#that I didn't even know was still sailing

[the-kr8tor]

Riptide

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.7k

Synopsis: A summon brings unsteady waves to the bloodsail pirates.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, pirate AU, A sequel to BDAS, CW alcohol mention, CW food mention, CW panic attack, R has nicknames, hurt/comfort, fluff.

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Beyond the Sea of Night Masterlist

Chapter 4 >>> Chapter 5

The ride to the smaller island was quiet. Not even Yuri nor James cracked a single joke about the rocky road being as rocky as Yuri and Lyla's relationship or something in the lines of that. It's as if you're in line for the gallows. Xavier, still with a broken nose with a sickening bruise along the sides, rides alongside the cart. His eyes are fixed on the road towards the twin island. A single road with no fork in the middle to go anywhere else, just one— the Tempest, a dilapidated shipwreck perched on top of an island.

The sun beats down on you and the crew while Hobie never unlatched his hand around yours. His eyes are fixated on the open sea before him, back straight, still looking like the pirate captain that he is. Even now he doesn't show weakness in front of Xavier's cavalry. Whenever the red head glances at Hobie, he finds himself at the end of his stormy glare.

Stark the horse stops by the end of the rope bridge that connects the main island from the tempest. Riri glances over her shoulder on the driver's seat. Her grandfather is sleeping soundly beside her.

“We're here. The horse can't obviously cross so we'll wait here for you.”

“Thank you, Ri, we owe you one.” Hobie reaches to clasp her shoulder.

“How many IOUs is that one, Hobie?”

“Fourteen,” he says matter-of-factly, “I keep count of it, Ri.”

She chuckles, akin to a scoff. “Well, shit, I didn't even know you could count.”

That earns a few laughs from the crew as they give their thanks to Riri while exiting the cart. Hobie even manages a strained smile that masks his amusement.

“Thank you, Riri. I'll make you another batch of the ointment as thanks.” You say, smiling gently.

“Bit of advice, duchess? Don't be scared of Thorpe, he's a big teddy bear really. Kind of like Finn.” She smiles at the memory of him.

“A more murderous version of Finn.” Yuri adds, already off the cart as she bumps her fists with Riri's.

“Don't slander Finn like that.” Gwen sighs, stretching her legs.

“You guys just complain and complain, huh?” The brunette says, watching Hobie be gentle with you as he helps you off the cart like you have sea legs. “Cap’n,” she calls for Hobie as his hand rests on your waist. “It's just Thorpe. You know him.”

“Aye,” he nods, and you can feel his hand balling the fabric of your blouse. “Jus’ a man.”

Riri smiles, “may the sea guide you.”

“And may she grant you a quick death.” The others say simultaneously, their voices echoing above the breeze.

“It's been a while since I've said that.” Pav adds, “feels ominous now.” He shivers.

You look at them like something possessed them. “What was that?”

Hobie urges you to walk with a hand on the small of your back, fingers gently guiding you towards the bridge where a few of Thorpe's crew waits for you to cross. Xavier is already at the tempest, wincing from the pain on his nose. The crew crosses first, while you and Hobie wait your turn to balance out the weight on the old bridge.

“Jus' an old sailor sayin’ that pirates adopted. Somethin’ that we also stole from ‘em.” He flicks his eyes at you, making sure that you're right behind him. “A bit creepy, innit?”

You nod, resisting the urge to hold his hand. “Aye.” Stepping forward on the rope bridge, it creaks and sways in the wind.

You're no stranger to heights or even rickety bridges, but this one has your stomach in a twist. The looming dilapidated man-of-war looks like an ancient being right in the middle of the island. Its wood is bloated, tattered sails fluttering weakly in the breeze. Its darkened façade and headless bow figure of a siren doesn't help with your churning stomach. It's as if you're walking towards the underworld, boarding a ship sailing right into the belly of the beast.

Every step you take on the rotting wood feels like you're walking on thin ice. As your hands shake around the rope, legs trembling as you look down towards the beach, if you misstep and plummet down it'll surely be the end for you. Suddenly you're back in the belltower, the beach reminding you of the same one back in the capital. The waves rushing in, white sands blinding you from below as you dig your dagger into Mathias' eye while you drop freely into the depths. You can still hear his gargled screams, and how his nails dug into your skin. Vertigo takes you, vision warbling as sweat trickles down your temple.

Hobie senses your trepidation, looking over his shoulder to find you breathing heavily right in the middle of the bridge. He has seen you climb up to the crow's nest a hundred times before without you faltering from the height, but this feels different. But the sight is familiar for you and for him. Without missing a beat, Hobie offers you his hand, the sight of his calluses and the scars on his palm was enough to bring you back to the present.

You take his warmth without hesitation, instead of the blade you held, his hand now accompanies your own. Soft and gentle, thumb running along your skin to comfort you even more. You're no longer thrashing in the waves, desperately swimming towards the light when your light is already in front of you.

“Hobie.” Your breathless sigh is carried by the salty wind.

He understands, the corner of his lips curling into a soft smile reserved only for you. “I've got you, scuttlebutt.”

“You got me.” The next thing you know, you're already in front of the Tempest.

There's a large hole in its hull, torches hanging from the sides, chains swinging slightly. You look up to stare at the sheer size of it, it's bigger than what you expected, larger than the Osprey and as big as the Black Hellion. It's a beast, and perhaps during its prime it haunted the sea with its black sails that still have remnants around the rigging, and its jolly roger flag still hanging up on its mast. It's nothing like you've ever seen before around the docks of the Mermaid's head, not the usual skeleton drawn on a black flag. No, it's a skull missing its jaws, horns sticking right atop its head. In place of its eyes are two red dots, whichever place you look at it, it seems to follow you with its crimson gaze.

Everything about the Tempest screams death and hell, from the numerous cannons on the side, wooden edges and bannisters carved with skulls and roses, it's as if Hades himself sailed on the Tempest. But here she is, left to rot on the twin island of the Mermaid's head. You wonder what kind of galleon took her down, or perhaps it's not a ship that did this, but the same creature that still haunts your dreams.

“He's waiting for you.” Xavier says, voice sounding like he's underwater from his broken nose.

You look at him with pity, pain medication and rum are probably the only things that's holding him upright. “You should get your nose set by a doctor or else it might fall off your face.”

“Is that a threat—”

“It's not, it's my medical advice.” You say without balking. Hobie squeezes your hand with a smirk thrown at the man, he got his nose good. “Take it or leave it, I don't care.”

You and Hobie leave the man outside while the crew waits for the both of you in front of two massive double doors. The doors are carved with sea battles against familiar looking beasts towering over a fleet and the stormy sea. The sight of the uncanny scene has you frowning. The others feel the same, it reminds them of what they lost that day.

Hobie inhales, taking one last glance at you before letting your hand go to open the doors like he owns the place. The silence is enough to set your nerves alight even more. With the doors opening, it reveals a carved out hall inside the ship. There are various treasures lined around the place, a gigantic conch shell perched on top of a platform, a decapitated bronze statue with its head placed right on its rusted arms. A couple of Grecian statues, a minotaur and perhaps a goddess sitting on a marble throne. There are armours and weapons from all corners of the world, a samurai sword, a knight’s polished armour and a spear so large that it could take down an elephant. Some you could barely recognize, nothing like anything you’ve seen before. A large cage sits in the corner, exotic birds flying about, they look comfortable at least, but you bet they'd rather be free than be stuck in there.

The flickering lamps draw dancing shadows around the moss covered walls, and you see Captain Thorpe with his back turned away from the bloodsail pirates.

“We're ‘ere, Thorpe.” Hobie doesn't falter, walking in front of the crew, standing straight with his coat tails brushing along the creaky floorboards. “If this is about—”

“Have you heard of the story of the three sailors stranded at sea?” Thorpe says, voice gruff and gravelly as if he just smoked a cigar. His tone alone could command a whole fleet as you stand beside Pavitr.

“Thorpe—”

The sound of a butcher's knife clacks into the dimly lit room, stopping Hobie in his tracks. And you almost jump in your skin. “It's a damn good story, Brown, maybe your crew would like to hear ‘em.”

Hobie inhales, from where you stand, you could only see his shoulders moving. “Sure, we've got all the time in the world.”

“Aye,” even his chuckle sounds like stones rolling on a rocky hill. “There’s these three lads rowin’ their dinghy right in the middle of the sea with nothin’ but a lamp as their fourth companion.” He raises his arm, the knife glinting off the candle lights until he smacks it into something fleshy. “The lamp was nothin' special, just a glass one that merely held fish oil. Then one of the lads, in his starvin’ state, opens the glass to drink from it and out comes a genie clad in gold chains and silk cloth.” No one dares interrupt him.

You now notice the long table set right behind him, food and drinks galore, a feast prepared for the crew. There are silver candelabras with candles lit, and plates and cutlery all set to seat people. Everything on the table looks familiar, until you see the lilac trimming around the plates, and you know it's the exact same ones on the Osprey, the same ones that Hobie just sold.

“The genie asks ‘em what they wish for, since there's three of ‘em, they get one wish each.” The captain continues, cutting into something as fresh guts fall right beside his feet. “The first sailor wishes to be with his wife, with a flick of the genie's wrist, the man disappears. The second one, astounded by what happened, wishes to frolic the fields again with his children. And jus’ like that, he's gone like the first one.” Placing his knife on the table, he rips into the poor thing that he's cutting. “The last man turns towards the genie with tearful eyes, and says that he's lonely and wishes to not be lonely anymore. And with another flick of the genie's hand, his friends come back, joinin’ him right in the middle of the sea once again.”

“I've heard that story before, Thorpe.” Hobie utters, hands hidden inside his coat pockets.

“Well ‘m not tellin’ it for you, ‘m tellin’ it for the bloody duchess.” Thorpe turns around, hand covered in slippery ichor, blood dripping onto the floor as he holds a cutting board with the largest fish you've ever laid eyes on placed on it. He's missing an arm, but that doesn't look like it hinders him as he stands tall even without it. “My crows have told me you were smart, tell me, duchess, what's the moral of the story?”

You feel like the sphinx is asking you a riddle. If you get the question wrong, you get gutted like the fish he's holding. The others look at you, Hobie’s hand is placed on the handle of your father's gun, at the ready. Even Yuri winces and pities you.

“Be careful what you wish for?”

“That's the obvious one.” He stands into the light, clicking his tongue at your abysmal answer. His hair is in long braids, white strands weaved around it like silver threads— skin tanned from the sun, and his build is comparable to Finn's. He's huge, hand dwarfing the cutting board and even the fish as he places it in the middle of the table together with the rest of the hefty food. “The real moral of the story is to be a bloody good sailor so you don't end up stuck with a bunch of wankers. Jus’ a bit of knowledge for you lot.” Sitting down in the middle of the long table, he spreads his arm wide. “Come break fast with me.”

“Just me?” You ask in fear.

Thorpe guffaws, hand slapping on the table as utensils jump and shake from his sheer strength. “Oh, that would be lovely but I think the lad ‘ere wouldn't fancy that much, right, Brown?”

Hobie laughs but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I'd be chuffed to shoot you right there if you do, Heinrick.”

Thorpe lays his elbow on the table, pointing casually at Hobie. “See? The lad always had anger issues. Especially when it comes to his bird—”

“What do you want, Thorpe?”

“Why so pushy? I thought we had all the time in the world?”

“I said that sarcastically. Knowin’ you, you didn't catch it the first time.”

He laughs again, wiping his hand on a napkin that you're sure came from the Osprey too. “Fine, fine, I'll drop the act. Jus’ join this old man for breakfast and I'll tell you. Why are you all standin’ so far away?” Noticing everyone's apprehension, he sighs. “What? You think this is poisoned?” He then proceeds to take a piece of the raw fish, dips it in sauce and pops it in his mouth. “Trust me this kind tastes better when it's fresh and raw. See? I'd drop dead by now if it was. ‘sides, I've got my girls to worry ‘bout too, I ain't feedin’ them poisoned fish.”

“Girls?” Hobie asks, “since when did you have children with Olga?” He says with a bit of discomfort and a hint of disgust.

The older man grimaces. “‘m not that old, Brown. Girls come down ‘ere and introduce yerselves.” He gestures down while looking up at the scaffolding of the hallowed out ship.

As everyone follows his gaze, you see shadows slinking around the wooden scaffolding. You hold your breath as the dozens of shadows lessen as they continue to climb and slither on the wooden beams until there are only two figures looking down at you.

“Zarina, Gayatri, come down ‘ere and eat. You two keep missin’ breakfast.”

The two shadowy figures effortlessly climb down the beams as if they're just simply floating down like a couple of flower petals from a tree. They stand on each side of the table, and the light finally shows them to you. The one on the left looks taller in stature, honeyed eyes glancing around the crew. She's clad in red and blue, curly hair tied in a twin bun. Her golden necklace shines, the letter ‘Z’ dangling from her neck. She has twin slim daggers on her side, simple yet polished to perfection. The one on your right is smaller than Zarina, gold piercings shining in the lamp light, hair tied neatly into a long braid as she's clad in emerald green and soft yellow. On her hip is a curved sword with etchings of waves and the sun. There's also a leather whip, her hand brushing alongside it like she's wary of you and the crew.

Hobie seems to be as confused as the rest, while Pavitr sighs longingly beside you, eyes glued on the girl on the right. You know that look, it's the same one Miles always looks at Gwen. And the same softness you wake up to as Hobie gazes at you in the haze of the cool morning and before bed. Nudging Pav, you raise a brow with a knowing smile. His eyes widened before looking at his feet bashfully.

“Meet my daughters,” Thorpe says excitedly, grinning as he gestures for them to sit beside him.

“Adopted.” They both say simultaneously with a brief smile that if you blink you'll miss it.

Thorpe feigns a surprised gasp. “You are?! Why didn't your mother tell me?!” They roll their eyes at him, taking their seats beside their adopted father. With a chuckle, he takes one of their plates and fills it with fruits and flat bread. “This one right ‘ere, my firecracker, is Zarina.” He gives it to the girl on his right, patting her head as she nods curtly at you and the befuddled crew. He does the same for the girl on his left, putting fish and wheat bread on hers. “And this one, my cannonball, is Gayatri.” She politely smiles, and you swear you heard Pavitr take a deep breath and mumble her name. “Come sit, it'll be weird if it's jus’ us eatin’”

Hobie takes the first step, sitting adjacent to Thorpe. The rest follows behind him, the previous introduction helped lessen the tension slightly, but the apprehension is still looming over the whole crew.

Sitting beside Hobie on his left with Gwen on his right, Thorpe helps serve the fish around the table, treating the bloodsail pirates as his guests.

“I didn't peg you to be a father, Thorpe.” Hobie says, hand subtly brushing your own under the table, a reassurance and wordlessly asking if you're alright. You answer him by looping your pinky around his index for a moment.

“Well, I didn't either, but fatherhood comes when you least expect it, I suppose.” He offers you a bowl of clams, and you accept it with a small smile. “‘m sorry that Olga's missin’ this little reunion. She said she'll be ‘ere though, ‘m not sure when.”

“I’ve been lookin’ for her fish soup.” Hobie cracks a smile and Thorpe mirrors it.

“I know it's ‘ere— there! Beside the lobster.” He cackles, gesturing to Pavitr for help. Pav hides his nerves and takes the bowl beside him to hand over to Thorpe as he pours some on Hobie's bowl. “Brings back memories, eh?”

Hobie smiles, and takes a sip of the soup. “Aye, I remember eatin’ this first thing in the mornin’ to stave off sea sickness. Olga really saved my arse on the ship.”

“Me wife does that, always ready with a bowl of warm fish soup for the youngsters.” The older man chuckles fondly as your eyes hone in on his missing arm, he notices, and you fear for your life until he gives you an apologetic look. “Disgustin’ innit?”

“No, I'm admiring it.” You immediately respond truthfully as if he can tell if you're lying. “The cut and the stitching are clean. Whoever patched you up did a good job. And I’m s–sorry for staring.”

Thorpe smiles, while his daughters mirror his expression, albeit more subtle than him. “Well, thank you, got this little souvenir after a cannonball took it all off. The surgeon who did this actually has a practice ‘ere. If you want I can tell her ‘bout you? Maybe get you an apprenticeship there while you're gettin' the Osprey fixed.”

You gasp in shock. “That would be great, thank you.”

“Aye, don't worry ‘bout it, she's always yappin’ ‘bout young people havin’ no respect for science.” He waves it away, and you can't help but smile until you see the raw fish on your plate.

The sound of utensils scraping against porcelain echoes around the room. James munches on the fish, clearly loving the sauce that accompanies it. Yuri cuts her fish into smaller bites, while Miles starts off by opening the clams and placing some on Gwen's plate, which she affectionately pats his hand as thanks. Meanwhile Hobie's loving the spread, he has everything on his plate, from crabs to some kind of spiky fruit. He sees you looking at your plate with apprehension, worried at the raw fish on your plate. Back at the island you've always overcooked meat, whether it's fish or bird, in fear of getting sick from eating it raw. You've never been one to be a picky eater, but raw food has always been an exception for you. Without a word, he grabs your empty bowl, placing countless slices of fruit in it, mangoes, kiwis, coconut shreds, and a bundle of grapes.

Sliding the filled bowl over to you, your face lights up, hiding your fond smile towards the younger captain. “Thank you, Hobie.” You whisper to him, hand briefly squeezing his hand under the table before digging into the bowl with a fork.

Thorpe watched the scene in front of him with a subtle smile, a thick brow raised questioningly at Hobie, who just shrugs and the two captains come to an understanding that you're not privy to.

After a brief moment, with your nerves being almost gone but there's still slight fear towards the imposing man in front of you, who's currently helping refill Yuri's glass with rum. You put on a brave face, tamping down your anxiety as you think of your words very carefully before you let it all out at the man before you.

“Captain Thorpe?” You ask, voice surprisingly steady. He gazes at you, dark eyes fully meeting with your own, adding to your trepidation. “I thought that we'd be meeting with the Pirate council.”

“Aye, where the fuck are they?” Hobie adds, rather uncouth compared to your words. You side glance at him, wincing.

“That,” Thorpe scrunches his nose, giving another slice of mango to each of his daughters, who hum a thanks at him. “They were ‘ere yesterday, lad, but you kept sayin’ later so they left me to meet with you.”

You sigh, exhaling out a breath that you didn't know you were holding. Hobie pats your thigh underneath the table, gently reassuring you.

“Right, tell the others that I was jus’ a bit…occupied yesterday.” Hobie gives him his best smile. “We jus’ docked ‘ere after four years, we had shit to do, Thorpe.”

The man tilts his head and gives a ‘fair enough’ expression. “Doesn't mean you had to beat up me men for it.”

“They were annoyin’ the fuck out of me.” Hobie says matter-of-factly, hand wrapping around his glass filled with rum.

“Xavier is fuckin' annoyin’ I'll give you that.” Thorpe clinks his glass with Hobie's before taking a generous gulp of the amber liquid. It doesn't seem to affect him very much, as if he's simply drinking water. “What's your excuse?” He flicks his eyes over to you and you act like you didn't freeze in place.

“M–Mine?”

“Aye, why'd you have to aim at him? He's bloody annoyin’ but that doesn't warrant a bullet to the poor lad’s head.” Everyone turns to you at the new information revealed to them, all except Hobie and Thorpe's children. Gwen looks at you with a wince, while Yuri and James subtly give you a thumbs up from where they sit.

“I—” you try to make up an excuse on the spot but you're blanking out in front of the imposing man. “I don't have an excuse, Captain Heinrick. After Mathias…” your eyes gloss over briefly. “I sensed danger, I just wanted to protect my captain and myself before the tides turn for the worse.”

To your and everyone's surprise, he nods, accepting your words. “Honesty is a good attribute to have for a crew member. Mathias was the worst of the worst, ‘m jus' glad he's not out there huntin’ me people on that wretched ship. You lot did us a favour for killin’ the son of a bitch. All offence to his mother, she’s not a lovely lady to begin with.”

“Is that why we're here?” Gwen finally speaks up, confidence laced in her tone. “Because of what happened?”

“No, this feast is exactly for that though.” He rips a leg off of a crab. “I called you lot ‘ere for a different reason. And I apologize in advance for the shit ‘m ‘bout to hand to you.”

Hobie shuts his eyes, inhaling as if he already knows what the older captain is saying. “It's a ticket ain't it? None of my crew asked for one so we're ‘ere to fulfill it for someone else.”

