubbornly falling on Dewdrop's lips, he can't find a way to phrase it. Instead, he props his hip against the end of the table opposite to the one Dewdrop stands at.

"So you, a famous outlaw, master of escapism, came to this...tiny town and decided to ransack the sheriff's house ? You won't find nearly as much as you're used to."

The look Dewdrop gives him then, feels like being flayed open, exposed raw to prying, piercing eyes. It takes all of Swiss' carefully crafted self-control not to flinch away from it. When Dewdrop takes a step toward him, he can't help but tense, smile less easy, more strained.

"Oh but you see, sheriff, i pride myself in being nosy. Some might say it's a flaw, I say it's a very useful thing. I have keen ears, you see. I hear a lot, and I love rumors."

The barel of Dewdrop's gun presses against Swiss' chest. The outlaw is fully grinning now.

"And, you see, people say the Multi-Faced Thief - you know the Multi-Faced Thief, don't you sheriff ?- didn't die in that trainwreck years ago. Some say he's still alive, mascarading as a simple civilian, maybe even a figure of authority, hoarding the goods he stole, or aquired thanks to his thievery. "

Swiss swallows, his smile widening. Dewdrop is clever, ruthless, ambitious. He can't help liking it. There's no point in bullshitting him, but Swiss decides he can't give in without fucking with him a bit.

"And why are you telling me that ?"

All the air leaves the room when Dewdrop leans forward, so close his nose almost brushes Swiss'. It's crooked, Swiss notices, the bridge a bit wonky, probably broken once or twice. His fingers twitch above his head with the sudden and irrational need to touch it.

Swiss can barely breath, waiting, Dewdrop's eyes flickering over his face, searching. Pausing on his plush lips for half a second too long.

"I think you know why. You've gone soft, Multi. It was easy sneaking in. Disarming you."

A chuckle escapes Swiss as he drops the act, entertained by this guy's audacity. His confidence. Instead of shying away from the gun, he weights against it, sure to leave a dent in his skin. His eyes darken in the dim light ; oxygen can barely find both their lungs in what tiny sliver of space there's left between their faces.

"I'll admit, I dropped my guard. Didn't expect a pretty thing like you to stumble into my house. Try to steal from me. If we'd met a few years ago, I would either have put a bullet between your eyes or taken you for a ride."

Up close, Swiss is at the front row to see Dewdrop's pupils expand, his chest rising and falling quickly. Despite that, he doesn't lose sight of his objective, something Swiss admires quietly as he's shoved a few inches back by the push of the gun.

"Yeah, well. Here you are today, distracted and gunless."

Swiss nochalently raises his, mirroring Dewdrop's position, barrel against his narrow ribcage.

"You were saying ? Looks like I'm not the only one who's losing focus, mmh ?"

He watches in amusement Dewdrop's cheeks clolouring with both anger and embarrassement, his mismatched eyes flicking down to his belt, where only one of Swiss' guns is left.

"So, we're in a bit of a dead end, but i'll make you a deal, yeah ? You leave, and you leave fast, without doing this town any damages. In exchange, i'll let you have this," Swiss drawls, slipping a hand under his collar to tug on a richly ornemented pendant, one that always stays concealed under layers.

Dewdrop's jaw falls open at the sight of the Multi-Faced Thief's most famous prize, the hold-up of the century. Swiss waits for his answer, grinning, watching rubies reflecting in wide eyes.

"Why...would you offer that ?" Dewdrop manages to choke out, stunned.

Swiss laughs lightly, slipping the jewlery off his neck and onto Dewdrop's, still not letting go of it, precious metal digging in his palm.

"I'm tired of carrying this old thing around, and i'm already plenty rich. Do we have a deal ?"

Greed is always a bad influence, Swiss would know. It's currently shining in Dewdrop's eyes, surely thrumming in his veins. But he's not stupid, either.

"Right. And the real reason....?"

Huffing, Swiss yanks on the pendant, grinning from ear to ear.

"The real reason, is that i'll have a good excuse to hunt you down. I'll get this back. I'll catch you. I've missed the thrill of the chase."

It's not much of deal, more like a threat, or maybe a promise, but it's clear by the look on Dewdrop's face that he's game. Incapable of resisting the challenge.

"If you think you're up to it, it'll be my pleasure to prove you wrong, sheriff. It's a deal."

Swiss let go. They're still holding each other at gunpoint.

"My weapons, or you're not walking through the door," he warns.

"Windows would do," Dewdrop snarks back, though he does toss Swiss' second gun and knife on the table. His eyes flick up to Swiss' hat, hand twitching.

"Unless you intend to take me up on the ridding offer, I suggest you don't take that. You know the rule," Swiss smirks, earning an eye roll.

"Not tonight," Dewdrop breathes, slowly backing up toward the window, still aiming at Swiss' chest.

He's halfway through it when Swiss calls back.

"I'll see you soon, Dew."

The outlaw throws him a daring look, scarred cheek pulling with how wide he smiles, and it's the last thing Swiss sees before he jumps off.

Alone in his kitchen, Swiss laughs.

This will be fun.

#do sheriffs actually have paperwork to fill ?#probably not #but for the plot #i'll pretend they do #did dew bite off more than he can chew ?#or did swiss ?#who knows #also by “you know the rule”#i meant the cowboy one #you know which one #“multi-faced thief” because he's really good at playing whatever role will suit his purpose #also because i just wanted to sneak the “multi” status in this #amongst the numerous charges against dew there definitely is arson btw #cowboy au #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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