“Aye, ‘m sorry, Captain Brown. The council already chose you for the job.” The man seems genuine, while you're utterly confused by the conversation. And Hobie looks like he was just sentenced to hard labour for the rest of his life.

“A what?” Your question has everyone staring at you. “I'm sorry, I'm just confused on what a ticket is. Is that a sentence you're giving us for what we did to Xavier and your men?”

The doors suddenly burst open, prompting Hobie to instinctively grab you and shield you from the source of the noise.

“What, am I interrupting something?” A woman, probably just a few years older than Jessica, saunters out of the doors while carrying the largest marlin you've ever seen on her back. You're sure it's not a shark she's carrying by how large it is. Her short hair is tied into a small ponytail with white strands weaved around her dark curls. She has various metals hanging around her flowy clothes, and a red velvet eye patch on her right eye. There's a golden band around her ring finger, one that matches Thorpe's. “And we've got guests!”

“My seashell!” Thorpe exclaims, laughing loudly as his eyes shimmer in the dark. Standing up, he meets her halfway, taking the gigantic fish from her and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, right under her eyepatch. “Captain Brown is ‘ere.”

“Brown?” Her eye narrows, “I thought— oh this Captain Brown! Hello, dear, fancy seeing you back after what I heard you being in the gallows.”

“You know me, Olga, nothin’ can kill me.” Hobie says with a smile.

Olga walks closer, she smells of the sea and salt. “I can see that! And the little trio aren't so little anymore, huh?” She pats Pavitr's and Miles’ head while she bumps her fist with Gwen’s. “Oh, Yuri and James! It's good to see you all well, especially all the news that drifted our way.”

“Aye, fucked up news.” Thorpe says while dropping the fish on the table where he carved the previous one on. “Nevermind that, the bloodsails are a resilient lot, ain't they?” He then turns back around, pulling out his chair for his wife to sit on.

“They are, and judging by the big fucker in the docks, you got off well considering everything else.” Sitting down, she greets her daughters with a soft smile, hand clasping their shoulders. Then her eye falls on you, softness fading. “The Hazelside duchess,” she exhales out. “I never thought that we'd have former nobility here but here we are. Good on you for saving our Hobart, and not a lot of us can say that we snuffed out the king's flame himself.”

“It wasn't exactly a cake walk. It's good to meet you, Olga.” You try your best to give her your best smile but the mention of Mathias has you on edge. “And calling me duchess isn't necessary.” The woman nods with a faint smile.

“Right,” Hobie finishes his meal and chugs the remainder of his drink. His glass thunks against the fine oak, and he stares at the couple in front of him with a storm brewing inside. “You two are butterin’ us up like a lobster, what do we need to do so we can get it over with?”

“Well, hold on now, Brown.” Olga says while her husband fills her plate with an abundance of fish and clams. “When I was coming in, I heard she doesn't know what we're talking about, we have to inform her so she knows what she's signing up for.”

Thorpe hands Olga her plate before placing a quick kiss on the crown of her head and positioning himself right behind her chair. A hand right on her shoulder. “She's right, she needs to know.”

A beat passes, forks scraping along plates, glasses thumping down on the table and yet no one explains it to you.

Gayatri clears her throat loudly to get everyone's attention. “If no one's going to tell her, I will.” Pavitr looks like he's all ears. “Every pirate has a ticket, it's a request that the council of pirates will try to grant to any pirate that asks for it, under any circumstance, whether it be simple or not, they have to grant it at all costs. Only one per Pirate, and they need to have at least three years of being at sea to be eligible. Or have a big enough reputation to gain one, like finding a huge treasure trove or taking down an admiral for example.” Her eyes glance over to Hobie and Gwen.

“Or the king's flame.” Pavitr adds, eyes never straying too far from Gayatri.

Her eyes flicks over to Pav briefly before continuing. “Every ship has a different code, but everyone adheres to the ticket code. Whether they're a captain or a simple boat hand. If you swore on the code and are eligible, you have a single ticket to use in one lifetime. No more, no less.”

“Thank you, Gaya.” Olga whispers softly to her, patting her shoulder, and Gayatri shrugs with a smile.

“So in this case, we're the one granting it?” You ask, swallowing thickly. Glancing at Hobie, you find him staring at his empty plate with equally empty eyes.

“Yes, I told you she's smart.” Olga elbows her husband. “In exchange, of course you'll get paid for your work. On top of that, the council decided to waive off any ship renovations expenses you'll have here on the island.”

The crew gasps out, eyes shining at the prospect of having everything for free and of course the coin they'll get. Except for Hobie, whose eyes teeters from confusion to worry.

“You won't be alone on the journey. The sons of the sea will accompany you.” Olga says against the mouth of her cup. “They're already on the way, you just have to meet them near the port of Italy.”

“The sons of the sea?” Miles asks, eyes wide while you and the rest are filled with hope. “Karl and Robbie are alright?”

“Aye.” Thorpe says, grinning back at them. “Their situation was almost the same as yours. Numbers dwindled, with no ship and whatever's left of their crew were injured or missin’ a limb. But they're back on their sea legs now, we got ‘em a ship and found ‘em a reliable crew. All that's left is the bloodsail pirates to join ‘em.”

“This ticket's fucked innit?” Hobie finally speaks up, grey eyes daring the older pirates to quip back. “If you're offerin’ this much then that means there's a chance we're not comin’ back in one piece.”

Thorpe eyes him back, daring him. “Yours was fucked too, Brown. You asked for a fleet—”

“And you got me two ships with barely any workin’ cannons—”

“And yet they helped you take down Admiral Kinney.”

“He wasn't the target.”

“Mathias felt it though, got him hidin’ in the new world after you took a chunk out of the admiral's neck.” Thorpe doesn't back down. “We granted your ticket, and it's your turn to grant someone else's. It's not our fault the tides didn't favour you that day, Brown.”

“You know the rules, Hobie. Those codes are what's holding us up, keeping us afloat when the world’s changing.” Olga adds, the tension is thick enough to cut with a cutlass. “If you refuse— keelhauling. For you and your crew. No exceptions.”

Hobie meets with your eyes, already apologizing for what he's about to put you and the crew through. The waves are raging inside him, conflicted to disobey the rules but if he stands up against it, it'll end in everyone's death. He can't even picture you with your hands bound, hanging from the rigging and plunging into the waters until your skin is shredded and ripped apart by the very ship you call home. Then he turns to his crew, his measly crew— his family, he can't lose what he has left just because he doesn't want to obey his oath. An oath he took back when he was barely his quartermaster's age.

Cupping his hand with both of yours, hiding the affectionate action that could be read as weakness— you grip tightly, wordlessly telling him that you'll be there every step of the way whether he decides to defy them or agree to their terms. If he fights, you'll fight. You're already set on taking the knife in front of you.

Flicking his stormy greys at his captain, Hobie steadies himself, showing him that he won't falter. “What do we need to do?”

“Go east. Beyond the sea of night and onto the land of the rising sun.” Thorpe's jaw relaxes, and Olga exhales, continuing. “Head to the islands of Japan, where a man waits for you on their shores.”

“Who is he and why is he there all alone?”

“His crew mutinied against him.” Olga opens her palms to her husband and he places a map in her hand. Unfurling the map, the details are impeccable, every piece of land and obstacle in the sea are written and drawn on it. “Dropped him here.” She points at one of the islands on the map. “He managed to get a message out to us, that was a month ago now. But with him being far away, we don't know if he's even alive. That's why we're sending you and Captain Anarchy, in case there will be a fight or it'll all be for naught. At least you'll have company during the voyage. Whether you get him home or not you'll be paid.”

“As for who he is.” Thorpe answers for his wife. “We call him the Immortal. He's the former captain of the Blight.”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Hobie's demeanour sours with every word they utter.

“He was before your time, lad. And he's been out sailin’ on that part of the world for a decade and a half now.” Thorpe rolls the map and hands it to Hobie. It feels heavy in his hand.

“Why is he called ‘the Immortal?’” You ask, trying to get every information you can before they send you and your family halfway across the world.

“He survived keelhauling twice and managed to escape with his life.”

“That's impossible—” Gwen says in disbelief.

“Take it from me who has been keelhauled once, it is, but this wanker is resilient.” Thorpe answers her, taking a drink to wash it all down.

“So, Captain Brown, what’s your verdict?” Olga asks, index tapping on her glass while everyone on the table looks at him.

Hobie takes one look at you and his crew, they all nod subtly at him while you mirror their actions. Wordlessly telling him that you're all with him till the end, no matter what he chooses. His head swirls with hundreds of what if’s, plans to get out of the summon, which weapon to take down who, and how to keep you and his family alive throughout the escape to the docks. It all ends the same— death. Only one doesn't end that way, and it's to grant it.

“I'll do it, if you pay for our supplies too and double our pay if we get the Immortal home.” Hobie doesn't yield, a picture of a proper captain. “And I want insurance for every crew member I have. If I die…” your breath staggers at the thought. “I want them taken care of, if they get injured or killed while on the journey, their family or next of kin will have reparations.” He lifts his chin at them, grey eyes darkened by the lack of light in the room as the clouds above block the sunlight through the gaps in the roof. “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

—

The ride back to the ship was uneasy, air weighing heavy around everyone as they clambered up the gangway to the ship. Lyla ignores Yuri at first, but after a simple look from her, Lyla relents and tugs her into a corner of the ship. George tries to ask his daughter what happened, but Gwen just waves him off, telling him that she's too tired and will tell him later in favour of Miles' company up in the crow's nest.

The foreboding journey weighs heavy on everyone's mind.

The crew finds their own little corner in the ship, just letting their thoughts wander around while their hands are busy with the usual work around the ship. James mops the whole deck without complaints, And Pavitr polishes the cannonballs as if they needed to be polished. Once again the bloodsail pirates have been denied of sailing the open seas freely, without the shackles of revenge to hold them down this time, but with an obligation that could end in their demise either way they choose. Thorpe didn't give them much choice in the matter, there might be no crown that rules here or law that's kept in place. But the code reigns here, crime and punishment is still adhered to what you thought was a free city, a paradise for the lost and a chance for outcasts to live in whichever way they choose.

This place feels different to you now than when you first gazed at it in awe.

Before Hobie could tug you away and into his arms, you slinked away towards your cabin to see to your cousins. To be left with your heavy thoughts. Collette is doing much better, already smiling at you as she eats an entire bowl of porridge by herself. She's still weak in the knees, hands trembling as she holds the spoon, remnants of all the hard labour they were put through. John sighs in relief when he sees you. He hands you your satchel that still has the presents you haven't given away, and he gives you a reassuring smile when he notices the happy façade you've put up.

You should be happy, in other circumstances you would be with the pay they're offering. But with how Hobie reacted to the news, brows pinched together, breath staggering as he heard of sailing on a set destination to what could be an ocean filled with unsung danger— you're filled with dread. If he's that worried, you should be terrified.

As you hear Hobie's commands above deck while you brush all the knots in Collette's hair, he gives the crew their jobs to prepare for the voyage ahead. You didn't hear your name called once.

Supper has come and gone, but no one's in the mood to eat together so you just left the pot of soup in the galley and grabbed three bowls before heading back to John and Collette.

After eating and tucking in Collette, you hastily put spare clothes in a sack before leaving the sleeping twins in your cabin. You had a small glimpse of the tattered wedding gown inside your wardrobe, deciding to sell it and finally rid of that memory. And of him.

Shutting the door closed quietly, you see yourself in the polished bronze door knob, expression weary. You don't recognize yourself anymore, all that worry and hurt hasn't been kind to you. With a deep exhale, you head towards the captain's quarters, only to find him sitting on his desk with a dim oil lamp lighting his tired features as he reads the map Thorpe gave him. He looks lost, conflicted about his decision.

Just like the rest of the crew, his former captain didn't give him any choice. For their sake and yours, he'd do what the council asked for him to do. The faster he gets the ship sailing, the faster he can accomplish his mission and the quicker he can show you the world. He wishes that he could do that already, to keep his promise to you before retiring with you in some secluded lighthouse near the sea where he can always wake up to your face and voice. But if he decides to run away from the island now, they'd capture him and his crew. The cavalry standing guard outside is the testament to that. They'd sooner set fire to the ship with all of you in it than let him go. Not even his history with Thorpe and Clayton could save his soul.

“Hobie.” You call for him, and he immediately feels lighter, like a fish bone stuck in his throat has been coughed away and finally giving him space to breathe better.

“I’ve been lookin' for you.” The sack over your shoulders falls on the floor, and he glances at it as he stands from his chair. “You still want to stay ‘ere with me?” This isn't the same captain who stood up to Thorpe when everyone else was frozen. This is Hobie at his softest, already borrowing grief from the future as he gazes at you with those hurricane eyes you love so much.

“Of course,” you say gently, worn down shoes crossing the small distance towards him. The floor's cold, you're magnetized to his warmth like a moth to a flame. “Why wouldn't I? You already made space for me.”

Hobie cracks a smile, silver piercing shining as he sighs. “Aye, I did. You've always had a space ‘ere ever since we stole this ship.” He goes around the table, settling himself in front of it as he opens his arms for you.

You stare at the space meant for you and wonder if he'll always greet you like this. That he'd love you like this even after years of being together.

“Hobie, I–I need to tell you something. There's a reason why I didn't move in before.”

You practically berated him before when he didn't tell you the truth about Thorpe, advising him that he should tell you that kind of information so you could make better decisions. But in truth, you're afraid. Afraid that he's withholding all those memories inside of him because he still doesn't fully trust you, that he's not sure about you staying, that your blood is keeping him at bay. And that once the waves settles, he would realize that he only loved you because of the circumstances, because you were in close proximity to him. That he still loves MJ like he loves the sea. Even with those thoughts and insecurities, you let it all out because you want to let him in, to let him know that you love him not for the circumstances that you two were stuck in, but because you love him for who he is despite all the blood and raging storms.

“I don't want us to stay stagnant, my mind was thinking that if I move in with you that'll be the end of our relationship. That there's nothing else after this because I want more than this. I'm not talking about marriage or having children already but— I think… I just don't want you to get bored of me.” You take a deep inhale, vision painting him in watercolour lights as you gaze at him with unshed tears. “Because you're you and I'm just… me.”

“Is this your way of sayin' you're leavin’ the crew?” He doesn't meet your eyes, gaze settling on a framed picture on the table.

“No,” you immediately say, taking a step closer. “No.” Shaking your head, you step forward. “I think, I just want reassurance.” That you'll still love me after this.

A beat passes, the ship rocks in the shallow water, the sounds outside continue to echo past. But he stands there, staring at his feet. You patiently wait for him to speak, heart beating loudly in your ears.

“Y’know, I jus’ realized somethin’ all this talk ‘bout sailin' the seven seas together, takin’ on adventure. But I've never once asked what you wanted to do.” Hobie looks up, meeting with your eyes as he fidgets with something in his pocket. “What do you want to do, love? I saw you light up like the sun when Thorpe mentioned the apprenticeship.” He smiles fondly at you, genuinely urging you to do what you dreamed of. “I wouldn't hold you back from your dreams, if you want to stay on the island you can. Anyone who says you can't will be met with the end of my gun.”

A sob escapes from your lips, and before he could hold you, you crash your body with his, hugging him against the table. As you cry on his chest, he embraces you like he always has, gentle and tender like this will be the last one he'll ever get.

“There's nothin’ wrong with jus’ bein’ you.” Hobie whispers against the top of your head, eyes closing as he kisses you. “You're the woman who managed to take down Mathias Bradshaw, and lit a fire under the people just by savin’ my ass. You saved my crew by being a fuckin’ good doctor, survived everythin’ that was thrown at you. And you're the woman I love, I'd bear the ragin’ waves jus’ to get home to you. I'll never get tired of you.” Inhaling, he rubs your back. And you relax at his reassurance. “I understand that it's terrifying where we're goin’. If you want to stay, I won't hold it against you. I'd be bloody proud of you if you do.”

Craning your neck to look at him, you trail your thumb across the scruff on his chin. “Will you still be proud of me if I want to stay with you? I can't bear the thought of leaving you while you sail away.” Choking on a sob, you try to act brave. “I'll take lessons while we're fixing the ship so I can be better for the crew and for you. If I die while we're out there, it's on me.” His breath hitches at the thought. “This isn't my way of saying I want to leave. This is my way of saying I want to stay.” You pat his cheek for emphasis. “And be a better doctor for you.”

“You should've started with that, scuttlebutt.” That earns a light chuckle from you. Hobie nudges his nose with yours, breathing you in as he lets out a sigh, breath fanning against your wet lashes. “And ‘m always proud of you for puttin’ up with us.”

“Thank you, with everything happening, it just came vomiting out of me. I'm sorry.” You tug at his collar anxiously. And he answers with a peck on the tip of your nose. Giggling as he peppers kisses on your face, his whole body relaxes in your hold. Noticing the framed picture on his desk, you immediately recognize it as one of Miles' drawings of you, where you're smiling fondly, the same one he said where you're staring at Hobie all those months ago. Gasping, you turn it closer to look at it better. “When did you put this here?”

“Yesterday.” He takes something from his pocket but you don't notice it as you affectionately look at him. “You like it?”

“I love it, I can't believe you still want to stare at my face even though you see me everyday.”

Hobie bites his lower lip, chuckling lightly. “‘m not talkin’ ‘bout that but ‘m glad you're chuffed.”

Your brows furrow. “Then what're you talking about?” Something shiny and small in between his index and thumb catches your eyes. “What's— Hobie!” Gasping, you can't help the grin spreading across your cheeks as you hold his wrist.

“I was goin' to give this to you before we set sail.” He mirrors your grin, albeit more nervous than yours while his other hand grips your waist for balance. “I had a plan and everythin’ but with what jus’ happened… I figured I won't hold it off any longer.” Saying your name breathlessly, he takes your palm and places the silver ring on it, waiting for you to wear it yourself. “I love you despite the circumstances.”

Happy tears slide down your cheeks as you chuckle in surprise. The ring is simple, shiny and newly polished, etched with a wave heading towards a flying sparrow that's identical to the one on your mother's necklace that you always wear. It's as if they're slowly joining together in the middle, a marriage between the sky and the sea. A promise. In the bird's eye is a tiny black pearl, carefully placed in the socket like it's looking back at you. As you gaze back at Hobie, the black pearl on his clavicle mirrors the one in the ring.

“Hobie, I—”

“Is it shit? I designed it myself but I told the blacksmith—” You shut him up with a kiss, pushing him onto the table with your knee as he stumbles back against the oak with a creak. His hands rests on your hips, kissing in tandem with you fervently and desperately. When you lean away, he's breathing heavily like he just climbed up the crow's nest. “Fuckin' hell.”

Before he could catch his breath, you push him further onto the table, kissing him again. Papers, books and quills get knocked off the table as he grabs the back of your knees, lifts and places you on his lap. The wood creaks again, but he doesn't pay it any heed.

With one final kiss, giggling into his kiss bitten lips you look down at the impeccably made ring. Running your finger around the ring, you feel for the indents inside, where an inscription reads, ‘I’ve got you, scuttlebutt.’ As if that didn't take your breath away, right next to the loving words, he followed your parents’ tradition of inscribing yours and his initials together. For luck. Heart squeezing in your chest, you finally put it on your ring finger, the simple act has Hobie grinning from ear to ear as if he just found buried treasure.

“It’s beautiful, Hobie.” Patting his cheek, he leans against your touch, squeezing your hand that's in between his shoulder and cheek, feeling the cold ring around your finger. “It's perfect.”

“It better be, the blacksmith swindled me for it, I think. I rushed it, I don't fuckin’ know why but I did.” Taking your hand, he admires how the ring fits perfectly, how it looks like it's always meant to be on your finger. “‘m happy that I did, it's perfect for you, love.”

“I’ve got an idea why.” Hobie chortles, brushing away your happy tears with his thumb. “I love you too.” Chuckling, eyes glowing, you peck his lips once again. And he hums against the kiss, chasing your lips as you lean away. “You—” you're breathless. “—you actually beat me to it, if it weren't for Xavier I would have it by now.”

“Yeah?” He asks giddily, grey eyes lighter than ever as he looks at you through his lashes. “Think yours will be better?”

Shrugging, you make a playful face. “Maybe, did you actually design this?” Showing off your hand, you two admire it in the light, cheeks pressed together as he holds you.

“Yeah, did you think I don't have a single artistic bone in my body?”

“I've seen your doodles, Hobie.” You joke, he chuckles lightly, heart warm and soft while he squeezes your hip.

Moving away, he gazes at you, nodding. As if he's promising something to himself. “We'll get out of this in one piece, I promise you.”

Nodding back, you gently grasp the back of his head, placing your forehead atop his own. “I’ve got you, you got me, captain?”

“I've got you, scuttlebutt. It's you and me.”

[evecolourshock]

I... had a fic idea. You're welcome.

Tron tries to see any of Dyson in the face he's presented with. It's more disconcerting that he can't.

That's Dyson's frame. Dyson's face. Dyson's eyes downcast and fixed on the floor.

But not Dyson.

"You fucked up a perfectly good Monitor, is what you did." The words fall from Tron's mouth unbidden. He doesn't take them back.

Clu puffs up, indignant and offended.

Dyson- there. A glimmer of Dyson in the shell of Tron's SIC.

Tron forces himself to his feet - he shouldn't be standing, not with the gaping wound in his chest and the slash far too close to his neck. If he's not careful, his head could simply... fall off. Tron finds right now he doesn't care.

"You fucked up my SIC. He was perfect the way he was, if injured because I messed up, and you went and ruined him." Tron hisses, jabbing a finger at Clu. "I was working around Flynn so I could get his User here to heal him, and what did you do?" He snarls. "What did you do? You broke him. Who even knows if he can be fixed now."

Clu tries to start talking. Tron flips him off, reaches to gently tug Dyson away from the golden Admin.

"Come on Dyson." Tron coaxes quietly. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I wanted to make sure what I was trying to do would work so I didn't hurt you with false hope."

Tron doesn't act like this when he's on duty or around Flynn, he knows. Always the prim and proper Monitor. But he's not on duty now - may never be again, given his wounds - and Flynn isn't in range. He can afford to let that persona go.

The first step Dyson takes has Tron's core soaring - still Dyson in those mostly dead eyes. It plummets when Clu yanks Dyson back and he disappears from that shell again. Tron hears Dyson's armour creak under Clu's hand - just how much pain must Dyson be in, trapped like that? Caged in his own frame somehow, strangled by something Tron can't identify, pinned with a grip like a vice.

"Give me back my SIC." Tron rumbles, low and sharp. His Admin versus his friend... his only hesitation comes from whether he can kill Clu without hurting Dyson. Tron is very good at killing Admins who've made themselves threats.

Clu is still talking. Tron's long past listening.

His disc drops into his hand again, and he knows what he has to do with it. Tron's a more... direct fighter, most of the time. Shows off in Games, of course, because they're not serious fights. But when doing his job... normally, he's quick, efficient, and takes his enemies out without fancy flourishes.

Ram taught him how to use his disc to pull off impossible shots. Sark proved to him it's possible to remote-guide one's disc, if the first shot doesn't work and it's still flying.

Tron flicks his disc sideways, sensing it sail up and reflect off two walls before curving around on a collision course with Clu.

Clu moves one hand to Dyson's neck. Tron glimpses his friend's fear-

Tron dives for Dyson, pulling his SIC to the ground. His disc jerks downwards sharply, still in flight-

Slams into Clu's dock. Said part's nowhere near as solid as Sark's big head.

Tron covers as much of Dyson as he can, braced for any retaliatory strikes if he failed. "It's okay." He soothes quietly, cushioning Dyson's head and disc. "It's okay. You'll be okay." His disc clatters to the floor... somewhere. Close, but nowhere he can grab it.

Dyson's eyes flicker, trying to reboot - Clu must be destroyed, then, like the MCP before him. He's seeking an authority, someone to lead him and the Grid, and needs to reboot so he can set a new one. It's... not a good sign he's struggling to.

"I'm here." Tron offers, pushing some of his flagging energy into Dyson's system, trying to help. "I'm here, Dyson. You can reboot, it's okay. I'll keep you safe. Better than I did."

Dyson manages to at least start a reboot, limp and lax under Tron. His circuits almost immediately bleed white again, truncated and re-routed but closer to his own.

Tron pushes himself up carefully, manages to pick Dyson up with only a little bit of pain, and slinks off towards an alcove he can use to protect them both. The rest of the guards are also mid-reboot, Tron has a few precious nanos to get to safety. He kicks his disc up on the way, remote-guiding it back to his dock. Can't leave that behind, defeats the point of getting to safety if the most important part is still vulnerable.

"We'll figure it out." He promises Dyson, letting his consciousness slip away once he's sure no one can get to them. "I promise."

"What do you think, Tron? I made Dyson perfect again."

[goannasun]

Fics Masterlist

Welcome to The Elysian (E, 30k+ - WIP. Human AU, enemies-to-lovers)

Aziraphale is the night-shift receptionist at the once luxurious, now nearly abandoned Elysian Hotel. Crowley is the most arrogant, rude, and unprofessional security guard Aziraphale has ever met. Work is boring and endless—irritating and loathsome—until one frightful night, when Crowley calls Aziraphale to the basement: Walking his rounds, he has stumbled upon something bizarre. Something Aziraphale must see for himself. Posting every Saturday!

ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

Of Buccaneers and Barkeepers (E, 20.1k, Human/Pirate AU)

Crowley is the terrible, terrible Captain of a pirate ship. Aziraphale is the sweet, sweet barkeeper at the local pub.

Of Sails and Flower Beds (E, 13.5k, Human/Pirate AU pt.2)

Crowley is retiring from his terrible, terrible life as the Captain of a pirate ship. Sweet, sweet Aziraphale leaves his pub in good hands, and follows him.

No Food in the Library (E, 16.5k, Human AU)

“Excuse me, sir—You can’t have that in here.” The man who works the front desk at the Buckinghamshire Public Library looks like sin waiting to happen.

Stagger My Heart (E, 21k, Mythology AU)

Curiosity tingled under Crowley’s skin, and still he did not move, not even when the strange man untucked a corner of his tunic and allowed the whole garment to float down to the ground. There were stories told among Crowley’s people, of forest nymphs and goddesses, dryads and satyrs, guardians of the wilderness, for as long as Crowley could remember. The stories were often vague and inconsistent, not necessarily inspiring any truth to be found in them, but what Crowley saw before him then confirmed at least one thing: if they did exist, they must be as beautiful as this.

The POA Doesn't Own My C*ck (E, 2k, PWP, Human AU, Prison AU)

“Your hand on my c*ck? It’s more than alright.” Aziraphale chuckles, tries to smother it against the tender skin behind Crowley’s ear. “I don’t believe the POA would agree,” he whispers, sarcasm tinting his tone. The POA stands for Prison Officers’ Association. Crowley knows because Aziraphale keeps bringing it up. "Well. The POA doesn’t own my c*ck."

CANON - G + T RATINGS.

God Blessed the Seventh Day (T, 3.6k, Human AU, meet-cute)

Aziraphale eats at the same diner every Sunday morning—he orders the same breakfast, he sits on the same stool, and, well—it just so happens that the same tall, attractive, mysterious stranger always takes a seat right there next to him. But they don’t talk. Aziraphale doesn’t talk to strangers. That is, until he does.

When Home is Not A Place (G, 1.6k, Fluff)

They’re in the bookshop laughing about orangutans, of all things, giggling over glasses of wine, and Aziraphale is rattling his brain trying to understand why he feels a warmth under his skin beyond what he knows the alcohol can give him. Crowley’s face is stuck in this wide, open-mouthed smile, perky wrinkled cheeks and two straight rows of white teeth, and Aziraphale thinks he just might rebel against all of Heaven, if only he can always feel like this.

The Art of Being Nonchalant—Or, How to Impress Your Supreme Archangel Ex-Boyfriend (G, 3.6k, fix-it)

Aziraphale chose Heaven. Crowley didn't choose Hell, but Hell chose to stick to him, much like a nasty old gum on the sole of his shoe. It's therefore perfectly natural that Crowley should get dragged to a meeting between the Holy leaders of Heaven and the terrible, rotten forces of Hell. What's less natural is trying to act casual when the love of your life—who has betrayed you, and broken your heart, before going no-contact with you for months—is standing a mere couple of feet away from you. And looking absolutely angelic, too, the bastard.

CANON - E RATINGS

All Dolled Up (E, 4.4k, Complete. PWP)

It starts with a proposition to try some lingerie in the bedroom. It ends with Crowley dragging his pretty c*nt up and down Aziraphale's tongue.

Your Lot, My Lot (E, 5k, PWP)

Aziraphale often has to play with the negatives like this—string them together and cancel them out in order to say what he means to say, speak his heart between the lines and keep plausible deniability within reach. It’s tenuous work after a while, a whole new language to make sense of, but he manages. No, I’m not too inconvenienced means I would do anything for you. We’re on opposite sides means I can’t believe I get to share these precious moments with you. And you’re not awful company means I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or with anyone.  But he’s not too sure it translates to Crowley. 

Make It Twelve (E, 9.8k, PWP)

“How long do you think you could last without having an orgasm?” Crowley, who had been peacefully enjoying his coffee, splayed out on Aziraphale’s couch for the first few hours of the morning, suddenly sat up straight and spat the contents out of his mouth in a dramatic burst. “What?!”

A Soprano! How Scandalous! (E, 5.1k, PWP, Ineffable Wives)

“Crowley, you must enlighten me. It’s quite the talk—apparently, the premiere in Rome was disastrous,” Aziraphale pauses as she finds her place next to Crowley. They have a private box in the corner of the highest floor of the King’s Theatre, one that Aziraphale generously pays to keep available throughout the whole season. “Your side’s doing, I presume?”  Crowley should be hurrying to deny such accusations, but instead she finds herself struck by a thought – truly a flimsy gust of a thought, but a thought nonetheless: Aziraphale’s corset is doing wonders for her bust.

All Skin and Muscle and Red Lace (E, 6.8k, PWP)

Crowley had just walked a runway stage wearing lingerie—high-end, fancy, delicate lingerie—and Aziraphale’s brain had been reduced to a puddle of goo.

An Angel, a Vibrator, and a Demon of the Serpent Kind (E, 3.9k, PWP)

Here’s a fun fact about snakes: they can hear vibrations more than anything else.

Vice Versa (E, 5.9k, PWP)

Crowley snapped his tongue on the roof of his mouth, and he laughed again. He had to admit, Aziraphale could always find creative solutions to his problems. The joke was on him, though; Crowley couldn’t have given any less fucks about stripping down to his underwear.

From the Mouth of an Angel (E, 1.5k, PWP)

His lips part open in a gasp from the sheer bliss of it, and a rough, long moan is torn from deep inside his guts; Aziraphale pushes his hips up once, and just like that Crowley’s gone.

A Time and a Place (E, 6.2k, PWP)

The facts. Crowley is a demon, and he loves Aziraphale, and he gets horny sometimes.

Just a Tingle, Maybe a Little Burst (E, 3.4k, S*x Pollen)

“Crowley, please. Hurry. I’m—” he got cut off by his own distressed moan. He barely even recognized his own voice. “What the fuck was in that vial?”

Sins in a Bottle (E, 5.3k, S*x Pollen pt.2)

The incident with Crowley’s vial was one of those times when Aziraphale had allowed curiosity to take the reins, as it were. He didn’t regret it, not exactly, but he did get annoyed that the whole thing seemed to have sparked a fire within him that he could not manage to extinguish. A curiosity that nagged at him, more persistent than the desire to take a bite out of an ox rib, or even the impulse to turn to the last page of a book, and glance at its final line.

The Best Ones are Harmless in the End (E, 7.9k, Crack-ish)

Still, for the first time in his existence, Crowley had been naïve, thinking he could pull a prank on Aziraphale and not have it evolve into a full-blown war.

a running tear, a drop of sweat (E, 2.9k, PWP)

It’s a silk bed sheet. It’s black, shiny even in the faint glow of the dimly lit room, and it holds only the echo of warmth. It’s a silk bed sheet and it’s nothing like skin. It doesn’t breathe; it suffocates. It stretches out across seventy-six inches of Crowley’s mattress. Taut. And it’s soft, soft in a way that feels almost like touch escapes it. Like fingertips can barely register it exists. It’s soft, yes, but somehow, it’s even softer when Crowley starts grinding down into it.

A Bottle of Wine, a Book, and a Shy Smile (E, 5.2k, PWP)

It's a less-than-quiet day in Soho; a festival is disturbing Whickber Street. Hoping to find some peace and a comfortable place to sit down and read, Aziraphale shows up at Crowley's door. But peace and comfort is not exactly what Aziraphale finds. What he finds is, arguably, even better than that.

Holding You Closer Than Most (E, 3.5k, PWP)

“Well, perhaps I was, for a very brief moment…” Aziraphale stared intensely at his drink. “Distracted.” Crowley’s smirk twisted itself into a full-blown grin. Bingo. There was no doubt about it now: this was definitely, deliciously new. (And it was mind-boggling to think that, even after six thousand years, they still found ways to surprise each other).

Blur the Edges (E, 3.7k, PWP)

No matter what Aziraphale just said, it is against all expectations that Crowley is still… here.

[artificial-absinthe]

Crazy, how you ask for understanding and end up being slightly vilified by the entitled ppl who are too lazy to litteraly tag a post...

Btw great point with ooc tag. I'd also love it. I'm just scared of rebloging your post as it seems whenever you want personalization, you may be seen as queer fobic and the worst evil, while it's just a preference to see the canon. Like litteraly ppl don't get that if they'd start making Megatron in green colours just because they like it, the ooc tag would be nice too.

But of course it's a gender thing so ppl will get offended... and I'm saying this, being in favour of your post, and being fuken queer... It's just sad, cause it's always going to the "oh consider xyz because we feel offended" while the op requesting this may be the nicest ally or queer themselves. But because their bubble is touched, they can't understand that they pierce your bubble as well, in the end turning into the conservative thinking of "I'd not tag my post, cause my idea is more important, or it makes me happy, so fuck you I'm free citizen, and allowed to do what I want"... and then they try to say, they are the opened, inclusive ones... while their thinking is litteraly the same as those, they oppose. It's just funny to me... how ppl just can't take a simple, kind request... they need to go balistic on both sides over it, as I'm also disapointed with those who just ran to harras the person... they are also guilty of asshole type of thinking... It's just sad how even in seemingly progressive place, there are still so many "conservative thinking" assholes...

Eh sorry for the long ramble. Just wanted to tell you, that you're not alone with this thinking. Just wanted to let u know, even that I know you'd say you don't care if someone agrees or not. But still, thank u for this post. Maybe it will change something for the better despite countless idiots who can't take a request like a civilised human beings...

No need to apologize at all. You absolutely understand it all and make very accurate and relevant points, and I totally agree with you.

I didn't even knew that this was still going. I figured some people had, though begrudgingly, accepted to use a tag, and some others would flood the Megatron tag with their occ content without a tag to filter out of spite (exactly with the mindset that you described), because people speaking ill of me doesn't even come to tell me directly, perhaps because they know I genuinely won't be affected by their hate and misplaced adjectives, and so I only know of this when someone else tells me.

On the other hand, while I do not crave for understanding, it's very nice that the people who agree with me voice it, because this request and pointing out is not only for me, but also for everyone else who is tired of the OCC thing flooding the content about a character.

Indeed, you are not the only one who has said this to me, and even before I made that request I had held conversations about how people was tired of it, but also feared voicing it because they, like yourself, were wary about getting the "queerfobic" hate. Which is no more than a shield that people abuse of whenever someone disagrees with their headcanons or anything else. That way they make themselves to be "on the right" and rally sympathizers to share their grudge with and attack the ones disagreeing with them. Which is a very unbecoming thing to do, and I wish they just acknowledged the reasons for what they are. (In this case, not everyone likes mischaracterization/Occ content. Period)

Thus, I decided to be the one to voice it, but it would be good that all the anons and people agreeing with me in private would do it publicly, without being haters themselves as some had been (which was counterproductive, actually), because that way it could be taken seriously and only for what it is... Perhaps... hopefully.

Of course I'm not saying that I don't appreciate that you say it also like this, since I understand that not everyone can be as cold as myself.

[itmightrain]

The thing about gay sailors in the Victorian era is that England and America had totally different takes on it. In the british navy they could, and did, literally kill men for having consensual relationships with other men. But in the US navy, even tho John Adams literally copied England's naval regulations when making America's version, he chose to leave out every proscription against sodomy. And no one knows why!!! England was like hmm yes the death penalty and America was like i dont really see how thats my business. And like gay American sailors could still be charged with things like "uncleanliness" or "indecency" (charges that were vague enough to cover a lot of different things) but bc it wasnt specifically forbidden in the regulations "the commanding officers [were given] wide discretion to prosecute, punish, or ignore."*

And by and large US officers seem to have ignored it. We literally have the records of every flogging (the most extreme form of punishment allowed during these specific years) onboard a naval vessel for the years of 1846-1848 and almost all of the cases that involved homosexual activity "unambiguously refer to male/male homosexual activity involving attempted assaults on children, not consensual couplings between adults."* There are also multiple recorded instances throughout the Victorian Era of an American sailor coming forward with a charge of sexual assault and pulling in other sailors or even officers as witnesses who tell their captain yeah i totally saw them and didn't say anything until this sailor told me it was nonconsensual. There are even records recorded by naval recruitment officers of men with extremely explicit gay tattoos being allowed to join the navy. Why did the US navy not care enough to even include it in the regulations while the British navy literally hanged men for it??? Were we so hard up for sailors that John Adams was like bitch we need every gay sailor we can get????

And weirdly enough this was true on American Whaling ships too! In the recorded cases where homosexual activity led to sailors being disciplined (in some cases punishment so mild as just being dropped off their ship at the next port) it was usually in situations where rape was involved and/or there was a high degree of ship disruption related to it (guys getting into a public knife fight for example). Idk I just think thats so interesting especially when America and England were so similar to be so different in this particular area is fascinating

*quotes from Unruly Desires: American Sailors and Homosexualities in the Age of Sail by William Benemann

[number1greekhater]

The would-be murderer of a centurion kept his eyes on her. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction. Good gods, he simply wanted her to get out already so he could continue doing his job. His job, that he's had ever since he can remember. His job, which makes a real difference, or at least he'd like to think it does.

"You're wrong." He said simply when Claudia said he's lost the blessing. "I still have it. I get visions, messages. Not as often, though shouldn't that be a good thing? The gods have nothing to tell us, shouldn't that mean that it'll be smooth sailing for the camp for a while, hmm? They have no danger to warn us of, shouldn't you be happy about that? The gods still answer my questions given by others. Jupiter himself answered a question that Juno kid gave."

He knew he had minimal power, only a shadow of what respect people once had for him, if any at this point. He was painfully aware that it was all his doing. Had he not been so power hungry, he'd probably be better off now, maybe people would even smile when he walks by. And it cannot be fixed now, he knew that.

He gave a light scoff and took a step back, trying to still control the situation, however stupid it felt. He probably could just tell her to get out, he was higher in rank than she was... why didn't he do that? He had no clue, but he felt the need to defend his position. He always did, the stubborn man he was. He needed her to know who was in control here, even if he didn't feel like he had much of it left. "They don't care, I know that. I've known that for years, you're not telling me anything new. Though that would still stain your honor, wouldn't it? Nobody wants a murderer in power."

He put his hand on the handle of the knife the emperor gave him. He was no pet, he didn't serve Commodus like a dog would a master. No, the man made it obvious that it wasn't how their relationship operated. He told him. He said he was adopting him. Evem if Octavian didn't know why he'd do that, he was sort of an adoptive son to the emperor.

"I serve the senate. I give confirmation whether the gods approve of our decisions or not, give warnings from them. And I do not serve Commodus."

Claudia walked into the augury with a frown. The rumor the Octavian was alive seemed to be true, gods that irked her. He was so...weak. His voice was whiney and pathetic, he could barely fight, and he didn't even use real animals! Gods she hated that the most, just one of the many ways New Rome had fallen from it's former glory.

"I bet," She said, her voice sharp like the spear she wielded, "the Gods would listen if you used real animals. Those stuffed animals are a mockery of what the augur is supposed to do."

The Augur was doing his usual things, just hoping that this time, maybe, he'll get answers. Somehow, someway, he would get them. Gods damnit he will, he just knows it- maybe he hasn't been trying hard enough or something, he didn't know. He just continued doing things as he was, as he always does, stabbing stuffed animals and trying to read anything of the future from their insides.

"Had you been paying attention, you'd have heard by now that I am not opposed to doing so, though clean-up would be one hell of a job. It is not me who made us switch to stuffies, rather the gods having grown tired of blood sacrifices." He answered bluntly, not even sparing the person that came in a look. "Either way, if you've no business with me, I suggest you leave and not waste my time."

[killerplink]

DEVOTION

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Plot: A fight with Jason gets heated—sharp words, stubborn tempers, neither of you backing down. But when the tension snaps, it turns into something else entirely. Something raw, desperate, and messy.

Words: 10k

The apartment door slams behind you both, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet space. Your heels clack against the hardwood as you stalk toward the bedroom, too pissed to even look at him right now. Jason follows, his heavy boots thudding after you, that cocky swagger in every step even though you're very clearly fuming.

"Are you really gonna be mad all night?" he asks, tone half lazy, half exasperated.

You whip around so fast your hair flies over your shoulder, finger already pointed at his chest. "Yes! Jason, I swear to God, you're fucking impossible!"

His brows shoot up, that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth. "What'd I do now, doll?"

"What'd you do? Are you serious?" You step closer, eyes flashing, and jab a finger into his chest. "You almost started a fight at the restaurant! Over nothing! Just—someone bumped into me, and suddenly you're ready to crack skulls like you're still some street kid with nothing to lose, except you have everything to lose, Jason! I have everything to lose!"

That softens his smirk, just a little. But it doesn't disappear, not entirely. "Baby, I had it under control."

"No, you didn't!" Your voice breaks on the words, frustration and fear tangled up too tight in your chest. "You never have it under control when you get like that. You stop thinking. It's like you don't even care what happens to you."

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You're bein' dramatic."

"Oh, fuck you." You turn away, arms crossed tight, nails digging into your own skin like you can hold yourself together if you just squeeze hard enough. "I'm not being dramatic, Jay. I'm scared. Every time you act like your life doesn't matter, it scares the shit out of me because your life does matter. To me."

That knocks some of the wind out of his cocky sails, but true to form, Jason Todd never backs down that easily. "I can handle myself, baby. I've been in worse fights before you even knew me."

"And maybe that's the problem!" You spin around again, hands flung wide. "You're so used to throwing yourself into danger like you've got a death wish, you don't even think about the people who love you, who have to watch you do it. Who have to fucking wait and hope you come home in one piece."

His jaw clenches, that sharp edge of defensiveness flashing in his eyes. "I came home tonight, didn't I?"

"Barely! If Dick hadn't dragged you out of there—"

"—I would've walked out just fine on my own," he cuts in, voice hard, like he's this close to losing his temper too.

You both stand there, breathing hard, anger seeping through every pore. Your heart is hammering against your ribs, anger and fear and love all tangled into a knot you can't untie. And goddamn him, even now, with his blood still running hot from almost throwing down, with that cocky little glint still in his eye—he looks good. Messy hair, jaw clenched tight, that black shirt stretched over his broad chest, his hands flexing like he still has adrenaline to burn.

You want to shake him. You want to kiss him. You want to scream until your throat hurts.

Jason exhales, slow and heavy, like he's trying to ease some of that heat out of his chest before you both say something you can't take back.

"Baby," he says, quieter now, "I'm fine."

Your throat closes up. "For now."

He takes a step closer, hands sliding to your waist, fingers curling into your dress. "I'm not goin' anywhere, pretty girl."

You shake your head, eyes stinging. "You can't promise that."

Jason sighs as he leans down, forehead tipping against yours. "What do you want me to say, huh? That I'll never lose my temper again? That I'll play nice and walk away every time some asshole gets in my face? That's not who I am."

"I know," you whisper. "But it's who I wish you could be. Just for me."

That hits somewhere deep, somewhere tender he doesn't let many people see. But instead of softening, Jason leans into the heat instead because that's how he knows to handle fear, with fire.

"C'mere," he mutters, dragging you into him, arms wrapping tight around your waist. "You wanna fight with me? Do it right here, baby. Get it out of your system."

You shove at his chest, and he catches your wrist, twisting you into him like a dance, his breath warm against your ear.

"Or," he says low, voice all gravel and heat, "you can find a better way to work out all that attitude."

"Fuck off," you snap, but it's weaker now, your anger unraveling into something messier, hotter.

He chuckles, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "C'mon, pretty girl. You're pissed, I'm pissed, and you're standin' here looking like that." His hands slide down, grabbing your ass hard through your dress. "We both know exactly how this night's gonna end."

Your breath catches, nails curling into his chest again, not pushing this time, just holding on.

"Still mad at me, baby?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He grins against your mouth, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Let me make it up to you."

Your hands land flat on his chest, shoving him back, catching him off guard enough that he stumbles two steps out of the bedroom. And before he can say a damn word, you slam the door right in his stupid, handsome, reckless face. Not locked, just shut, because locking it feels too final, too mean, and you're pissed, but not that pissed.

Jason stares at the door for half a second, then his forehead drops against it with a low thud, and he knocks his head against it once, twice, just hard enough to feel it.

"Fuck."

He didn't mean to ruin the night. He never means to ruin shit when it comes to you. But the moment that asshole's hand brushed against your ass—innocent or not—it flipped a fucking switch in him. And maybe that's fucked up, maybe he's got a million unresolved issues tied to losing everyone he's ever given a shit about, but you?

You're his. His girl, his future, his everything, and seeing someone else's hand anywhere near you sends him spiraling into that ugly, possessive part of himself that only you've ever managed to soften.

And yeah, maybe the guy didn't mean it, maybe it was just a crowded restaurant and accidents happen, but Jason's not the kind of man who plays it cool. Not when it comes to you. Not when he loves you so much it hurts sometimes, sitting right there under his ribs like a bruise he can't stop poking.

He presses his palms to the door, wishing he could just rewind the whole night—go back to you looking so pretty at the restaurant, all smiles and soft touches, letting him steal kisses between courses. You'd been happy. And then he fucked it up. Again.

Inside the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the sheets, trying to hold back the sting in your eyes. You won't cry—you won't—but your throat's tight, and your chest aches, and the night feels like it's unraveling right between your fingers.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. It's Tim's fucking birthday, for God's sake. The restaurant had been beautiful, the food actually good for once, the atmosphere soft and warm with all your friends laughing and talking and teasing each other.

And then some random guy brushed past you on his way to the bathroom, bumping your hip, and Jason went feral. You love that he's protective—God, you do—but Gotham is full of crazy assholes, and you don't want him starting a fight with someone who might pull out a gun and blow his brains out over a misunderstanding.

The thought makes your stomach churn, fear sliding ice cold down your spine, and you have to shake it off before it eats you alive. You stand, fingers reaching behind you to unzip your dress, and it slides off your body in a whisper of fabric, pooling at your feet. And that's when you catch your reflection in the mirror, and yeah, no wonder he couldn't keep his hands off you all night.

The lingerie underneath? It's not the kind you wear every day. This is the good shit—black lace and thin straps, sheer panels teasing the curves of your tits, a matching thong barely covering anything, thin enough to show just how wet you already are.

Because for all the shit he's pulling tonight, Jason's still your hot ass, broad shouldered, cocky as hell boyfriend, and your pussy? She does not hold grudges.

You're still mad. You still wanna shake him until his teeth rattle. But you also want him to fuck you so hard you forget why you were even mad to begin with.

You sigh, tug open the bedroom door, and march straight into the living room, chin high, steps confident even though your knees are still a little weak from all that adrenaline. And, yeah, maybe from how fucking good he made you cum this morning.

Jason's slouched on the couch, head tipped back, hands dragging down his face, and when he hears your footsteps, he looks up, and freezes.

His eyes rake over you, slow and dark, tongue darting out to wet his lips like his mouth's gone dry. "Jesus Christ."

You cross your arms under your tits, pushing them up just a little higher. "What? Cat got your tongue, big guy?"

His gaze flicks from your face to your tits to the sheer lace stretched over your hips, and the way the thin strip of fabric between your legs is already dark with how wet you are.

"You're tryin' to fuckin' kill me," he mutters, half to himself, half to you.

You cock a hip, all attitude, even though your pulse is hammering. "Thought you liked a challenge."

Jason pushes up from the couch, moving slow, shoulders broad and tense, every line of him saying he's holding himself back—barely. "You're still mad at me."

"Furious," you agree.

"And you're standin' there looking like that."

You glance down at yourself, trailing a finger over the top of your bra, down the center of your stomach. "Yeah. What are you gonna do about it?"

He's on you in two steps, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other grabbing a handful of your ass, yanking you flush against him. "Gonna fuck the attitude right outta you, baby."

"Promises, promises."

He kisses you hard enough to steal your breath, hands already roaming, already tugging at the straps of your bra, already ready to tear you apart and put you back together again, but you're faster. You grab two handfuls of his shirt, spinning him around and shoving him back onto the couch. He goes down without a fight, grinning like the cocky bastard he is, because you both know you can't actually budge him unless he lets you.

But fuck, does it turn him on when you try.

Jason sprawls into the cushions, legs spread, hands braced on his thighs like he's daring you to climb on top of him, but instead, you drop to your knees between his legs. His whole body tenses, chest rising slower, breath catching because you—all pissed off, all attitude, all tits spilling out of that black lace bra—are kneeling right there, looking up at him like you're about to ruin his fucking life.

And for once, Jason Todd has nothing to say.

You reach for his belt, slow and deliberate, dragging the leather free of the loops with a sharp tug, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. He's already getting hard, already pressing against the front of his jeans, already so fucking easy for you.

The buckle clinks as you undo it, popping the button next, tugging the zipper down with a sound that seems louder than it should be. And then you pull his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free his dick, and—fuck.

He's so fucking big, already thick and flushed, veins standing out along his length, and a bead of precum clings to the slit, catching the low light. Your pussy throbs on sight alone, clenching around nothing, still sore from the last time he was inside you.

Jason's hand lifts, fingers reaching for the back of your head—because of course he wants to grab your hair, guide your mouth, fuck your throat—but you slap his hand away, sharp and quick.

"No touching."

He freezes like you've just short-circuited every thought in his head. "What?"

"No. Touching." You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, giving him one slow, punishing stroke, twisting your wrist just the way he likes. "You wanna act reckless? You wanna scare the shit outta me? You wanna start fights over shit that doesn't matter? Then you can sit there with your hands to yourself while I handle this."

Jason's jaw clenches, shoulders tight, every muscle in his thighs twitching, but he obeys. Barely. His hands grip the edge of the couch so tight his knuckles go white.

You lean in, licking up the underside of his cock in one slow, wet drag, ending with a kiss to the tip that leaves your lips shiny with precum. "You're such a fucking idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, baby," he rasps, voice already rougher. "I know."

You pump him slow, fingers squeezing just right, thumb swiping through the slick at his tip before you slide down again.

"What if you got yourself shot tonight, huh? What the fuck am I supposed to do if you get yourself killed because you can't stand someone breathing in my direction?"

"Fuck." His head tips back, throat flexing, cock leaking even more into your palm.

"Who's gonna love me the way you do? Who's gonna fuck me if you're dead, Jason?" You squeeze his dick just to see his hips jerk. "Who else knows how to ruin me like you do?"

"Baby—"

"No. Don't talk." You flick your tongue against the tip, barely a taste, before you sit back on your heels, jerking him slow and mean. "You don't get to talk, you reckless, possessive, stupid fucking man."

His abs tighten, hands still white-knuckling the couch, and his cock twitches in your grip, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the side. "You love that I'm possessive."

You glare up at him, lips curling. "I do. But not when it puts you in danger, asshole." You kiss the tip again, softer this time. "Not when it makes me scared I'm gonna lose you."

Jason's breath stutters, and you see it. That crack in his tough guy armor, the one only you ever get to see. But you don't let him soften.

Not yet. Instead, you drag your tongue along the underside of his cock again, pumping him faster, twisting your wrist just right, watching his thighs tense and his hips fight not to thrust up into your mouth.

"Keep your hands there," you murmur, voice all sweet and mean at once. "And maybe—maybe—I'll let you cum down my throat."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ."

His head falls back, a bead of sweat sliding down his neck, and you know you've got him right where you want him.

Jason yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, not even bothering with unbuttoning it, because if you're gonna make him suffer, the least he can do is give you something to look at. And fuck, do you look.

Your hands rest on his thick thighs for a second, gaze dragging over every inked inch of him—the dark ink across his chest, the jagged lines along his ribs, the script down his arms that you've traced with your tongue a hundred times before. He's so fucking hot, all muscle and attitude, sprawled out, dick rock hard in your grip, glistening with spit and precum.

"Enjoyin' the view?"

His voice is pure gravel, but there's a waver in it, like he's already hanging by a thread.

"Shut up."

You lean in, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock again, tracing that thick vein with the tip of your tongue until you reach the head, circling it slowly before you take him into your mouth, lips stretching, jaw aching already, but you don't stop. You never stop.

He's too fucking big, he always is, but you try anyway, sinking lower, feeling the weight of him press against your tongue, the blunt head nudging the back of your throat.

"Greedy little thing," Jason mutters, hands twitching, and you see it. The instinct, the need to grab your hair and fuck your throat until you're crying.

But you slap his thigh sharply. "I said no touching."

"Baby—"

"No."

You sink back down, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him deep until your throat spasms around the fat tip, gagging. Tears prick your eyes, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, but you fucking love it. Love the way his thighs tense, love the way his dick jumps on your tongue, love how fucking desperate he looks.

Jason's chest heaves, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "You're evil."

You hum around him, the vibration making him swear under his breath, and you pull off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his cock before you drag your tongue up the side again.

"Yeah? And what's that make you for loving it?"

"Completely fucked."

You grin, all teeth, and take him back into your mouth, bobbing your head faster, sucking him down until you gag again, drool dripping down your chin, slicking his cock even more. Your thighs press together, your pussy throbbing, panties soaked through. You can feel it, the sticky mess between your legs, the ache in your cunt, the way your body needs him, no matter how mad you are.

Jason groans, deep and low, and you glance up at him through wet lashes, seeing the flush on his chest, the tension in his jaw, the muscles jumping in his stomach. He's so fucking close already, you can tell, and every time he tries to lift a hand, you slap it back down, keeping him helpless beneath you, all that strength and power completely useless unless you let him use it.

"Baby, please." His voice cracks, and it's the hottest fucking thing you've ever heard.

You pull off one more time, stroking him fast and messy, your spit slick hand gliding easily along his length. "Please what?"

"Please lemme touch you."

You shake your head, licking up the underside again, tongue teasing his slit before you suck the head back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks until his hips buck, just once, just enough to choke you again. You swallow hard, tears sliding down your cheeks, and his dick throbs so hard you can feel it on your tongue.

"Be good," you murmur around him, voice muffled and obscene, "and I'll let you cum."

Jason's head falls back, a broken groan ripping from his throat, and you know you've got him. You sink back down, taking him as deep as you can, lips stretched tight around the fat width of his cock, spit and precum slicking your chin as you work him with all the devotion you can muster. What you can't fit—and there's always part of him you can't fit—you stroke with your hand, fingers gliding over the thick base, your palm sticky with drool and his slick.

Your tongue works the head, lapping up every drop of precum he leaks, tasting that salty, addictive tease of what's coming, and you fucking love it. You flick your tongue against his slit, suck gently on the sensitive tip before you sink down again, sucking hard, cheeks hollowed so tight your jaw aches, but you don't fucking care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Jason groans, his voice wrecked, head tipped back against the couch, muscles tight like he's holding himself together with sheer fucking will. "You're perfect, baby. Mouth so goddamn good—fuck, you always know how to suck me just right."

The praise makes your pussy clench hard, heat flooding your belly, and you double down, bobbing your head faster, working him with both your mouth and hand until your throat burns and your jaw trembles. Every time you pull back, you leave a messy trail of spit and precum glistening along his length, but you dive right back in, tongue swirling around the head before you take him deep again.

"Look at you," Jason breathes, his voice low and rough. "So fuckin' pretty like this. My perfect girl. You love this dick, don't you?"

You hum around him, the vibration making his whole body twitch, and he groans so low it vibrates in your chest. You pull back just enough to gasp, "Love it, Jay. Best fucking dick I've ever had."

"Yeah?" His grin is sharp, dangerous. "Then show me, baby. Show me how much you love it."

Challenge fucking accepted. You take him deep again, swallowing around the head, ignoring the gag reflex that flares up as you press lower, working him into your throat until your nose brushes the skin at the base of his cock. You gag again, spit bubbling past your lips, but you don't stop. You fucking love how heavy he feels on your tongue, how thick and hot and perfect he is, filling your mouth like he was made for it.

Jason's fists clench at his sides, his whole body trembling with restraint. "So good for me, baby," he mutters, voice cracking with it. "So fuckin' good. My pretty, filthy fucking girl. Takin' me so deep—fuck, 'm gonna cum, baby. Gonna fill that perfect mouth."

You moan around him, and that's it. His hips jerk, cock swelling, and then he's cumming, thick ropes of cum spilling across your tongue, hot and salty and so much, it makes you whimper as you swallow, throat working hard to take it all.

He always cums a lot, his balls emptying in pulse after pulse, and you keep sucking, milking him through it, letting every drop slide down your throat until your belly feels warm with it. His cock throbs against your tongue, so sensitive it makes his hips twitch every time your tongue flicks over the head, but you don't stop until you know he's completely spent.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice rough and almost shaky. "Gonna kill me one of these days."

You pull back slowly, licking your swollen lips, wiping the mess from your chin with the back of your hand, and grin up at him, all fucked-out satisfaction. Jason pulls you right into his lap, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself.

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh, grinding you down against his cock, still hard and slick with your spit, and you moan when you feel the thick length press up against your soaked lace panties.

"Fuck," Jason mutters, dragging you along his cock again, feeling how drenched you are even through the lace. "That pretty pussy misses me already, huh?"

"Jay," you murmur, voice soft, needy, and when you lean in, he catches your mouth in a kiss—hot, messy, all tongue and teeth, licking into you like he's starving for your taste.

He groans low when he tastes himself on your tongue, dirty and possessive, and you whimper into his mouth, hips moving on their own, grinding down against him, chasing friction.

You break the kiss to breathe, forehead resting against his, and your fingers stroke the hair at the nape of his neck as you whisper, "Do you love me?"

Jason's hands flex on your ass, holding you tighter, and his voice is low, earnest when he says, "You know I do, baby. Love you so fuckin' much."

You lick your lips, eyes dark with want. "Then fuck me like you mean it."

His eyes flash—something feral, something wild, and before you can say anything else, he's moving, standing up with you in his arms like you weigh nothing before he lays you down on the couch, his jeans and boxers kicked off in one rough move. He kneels over you, hands already tugging your bra down until your tits spill out, and he doesn't even bother unclasping it before he's on you.

"Love these tits," he mutters between kisses, licking over one nipple, sucking it into his mouth before letting it go with a wet pop. His tongue flicks over the other, sharp and teasing, before he closes his lips around it, sucking hard until you gasp and arch into him. "So fuckin' pretty, baby. Could spend all day suckin' on these."

You tug at his hair, breathless, moaning when he drags his teeth over your nipple, just the right amount of rough. He leaves a trail of messy hickeys down the curve of your tits, marking you like the possessive asshole he is, and you swear your pussy gets even wetter from it.

He kisses down your stomach, hands already hooking into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just enough to get access to you. "Love this body," he murmurs, licking over the waistband before kissing your hipbone. "Love this pussy. Love you, baby."

You whimper, spreading your legs instinctively, and he groans at the sight of your panties clinging to your soaked folds, the lace darkened with how wet you are. His fingers trace along the edge of the fabric, barely touching you, just enough to make your thighs twitch in frustration.

Then his tongue flicks out, teasing you through the fabric, just the lightest drag of warmth over your clit, and you jolt, hips twitching up, chasing more.

Jason hums, amused, as he pulls back, blowing cool air against the damp spot where his tongue just was. "So fuckin' wet for me already," he mutters, voice wrecked, his breath hot against your cunt.

His fingers slide down, pressing against the soaked lace, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, just enough to make you ache but not enough to satisfy.

Your hips stutter, desperate for more friction, but he doesn't give it to you. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his scruff scratching at your sensitive skin, and then, another flick of his tongue, this time firmer, tracing over your clit through the thin barrier of lace.

"Jay—" Your fingers tighten in his hair, trying to pull him closer, but he only chuckles, the vibrations making you tremble.

"You love this, don't you?" His voice is thick with hunger, fingers still rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clit. "Love bein' all messy for me, panties soaked, beggin' for my mouth..."

He leans in again, dragging his tongue over you, pressing the fabric against your cunt, making it cling to every swollen, aching inch of you. Then his teeth close around the lace, tugging just enough to make you feel it before letting go.

Your thighs tremble, your body desperate for more, but he just keeps playing with you, running his tongue along the slick fabric, soaking it even more, his fingers pressing right against your entrance, but never giving you what you need.

"Jason—" you whimper, pushing up against his mouth, but he only smirks, pressing another teasing, barely-there kiss over your clit.

"Patience, pretty girl," he murmurs, eyes dark, voice rough.

He finally hooks a finger into the crotch of your panties, pulling them aside to bare you to him, and then his mouth is on you. Hot, wet, tongue sliding through your folds before fucking into you, slow and deep, licking you open like he's savoring every drop.

You moan his name, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his big hands grab your thighs and hold you open, spreading you wide like he's got all the time in the world to devour you.

"Keep 'em open, baby," he growls, voice muffled between your thighs. "Wanna see this pussy when I eat you."

He fucks you with his tongue, nose brushing against your clit, and every time you try to roll your hips or squirm away from the intensity, he holds you down and just keeps going, messy and obscene, spit and slick dripping down to the couch beneath you.

Jason groans into your pussy, the sound vibrating against your clit, and he sucks. Soft at first, just enough to make you gasp, before he latches on and really sucks, lips wrapped around that sensitive bundle of nerves, tongue flicking against it, over and over, relentless.

"F-Fuck—Jay—" Your voice is all breathy, wrecked, your fingers pulling at his hair, but it only spurs him on.

He hums again, mouth still latched to your clit, and then drags his tongue down, lapping at your folds, hot and messy and so deep you feel it in your gut. He groans like he's starving for you, like he could live off this alone, tongue pushing inside again, fucking you slow and deep before dragging up to swirl around your clit.

And then he does it again. And again. And again.

His hands squeeze at your thighs, holding you open, keeping you spread, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into your trembling skin, soothing even as his mouth drives you insane.

"You taste so fuckin' good, pretty girl," he rasps against your soaked cunt, his lips slick, his chin glistening with your arousal. "Could eat you for hours."

He presses a soft kiss right against your clit before flattening his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up your pussy, gathering every drop of slick before pushing his tongue back inside you.

You keen, legs twitching, and he groans into you, hands tightening, like he can feel you dripping for him.

"Goddamn, look at you," he mutters, breath hot against your cunt as he pulls back just enough to admire the mess he's making of you. "Drippin' down my fuckin' chin, baby—"

The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on you echo in the room, filthy and desperate, and all you can do is whimper and take it.

When he pulls back just enough to suck your clit into his mouth again your whole body jolts, and he hums in satisfaction, eyes locked on you as your mouth falls open on a gasp.

"C'mon, baby," he murmurs against you, every word vibrating against your skin. "Cum for me. Wanna taste you."

It hits you hard, your back arching, thighs trembling in his grip as you cry out, body clenching tight before it melts into pleasure. You swear you see stars, the intensity making your head spin, and he groans low in his throat as he licks you through it, sucking every drop you give him, cleaning you up with his tongue like a man fucking starving.

He doesn't stop until you're trembling, oversensitive and gasping for breath, your hands tugging weakly at his hair, begging for a break. When he finally pulls back, his mouth and chin are glistening, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand, grinning down at you like the devil himself.

"Goddamn, baby," he mutters. "Tastes even better when you're mad at me."

Jason flips you onto your stomach like you weigh nothing, handling you exactly the way you love—rough enough to remind you how much stronger he is, gentle enough to show he'll never actually hurt you. And you already know what he wants, so you arch your back, pushing up onto your hands and knees, glancing over your shoulder with a bratty little smirk that makes his jaw clench.

His hands slide down your sides, slow, deliberate, before they settle on your hips, fingers digging in just to hear you gasp. Then he grabs the lace of your panties, tugging them down over your ass, baring your soaked cunt and the mess he already made between your thighs.

"Fuck," he mutters, palming your ass, squeezing and spreading you open to get a better look. "Always so fuckin' pretty back here."

The first slap lands sharp, making you jolt forward, your slick thighs trembling. The sting blooms hot across your skin, and you whimper, but it only makes you arch deeper, pushing your hips back toward him.

Jason watches, transfixed, as your pussy clenches around nothing, dripping slick onto his cock when he presses the thick head between your legs. He's still hard, precum leaking from the swollen tip, and you rock your hips, rubbing your soaked folds against him until he curses under his breath.

"Needy little thing," he grits out, guiding his cock to your entrance. "Can't even pretend you're not desperate for me."

He starts pushing in, splitting you open slow, and the stretch knocks the air from your lungs, leaving you trembling under him. "Oh, fuck—"

"Always so fuckin' tight for me," Jason groans, one hand stroking down your stomach, feeling the way your body stretches to take him. His fingers slip lower, over your clit, slick and swollen, and you shiver all over when he rubs slow circles over it. "Goddamn, baby."

You rock back, taking him deeper, moaning as your pussy clenches down hard around him. He curses, leaning over you, chest pressed to your back, and murmurs low in your ear, "You want me to fuck you like I mean it, huh?"

You nod frantically, words catching in your throat, and Jason groans, pulling back just enough to grab your hips, steadying you before sliding in deeper, bottoming out with one slow, brutal thrust.

He gives you a second, like he always does, letting you adjust because he knows he's big, knows he's a lot, and he loves you too much to hurt you.

But you're impatient, your body burning with need, so you glance back over your shoulder, panting, "Thought you said you loved me."

His jaw tightens, a flush spreading down his chest, and he growls, "I do."

"Then fucking prove it," you challenge, and that's it, the last frayed thread of his self-control snaps.

Jason's hips slam into yours, driving his cock so deep you see stars, and you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase against the cushions. His hands grip your waist, holding you still so all you can do is take it, body jerking with each brutal thrust, wet sounds filling the room every time his cock splits you open.

Your cunt grips him like a vice, soaked and clenching around him, dragging him back in every time he pulls out, and the slick slide is so obscene, so messy, it only makes him fuck you harder. His hips snap against your ass, the slap of skin on skin echoing, and you bury your face in your arms, moaning his name like a prayer.

"Still wanna fucking die, you idiot?" you gasp between moans, glaring at him over your shoulder, and Jason groans, dropping one hand to slap your ass again.

"Shut up," he pants, driving in deep enough to knock the air out of you. "God, baby—you're so fuckin' wet for me."

"Because you're—you're so fucking stupid," you sob, half-scolding, half-moan. "What if—what if you get yourself killed, and who the fuck's gonna fuck me like this?"

"Jesus Christ," Jason groans, the filthy confession sending a sharp pulse of heat straight to his cock, making it throb inside you. "No one, baby, no one else is ever gonna touch this pussy."

He fucks you harder, deeper, grinding into you until you're shaking under him, toes curling, nails clawing at the couch. Every thrust punches little gasps from your throat, and you can't stop talking, can't stop scolding him even as he's fucking you stupid.

"You love me?" you pant, voice high and breathless.

"Love you so much, baby," he groans, leaning over you, lips against your ear. "Love you, love this body, love this perfect fuckin' pussy. All mine, baby. All fuckin' mine."

"Show me," you whisper, voice shaking. "Show me how much."

Jason's hips snap forward, hard enough to drive you into the couch, and you moan his name, cunt squeezing tight around him. "I'll show you, doll," he pants, sweat dripping down his back. "I'll show you exactly how much."

His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, spreading your ass, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks tomorrow, and you'll love every fucking one of them. Each thrust is brutal, his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, so slick with arousal and his precum that it drips down your thighs, making a mess.

"Look at this greedy fuckin' pussy," he groans, thumbs spreading you open wider just so he can watch. "Suckin' me in like you missed this dick."

"I did," you gasp, fingers clutching at the couch cushions. "But you're still a fucking idiot."

Jason grits his teeth, hips snapping forward hard enough to shove you up the couch, your knees scraping against the fabric. Your slick little cunt grips him tight, soft and warm and soaked inside, milking his cock every time he drags back just to slam back in. Precum leaks from the swollen tip, mixing with your slick, and every thrust pushes it deeper, making you feel so full you can barely breathe.

The couch creaks under both of you, the whole thing rocking with the force of his thrusts, and Jason can't tear his eyes away from the way your ass bounces every time his hips smack into you. Your skin glows, sweat-slick and gorgeous, and he can see the way his dick stretches you open, disappearing into your perfect pussy over and over again.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, almost to himself. "You're perfect. This pussy's fuckin' perfect."

"Damn right it is," you pant, pushing back against him until you're stuffed full all over again. "And if you get yourself killed, who the fuck is supposed to fuck me like this?"

That ticks him off just right this time. His hand shoots out, grabbing the back of your neck, not to hurt, but to hold, to control, and he hauls you upright, your back pressed flush to his broad chest. You gasp, legs shaking, the stretch of his cock inside you deeper, hitting that sweet spot that makes you cry out.

"Who said I was goin' anywhere?" he growls against your ear, hand sliding up from your neck to wrap gently around your throat. "You think I'd leave you, baby? Fuck no."

His other hand finds your tits, fingers tugging at the bra you still hadn't taken off, yanking the cups down completely so your soft skin spills into his hand. He palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, and you moan loud, head tipping back onto his shoulder.

"You love me?" you whisper, breath hitching with every thrust.

"You know I do," he pants, fucking up into you, hips rolling slow but deep, stuffing you so full you swear you can feel him in your throat.

"Then fucking show me," you challenge, rocking your hips down to meet him.

Jason groans, fingers tightening on your throat just a little, enough to make your cunt flutter around him. "I am," he mutters, mouth hot on your neck. "Fuckin' you so good no one else could ever touch you— no one else could make you this wet, this fuckin' messy."

He shoves you back down, face to the cushions, ass in the air, spreading you wide so he can see everything. Especially the way your slick pussy stretches around him, sucking him back in every time he pulls out, shiny with your wetness and his precum.

"Fuckin' shit, baby," he groans, watching his cock slide in and out of your perfect little pussy. "You're fuckin' drippin'."

"Because you're that good, asshole," you snap back, voice muffled by the cushions.

Jason slaps your ass hard enough to make you jolt, cunt squeezing down on him so tight his vision blurs for a second. "Yeah? Then why the fuck you talkin' so much?"

"Because you're a fucking idiot," you sob, back arching when he drives in deep. "You don't—you don't need to start shit every time someone looks at me, Jay. You're the only one who gets to fuck me like this, don't you know that?"

Jason groans, hands tightening on your hips as he slams into you harder, hips snapping, driving you into the couch so deep your knees nearly buckle.

"I know, doll," he pants, voice wrecked. "I know, fuck—I just love you so much, I can't stand anyone else even lookin' at you."

"Then—then fuck me harder," you gasp, tears in your eyes from how good he feels, how perfectly his thick cock fills you up, dragging against every sweet spot inside you. "Fuck me so good I can't even think about anyone else."

Jason yanks you up again, your back flush to his sweat-slick chest, his cock buried so deep you swear you feel him in your fucking lungs. His big hand cups your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you messy, tongue sliding between your parted lips like he's starving for the taste of you. It's sloppy, wet, both of you panting into each other's mouths, sucking on tongues, biting at lips.

You moan into his mouth when his free hand finds your clit, two fingers rubbing sharp, relentless circles over the sensitive little bud. It's too much, too fast, your cunt already stretched wide and soaked around him, every rub of his fingers making you clench down tighter.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, breath hot against your cheek, hips snapping up into you so hard you bounce. "You're so fuckin' wet—you're drippin' all over my dick."

His fingers don't slow down, and you can't do anything but take it, legs shaking, cunt squeezing around him, your swollen clit throbbing under his ruthless touch. The heat coils low in your belly, sharp and fast, climbing so high so fast it almost scares you.

"Jay—fuck—wait, I—"

Your hand flies down, grabbing at his wrist, trying to ease him off your overstimulated clit, but he's not budging, the muscle in his forearm flexing as he presses down harder.

"No," he growls into your ear, voice wrecked. "You wanted me to fuck you like I mean it? This is what that fuckin' means, baby."

His dick pounds into you mercilessly, every thrust dragging against your sweetest spot, thick and hot and leaking inside you, smearing precum along your fluttering walls. You're soaking him, so slick you can hear the obscene squelch every time he sinks in to the hilt as he rubs your puffy little clit.

Your whole body locks up, spine arching, mouth falling open as you cum so hard it knocks the breath out of you, that sharp edge of pleasure tipping you into freefall. Your pussy clamps down on his cock, tight and trembling, and Jason fucking moans, jaw clenched, hips stuttering as you soak his dick with wave after wave of hot, slick arousal.

But he doesn't stop.

"Gimme more," he pants, fingers ruthless on your clit. "C'mon, baby, you can do it, show me how messy you can get."

"Jason, I—fuck—fuck—"

Your thighs quake, eyes rolling back, and when he starts to slap over your clit lightly, it hits like a live wire—your whole body seizes, cunt pulsing around him, and then it happens.

You fucking squirt, hot and sudden, a slick rush spilling from your cunt, drenching both of you in a messy gush that soaks the couch, his thighs, your thighs—every inch of skin that's pressed together—leaving your pussy glistening, clenching around his dick as your juices drip down to the cushions. It's a mess you didn't even know you could make, and Jason loses it.

You both knew you could squirt when you were drunk off your ass, but this? This was all him. And you're both wrecked with it—you, boneless and trembling, him, harder than fucking steel inside you, completely gone for you.

"Holy fuck, baby," he groans, voice somewhere between awe and pure hunger.

Your whole body shakes, tears spilling down your cheeks from the sheer intensity, overstimulated to the point of pain-tinged pleasure, and Jason kisses you through it, swallowing your sobs and moans right from your tongue.

It's still so messy—hot, wet, open-mouthed, tongues licking into each other's mouths, tasting sweat and spit and you, and he groans deep in his chest like you're the best thing he's ever had.

His cock keeps sliding into your soaked, fluttering cunt, so slick it's almost effortless, but you're still so tight, sucking him in greedily. His fingers finally ease off your clit, stroking instead of circling, soothing instead of torturing, but his kiss stays just as hungry. Desperate like he's trying to memorize your taste, the way you moan into his mouth when you can barely even catch your breath.

"Baby," he murmurs between kisses, breathless and tender and filthy all at once. "You're so fuckin' good for me. Love this pussy—love you."

Jason's lips break from yours, sliding down your jaw, over the curve of your throat, hot breath ghosting over your pulse before his mouth seals against your neck. He sucks hard, tongue flicking over the skin, leaving a bruising, sloppy mark.

And the whole time, his hips keep working, dragging his thick cock in and out of your soaked, swollen cunt, slow but deep, hitting every spot that makes your toes curl.

"Fuck, Jay—" you whimper, head tilting to give him more of your neck, hands clutching at his wrists, his arms, anywhere you can reach to steady yourself.

He hums low in his throat, all smug and wicked, and you can feel him smirk against your skin. "You want my cum, baby?"

You moan loud, nodding so fast it makes him chuckle.

"Of course you do," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, kissing his way up to your ear. "This needy little pussy loves my cum, huh?"

"Yes," you gasp, writhing against him, trying to push back and take him deeper, to make him give it to you.

But he just teases, slowing his thrusts, dragging every inch out before pushing back in so slowly, letting you feel just how thick and hot he is inside you. "Thought you were mad at me, pretty girl."

"I am," you snap, but it's breathless, your earlier fire softened by the way he's fucking you so deep and slow, pulling every sound he loves right out of your throat.

"Yeah?" he smirks, tongue licking over your racing pulse. "Then why should I cum inside this perfect little pussy if you're still so fuckin' mad?"

"Jason—" you whine, pushing back harder, but his hand holds you steady, thumb pressing into your hip, controlling the pace no matter how desperate you are.

"Gotta convince me, baby," he taunts, voice all low and syrupy-sweet, fingers sliding down to your clit just to flick it, making you jolt and clench down hard on his cock. "Why should I fill you up, huh? Gimme one good reason."

"Because I need it," you gasp, fingers clawing at the couch cushions. "Need you to cum inside me, need to feel it—fuck—please, Jay."

"Need it?" He grins against your neck, biting just hard enough to make you yelp. "Sounds like my girl's not so mad after all."

"I am—"

"No, you're not," he cuts you off, fucking into you a little faster, just to hear the pitch of your voice climb. "You just like actin' tough until you're full of my dick, huh?"

You nod frantically, pride shredded, nothing left but raw, aching need. "Yes—yes—God, yes—please, Jay."

"Please, what?" His cock drags against your sweet spot with every thrust, his fingers circling your clit again, faster this time. "Say it, baby. Tell me exactly what you want."

"Want you to cum inside me," you sob, back arching, thighs trembling. "Want to feel it dripping out—want to be so fucking full of you, Jay, please—"

That does it. His grip tightens as he snaps his hips forward, fucking you deep, no more teasing, just hard, filthy thrusts, skin slapping skin, his cock driving into your slick little cunt until the wet noises echo louder than your breathless moans.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, forehead pressing to your shoulder. "Gonna give it to you— gonna fill this perfect pussy up."

You moan his name like a prayer, clenching down so hard it makes him stutter, and then he's gone, hips jerking, cock throbbing deep inside you as he spills, hot and thick, cum flooding your pussy in pulse after pulse after pulse.

It's so much—the heat of it, the way his dick twitches inside you with every spurt, and fuck, you feel everything. The way his cock pulses, the way his cum paints your insides, so deep, so full, your body reacts before you even realize, pleasure slamming through you again, white-hot and all-consuming.

"Oh—fuck—fuck—"

Your whole body trembles, seizing up as you arch, as your walls clamp down hard around his dick, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge again, even sharper this time.

Jason groans, choked and wrecked, because he feels it. The way your pussy flutters, grips him like a vice, milking him, dragging out his orgasm as another thick pulse of cum spurts deep inside you.

"Shit, pretty girl—fuck—"

His voice is hoarse, breathless, hands locking onto your hips as he bucks up, rutting into you with slow, desperate rolls, like he's trying to fuck his cum deeper.

You're soaking him, your release gushing around his dick, slick dripping down to his balls, making everything filthy as you keen, breath hitching, body trembling. The pleasure is so much you can't stop shaking, can't stop gasping, every little twitch of his cock sending more sparks crackling through your limbs.

Jason groans again, deep and raw, his fingers digging into your skin, keeping you right where he wants you, his cock still buried inside, still throbbing, even as his hips slow, his whole body shuddering against yours.

"Jesus Christ, baby—" He swallows hard, head falling forward against your shoulder, voice thick, half-slurred. "Damn near killed me."

But he doesn't let go. He won't. His arms curl around you, holding you close, keeping you locked against him, cock still nestled deep, even as his cum drips out, thick and hot, making a mess between your thighs.

You both shudder, your pussy milking him for everything, his cock twitching, still so sensitive it makes him groan low in his throat as he grinds against you, lazy and slow. You're so full you leak around him, creamy slick dripping down his balls, sticky and hot, smearing where your thighs press together.

It's messy, obscene, perfect, and he loves every second of it.

He kisses your shoulder, still panting, his hand sliding up your stomach to cup your tits, lazy fingers playing with one nipple. "Still mad, baby?"

"Maybe," you mumble, face buried in the crook of his neck, completely fucked stupid.

Jason's laugh rumbles low in his chest, warm and rough and just so him, his lips pressing to your temple in a lazy, affectionate kiss. "You're a terrible liar, doll."

His cock slips free from your fluttering cunt with a slick, obscene noise, your pussy clenching reflexively at the sudden emptiness, already missing him even with his cum still leaking from your swollen slit. It smears down your inner thighs, dripping onto the couch cushion below, and Jason watches it like a man obsessed, fingers tracing over the slick mess he made of you before finally easing you down against him.

You whine, soft and spent, but you don't fight it when he turns you gently, pulling your smaller body right on top of his, the perfect little puzzle piece to his broad, muscular frame. Your skin feels like it's buzzing, every inch of you overstimulated and tender, but his hands are so gentle.

Big palms soothing up and down your back, warm fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. His lips find your temple again, softer this time, and the two of you just breathe, hearts still pounding, somehow falling into the same steady rhythm.

You nuzzle into his neck, breath warm against his skin, and for a while, the only sound is both of you catching your breath, bodies molding together.

After a long, quiet moment, Jason's voice breaks the silence—rough, hesitant. "I'm sorry."

You blink up at him, your face blissed-out and sleepy, limbs heavy, but you still reach up, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing gently over the scar there. His hand comes up to cover yours, his palm dwarfing yours as he lifts it to his mouth, kissing your palm, his lips warm and soft.

"I'm sorry too," you murmur, voice soft, but Jason just shakes his head.

"Nah," he says, eyes flicking up to the ceiling like it's easier to talk to that than to you. "It was my fault. I just..." he trails off, breath hitching slightly, and for a rare moment, Jason Todd looks nervous.

You wait, patient and quiet, until he finally sighs, his grip on your hand tightening just a bit. "I never had this kind of love before," he says, voice so low you almost miss it. "Ever."

Your heart aches, and you squeeze his hand back, silently urging him to keep going.

"And yeah, I don't—I don't know how to behave sometimes," he admits, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "I know it's wrong to be so fuckin' possessive. To assume you're mine just because I want you to be."

"Baby," you whisper, brow furrowing, but he keeps talking, like he has to get it all out before he loses his nerve.

"It's selfish and stupid," he says, frustrated with himself. "But I just... I never felt this way about anyone before. And it's fuckin' terrifyin', but it's also the best goddamn thing that's ever happened to me."

Your chest aches, soft and warm and so full of love for this man who's only ever known how to fight for what he wants, and now he's fighting himself, just to figure out how to love you right.

You tilt his chin until he's looking at you again, your eyes wide and soft and just a little stunned, because yeah, Jason's softer with you, you know that. But this? This vulnerability, this naked honesty, this is rare. This is the part of him no one gets to see.

"What are you talking about, baby?" you whisper, thumb tracing his lower lip. "I'm yours. You don't have to doubt that."

His eyes darken, something vulnerable flickering beneath the heat. "Yeah, but—"

"No 'but'," you cut him off, leaning down to kiss him—soft, sweet, no heat this time, just love. "I am yours, Jay. You don't own me, but I belong to you. And that's my choice."

His arms tighten around you, almost crushing you to his chest, but you don't complain. You just melt into it, letting him hold you like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers if he lets go.

And yeah, maybe your pussy's still throbbing, and there's cum dripping down your thighs, and you both reek of sweat and sex, but right now? Right now, all that matters is this.

You shift slightly on top of him, just enough to press your lips to his chest—soft, lingering, right over his heart. It's steady beneath your mouth, a quiet, strong beat that reminds you he's here. And you hold onto that, breathing him in as you kiss him again, even softer this time.

Jason's hand slides up your back, fingers weaving into your hair as he cups the back of your head, guiding you up just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. It's so gentle, so sweet, and your chest aches all over again, tears pricking at the back of your eyes.

"I'm sorry I said I want you to change for me," you murmur, voice quiet and a little hoarse. "I didn't mean it like that. I just..." you sigh, fingers tracing idle patterns over his ribs. "I knew what I was getting into when we first met. I knew. And I thought that over time, it would be easier to just... I don't know... get used to the idea that one day you might not come home."

His hand tightens slightly in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he's listening.

"But it's not," you whisper, voice cracking slightly.

"I know," he says softly, his lips finding your temple again.

You exhale, shaky and uneven, and your voice wavers when you say, "I just want you to promise you'll always come back to me. I can't lose you, Jason. You're the only person in my life I've ever loved like this, and I just... I can't—"

The words catch in your throat, and you almost sniffle, but Jason's already there, tilting your chin up until you meet his gaze. And fuck, the way he looks at you—like you're everything, like you hung the goddamn moon—it almost breaks you.

He can't stand seeing you cry. Not like this. Crying because he fucks you stupid? Sure, any day of the week. But crying because you're scared of losing him? That kills him a little.

His thumb strokes along your cheek, brushing away the tears threatening to spill. "I promise, doll," he says, voice low and steady and so fucking sincere it hurts. "I'll always come back to you."

You nod, swallowing hard before you nuzzle back into the crook of his neck, letting his warmth wrap around you like a shield. His arms tighten around you again, holding you like you're his lifeline. And maybe you are.

And yeah, there's still mess between your thighs, and the couch probably needs to be burned after what you just did to it, but none of that matters right now. All that matters is this. Just you and Jason, skin to skin, hearts pounding in sync, holding onto each other like the world outside doesn't exist.

After a quick cleanup—you both do what you can with the poor couch, but honestly, there's only so much scrubbing that'll save it—you end up in the shower together, lazily soaping each other up with that vanilla body wash you love. Jason grumbles about how it's too sweet and not him, but the second you press your slick, warm body against his under the spray, he shuts up real fast.

Wrapped in clean clothes, smelling like dessert, you curl up on the couch, freshly dressed in one of his worn-out t-shirts that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of cotton panties. Jason settles next to you in his sweats, bare chested, all warm skin and ink as you tangle yourself around him like the needy gremlin you are.

A box of shitty pizza rests between you—a sad, greasy excuse for a meal, but somehow perfect for tonight—and some trash reality show plays in the background, the kind that makes you both question humanity.

Jason glances at you, his arm stretched around your shoulders, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. "So... we good?"

You roll your eyes, groaning dramatically, before leaning over to chomp a massive bite out of his slice, despite the fact you're already holding your own.

"You little brat," he mutters, shaking his head, but there's no real heat in it. If anything, the way he smiles at you—soft, warm, a little exasperated—makes your chest feel too small for your heart.

You just flash him a smug grin, mouth full of stolen pizza, and lean your head on his shoulder, sighing happily. "We're good, Jay."

And yeah, the couch will never be the same, and the pizza's objectively terrible, and the show's giving you both secondhand embarrassment. But with you curled into him, his arm wrapped around your waist, and your bare leg hooked over his thigh, Jason figures he might just be the luckiest motherfucker in Gotham.

[inkandapex]

you're worth it

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N share an undeniable connection, but the pressures of F1 and personal hesitation have kept them in the "just friends" zone. Despite their close bond, an unspoken tension hangs between them, each moment charged with what-ifs. With a little nudge from fate, aka, their best friend Max, the two are pushed to give things another shot. Will Lando find the courage to make his move, or will Y/N slip through his fingers, forever just out of reach?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of anxiety.

Lando’s season had been anything but smooth sailing. Sure, the car was leagues ahead of where it had been, delivering near-constant podiums and even his long-awaited first race win. He was sitting second in the championship, closer to the title than he’d ever been. On paper, it was a dream season. But pressure had a funny way of twisting even the sweetest moments into something suffocating.

Lando had always been good at managing the weight of the sport—keeping his mind sharp, his body stronger. But even the best-built machines showed signs of wear. His friends saw it in the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. His team noticed the uncharacteristic silence between debriefs. His fans, ever watchful, caught glimpses of something heavier behind the usual smiles.

Now, with a rare break in the chaos, it was clear that he didn’t just need rest. He needed reinforcements.

“The food I ordered half an hour ago? Yeah… they just told me the restaurant’s actually closed now,” Lando muttered

Max blinked, mouth slightly open. “So… they told you there’s no food, and you died on Tarkov? That’s a double fucking shitter, my jeez.” He dragged a hand down his face, visibly pained for his best mate.

Lando let out a defeated laugh. “Hasn’t exactly been the best couple of months for me, really.”

Max exhaled. “Mate, you need a personal chef or something. You’ve got too much on your plate.”

“I actually have nothing on my plate right now, funnily enough.”

“Right, well—eating weeks-old frozen food from your fridge isn’t exactly the fix, is it?” Max sighed, already knowing that’s exactly what Lando was about to do.

"Don't really have much of a choice now don't I mate?"

"Chat's saying you need a girlfriend" Max states rather matter of factly

"You could say that again"

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

A series of persistent knocks, followed by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand, dragged Lando from the depths of sleep. He groaned, squinting against the soft morning light that seeped through the curtains, his brain sluggish as he reached for his phone.

A slight frown tugged at his face when he saw the caller—one of his closest friends. A couple of missed calls from both them and Max F. only deepened his confusion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled his hoodie over his head and shuffled toward the door, answering the call as he went.

“Y/N? I just woke up—sorry, could you give me a minute? I’ll call you back, someone’s at the—” He stopped mid-sentence, mid-step.

Because standing on the other side of the door, phone still pressed to their ear, was Y/N. Bags in hand.

"Hey… Max told me you knew I was coming. Him and P just dropped me off. They’re out running a couple of errands," Y/N said, ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.

Lando blinked at her, still processing. "No, actually, he didn't. I didn’t even know he was coming here. Did you just get here, or?"

"I landed about two hours ago," she said with a soft laugh. "Been standing here for the past twenty minutes, though."

"Shit, my bad, Y/N. I really didn’t know." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, his brain scrambling to recall any moment where Max might have maybe mentioned this.

"Hey, it’s all good! Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I really should’ve reached out beforehand anyway. I just thought you and Max had already sorted it out."

"What? No, Y/N, don’t apologize, silly." Lando finally snapped out of his trance and stepped aside. "Come in—fuck, I mean, the apartment’s a mess, but make yourself at home." He quickly reached for some of her bags, ushering her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What exactly did Max say?" Lando finally asked, still scrambling to pick up the mess scattered across his living room. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but this is just so... out of the blue."

"Honestly? He was worried," Y/N admitted, grabbing a few stray items to help. "Said you didn’t seem to be doing too well. Thought maybe you could use some company during the break. Listen, Lando, I came here thinking you knew about this. I completely understand if you’d rather be alone right now—I know you’re busy and all—"

"No!" Lando cut in, pausing mid-cleanup. His expression softened, and for the first time since opening the door, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. "I'm… I'm really glad you're here. Max is right. It hasn’t been easy." He exhaled, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you. For being here. I really appreciate it."

Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he spread his arms. "You gonna hug me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, relief washing over her as she finally saw that familiar spark in his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she let Lando wrap her in a tight hug, his hold warm, grounding. Exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed.

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

The first day of Y/N being there was more housekeeping than anything else. Between cleaning up Lando’s apartment, clearing out the fridge, and fixing up the guest room, the day passed in a blur of chores. By the time Max and P finally arrived, the boys volunteered to head out and pick up some late lunch—partly because there was absolutely nothing to eat at Lando’s place, and partly so Max could finally discuss the sly plan he had cooked up.

A heavy silence filled the car as Lando gripped the wheel, his knuckles tightening against the leather.

"You’re awfully quiet," Max finally said, side-eyeing his best friend from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah? Wonder why," Lando bit back. "Maybe ‘cause my best friend decided to go behind my back and plan shit without telling me. The fuck were you thinking not mentioning she was coming over to stay?"

"Mate, it was all in good conscience," Max said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, what happened between you two… it was months ago—"

"Exactly!" Lando snapped. "I haven’t even been back home to talk about it since. Fuck’s sake, Max… it’s weird enough I haven’t seen her in ages, but springing this on me? That’s insane, even for you."

Max groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why can’t the two of you just admit you like each other like the grown, mature adults you supposedly are and get on with it? It’s honestly exhausting."

"You know why."

"I actually don’t. Please, do explain. I’d love to hear whatever shit excuse you’ve got lined up. Go on then."

Lando let out a slow, tired sigh. "I’m busy, she’s busy. I can’t just drag her along with me and make her leave everything behind so we can be together. And you know how the media is, Max. I don’t want her dealing with all that hate. You’ve seen how bad it gets."

Max scoffed. "And what do you think she just did? She dropped everything to be with you when you needed her, yeah? Her choice. She’s already doing work at Quadrant—her own volition, might I add—on top of her own career. And might I remind you, you were the one who didn’t want to go through with it. From what I heard, she was willing to make it work."

"Yeah?" Lando let out a dry laugh. "From what you heard?"

Max smirked. "Fine. P told me."

"Lando, mate. If it all goes to shit—not that I think it will—I’m sure you’ll sort it out. She cares about you. And I know you feel the same way about her."

Lando sighed, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. He leaned back against the seat for a moment before finally looking over at Max.

"I know you have good intentions," he admitted. "And despite how insane this is, I do appreciate it. I’ll… see where it goes." Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door. "Now go pick up the food, ‘cause I’m fucking starving."

Max narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This conversation is not over, by the way."

Lando just laughed, shaking his head as Max climbed out of the car.

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

Lando woke up to the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting sounds of pots clanking and the scent of food filling his apartment. It was so foreign that, for a second, he thought he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of his room, hair a complete mess, barely awake.

"Morning," Y/N greeted, smiling as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. "There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ve got meals sorted out for the rest of the week—followed your diet, so don’t worry."

Lando blinked at her, then at the kitchen, which now looked like a fully stocked catering service. "It’s 9 in the fucking morning, Y/N. What time did you get up for all this?"

"Like… 6:30?"

"Y/N"

"What? I have jet lag."

Lando squinted at her. "We’re in Monaco. London is one hour behind."

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I wanted to make sure I had it ready for you. It’s nothing, really—it didn’t take me too long."

"Nothing?" Lando gestured at the sea of neatly packed containers. "My kitchen looks like McLaren hospitality right now."

"It’s not a big deal, Lan, really, I—"

Lando didn’t let her finish. He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her from cleaning. "Could you—please slow down for a sec?" His voice was softer now, his brows furrowing as he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. "Y/N, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to take care of me."

Lando sighed deeply, his arms instinctively pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart heavy. "I don't deserve you."

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his back. "You have me, either way"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression clouded. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, Y/N... we can't. I can't do this right now. What I said about us—about this, months ago... that's still how I feel. I like you... a lot, trust me, I do. But this is too much, and I can't possibly ask you to—"

He couldn’t keep eye contact, his gaze drifting as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

Y/N took a step back but stayed close, her eyes searching his. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I get it, Lan. I’m here for you. As a friend." She took a deep breath. "What I said, about me wanting to be here... to do this with you... I meant that too. I still feel that way. I told you I can wait. You’re worth it."

"You two done being sappy, or should I give you a couple more minutes?" Max's voice echoed through the apartment, making both Lando and Y/N jump and scramble to step away from each other in a panic.

"You little shit, how long have you been stood there listening? You fucking weirdo." In a swift motion, Lando grabbed the nearest object, a spatula, and tossed it across the room. It flew past Max’s head, narrowly missing him as he stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

"So sorry, guys. I told him not to come in without knocking." P finally steps into the apartment, giving Max a pinch on his side. Max let out an exaggerated yelp, squirming away from her with a pained expression.

"Ow! Everyone’s so violent this morning," Max groaned, rubbing his side as P smirked, clearly satisfied with herself.

"You're ridiculous. Just gonna run to the bathroom real quick then we can have breakfast and plan the rest of our day" Lando shook his head with a groan, but a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaves the room

Max took the chance to walk over to Y/N, who was quietly setting the table for breakfast. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, careful not to let Lando hear.

Y/N glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Take a wild guess, Max. Bet you heard enough to figure out how I'm doing right now." She let out a quiet laugh, but it was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place, defeat, maybe?

Max took a breath, his tone shifting to something gentler, more understanding. "Look, he... you know how he is. As much as I want this for the two of you, you don’t have to wait for him. He can’t just expect you to be there until he’s finally ready. No one’s gonna hold it against you." His voice dropped.

Y/N shook her head slightly, her smile softening. "You’re really sweet, Max, but I’m okay. I promise." She was careful, though, making sure her words felt sincere.

Max gave her a small, thoughtful nod. "Just trying to look out for the two of you is all."

"I know," Y/N replied. She didn’t need Max’s concern to know what was best for her, but it was comforting, knowing that someone understood.

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

Several races had passed since Y/N was last at Lando's apartment. Despite the distance, they’d kept in close contact—calls, texts, little check-ins whenever they could steal a moment. Lando was clearly doing better, each conversation revealing just how much he’d grown over the past few weeks.

Now, it was the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had finally managed to take some time off work. She’d been counting down the days until she could see Lando again, her excitement mingled with the kind of nervous energy that had been building up ever since she booked her flight. The anticipation was almost unbearable, especially when she considered how much her feelings for him had grown since their last conversation.

Despite the distance, despite all the unsaid things, she found herself thinking about him more and more, how his laugh had sounded over the phone, how his presence felt like a comfort when they’d been together. But now, standing outside of Mclaren's hospitality, waiting for Lando to step out his driver room after finishing free practice, everything felt good.

"Y/N! Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while. How have you been?" Zach, a close friend of Oscar Piastri, and someone Y/N had become friends with, walked over with a smile.

"Zach, it’s good to see you. I’m great, just been busy with work is all. The car seems good, Lando and Oscar are driving really well too" Y/N replied with a warm smile, happy to see a familiar face in the paddock.

"Things are looking great. We’re doing really well in the constructors, too. You waiting for Lando?" Zach asked, leaning against the railing casually.

"Mhmm, I’m catching a ride with him back to the hotel. He texted me, he’d be out in a bit." Y/N explained, glancing down at her phone to check for any updates from Lando.

"Right... listen. Are you free any time this weekend? Maybe even after the race? I was thinking—"

"Ready to go?" Lando's voice cut in, and he walked over to the pair, bag slung over his shoulder and phone in hand. "Oh, hey man, sorry, we gotta go. Got some friends waiting for us."

Zach smiled, stepping back. "Oh, don’t let me hold you back. I’ll see you around, Y/N. You still got my number, right?"

"Yep, I’ll catch up with you next time," Y/N said, giving Zach a friendly nod.

"Perfect. Hope you enjoy the weekend. It’s great having you back in the paddock," Zach said with a grin, stepping in to give Y/N a quick hug before patting Lando’s arm as he walked past. "Great stuff today, man. See you around."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with slight bitterness as they walked toward the parking lot. "Didn’t know you two were close like that."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, hello to you too, Lando. So great to see you after months, feels fantastic to finally be here with you."

Lando chuckled, though it was clear there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, "I didn’t mean it like that, just... you two seemed pretty chummy." He smirked at her, trying to play it off.

Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't know, I actually think he's pretty cute."

Lando almost slammed the door shut in frustration, his face twisting into a scoff. "Cute? Right."

"What? You jealous?" Y/N teased, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not," Lando grumbled, eyes focused on the road but his jaw clenched slightly.

"You so are. Your ears are red."

"I'm not" he repeated, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

"So you don't mind if I go out for dinner with him after the race then?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone light but with a little edge, just to push his buttons. It was playful, but they both knew the boundaries—they weren’t together, not officially.

"No."

"No, you don't mind?" Y/N repeated, pressing him further.

"No, you can't" Lando snapped back, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Why?" she asked innocently, though a knowing smile played at her lips.

"Cause then you'll miss my victory party," Lando replied with a sly smirk, glancing over at her briefly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Oh wow, cocky now, are we?" She let out a laugh, though deep down, she couldn't ignore how his confidence was somehow making him all the more attractive.

"Wow" Lando gasped dramatically, glancing over at her with exaggerated disbelief. "You don't think I'll win this weekend? You're breaking my heart, darling."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Norris. The race isn't over until it's over."

"True," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I like to think I’ve got this in the bag. You better be there to celebrate my win, Y/N."

She met his gaze, her playful teasing giving way to something softer, something more real. "We'll see," she replied, a small but genuine smile on her face. "But if you win, I'll begin to think I'm your lucky charm."

Lando nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "You just might be."

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

"We’ve got this in the bag, Lando. Stick to Plan A, do what you do best, and we’ll take care of the rest. Focus on the drive, and if anything shifts, we’ll adjust. We’re counting on maximum points from you two tonight." Will, Lando's race engineer, pauses, his eyes locking with Lando's, waiting for confirmation after his brief but crucial words.

"Lando."

"Yeah yeah. Maximum points, drive fast, got it." Lando mutters, his response flat, his attention half there. As important as this race is, his mind keeps drifting back to Y/N. She’s in the garage, talking with Zach. His Y/N. The thought pulls at him in a way he can’t shake.

Will’s voice cuts through the haze. "I need 100% of your focus, Lando. The race starts in 30." He hands him his earplugs, but Lando’s gaze is distant.

"Yep, heard." Lando mutters again, his tone quieter, his mind still elsewhere as he turns to leave, the weight of his thoughts lingering like an anchor.

Y/N and Zach were in the middle of an easy, lighthearted conversation. Lando, across the garage, could only watch, his gaze sharpening as he noticed how comfortable Y/N and Zach looked together. The laughter between them, the way they stood too close, it ate at him.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lando’s voice cut through the air, direct and intense, as he strode toward them.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised but giving him a warm smile. "Yeah, what’s up? You nervous?" She didn’t get up from her seat, still in that calm, relaxed mood.

"Alone" Lando said, his tone sharper now, as the urgency in his words broke through.

"Oh—yeah, of course." She rose to follow him, a furrow crossing her brow, concerned by the intensity in his eyes. They walked towards a quieter corner of the garage, far enough from prying eyes and cameras.

As soon as they were alone, she looked at him. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to call Max or—"

Lando didn’t give her a chance to finish. "I don’t like this. You and him, talking... being all flirty. I don’t like it." The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them, relief and frustration flooding his chest. It was all coming out at once.

Y/N blinked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m not flirting, Lando. He’s just a friend."

Lando’s frustration reached its peak. "I’m just a friend, Y/N! Fuck’s sake... I can’t get in the car like this, not with this on my mind. Not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Hey, Lan. What’s going on? You wanted this—actually, no, you didn’t want anything right now, did you? You said so yourself. I’m not doing this to make you jealous or get back at you, He's just a friend. That’s it."

But Lando shook his head, his voice shaking with vulnerability. "I don’t know what I want, okay! But seeing you... with him? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held a touch of sadness. She gently took his hands in hers, stopping him from messing up his hair further. "You’re not gonna lose me, you silly boy."

Lando looked at her, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood, that she felt the same pull. "One kiss. Give me one kiss. Let’s pretend nothing else matters. Just right now, right here, with you. One kiss before I go." His voice was a whisper, full of longing and desperation.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, her eyes softening. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his jawline as she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "Nothing else matters... I don’t have to pretend. You’re all I want, Lando. Why can’t you see that?"

Lando exhales quietly, his fingers grazing her cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They stand close, the world around them fading into the background, neither in a rush to break the moment. Their eyes meet, lingering, only flickering downward for the briefest second before finding each other again.

"You take corners faster than this—are you gonna kiss me, or should I send in a request for DRS?" Y/N teases, tilting her head with a smirk.

Lando leans in, closing the small space between them, his lips pressing firmly against hers. It’s not their first kiss, there had been fleeting moments before, small pecks here and there, brief touches exchanged in passing, but this is different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Their movements are unhurried, deliberate. It’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken, deep and certain, carrying the weight of something that had been waiting to happen.

She’s the first to pull away, though neither of them really want to. But reality tugs at Lando, he has somewhere to be.

Before stepping back, he presses a lingering kiss to her lips, another lighter one at the corner of her mouth. His lips brush her cheek, then her forehead, a quiet farewell without words. When he finally pulls away, he catches the flush creeping up her neck and smirks.

"I'm quick when it matters," he murmurs. "But some things are worth taking my time on."

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

It was the kind of weekend that felt almost predestined, Lando wins in Singapore, by a massive 20-second gap to Verstappen in P2. But even with the trophy in his hands and the roar of the crowd in his ears, his eyes searched for only one thing.

And there she was.

Among the sea of faces, hers stood out effortlessly, beaming with pride, hands clapping in celebration. The victory was unforgettable, but this moment, seeing her there, cheering for him, was the one he’d carry with him forever.

Lando could hardly sit still. He’d been rocking on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to the post-race interviews with Oscar, his mind already somewhere else. The second the cameras cut off, he was up, grabbing his things in record time, making Oscar chuckle at his urgency.

"Word in my garage is you’ve got yourself a little lucky charm now," Oscar smirked, watching as Lando fumbled with his phone, already dialing Y/N.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"Finally made a move?"

"Yeah, took me long enough," Lando laughed, giving his teammate a quick pat on the back as he pressed his phone to his ear.

The call barely rang before her teasing voice filled his speaker. "Why hello there, champ. Miss me already?"

A grin stretched across Lando’s face, warmth creeping up his chest. "Always, baby. Where are you? Need my post-race kiss, like, now."

"On your left."

Lando spun around, immediately spotting her seated outside the motorhome with Max and P. He didn’t even bother ending the call properly, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and made a beeline for her.

"There he is! Mr. 20-second lead. Mate, you were proper flying—"

Max didn’t even get to finish before Lando stopped behind Y/N’s chair, tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her. This one deeper, lingering, completely unbothered by the fact that they had company.

"Shit—when did this happen?" Max gaped, his arm tightening around P as if he needed something to ground him.

"Just before the race. Can’t believe you’re only finding out now, thought the whole paddock knew by now," Lando chuckled, hands rubbing Y/N’s shoulders as she sat there, visibly flustered, still adjusting to the attention.

"Well, damn. About time."

Y/N glanced up at Lando, still a little dazed, but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her forget about everything else. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before leaning down, voice just for her.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Guess that means I have to stick around then, huh?”

Lando grinned, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

[five-one-two-station]

At this point I am convinced some people are watching this show solely via the subtitle files, because that's the only thing that explains drastically misunderstanding everything that's not spelled out in dialogue to this extent.

Honestly some of the most embarrassing mass failure of media literacy I've ever seen. It's not even complicated stuff, it's basic text comprehension and story fluency.

- No, Caitlyn's "I know!" is not anger at being called out; she's saying she is very, very painfully aware of what she's done wrong. Watch it again.

- No she didn't take the guards away or go to the cell to have sex with Vi. TF?!?

It was Vi who initiated; Caitlyn was surprised she did.

She pulled the guards away to help Vi if/when she chose to do what she knows her well enough to know she probably would. Vi makes her choice - Caitlyn doesn't "let" her, she just supports it, because it's Vi's choice to make.

Vi has no idea she's done this until after, it doesn't affect her "agency" at all. That's not what any of those words mean!

- She did this as a direct acknowledgement of and response to Vi's previous criticisms.

You are supposed to be able to make the very, very minimal leap of imagination required to understand what the show is telling you here; that she is genuinely sorry, genuinely committed to getting her shit together, and that she has heard and received every word that Vi has told her.

The reason this gesture is so important is that it demonstrates she's now going out on a limb to put herself, her resources, and her privilege to work for the greater good.

And the reason Vi reacts the way she does is that she understands all of this immediately.

You should not need the show to sit you down and spell this out to you step by step Barney the Dinosaur style.

- She works very hard and sacrifices quite a lot to try to do right by people after fucking up so badly before, but not before very explicitly acknowledging that she can't undo the harm she's already done. And this isn't even an inference thing, she actually even says this bit out loud twice, and you still somehow missed it.

- For $5, what do you think the show was suggesting by having Sevika take up her seat, her final costume have no Enforcer uniform elements, and having her allude to an ongoing struggle. Come on, guess.

I am loathe to call people stupid just because some tv show stuff sailed over their heads, but... y'all are legitimately testing that. This is not exactly The Holy Mountain or something, it is very straightforward storytelling.

And just... I mean why would you be this loud about anything without making sure you didn't have it ass backways first?!? In public!?!? 💀

You guys, you have to watch shows to know what is happening in them.

[featheredframingdevice]

*slams hands on desk* paintings of saints staring at their mortal peers with passive aggressive judgement WHEN

enough paintings of saints where they're looking heavenward in ecstatic agony or down with love and mercy on their onlookers as they ascend. we need more paintings where the martyr is looking accusatorily directly at the viewer.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Soft Feathers, Softer Kisses 🦉

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

I'm soooo excited for y'all to see this!!!!

My first time writing for Telemachus and EPIC in general so please go easy on me 🥲

This was born from my need to smooch Tele. He's so cute 🥹

*the art is not mine, I got it from pinterest, if anyone knows the artists lmk pls!*

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You're betrothed to the prince of Ithaca. His father is lost at sea and 108 suitors are pushing his mother to choose a new king. When one of them insults the queen, a fight breaks loose, and you end up fiercely defending your lover with a determined owl at your side.

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The sound of your sandals on the smooth palace floor echoed off the marble walls, the fabric of your chiton that wasn't bunched up in your hands was brushing against your legs while you hurried towards the hall.

The commotion had managed to make its way through the entire building like a breeze of the salty sea air.

Still, the news reached you later than you'd have liked.

Worry and anger twisted in your chest, a feeling like countless arrows piercing your heart. Your lungs were burning, no breath managing to get enough oxygen in your blood.

You had to hurry.

They would eat him alive.

You were well aware of the suitors. The 108 men who'd grown stubborn roots in the palace and refused to leave without getting a chance.

The king had been gone for so long, leaving his throne empty and his family behind. It had been two decades since he sailed off to war.

Not many believed he was even still among the living, instead thinking he was slaving away in his place in the Underworld.

The queen managed to keep the kingdom from ruin for years, ever since her beloved left, and yet they insisted on a new a king, a new man to wear the crown and sit upon the throne.

A new man to take Penelope as his wife.

The moment they showed up at the gates you'd stared at them with disgust, boring into them with your sharp gaze.

None of them were fit to lead, let alone rule an entire kingdom.

The queen stalled and stalled, the hope of her husband's return heavy on her heart.

However, the suitors soon grew impatient. Causing havoc within the walls of the palace, pounding on Penelope's doors, threatening bloodshed if she didn't choose a new king.

And now, your betrothed, the prince of Ithaca, was caught in the middle of it all because he was cursed with a heart too big for his body.

When you turned the corner of the hallway, you were met with a sight that made your heart shatter and wrath boil in your veins.

The suitors had circled Telemachus, leaving him trapped with no way out while Antinous stood over him, broad shoulders throwing shadows on the face of your beloved.

He was beaten and bloodied, heaving while trying to fight back.

Although a small, proud smile cracked on your face when you saw some of the men limping or nursing their bruised eyes.

Even Antinous was left with crimson streaks dripping from his mouth, staining his teeth. Your feet were carrying you further in their direction, a mindless action.

Panic struck you when Antinous raised his hand to deliver another blow.

Without thinking, you called out to him, rage tinting your voice accompanied by the angry grinding of your teeth.

"Antinous!" You yelled, a scowl on your face as you forced your way through the ocean of suitors.

"Get away from him!"

The giant man lowered his hand with a deep chuckle and turned to face you with a smirk that made the previously boiling blood to freeze.

"If it isn't the little princess. Come to save your prince, have you? I swear it's the other way around."

The grin that sat on his face, his bloodstained teeth exposed, made bile rise up your throat.

The men chuckled, making Telemachus' head fall forward in shame.

You payed them no mind, rushing to your lover.

Giving Antinous a look that could kill, you kneeled down next to Telemachus and cupped his face, a worried crease forming between your brows while you gently brushed your thumb over the blooming bruise on his cheek to soothe it.

"Look at you.. you're bleeding!" You gasped, quickly using your chiton to wipe away the blood on his face.

"I'm fine, I promise."

Telemachus gave you an unconvincing smile, followed by a wince. The worried look on your face tugged at his heart.

You looked like you were about to cry, and he hated to think that he was the reason.

"You're not fine. You're bruised and-and what if you broke a bone? How did this even happen? They knew there'd be consequences if they-"

the words just spilled out of you, the concern for your lover was something you could no longer contain.

He cupped your cheek and smiled weakly.

"My love, please. I assure you, I'm alright-"

He was cut off by Antinous, a scoff falling from his split lips. You scowled again and rose from your knees, a panicked expression appearing on your beloved's face.

"No, don't-"

Telemachus grasped at your hand, only for you to gently tug it from his grip as you approached Antinous.

Only when you made your way over to the grinning man did you notice a big owl circling the suitors, flying high towards the tall ceiling.

You spared it a glance, noting the magnificent coloring of its feathers and the bright eyes filled with something you could only describe as a sense of justice.

Not once had you see such determination in an animal, but it managed to put your mind at ease a little.

"You filthy dog! Who do you think you are?! He is your prince, whether you like it or not. And you have no right-" you snarled, raising your hand to point a finger at him.

He quickly caught your wrist in his fierce grip, a deep frown sitting on his face.

Antinous glanced at Telemachus, who was holding his aching side trying to pull himself off the ground, before averting his eyes back to you.

"He doesn't look very princely to me."

The smirk he sported was enough to make the fire in your chest spread even more.

"You-" you sneered only to be interrupted by Antinous again.

"What? Hm? What will you do?"

"Stop." Telemachus heaved, supporting himself on a marble pillar.

You didn't let yourself be intimidated by him and rivaled him with a look just as sharp.

"There's a special place in Tarturus for you, Antinous. If he'd even allow it." You spoke quietly but firmly, feeling satisfaction bloom in your heart at his reaction.

Antinous scowled, tightening his grip around your wrist.

"He," he began, "is dead."

You smirked, a scoff making its way past your lips.

"You better pray to the gods. Lady Tyche is not on your side. You'll be lucky enough if he even grants you a way to the Underworld. I hope you have enough gold on hand. Because the only way you're getting across the Styx is in pieces." You spat at him, venom dripping from your tongue.

Antinous bared his teeth, fury blazing in his eyes as he raised his other hand in the air, presumably to strike you.

"Get."

Telemachus' voice boomed through the hall, a scorned look on his face.

"Your hands. Off of her." He sneered, pushing himself away from the pillar.

"Do you want another beating, boy?" The giant man roared, almost crushing your wrist in his hand.

Down came your feathered friend, swooping in with its sharp claws and a chilling screech, successfully tearing open a new scar across Antinous' eye. He cried out and dropped your wrist, clutching his face instead.

The other men quickly drew their swords, swinging at the bird, only to miss and receive a peck from its beak against any vulnerable spot.

The owl evaded the suitors' weapons with such grace and struck back with such vigor that you were almost mesmerized.

"Αγάπη μου." *(my love)

Telemachus' gentle call for you snapped you out of your haze.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, worried Antinous had caused you any harm. You stared at him, your lips parted.

"I... no. No, I'm alright. We should leave." You said hurried, supporting his weight while you dragged him down an opposite corridor.

You spared the suitors and the mysterious owl a last glance, a smirk tugging at your lips at the sight of 108 men being defeated by a bird.

Antinous caught your gaze, and he snarled at you, still holding his eye.

"Next time.." he called out after you, "you're dead."

The threat sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine, but he was quickly put back in line by the owl, who promptly delivered a peck to the top of his head.

With a small smile playing on your face, you led your beloved back to his rooms to take care of his wounds.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Back in your chambers, you knelt in front of Telemachus, a worried crease between your brows while you gently held a damp linen cloth to his swollen and split knuckles.

The pure white fabric was stained with the crimson blood of your lover, a sting in your heart.

Telemachus sighed and took your chin in his hand, tilting your head to look him in the eyes.

"Λουλούδι μου, your expression pains me. I'd rather see your heartwarming smile." He spoke with a small grin, hissing when his busted lip reopnend and the blood began pouring once more. *(my flower)

Quickly, you pressed the cloth to his mouth, a deep frown on your face.

"And your state pains me. You-... You could've died. These are vicious, feral men, and as much as I don't doubt your ability to stand your ground, 108 against 1.... the odds weren't on your side." You replied, such sadness in your eyes it made Telemachus' heart ache.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if..." you sighed deeply, tears threatening to fall from your lashline while your head fell forward.

His gentle hands cupped your face, the rag in your grasp long forgotten.

"But I'm okay. I promise you, my love, it's barely a scratch." A smile cracked on his face and you couldn't help but chuckle, followed by a sniffle.

"You have a larger heart than all those men combined." You whispered, pressing your palm right above his beating heart.

Telemachus cupped your hand and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fell shut at the sensation as you melted further into his touch.

"Besides," he broke the silence, a smirk on his lips, "I had help."

He glanced towards his balcony and you followed his line of sight, being met with the owl resting contently on the railing, curiosity in its bright eyes.

"Yes," you chuckled, rising to your feet and walking towards the creature, gently dragging Telemachus behind you by his hand, "your mysterious feathered friend. Care to introduce me?"

"Right. Her name's Ath-"

he was cut off when the owl screeched at him and furiously flapped her wings. He startled and chuckled nervously, clearing his throat.

"I-I meant A... Alena. Yes. Her name's Alena."

If an owl had shoulders and they could sag, this is what you'd imagine it'd look like.

You laughed softly, watching as the bird narrowed her sharp eyes at Telemachus. He swallowed thickly and gave her an awkward smile.

"Well, Thank you." You said sincerely, smiling when the owl bowed her head at you.

What a curious creature.

"We should get you some ointments for those cuts and bruises."

You turned back to your beloved.

"I told you, I'm totally fi- ow."

He winced, holding his side that would undoubtedly bloom with purples and blues come evening. You sighed softly and shook your head at him.

"You're too sweet for your own good sometimes."

You caressed his cheekbone and pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss, minding his injuries. He hummed into the kiss, resting his hands on your waist.

Lost in your embrace, the owl made another sound, something closer to the typical hoot, averting your attention to her.

She ruffled her feathers and with a last glance at the both of you she took off into sky. With a content expression you watched her glisten in the afternoon sun.

Telemachus had a bright smile on his face and waved after her, watching as she flew into the sunset, disappearing behind the horizon.

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Please let me know what you thought! <3

More of my stuff -> 💫

I think you wanna see this @withonly-sweetheart @allysunny 👀

Thank you so so so much to @vampkennedy for assisting me with the translations 🩷

[hellsquills]

Something about the "don't come back until you've made millions" and Ford's resentment.

There's no way Stan could actually make millions by himself. Ford knows this, because it's, well... obvious. The way he sees it, their father kicked Stan so he'd learn to "get it together" and fend for himself.

What Ford fails to understand (and will not understand until they're sailing together) is that 1. Filbrick wasn't teaching Stan any lesson, he simply wanted to get rid of a child he didn't deem worthy of his family; and 2. Stan DID take the "making millions" part literally.

So Ford goes on with his life telling himself that Stan will be fine, because this warning is enough for him to get it together and grow up. He's charming, he's resourceful, he's good with people. He'll find a job in no time. He might not get rich, but he'll finally become an adult and stop acting like a selfish kid. Maybe he'll even reflect on what he did and will finally stop making excuses. He'll apologize, and maybe then Ford will forgive him.

So when Stan shows up at his cabin all dirty and unkempt, Ford is decidedly disappointed: his brother didn't even bother trying bettering himself! And now that he has the chance of doing something good, he's still being selfish!

Meanwhile, Stan, who's given up on "making millions" and is just trying to survive with his guilt and the decisions he made to try and make it up to his family, is furious. Ford knew from the start that Stan would never make it, and yet he sided with their dad! And he didn't even fucking miss him!

Something about the many layers of miscommunication and misunderstanding these two had between them. It wasn't just "you were being selfish/you betrayed me/you left me". Things are never that simple.

Also I want to kick Filbrick with a steel chair.

[thedarkermelody]

Cale Henituse is the funniest bastard to have as an MC, he's a unreliable narrator and everyone sees it. He wants to slack off and says world peace needed first before that.

Hates cats yet adopts two and plans to make a third king, scams people constantly, the most skewed perception of how to be a trashy man. Says he isn't a good person, does things that help people constantly, justifies it saying cause he didn't have pure motives for doing it it's not a good deed so he's still a bad person. Adopts a dragon even though he said he didn't want it near him cause he'd be in the middle of crazy situations, said by the guy who puts himself in situations constantly all the time. "I don't care about this old man assassin and want him to leave as soon as possible' several chapters later when said assassin comes back hurt and dying "What the fuck i'm going to blow up an island the bastards behind this are on" Yeah he blows up an island, says 'well the ships can just sail a bit further so it can go no biggie.' Said explosion is several times bigger then it should be, cause of his chronic inability to communicate with anyone ever. Stop saying shit exclusively in your head dumbass! He coughs up blood constantly from rebound his powers cause, fails to understand why anyone is upset by this sight when he's 'fine'. Has a healing power, fails to disclose that too to anyone. "I'm weak." Says this fucking idiot, while blasting his charisma aura that makes you feel like your going to die at people who have no idea it's a buff and take it seriously. While using a giant fuck off shield to block bombs. While blasting people with a thunderbolt that can blow up a forest. He's so stupid /aff I want to bite him like a chew toy and shake some sense but we all know he'll never get any.

[pix-writes]

Stanford Pines relationship HCs

(ford pines x reader) there will be smut so, 18+ below... Some angst, mainly fluff, I HC that most if not all of the pines family are neurodivergent in some way.

A/N: I had a long journey last week and all I could think about was the stans, so this will become specific... 😅 Will do the same for Stanley too in the future.

Ford has a lot to catch up on when he comes back through the portal, but he won't jump into a relationship immediately, it will still take a little time, he's got a lot to adjust to in his home dimension and being with someone has not been his forte.

But once he does he's surprisingly clingy, will want to cuddle up to you, in bed, on the couch, wherever you both are. Not one for real PDA, but will be close to you and call you terms of endearment out in public, just a little less than he does at home. I HC that he'd call his partner "dear" "darling" "honey", looooves your hips and putting his arm around your waist (it's a great way to pull you in to snuggle).

Doesn't hold your hand at first but since you like him to hold your hand and give him assurance over the fact that you like his six fingers, he does. It loosens his insecurities around his hands a lot.

Gets addicted to kissing you, doesn't care whether it leads to more or not, Stanford simply loves kissing whether it's brief or a good long make out session. But he does prefer to take his time over it.

Stanford is very logical, good at patching himself up from decades of portal hopping and therefore will do the same for you if you need it, is meticulous if you get hurt in any way but also has an appalling bedside manner! Doesn't tell you if he's going to do something that will sting and tells you not to be overdramatic if you react negatively to it (you know how people can get a little angry when someone they love gets potentially seriously hurt?). And yet you know him to be a gentle man, generally touches you softly like you're made of glass (unless it's to pull you away from something dangerous), so having him take care of you can also be comforting, he'll never do something painful unless it's necessary. (Don't worry though, his brother will make you stan cakes to cheer you both up.)

Speaking of food, Ford definitely prefers his home universe food to what he had in the other dimensions, tried lots of different unusual dishes, some he even liked, but none of it can compare to his homely comforts. When not sailing and adventuring, he puts on a few pounds. Satiates his sweet tooth and caffeine addiction with mabel juice (is the only other one of the pines to like it), prefers it to coffee. Stanley swears his tastebuds must've been affected during his time away. Doesn't like it with as much edible glitter as mabel does, but this is the only deviation from the original recipe he has.

Excellent teacher, you want to learn how he does something? More than eager to teach you with a steady hand and clear pace. Will teach you regardless how to shoot his laser and magnetic guns, how to defend yourself and how to meditate (if you didn't know these already). Can get into the information and ramble like you know about a topic and then realise (eventually) that he needs to break down or explain what he means.

Despite this he also has a romantic streak, whilst he can forget everything aside from his work or adventures, including important dates, he can also be a very considerate and supportive partner and post-portal wants to include you as much as possible in his life and conversations. You can talk for hours about any and all topics and he loves to be mentally stimulated in a relationship, however that may be.

Does sometimes have nightmares and deep guilt over Stanley and is dealing with it as best as he can, likes to know he can count on you for comfort and guidance, makes him feel less panicked or paranoid after Bill. He and his brother talk things out too and these talks can go on all night into the early morning and it's best for them to have space, Ford is grateful for your patience and willingness to be involved in his life, especially as he knows he wasn't good at opening up to you when you were starting to become friends let alone a relationship.

Ford would be shy at first, but once he gets comfortable with how to pleasure you, expect this man to be kind of obsessed. That absorbing focus he can have on his projects and studies? Yeah that can be transferred to you just as easily, which can be a little intense!

You off-handendly mention something about sexual experiences, perhaps even a joke about things you haven't tried, catching his perplexed look afterwards, you say it's simply fantasy and not really something you need to experience. However what you took for confusion or slight insecurity was actually Ford processing what you said. In fact, it doesn't leave his mind and so he does something he's good at: he does some research 😏

One night you might even wake up from sleep to find him sitting upright, lightly snoring, bedside lamp on, clearly fallen asleep whilst writing on his portable writing desk (it's either a gift from you or the twins, not sure which to choose!), when curiosity gets the better of you and you sneak a page out into your hands, you're faced with his attempts at organising fantasies, what he thinks you would want to try, how would you react to different stimuli or some of his own fantasies... Mainly figuring out how many orgasms he could coax out of you or how long he thinks he could edge you over time, what positions or rp you might like: he's worked it all out in a haphazard kind of way, like he's brainstorming the best approaches.

It's so plan-sexual scientific it's frank but... attractive, because it's so... him.

Whether he wakes up on his own or you wake him up, he ends up blushing, though he's not really sorry that you've found it. He's looking at you with this mix of nerves for how you'll react and new found smugness when he sees that you've been affected by what you've read... And yeah, neither of you are leaving that bed for a long time.

Basically, like a true scientist, he is down to experiment! 😄 He's willing to try anything as long as it's not going to seriously hurt you or it's something he wouldn't try on himself first, this is a boundary he's never willing to cross. Trust and open communication is an important thing for him post-weirdmaggeddon especially, and he's getting better at it as he goes along, so even though he often doesn't feel confident, he is infuriatingly good at aftercare and all the rest!

This means when he's not tripping over his words or flustered by you himself -he can be a damn tease at times and will chuckle to himself when you curse him out for the subtle touches he'll give you over the course of the day before pulling away. Sometimes he doesn't even know he's done it, which is evil.

Stanley will make grumbly jokes about how "you two lovebirds need to get a room!" Or about needing to move out 😅 but honestly he's truly happy his brother is happy and if you get married he will sob the whole time, even through his roasting joke filled best man speech! (Cracks a joke more than once to you that you need to make Ford an "honest man" and then laughs at it himself before whispering to you that he can get the rings if you really want to.)

Will and does suffer in the warmer months because he will wear long sleeves, full length pants and or a turtle neck for the comfort aesthetic

Personality wise him and Stan are different as can be but they often sync up physically in their mannerisms or what they say, as freaky as it is cute in a way, when you are tired/drunk you can swear you're seeing double, which amuses both of them.

His favourite shared past time with you is any kind of board or card game, some of them the rest of the family will join in for, but will also love someone to play d&d&md with if you're willing! Loves to get into the details of the rules of whatever you're playing together and it can get quite heated (secretly finds your frustrated side quite attractive, as long as you're not actually angry at him).

I feel like Stanford would get into videogames as soon as he becomes more adept at technology in this dimension, likely it's dipper who is the one to introduce it to him and he loves it (nerd). Will marathon catch ups on all the movies and shows he's missed; especially the series he was into that got continued after the portal incident. You lose him to Star Wars prequels etc for at least a couple weeks of him getting his head round all the lore and how it works, may have controversial opinions and needs to work it all out, may need to contact dipper about this.

Regularly has calls with the family (mainly the twins) over video chat (and will always call it 'video calling' no matter what platform they're using), so once you're together that includes you too and be prepared to be bombarded with questions from them (your their new graunty or grunkle after all) ❤️

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

may I request another Luffy x fem reader please. Where Luffy is always picking up y/n like anywhere and everywhere they go (they aren’t dating or anything yet either) and he’s just always carrying her. Maybe even one day she’s wearing a skirt and so she freaks out when Luffy goes to grab her but Luffy holds her skirt down while carrying her. I don’t know I feel like it would be cute. Thank you!

Carried Away - Luffy x Fem!Reader

Hey! This was SO FUN to write! I spent too long trying to avoid it because I was overthinking, but it's been sitting in my drafts just haunting me. Here it is! Hope you like it!

Tags: SFW, use of y/n, platonic, pre-relationship, gunshot, Marine shenanigans

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this!

~1.7k

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident One - The Thousand Sunny, noon

“Luffy, you can't be serious.” Nami sighs. 

The ship has been sailing a course towards - well, you can't remember. Nami's the one who handles the navigation, and quite honestly, you didn't hear where she said you'd be going. Something about the logpose, needing to restock - the usual. The point is that it's meant to be an easy journey. 

So, everyone's a little surprised to see a random, abandoned dingy in the middle of the ocean. With a treasure chest in it, no less. 

“Yeah - duh! We can't just leave that there!” Luffy whines, gesticulating his hands at Nami. “We're pirates - remember? That's treasure!”

“We don't know that, idiot!” Nami snaps, reaching a hand up to smack at Luffy's head. “It could be explosive, like that barrel was forever ago! Remember that?” 

He's already barreling near the edge of the ship, though, eyes widen with excitement. You can't help but giggle at the energy he has. 

“Aw, come on! Let me go over and take a look! I'll be real quick. Besides, what if it is treasure? Don't you want the money?”

Nami seems to pause at Luffy's comment. Everyone looks between her and Luffy, before she lets out a very long sigh. If you look closely enough, you're sure you can see berrie signs in her eyes. 

“Fine. But seriously, only real quick. And bring someone along with you so you don't get stuck in the water. Like Zo-”

“Alright! Let's go!”

Your eyes widen the moment Luffy's arm snakes around your waist, rotating around it over and over again in rubbery fashion. You weren't even close to him, but for some reason, you're the one he's selected. 

“Wait!” You screech, your hands grasping at his arm, but it's too late. 

Laughing wildly, Luffy backs up, rearing his other arm before launching you against his side and sending you both over the edge of the Sunny. 

“Luffy!” You scream, but the sound of the wind passing by is too loud in your ears. And so is Luffy's laugh. 

You land on the dingy with a thud, your arms still grasping onto Luffy tightly. His arm retracts from the rotation around your waist, and while you breathe heavily to calm your racing heart, Luffy is already marching towards the treasure chest in the small space. 

“What the-” You start, but Luffy's quick to wave you over.

“Nami said I needed someone to come with. Here, check this out with me!”

Your head aches, and all you can do is stare at him as a groan slips past your lips. Well, you can't argue with that logic. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Two - A Nearby Island, morning 

Yesterday, that treasure chest proved to not have treasure itself, but some kind of treasure map. The crew was mixed. On the one hand, it seems like an obvious trap. On the other hand, money. Money won out. 

Much to everyone's relief, the map has led to a nearby island. The one the crew was headed to, anyway, so it was really of no inconvenience. There's the opportunity to restock, to fix gear, to get a bite to eat. It's a much needed respite after the long journey everyone's just had, so why not add a treasure hunt?

No one is more excited about this than Luffy, Chopper, and Usopp. 

“Treasure hunt!” They gleefully cheer, leading the charge down the gangplank. 

The ship is docked off the shore, hidden away by large trees and surrounding cliff sides. So long as everyone is careful, there's no reason to believe there should be any danger. 

You're gathering your things, sorting through them on the deck. Getting a free day with some berries in your pocket is rare enough as is. It'd be preferable to make the most of it. Maybe some new boots? Oh, or something to take up your free time! Knitting?

It’s while you're lost in your thought bubble that you feel something grab at you. Looking down, your wrist is clamped by - is that a hand? Attached to-

The rubber arm is long, outstretched from the bottom of the gang plank, and you let out a gasp as it reels you quickly away from where you're standing. 

“Luffy!” You whine, as exasperated now as you were yesterday. 

You're snapped to Luffy's side, pulled with such a force that your feet fly off the ground until you crash into his body. Luffy beams, moving his hands to straighten you up properly. You blow some hair from your face, jerking forcibly from his grasp. Even though he's strong, it seems to have taken him off-guard. 

“Seriously, what was that for?!” 

“Didn't want you to get left behind! We're treasure hunting!” Luffy grins.

“You can't just-!” You start to argue, but you're too flustered to really finish your statement. He's beaming at you too brightly, and that smile is too damn infectious. 

With a sigh, you pull away, walking down the hill ahead of the group. 

“I'm going clothes shopping!” You exclaim.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Three - Town, noon

This is getting out of hand. You're aware of how much Luffy likes to grab at the crew, throw them around, and it's no secret that he prefers it to finding another route to having people do as he says. Luffy's impatient. Impulsive. Reckless. It's grown on you, sure, but there's something about the way your stomach lurches every time you're tossed around that leaves you uneasy. 

But you've planned for this. It was a decision made out of necessity, nothing more. A cute skirt purchased in town, too short to really significantly cover anything if you were moved around. Sure, Luffy is…well, Luffy, but he's still a guy. At the end of the day, there's no way he'd risk your modesty. Right? He could respect that. 

That's the idea, anyway. 

Your shopping trip has ended, and you're sporting your new skirt, holding a bag of clothes casually in one hand. It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining brightly on the town, birds are chirping, and there's an arm around your waist. 

Wait.

Your eyes widen as you're pulled back forcefully, soaring several feet backwards into the air. A scream rips from your throat as you're pulled into Luffy's arms, and the rubber man is running with impressive speed through town. Your arms wrap around his neck tightly to hang on, and everything is whirring by so fast that you can't figure out what's happening immediately. All that you know is you're moving, you've lost your bag of clothes, and Luffy is the culprit. 

“Hey, (Y/N), good thing I found ya! I lost Chopper and Usopp, but they'll catch up. We're gettin’ outta here!”

“Monkey D. Luffy, what the hell are you-?!”

Gunshots. You screech, scrambling as you shift in his arms. Luffy groans with mild irritation, adjusting his hold on you tightly as he sends an arm onto a nearby pole. He launches you both up, and you bury your face in his neck. 

“Marines?! How did that happen?!” You exclaim, and your face turns red as your skirt flies up. An arm moves from his neck, quickly scrambling to pull the fabric down.

“Oh - yeah! Turns out that treasure map was left by them! Funny, right?”

“Funny?!”

"Well, kinda." He shrugs, before turning his head out to the Marines. "Stupid jerks! We wanted our treasure!"

"There's Straw Hat!" A Marine yells, followed by several loud bangs from their guns.

You gasp as he jumps between buildings, and bullets are ricocheting off of stone structures you both pass, nearly grazing you. You're pretty sure some hit Luffy, bouncing off of his rubber legs and sending them off every which way. But your skirt keeps threatening to creep up, and you're not sure how tightly you can hang onto him with just one arm. Luffy can feel you bouncing in his grasp, and he glances down at you with a look. 

“What's wrong? Put both arms around me or you're gonna fall!”

“I can't, my skirt!” You whine. “I'm gonna flash everyone!”

“Hm?” Luffy tilts his head, furrowing his brows as he looks down at your lap. Noticing your hand pinning your skirt down, he doesn't think twice. He reaches to grab your hand, pulling it around his neck. 

“Luffy!” 

“Stop whining, just hold on!” Luffy groans, and one of his hands moves to the fabric of your skirt before it can fly up any further. He holds it down, one hand on your skirt and the other wrapped around you tightly. 

Your face flushes, and you gasp as he jumps from the roof of a building down to a tree, and then to the ground. You jostle with every move, but your arms have secured you to his body. You're safely nestled against him, and you don't think twice about moving. 

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Incident Four - The Thousand Sunny, evening

The ship lurches as it lands in the ocean far from the island the crew was on. You all let out a collective sigh of relief as the sails carry you far, far away from that Marine trap. By the time you and Luffy had arrived on the ship earlier, everyone else had barely made it, and Franky had already loaded up the cola to coup de burst the crew to safety. 

It's only now, in the aftermath of the fight, that Luffy's grasp on you loosens. He had been too caught up in punching and tossing Marines away to even think about letting you go. Your feet touch the deck carefully, and Luffy's rubber limbs retract as they snap back into place. 

Your hands immediately move to straighten out your skirt, and you hear a huff from your Captain beside you. Glancing up, you take notice of the way he adjusts his hat, looking at you with a tilted head and a confused expression. 

“Why're you wearin’ somethin’ like that, anyway? Makes it harder to fight, right?” He asks, and his tone is genuinely dumbfounded. 

Your face flushes, and words die in your throat. What explanation is there? I didn't want you to toss me around? Clearly, that didn't work, and it feels a little embarrassing to say as much. You're not sure why, but telling Luffy you bought a skirt because of him feels weird. So, you clear your throat, leaning back against the railing of the ship behind you. 

“Oh, um…just thought it was cute.” You lie, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I didn't think we'd be running from Marines today.”

Luffy's quiet for a moment, and his eyes flicker to your skirt only briefly. He still looks dumbfounded. 

“Huh. M'kay. Just don't complain when I grab ya next time that your skirt’s goin’ up.” He responds with a grin, a playful chuckle sounding from his chest. 

This son of a-

"Sanjiiii! I'm hungry! Whadda ya got?” Luffy exclaims, turning away from you decisively. 

“Can it, Luffy, we just got out of port! I need to unload the groceries!” Sanji shouts from across the deck.

Even though you're still annoyed, and your skirt is still riding up, you find yourself laughing. Maybe the Captain grabbing you for adventures isn't the worst thing in the world. 

[madwomansapologist]

──────〃✰ kinktober 2024 ୨ৎ

welcome to my first kinktober! bellow you'll find prompts i've come up with + one that was commented on a post i made about this very same subject.

if you want to be tagged, tell me! i update this post everytime i finish one of the prompts with some details.

୨ৎ WEEK 1: LET'S PLAY PRETEND ୨ৎ

OCT 1ST strip poker with sir crocodile

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

OCT 3TH somnophilia with kento nanami

title: sweet dreams synopsis: watching the man you love deny himself of his needs, you take matters into your own hands. or lips, to be more precise. [1.5K] cw: established relationship, service top!reader, somnophilia, body worship, nipple stimulation, masturbation (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), choking (gn!receiving), hair pulling, overstimulation.

OCT 5TH incest with karlach

title: a small favor synopsis: a movie night turned into you being a good girl for your older sister. if only she had warned you of what it truly meant. [1.1K] cw: t!karlach, plus size!reader, incest, lil sis/big sis, dub con, gaslighting, obssessive behavior, apologetic, spit, dry humping, pussyjob, premature ejaculation.

୨ৎ WEEK 2: MONSTERS AND LESBIANS DESERVE LOVE TOO ୨ৎ

OCT 6TH monster fucking with multiple monsters

title: haunted bang synopsis: when you decided to explored a haunted mansion, all you wanted was to gain more knowledge for your grimoire. you never expected it to be habited, even less for all the residents to agree that sharing is caring. [2.4K] cw: wizard!reader, teratophilia, monster fucking, gangbang, voyeurism, size difference, manhandling, mind connection, scent kink, oral (females!receiving), pet play, pussy drunk, overstimulation, you know that post about "would you fuck your clone?", f in v, monsters included are a eldritch creature, a werewolf, a vampire and a shapeshifter.

OCT 8TH shower sex with namivivi

title: let it sink in synopsis: the fight was over, the war was done, but the tension was still there. watching the princess falling victim of her own mind, the navigator has to intervene. [1K] cw: established relationship, insecurity, a bit of hurt and a lot of comfort, this isn't sex it's love okay i'm sensitive about them, shower sex, masturbation.

OCT 10TH scent kink with farcille

title: animal attraction synopsis: back from the dead, falin could feel something changing inside of her. but with marcille's scent blinding her mind, she ignored the dragon and focused on the warmth coming from her friend. [0.8K] cw: the night pre-chimera, scent kink (in a dragon’s mate way), nipple stimulation, a tiny small bit of somnophilia, erotic dreams, public sex.

OCT 12TH masturbation with nico robin

title: a helping hand synopsis: there is an aspect of sailing in the grand line you failed to consider: there is no one to fuck. of course, that's only true if you ignore your crew as candidates. [0.5K] cw: sorry for the delay! reader has a little crush on luffy, masturbation, accidental orgasm denial, accidental/non-accidental voyeurism.

୨ৎ WEEK 3: REWARD SYSTEM ୨ৎ

OCT 13TH praise kink with kagaya x reader x amane

title: pretty, pretty, pretty synopsis: back from a mission, is time to remember your lovers you will always be there to take care of their every needs and desires. [1.1K] cw: sorry for the delay! established relationship, kagaya x reader x amane, dom!fem!reader, praise kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f! and m! receiving), body worship, oral (m!receiving).

OCT 15TH bondage with dark justiciar shadowheart

title: sing your prayers synopsis: to worship lady shar, one must be perfect. shadowheart will guide you, make you the best you can ever be. don't matter the cost, her teachings shall find a way into your very soul. [1K] cw: fem!reader, bard!tav, domme!shadowheart, power imbalance, memory loss, bondage, humilliation kink, temperature play, gaslighting, dacryphilia, religious imagery, Shar vs Selune.

OCT 17TH corruption kink with shan yu

title: training session synopsis: you're tired of being treated like a glass about to be shattered. if he will have you whole, than it's only fair you receive the same. [1.3K] cw: established relationship, corruption kink, finger sucking, masturbation (m!receiving), oral (m!receiving), cum eating.

୨ৎ WEEK 4: ANIME SEASON ୨ৎ

OCT 24TH sex pollen with kyojuro rengoku

title: milk me synopsis: usually demons' poisons just kill whoever was affected by them. this time, it served for something else. something way better. [2.1K] cw: established relationship, eye patch!kyojuro, crystal hashira!reader, sex pollen, public sex, pussy drunk, forced orgasms, overstimulation, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), p in v, dacryphilia, spit, nipple stimulation, accidental voyeurism (we'll say: sorry miss shinobu).

୨ৎ WEEK 5: LOVE, LOVE, LOVE ୨ৎ

OCT 27TH exhibitionism kink with ryomen sukuna

title: mine synopsis: watching the man you love deny himself of his needs, you take matters into your own hands. or lips, to be more precise. [0.5K] cw: established relationship, toxic couple (only towards others), exhibitionism, public sex, cockwarming.

taglist: @ffinosie @lovelyy-moonlight @alzaira @s2-angells @eyes-ofhell @inlovewithmariah @chiiyohiimee @shaquilles-0atmeal @bloodyziggy @salemey @kcch-ns @notanalienindisguiseblink @py-schi @miyanosm @idonthaveanameforthisacc

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.